Something Deadly. Rachel Lee

beyond my expertise.”

      “You know,” Chet said, “this is going to freak out the whole damn island.”

      “I’m sorry about that,” Declan said, “but we can’t be irresponsible. Anybody who’s worried is better off staying at home anyway.”

      Hal’s dark eyes reflected doom and gloom. “Remember what they tried to do to that town in Outbreak?”

      “Oh, jeez,” Chet said. “Let’s not even go there, okay?”

      “Right,” Declan agreed. “We don’t know what we have here. It might not be infectious at all.”

      But he could feel they were sitting on a time bomb.

      Ken Wilson died today. No one knows why, or if they do, they’re not saying. I asked the medic about it. I’ve heard all kinds of stories about Caribbean bugs. Wouldn’t that be my luck. Get drafted, avoid the Nam, and end up on an infected island.

      I should’ve left those bones alone. Bad luck to mess with bones.

      3

      At her clinic, Markie Cross repaired a dachshund’s torn ear, quilting the two pieces of cartilage back together. It would never look quite right again, but it was better than leaving the cartilage separated. So much damage from another puppy’s bite.

      She twisted her head, easing the tension in her shoulders. Mornings were for surgery. She’d already done one neuter, one spay, a tumor removal and extracted an infected tooth. If all went well, the ear should be the last surgery of her day. Then she could move on to the office visits, which she generally enjoyed, because they allowed her to interact with both patients and owners.

      A movement to the right caught her eye, and she glanced over to see Kato standing on his hind legs, looking through the window that separated the surgery suite from the rest of the clinic. He was looking more somber than usual this morning.

      Not that she blamed him. Last night hadn’t exactly been pleasant, and it must have been worse for him. She had no doubt his nose had given him a far better picture of what had happened to Carter Shippey than the words had given her.

      He had seemed to like Declan Quinn, though, which was a rarity for him. Kato’s usual habit was to stand several yards away and watch new people until he’d made up his mind about them, a process that might take multiple encounters. Last night, though, it was as if Kato had known Declan was there to help someone.

      She shrugged away the thoughts of last night and focused on her work. One more stitch, then done. The dachshund was already starting to wake from anesthesia.

      Markie’s first routine client of the morning was one of her favorites, Dawn Roth. Dawn had more money than one person could possibly spend in a lifetime, but she remained amazingly unspoiled. Apart from volunteering in every conceivable way, she raised English mastiffs.

      To Markie’s way of thinking, anyone who could handle two hundred pounds of slobbering dog was special. Someone who loved them enough to breed them, and love each of them as her own child, was a rare gift. To adopt one of Dawn’s mastiffs required a background check that would have put the FBI to shame.

      Today her patient was Brindle Castlereagh, a champion female who was into late pregnancy. Brinnie, as Dawn called her, had gone into heat out of season. The result was going to be a litter that couldn’t be registered, because the sire couldn’t be identified. That didn’t faze Dawn; she was caring for this litter as carefully as all the rest.

      “Isn’t it horrible about Carter Shippey?” Dawn asked as Markie palpated Brinnie’s belly, identifying two healthy and vigorous pups.

      “Soon now,” she told Dawn. “Any day, in fact.”

      “I thought so.”

      “And yes, it’s terrible about Mr. Shippey.”

      “He was only sixty-three.”

      Markie nodded. “He wasn’t all that old.”

      “No. To tell you the truth,” Dawn said, her voice dropping, “it put me into a tailspin about Tim. He works so hard at his fishing business, and lately he’s not even having time to play tennis or golf….”

      Markie patted Brinnie’s shoulder, then turned toward Dawn. “Tim’s a lot younger and very healthy. You know that.”

      “So was Carter, I thought.” Dawn shook her head. “Not that I really knew him all that well. I understand he was quite the character in his younger years, when he owned the boat.”

      “So I’m told,” Markie said. She had only known Carter Shippey as a somewhat grizzled old sailor who loved his dog more than life itself. He’d sold the boat and retired just after she’d come to Santz Martina. “I didn’t know him well, either.”

      “But I know his wife, Marilyn, from my work at the school. She teaches English, you know. A wonderful woman. She and Carter had such plans….” Dawn’s voice trailed off. “Well.” She visibly gathered herself.

      Markie straightened and sat in the chair next to Dawn’s. Brinnie, sensing Dawn’s discomfort, gave her owner a sloppy kiss. Dawn managed a chuckle.

      “I’m worrying for no reason,” she said. “Sometimes people die young. But most don’t, right?”

      “Right,” Markie said. “But when it’s someone near our own age, it makes us really uneasy.”

      “Yeah. I think I’ll go home and make Tim a key lime pie. He loves my pies. When we first got married, he was always so tickled when I’d bake one. I haven’t done that for him in years now.”

      “That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

      “Yeah, it does.” Dawn was suddenly smiling again. “I’ll call you when Brinnie decides to whelp, then.”

      “Yes, do. I want to be there.” Mastiffs sometimes had trouble giving birth, and none of Dawn’s ever whelped without a vet present. Markie loved the opportunity to be there; most dog owners didn’t bother, and nearly everyone on the island had their pets neutered anyway. Seeing puppies born was becoming something of a treat for her.

      After Dawn left, Markie noticed that Kato had vanished from the back rooms of the clinic, no doubt gone to his cool retreat in the farthest reaches of the kennel. The reason was soon evident, as Markie discovered that her next three patients were cats.

      Kato took after his husky forebears in his dislike for cats. At least he merely disdained them and didn’t look upon them as part of the food chain, as many huskies did. The cats, of course, weren’t insulted. They disdained him as the lower order creature he clearly was.

      Once the cats were gone, and the iguana and the rabbit arrived, Kato reappeared, licking the rabbit comfortingly and regarding the iguana with sympathy as Markie cleaned and patched a festering wound in its side.

      The day passed as so many others before it had, with only two differences: Declan Quinn popped into her mind dozens of times, and by the end of the day she was wishing she had invited him in for coffee last night. And she couldn’t shake the memory of Kato’s low, mournful howl.

      “I am not going to quarantine this island,” Stan Freshik told Declan on the phone. He was the chief of the emergency management team, a good man who was used to dealing with hurricanes, not diseases. He had plenty of excellent evacuation plans, but no quarantine options. Such an eventuality had never been considered. “Do you have any idea what kind of panic that will cause?”

      “It’s going to cause a panic anyway,” Declan told him flatly. “I can’t keep this a secret. That would be criminal. And CDC is already sending a biohazard response team. If you won’t shut us down, they will.”

      “Jesus, Dec. You don’t even know what this is. You can’t say for sure it’s contagious.”

      “But I can’t say for sure that it isn’t.