Halloween Hijinks (A Zoe Donovan Mystery Book 1) (4 page)

I then texted Ellie
, filling her in on our plans. You see, every week for as far back as I can remember, Levi, Ellie, and I have met at the boathouse for dinner, drinks, and a midweek unwind. This week, with the added pressure of athletes on a rampage and the summerlike weather, enjoying a BBQ and margaritas on the beach a day early seemed like just the ticket. I was pretty sure I had plenty of tequila, but I’d need to pick up some limes when I stopped at the farmers market for salad fixings and veggies to grill. As was our custom, Levi would bring the meat and Ellie the dessert.

“I nominate Zoe,” I heard Hazel announce.

Nominate Zoe? I had obviously missed something while daydreams of pumpkin cheesecake and margaritas had been dancing through my mind.

“Nominate Zoe for what?
” I took a risk and asked.

“Chairperson f
or next month’s community dinner,” Hazel answered.

“Oh
, I don’t know,” I backpedaled. “You know I’m happy to help out, but chairperson?”

“Come on
, Zoe, it’s your turn and you know it,” Willa pointed out.

“Yeah
, but November is a really busy month for me,” I tried.

“Busy how?
” I knew Willa was like a dog with a bone once she’d made up her mind about something.

“Fall is mating season for many of our wildlife friends
.”

“And they somehow need your assistance?
” Willa wasn’t letting go.

“Well
, not help exactly.” I actually blushed. “It’s just that . . .” Oh, hell.

“Okay, then
, because Zoe will be busy helping our local wildlife ‘get busy,’” Tawny laughed, “I’ll take the community dinner next month and Zoe can take the Hometown Christmas in December.”

Crap
. “I’m sure the wildlife can get by on their own,” I recanted my earlier objection. The Christmas event was ten times as much work as the community dinner. “I’ll do the dinner.”

“Too late
.” Tawny smiled. “I motion that Zoe and I switch. I’ll take the dinner and Zoe can do Hometown Christmas.”

“I second,” Hazel
joined in.

“No, don’t second,” I
said. “The dinner is fine, really.”

“All in favor
?” Willa ignored me.

“Aye,” everyone in the room except my dad, Levi, Ellie, and
me answered.

“Opposed?
” Willa asked.

“Nay,” I stated loudly
, while Dad, Ellie, and Levi backed me up in more demure tones.

“T
he motion is carried,” Willa declared.

I groaned
. When was I ever going to learn to keep my mouth shut? Ellie shot me a look of sympathy. She’d had to chair the event the previous year and knew what a nightmare it was. Truth be told, December is a slow month for me. The wildlife are mostly sleeping, few people bring their unwanted animals to the shelter right before Christmas, and those animals who are brought in are quickly adopted to dads and moms trying to grant the wishes of their little darlings who want Santa to bring them doggies or kitties this year.

“Don’t worry
. I’ll be in town,” Zak whispered in my ear. “I’ll help you.”

This day just keeps
getting better and better.

The Ashton Falls branch of the Timberland County Animal Shelter is housed in a large log structure shaped like a T. Charlie and I entered the lobby, which is located at the front of the stem of the T. Beyond the lobby is a long hallway with offices, exam rooms, and housing for cats and small animals both wild and domestic. Currently this section houses six cats, a raccoon with a broken leg, two cottontail bunnies that came out on the losing end of an altercation with a dog, and a ferret I suspect was someone’s pet that got away.

When you get to the end of the hall you will find facilities for the dogs to the right
—which include kennels with individual indoor/outdoor runs and a large common area—and wild animals to the left. The wild animal facility is divided into both large and small enclosures. At the far end is the roomiest structure, which is used to house larger wildlife such as our resident bear. Next to that are several smaller enclosures, which are currently occupied by two coyote pups I hope to release soon.

“Mrs. Watson called again,” Jeremy commented as soon as I poured myself a cup of coffee. “She wants us to find a home for Kiva. Her daughter is coming up tomorrow to help her move into the retirement home.”

“
Okay, I’ll pick him up this afternoon.” I sorted through my mail and checked the corkboard for messages. I felt bad for Mrs. Watson. Kiva, a twelve-year-old yellow lab with a slight limp, was her pride and joy, and I knew she had fought her daughter tooth and nail on the family’s decision to move her into an assisted-living facility that didn’t allow dogs. Still, Mrs. Watson was getting on in years and, after a bad fall a couple of months back, she was having a hard time with the stairs leading up to her small house.

Ever since the poor woman
first called me in tears, I had been thinking of potential homes for the hard-to-place dog. I needed to find someone kind and gentle who would be patient with the elderly canine; someone who would be willing to make the thirty-mile drive to take Kiva to visit Mrs. Watson every now and then. After a lot of thought and much consideration, I believed I’d found the perfect candidate, the most gentle and compassionate man I know, my dad.

“
That Border collie we brought in a couple of weeks ago was finally adopted.” Jeremy, a twenty-year-old, stick-thin heavy metal drummer with a nose ring and a neck tattoo, brushed his long brown hair out of his eyes as he handed me the adoption paperwork.

“That’s good.  I was beginning to worry about finding a home for such an active little dog.” County regulations state that dogs and cats that remain unadopted after six weeks at the shelter must be sent to the main facility in the valley for “processing.” (That’s a pretty way of saying they’re euthanized.) Since I technically work for the county, I’m supposed to adhere to that rule. Of course, pigs will fly before I send even one of my charges off to an untimely death, so Jeremy and I make it our mission to seek out matches for our orphans long before the six weeks approach. The average stay for any of our adoptees is less than two weeks unless medical conditions requiring monitoring and treatment dictate a longer visit.

“
That only leaves us with four cats and three dogs to place,” Jeremy added. “I’m confident we can find them homes at the adoption booth on Sunday. Once we release the bear cub and those coyote pups, things are going to be pretty quiet around here.”

“Ideally,” I agreed, “but unfortunately that isn’t the way things usua
lly work. I’ve been working here for eight years and have yet to have an empty facility. However, if we do end up with just four cats and three dogs for the pet adoption booth, let’s see if we can get the main office to send up some of their short-timers.”

“Ever worry about running out of folks to do the adopting?”

“I try never to worry about things I can’t control,” I answered. “I just take it one day at a time and hope for the best.”

I began my shift as I do every day, with a slow drive through the alley parallel to the three-mile stretch of road known as Main Street. My focus is to pick up any new strays, wild or domesticated. After this task is completed, I move onto my other duties, which, on a normal day, consist of handling nuisance wildlife calls and answering complaints involving dog bites or noisy pets.

After
finishing my sweep I headed over to Donovan’s to ask my dad about Kiva. I’d meant to talk to him about it at the community events meeting, but he’d managed to slip out while I was talking to Hazel. I knew if I could assure Mrs. Watson that Kiva would have a home with my dad, a man she liked and respected, the transition would be much easier on everyone.

Donovan’s, like many of the mom
-and-pop shops in Ashton Falls, is a hybrid store offering a variety of products for the home and outdoors. Originally built by my grandfather over forty years ago, the building, constructed entirely of logs milled locally, is laid out in a rectangular fashion with double-wide entry doors placed squarely in the middle. As you walk into the facility, you notice a large oak counter fashioned in a square, with a cash register in the center and an assortment of small items for sale on the other three countertops. Just to the left of the cashiers’ station is an alcove with a potbellied stove. The alcove is furnished with three long sofas covered with a dark brown fabric and arranged in a U shape.

“Hey
, Dad,” I greeted him as I stooped down to pet Tucker, who had trotted over to greet Charlie and me. I waved at Nick Benson and Tanner Brown, two of the seniors in my book club, who were focused intently on a game of checkers. “I need a favor.”

“What’s its name?
” My dad tossed Charlie a biscuit as he sat politely at his feet. After accepting the customary treat, Charlie and Tucker trotted over to join Nick and Tanner by the fire.

“How do you know that’s the favor?
” I leaned against the counter next to the register.

“Because,” my dad
said, beginning to refill display jars of penny candy, “you’re a strong and independent woman who only ever asks me for one kind of help.”

Dad was right
. I do tend toward self-sufficiency, but I’m never too proud to beg, borrow, or steal in the mission of finding homes for the adorable creatures God has entrusted to me. “Mrs. Watson’s daughter is putting her in a home. I need someone who’s patient and understanding to take Kiva.”

“When?”

“Today.”

“Need m
e to pick him up?”

“
That would be great.” I couldn’t help but sigh with relief. Deep down I knew my dad would come through—he always did—but I guess there was a tiny kernel of doubt burrowing in the back of my mind. “You could talk to Mrs. Watson and reassure her that Kiva will have a good home. I know this whole thing has been really hard on her. Kiva is her baby.”

“
I know.” My dad came around from behind the counter and hugged me. “I’m proud of the way you work so hard to make sure everyone around you is taken care of. I’ll head over there after closing.”

“Thanks.” I kissed my old man on the cheek
. “I’ll call and tell her you’re coming. I love you, you know.”

“I know
. I love you, too. Dinner Friday?”

“Friday’s the game
,” I reminded him. “How about Monday?”

“Monday’s not good
.” He paused. “How about Tuesday?”

“Tuesday works.”

“I heard about the trouble at the high school,” Dad said, changing the subject.

“Yeah, Levi told me about the field and the jerseys. He said lamebrain is threatening to suspend anyone involved if the hijinks continue.”

“Did h
e tell you about the truck?” Dad asked.

“Truck?”

“Someone decorated Coach Griswold’s truck with colorful words written in colorful paint. Griswold is blaming the Bulldogs, although as far as I know he has no proof and every member of the team is denying it.”

“Poor Levi. He’s having a rough week.”

“Yeah, and it might be getting a whole lot worse. I guess Griswold isn’t giving up easily. He’s telling anyone who will listen that he’s going to make it his mission to see that Levi is fired over this incident. I hear Principal Lamé is considering a suspension.”

“He wouldn’t do tha
t.”

“Man’s a stickler for the rules.”

My dad was right. Suspending Levi before the big game and ruining our team’s chance at a championship just to make a point sounded exactly like something lamebrain would do.

“Have y
ou talked to Levi?” I wondered.

“No
. Zak stopped by to see if I had anything he could use to clean up the field and we chatted for a spell. He convinced Levi that the best revenge is to beat the pants off the Beavers on Friday, so he volunteered to clean up the graffiti on the field while Levi works with his captains on their game plan.”

I glanced
at the clock; it was almost four. I’d managed to stop at the farmers market earlier in the day, but I still had a couple more errands before Levi and Ellie arrived for dinner in just over an hour. “Guess I should head out.” I hugged my dad. “Thanks again for taking Kiva. I’m sure it’ll mean a lot to Mrs. Watson.”

“Happy to do it.
” My dad hugged me back.

Charlie and I live in a converted boathouse that, along with fifty acres of lakefront property that goes with it, is owned by my maternal grandfather, who originally used it to house his boat. Nine years ago a group of farmers in the valley got together and challenged the legality of the Ashton Falls Dam, which had been built some forty years earlier by a group of recreationalists who wanted to raise the natural rim of the lake to better accommodate white-water rafting in the nearby Ashton River. At the time the dam was built water was plentiful and everyone was happy, but after seven years of drought the farm community at the foot of the mountain was looking for a way to force the transfer of a greater amount of the runoff from the mountains directly to their crops.