I Was His Waiting Room novel · Chapter 2 of 32
Chapter 2: The Invoices
Niall Prendergast accuses Maura of fraud until she shows him the free adoption contract for Juniper, then tells her who the money was for: his brother's wife.
"So would I," I said.
He blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"You'd like to see the dog. So would I. Last night she hadn't had water all day."
I leaned the broom against the wall and held out my hand for the folder.
He didn't give it to me.
"Before we get to the dog, Ms. Costigan, let's get to the thirty-two thousand four hundred dollars."
"I've never seen thirty-two thousand dollars in one place in my life."
"You've seen nine hundred, thirty-six times."
He said it.
I took the folder anyway.
He let go of it a second too late.
The invoices were printed on cheap letterhead. Costigan Training. A Gmail address I'd never used.
Service dog training, Juniper. Monthly. Nine hundred dollars.
At the bottom of every one, in loopy blue ink, M. Costigan.
The M had a little curl on it.
"That's not my signature," I said.
"That's what people say."
"No, I mean it's not even close. Hang on."
I went to my truck.
He stayed exactly where he was, on the concrete apron, outside the bay.
My placement binder lived behind the seat. Every dog I'd ever trained had a page in it.
I flipped to Juniper and brought him the contract.
Adoption agreement. One yellow Labrador retriever, female, two years old at placement.
Fee: zero dollars.
Signed by Kiera Lynch, recipient. Signed by Maura Costigan, trainer.
My signature was a hard slash of an M and a flat line after it.
He held the two side by side.
He tipped them toward the light.
"You've got terrible handwriting," he said.
"Thank you."
"It wasn't a compliment."
"It's still mine. That curly thing isn't."
He read the contract again, slower.
His thumb stopped on paragraph nine.
"Welfare clause."
"If the dog's neglected, she comes back to me. I put it in every contract. Nobody ever reads it."
"I read everything."
"I can tell."
A scrabble of nails sounded behind me.
Kerry came through the side door with Biscuit on a leash, an eighteen-month-old golden who thought every human was a long-lost cousin.
Biscuit saw the suit and launched.
Niall Prendergast took three fast steps backward and put his car door between himself and a puppy.
Kerry stopped dead.
Biscuit sat on command and wagged so hard her whole back half swung.
"Is he okay?" Kerry asked me, not quietly.
"I'm fine," he said from behind the door.
"You look fine. You look like a man who's fine."
"I'm allergic."
"To what?"
"Being jumped on."
Kerry grinned at me over his head.
I bit the inside of my cheek.
"She won't touch you unless you say her name," I said. "Biscuit, down."
Biscuit dropped flat on the concrete with a groan.
He looked at the dog for a long moment.
Then he came out from behind the door and buttoned his jacket.
"Who's Biscuit?" he said.
"A future diabetic alert dog. She'll sit with a seventeen-year-old girl in algebra and paw her when her sugar drops."
"She's a baby."
"She's a baby now. In December she graduates."
He looked past me into the firehouse.
Four empty kennel runs with rusted gates. A desk made of a door on two sawhorses. One folding chair.
"From this," he said.
"From this."
He didn't laugh at me. I'll give him that.
He pulled out his phone, scrolled, and turned the screen to me.
A bank ledger. Prendergast Family Office.
Line after line, every month, nine hundred dollars to Costigan Training. And above it, every month, twelve thousand dollars to the same account.
Care stipend. Medical. Housing. Aide.
"I don't understand," I said. "Who is your family paying all this to?"
"The invoices come to us through my brother's wife," he said. "She forwards them with the care bills. My office pays them. I sign the checks."
"Your brother's wife has my dog?"
"Apparently she has a lot of things."
"I don't know your brother's wife. I don't know anybody's wife. I gave that dog to a woman named Kiera."
He put the phone away.
He looked at me.
"Ms. Costigan. How well do you know Kiera Lynch?"
"I've brought her dinner twice a week for three years."
Something moved in his face.
"Then you should sit down."
"I've got one chair and you're standing next to it."
He pulled the folding chair out from my sawhorse desk and set it on the concrete in front of me.
I didn't sit.
Biscuit crept forward on her belly and laid her chin on the toe of his shoe.
He went very still.
He didn't move his foot.
"Kiera Lynch," he said, "has been married to my brother for four years."
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