Murders of a Feather, page 6
“Just ice water,” I told her. “I’ve had enough coffee today to raise the Titanic.”
Judy laughed and said, “Be out in a few.”
While we waited, Mari and I went over some of our patients today, once again laughing about testicular implants.
“I’m just saying,” Mari began.
“Don’t go there,” I begged her, “or I’ll be on the floor.”
Within minutes Judy served us the soup of the day, Tuscan white bean, along with our beverages. When she hung around after delivering Mari our toasted scones, I asked, “Judy, do you know anything about Alicia Ramsey and José Florez, the victims we found up by the lake?”
Judy poured herself a cup of coffee and rested it on the counter in front of us. “So, what do you want to know?”
Paydirt! “Everything,” I said.
It sounded like an episode of Desperate Housewives, except Alicia was much more refined than those ladies. Beautiful and sweet, she put out vibes like a guy magnet, and it didn’t seem to matter if the guy was married or not. She did indeed marry James the lawyer, but only after she told him they were through if he didn’t divorce his wife. Needless to say, the wife, Linda, didn’t go quietly. A mom with three kids, she publicly denounced Alicia as a home breaker while fighting her husband for alimony and child support. His being a lawyer meant she was outgunned. Her former Prince Charming orchestrated a very contentious divorce to claim his prize, but two years after the wedding something went wrong. Amid claims of spousal mental abuse, Alicia filed for divorce and a split of the couple’s assets.
“What did James say?”
“He protested. Unfortunately, before the divorce was finalized, James killed himself, leaving everything to Alicia.”
“No,” Mari exclaimed.
“Afraid so. It turned into a big scandal. His first wife was distraught, much more so than Alicia, I think because his death stopped her child support and alimony payments. That left survivor’s benefits from Social Security. She had to sell her house and move back in with her mother.”
“Sad,” I said. “She must have hated Alicia.”
“Hate is too mild a description,” Judy said.
“How did Alicia hook up with José?” Mari asked.
Judy stopped to take a sip of coffee. “I’m not sure, but José was working as a physician assistant when they met. That was a couple of years ago.”
“So no wife in the picture this time.”
“No. José seemed like a nice guy, saving up for a down payment on a house for his bride. I’m not sure where they met, but once they did they became inseparable.”
“How long were José and Alicia engaged?” Mari asked after taking a bite of her scone.
“That, I don’t know,” Judy admitted. “I do know José referred to Alicia as his beautiful Princess Bride.”
“And the wedding was going to be held…”
“In June.”
“Very traditional,” I commented. I’d finished my soup and began thinking of the two victims, spending their last moments on earth together in the snow. “So Judy, what do you think happened up there on the mountain?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “They seemed so much in love, but I guess you never know.” Judy looked out the window at happy couples walking arm in arm along Main Street.
“I suppose somebody got pissed off.”
Chapter Nine
I’d hoped to sleep in the next day, but that didn’t happen. To my surprise, Mari knocked on my apartment door with two takeaway cups of coffee and a paper bag tucked under her elbow. Upon seeing his friend, Buddy gave one yip and then erupted into his happy dance.
“Did you see the paper this morning?” she asked as she bustled her way into the living room a good forty-five minutes before I intended to get up.
“Nope.” This early in the day I considered standing upright in my bathrobe and pajamas a major accomplishment. A morning person I wasn’t.
I followed her into the kitchen. The coffee she brought smelled exceptionally alluring. My nose became obsessed with figuring out what was in the paper bag.
Mari put the coffees down on the table and began pacing in my tiny kitchen. “That creep Bruce gave a reporter an interview about discovering the bodies. I read it when I stopped at the Circle K this morning.”
“So?” If I were a dog I’d be salivating, drool trickling down my chin. My nose weighed in by sending visions of breakfast sandwiches to my brain.
She stared at me then said, “You’re not really listening are you?” A folded-up newspaper smacked against the tabletop.
“Let’s sit and eat, and you can tell me all about it.” I lifted the lid of my coffee and put some plates on the table. “Come on. I know you’re dying to tell me.” I unfolded the paper, scanning the front page.
“Alright,” she acquiesced. “One bite, then we discuss what Bruce said.”
My face broke into a grin when I saw Mari had brought my favorite egg, bacon, and cheese on a biscuit. “You’re the best.”
“Yes, I am. But I’m so annoyed at that idiot Bruce, I could spit.”
Rationing out my pleasure, I took a reasonable bite and then washed it down with some coffee. That bite made my world brighter. Then Mari trampled on it.
“First of all, Bruce makes himself into some kind of big hero and not the gigantic weenie he really is,” she began. “Nothing about puking his guts up in the snow or running away from José’s body without checking for vital signs.”
“Well…” I began. “He’s not used to medical stuff like we are.”
Mari glowered at me like a giant raincloud bristling with thunderheads. “Don’t make excuses for him, please.”
“Ahhhh…”
“You didn’t read what he said about us. How he held our hands because we were so afraid. And how he implied he single-handedly led the police chief to the woman in the lake.”
“Bruce said that?” I cried out in disbelief.
“I’m paraphrasing. You come off worse than me,” Mari added, checking her watch. “Much worse.” She sipped her coffee and took a few bites of her breakfast biscuit.
I noticed the time. If I didn’t hurry I’d be late.
“Sorry to load all of this on you so early in the day, but it’s helping me feel better to talk it out. I’ll clean up after breakfast while you get ready for work.”
“What?” I yelled as I turned on the shower.
“Meet you in the clinic,” she said whacking the sofa with the newspaper before hightailing it out into the animal hospital.
I should have stayed in the shower for the rest of the morning. At the first opportunity during a break, Mari updated me on the rest of Bruce’s interview. I was “abrupt” and “antimale” in my encounter with him, not to mention dismissive.
“Why is he saying this stuff?” I wondered.
“Because he has nothing else to say. He ran away from a man lying facedown in the snow, then refused to show us exactly where the body was. Bruce didn’t even use the emergency 911 function on his phone, which the police claim was available to him. He’s trying not to look so bad by verbally attacking someone else.”
Babs helpfully suggested I move out of the state.
All the justifications in the world didn’t negate the fact that thousands of people who didn’t know me were reading his lies, but since it was stated as his opinion—well, I didn’t think I had much recourse. Chief Garcia’s job didn’t include taking the media to task.
My former boyfriend, Luke, texted me to forget the slurs and move on. That was his legal opinion. He was about to take his law boards for the second time. I hadn’t heard from him for quite a while. After that sound advice, he asked me out for drinks. I declined.
I also declined Mari’s invitation to meet her and some friends for karaoke at the Red Lion Pub. At this point, I preferred to be alone.
My phone pinged with texts throughout the evening, most of which I didn’t answer. The majority expressed their support for me and wished me well. I appreciated it but didn’t feel like talking to anyone.
One text I did answer.
Dr. Mike was free to perform piglet surgery tomorrow evening.
“He called you what?” Dr. Mike said as he repaired our mini potbellied pig’s umbilical hernia under the hot surgical lights. We’d started as soon as he arrived, hoping to finish up by six thirty or seven.
“You must be the only person in the Hudson Valley who doesn’t read the paper.” Watching him was a pleasure. His surgical technique looked precise and fluid as he layered his sutures, swiftly completing the repair.
“Well,” he said to me as we moved to the second already prepared surgical site, “I’m so busy at the moment, it’s all I can do to finish the day and collapse into bed at night.”
Remembering his newborn twins, I said, “Another reason to thank you so much for helping me. You’d be amazed how much my clients love this little guy.”
“I hated to think of your patient becoming a surgical emergency. Besides, I like pigs.”
“Me too.” I’d noticed I felt very comfortable talking to this large-animal vet. It reminded me of countless conversations with my classmates.
“One of my roommates in school brought home a mini-pig one semester. It turned out to be smarter than our dogs and very friendly.” He rapidly finished the inguinal ring closure and neuter, burying the sutures with the finesse of a plastic surgeon.
“I’m impressed,” I commented while assisting in our postsurgical checks. Together we unhooked Porky from the anesthesia machine and waited to remove his breathing tube. All vitals were stable. We both sat down on the floor after moving him to his cage, me scratching Porky’s speckled snout and Dr. Mike observing the bandaged surgical sites.
“Want a coffee?” I asked, standing up again. “It’s a little late but our office manager, Cindy, brings in the most amazing coffee for us. Mocha Almond okay?”
“Perfect. Although I find it usually smells better than it tastes.” He laughed then continued, “but that would never stop me from drinking it.”
“Speaking of drinking, I think I saw a swallow reflex,” I called out to him from across the room, the coffee filter in my hand.
Dr. Mike agreed, deflated the cuff, and removed the plastic endotracheal breathing tube. Porky took a few nice breaths for us and started to wake up.
“Our patient says he takes his coffee black.”
“Coming right up,” I joked.
I scrounged around for the tin of butter cookies one of our clients dropped off for Valentine’s Day. With some fancy paper plates donated by Babs balanced under my coffee, I handed Mike the cookies and one of our extra mugs and sat down alongside him.
“Think of this as a picnic, veterinarian style.”
He laughed. “During clinics at school, I think half my meals were eaten in one treatment room or another, sometimes in the hallways between classes.”
“Same here,” I said, hunting for one of the marble shortbread cookies. “How did you decide on veterinary medicine as a career?”
Mike leaned forward to check our patient’s surgical sites for seepage one more time, then closed and latched the cage door. Porky lifted his head and shoulders to glance around the room. “My parents ran a dairy farm in Cayuga County. From the time I can remember I did chores in the barn, watching calves being born, hauling hay. Until I was about seven, I thought everyone’s boots smelled like cow dung.”
“But you didn’t go into dairy medicine,” I said.
“Nope. I’m not sure if I want to continue in large-animal practice, or go into teaching, or join the CDC.” He wiped a few porcine bristles from his pants.
“I know what you mean. My year contract will be up soon, and then I need to decide what to do next. It’s fun working small-animal medicine, but I’ve been feeling a little restless. Good thing there are plenty of jobs out there to choose from.”
“True. How is Babs working out for you?” he asked me.
“So far, so good. Much better than I expected, to be frank.” I ate the vanilla half of the cookie, saving the best for last.
“Nice to hear. She’s worked for our clinic before, and someone mentioned Babs is scheduled to fill in for one of our receptionists going on maternity leave. Sometime in late March, early April, I think, for three months.”
The chime of a text message sounded from inside his jacket pocket. He glanced at the message and texted back.
“Sorry, I’ve got to get going. Glad I could help out,” he said. To my surprise, after he stood up he did a yoga stretch. “Helps with my stiff back,” he noted.
“Remember I promised to help you out with those barn cats,” I told him as he picked up his coat and looked around for his medical bag.
“Right. Keys, glasses, phone,” he muttered the words like a mantra, patting his pockets. “Sorry, I’ve been known to forget things. My roommate in school was the same way and always talked to himself. I found this reminding sequence to be pretty successful.”
I walked him out to the front of the hospital and unlocked the door. “Two human pig parents are now very happy,” I said. “By the way, you’ve got an excellent surgical technique.”
He smiled, his gray-blue eyes wide behind his glasses. “Thank you. I assisted at a surgical practice my last two years of vet school,” he explained as he zipped up his coat. “I was lucky. My mentor turned out to be a masterful surgeon and a great teacher.”
“Thanks again,” I told him. Out on the main road that ran past the animal hospital, a bevy of trucks passed by, rumbling around the corner before disappearing from sight.
“See you around,” Mike called out before he stepped into his boxy Scion. The driver’s side door had a sizable dent below the handle as if another car door had dinged it. With a quick wave goodbye, he backed up and headed out of the parking lot.
Hurrying along to the treatment room, I noticed Porky standing in his cage, clearly acting annoyed at the lightweight cone around his neck. I called Porky’s owners and arranged for them to pick up their pet. He’d go home with a cone to make sure he didn’t bother his surgical site.
After Porky left, it only took a few minutes to clean up the hospital surgical suite. After checking the anesthesia machine, one of two we used, and making sure all the anesthesia tanks were turned off, I wheeled it back into the corner of the room. As I scrubbed the surgery table and soaked the surgical instruments, I thought how pleasant it had been talking vet med with Mike, reminiscing about school and our professors. I’d found it comforting to know I wasn’t the only practicing vet contemplating future career changes. Once finished with the cleanup, I walked through the hospital, checking the windows and doors before turning on the alarm. Passing my office I noticed the hospital cat, Mr. Katt, had bypassed his bed and was curled up asleep on my office chair.
Buddy yodeled a hello when I opened the connecting door to my place. Walk time, I realized, slipping on my coat. Fighting off the cold, I watched him frolic in the snow. I recalled again Mike discussing his future, not sure which path to take. I knew exactly how he felt. In a world of medical specialization, I loved my small-animal patients, but to the exclusion of exotics and large animals? I wasn’t sure.
Socializing with a colleague made me miss my classmates. I’d found it hard keeping up friendships when I worked all the time. Gradually, I’d begun to feel emotionally isolated, socializing with people only at work. A vision of me growing old surrounded by a menagerie of creatures appeared to be a real possibility—perhaps morphing into a crazy cat lady with tangled hair. No husband. No children. Only animals.
Mike had his wife and twins to consider in his decisions. Not me. My year at the Oak Falls Animal Hospital would soon run out. Did I want to pack up and leave again? I put that disturbing thought aside.
Just when you start getting comfortable in a life, you have to go.
Chapter Ten
For some inexplicable reason, I woke up the next morning at five forty-five and, for the life of me, couldn’t get back to sleep. Another light mist of snow had fallen overnight, but our plowing neighbor, Pinky, had already cleared our parking lot. He’d even brushed the flakes off my windshield. Accepting the inevitable, I went outside with Buddy, then fed him breakfast and offered him a chew bone. With nothing more to do, I decided to get into work early. Once inside the animal hospital, the aroma of coffee indicated I wasn’t the only restless employee today. Looking forward to a little downtime chatting with Mari, I strolled into the employee lounge—then froze.
Babs had made coffee and was busy cleaning off the clean countertops. She grinned when she saw my startled expression.
“Come on in, Dr. Kate. My bite is just as bad as my bark.” She gestured to one of our comfy albeit beat-up armchairs.
When I didn’t respond, she added, “I’m kidding. Have some fresh coffee.”
I realized I’d never been alone with Babs or had a one-on-one conversation with her that lasted more than a minute or so.
“I always come in early wherever I work,” she explained, using a damp paper towel to wipe down the upper cabinets. “I like to keep things shipshape. Idle hands are the devil’s playthings.”
The coffee tasted rich and flavorful, a touch bitter, but much better than usual. “Thanks, Babs. What flavor is this?”
“It’s a dark roasted Italian coffee,” she said, holding up the colorful mug she’d brought in from home. “I’m particular about my coffee. One of the vets I once worked with went to school in Rome and recommended this to me.” She pointed to a foreign-looking can. “There are bagels and cream cheese over by the fridge.”
Bagels? This morning I had no complaints about Babs.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I said, slathering a sesame bagel with cream cheese. “Have you worked at many animal hospitals?”
“Yes.”
We were back to one-word answers. I’d have to work harder to have Babs reveal a bit of herself to me.
With my coffee and breakfast in hand, I headed over to the employee table. “What part of the job do you like the best?”
