Who's Kitten Who? by Cynthia Baxter

Author:Cynthia Baxter [Baxter, Cynthia]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Mystery Fiction, Murder, Women Veterinarians
ISBN: 0553590340
Google: esPxGYuELUcC
Amazon: B000WCWVJO
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 2006-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

As I jogged across the parking lot of the Bayside Bistro, where I was meeting Nick and his parents for dinner, I glanced at my watch anxiously. I hadn’t paid attention to the time while I was at Aziza’s.

It was only ten minutes to seven. I was early.

Yet when I reached the doorway of the restaurant, Dorothy was already standing inside the foyer. Her arms were folded across her chest, and she looked extremely perturbed. Henry, meanwhile, was lounging on a bench that was pushed against one wall.

“You made it,” she announced in a shrill voice. “Henry and I were getting worried. In fact, we were wondering if we’d have to eat by ourselves.”

I opened my mouth to protest, then snapped it shut. After all, what was the point?

“How was your day?” I asked. “Did you enjoy the wineries?”

“A lot of those places charge for their tastings, you know,” Dorothy replied tartly.

They’re businesses, I thought, gritting my teeth, not charities for tight-fisted tourists.

I tried changing the subject. “Did you enjoy the scenery?”

She shrugged. “I’m not big on fields.”

“How about you, Henry?” I asked, turning my focus to the less offensive half of the Burby duo.

It was only then that I noticed Henry was slumped over in his seat. His eyes were closed and his breathing was raspy.

“Henry?” I cried. “Are you all right?”

“He’s fine,” Dorothy assured me. “Between all those animals in your house and all that…that nature out east, his allergies have gone berserk. He took a double dose of Benadryl. As usual, it’s made him a bit drowsy.”

Drowsy! I thought. The man is practically comatose!

“We might as well go inside,” Dorothy muttered. “If they haven’t already given away our table.”

She leaned over Henry’s extremely relaxed body so that her face was next to his ear. “Henry?” she hissed. “Naptime is over.”

“Wha-a-a?” He opened his eyes and sat up abruptly, looking so disoriented I felt like asking him what year it was and who was president. “Where are we?”

“The overpriced restaurant Jessica picked out,” Dorothy informed him. “It’s time for dinner, so up and at ’em.”

As we walked inside with poor Henry shuffling behind us, she glanced around. I did the same, enjoying the restaurant’s sophisticated decor. With its clean lines and subtle use of color, it captured the ambience of an upscale Manhattan eatery.

“Goodness. This place certainly looks…interesting,” Dorothy observed with a look of distaste on her face. “They’re obviously in the middle of renovating. That would explain why everything looks so plain.”

“I can smell the spices,” Henry mumbled.

Grateful for his show of support, I volunteered, “Yes, this place is known for its wonderfully spiced food. In fact—”

“Can’t stand spices.” If he was trying to imitate a zombie, he was doing a darned good job. “At least, my guts can’t. If I eat anything with the least bit of spice in it, it goes right through me.”

I was doing my best not to dwell on that particular image when Dorothy asked, “How exactly did you come to choose

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