A Villa in Sicily: Olive Oil and Murder (A Cats and Dogs Cozy Mystery—Book 1)

CHAPTER ONE

Being a vet meant dealing with a lot of strange creatures.

Not the patients.

No, the patients were cute, cuddly, adorable, the reason Audrey Smart had gotten into this career in the first place. Audrey had never met an animal she didn’t like.

It was the ones paying the bills, and her salary, she could’ve done without.

Audrey stared at her latest patient’s “mummy.” The woman stroked her adorable teacup poodle’s lolling head and kissed it with her painted, Botoxed lips. “I don’t know what’s wrong with Donut. He’s never this lethargic!”

Hmmm, I wonder. It wouldn’t have anything to do with mummy, would it?

Fighting to keep her eyes level, though they were practically itching in their sockets to roll to the ceiling, Audrey explained, once

again,

“You left wine out during your garden party, Mrs. Marx. You said the dog drank half a glass? That’s a lot for a little thing like him.”

Audrey didn’t want to judge, but sometimes, it was so

easy

.

The woman’s over-tweezed eyebrows tented. “Nonsense. Donut has very sophisticated tastes, and I only serve the best.”

Pushing her ponytail over her shoulder, Audrey brought the stethoscope over the animal’s side, listening to the slow murmur of his heart. Poor thing. She rubbed his tiny little head, right between his ears. “I’m sure you have great taste, but even the

best

is not advisable for a dog, since grapes can be toxic. Wine and dogs? Don’t mix.”

The woman tapped the heel of her Louboutin impatiently on the waxed floor, a defiant look on her pinched, unnaturally bronze face. “You don’t know Donut.”

Audrey smiled at the little dog as he gazed up at her gratefully, adoringly. “We should induce vomiting.”

Her jaw dropped. “You will do no such thing! Vomiting?”

“Okay, well, he’s not in any danger. If you’d rather, we can just let him rest. He should be all right in a couple hours, but we’ll keep him here for observation.”

Instead of agreeing, the woman fisted her hands on her hips. “Where’s that kind, handsome veterinarian? With the piercing blue bedroom eyes? I demand to see him.”

Audrey sighed. Maybe she’d been a little too brusque. But that always happened. She considered herself the voice of these animals she cared for, their champion. Sometimes she couldn’t help being insensitive to their owners. “Dr. Ferris is not here. I’m the veterinarian on staff now.”

She gave Audrey a thorough eye-scraping, as if to say,

Says who?

“I demand to see a

real

doctor.”

Another sigh. At thirty-two, she shouldn’t have had to tote around her veterinary school diploma as an accessory along with her iPhone. Maybe it was just good (or bad) genes that still made her look like she wasn’t yet out of college, or that she was a woman, or that most of the pet owners who came to Back Bay Animal Care in downtown Boston were too obsessed with their own selves to be observant of her

Dr. Audrey Smart

nameplate, but seriously. How many times did she have to deal with this?

Three times this

week

, apparently.

Biting her tongue, she grabbed her iPad from the examination table and reached for the door. When she opened it, she motioned to one of the vet techs to see to making Donut comfortable with the other animals in observation. “I’ll put a note for Dr. Ferris to take a look when he begins his shift in the morning.”

Finally appeased, Mrs. Marx gave her poor, inebriated dog some kisses and said, in baby-talk, “Mummy’ll miss you so much!” Then she glared at Audrey as she swept past her, carrying a choking cloud of perfume with her. “See that you do,” she said, chin up like some member of British peerage, already sifting through her enormous designer purse for her wallet.

The second Audrey showed the woman out the door, she shed the plastic smile she’d been struggling to keep on her face. She checked the time on the clock above reception. Three minutes until quitting time.

Finally.

Heading for the break room, she’d already begun to unbutton her white coat when a wall of trouble sprouted up in front of her.

There was nowhere to escape to. If he hadn’t already spotted her, she’d have ducked into one of the examination rooms, but as it was, they were alone in the hallway. Dr. Brice Watts was one of those people who carried angst and drama everywhere he went. He was like a tornado, absorbing everything in his path, only to spit it out, a shadow of what it once was.

“Listen,

Aud

, girl,” he said, strolling down the hall toward her, winking in the general direction of the reception desk, probably at one of the few vet techs he hadn’t already added to his list of conquests. “Can you cover for me tonight? I got a

thing

.”

He added air quotes, after the fact. The guy was forever air-quoting everything, whether it needed it not.

“A thing?”

Audrey repeated, using her own air quotes for, “Like a

plantar

wart

?”

He laughed at her like she was a mildly amusing child who’d overstayed her welcome with the adults. Mid-forties, spare-tired, and balding, yet he played the

I’m better than you

act so well that a lot of people, surprisingly, bought in. “Tickets to a performance at Boston Symphony Hall. Mahler.”

“Sorry,

Bri,

boy,

”

she said with a shrug, deriving a little too much pleasure from the nickname. “But I’ve got a

thing

, too.”

His face fell. She’d clearly surprised him, considering of all the doctors on staff, she was the one who was almost always, reliably, free. “Need I remind you, you’re the low man on the totem pole here?”

She stared at him. It wasn’t the first time he’d dropped some last-minute bombshell on her toes, forcing her to completely upend her important Netflix-watching schedule.

“I understand. But I also know that I’ve had this engagement planned for months, and I can’t break it last minute. I’m sorry. Besides, I took your emergency call shift last week, for your other

thing

. Remember?”

From the look on his face, he didn’t.

“Remember? That gala at the Boston Ballet you

had

to go to?”

“Ah,

that

. Yes, but—”

Audrey made like she was checking her watch, even though she wasn’t wearing one. “Like I said, I’ve got to be somewhere.”

She squeezed past him in the hall, leaving him grumbling behind her. At her locker, she grabbed her things, hoping she could escape to the T without other fires popping up.

It wasn’t like she’d made it up. She really

did

have somewhere to be. But she had a feeling that with her luck, it’d be even more painful than marinating in Mrs. Marx’s noxious company for a fifteen-minute appointment.

Growing up, Audrey had dreamed about coming home to a welcome committee. She’d open the door and a half-dozen of her favorite beings on earth would be there, tails wagging excitedly, waiting for their cuddles. She’d wanted a dog or two, a cat definitely, maybe a rabbit and a hamster. Even a turtle, just to round things out.

That idea went down the toilet when she graduated from veterinary school nearly two hundred thousand dollars in debt, got a job, and tried to enter the

real world,

four years ago.

The only place she could afford in the city was a little walk-up closet in Southie, the insides of which had probably seen yellow crime scene tape more than once. She’d been happy, though, excited at the prospect of starting this chapter of her life as a career woman.

It was only after she moved in that she noticed the part of the lease that said

No pets.

Not that it would’ve been fair to her brood, if they existed. She worked way too many hours nowadays, anyway, chipping away at her student loans.

Sighing, she stepped into the crypt-quiet apartment and looked around at the dreary gray walls. She’d fixed the place up as best she could, giving it homey touches, trying to make it hers, but it still screamed

temporary.

Her eyes fell upon a white envelope on the floor. Someone must’ve shoved it under the door.

As she reached for it, her first thought was,

Secret admirer?

Then she laughed at her stupidity. She didn’t just

look

twenty. Some of her thoughts, she realized, were equally as naïve. Especially the ones regarding men. There was a guy on the fourth floor, below her, who was kind of cute, but even at thirty-two, Audrey couldn’t do more than blush like a schoolgirl whenever they ran into each other on the stairs. One time, he asked her if she knew of any good Thai places nearby, and she’d just giggled maniacally. He must’ve thought she was a moron.

Lifting up the flap of the envelope, she groaned when she saw the logo for her landlord’s holding company. “What do they want? I’m not underwater on my rent,” she muttered, unfolding the letter.

She only scanned it at first. Then she read the whole thing. Twice. Then, stomping into the kitchen, she threw it down on the table and desperately wished for something furry to pet.

The nerve of those people, selling the building on her, without notice! Not only that, the new owners,

doubling

the rent! Wasn’t there some kind of law against that?

She grabbed her phone, breathing hard, trying to think of someone to call, but then she noticed the time.

In an hour, she’d be expected at the Copley Square Hotel for her high school reunion.

Her past experience with high school reunions hadn’t been stellar. Her five-year had been a big bust. She’d gotten all dolled up, excited to tell people that she’d graduated

magna cum laude

from BC and was on her way to veterinary school, and then … nothing.

No one even noticed her. She’d spent the entire time at her table, alone. Someone had mistaken her for a waitress and ordered a whiskey sour from her.

It had been so bad, she’d said a big

hell no

to her tenth. And she’d been firmly in favor of shunning the fifteenth, twentieth, twenty-fifth … every last one of them.

That is,

until

…

She opened her phone to the last message Michael Breckenridge had sent her on Facebook a couple days ago.

Can’t wait to see you, cutie.

A frisson of pure teenage excitement traveled down her neck. Michael had been her biggest crush, all through high school, the guy she could barely look

near

without sending her heart racing and her cheeks flushing. A year older, he’d been part of the thespians. His performance of Willy Loman in

Death of a Salesman

had brought down the house at Westwood High.

He’d connected with her, completely out of the blue, a few weeks ago, when she’d joined a Facebook group to keep abreast of the reunion plans. Amazingly, he’d remembered her, even though all Audrey had ever done was scenery.

Cutie.

She shivered as she ran for the shower, trying to remember the last time she’d been complimented like that. Really, never. Unfortunately, her fifth-year reunion was a perfect reflection of her dating life as a whole.

Completely uneventful. Nonexistent. A total dud.

This time, things would be not only different, but

magical

.

Audrey, be proud. It’s been fifteen years. You’re a doctor of veterinary medicine.

Forty-five minutes later, she finished applying her fake eyelashes and stood back, smoothing out her body-hugging, ruby red dress. The clerk at Nordstrom had said it was killer, and it’d drawn a small crowd of admirers, complimenting her slim figure and flawless skin. So what if they were all over eighty? Audrey peered in the mirror at herself and pushed back her shoulders. It was so bare, so

sexy,

hardly more than a slip. She’d never worn anything like this in public before.

You look stunning,

she told herself, echoing the ladies in the dressing room as she pulled a few dark tendrils from her updo.

She applied bombshell-red lipstick, the finishing touch, smacking her lips together and blowing a kiss to the mirror.

“Michael’s not going to be able to take his eyes off you,” she whispered to her reflection,

really

wishing she had something furry to pet.

At least, I hope.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her purse and headed for the door. As she did, her phone buzzed.

She nearly lost her balance in her four-inch heels as Michael’s name appeared on the screen.