Murders of a Feather, page 2
My assistant and the dogs disappeared inside. A self-proclaimed dog person, Mari was in her element.
“Come on in,” Ashley called out on her way to the kitchen. I brushed my boots off on the doormat then left them in the mudroom. A pair of loafers stashed in my backpack provided me with clean shoes. Once shod, I joined the crowd in the kitchen.
“Coffee?” our client asked. Although Ashley was worth a small fortune and had the money to wear designer clothes, she preferred well-worn jeans and a baggy sweatshirt.
“Thanks, for the offer. Maybe a quick one? How many puppies do we have to examine?”
“Only five survived. The mommy dog escaped while in heat and those dreadful puppy farm owners weren’t happy about it. They dumped her on the side of a road, but someone saw them and brought her to our rescue. She’s the sweetest golden retriever, considering all she’s been through.” Ashley made a move off the chair. “Let me get you that coffee.”
Mari jumped up. “Wait. I’ll pour. I see you still have your orthopedic boot on. You need to take it easy.” The couple had created a fancy espresso/coffee/tea bar at the end of the gray-and-white granite countertop. Stainless-steel appliances shone next to their cobalt blue French enamel stove.
Ashley made a noise of disgust, focusing on the black shiny device clamped onto her lower leg.
“I hate this thing. Both my husband and my doctor have confined me to the house for ten days until my ankle begins to heal properly. Last week I tripped over something going out to the barn and reinjured it. That’s the third or fourth time. I am unbelievably clumsy.”
“Do you have someone helping you?” I asked. Besides feeding all the animals, there were stalls to muck out and medications to be given, not to mention checking on the livestock in the barn.
Ashley nodded, her shoulder-length hair bobbing. “I’ve got our farm manager full-time, and my neighbor’s oldest daughter is coming over after school to help with the horses. On the weekends the volunteers take over.”
“Well, if there’s anything we can do, let us know,” I said. “By the way, what are the large-animal vets doing here?”
“We just acquired twin goat rescues, and of course they’re both pregnant. I asked the large-animal vets to come out and do ultrasounds, so I don’t have any unpleasant surprises.” She laughed at that, as if she didn’t have enough surprises in her life. “They’re also getting wellness checks.”
Coffee cup drained, I felt the blast of caffeine energy. “Mari, have you got the vaccines with you?”
She held up our refrigerated traveling case. “Ready when you are, Doc. Ashley, can you point the way?”
“Straight down that hallway. They’re in the back room on the right with the door that says ‘Beware of Puppies,’” Ashley told us. “I played with them this morning,” she added. “Mommy dog is over here taking a break.” She pointed to a white-faced golden retriever with wavy hair, who obviously had been nursing for a while.
“Okay. We’re going in.”
Like the rest of the downstairs, all the farmhouse floors that looked like wide wooden planks were actually tile. During renovation Ashley made sure all the surfaces were pet cleanup friendly. Several cats strolled along with us, unconcerned by the dogs milling around.
When we opened the door, a symphony of high-pitched puppy yips forced me to use hand signals to communicate with my veterinary assistant.
The large room had been cordoned off into two spaces by temporary fencing, for ease of cleaning. Five playful puppies scrambled over each other as they ran to get petted. Each pup had a different-colored collar, making identification easier. In this case it wasn’t necessary.
Each puppy looked completely different from its sibling. Truly a mixed bouquet of cuteness.
“Superfecundation at its finest,” I commented as Mari put our supplies on a small table. In front of me the furry babies, some with ears that were up, some with floppy ears, and others with curled-up tails stared at me. The rainbow array of coat colors made me smile. Only one resembled their golden retriever mom.
“Super what?”
“Superfecundation. It happens when a dog in heat has had several boyfriends at the same time, to say it politely. These puppies all have the same mom, but there could well be multiple different daddies.”
“So that’s what they call it. Yep. A friend of mine’s female Dalmatian jumped a fence when she was in heat after they bred her to a champion Dalmatian stud. She delivered seven spotted puppies and one that was dark brown and long-haired. The owner had DNA tests done so she could verify which ones were pure Dalmatians.”
“So, obviously the brown one wasn’t.”
“Right. But neither were five of the spotted ones. She ended up with only two pure-blooded Dalmatians out of the entire litter.”
“Bummer for her. But we don’t have to worry about any of that with these cutie-pies. Who’s first?”
Mari handed me a gray short-haired male with a broad head. “Maybe some pit bull in this one?”
“Time will tell.” The little guy licked my face as I tried to listen to his heart. I had to hand it to Ashley. The entire litter was very socialized, friendly, and healthy. After I gave the pups their first set of shots, we stayed for about twenty minutes, making sure none of them showed any rare allergic reaction to their vaccines. My spirits definitely lifted with this full-immersion puppy therapy. It’s impossible to be down when surrounded by puppies.
By the time we got up off the floor, both Mari and I had a dusting of puppy fuzz and debris on our scrub pants.
“Had your fill of puppy breath?” I asked my friend.
“Never,” she answered with a big grin.
As we walked down the hallway toward the kitchen, I said, “While you get the puppy kits and exam paperwork ready, I’m going to take a quick trip to the barn and see if the large-animal doc needs any help. I’ll text you when I’m done.”
“No worries,” Mari answered, plucking a clump of hair from her scrub top. “I’ll check in with Cindy. I hope we’re finished for the day.”
We updated Ashley on each of her puppies, then I excused myself. “I’m going to head out to your barn and see if that large-animal vet needs any help. Any idea who is working out there?”
Ashley thought for a moment. “I’m pretty sure it’s Dr. Mike. His wife just had twins. If he looks tired, then he’s the one,” she laughed.
“Okay. I’ll be back soon.”
I took my jacket off the mudroom coatrack, placed my shoes in the backpack, and slipped into my green rubber boots. Now outfitted, I left for the barn. I was very familiar with it, having helped Ashley gentle a wild mustang adoptee last month.
Out in the corral I said hi to two horses, including Lobo the mustang. A donkey and a few sheep meandered over, looking for the apple treats I always carried in my coat pocket.
“Later, guys.” Above me the sky darkened, intensifying the cold. I left the animals pulling hay out of the hayrack and opened the barn door. “Hello,” I called.
“Over here,” came a somewhat muffled voice. “Just in time.”
Sitting in the hay in one of the large pens wearing a wrinkled white coat over a sweater was a brown-haired man with straw on his shoulder. The large-animal vet, I assumed. A very pregnant nanny goat was tethered in front of him.
He looked up at me, his glasses sliding down his nose.
“Hey. I’m Dr. Turner. Oak Falls Animal Hospital. I’m doing a puppy wellness house call and thought I’d drop in and see if you needed any help.”
He started to answer when the mother goat gave a grunt, and out popped a sleek, wet goat head. I noticed movement in the hay nearby. Two more kids lay curled up together, slick and new.
In the far corner stood a portable ultrasound machine, safely stowed in its case.
I gingerly knelt down, checking first for any piles of goat yuck lying around. “How many?” I asked.
“We’ve got a trifecta here,” he laughed. “Those two were already out when I got here. Let’s see.” He pushed his glasses back onto his nose. “Lost a contact and waiting for a replacement. These glasses are a pain.” The goat bleated again, so he started talking to her in a calm deep voice. “You’re almost finished, mommy. Just one more to go.”
She must have listened because the baby’s head moved forward.
“Do you assist at this point?” I asked. “My large-animal professor didn’t recommend intervening unless absolutely necessary.”
“Good advice.” He leaned nearer the nanny goat. “I visually check for tears or inertia, or anything unusual. Otherwise, goats rarely need any help.”
As he slid closer, the mom made another goaty noise and the baby slid out, feet with tiny black hooves neatly tucked up. In an instant we were dodging slime.
The vet’s arms and hands—clear up to and over the elbow—were covered by his work gloves. I wasn’t as prepared. I scuttled behind him and stood up.
“Looks like you’re good here.” I heard the baby goats begin to bleat.
“Thanks, Dr. Turner,” he said. His grin was warm and friendly. The mother goat moved toward her babies, tossing hay in the air that landed on the large-animal veterinarian’s head.
“Call me Kate,” I told him.
“Mike,” he answered. “Say, if you’re going back to the house, tell Ms. Kaminsky I’ll text her a full report with pictures in a few minutes. I want to finish checking out this little guy and clean up a bit before using my cell phone.”
He held up both hands covered with various liquids, a big smile on his face. “Can’t beat bringing a little one into the world.”
“Agreed. I loved working in the cow barns in school,” I confessed, “so this is a fun change of pace for me. These days I’m mostly small animals and pocket pets.”
Three rambunctious baby goats interrupted our conversation butting his hands looking to nurse. He gently guided them to the mom feeding station.
“Nice meeting you,” I told him. “Got to run.”
“Thanks. See you around,” he said before turning back to his goat patients.
I stopped at the barn door, almost forgetting my ulterior motive. “Oh. How’s your elective surgery schedule? I’ve got an umbilical hernia and neuter in a mini potbellied piglet that’s about twelve weeks old I’m trying to send to your surgeons.”
His eyes squinted at the hanging light above my head. In the harsh light he looked to be in his early thirties.
“Call the office and check, but from what I hear, we’re booking elective surgery out almost three months.”
“This piggie may not be able to wait,” I answered. “There is a large deficit in the abdominal wall, and he’s got about a two-inch umbilical swelling already.” A stray hen wandered over and pecked at my boot.
“If you need some help, call me,” Mike said. “Hey. I’ve got a deal for you. I’ll come over and assist in exchange for you seeing a bunch of barn cats at my client’s stable. I’ll text my cell number to your office. It’s easier to get ahold of me by text these days.”
“Deal. I hear you’ve got a lot on your plate at the moment, so I appreciate that generous offer. Get some rest and enjoy your new babies.” I opened the barn door and went out through the corral to the main house.
“You’ve got baby goats,” I told Ashley. “One of your females gave birth to three little ones. All healthy that I could see. Dwarf Nubians, right?” The kitchen felt unbearably warm after being outside.
“Right.”
“Well, I’d love to run out and see them,” Mari said, “but Cindy squeezed in another house call, so we’ve got to get going.” She dodged a tiny dog while retrieving her coat.
“Who was out there? Dr. Mike?” Ashley asked. “He’s the vet who came last time.”
“Yes. He’s going to text you about the second goat and the kid details when he finishes up,” I said. “Now, please take care of that ankle. No tromping around in the mud and ice.”
She bent down and scooted her finger around the top margin of the boot brace. “This thing is starting to itch.”
“Don’t scratch. You can get infected sores that way.”
Reluctantly she pulled her fingers out and placed both hands on her kitchen table. “I’ve accepted that I’m housebound for another week. Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson in a painful way.”
“Stay there,” I told her. “We’ll see ourselves out.” I hoisted my backpack and separate medical bag over my shoulder. “By the way, your orthopedic doctor can recommend something to calm that itch.”
Mari moved ahead of me, our computer and other gear stowed in lightweight waterproof bags. We carefully snuck out the door leaving the dog pack inside.
Standing on the porch steps, I took another look at the red-painted barn in this beautiful rural setting, thinking about my decision to focus on small-animal medicine. Did my one hundred fifty thousand-plus dollars of student debt influence my choice? All I knew was it had been fun helping out in the barn today.
“You coming?” Mari asked, walking around the truck to the passenger side. Bits of frozen snow crunched under her high boots.
“On my way.”
We climbed into the front seat of the old truck and began carefully maneuvering down the driveway. I downshifted, preparing for the steepest part of the slope before it evened out by the mailbox and the main road.
“Did you take pictures of the baby goats?” Mari asked. She was a sucker for baby animals, no matter the species.
“Nope. Sorry. It got busy and messy.”
“What’s the large-animal vet like?” she asked, opening up the laptop and scrolling through several pages.
“Nice.” We were at the base of the driveway, waiting for an opening into traffic. As on most country roads, it seemed you could go for fifteen minutes without anyone passing, but when you needed to pull out into traffic, there was always a mess of cars and trucks zipping by.
“His name is Dr. Mike. I didn’t get his last name. I guess he’s the one with twins at home.”
“He’s lucky he doesn’t have triplets,” Mari commented. “Talk about needing a village.”
I could only nod in agreement. For a while I took care of four dogs in my small studio apartment attached to the animal hospital. It felt like running a boarding facility, between the special diets, personalities, and trying to get them all to pee at the same time. And those were dogs, not children. At this point in my life, I couldn’t imagine juggling work and family. So far, I’d been unsuccessful at maintaining a career and a relationship. No surprise that Valentine’s Day was going to be a no-show for me again.
After a truck stacked with refuse for the dump rumbled by, I eased onto the road and drove toward our next appointment.
Mari chatted away while I concentrated on driving. Light snowflakes danced across our windshield. On either side of the country road rose hills of snow pushed high by the plows. It had snowed on and off for the last three days. Dirty with sand and grit, the piles on the side of the road would be melting soon when February turned into March. I was dreaming about bright yellow daffodils when I saw a red-jacketed person in the road, waving their hands.
“Hold on,” I told Mari as I came to a sudden stop, hoping the person in front of me would get out of the way. As the truck slid to a halt, chains digging in, the ski-jacketed person scrambled over a shoulder of snow.
“What the heck?” Mari began to roll down her window.
We could see now it was a fellow in his thirties with a frenzied expression on his face. As I waited for him to approach, I noticed a tire trail off to the right across a field of white. Stranded about sixty feet away in a snowbank was an SUV, hood pointing down into a hidden gully. Was this guy doing the equivalent of off-road skiing with his truck?
“Hey,” Mari said as the guy approached the passenger side window. “Is something wrong?”
The man’s dark eyes darted, as he tried to explain, snowflakes frozen to his eyelashes. “There’s a body in the woods,” he gasped.
Chapter Three
“What did you say?” said Mari. Born in Oak Falls, she knew every square meter of the local countryside.
“There’s a body in the woods,” he repeated loudly as if we hadn’t heard him. “You’ve got to call the police. My stupid phone is out of charge.” Out of frustration he slammed his gloved hand on our hood.
I put the truck into park. “A body? Where is it?”
“There.” He pointed toward the distant tree line at the end of the snow-covered field.
“How far past your truck?” Mari asked. “There’s only one trail on this side that I know about.”
Instead of answering, he yelled, “Hurry up. Call them. What are you waiting for? Call the police now!”
Before he finished his sentence, Mari had her cell phone up to her ear, describing to the person on the other line exactly where we were. After a moment I heard her say, “Okay. We’ll wait up there at the top of the hill.”
“Get in,” I told the stranger.
My assistant opened her door and motioned to the back seat. “Show us where it is. The police will be here as soon as they can.”
When he crawled into our truck, he stumbled on some supplies bagged up in the back. At the sight of the syringes and vials of medications, he said, “Hey. What is this?”
I cranked the wheel to the right, following the break in the snowbank and began maneuvering the truck over the barely visible tire tracks. Mari lowered her window and took pictures with her phone. “We’re from Oak Falls Animal Hospital,” I told him. “I’m a veterinarian and this is my technician.”
“It’s a human body,” he said in an annoyed voice. “A human body, not some stupid animal. I wouldn’t even have bothered to flag you down if I’d known. What good are you two girls at a time like this?”
Downshifting hard, I easily maneuvered our old F-150 with chains on the tires past his new SUV, stuck in the snow.
“Humans are animals,” I reminded him. “But you’ve got a point. Some people are way more stupid than others.”
