Marion Lennox - Abby and the Bachelor Cop

‘Move the car, Abby.’ Raff’s voice was inexorable. She glanced up and he was filling her windscreen.

‘I don’t want…’

‘You don’t always get what you want,’ he growled. ‘I thought you were old enough to figure that out. While you’re figuring, shift the car.’

‘But…’

‘Or I’ll get you towed for obstructing traffic,’ he snapped. ‘No choice, lady. Move.’

So all she had to do was take one dog to the vet’s and get herself to court. How hard was that?

She drove and Kleppy stayed motionless on the passenger seat and looked at her. Looking as if he trusted her with his life.

She felt sick.

This wasn’t her responsibility. Kleppy belonged to an old guy who’d died six weeks ago. His daughter didn’t want him. No one else had claimed him, so the sensible, humane thing to do was have him put down.

But what if…? What if…?

Oh, help, what she thinking?

She was getting married on Saturday week. To Philip.

Nine days.

Her tiny house was full of wedding presents. Her wedding gown was hanging in the hall, a vision of beaded ivory satin. She’d made it herself, every stitch. She loved that dress.

This dog would walk past it and she’d have dog hair on ivory silk…

Well, that was a dumb thing to think. For this dog to walk past it, he’d have to be in her house, and this dog was headed to the vet’s. To be put down.

He looked up at her and whimpered. His paw came out and touched her knee.

Her heart turned over. Nooooo.

It took five minutes to drive to the vet’s. Kleppy’s paw rested against her knee the whole time.

She pulled up. Kleppy wasn’t shaking. She was.

Fred came out to meet her. The elderly vet looked grim. He went straight to the passenger door. Tugged it open.

‘Raff rang to say you were coming,’ he said, lifting Kleppy out. ‘Thanks for bringing him. Do you know when the rest are coming?’

‘I… Henrietta was trying to catch them. How many?’

‘More than I want to think about,’ Fred said grimly. ‘Three months from Christmas, puppies stop being cute. Not your call, though. I’ll deal with him from here.’

Kleppy lay limp in Fred’s arms. He looked back at her.

The paw on her knee…

Help. Help, help, help.

‘It’ll be quick?’

Fred glanced at her, brows snapping. Abby had gone to school with Fred’s daughter. He knew her well. ‘Don’t,’ he said.

‘Don’t what?’

‘Think about it. Get on with your life. Nine days till the wedding?’

‘I…yes.’

‘Then you’ve enough on your plate without worrying about stray dogs. Not that you and Philip would ever want a dog. You’re not dog people.’

‘What…what do you mean?’

‘Dogs are mess,’ he said. ‘Not your style. You guys might qualify for a goldfish. See you later, love. Happy wedding if I don’t see you before.’

He turned away. She could no longer see Kleppy.

She could feel him.

His eyes…

Help. Help, help, help.

She was a goldfish person? She’d never even had a goldfish.

A paw on her knee…

He reached the door before she broke.

‘Fred?’

The vet turned. Kleppy was still slumped.

‘Yes?’

‘I can’t bear this,’ she said. ‘Can you…can you take him in, check him out for damage and then give him back to me?’

‘Give him back?’

‘Yes.’

‘You want him?’

‘He’s my wedding present to me.’ She knew she sounded defiant but she didn’t care. ‘I’ve decided. How hard can one dog be? I can do this. Kleppy is mine.’

Fred did his best to dissuade her. ‘A dog is for life, Abigail. Small dogs like Kleppy live for sixteen years or longer. That’s ten years at least of keeping this dog.’

‘Yes.’ But ten years? That was a fact to give her pause.

But the paw…

‘He’s a mutt,’ Fred said. ‘Mostly Cairn but a bit of something else.’

‘That’s okay.’ Her voice was better, she decided. Firmer. If she was adopting a stray, what use was a pedigree?

‘What will Philip say?’

‘Philip will say I’m crazy, but it’ll be fine,’ she said stoutly, though in truth she did have qualms. ‘Is he okay?’

Fred was checking him, even as he tried to dissuade her. ‘He seems shocked, and he’s much thinner than when Isaac brought him in for his last vaccinations. My guess is that he’s barely eaten since the old man died. Isaac found him six years back, as a pup, dumped out in the bush. There were a few problems, but in the end they were pretty much inseparable.’

Inseparable? The word suddenly pushed her back to the scene she’d just left. To Raff.

Once upon a time, she and Raff had been inseparable, she thought, and inexplicably there was a crazy twist of her heart.

Inseparable. This dog. The paw…

‘He looks okay,’ Fred said, feeding him a liver treat. Kleppy took it with dignified politeness. ‘Just deflated from what life’s done to him. So now what?’

‘I take him home.’

‘You’ll need food. Bedding. A decent chain.’

‘I’ll stop at the pet store. Tell me what to get.’

But Fred was glancing at his watch, looking anxious. ‘I’m urgently needed at a calving. Tell you what, you’ll be seeing Raff again in court. Raff’ll tell you what you need.’

‘How did you know…?’

‘Everyone knows everything in Banksia Bay,’ Fred said. ‘I know where you’re supposed to be right now. I know Raff’s had the case set back half an hour and I hear Judge Weatherby’s not happy. He’s fed up with Raff though, not you, so chances are you’ll get Baxter off. Which no one in Banksia Bay will be happy about. But hey, if your fees go toward buying dog food, then who am I to argue? Get Baxter off, then talk to Raff about dog food. He gets a discount at the Stock and Station store.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Raff has one pony, two dogs, three cats, two rabbits and, at last count, eighteen guinea pigs,’ Fred said, handing her Kleppy and starting to clear up. ‘His place is a menagerie. It’s a wonder he didn’t take this one but I guess even Raff has limits. He has a lot on his plate. See you later, love. Happy wedding and happy new dog.’

SHE couldn’t go to the Stock and Station store now. That’d have to wait until she’d talked to Raff. Still, Kleppy obviously needed something. What? Best guess.

She stopped at the supermarket and bought a water bowl, a nice red lead with pictures of balls on it and a marrowbone.

She drove to the courthouse and Kleppy lay on the passenger seat and looked anxious. His tail had stopped wagging.

‘Hey, I saved you,’ she told him. ‘Look happy.’

He obviously didn’t get the word saved. He sort of…hunched.

What was she going to do with him while she was in court?

She drove her car into her personal parking space. How neat was this? She remembered the day her name had gone up. Her parents had cracked champagne.

It was a fine car park. But…it was in full sun.

She might not be a dog person but she wasn’t dumb. She couldn’t leave Kleppy here. Nor could she take him home-or not yet-not until she’d done something about dog-proofing. Her parents? Ha! They’d take him right back to Fred.

So she drove two blocks to the local park. There were shade trees here and she could tie him by her car. Anyone passing would know he hadn’t been abandoned.

She hoped Kleppy would know it, too.

She gave him water and his bone and he slumped on the ground and looked miserable.

Maybe he didn’t know it.

She looked at him and sighed. She took off her jacket-her lovely tailored jacket that matched her skirt exactly-and she laid it beside Kleppy.

He sniffed it. The paw came out again-and he inched forward on his belly until it was under him.

Her very expensive jacket was on dirt and grass, and under dog. Her professional jacket.

She didn’t actually like that jacket anyway; she preferred less serious clothes. She was five foot four and a bit…mousy. But maybe lawyers should be mousy. Her shiny brown hair curled happily when she let it hang to her shoulders but Philip liked it in a chignon. She had freckles but Philip liked her to wear foundation that disguised them. She had a neat figure that looked good in a suit. Professional. Lawyers should be professional.

She’d given up on professional this morning. She was so late.

Oh, but Kleppy looked sad.

‘I’ll be back at midday,’ she told him. ‘Two hours, tops. Promise. Then we’ll work out where we go from here.’

Where? She’d think of something. She must.

Maybe Raff…

There was a thought.

Fred had said Raff had a menagerie. What difference would one dog make? Once upon a time, he’d had seven.

Instead of advice, maybe she could persuade him to take him.

‘You’d like Rafferty Finn,’ she told Kleppy. ‘He’s basically a good man.’ Good but flawed-trouble-but she didn’t need to go into that with Kleppy.

But how to talk him into it? Or Philip into the alternative?

It was too hard to think of that right now. She grabbed her briefcase and headed to the courthouse without looking back. Or without looking back more than half a dozen times.

Kleppy watched her until she was out of sight.

Heart twist. She didn’t want to leave him.

It couldn’t matter. Her work was in front of her and what was more important than work?

What was facing her was the case of The Crown versus Wallace Baxter.

Wallace was one of three Banksia Bay accountants. The other two made modest incomes. Wallace, however, had the biggest house in Banksia Bay. The Baxter kids went to the best private school in Sydney. Sylvia Baxter drove a Mercedes Coupé, and they skied in Aspen twice a year. They owned a lodge there.

‘Lucky investments,’ Wallace always said but, after years of juggling, his web of dealings had turned into one appalling tangle. Wallace himself wasn’t suffering-his house, cars, even the ski lodge in Aspen, were all in his wife’s name-but there were scores of Banksia Bay’s retirees who were suffering a lot.