The Cupcake Queen. Patricia Coughlin
She’d forgotten all about Izzy, the black cat with a bandaged paw who was supposed to have been picked up over an hour ago.
“Sorry, pal, I call ’em as I see ’em,” she said. “But I don’t blame you for being offended at being lumped together with that guy.”
Izzy’s stare didn’t waver. If she were the type who spooked easily, this would do it. She even went as far as to shift her feet to the floor and nudge the gray plastic carrier a few inches away.
“Nice cat,” she said. “Good kitty. Mommy will be here any minute.”
The cat countered with something between a hiss and a growl, and batted his bandaged front paw against the wire screen of the carrier.
“Cut it out, Izzy,” she ordered. “I’ve heard all about your ‘wonder cat’ routine, answering the phone and opening your carrier door and, well, frankly, Iz, I think it’s a load of bull.” She ignored the growl that rumbled from the cat’s throat. “Just the same, the last thing I need right now is for you to rip off your bandage or hurt yourself on my watch. So cut it out.”
The cat pawed harder.
Olivia tapped the door with her toe. “What’s the matter, Izzy? Don’t you speak English? How about French?” she inquired. “Touche pas. Assis.”
So much for her brothers’ claim that a degree in French culture was useless.
“What in God’s name are you doing now?”
Gretchen, Doc’s assistant, had come to retrieve the next patient’s chart. She stood with it in her hand, watching Olivia, who smiled at her to no avail. Gretchen was nineteen, a little on the plump side, and from the start she’d eyed Olivia as if expecting her to make off with a case of flea collars any second.
“Izzy was clawing the latch with his front paw, and I didn’t want him to hurt himself,” she explained.
“So you kicked him?” Gretchen shook her head. “Figures, after that stunt yesterday.”
“Yesterday was a mistake,” she pointed out. “I’ve apologized at least a dozen times. And I wasn’t kicking anything. I was trying to get the cat to stop picking at the latch.”
“Maybe he wants to get out of that carrier.”
Olivia couldn’t resist returning the girl’s smug smile. “I’m sure that’s exactly what he wants. Unfortunately for old Izzy here, his owner didn’t opt for the deluxe visit, you know, the one that includes roaming privileges whenever the mood strikes him.”
“Maybe he’s in the mood to use the litter box,” Gretchen retorted, speaking slowly, as if Olivia were not too bright. “Did you ever consider that?”
“Not directly,” she conceded. “Not yet, anyway.” She looked around. “Where’s the litter—?”
Before she’d finished the question, Gretchen was pointing toward the door at the back of the building, where the operating and recovery rooms were located. “You can’t miss it,” she said, turning to go.
“But what if once he’s out of the carrier he doesn’t want to get back in?” Olivia called after her, ignoring the look of disgust Gretchen tossed over her shoulder. “What if he runs outside?”
“He’s an indoor cat,” the younger woman called before disappearing into an examining room.
An indoor cat. She had a vague recollection from somewhere that indoor cats were indoor cats because they’d been declawed. Or the other way around. Whichever, knowing it gave her confidence as she pushed the carrier closer to the door Gretchen had indicated and opened the latch.
“Go ahead. Go. Va, Izzy. Do whatever it is you need to do,” she urged.
That’s all the prodding Izzy needed to sweep from the carrier and, with a regal lack of concern for anyone else’s agenda, sit and begin to groom himself.
“Move it, Izzy,” she said, “This is no time for a sponge bath.”
The phone rang.
“Damn,” she muttered, glancing at the phone, then at Izzy, then back at the phone. “That’s it. Time’s up. Back in the carrier.”
She held open the carrier door and reached for Izzy. The cat bolted. He was on the desk, over the counter and headed for the exit before she could say “Bad luck.”
Ignoring the phone, Olivia went after him, scrambling over the counter without Izzy’s grace or agility. For a cat with a bum paw, he was damned fast. She swerved around a woman holding a white poodle and collided instead with a young man on his way in.
“I’m Dan,” he said at the sight of her name tag. “I’m here to pick up the vaccine for—”
“I’ll be right with you,” she said without breaking stride.
Izzy was sitting at the edge of the parking lot, watching for Olivia with those yellow eyes. She approached him slowly, desperate that this not mushroom into a full-blown “incident.” There was no way she was going to let some gimp-legged cat screw things up.
Praying Izzy couldn’t distinguish a sincere human smile from a phony one, she cooed, “Nice cat. Sweet cat.”
Izzy purred, and waited until she was within arm’s reach before spinning and disappearing into the bushes that were along the side of the building.
Cursing, she took off after him.
She emerged on the other side with scratches on her face and leaves in her hair, and found herself in a narrow clearing between the animal hospital and the ancient wooden contraption that was home to Allison’s beehives.
She spotted Izzy a half second before she saw the snake. Again the cat was faster. He already had his back arched and was hissing with such venom the snake shot through the grass straight toward Olivia.
She shouted and made a wild leap in the air with no thought as to where she might land. On the way down her shoulder slammed into something solid, sending her sprawling backward. The hives, she thought, the instant she landed and immediately scrambled to her feet. Before she could assess the damage, there was a muffled, almost eerie sound in the shady clearing, and then suddenly the air was filled with bees. Black with them. Honeybees. Seven hundred and fifty dollars worth of honeybees to be exact. The invoice had arrived in the mail that very morning.
Cursing as passionately as she ever had, she plunged back into the bushes. The bees swarmed above and were waiting for her in the parking lot. She ran for the closest shelter, a pickup truck, and climbed inside, quickly rolling up the window. It was only when she reached to roll up the window on the driver’s side that she realized she wasn’t alone. A dog as big as a bear sat behind the wheel.
As he looked at her, he dropped his lower jaw, and the sight of all those big white teeth made Olivia decide to take her chances with the bees. She opened the door, but before she could jump out, the dog plowed over her. Slamming the door behind him, she grabbed a newspaper to whack the bees that had made it inside. When she’d gotten them all, she stuffed paper into the vents and took her first good look at the scene outside.
“Oh, no,” she breathed, recognizing the young man she’d run into minutes earlier. He was spinning in circles, waving his baseball cap in a frantic attempt to protect himself and the huge black dog from the onslaught of bees. The dog stood his ground by the man’s side, barking and shaking his huge head.
Olivia grabbed the newspaper and was getting out to join the fray when Allison appeared brandishing a fire extinguisher. She motioned for Olivia to stay put. Gretchen came from the other side of the building, armed with a hose, and together they fired on the swarm, allowing the man and dog to make it inside and then somehow managing to turn the tide of bees until the air was only dotted with a persistent few.
Gretchen remained on guard with the hose, while Allison dropped the fire extinguisher and hurried inside, pausing only long enough to glare at Olivia.