Page 63 of Spiced!

“Any changes in the barking otherwise?”

“Just the sprinkler. It’s personal between them.” She watched me complete the exam with the comfortable familiarity of a regular. “You seem cheerful this morning, Dr. Davis.”

“I’m always cheerful.”

“You’re usually focused,” she said. “Cheerful is different.”

I handed her Biscotti’s discharge summary and thanked her for coming in.

The imaging from Dr. Reyes had been sitting in a folder on my desk since Friday. I’d been back to it four times over the weekend, twice before Adrian arrived on Sunday, once in the ten minutes after he left, when the apartment was quiet and I needed something to do with my brain, and once more late Monday morning before I kissed Puck’s head and drove to the office far too early.

It was, as complicated cases went, genuinely interesting.

And most complicated.

The presentation Dr. Reyes had described—intermittent lethargy, reduced appetite, occasional labored breathing that resolved without intervention—pointed in several directions at once, which was either very helpful or very unhelpful, depending on how you approached it. I preferred to think of it as helpful. A case that pointed everywhere was a case that hadn’t been asked the right questions yet.

I spread the imaging across my desk between the morning and afternoon patient loads, letting the picture build itself. The pulmonary imaging was the interesting part. It wasn’t alarming, but it was interesting.

There was something in the density readings that didn’t fit the presentation cleanly. I thought it was too subtle to be the primary issue, but too consistent to be incidental. I had the beginnings of a theory that I wasn’t ready to call a theory yet. It was more of a direction or a gut feeling, a question I wanted to ask the image before I committed to anything.

Turning to my laptop, I fired off an email to the zoo. I was scribbling notes when Marcus knocked.

“Dr. Reyes from Lowry Park,” he said. “Line two.”

“Jesus, that was fast.”

Marcus shrugged and stepped back toward the front.

I picked up with, “Dr. Reyes, how are you?”

“Good morning, Dr. Davis. I’m great, thanks.” Her voice held the same carefully prepared quality it always did. “I wanted to ask about the pulmonary imaging. You mentioned in your email that you had a thought about the density readings.”

“I’m not sure I would even call it a thought. It’s more of . . . let’s call it a direction.”

“I understand the distinction.” A brief pause. “We had another episode last night. It was brief, and it resolved on its own, but I wanted you to know.”

“What kind of episode?”

“Labored breathing that lasted approximately eight minutes. She was calm throughout, which is consistent with her character.” I heard her shuffle some papers. “She’s eating this morning and alert. There don’t appear to be any residual signs.”

I glanced at the imaging on my desk. “Can you get me video of the next episode, if there is one?”

“We already have cameras in the enclosure. I can turn on monitoring.”

“Please do that, and I want bloodwork, a full panel, not just the standard. I’m looking for something specific.”

“What are you looking for?”

“I’d rather not say yet,” I said. “I don’t want to send you looking for something that isn’t there.”

She was quiet for a moment. “But you have a theory?”

“No, just a direction,” I repeated.

“I’ll take a direction,” she said. “We’ve been going in circles for six weeks.”

I restated what bloodwork I needed, confirmed the imaging protocol, and hung up, then sat with the imaging for another few minutes. My theory, my direction, was specific enough to feel real and vague enough to be wrong, which was the exact reason I tried not to get attached to new ideas. I had been wrong about directions before.