Chapter 10 Lacey
LACEY
The large standard poodle lay on the examination table, panting heavily and clearly distressed. His owner, Mrs. Baxter, stood nearby with her two young children, all of them looking worried as Lacey carefully examined the dog.
"When did Chompers start showing these symptoms?" Lacey asked, gently palpating the dog's abdomen while Margo held him steady.
"About two hours ago," Mrs. Baxter replied. "He was fine this morning, but after our walk in the park, he started vomiting and couldn't seem to get comfortable. He keeps trying to lie down, then getting up again."
Lacey nodded, her trained eye taking in the dog's distended abdomen, rapid breathing, and obvious discomfort. The symptoms were classic, and she had a good idea of what they were dealing with.
"Did he eat anything unusual during your walk?" Lacey asked, continuing her examination.
"The kids might have dropped some food," Mrs. Baxter said, glancing at her children with mild reproach. "We had a picnic lunch in the park."
"What kind of food?" Lacey continued her examination of Chompers.
"Sandwiches, some grapes, chocolate chip cookies..." Mrs. Baxter's eyes widened as she realized the implication. "Oh no. Do you think he ate chocolate?"
"Maybe," Lacey said, feeling the dog's elevated heart rate. "Chocolate toxicity in dogs can cause exactly these symptoms. The good news is we caught it early."
She turned to Margo, who was standing ready with supplies. "Can you draw up an activated charcoal solution? And prepare an anti-nausea injection."
Margo nodded and moved to the medication cabinet, working efficiently, the summer jobs working for Lacey when she was a teen paying off.
Lacey worked with her injured shoulder still in its sling.
They'd become a good team over the past hour, compensating for each other's limitations, with Margo’s burn.
"Is Chompers going to be okay?" the younger child asked, a boy of about seven who was clearly attached to the dog.
"He's going to be fine," Lacey assured him with a warm smile. "We're going to give him some medicine to help his stomach feel better, and then you'll need to watch him carefully for the next day or two."
She administered the anti-nausea injection first, then gave Chompers the activated charcoal to help absorb any remaining chocolate in his system. The dog was cooperative, clearly feeling unwell enough to accept the treatment without protest.
"There," Lacey said, stroking the poodle's curly head as he began to relax slightly. "That should help."
She spent the next few minutes going over post-treatment instructions with Mrs. Baxter, explaining what symptoms to watch for and when to call if Chompers showed any signs of distress.
The family was clearly devoted to their pet, and Lacey felt confident they would follow her instructions carefully.
"Bring him back tomorrow morning so I can check on him," she concluded, helping Mrs. Baxter get Chompers down from the examination table. "And no more chocolate for this fellow. Keep all human food up high where he can't reach it."
"We will," Mrs.Baxter promised. "Thank you so much, Dr. Peltz. I was so scared when he started acting sick."
"That's what we're here for," Lacey replied, walking them to the front door. "Chompers is going to be just fine."
She and Margo watched as the family loaded the now much calmer poodle into their car and drove away. The evening was growing dark, and Lacey suddenly realized how late they were running.
Margo glanced at her wristwatch and frowned. "We'd better go. We're running really late for the barbecue, and I have the dessert in the car."
"Yes, we wouldn't want to have to eat your peach cobbler all by ourselves," Lacey laughed, feeling her stomach respond to the thought of Margo's famous dessert.
She could almost taste the sweet peaches and buttery crust topped with a huge dollop of vanilla whipped cream.
The thought made her mouth water, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since breakfast.
"Let's get washed up and go," Lacey suggested, heading toward the small bathroom to clean up after handling Chompers.
"I'll lock up," Margo said, moving toward the front door.
Before she could reach it, and just as Lacey was turning toward the bathroom, they both froze as the front door of the veterinary clinic opened slightly. A metallic canister rolled across the floor, coming to rest near the reception desk.
They stared in shock, which quickly turned to horror as a hissing sound filled the air and gray gas began pouring from the device.
Instinct kicked in immediately. "Hold your breath!" Lacey shouted. "Get to the door!"
She followed her own advice, taking a deep breath and holding it as she and Margo both rushed toward the front entrance. But when Margo grabbed the handle and pushed, the door wouldn't budge. It had been secured from the outside somehow.
Still holding her breath and starting to feel her lungs burn with the effort, Lacey pointed toward the back of the clinic. Margo nodded, understanding immediately, and they both ran toward the rear exit.
But as they rounded the corner into the back hallway, they came to an abrupt halt. Flames were rising up from the back door, blocking their escape route completely. Someone had set a fire there while they were dealing with the gas in the front.
"Oh no," Lacey gasped, using up precious air. Her hand flew to her mouth as she realized they were trapped.
As the burn in her lungs intensified, she pointed toward the small bathroom. It had a window. Maybe they could get out that way. Margo nodded, her face already showing the strain of holding her breath for so long.
They rushed to the bathroom, but as they pushed open the door, another metallic canister flew through the slightly open window, landing at their feet and immediately hissing out the same gray gas.
Lacey's mind raced as panic threatened to overwhelm her. They were trapped. Someone had planned this carefully. They had blocked the front door, setting fire to the back exit, and now gassing the only other room where they might have found refuge.
Her lungs were screaming for air now, and she could see that Margo was in the same situation. They had to find another way out, but the clinic was small, and there weren't many options.
Still holding what remained of her breath, Lacey grabbed Margo's arm and pulled her back toward the main examination room. Maybe they could break one of the larger windows there, or find something to help them breathe until help arrived.
But as they stumbled back into the main room, the gas was now everywhere, creating a thick gray haze that made it impossible to see clearly. Lacey's chest felt like it was on fire, and black spots were beginning to dance at the edges of her vision.
She tried to signal to Margo, pointing toward the examination table where they kept emergency equipment, but her movements were becoming sluggish and uncoordinated. The need to breathe was overwhelming every other thought.
Margo grabbed her good arm, trying to guide her toward what looked like clearer air near the far wall, but they were both stumbling now, their coordination failing as their bodies desperately demanded oxygen.
Lacey's vision was blurring badly, and she could feel her legs becoming weak. She tried to hold onto consciousness, knowing that if they passed out, whoever had done this to them would probably make sure they never woke up.
But the gray haze was everywhere now, and her body's need for air was overriding her will to stay awake. She felt herself sinking toward the floor, Margo's hand still clutched in hers, as darkness closed in around them.
The last coherent thought she had was wondering if anyone would find them in time, or if Dean would ever know how she really felt about him.
Then everything went black.
Voices filtered through the haze, distant and unclear. Someone was calling her name, the sound echoing strangely as if she were hearing it from underwater.
"Lacey. Lacey, can you hear me?"
The voice was deep, familiar, but her mind couldn't quite place it. Her eyes felt impossibly heavy, and there was something wrong with her throat. She tried to speak but only managed a weak cough.
A gentle hand touched her cheek, warm and reassuring. "That's it. Come on back to us."
Suddenly, through the haze of confusion and disorientation, memory came rushing back. The canister. The gas. The flames. Someone had trapped her and Margo in the vet clinic.
She felt herself being lifted, strong arms supporting her weight as someone carried her. Through her blurred vision, she could make out a firefighter's jacket and mask, but something about the way he moved, the careful way he held her, was achingly familiar.
"Dean?" she tried to say, but it came out as barely a whisper.
As he carried her toward what she hoped was safety, full awareness of what had happened crashed over her.
"Margo," she managed to gasp, her throat raw and burning. "Where is Margo?"
"She's safe," Dean's voice assured her through the mask. "They got her out first. She's going to be okay."
Relief flooded through her, followed immediately by another wave of dizziness. She tried to stay conscious, tried to help him by keeping her weight centered, but her body felt like it belonged to someone else.
The next few minutes passed in a blur of sirens, flashing lights, and concerned voices. She was aware of being placed on a stretcher, of an oxygen mask being fitted over her face, of the ambulance doors closing with a solid thunk.
She drifted in and out of consciousness during the ride, occasionally opening her eyes to see familiar faces looking down at her with worry. At one point, she saw Lucy's concerned expression hovering above her.
"Lacey, you're going to be fine," Lucy was saying. "Just rest now."
But rest seemed impossible. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw those canisters rolling across the floor, felt again that desperate need for air, remembered the terror of being trapped with no way out.
Hours later, consciousness filtered back gradually, like water slowly filling a basin. She was in a hospital bed, she realized, recognizing the antiseptic smell and the too-bright lighting that seemed to be standard in medical facilities.
As the events of the evening came back to her fully, she tried to sit up, needing to know that Margo was really all right, needing to understand what had happened.
But suddenly someone loomed over her, gentle hands pressing her back down onto the pillows.
"No," Dean's voice said, rough with emotion. "Don't move. Just lie still. You're safe now."
She looked up into his worried face, seeing exhaustion and fear in his eyes that spoke to how close they'd come to losing everything.
"Margo?" she asked again, needing to hear it one more time.
"She's fine," Dean assured her, his voice steadier now. "Better than you are, actually."
Before either of them could say anything else, there was a knock at the door, and Noah rushed in, his face pale with worry.
"Mom, you're finally awake," he said, his eyes bright with unshed tears as he moved to her bedside and carefully took her hand. "You can't do this to me. This is the second time in less than two days."
"I'm fine, sweetheart," Lacey tried to assure him, but even as she said the words, she knew they weren't entirely true.
As flashes of what had happened rushed through her brain.
The deliberate trapping, the coordinated attack, the intent seemed clear.
Lacey realized with cold certainty that someone had tried to hurt her.
June had been right after the car accident.
Lacey did have an enemy who wanted her gone, and the question was who and why.
As far as Lacey knew, she hadn’t hurt or angered anyone; she had to figure out who.
Her eyes moved toward Dean, who was listening to something Noah was telling him, and an idea formed in her mind as she decided to quietly ask him to help her find out who disliked her so much.