Las Vegas Chew Toy

By Laura Alton

Amy a 3-legged puma, is found standing over the dead body of her owner, an America Indian Shaman. This starts veterinarian Kala Ann Dailee, on an adventure involving, Shih Tzu's, Dobermans, a historic quilt and a CD full of old Indian legends.
With the help of old boyfriend, Animal Control director Roger Bryson and handsome Detective Kenneth Wingate, along with an assortment of clients and friends, Kayla tracks the clues to find the killer. This leads her from the dry lake beds of the Mojave Desert to the Pacific coast and back to her own clinic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laura Alton
• Release date: May 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311207401

Laura Alton

Laura L. Alton has as Associate of Science Degree in Animal Health and was a Licensed Veterinary Technician for over 20 years. She has taught behavior and dog training classes for many years.Laura has combined her extensive veterinary experience with her love of writing and has written a series of mystery with a romantic bend. The Kayla Ann Dailee mystery. Kayla is a veterinarian who lives in Las Vegas and solves mysteries with the help of her family, friends and clients.She also writes intriguing short stories and articles on animal care and training.Laura lives in Henderson, Nevada and spends her free time gardening and caring for her assorted pets.

Book preview

Las Vegas Chew Toy

by Laura L Alton

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Places, events, and situations in this story are purely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is coincidental.

© 2015 Laura L. Alton

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please go to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Introduction

Writing a book is like hiking an unknown trail The path is full of dead ends, cliffs faces, valleys and occasional mountain peaks.

Thank You to all who have helped me on my journey. My family and friends who helped me find the right path and supported me when I fell. The Henderson Writers group and Las Vegas Quills two writing groups who showed me the way and members became my guides. My publisher and editors, who helped me draw the map, and set the GPS to find the way.

This is the first of a series I plan to be on this trail for a long time.

I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Laura

Chapter One

Kayla looked down at the sharp canine teeth that currently were wrapped around her right thumb. Muffin did not want her to attach her pretty pink leash to her pretty pink rhinestone collar. She was not a wolf or a pit bull but still Kayla held very still waiting for the dog to grow tired of chewing on her digit.

Mrs. Pinon reached for the small brown and white shape attached to Kayla’s hand. Muffin, let go of Dr. Dailee. The elderly women wrapped both hands around the angry dog. Stop playing, it’s time to work now. She picked up the petite fur ball who unclenched its jaws, releasing Kayla’s hand just as her cell phone rang.

Excuse me a moment. Kayla said putting her injured finger in her mouth and using the other hand to reach for her phone. She tasted copper as she spoke around her finger. Hello?

Of course, dear. Mrs. Pinon put her spoiled pet down on the expensive Persian carpet. Do you need a bandage?

Kayla shook her head as she pulled out and examined her injured nail. The phone call took two minutes, Kayla replying to the caller with a string of affirmatives, as her elderly client poured more tea from the elegant teapot on the low table between them. With one hand Mrs. Pinion intercepted an inquisitive button nose.

No Muffin, you don’t like tea. The small dog took two steps back, and barked. No, baby, your teacher is on the phone. You know she works with the police. It could be important, so hush now, we’ll get back to you in a moment. The dog lowered his head and growled, letting out a series of sharp demands that his owner reacted to by reaching into a porcelain jar next to the sofa and extracting several dog treats. She fed one to Muffin, and then offered additional treats to several other small, furry children who appeared as soon as the jar’s lid was raised.

Mrs. Pinon, we will have to continue this session later. There has been an emergency, and I have to go, Kayla said in the formal tone she adopted when speaking to her elderly clients.

I understand, you explained on your first visit. You are on call with the Las Vegas Police Determent. You help out with animal related issues.

That’s right, so you also understand that I must leave immediately.

Of course dear, did something happen? Her voice couldn’t quite hide the note of morbid interested Kayla noticed in her tone.

I will be briefed when I get to the scene. Kayla’s father had spoken the same line a hundred times when she was growing up. He would be rolling over in his grave laughing to hear her use it. It did sound better than I don’t know. What she did know was that Detective Wingate had requested her. He worked homicide.

She turned and collected her dog training bag from where it sat on a thin legged coffee table.

Oh, but Dr. Dailee, what about my little ones? What do I do if they misbehave again?

When. When they misbehave, not if, Kayla thought. Out loud she said, Keep walking them several times a day, and try to keep them locked in the kitchen when you’re not with them.

Oh, but it is so hard to keep an eye on them all the time. The elderly woman’s hands fluttered in her lap as she petted the small tan and white Shih Tzu perched there. Mrs. Elizabeth (call me Liz) Pinon was widowed, and living with her unmarried son. With no grandchildren to indulge, she had turned to dogs --Shih Tzu’s. She owned six, all rescues with behavior problems. All spoiled rotten, and badly in need of discipline.

That’s why, last week, I suggested you only let one or two out at a time, Kayla answered.

Oh, I tried that. I really did. But the dears left in the kitchen cried and carried on so. I just had to let them all out. The babies don’t like to be separated.

Kayla had known when she took this case that it would be a long-term project. Mrs. Pinon had already gone through four other behavior trainers, and still did not understand why she had trouble with her herd of canines. Kayla took a deep breath and resisted the urge to look at her watch. It was nine fifteen; she really had to leave if she was to make it across town before ten PM.

I’ll call you on Friday, and come by next week. On Tuesday.

If you must, but I don’t expect to be billed for this visit.

Of course not, Mrs. Pinon, now I really have to go. Kayla had made it to the door and had one hand on the knob.

Wait! I haven’t given you this week’s package. Kayla sighed, and released the knob to take the proffered box. Holding it under her arm, she completed the complicated dance necessary to exit the house without releasing a tide of fur. The box ended up in the back of her covered truck bed with the previous week’s contribution.

Mrs. Pinon had read an article suggesting that the objects a dog chewed on revealed clues about that particular dog’s personality and could be helpful in determining why he chewed in the first place. Ever since, she had dutifully saved everything her little darlings set teeth into. At least Kayla had talked her into providing only pictures of chewed-on furniture, or she was sure her truck bed would be full of tables and chairs. Disregarding the posted speed limit, and avoiding the Strip, she drove across town in twenty minutes.

###

Four police cars crowded the driveway and two more were parked in the street. A white and blue Las Vegas Animal Control kennel truck had parked with two wheels on the sidewalk. Yellow police tape surrounded a small, boxy, one-story house. The house was green with white trim, the yard clean and neat. The last of the sun’s rays blocked by two large pine trees created deep shadows. Only the tall wire-topped fence attached to the sides distinguished it from any other house in the neighborhood. That, and the clumps of uniformed officers standing next to the six patrol cars and the yellow crime scene tape.

Before leaving her truck, Kayla ran a hand through her sun streaked brown hair and after a quick look in the rearview mirror she wondered if she could find a lipstick in her dog training bag. Her mother had nagged her to always look her best, but she just didn’t see the point of dressing up for dog training. Shrugging she climbed out looking for someone to escort her under the crime tape.

Kayla followed an eager young uniform toward five people waiting out in the yard. She recognized Roger Bryson, the head of Animal Control. At 5’ 6", he was the shortest man standing there. ‘Square’ was what Kayla always thought whenever she saw his short blond hair atop a ruddy face. He had broad shoulders, muscular arms and blocky legs that ended in hiking boots. His Midwestern accent did little to dispel the down-home country boy look. They had gone out once or twice -- before Jeffery -- and still remained friends.

Thank you for coming, said Detective Kenneth Wingate. He had on a suit and shoes that cost more than three months of Kayla’s truck payments. Rugged good looks combined with raven-dark hair, expensively cut and trained to slide across a broad, lightly tanned forehead. Last week a local gossip rag had named him one of the top five eligible bachelors in Clark County. His perfectly behaved hair never fell into his eyes or caught in one of his flawlessly shaped eyebrows that shaded emerald eyes poised over a strong nose and high cheekbones.

You asked for me, Detective Wingate? Kayla tore her gaze from his broad chest.

Yes, Dr. Dailee. We have a situation here, and Roger Bryson requested your presence. Kenneth Wingate’s voice matched his image. Deep, sharp, in control.

Hey, Kayla, they want me to trank a big cat and I would feel a lot better if you took a look and drew up the dosage. I have a lot more experience with angry pit bulls than exotics and don’t want to screw this up. Roger said, scuffling his boots.

Cat?

Yeah, the dead guy has a puma in there, piped in one of the other men. I’m Lee. Lee Coit. Evidence collection. He stuck out a meaty hand for her to shake. If it were up to me, I’d just shoot the dang thing. But with all the T.V. out there.... He trailed off, indicating the army of media held at bay down the street by patrol officers.

There is no reason to kill her, Roger broke in, shaking his head.

No, she just killed her owner and wants to eat the rest of us. Let’s not hurt the poor, misguided kitty. Coit rolled his eyes.

We have not determined cause of death yet. Detective Wingate did not raise his voice; he just took one step forward and started issuing orders. I don’t want to hear any speculation. I don’t want the press to hear any speculation. Roger, you and Dr Dailee prepare a tranquilizer. Lee, finish the external pictures. He turned to a nondescript fourth man. Mitch, get those cars moved so that the animal control truck can get in closer to the house.

Coit raised one hand in mock salute, and waddled toward his equipment. Roger, and Detective Mitch Kelly, started down the driveway. Kayla put one hand on Detective Wingate’s shoulder.

Kenneth, what happened? Who’s dead?

The victim is an elderly man named Joseph Winnemucca. At first glance, it looks like his pet puma killed him.

Is there any sign of animal abuse?

That’s what you’re here to tell me.

Moving away from the police Detective, Kayla approached a group near a plate glass window. She squeezed past several large male bodies and peeked through the glass at a quite normal-looking living room. She could see the gray outline of a couch and chair, and what appeared to be a low coffee table. Red and blue lights briefly lit up the interior, revealing shadowed pictures and throw pillows.

The lights from the police cars took her back to her childhood and she almost expected to turn around and see her mother gossiping with the patrolmen, finding out who was pregnant, getting married, taking her role as the captain’s wife seriously.

Where’s the body? Kayla pulled her attention back to the present.

The witness says he died in his office. Kenneth pointed to the hallway on the left. Down there.

Witness? She turned her head, looking up at his chiseled profile. A nasally voice broke in on her right.

Yeah. The Indian kid who called it in.

Coit. The warning was clear in Kenneth’s voice.

Coit held up his camera in defense. Taking pictures here, boss. He raised the viewfinder to his eye and spoke from behind the shield of his camera. Begging your pardon, Doc. The young Native American gentleman who is currently going ape shit in the back of Unit Twenty-seven.

A frown marred the Detective’s face as he looked down the driveway. Why is he upset?

I think he saw the gun, answered Roger, brandishing a tranquilizer rifle in one hand. This is Yolanda Evenson. Next to him stood a young girl carrying a battered blue plastic case.

Kayla reached out to shake hands and found herself staring into a valley of cleavage held together by a straining shirt button. Glancing down she noted the four-inch-heeled clogs, looking up she said. Hi, I’m Dr. Kayla Dailee, county vet.

Where’s the puma? The women ignored Kayla’s hand and pushed up close to the window. I can’t see.

Miss Evenson, please don’t touch anything. Wingate reached out to stop her from approaching the glass. This area has not been thoroughly processed yet. She turned, her long blond hair flipping across Kayla’s face.

Where’s the body? Roger said I don’t have to look at any dead bodies. Yolanda reached out, touching the lapel of the Detective’s jacket. Nice suit, Brooks Brothers?

Before he could reply, Mitch ran up. Wingate, he panted, Silverhawk is very agitated. He thinks we are going to kill Amy. He’s saying he can control her.

Amy? Roger looked up from checking his rifle.

Mitch nodded his head, still trying to catch his breath. That’s the cat’s name. Silverhawk says she’s tame. A pet. And he said he can get her to go into her room.

Her room? questioned Kayla.

A room in the house is set up for her, like a cage.

It would be easier to trank her in a confined space, Roger broke in.

Mitch go get Silverhawk, we’ll give him a chance. Wingate decided.

Chapter Two

The familiar wet-iron smell of blood registered faintly in the back of Kayla’s mind. Her medical training told her body to respond. Her blood stream flooded with adrenalin, preparing her to jump in and do something, save something. This time there was nothing she could do, no one she could save. Her skills were no longer needed here.

In the center of the room was a male body. An old man, dressed in jeans and a white tee shirt with a casino logo. A free, giveaway-shirt, now stained brown with blood. Deep wrinkled caverns covered his face, a few with small rivers of blood drying in them. He had a blank, peaceful expression of not quite joy, but as if he had been happy to die -- looking forward to making his last journey. The body lay on its side facing the door, one hand outstretched like he was reaching for the hallway, the other directly in front of his chest.

Stepping closer, Kayla focused her attention on the wounds on the man’s neck. The area below his chin looked like it had been chewed. Not bitten, not crushed, but chewed on. Great gouges were etched into the flesh, torn muscles and bits of skin were shredded, and blood soaked the whole area. A bit of bone could be seen through the carnage.

Pulling back, she made herself look at the room. A desk stood in one corner with its chair neatly pushed in. Two folding chairs, one fallen over, were near the desk. There were books on the floor. That bothered her. Some were open, their pages bent, their spines cracked. Kayla wanted to pick them up, wipe them off and return them to the tall oak bookcase that stood against one wall. There was blood, but not as much as her imagination supplied. The floor was spotted with it, and reddish-black splatter painted the room. There were splotches of it low on the wall. A few flies had discovered the grisly treat and were gorging themselves on it.

Kayla returned her attention to the body. How long ago did this happen?

Standing just inside the door, Detective Wingate answered her. We’re not sure. The victim was last seen yesterday afternoon by a neighbor on his customary walk around the block. Silverhawk discovered the body two hours ago.

Kayla nodded, her eyes still on the body. Are there any other wounds on him?

No. Only the throat. Is that normal for a big cat kill?

Kayla looked up, puzzled. What, the throat wound?

Kenneth stepped into the room. Yes. That and the fact that it is so torn up, and there are no other wounds on the body.

No, Kayla shook her head. It is really clean for a large cat attack.

Did you notice his hands? asked Wingate.

His hands?

Kenneth nodded. They’re clean. No blood, no defense wounds. I would think if I was being attacked by an animal I would fight back. At least try to. His hands are too clean. It doesn’t even look like he tried to stop his own bleeding, much less fight back.

It was his pet. Maybe he didn’t think it would hurt him. Or it happened too fast for him to react,

Detective Wingate shook his head. I have seen many assaults and even one death by pit bull. The victim always fights back, gets in one or two blows before dying. He