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the treed property and a smaller, low stone building occupied the right.
    “’Endwhistle Small Animal Veterinary Clinic,’” Marianne said out loud as she parked the estate car in the gravel car park and got out. The words were etched in gold script across a wide bay window. A riot of purple-and-white-striped flowers decorated the window boxes.
    Her gaze swept from the bright green door to the nearby pet runs and a fenced exercise enclosure, and a flutter of nervousness ran through her. She liked this place already. She wanted – badly – to work here.
    Of course, Marianne reminded herself as she approached the door, she didn’t have much experience.
    Who am I kidding?
she thought.
I have none
. But how hard could it be to schedule appointments and bandage up a few injured dogs and cats?
    Feeling somewhat reassured, she took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.
    A tiled floor and the faint scent of disinfectant greeted her as she entered the waiting room. Plastic chairs lined the walls; most were occupied with anxious pet owners and their ailing animals.
    Marianne had a quick glance around as she made her way to the reception desk. Despite the bare floor and the institutional green of the walls, the room had a cheery, welcoming feel thanks to the paintings on the walls and bright touches like a vase of roses on the counter and a basket heaped with pet toys in one corner.
    “Hello, miss,” a smiling young woman behind the counter said. “May I help you?”
    “Yes. I wondered if I might speak to Dr Brandon? My name is Marianne Holland and I’m here to interview for a job at the clinic,” she added.
    “Oh. Well, I’m that sorry, but he’s gone out on an emergency call. One of the farmers’ dogs ingested something, and he’s afraid it might be rat poison.”
    “Oh, no,” Marianne exclaimed. “How horrible. I do hope the poor dog will be all right.”
    “Well, if anyone can help Maddie, Dr Brandon can.” She smiled. “I’ll let him know you stopped by. I can reschedule you for tomorrow morning, if you like?”
    “Yes. That’d be perfect. Thank you.”
    Marianne waited as the receptionist wrote out an appointment card. A cocker spaniel, a cockatiel, and a crated Siamese cat sat beside their owners, all of them subdued as they waited to be seen.
    “Here you are.” The girl – Lynn, according to her nametag – handed her a card with tomorrow’s date and her appointment time written down. “Same time, nine o’clock.”
    “I’ll be here,” Marianne promised, and turned to go.
    “Good. Oh, and Miss Holland?”
    She stopped halfway across the floor and turned back. “Yes?”
    “Don’t you worry about Maddie,” she assured Marianne. “Dr Brandon’s the best there is. She’ll be fine.”
    ***
    Just a few kilometres outside of Endwhistle, with a cough and a shudder and a cloud of steam, the check engine light came on and the estate car coughed and sputtered to a stop.
    Marianne turned the key in the ignition; she checked the gas gauge (nearly full); she got out and lifted the bonnet to allow the billow of steam to escape; then she peered down at the engine in hopes that looking at it would help her figure out what was wrong.
    It didn’t. The car was officially and irrevocably dead.
    What to do now?
    “I’ll call someone to come and get me, of course,” she said out loud. Surely one of the local petrol stations would have a mechanic and a towing truck on hand.
    Marianne reached in her pocket for her mobile. And although she called every petrol station in the area – all two of them – no one answered.
    “Right, I’ll call Mrs Fenwick,” she decided, and tried to tamp down her panic. “She can send Bertie or Jack to fetch me.” She took her phone out and stared at it, her fingers poised over the screen.
    Marianne groaned. She didn’t know the bloody number. She’d never bothered to programme it into her phone.
    “Oh, that’s just great, that is.” She slumped against the side of