“Not Tigger and the porcupine again,” Terry Buckwalter said, peering over the reception desk as soon as Joanna le the quill-sprouting dog into the animal clinic’s waiting room

Joanna leaned down and rubbed the dog’s ears. “I’m sure it hurts, but he doesn’t seem to mind the quills as much we do. Still, you’d think he’d wise up after a while.”

“Some dogs can be pretty hardheaded,” Terry said.

Joanna laughed. “To say nothing of expensive. For what we’ve spent on porcupine quills, we probably could have ended up with a purebred puppy, as opposed to this ugly mutt. But Jenny loves him to pieces, and he’s great at catching Frisbees.”

“And porcupine quills,” Terry added with a smile. SI came around the counter and took Tigger’s lead. “We already have several surgeries scheduled for this morning,” she sail “Bucky probably won’t be able to get around to doing this until mini-afternoon. If it looks like Tigger’s starting to get dehydrated, we’ll start him on an IV.”

Joanna nodded. “What time do you think he’ll be ready to pick up? I won’t be off work before five.”

“He should be ready to go by then,” Terry said. “If not, we may have to keep him until tomorrow morning.”

“That’s all right with me,” Joanna said, “but Jenny isn’t going to like it.”

Terry Buckwalter led a subdued and unprotesting dog through a swinging door into a kennel area at the back of the clinic. The new arrival was greeted by frantic barking from the several dogs already in residence.

“Sounds like you have quite a crowd back there,” Joanna commented when Terry returned to the waiting room.

She nodded. “Some are patients and some are being boarded,” she said. “We also have three reject Christmas puppies that we’re hoping to find other homes for. You don’t happen to need another dog, do you?”

Joanna shook her head. “Two are more than enough. What do you mean, ‘reject puppies’?”

“It only takes a couple of weeks after Christmas for some people to figure out that owning a puppy isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. The reality turns out to be a whole lot different from those red-ribboned golden-retriever pups in all those cute Kodak photo ads.”

“You’re right.” Joanna grimaced. “Now that you mention it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an ad showing a dog with his nose full of porcupine quills.”

Terry went back behind the counter, searched through a file drawer, and pulled out a folder that was evidently Tigger’s treatment record, which she perused for a few moments. “Tigger’s due for his rabies shot next month. Do you want us to go ahead and handle that while he^’s here? It’ll save you an extra trip later on.^”

“Sure,” Joanna replied. “That’ll be fine.”

Terry Buckwalter added the file folder to several others that were already stacked on the counter. “I’m sorry you got stuck in all that mess outside,” she said. It was the first time either woman had referred to the earlier confrontation by the clinic’s entrance.

Joanna tried to pass it off. “It wasn’t any big deal,” she said reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it.”

But Terry Buckwalter didn’t seem ready to let it go. “It just goes on and on,” she said, shaking her head. “This whole year has been a nightmare. Ever since Bucky’s accident…”

She broke off suddenly, as if concerned that she had said too much.

Terry Buckwalter was a slight, potentially attractive woman in her mid-thirties. She might have been better-looking if she had made the effort. She was tanned and solidly built, but whatever figure she had was perpetually concealed beneath the flowing folds of a man-sized, knee-length lab coat. Her shoulder-length, naturally streaked blond hair was pulled back into an unbecoming bun. And her tanned, sun-lined face showed not the barest hint of makeup. There were dark circles under her eyes, and a grim set to her mouth.

Looking at her, Joanna was struck by the thought that ‘Terry Buckwalter was living under the weight of some heavy emotional burden. Although Terry herself had been at home in Bisbee, some two hundred miles away from her husband’s fatal car accident, no doubt she had been dealing with fallout from that event ever since. Clearly, Hal Morgan wasn’t the only innocent victim suffering in the aftermath of Bonnie Morgan’s death.

“I’m sure it’s been difficult for you,^” Joanna said sympathetically. “Situations like that are tough on everyone connected to them.”

Terry nodded, biting her lip in agreement, although she said nothing more, and neither did Joanna. A few empty-sounding platitudes came to mind-”This too will pass,” for instance, and “Time heals all wounds.” The problem was, those were the very same supposedly comforting words that had been passed along to Joanna in the emotional devastation following Andy’s death. They hadn’t helped her much, and she cringed at the idea of inflicting them on someone else.

Glancing at the time, Joanna was ready to start for the door when Bucky Buckwalter’s voice burst in on them from another room, from somewhere beyond the swinging door.

“Is that son of a bitch still out there, or did he finally leave?”

Terry flushed with embarrassment. “Bucky,” she cautioned. “Sheriff Brady’s…”

If Bucky heard Terry’s warning tone, he disregarded it completely. “Just tell me whether or not he’s gone.”

“He’s still here,” Terry answered, “but-”

“That media-courting asshole!” Amos Buckwalter snorted. “Maybe I should take the hose out and water down the parking lot…” He charged through the swinging door, stopping abruptly when he finally realized that his wife wasn’t alone in the outer office.

He turned on Terry. “Why didn’t you tell me someone was here?” he fumed. “The least you could have done was let me know.”

Over the years, Bucky Buckwalter had established the reputation of having a great bedside manner where animals were concerned. His people-handling skills, however, were something less than wonderful.

She tried to, you arrogant jerk, but you weren’t listening, Joanna wanted to say.

Meantime, Bucky stopped in mid-tirade. Leaving off the harangue, he turned to Joanna with an instantly manufactured smile that oozed public charm. Joanna’s mother-in-law, Eva Lou Brady, would have called it turning on his company manners. The telling difference between Bucky Buckwalter’s public persona and his private one wasn’t lost on Joanna.

“Why, Sheriff Brady,” he said smoothly. “I had no idea you were still here. Hal Morgan isn’t filing some kind of complaint against me, is he?”

Joanna shook her head. “Not that I know of,” she said. “I’m here because Tigger has another faceful of porcupine quills.”

The vet frowned and looked at Terry. “Another?” he asked. “Have we removed quills from him before? I don’t remember doing it.”

“It happened while…” Terry paused, as if struggling to find the right thing to say. “… while you were away,” she finished lamely. “Twice. Dr. Wade took care of it both times.”

“Oh, I see,” the vet said, nodding and rushing on in a way that was calculated to smooth out any awkwardness. “Well, I’m sure we’ll be able to handle it just fine. Maybe we can juggle the schedule enough to work Tigger in sometime this morning.

“I’d appreciate it if you could,” Joanna told him. “And I’m sure Tigger would be more than happy to second that motion. I’ll be back to pick him up right after work. Right now, though, I have to run or I’ll be late for the board of supervisors meeting.

Joanna made it as far as the door before she paused and looked back. Tferry and Bucky Buckwalter were standing on either side of the counter. There was an almost palpable tension between them. Joanna sensed that they were holding off the beginning or, more likely, the continuation, of a serious family argument. No doubt, hostilities would resume the moment Joanna stepped outside. In the meantime, Bucky-with almost casual nonchalance-picked up the pile of folders and began thumbing through them.