Doggie Day Care Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A

feel more at home while they’re here. Indeed, we like to think that our facility is more like a doggie spa than what you might picture as your typical boarding situation.”
    If the term spa implied that the accommodations would be luxurious, then Steve’s description wasn’t far off the mark. Inside, the building didn’t even remotely resemble any kennel I’d ever seen.
    Instead of pens, the dogs were housed in individual rooms that were large enough for several compatible dogs to share comfortably. Most contained furniture, usually low chairs and couches that were easily accessible from the floor. Television sets were mounted on the walls.
    Peeking in through the viewing windows as we walked past, I saw a Maltese watching Animal Planet and an Afghan who seemed fascinated by the flashing lights and screaming contestants on a game show.
    â€œWho controls the remote?” I asked.
    I’d been joking, but Steve took the question seriously.
    â€œThere are foot pedals on the floor beneath the screens,” he informed me. “It doesn’t take most dogs long to learn that if they step on them, they can change the channel. There’s also an on/off switch if they would prefer quiet.”
    Speaking of quiet, in a building that housed such a multitude of dogs, it was somewhat surprising not to hear any barking. Either the walls of the individual compartments were soundproof, or else the occupants were too content to stand around making noise.
    Score another point in Pine Ridge’s favor.
    â€œHow many dogs do you have here on a usual day?” I asked.
    â€œAs you can imagine, it varies. The number is usually somewhere between twenty-five and thirty. Most of our business is made up of regulars, dogs whose owners live in the area and work full-time jobs, so we see those clients every weekday. But we also get the occasional drop-in. People are supposed to make reservations in advance, but if they show up and we have space available, we try to be accommodating.”
    Steve and I were standing in a wide, brightly lit aisleway situated between two long rows of rooms: individual compartments on one side and multidog playrooms on the other. Abruptly, a door toward the end of the hall burst open and a woman came hurrying out.
    She was small and dainty, and wearing the outfit I’d come to expect: a pristine white polo shirt and pressed khakis. Frizzy blond curls bobbed around her head like a halo. Her face was tipped downward; she was studying something written on a clipboard she held in her hand.
    â€œGood news,” she said without looking up. “I finally got Bingo Johnson squared away, and I’ve just placed a second call to the Abernathys. When do you want me to—”
    â€œCandy.”
    Steve’s voice was low, his tone moderate. It stopped the woman in her tracks.
    â€œOh, hello,” she said, finally lifting her eyes and taking in the two of us. “I didn’t realize you were busy.”
    â€œObviously not. This is Melanie Travis. She’s taking a tour to see if she would like to become a client.” Steve lifted a hand to motion me forward. “Melanie, meet my sister, Candy.”
    Steve and Candy Pine, the receptionist had said. I’d just assumed the owners were husband and wife. Really, you’d think I’d know better.
    Candy’s handshake was firm and brisk. My fingers throbbed a bit when she released them. Maybe she was compensating for her small size.
    â€œSo what have you already seen and how do you like the place so far?” she asked.
    Steve shot her a look. “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to,” he said quickly. “My sister can be very direct. Some people find that off-putting.”
    â€œI don’t mind,” I said. “I think your place looks terrific.”
    Candy smirked at her brother. I didn’t have to be a relative to know she was saying, I told you so