Murders of a Feather, page 8
I tried all the usual ways to wind down. Hot bath. Lying in bed with a new book. An icy cold glass of wine. Meditating. Nothing worked.
Instead, I moved to the sofa and turned the television on to HGTV. Wrapped in a blanket and snuggled up with Buddy, I stared at the screen. My faithful dog blissfully stayed awake for five minutes before he started snoring.
I desperately wanted to talk to someone about Babs, but who else knew her? As I stared at the screen my text chime sounded.
Piggy okay?
It was Mike. Asking about Porky the Pig’s hernia surgery. He knew Babs.
I texted back.
Porky’s doing fine. Got a moment to talk?
He didn’t answer right away. I’d almost given up when he texted back.
Sure. give me a few minutes. I’ll call you if that’s ok?
OK
For some reason I felt I could talk about today with him. Maybe because I wouldn’t have to explain everything. He’d worked in our surgery suite. He knew the setup. And he was almost a stranger.
A new episode of House Hunters played. I watched another young couple with completely different tastes in homes battle it out over city versus country living—which seemed petty. Ridiculous, really. In frustration, I yelled at the television, waking up my dog.
I almost texted Mike to forget it, that I’d explain everything tomorrow. The poor guy and his wife were juggling twins. I felt guilty taking family time away from him. I chastised myself for even contacting him.
The phone rang as I beat myself up again.
“Hello,” I answered.
“What’s wrong?” Mike said immediately.
“What do you mean?” This wasn’t going the way I’d planned.
“You sound upset. You don’t strike me as a person who gets upset easily.”
How could I blurt out someone died in my hospital today?
“Have you had dinner yet?” he asked me.
I looked at the empty glass of wine on the coffee table. “Nope.”
“Neither have I. I’m on your side of town. I’ll swing by and take you to Judy’s if she’s still open. You can tell me what’s bothering you over a bowl of soup.”
I started to protest, but he added, “Let’s go over your schedule and set up a time when you’re free to examine those barn cats for me. My client bugged me again about it today.”
“Sure.” I recognized how tired I was. Too tired to drive into town.
“See you in ten minutes?”
“Sure,” I told him. At least I’d showered and changed after my interview with the police.
“See you soon.”
“Sure,” I said for the third time.
With Buddy already fed and walked, I again looked at my empty wineglass. Heck, I thought. Mike said he’d drive, so I poured another glass and pulled on my boots. The tension in my back and neck muscles started to ease. Talking about Babs and what Mari and I had been through today wouldn’t be that hard, I tried to convince myself. Besides, if we ran out of subjects, we always had veterinary medicine chatter to fall back on.
When I saw the headlights turn into the parking lot, I slipped into my coat, picked up my backpack, and waited outside on the step. The motion detector light clicked on. Tonight he drove the older Scion with big snow tires, not the large-animal practice truck. As soon as he parked, I opened up the passenger door.
“Hey,” I said. “Thanks. I needed a break tonight. I hope I’m not taking you away from anything important at home.”
“Nope. No worries. I’m solo tonight,” he said, with a worried face. “We’ve got to get going, though. Judy’s going to close soon.”
Buckling my seat belt I sighed, not sure this was a good idea after all.
Mike drove carefully, all the while telling me about an American paint horse with colic he saw today at the large-animal hospital. I got the feeling he was trying to keep my mind busy.
I mentioned that as a freshman in vet school I ended up walking a colicky horse around a paddock for six hours. Our professor had already passed a nasal tube and administered lubricants and pain medication, listening to gut sounds every half an hour. We students each took turns keeping this horse on his feet. After a rectal exam followed by an explosion of gas and poop, our professor said the prognosis just got better.
“Which professor did you have?”
“Lundquist,” I told him.
“So did I,” Mike admitted. “Great teacher.”
“I agree.”
To my surprise, I realized we’d reached Judy’s place with fifteen minutes to spare. I hopped out of his vehicle, my backpack over my shoulder. Mike held the door open for me, and the café’s warmth and delicious smells delivered a welcome slap in the face.
There were two tables available, one by the window and one in the back corner. Knowing the town’s love of gossip, I decided poor Mike didn’t need to get into trouble for helping me, so I hurried to the corner by the brick wall. Mike didn’t seem to notice or care. We quickly divested ourselves of coats, hats, and sweaters, basking in the warmth of the café.
A new waiter I’d never seen came over with glasses of water and announced the café was about to close, and we should order immediately.
Mike took no offense and ordered the soup of the day, two blueberry scones, a brownie, and a glass of milk. “I’m getting the extra scones for breakfast,” he confided to me.
“Good idea.” I ordered the soup and two slices of banana bread. After those unaccustomed two glasses of wine, I stuck with only water to drink.
Our waiter scurried away, probably in a hurry to get off work. Judy’s wait staff often consisted of out-of-work artists or musicians not planning on waiting tables for the rest of their lives.
“So,” Mike said in a gentle voice, “is this about Babs?”
“You know?”
“Of course,” he answered. “I didn’t want to say anything over the phone. An employee death inside Oak Falls Animal Hospital? That’s big news.”
As he spoke, I caught several people surreptitiously observing us. Of course, the other animal hospitals would know. Mari probably told one of her many vet tech friends. How could I have been so stupid?
“I can’t…” I began.
“Kate,” he said briefly squeezing my hand, “did you ever consider you might be in shock?”
Shaking my head, I said, “Of course not. I’ve gone through a lot worse than this.” His suggestion angered me. Of course I wasn’t in shock. I could handle myself.
The waiter interrupted my thoughts by slamming the soup down in front of me. A tiny wave of fluid containing strands of tomato slid over the top of the bowl and onto the plate below. Looking down, I experienced a wave of nausea.
“Try this,” Mike said, sliding a piece of scone on a napkin over to me.
The crumble of plain pastry lay benignly in front of me. With swallows of water, I finally got it down.
“Sorry,” I said to Mike.
“Nothing to be sorry for.” Then he regaled me with stories of his high school followed by his undergraduate years in vet school, all the while encouraging me to eat my buttered banana bread. The waiter came and went. Somehow the soups with their glistening slick of oil miraculously disappeared.
Distracted by his stories, I relaxed a bit and shoveled in the two pieces of banana bread and one of his blueberry scones. When I realized I’d eaten his intended breakfast, my cheeks turned red.
“Oh, Mike. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize how much I was eating,” I began.
“Nonsense. I noticed the soup made you gag. Plain carbs go down easier, especially bakery carbs.”
“Still…”
“Next time, maybe I’ll pinch your dessert,” he said in a teasing way.
Despite his effort, I didn’t crack a smile.
The waiter came over and I dug up my credit card. “Please, let me pay. You’ve been so kind.”
“The bill’s already been taken care of,” the fellow said as he cleared the plates.
Mike smiled. “Shall we go?”
I started fishing around for my sweater and backpack, which had slipped under the table. Mike helped rescue them and bumped his head.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Stop saying sorry,” he told me. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.”
We walked toward the front of the restaurant, just as Judy came out of the kitchen, a dishrag in her hand.
“Hey, docs,” she said. She glanced at me with concern, then immediately looked away. “Stay safe. Drive carefully.” After a hesitation, she headed back through the swinging doors into the kitchen.
“How long have you been in the Hudson Valley?” I asked Mike as we walked to his car.
“I’ve worked at my current practice for two years. Great place.”
The snow began falling again. Soft intermittent flakes floated in the night breeze.
“Winter is trying to remind us she’s still got some tricks up her sleeve. It’s only the beginning of February,” he continued.
Mike clicked his fob and opened the doors. He’d walked with me over to the passenger side and held the door open while I climbed inside. I’d been afraid meeting him would be a mistake, but instead, I’d been able to relax somewhat and put my terrible day into some kind of perspective.
“Listen, before we go,” I said as he turned the ignition, “what can you tell me about Babs?”
“So that’s what this is about,” he answered with a hint of a smile. “I figured you had an ulterior motive.”
I was about to say “sorry” again but held my tongue.
“Babs worked at the equine clinic of our hospital about six months ago, when their receptionist was out on sick leave with a knee replacement. We got along fine. She had a sort of rough exterior, but once you knew her, you appreciated her organizational skills and business sense. And she always advocated for the animals. Babs was fierce in her opinions of what was right and what was wrong. No gray areas for her.”
That brought back a memory of Babs sliding her hand across her own throat, mimicking slitting someone’s throat.
Mike checked the rearview mirror and began to wind his way out of the parking lot. The streets were quiet. Most residents had settled in for the night.
We drove in silence while I digested what Mike said. “How much do you know about what happened today?” I asked him.
“Not much,” he replied. “Someone at the hospital told me Babs had passed away suddenly while working at your place. What was it? A heart attack? Stroke?”
The windshield wipers moved back and forth sweeping lacy snowflakes off into the night.
That feeling of calm I’d had disappeared. I stared at the windshield wipers, my stomach churning. “No, it wasn’t anything like that,” I started to say, unsure of how much I should reveal. “I suppose you’ll hear all about it soon.” I glanced down at my hands clutched together. “Babs either accidentally overdosed on nitrous oxide or committed suicide. My vet assistant, Mari, and I found her hooked up to our anesthesia machine in the surgical suite.”
I wasn’t prepared for him to slam on the brakes. His small car skidded and came to an abrupt stop, blocking someone’s plowed driveway.
“Impossible,” he said. “That’s impossible.”
A truck flashed its bright lights at us as it sped down the road. When it passed us, the Scion shook.
Mike looked both ways and pulled back onto the highway. Just ahead, the Oak Falls Animal Hospital sign glowed, lit by spotlights embedded in the ground.
When he turned into the parking lot, he drove straight to the side of the hospital and the entrance to my apartment. He shifted his car into park and then turned toward me.
“You remember I told you there were no gray areas with Babs. Everything was black or white, right or wrong.”
“I remember.”
“Well, one of the things she hated the most was staff using drugs, especially any drugs needed for the animals. She’d even made a complaint about someone she’d worked with to the State Boards a few years ago.”
“So you’re saying…”
“In my opinion, it is highly unlikely she hooked herself up to your anesthesia machine. Totally out of character. Incomprehensible.”
A rushing sound flooded my brain. I saw Babs lying still and cold on the surgery table. An image of Mari and me pulled over to the side of the road this afternoon intruded. We’d been trying to figure out why Babs sent us to a house call in the middle of a field.
Mike hit his steering wheel with the flat of his hand. The horn sounded and cut through the white stillness.
“I think Babs was murdered,” he said.
Chapter Thirteen
Babs was murdered. Babs was murdered. The words stuck in my mind.
It was no wonder that for most of the night I sat bolt upright on the sofa, the television on, trying to digest Mike’s statement—“I think Babs was murdered.” I didn’t want to contemplate the consequences. With every creak of the roof above I startled. Strong wind gusts had tree limbs swaying. The outdoor motion detector light switched on and off, on and off, visible through the curtains.
On the television screen the endless Valentine’s Day commercials, all of which centered on buying something for the occasion, forced me to lower the volume. I watched couples nuzzling and kissing over diamond rings in silence. It was officially Saturday morning, although still dark outside. The office was closed until Monday, but I needed to check my client email and review any messages from the answering service. Cindy’s flight from Florida was due in late today.
More thoughts intruded. Babs’s dead body lay on your surgical table in your surgery suite, where you will be working on Monday. Did her uneasy spirit stay behind to hover overhead?
At seven a.m. I woke with a start, still scrunched up on the sofa with Buddy on the floor nestled between my feet. My text message chime had gone off. I wasn’t ready to face this day or look at my phone.
One of the few constructive chores I’d accomplished was preloading the coffee maker. A push of the button and coffee would be ready when I came back inside from walking Buddy. The lock on the doggy gate momentarily stuck to my fingers, reminding me it was still February. While my dog frolicked in the snow, I began the day by reading the early morning text.
WHAT HAPPENED??????? R YOU 2 OK??????
News travels fast even down to Florida. Cindy must have been contacted by a friend or family member, which means Police Chief Bobby Garcia, also currently in Florida and off duty, knew. A tsunami of questions was heading my way. My text chime sounded again. This time it was Mari.
Cindy knows
So, Mari must have received this same text. I sent back an emoji of a woman shrugging her shoulders. Mari sent me the image for a pile of poop.
The only bright spot in this crazy week was that I wasn’t going through it alone. Like it or not, Mari and I were yoked together like a couple of reluctant draft horses. And like tired horses, we were expected to pull our load regardless.
The morning crawled along as I did mindless chores, cleaning and laundry. I’d been planning to take a late afternoon nap, but instead, the answering service called around one o’clock.
“Doctor. One of your clients insisted I contact you,” the annoyed woman on the phone began. “She gave her name as Daffy? Her Little Man is sick.”
“That’s it?” I asked. “No symptoms. No phone number?”
“Ms. Daffy said she couldn’t discuss the problem with a stranger.”
“Ahhhh. Okay. I’ll take care of it.”
“Weird.” The woman from the answering service declared popping her gum in my ear. “People are getting weirder all the time. The world’s flipping.”
That sounded about right to me. Not knowing what else to say, I said, “Have a good day.”
“It’s flipping,” she replied and hung up.
The truth was Daffy didn’t need to leave any more information. I knew her dog Little Man’s medical history as if it were my own. A nervous owner, Daffy could build a broken toenail into a catastrophe. The only problem? It took three people to handle her Chihuahua, Little Man—Mari to hold him, me to examine him, and Daffy to wring her hands, walk around in circles, and coo apologies to her pet.
Buddy had already had his breakfast and a treat. I wandered around the kitchen, searching the pantry for a can of soup for lunch, while I dialed Mari’s number.
“Hi,” she answered. “Are you as bummed out as I am?”
“Probably,” I said. “Maybe more at the moment. Want to do a house call at Daffy’s place?”
“Sure, anything but sit around here. What’s wrong with Little Man?”
“No idea. The answering service didn’t…”
Mari interrupted. “Let me call. She’ll probably ask a zillion questions.”
“Done. I’m going to hop in the shower. Text me in about fifteen or twenty minutes.”
By the time I got out of the shower and dried off I had five text messages. Two were from Mari, confirming an appointment this afternoon with Daffy and suggesting she meet me here at the office. The three others were from Gramps, Cindy, and Mike.
I texted all three that I was fine and would talk to them later.
A short honk outside my front door meant Mari had arrived. She suggested we take her giant SUV instead of the hospital truck because she needed to pick up dog food. I had zero desire to drive, and since the SUV seats were far more comfortable than the old F-150’s, I readily agreed.
“Guard the house,” I told Buddy before I walked out the door.
Mari waved when I appeared in front of her vehicle, putting the phone down in the charger console. I opened the passenger door and stashed my medical bag behind the seat.
“Ready?” I asked, settling into the soft leather.
“Strangely enough,” she answered, “I’m looking forward to being distracted by Daffy. I’m also hoping she’ll feed us. My stomach’s been wonky since—you know. I had problems getting my breakfast down this morning.”
