Chapter 55
Amy stood in the vestibule of HQ. Ryker’s crate was in the hallway, and the puppy was caged.
“Nathan?” She called out, her voice ringing in the space.
Nothing.
Meanwhile, Ryker was squirming in his crate, wagging his tail, beside himself in his desire to get out.
Falling on her knees, she opened it, welcomed the doggy kisses. And there were lots of them. She let the wriggling bundle of fur inundate her, in the moment, but was still listening for signs of Nathan.
None.
“Let’s just look around, shall we?” With Ryker in tow, she came upon the mess of the half-busted down wall. Nathan typically cleaned stuff up right away.
What had happened, that he hadn’t taken the time to do that?
Moving through to the back room, she bent her head to examine Nathan’s record sheet for the insulin injection in the tiny, open kitchen area.
“Hmm.” She ran her finger down his markings, the timing. He was fanatical about the correct interval between the daily shots. Not eleven hours, not thirteen. Twelve on the nose. Doc Talbot had been very clear. “Where is it…oh, here.”
The number stared at her in big, bold carpenter’s pencil marks.
And a chill ran up her spine.
Ryker’s shot was just over two hours late.
The man who ran his life schedule on his puppy’s insulin shots had completely missed one day’s rounds of insulin?
She checked her cell—nothing. No pop by and shoot pups up, will ya, honey? Dialed his number. Voice mail. Dialed it again. Voicemail.
A breathlessness swirled in her chest as unease plummeted into her stomach.
Something was wrong.
And at the bottom of the sheet, she saw the scrawled note to himself: Uncle. 8:00 p.m. Cabin.
She grabbed Ryker’s lead, fastened it with fingers gone numb, fingers shaking. Flew out into the street. Almost ran right by Flora, except she yelled, in her croaky senior’s voice. “Hey!”
She bent to the Adirondack chair Flora was sitting in, clutched the arm of it. “Flora. He didn’t give Ryker his insulin shot.”
The old woman nodded, grim. “He’s in trouble.”
“I’ve got to tell everyone, Flo. Tell Ruf, get people to help. He’s at the cabin, meeting his Uncle. I’ve got to get out there.”
Flora’s gnarled old hand wrapped around Amy’s forearm with surprising strength. “Don’t go without backup,” she spat, the obvious veteran of decades of cop dramas. She rose, slightly unsteady, but already making her plan. “I’ll go into every shop, tell everyone. Believe me, young lady, when I want to be heard, people listen. Something about the granny factor. They always do.”
She pointed to the other side of the street. “When I’m done here, I’ll do that side. His family’s cabin, over on Deer Road? I’ll get everyone out there.”
“We need the police too.”
The old woman skewered her with a look. “So…what are you doing here with me? Go!”
With one last look at the woman to reassure herself she could do the Herculean task she’d appointed herself in charge of, Amy rose too, got ready to run. Flora pointed, arm ramrod straight. “Go!”
Amy turned, and ran to Ruf’s shop, already dialing 911. Banged wildly on the already locked shop door.
“Nine-one-one dispatch.”
Althea. She told her the situation.
“How do you know it’s not a car breakdown or something?”
“Althea, he missed Ryker’s insulin shot.”
She felt the woman’s disbelief. “He missed Ryker’s shot?”
“Yes, by two hours. And…”
“Making call. Dispatch. Hang in there.”
She hung up in time to see a disgruntled Ruf came from the back, wiping his hands on his bloody apron. “Amy.”
“Nathan’s in trouble, Ruf. He’s out at the family’s cabin, meeting his creepy uncle. Clandestine meeting. Didn’t even tell me about it. Oh, Ruf. He’s in trouble.”
“But…”
“He missed Ryker’s insulin shot.”
He whipped off his apron. “Call the others. Tell Bob and Aaron I’m picking them up in five. Call the rest.” He grabbed a roll from his display case, shoved it at her. “Keep up your strength. Let’s go!”