Case of the One-Eyed Tiger (Corgi Case Files #1)

Chapter Two

I took the leash and looked down at my new ward. Sherlock, for his part, had to bend his neck up at almost a 90° angle so he could look all the way up at me. I leaned down to give the dog a quick pat on his head. As if that one act cemented the deal, Sherlock pulled on his leash, clearly anxious to get out of jail.

"Ready for some lunch?" Harry companionably asked as he followed me back to the clinic's lobby. Sherlock's doggy toenails clicked loudly across the concrete floor.

"You just suckered me into adopting a dog. Where are we supposed to go for lunch? I can't just leave him in my car."

Harry smiled. He took off his white doctor's coat and draped it over the front counter as he walked by.

"Good for you. You're already well on your way to becoming a good dog owner. Never leave your pet unattended in a vehicle."

I stared at Harry, wondering what his life experiences must have been like in order to pull him away from a life destined to land him behind bars. He had transformed himself from a dedicated loser to a responsible veterinarian who was now praising me for caring about Sherlock's well-being.

"Back in an hour, Laura," Woody called back to his receptionist. He held the door open for the two of us. "As for lunch, you'd be surprised. This whole town is very pet friendly. I thought we could go to Casa de Joe's."

"Casa de Joe's? Dude, tell me you made that up."

We exited the clinic and stepped out into the bright autumn day. Sherlock came to a stop as the two of us stopped by the side of the street.

"I shit you not, pal," Harry laughed, sounding more like the person I knew from school. "They have the best Mexican food in town. Where'd you park?"

I pointed back towards the other side of town.

"Down thataway. I've been walking everywhere. There's too many damn people crossing the street wherever they feel like it to risk driving."

Harry nodded knowingly.

"Right. I forgot about the wine festival. It's the start of Oscar's night for small wineries around here."

"Huh?" I asked, confused.

"The wine festival is a chance for the local wineries to compete for awards, recognition, that kind of thing," Harry explained.

I whistled. "How many could there be in one small town? There can't be that many, can there?"

Harry grinned, "Guess."

"5."

"Higher."

"10?"

"Higher."

"15? Come on, man. There's no way."

"Try 24."

"I never imagined such a small town could have that many."

"You'd be surprised," Harry said. "You don't have to own a vineyard to be considered a winery. Many wineries buy their grapes from local farmers. I know quite a few people who have converted their basements into micro-wineries." He pointed at a soft, pastel blue mini-van. "That baby is mine, right there."

I snorted with disbelief, "A minivan? Why not get a truck to haul around your dogs? I assume that's what you have, right?"

Harry slid open the passenger door and indicated the passenger seats. There was a child's seat strapped to each chair."