Beach Blanket Homicide (Lucy McGuffin, Psychic Amateur Detective 1)

“You got him here just in the nick of time. He was too lethargic to induce vomiting, but we were able to pump his stomach. He’s on IV fluids now.” She pulls the empty Benadryl bottle from her lab coat pocket. “Do you know how many pills he might have ingested?”

I appreciate her professional tone, but I still wince at the unspoken implication that this is my fault. I could have sworn the pills were in my medicine cabinet, but I’ve been so tired lately… I must have left the bottle on the counter top. But with the cap open as well?

“There was at least half a bottle in there. Maybe twenty or so pills? I…I’m allergic to dogs with fur, so I’ve been taking Benadryl to keep from itching.”

She pulls out a clipboard. “Now that he’s stabilized, I’m going to need some more information. Does he have any allergies? How about his previous medical history?”

“I’m not sure.”

“How old is he? What did he eat today?”

“I don’t know how old he is. And he ate the usual. His dog food, which is something that Lanie recommended, and um, well, maybe he also had a blueberry muffin and a granola bar.”

Dr. Brooks stares at me.

A trickle of sweat runs down my back.

I’m the worst dog mother ever.

“She’s only had the dog a few days,” Will says in my defense. He goes on to explain the situation to Dr. Brooks.

“I see.” Her tone is friendlier now. “The dog looks familiar. Has he been here before?”

“I have no idea. Maybe. His name used to be Cornelius. Does that ring a bell?”

“I’d definitely remember a dog with the name Cornelius.” Her forehead scrunches up like she’s thinking hard. “Still, he looks really familiar.”

“He’s kind of famous,” Lanie says. “He’s a ghost whisperer. Has a huge Facebook following?”

Dr. Brooks makes a face. “That I would definitely remember too. Oh well, it’ll come to me eventually. Is there anyone who might be able to fill in his history?”

I pull out my cell phone and redial the last number on my log, but instead of getting Anthony or Aurelia, Deborah Van Dyke answers.

I tell her what happened to Paco and reassure her that he’s going to be all right.

“Oh, I don’t blame you a bit for trying to calm him down with medication. What a little beast. I have no idea why Susan took him in. He was always getting into things.”

I don’t bother to correct her assumption that I’d purposely given Paco the Benadryl. I’m more interested in her last statement. “You mean, he’s gotten into pills before?”

“Not pills, but the dog was always getting into mischief. One time he chewed through the strap on my Louis Vuitton bag.” I can hear her shudder over the line. “Thank God, I don’t have to worry about that anymore. He’s nothing more than a rude little mutt. My poor sister. I’m sure it was all his barking and carrying on that caused her heart attack.”

“Heart attack? I thought Susan had cancer.”

“She did, but it was in remission. Strangely enough, she died of a massive heart attack.” For the first time, I hear empathy in Deborah’s voice. “It was actually a blessing. Fast and quick. In her sleep. Susan was terribly afraid of lingering for weeks in pain. At least she was spared that.”

I’m still processing this information when I glance up and see Dr. Brooks waiting patiently.

“Deborah, the vet needs Cornelius’s health history. Is there any way—”

“Let me get you Aurelia. She’ll know the information you need.”

Aurelia gets on the line. I hand the phone over to Dr. Brooks, who asks her the same questions she asked me earlier, only Aurelia can actually answer them.

Dr. Brooks echoes Aurelia’s answers for confirmation, which gives me a chance to find out more about Paco. He’s about four years old, has no known allergies or significant health history, and surprisingly, Susan Van Dyke wasn’t his first owner. She found him walking down the street a couple of years ago and took him in.

Dr. Brooks finishes up her conversation then hands me back the phone.

“Thank you,” I say to Aurelia.