Page 18 of Wild Frost

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."