She was just beginning to relax when the phone rang. Sunny turned from the refrigerator to pick up the handset. Jane’s voice burst into her ear. “After you called me this morning, I rang up Martin, determined to have it out with him. He has late office hours this evening and told me to come over then. So here I am, ready to go, and wouldn’t you know it, I’ve got a flat. I suppose I could call a cab, but any chance you could give me a lift?” Her voice slowed in embarrassment. “I wouldn’t mind a little backup when I go to see him.”
After Mike agreed, Sunny told Jane she’d be there soon and hung up. It was a brief drive to the Kittery Harbor Animal Hospital, where Jane stood pacing beside her disabled BMW. She quickly climbed aboard Sunny’s Wrangler, and they took the bridge over the Piscataqua River to Portsmouth.
As she drove across the span, Sunny glanced at Jane. “Remember all the times we’d cross this in a school bus? And when we got to the middle—”
“That was childish,” Jane complained.
“Yeah, but it was fun—and you usually led it. Come on.”
Jane sighed but nodded. Then both of them chanted, “
“Childish,” Jane repeated, chuckling.
“It made you laugh, though,” Sunny pointed out.
Following Jane’s directions, Sunny cut through the downtown district and headed off to the outskirts of Pease Airport, where Martin Rigsdale had set up his office.
The practice was in an old house, large and impressive at first glance. The clapboard siding had a fresh coat of shiny white paint, and the first floor had been renovated as an office for Martin’s practice. But the upstairs gutters were old and discolored, and the roof looked a bit saggy in spots. Sunny pulled up on the street near a stand of wild-looking shrubbery, and she and Jane got out of the Jeep. Even on the ride over, the weather had gotten colder and damper.
Jane sighed. “That’s probably why he’s after me for the foundation money.” She squared her shoulders, her face taking on that ice queen expression. “Well, he’s not getting any. I don’t care what he threatens to drag up. You can take that to the bank.”
With Jane in the lead, they headed up the walk to the entrance marked with a discreet bronze plaque: M. RIGSDALE, VETERINARY MEDICINE.
Jane jabbed a thumb at the doorbell as if she were aiming for Martin’s eye. A moment later, they were buzzed in. The reception area looked expensive—blond wood paneling and deep plush chairs—but it didn’t match the architecture outside. The receptionist was blond, too, slim but shapely, wearing a white smock that emphasized generous cleavage. She had a pretty but sulky face, with soft features and a pout that she tried to harden into a professional mask. “I’m afraid you don’t have an appointment,” she said, aiming for coolness, but it came out more snotty than anything else.
“I have personal business with Dr. Rigsdale,” Jane said, cutting through the high school mean girl attitude. To tell the truth, Sunny estimated that the receptionist wasn’t all that long out of high school. “I’m also Dr. Rigsdale. Martin asked me to come and see him this evening.”
