Chapter 9
It was with great hesitation that I stepped out of the dressing room and showed the others.
They burst into laughter.
Jack grabbed his phone and snapped a few pictures.
I tried to block the lens with my hand. "No pictures."
He kept snapping.
I chased after him and tried to grab the phone.
He yanked the device away and took off running through the rows of costumes, his Santa boots smacking against the concrete floor.
"I think it looks great," Nicolette said. "The kids are going to love it."
I grimaced at her, then stepped in front of the full-length mirror and looked at myself. The costume had silly green pointy shoes with bells on them, yellow tights, a green jacket, and a green tasseled cap. I looked absolutely ridiculous.
Jack peered around the corner, laughing, and approached with caution.
"If that gets posted online, I swear to God…"
He raised his hands innocently.
"Yeah, you better be afraid," I said.
"I think it looks authentic. You look totally elf-like."
"Ears. You need ears," Nicolette said. "I've got just the thing."
She darted away and returned a moment later, handing me prosthetic ears that could be glued on. She sized us both up. "You two look great. How does everything fit?"
"It's a little snug here and there," I said.
"Well, you’re only going to be wearing these for a few hours. I think you'll live. Besides, that's the biggest-sized tights I could find.
Jack smiled, admiring his jolly self in the mirror. With a flowing white wig and fake beard, he could reasonably pass for Santa.
"Nicolette, you’ve outdone yourself,” he praised. “I can't thank you enough."
"Anything for you, JD. It's for a good cause."
Jack smiled. "You're the best."
"Thank you," I said to her.
"Don’t worry. You two will be great."
We thanked her again, and Jack gave her a little something for the effort, though she declined to take it.
He insisted.
We left and brought the costumes back to the Avventura, then set out to find Dr. Carlson.
His office was located in the Harborview Plaza on the fourth floor.
The office was chic and classy with mint green walls, white rattan furniture, and coastal accents.
Fashion magazines rested atop glass coffee tables.
The air was filled with a breezy scent that masked the smell of wet dog.
Several attractive women waited with their pets in the lounge.
Large diamonds glimmered on perfectly manicured hands.
Bodies sculpted by Pilates and hot yoga squeezed into tight leggings and sports bras.
A flatscreen on the wall kept the expensive yappy dogs occupied.
I flashed my badge at the receptionist, and her eyes widened. "We need to have a word with Dr. Carlson.”
"He's extremely busy at the moment,” she stammered. “Can I tell him what this is regarding?"
She was an attractive woman in her mid-20s with short raven hair that dangled just above her shoulders.
"It's urgent," I said, not elaborating.
She hesitated. "I'll let him know you're here."
The receptionist stood up from the desk and walked into the back, then returned a moment later. She forced a smile. "Please have a seat. Dr. Carlson will be with you shortly."
We found some empty chairs, and JD chatted up one of the lovely ladies cradling a Yorkshire Terrier in her lap.
The dog growled at him.
“Chauncey, no!” She smiled. “You’ll have to forgive him. He just hasn’t been himself lately.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know. They didn’t renew his favorite show. I think he can sense it’s over.”
“I’m sure,” JD said, agreeing with whatever she said.
An assistant poked her head into the waiting room and smiled. “Deputies, Dr. Carlson will see you now.”
Jack smiled at the woman and Chauncey, then we followed the assistant past exam rooms to the doctor’s office. She offered chairs across from his desk and said, “He’ll be with you shortly.”
She slipped out and closed the door.
"Maybe I missed my calling," Jack said. "Maybe I should have been a veterinarian."
Judging by the clientele in the waiting room, Dr. Carlson was doing okay.
He stepped into the room a moment later with a bright smile and perfect teeth.
His square jaw, short brown hair, and bright blue eyes were a little too synthetic.
This was a guy who spent a lot of time at the dermatologist and plastic surgeon.
He wore a white lab coat and looked like a medical doctor. "What can I do for you, gentlemen?"
We stood up, shook hands, and exchanged pleasantries. Carlson took a seat behind his desk.
"It's about Whitney Hollingsworth," I said.
A fond smile curled his lips. "Wonderful woman. How is she?"
"Dead."
His smile faded, and his brow raised. Confusion washed over his face. It didn’t compute. "She was just in last week.”
"What brought her in?”
Dr. Carlson hesitated for a moment. His eyes narrowed and darted between the two of us, sizing us up. "How did she die?"
"The medical examiner hasn’t made a determination yet.” I didn’t want to go into too much detail.
"I've been seeing Diesel for a while. The poor guy has hip dysplasia and generalized anxiety disorder. Hip dysplasia is common in the breed. It can be extremely painful at times for those animals, and we try to make sure that they are comfortable," he said, then followed with a smile.
"You prescribed enough oxy to medicate a horse,” I said.
Carlson’s face tightened. "Diesel is a big dog. Many of my patients find it more economical to cut medications down. You pay the same for a 5mg pill as you do for a 10mg pill in many instances.”
"I don't think Whitney Hollingsworth was too concerned about the economics of it all."
"Money is money, Deputy. Rich or poor, no one likes to get taken advantage of." His brow knitted again. "Is there some kind of problem?"
"Why not prescribe something like tramadol? Much more common."
Dr. Carlson hesitated, then forced a smile. "My patients are very particular when it comes to the care of their animals. Oftentimes, they want the best, most effective medication. If a client asks for a specific medication, I will do my best to accommodate requests, within applicable law."
"So, you’re willing to prescribe whatever these women ask for," I said.
Dr. Carlson chuckled. "You’re putting words in my mouth, Deputy.
We’re talking about beloved older pets. These animals can't speak for themselves.
Somebody has to be their advocate. No one knows them better than their owners.
These animals are more than just pets. They are trusted companions and members of the family.
We owe it to them to keep them comfortable as the end draws near. "
“I understand. I love my pets. I’d do anything for them.”
He took a breath. "I'm not running a pill mill here, gentlemen. I'm merely trying to serve my clients with dignity. Feel free to look at my records and prescriptions. You'll find nothing out of order. How my clients manage medication outside of the office is beyond my control."
There was a long silence.
"I take it there's more to the story than you're telling me,” Dr. Carlson continued.
"Like I said, the toxicology report hasn't come back yet, but I suspect it will find alcohol, cocaine, oxycodone, and Xanax in her system."
Dr. Carlson frowned and shook his head. "That can be a lethal combination. No doubt about it.”
“Were you aware of Whitney’s recreational drug use?”