Foul Play

Chapter Three

Amy closed her front door behind her and momentarily leaned against it, appreciating the peace and tranquillity of home. She’d survived teaching first grade and had thrived on the hectic pace of television, but she’d never encountered anything like Jacob Elliott’s veterinary clinic. It was a looney bin.

After just a half day on the job, Amy had come to realize Jake never refused a patient. Consequently, he continually ran late, and his small waiting room was always packed to overflowing with howling dogs, frantic cats, and chattering humans. Actually, the humans didn’t seem to mind. They swapped pet stories and read pet magazines. Only occasionally did they glance at their watches with annoyed expressions. Usually this was followed by resigned smiles and a settling of their bodies deeper into the soft leather couch.

Jake seemed oblivious to the chaos, giving each animal his full attention, looking unhurried and unruffled as he amiably moved from one examining room to the next. Clearly a man who loved his work and staunchly ignored structure and time limits.

Fortunately, Amy thought, she was good at organizing details. She’d been raised in a military household where frequent moves necessitated efficiency. Her closets and drawers were neat, her laundry done on schedule, her shopping lists were all-inclusive. She looked the stereotyped image of a dizzy blonde, but under the curls was a level head with quick intelligence, high standards, and tidy emotions. Until that chicken and Jacob Elliott had entered her life, anyway.

“I’m not myself,” she explained to the empty house. “I’ve turned into an airhead. Ugh, how awful.” She left her shoes in the small foyer and padded barefoot to the kitchen.

An hour later she had rolled out two homemade pizza crusts; covered them with a coating of spaghetti sauce, thin-sliced onions, peppers, and mushrooms; topped the pizzas with a thick layer of mozzarella cheese; and popped them into the oven. She laid a place setting on the little kitchen table, delighting in the familiar ritual of eating peacefully, and breathed a sigh of relief that her life was coming back together.

Everything about her was normal. Normal kitchen table. Normal kitchen light. Normal kitchen clock. She slouched into a chair. “Hmmm.” She didn’t feel normal. She felt… agitated. She needed exercise. The soles of her feet fairly buzzed with the need to move.

“Okay feet, now what?” Her bare feet did a little tap dance on the tile floor and led her to the discarded running shoes. Amy changed into running shorts and a T-shirt, laced up her shoes and remembered the pizza. She pulled the aromatic rounds out of the oven, set them on the counter to cool, and let her feet carry her out the front door.

Twenty minutes later she returned to find Jake sitting in her kitchen, eating her pizza. “The door was open,” he explained.

“That’s what Goldilocks said.”

“You shouldn’t go out and leave your door open. Some pervert could waltz right in.”

Amy bit her lip.

Her hair was dark with sweat and plastered to her face in Betty Boop ringlets. Her shirt was soaked through, a sheen of moisture clung to her flushed face and bare arms, and her breathing was slightly labored. It was the first time Jake had ever gotten turned on by sweat.

“Been running?” he asked, making an effort not to spring out of his chair and pin her to the floor.

Amy wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Yeah.” She took a deep cleansing breath. “I love to run. Running always relaxes me.”

“Me too.”

Amy looked at him in delighted surprise. “How often do you run?”

He crossed his fingers under the table. “Every day. Couldn’t do without it.” The truth was, he hated running. He found it incredibly boring, preferring to get his exercise in a pickup game of football or a fast sprint to the refrigerator. But the prospect of laboring alongside Amy was irresistibly appealing.

“Maybe we could run together. I don’t live far from here. We could run every night after work,” Jake said.

“You sure you want to run with me? I’d probably slow you down.”

“I wouldn’t mind slowing down some. It’d be nice to have someone to talk to, to pace myself with.” Was she buying this? Jake wondered, nonchalantly dabbing at his mouth with his napkin.

Amy cut herself a slice of pizza and nibbled at the end. She ran to relax. How could she relax if Jake was matching her stride for stride… in shorts.

She poured out two glasses of iced tea and sat across from him at the table. You’re making a big deal about nothing, she told herself. The man just wants a running partner to break up the monotony. It’s a perfectly harmless offer… from a harmless, incredibly attractive veterinarian. No big deal. She could handle it.

Jake stared at the empty pizza pan and felt a twinge of guilt. “I’m sorry about the pizza. I couldn’t help myself. I was on my way home, minding my own business, and suddenly my car was surrounded by pizza fumes. I tried to resist, but it was impossible. I guess you think I’m a weak man.”

Amy looked at him sideways. “I think you’re full of… pizza. Why are you here?”

“I came to pick up my TV dinners. I forgot to take them yesterday. The part about not being able to resist your pizza is true, though. And, well, I guess I came over to ogle you a little bit, too.” Oh boy, did he just say that? “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to say that. I swear, it just popped out.”

“It just popped out, eh?”

“No. Well, actually… yes.”

Amy wasn’t sure how to respond to being ogled, so she busied herself with a large bite of pizza.

“Do you mind?” Jake asked.

She might have known he wouldn’t be the sort of man to let it rest. There was an evil smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “No, I don’t mind. Would you?”

“Hey, ogle away.”

Amy tried to swallow the glob of pizza in her mouth, but it was difficult getting past the lump of panic in her throat. If truth were told, she wasn’t good at being looked at. And being ogled by Jake was extremely unnerving. In fact, she suddenly had an urgent need to run around the block a few more times. Afraid that might be obvious, she opted for just draining her glass of iced tea and placing it in the dishwasher.

Jake gave her his empty glass and tweaked a blond curl. “Since I ate your pizza, I think it’s only fair I supply dessert. How about an ice cream cone?”

Amy lay in bed and wriggled her toes, listening to the cicadas singing in the oak tree outside her window, signaling the beginning of another hot summer morning in Virginia. Her digital clock said 6:55. That seemed like the middle of the day after years of arising at four. A welcome luxury, Amy thought, shutting off the alarm before it rang. She missed being Lulu the Clown, but being a veterinary receptionist had some advantages. One of them was three extra hours of sleep; another was the veterinarian.

Jacob Elliott was absolutely wonderful, impressively nice, and a total enigma. He’d taken her out for an ice cream cone, stopped by the clinic to make sure the injured cockapoo puppy was recovering properly from surgery, and taken Amy home without even so much as a good-night kiss. It was practically insulting, and it was definitely disappointing. Maybe being kissed made her nervous, but that didn’t mean she minded being a little nervous! Amy wrinkled her nose. Men. Who could figure?

She took a quick shower and rifled her closet for an appropriate outfit, finally settling on a peach knit shirt. She shook out her curls, applied a thin line of eyeliner, thickening mascara, and a touch of peach-toned blusher. She squinted at her reflection in the mirror, deciding she looked about fourteen. No wonder Jake hadn’t kissed her last night. Criminy, she wished she had cleavage! She looked at herself more sternly. Jacob Elliott was making her crazy. She’d always been proud of her lithe, athletic body before. Now she was worried about cleavage. Yuck.

“Get a grip,” she told herself. She had a cab drop her at the supermarket parking lot so she could retrieve her car and her purse. She plugged her extra key into the ignition and drove the short distance to the office.

At midafternoon Jake took a moment to watch Amy organize his office. Files were all in proper order, phone messages were neatly stacked on a special clipboard, and somehow, she was managing to schedule appointments so that he was almost on time. And, not only was she efficient, he thought, she was adorable. Her shirt was the same color as her cheeks and soft, kissable lips, and the outfit she was wearing subtly hinted at high round breasts and a slim, girlish waist.

Jake followed her startled expression as the front door burst open and a sobbing brunette dragged a kennel cage into the waiting room.

As the woman bent to peer into the mesh window of the cage, Jake was treated to a full view of her derriere, clad in skimpy pink shorts. When she straightened and rushed toward him the word that popped into his mind was voluptuous. She wore a matching tight pink sweater that had been unbuttoned halfway down her sternum to display barely contained, perfectly tanned breasts.

The woman grabbed Jake by the lapels of his white lab coat. “Are you Dr. Elliott?”

Jake looked into her large brown eyes, swimming in tears, and wondered at the weight of her mascaraed eyelashes. How the devil did she keep her eyes open with all that gunk on them? He looked closer, realized the lashes were fake, and smiled at her, already amused. “Yup. I’m Dr. Elliott.”

“This is an emergency,” she sobbed, pulling him toward the crate. “My bird is sick. There’s something terribly wrong with him. He was fine this morning, and then he just keeled over. Do you suppose he could have had a heart attack?”

Jake attempted to lift the cage and was surprised at the weight. Definitely not a parakeet here, he thought. This was a big bird.

“Amy, do we have an examining room open?”

Amy didn’t move a muscle.

“Earth to Amy,” Jake said. “How about Room Three? Is Room Three empty?”

Amy knew this brunette, and she knew exactly what was in the cage. “It’s the chicken,” she said in a hoarse, choked whisper, feeling as though she’d been hit in the face with a pie.

Jake peered into the cage. “Oh, my-” Amy was right. It was Rhode Island Red… the rooster that broke Amy’s heart.

The brunette took a step backward. “What’s wrong? He isn’t dead, is he? Oh geez, don’t tell me he’s dead.”

He wasn’t dead, but Jake didn’t think he looked too good. He was hunkered down in the back of the cage with his eyes closed.

“Listen, Dr. Elliott,” the brunette said, “this rooster’s worth lots of money. He’s a television star. Do something!”

Jake set the cage on an examining table, opened it, and gingerly lifted out the rooster. The bird was lifeless on the table.

“I have to be honest with you,” Jake said. “We only treat domestic animals here. I haven’t had much experience with roosters.”

“Maybe it just needs vitamins. Maybe it’s anemic. Can roosters get mono? He’s been working awfully hard, ya know.”

After questioning her about the bird’s diet and any possible trauma it may have suffered, he listened to the bird’s heart. “How old is this fellow?”

The brunette shrugged. “I don’t know. I bought him a couple months ago at the farmers’ market.”

Jake stroked the glossy sienna feathers. “Why don’t you leave him here overnight. I’d like to run a few tests.”

“The tests won’t take too long, will they? He has to be up and dancing by Monday morning.”

Jake thought they’d be lucky if the bird was still breathing by Monday morning. “We’ll get started right away.”

“You sure he’ll be okay here?”

“I’ll put him in intensive care. He’ll be nice and safe. We need to keep him quiet.”

She took a tissue from her purse and blew her nose. “Poor bird. All those years on a dirty old chicken farm, and just when he makes it big… tragedy strikes.”

Jake bit his lip. This woman was going to be in deep trouble when the chicken died; the chicken had all the brains. “I’ll do what I can for him.”

It was six-thirty when Amy shut her computer down for the day, switched the phone over to the answering machine, and walked down the short hall, looking for Jake. She found him in intensive care, studying his patients, his thumbs hooked into his jeans pockets.

“The puppy looks good,” she offered.

Jake smiled. “He’s a feisty little guy. Scarfed down all his food today.”

There was only one other occupant in the small room, and Amy didn’t know what to say about it. The rooster looked awful. “Did anything show up on Red’s tests?”

Jake shook his head no.

“You think he’ll be okay?”

“Just between you and me, Amy,” Jake said, his voice reflecting the helplessness he felt, “my professional opinion is that he’s cock-a-doodled his last doodle.”

“How awful.”

Jake stared thoughtfully at the bird. “I’d like to think of him as a very old rooster that’s led one hell of a life and is going out in a blaze of glory.”

“It’s still sad. He’s kind of pretty.”

“He might perk up. Maybe he’s just not cut out for show biz. Hot lights and a lot of noise aren’t parts of a rooster’s natural environment. We’ll let him have a restful night and reevaluate his condition first thing tomorrow.”

Amy slumped against the wall. “Boy, I feel really crummy about this. In all honesty, there’s a part of me that’s still bitter about being replaced by this chicken. I’m not mad at him, really, but I wouldn’t mind seeing the station have second thoughts on Monday morning.”

“Maybe you should iron your clown suit tonight. Just in case.”

Amy shook her head. “They made up their mind to have a new format. If it isn’t the chicken, it’ll be something else. Something new. Besides, there’s still the star’s trainer.”

“That trainer looks like a real dunderhead.”

“She has mega cleavage,” Amy said wistfully.

Jake adjusted the IV on the puppy and closed the cage door. “I don’t think cleavage is going to help her when they discover she’s a lot less entertaining than her pet.”

“Are you kidding me? We’re talking about a station that hired a bird to host a children’s show! You honestly think there’s any logic to their thinking?”

She was right, Jake thought. What a shame. Amy had to keep working as his receptionist. He made a concerted effort not to look ecstatic, but wasn’t totally successful.

“Well, you seem a little happier, anyway.”

“Me? I guess it’s because… I’m looking forward to our running date tonight.”

“Running!” Amy thunked her forehead with her fist. “I’d completely forgotten.” Running would be wonderful, just what she needed after a day like today. She smiled brightly and slung her purse over her shoulder.

“Give me ten minutes to drive home and three minutes to change,” she said, heading for the door.

Jake watched Amy disappear, then glanced at the time. In approximately one hour he’d be nicely refreshed from a leisurely workout and relaxing in the cool comfort of Amy’s living room. Then maybe they’d move into the kitchen for an informal supper. Then what? Hmmm. Okay!

He shook his head in disgust. “Elliott,” he said, “you’re a barbarian.” Remember the plan about letting her make the first move? Have some patience, for crying out loud.

Actually, he figured, he probably should take her out somewhere. It was Friday night. He didn’t want to share her, though. He wanted to spend the evening in her house, surrounded by her things, listening to her talk.

He bonked his head against the door to his office. That was so corny. He was in bad shape. Maybe he should just ask her to marry him and get it over with. Ridiculous, he thought. He’d only known her for forty-eight hours. It was too soon. He’d wait until tomorrow.

He found Ida Bird and put her in her cage for the night, opened a can of cat food for Spike, and checked all the doors to make sure they were locked. Closing the front door behind him, he jogged across the parking lot to his car, anticipating a longer run, visualizing Amy trotting beside him, panting from exhaustion and adoration while he slowed his pace to accommodate her.

Nice fantasy, he warned himself. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on her, and she was wearing serious running shoes. For all he knew, she could qualify for the Boston Marathon. He slouched behind the wheel of his car and wondered if he was in trouble.

Nah, he decided, he was much bigger than her, and his legs were at least an inch longer. Of course, those glory days of high school track were more than ten years ago, a voice whispered in his head. You had a doughnut for breakfast, you eat TV dinners, and you drink beer. Then again, you live in a second-floor apartment and stairs have to count for something-don’t they?

One hour later, Jake knew those stairs didn’t count for anything. Amy and he had started out at a moderate pace, chatting companionably, enjoying the slight breeze that rustled in the trees. After about ten minutes of street running, Amy led them to a good-sized pond and turned onto a dirt path.

“This is my favorite part,” she called over to him. “I think if we run a little faster we’ll have time to do two laps before it gets dark.”

Two laps? Was she kidding? He was lucky he’d made it this far; he was a dead man. His calves burned, his feet felt like lead, his T-shirt was soaked through, and he couldn’t breathe. Don’t think about it! he ordered himself. Just concentrate on the woman beside-wait, passing-you, running with long easy strides.

She wore silky black shorts that flapped intriguingly at the side vent, displaying a tantalizing sliver of upper thigh when the breeze was just right. It was enough to keep him going. Wait for the wind, he told himself. Keep putting one foot in front of the other and wait for the wind.

He was relieved when they hit a long downhill grade, then almost groaned out loud when they turned a corner and began climbing. The path stretched endlessly in front of him, leading to what he thought looked like the Matterhorn.

Please, let the Fates allow him to get around just once, and he’d never eat another doughnut. More orange juice, less coffee. No beer. For the rest of his life he’d never have another beer.

Things certainly were looking up, Amy thought. She’d always enjoyed running, but this outing was special. Jake was behind her, seeing her favorite lake for the first time, and Amy imagined it through his eyes.

The setting sun flickered through holes in the tree roof, not quite strong enough to pattern the shaded path. It cast the lake in deep-hued pastels of mauve and teal, encouraging birds to roost and tree toads to commence their evening song. The ground smelled damp and fresh, sometimes surprisingly sweet with honeysuckle, sometimes pungent with fallen leaves and felled trees.

Amy ran effortlessly, relishing Jake’s company, realizing that she’d never enjoyed male companionship like this. Jake was real. She could hear him breathing, hear the steady thud of his footsteps. There was none of the artificiality of her other dates.

Even with Jeff and their brief engagement, there had always been a distance, a formality she never could break through. That relationship had burned so bright and so fast, it seemed a lifetime ago. Maybe it had been; she felt almost untouched by it. Jeff had proven himself a hollow shell.

But, Jake. Jake was the sort of man who belonged in your kitchen. She could imagine him stealing swipes of frosting from a freshly baked cake, or with his nose buried in the newspaper on a Sunday morning. The sexual attraction between them made Amy nervous, but it was exciting, too. And, somehow, Jake eventually always managed to make her relax.

She turned her head to look at him in his faded navy running shorts and gray T-shirt with cutoff sleeves. She didn’t even notice the renegade root snaking across the dirt path until she tripped over it, snagging her toe.

“Yeow,” she gasped, sprawling face first into a rhododendron.

Jake staggered to a halt and wiped the sweat from his eyes.

“Are you okay? You have a thing for leaping into bushes?”

“I skinned my knee.”

Wow. He didn’t want her to be hurt, but he wouldn’t mind if she couldn’t run anymore. Skinned knee, stubbed toe, minor muscle cramp.

He collapsed into the bush next to her. “Looks pretty bad.”

Amy wrinkled her nose and stood. “It’s just a scratch.” She dusted off her legs and shorts and turned to go.

Jake grabbed her by the ankle. “Wait! You shouldn’t run with your knee like that. It’s bleeding. It’ll swell. It’ll get infected.”

“Thanks, Jake, but it’ll be fine, really.”

He held his hand up. “I know about these things. I’m a veterinarian. There are germs in the dirt that are just waiting to jump into that cut. You need a disinfectant.”

He struggled to his feet. “You need to rest, elevate your leg. I’ll cut through these yards and call us a cab…”

Amy rolled her eyes and trotted away. One of Jake’s most endearing traits was his sense of humor. Picking up the pace a little so he wouldn’t get bored, Amy flushed with pleasure at the obvious concern she’d seen on Jake’s face. She had the feeling she had already taken a much bigger fall-for him.

Jake was glad for the encroaching darkness as he doggedly plodded beside Amy, down Gainsborough Drive to Wheatstone, thinking his appendectomy had been less painful than this run. There was little satisfaction in Amy’s declaration that she was tiring. He’d passed “tired” five miles back and was working on “near death.”

He forced himself to walk up her front steps in a normal fashion, dragged himself into the foyer, and sprawled onto the living room rug. “I have a cramp,” he mumbled.

Amy bent to help. “In your leg? Want me to massage it?”

Jake closed his eyes. “Mmmm.”

“Which leg? Right? Left?”

“Yeah.”

“You have a cramp in both legs?”

Jake flopped over onto his back. “I have a cramp in my body.”

“Um, could you be more specific?”

He opened one eye. Tell me this isn’t happening, he said to himself. She’s asking me where I want to be massaged, and I’m too tired to tell her. “It sort of moves around.”

“You need a nice hot shower.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll go home and take one.”

Amy tried to keep the disappointment from her voice. She didn’t want the evening to end so quickly. She didn’t want Jake to leave.

“You could stay for supper. I could put a couple steaks on the grill.”

Jake thought it sounded great, but he didn’t have the energy to chew steak. His only chance of avoiding total humiliation was to get home before rigor mortis set in.

“I’d like to stay for supper, Amy, but I have things to do. This is the night I work out at the gym. You know, Nautilus, and stuff. Then I go for a swim…”

He got up carefully and slowly walked to the door, thinking that his hamstring must have shrunk two inches in the past hour. If she had this kind of stamina on the jogging path, what would she be like in bed?

Maybe he didn’t want to know. He wasn’t sure he could keep up with her. And he definitely wouldn’t want her to find that out…