Too Soon a Death: A Scottish mystery where cosy crime meets tartan noir: Borders Mysteries Book 2 by Janet O'Kane Page B
Authors: Janet O'Kane
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vehicles coming from behind it prevented this manoeuvre. Even with his face turned from her, the driver, in a faded red tee-shirt and ripped jeans, looked unlike any journalist or freelance photographer she’d been hassled by in the past. And he seemed desperate to get away, not confront her.
‘Why are you following me?’ Zoe shouted. The driver kept his face averted. She went to grab the door handle and at that moment, the Fiesta jerked forward and pulled away in a cloud of diesel fumes. She stumbled back against the hedge which lined the pavement.
A middle-aged woman rushed up to her. ‘Are you alright, hen? You need to take care of yersel, y’know.’
‘Thank you, I’m fine.’
For much of the way home, Zoe berated herself for not having had the presence of mind to take the Fiesta’s registration number, but by the time she arrived back at Keeper’s Cottage she realised that information would only be useful if she intended to involve the police, which she definitely didn’t want to do. Mather would insist on making it official and she couldn’t bear getting caught up in yet another investigation.
For the first time in months, she locked her front door as soon as she got inside. Mac’s greeting was more subdued than usual, probably because his inflamed eye was troubling him. Although reluctant to go out again, she couldn’t ignore it and called the vet for an appointment. Only the last one of the day was left and it became obvious as soon as they entered the crowded waiting area that Patrick and his colleagues were behind schedule. The smell of disinfectant hung in the air and a wet-floor sign stood in the passageway leading to the consulting rooms. A young woman dressed in a tiny pair of shorts and balancing a cat basket on her knees slid along the bench seat to make room for Zoe to sit down. Mac lay at her feet, his tail wagging slowly as he sized up the other dogs.
Patrick appeared beside an elderly man with red-rimmed eyes who carried a small dog-collar. He nodded at Zoe and as the man produced his wallet with a shaking hand, took his arm and escorted him past the reception desk, murmuring, ‘Don’t worry about that now.’ The waiting pet owners looked on in sympathy and several reached for their own pets. Zoe got out her book.
Forty minutes after their appointed time, Patrick ushered them into his room.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting so long. It’s been a hectic afternoon.’
‘Don’t worry. I often find it impossible to stick to a schedule too. You can’t just throw patients out of the door when their time’s up.’
He bent down to look at Mac’s eye. ‘So this has come on since his adventure at the weekend?’
‘I thought there was no lasting damage but a couple of days later he started rubbing his head on the carpet then he developed a squint in that eye. Now there’s a discharge coming from it.’
Mac was on his best behaviour as Zoe held him and Patrick cleaned out his eye then put a warm compress over it for a few minutes. Apart from reassuring the dog this wouldn’t take long and praising him for his patience, neither of them spoke.
After administering the first dose of antibiotic drops and rewarding Mac with a biscuit, Patrick stood up, stretched his back and looked at Zoe. ‘You’ll need to clean his eye morning and evening before putting the drops in. I don’t have to tell you to wear gloves, do I? Especially at the moment.’
‘No you don’t,’ Zoe said, putting Mac’s lead back on. Worried she may have sounded curt, she added, ‘Thanks for seeing us. You’ve had to work very late this evening.’
Patrick reached for the door to let her out, but stopped short of opening it. ‘I enjoyed our chat at the Mackenzie barbeque, and Mac got on well with Peggy. I wonder if you’d like to come out for a walk with us over the weekend? Not a long one, of course. Even dachshunds with a full complement of legs don’t need as much exercise as a dog Mac’s size.’
Zoe’s
‘Why are you following me?’ Zoe shouted. The driver kept his face averted. She went to grab the door handle and at that moment, the Fiesta jerked forward and pulled away in a cloud of diesel fumes. She stumbled back against the hedge which lined the pavement.
A middle-aged woman rushed up to her. ‘Are you alright, hen? You need to take care of yersel, y’know.’
‘Thank you, I’m fine.’
For much of the way home, Zoe berated herself for not having had the presence of mind to take the Fiesta’s registration number, but by the time she arrived back at Keeper’s Cottage she realised that information would only be useful if she intended to involve the police, which she definitely didn’t want to do. Mather would insist on making it official and she couldn’t bear getting caught up in yet another investigation.
For the first time in months, she locked her front door as soon as she got inside. Mac’s greeting was more subdued than usual, probably because his inflamed eye was troubling him. Although reluctant to go out again, she couldn’t ignore it and called the vet for an appointment. Only the last one of the day was left and it became obvious as soon as they entered the crowded waiting area that Patrick and his colleagues were behind schedule. The smell of disinfectant hung in the air and a wet-floor sign stood in the passageway leading to the consulting rooms. A young woman dressed in a tiny pair of shorts and balancing a cat basket on her knees slid along the bench seat to make room for Zoe to sit down. Mac lay at her feet, his tail wagging slowly as he sized up the other dogs.
Patrick appeared beside an elderly man with red-rimmed eyes who carried a small dog-collar. He nodded at Zoe and as the man produced his wallet with a shaking hand, took his arm and escorted him past the reception desk, murmuring, ‘Don’t worry about that now.’ The waiting pet owners looked on in sympathy and several reached for their own pets. Zoe got out her book.
Forty minutes after their appointed time, Patrick ushered them into his room.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting so long. It’s been a hectic afternoon.’
‘Don’t worry. I often find it impossible to stick to a schedule too. You can’t just throw patients out of the door when their time’s up.’
He bent down to look at Mac’s eye. ‘So this has come on since his adventure at the weekend?’
‘I thought there was no lasting damage but a couple of days later he started rubbing his head on the carpet then he developed a squint in that eye. Now there’s a discharge coming from it.’
Mac was on his best behaviour as Zoe held him and Patrick cleaned out his eye then put a warm compress over it for a few minutes. Apart from reassuring the dog this wouldn’t take long and praising him for his patience, neither of them spoke.
After administering the first dose of antibiotic drops and rewarding Mac with a biscuit, Patrick stood up, stretched his back and looked at Zoe. ‘You’ll need to clean his eye morning and evening before putting the drops in. I don’t have to tell you to wear gloves, do I? Especially at the moment.’
‘No you don’t,’ Zoe said, putting Mac’s lead back on. Worried she may have sounded curt, she added, ‘Thanks for seeing us. You’ve had to work very late this evening.’
Patrick reached for the door to let her out, but stopped short of opening it. ‘I enjoyed our chat at the Mackenzie barbeque, and Mac got on well with Peggy. I wonder if you’d like to come out for a walk with us over the weekend? Not a long one, of course. Even dachshunds with a full complement of legs don’t need as much exercise as a dog Mac’s size.’
Zoe’s
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