Wrong Place, Wrong Time Part 9

She checked the stalls, one at a time.

"Good boy," she called out in a voice filled with praise. "I've got a treat for you." She made a smacking sound with her lips. "Yum. Come and get it."

She heard the slightest jangling sound from the far end of the barn.

Now that could be a good sign. It sure sounded like a metal ID tag and dog license clinking together.

"Come on, Chomper," she coaxed, veering in the direction of the jangle. "Peanut b.u.t.ter beats Crayola, hands down."

Another jangle.

She reached the last stall, which was empty, and stepped inside.

There, settled on a pile of hay, surrounded by purple and green crayon wrappers, was Chomper. His head shot up when Devon walked in, and he wagged his tail proudly. His nose and snout were purple. His paws were green.

Forcing herself to keep a straight face, Devon squatted down beside him. "No, no," she chided, taking away the crayons. "Those aren't to eat."

Chomper yipped in protest, trying to s.n.a.t.c.h the crayons away from her.

"No," Devon said firmly. "No crayons." She shoved them in her coat pocket.

He paused, looking uncertain.

"Sit." Devon issued the command in an unyielding but kind tone. "Chomper, sit."

He sat.

"Good boy." She flourished the biscuit, offering it to him without hesitation.

He pounced, gobbling the biscuit with great enthusiasm.

Devon wrapped her coat more tightly around her. She was shivering. So was Chomper. But she let him finish the biscuit before scooping him up and tucking him inside her coat. "Okay, tough guy. Time to brave the cold. Let's get you back to the warm house."

He nuzzled against her, absorbing her warmth, then happily began licking her chin as she retraced her steps.

She'd left the barn door slightly ajar. She was just reaching for it, when it was pushed open from the other side.

Startled, Devon jumped backward to avoid being hit.

A middle-aged man with a medical case and notebook strode in. "Mr. Pierson? I - " Seeing Devon, he broke off, looking equally as startled as she. "Excuse me. I a.s.sumed you were Mr. Pierson."

"No, I'm just a guest, hunting down this little guy." Devon indicated Chomper, who had poked out his head to sniff the newcomer.

"I see." The reedy fellow blinked behind his eyegla.s.ses.

"Which Mr. Pierson did you want? They're all inside the house."

"Edward. But there's no need to interrupt him, not at this difficult time. I'll just see to the horses and be on my way."

Devon eyed his bag. "You're a veterinarian?"

"In part. Why do you ask?"

"I don't mean to be nosy. I just recognize the tools of the trade. I'm a veterinarian myself."

"Are you?" He looked concerned. "I had no idea Mr. Pierson hired someone new. When did this happen?"

"It didn't." Devon waved away the notion that she was a threat to this man's job. "I'm here for personal, not professional, reasons."

"Oh." He shifted awkwardly. "I apologize. Are you family?"

"No." Devon felt compelled to explain. "I'm Sally Montgomery's daughter. My mother owns the house next door."

"Sally Montgomery?" Anxiety transformed to sympathy. "The newspaper said... that is, she was the woman who... who..."

"...was with Frederick Pierson in Lake Luzerne when the cabin caught fire," Devon finished for him.

"She survived, didn't she?"

"Yes. But she's missing." Devon kept the explanation short.

"That's what I read." He shifted the medical bag to his other hand. "I hope she's brought home, safe and soon."

"Thank you." Devon inclined her head quizzically. "I'm sorry; I didn't catch your name."

"Vista. Dr. Lawrence Vista."

"Dr. Vista." Devon acknowledged his introduction. "Are you an equine specialist?"

"I'm a genetic consultant. I'm advising Mr. Pierson on the best breeding partners for his show horses."

Devon's curiosity was piqued. "So you examine his horses and make genetic a.s.sessments and recommendations?"

"Precisely."

"That sounds fascinating. I'd love to hear more about it...." She frowned, as Chomper began squirming again. "But now's clearly not the time. I'd better get this little guy inside."

Dr. Vista nodded. "The wind is really picking up."

"Another time, then."

"Certainly." He stepped aside to let her pa.s.s. "I'm sorry I startled you."

"No harm done. It was nice meeting you."

Devon walked out of the barn. Dr. Vista was right. The wind really had picked up. It blasted her in the face like ice water.

Nestling Chomper close against her, Devon hunched her shoulders and prepared to brave the elements. Dr. Vista's truck was parked directly in her path. She inched her way around it and struck off in the direction of the house.

She was halfway there when she spotted Blake emerging from a jumping arena. She called out his name, and when he turned, she aimed her flashlight beam at Chomper. Blake saw him, looked extraordinarily relieved, and walked over to meet them.

"Where was he?" he asked.

"In the barn. Feasting on crayons." Devon pointed at Chomper's purple snout, which was poking out of her coat.

Blake gave a snort of disgust, although his lips were twitching. At the same time, Chomper spotted his owner and gave a joyful yip, struggling to free himself and get to Blake.

Laughing, Devon handed him over. "He's shivering. Tuck him inside your coat."

"Yeah, that solution will work for another month or so," Blake muttered, wrapping the warm folds of his coat around the pup. "But tell me, doctor, what do I do when he weighs ninety pounds and his feet are the size of my head?"

"Nothing. Because, if you're smart, you'll put him in obedience cla.s.ses now, while he's still a manageable size. Goldens are very intelligent. They're also sweethearts who are eager to please their owners. But right now, Chomper thinks he's the pack leader and you're the pack. He's confused. Train him right and you'll both be happier."

Blake tipped his head thoughtfully, examining her with those penetrating amber eyes. Only this time the examination was very thorough and very male. "Words of wisdom. Suppose I take your advice - do you make house calls?"

The remark was teasing. Maybe flirtatious. But certainly not offensive or harmful. Still, it threw Devon - a lot.

"No," she heard herself reply.

"Pity." The sleeve of Blake's coat brushed hers. "How about apartment calls?"

Even through several layers of clothing, Devon felt a surge of warmth at the contact.

She stiffened. James might be the family charmer, but there was something incredibly s.e.xy about Blake Pierson - something she was susceptible to. She'd have to watch herself around him.

"Nope. On-site only," she quipped.

"No exceptions?"

"Not a one. But don't worry. No house calls are needed. Chomper's in perfect health."

"Physically, yeah. But not psychologically. You just said so yourself. He's confused and disobedient."

"That's easily fixed. By a trainer. Which I'm not. My clinic has a top-notch obedience and training staff. I'd recommend them, if the facilities weren't so inconvenient for you. You're in Manhattan. The clinic's in White Plains."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"In White Plains."

"I live near the clinic, yes."

"But you spend most of your time at work."

"A good chunk of it," Devon acknowledged.

"So I'd see you whenever I brought Chomper to obedience school."

"Not likely. The clinic's big and spread out. It's divided into sections. I'm in the medical wing. You'd be in the training wing."

Blake shot her another of those probing looks. "I'm a good navigator. I'll find you."

Freezing or not, Devon was starting to perspire. She was glad they were nearing the house.

She glanced up to see James in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets, frowning as he watched their approach. An elderly man with white hair - presumably Edward Pierson - was standing beside him, waving his arm and talking vehemently.

James stopped him in midsentence, gesturing toward her and Blake.

Edward's head snapped around. His gaze seemed to pin her where she stood.

Then he turned and disappeared into the house.

CHAPTER 8.

Two guys. .h.i.tting on you. Both of them Piersons. Not bad for an evening's work," Monty commented drily, settling himself in the pa.s.senger seat and scribbling down some notes.

Devon's gloved fingers tightened on the steering wheel, and she accelerated onto the highway. "I'm glad you're happy," she muttered. "I feel like I just walked off a soap opera set."

"Yeah, well, you did. This family's got more drama and secrets than the Kennedys." Monty put down his pen. "How'd you leave it with James and Blake?"

"James and I were supposed to get together while I was there. That never happened. He and his grandfather went behind closed doors five minutes after Blake and I walked in with Chomper. They were still there when I left."

"But you made sure he'll call."

A sigh. "Yes, Monty. I gave Ca.s.sidy my phone number and asked her to pa.s.s it on to him."

"And Blake?"

"He's enrolling Chomper in obedience cla.s.ses at my clinic. Evidently, he spends lots of time in Yonkers, getting his restaurant ready for its grand opening. He made it abundantly clear that he wants to see me. Whether that's genuine interest or just a ruse to stay close by in case Mom contacts me is anyone's guess."

"Probably both. But stay on your toes. I don't trust any of these people."

"No argument there." Devon glanced over, saw her father rereading the letter Edward had given him. "Do you think Frederick's murder and that threatening letter are related?"

A shrug. "Maybe. Maybe not. I intend to find out. In the meantime, no mention of the letter to anyone."

"My lips are sealed." Devon grinned. "I'm flattered you shared it with me."

"You're my partner."