Wrong Place, Wrong Time by Andrea Kane Page B

jangling sound from the far end of the barn.
    Now
that
could be a good sign. It sure sounded like a metal ID tag and dog license clinking together.
    “Come on, Chomper,” she coaxed, veering in the direction of the jangle. “Peanut butter beats Crayola, hands down.”
    Another jangle.
    She reached the last stall, which was empty, and stepped inside.
    There, settled on a pile of hay, surrounded by purple and green crayon wrappers, was Chomper. His head shot up when Devon walked in, and he wagged his tail proudly. His nose and snout were purple. His paws were green.
    Forcing herself to keep a straight face, Devon squatted down beside him. “No, no,” she chided, taking away the crayons. “Those aren’t to eat.”
    Chomper yipped in protest, trying to snatch the crayons away from her.
    “No,” Devon said firmly. “No crayons.” She shoved them in her coat pocket.
    He paused, looking uncertain.
    “Sit.” Devon issued the command in an unyielding but kind tone. “Chomper, sit.”
    He sat.
    “Good boy.” She flourished the biscuit, offering it to him without hesitation.
    He pounced, gobbling the biscuit with great enthusiasm.
    Devon wrapped her coat more tightly around her. She was shivering. So was Chomper. But she let him finish the biscuit before scooping him up and tucking him inside her coat. “Okay, tough guy. Time to brave the cold. Let’s get you back to the warm house.”
    He nuzzled against her, absorbing her warmth, then happily began licking her chin as she retraced her steps.
    She’d left the barn door slightly ajar. She was just reaching for it, when it was pushed open from the other side.
    Startled, Devon jumped backward to avoid being hit.
    A middle-aged man with a medical case and notebook strode in. “Mr. Pierson? I — ” Seeing Devon, he broke off, looking equally as startled as she. “Excuse me. I assumed you were Mr. Pierson.”
    “No, I’m just a guest, hunting down this little guy.” Devon indicated Chomper, who had poked out his head to sniff the newcomer.
    “I see.” The reedy fellow blinked behind his eyeglasses.
    “Which Mr. Pierson did you want? They’re all inside the house.”
    “Edward. But there’s no need to interrupt him, not at this difficult time. I’ll just see to the horses and be on my way.”
    Devon eyed his bag. “You’re a veterinarian?”
    “In part. Why do you ask?”
    “I don’t mean to be nosy. I just recognize the tools of the trade. I’m a veterinarian myself.”
    “Are you?” He looked concerned. “I had no idea Mr. Pierson hired someone new. When did this happen?”
    “It didn’t.” Devon waved away the notion that she was a threat to this man’s job. “I’m here for personal, not professional, reasons.”
    “Oh.” He shifted awkwardly. “I apologize. Are you family?”
    “No.” Devon felt compelled to explain. “I’m Sally Montgomery’s daughter. My mother owns the house next door.”
    “Sally Montgomery?” Anxiety transformed to sympathy. “The newspaper said… that is, she was the woman who… who…”
    “…was with Frederick Pierson in Lake Luzerne when the cabin caught fire,” Devon finished for him.
    “She survived, didn’t she?”
    “Yes. But she’s missing.” Devon kept the explanation short.
    “That’s what I read.” He shifted the medical bag to his other hand. “I hope she’s brought home, safe and soon.”
    “Thank you.” Devon inclined her head quizzically. “I’m sorry; I didn’t catch your name.”
    “Vista. Dr. Lawrence Vista.”
    “Dr. Vista.” Devon acknowledged his introduction. “Are you an equine specialist?”
    “I’m a genetic consultant. I’m advising Mr. Pierson on the best breeding partners for his show horses.”
    Devon’s curiosity was piqued. “So you examine his horses and make genetic assessments and recommendations?”
    “Precisely.”
    “That sounds fascinating. I’d love to hear more about it….” She frowned, as Chomper began squirming again. “But now’s