Saddled with Murder

by Eileen Brady

  My anger rose picturing Eloise freezing in the night.

  “You killed your own mother?” I screamed at him. Lobo reacted, his ears twitching.

  “What are you talking about, Dr. Turner? Maybe you should come inside and sit down.”

  He made a move toward me.

  I backed away. “I’ll bet she was still alive after she fell. Down on the ground fighting for her life.”

  His chuckle chilled. “Yeah. The old bitch wouldn’t cooperate and die. Made me wait out here for three hours till she finally shut up.”

  The son had killed his mother, while I would gladly have moved heaven and earth to see my mom once again.

  The screen door that led to the sleeping porch rattled. Generations had slept there, seeking cooler air in the heat of the summer. The motive was there all the time. The house.

  “Your mom knew you would sell this place as soon as she died, right, Joe?” His eyes narrowed. “She decided to change her will and donate it to the historical society. Babs was right.”

  His movements choppy, he paced back and forth in the snow. “Haven’t got much time. Think. Think.” Eyes darting back and forth, they suddenly stopped. He stared at Lobo.

  “Go get the horse. Then lie down on the ground.” He pulled out a gun and pointed it at my chest.

  “Smart. Make them think the horse did it.” I stood my ground. “Forget it. You’ll have to shoot me. How will you explain that?”

  He stared at me with a nasty grin. “I’ll say I was aiming for the horse. Of course, that means I’ve got to shoot him, you know. To make it look good.” His gun hand shifted toward Lobo.”

  “Is that what you did to Raeleen?” Slowly, I took a few steps back. I noticed Lobo nibbling away at his rope lead.

  Joe followed me, keeping his distance. “Hey, I didn’t expect her to be armed. I tried to jump her but she musta heard me. Turned around with a gun in her hand. We fought and it went off. It was an accident.”

  “You forget the shot to her head, Joe.”

  “Oops. My bad.”

  The overhead light blinked off again, and I made a dash toward the mustang.

  “Good,” he told me when it came back on. “Just where I want you.”

  Dead stalks poking up through the snow in the perennial garden Eloise had planted waved in the wind. No cars or trucks shone their headlights on the road behind us. I moved toward Lobo, now free from his lead.

  “So how did you kill Frank?” I asked, stalling for time.

  His eyes widened. “I didn’t kill Frank. That’s the beauty of it. After he died, mom called me up and said everyone was talking about your wish. She said she’d made an appointment with her lawyer to change her will, just in case she was next. That’s when she mentioned donating the house and land.” The veneer of affability cracked. “I’d get NOTHING. I hauled her around every Sunday for NOTHING? Listened to her yacking with her friends who kept boasting about their kids and their big cars and jobs. Like it made them better than me.” Worked up, he revealed the narcissist hiding inside, who rationalized everything in terms of himself.

  “You fooled me,” I admitted. “You fooled me right up to the end.”

  “Shut up. Pretty soon I’ll be out of here. That city fellow next door offered me a cash deal for way more than this place is worth. As is. Signing the papers tomorrow, then it’s off to Belize.” He gestured with the gun for me to move. “Sorry you won’t be around to join me.” Flames licked the edges of the burning trash barrel, their sparks reflecting off the barrel of Rae’s gun.

  It wasn’t a fair fight.

  Joe had a gun and a good sixty or seventy pounds on me.

  I had a knapsack and a lame horse.

  Like I said, it wasn’t a fair fight. I planned to beat the crap out of him and wrap him up like a Christmas present.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  The wind swirled and the flames danced, ribbons of fire twirling in different directions.

  “Keep moving,” Joe ordered, gesturing toward Lobo, who stared back at him. The horse’s dilated pupils turned his blue eyes black.

  Slowly, I did as I was told, head down, pretending to obey. My real goal was to get into a position to kick the gun out of his hand.

  “If I had more time, you and me—”

  My foot crunched his hand in mid-sentence. The gun dropped and he yowled, bent fingers cradling his right arm. I followed up with a kick to the groin, but he surprised me and grabbed my foot.

  I flung myself backward, pulling him along, hands and fingers dug deep into his coat.

  The landing knocked the wind out of me. Now on top, Joe grabbed me by the shoulders and started pounding my head into the ground.

  My ears rang, and shards of ice cut my skin. Despite his weight I rolled back and forth trying to dislodge him, but he stuck like a bug. He grinned like a demon as he kept me pinned. So I went for his eyes.

  Do it fast, my instructor had said. As my thumbs found their mark, he screamed and let go. I scrambled away, searching for Raeleen’s gun. I found it mixed in with the debris, the crumbled Christmas card nearby.

  Lobo stood still, his lead rope chewed in half, no longer tied up. Nothing was holding him back. Instead he snorted and dug his injured hoof into the ground, head tossing back and forth.

  Joe’s cries changed to moans, his breathing ragged. “My chest hurts. Give me your hand.”

  He lay on the ground, face twisted in pain. Something that psychic, Delphina, had said rumbled in my memory: “Remember to take the hand of your enemy.”

  “Please,” he pleaded, his face turning red, a small smear of blood in the corner of one eye. “Can’t catch my breath.”

  Keeping the gun in my right hand, I reached down with my left. “Onto your knees, and stay there.”

  If he was going to try something, he’d do it now. One knee hit the ground before he lunged at me.

  Anticipating his move, I let go, prepared to shoot if I had to. That’s when a horse head leaned over and clamped his teeth on Joe’s back. Lobo jerked him sideways by his coat and pushed him into a raised bed of rose canes.

  Howling in pain, his face contorted in anger, Joe struggled to his feet. Lobo swung his massive head flat against Joe’s skull like a golf club hitting a ball and got a hole in one.

  * * *

  Duct tape from my backpack did a good job of wrapping up this killer. Lobo whinnied, his eyes focused on the trees above. In the distance a flashlight moved steadily closer, the beam moving up and down as Devin strode toward us.

  I used his phone to call 911. Joe was lucky he couldn’t move. I had to stop Devin from throwing him into the flames with the rest of the garbage.

  The murders had been solved.

  My fourth wish had come true.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chief Garcia and the FBI gang were quick to take Joe Rieven into custody. The proximity of the arrest date to Christmas definitely sped things along.

  My statement and time at the police station went by just as quickly. It seems that surrounded by an audience Joe started spilling his guts and even implicated himself in the long-ago death of his younger sibling. With a confession, the murder weapon, and his fingerprints all putting him in the vicinity of the supermarket the night of Raeleen’s death, law enforcement felt optimistic on at least one conviction.

  Of course, this meant the original wish didn’t work. Soon after Joe’s arrest I received an email from lawyer J. D. Dowd, revoking the unsigned contract for my story, and wishing me a very merry holiday season.

  I didn’t bother mentioning Delphina’s prophetic words to anyone.

  With Joe’s confession, Pinky’s customers scrambled to get him back. Bearing no hard feelings toward any of them, he agreed. But Pinky surprised Cindy by shyly accepting her Christmas dinner invitation and asking if he could bring Beth Orstea
d along.

  Lobo seemed invigorated by our little adventure and let Ashley slip a halter on him and groom him with no fuss at all.

  By chance a second cousin of Frank Martindale’s was found, not in California, but in High Falls, just down the road. A farmer, he was delighted to inherit anything.

  Disgusted with Dina’s lies, Luke kicked her out of his house and dumped her at her mother’s place. Then he changed all the locks.

  Mari’s dog, Lucy, didn’t whelp that day. She and her friends considered it a good dry run.

  And Devin—well, Devin surprised us. Massive publicity after the arrest focused on the boyfriend, unjustly accused. Being photogenic didn’t hurt either. Devin announced that he would split his insurance money three ways, between himself, Raeleen’s family, and LARN, the animal rights group. That’s what Raeleen would have wanted, he said. Next, he broke up with both Dina and Greta and went back to work repairing cars at Mr. Fix-it’s.

  Of course, he couldn’t escape fame, now that he had become an internet sensation. Thanks to all the publicity and hunky photographs, Devin received offers of marriage on a daily basis. Because of his generosity to LARN, a famous actress, very active in the ethical treatment of animals movement, invited him to walk the Hollywood red carpet with her—all expenses paid.

  No dummy, Devin accepted, he said, because Raeleen would have loved it.

  * * *

  On Christmas Eve I woke up early. The forecast was clear with snow later that day. Gramps was expecting me any time today. He had reservations at our favorite neighborhood restaurant, a short walk or cab ride from his place. Then, the following morning, we’d both brave the gauntlet and drive over to my father’s home out on Long Island. We planned to be there no later than two with Christmas dinner around three o’clock. If all went well, we would stay the night.

  Being a partner in a surgical practice had obviously been good to my dad.

  With the whole day ahead of me, I took a long shower and did all those things I’d put off—polished my nails, blow-dried my hair, and generally prepared myself for intense scrutiny.

  Nervous energy aside, I’d hung all my clothes on hangers in zippered garment bags fresh from the dry cleaner, to avoid any animal hair issues. My boots were polished, and the presents wrapped. Buddy was going to board with Mari and her dogs for the few days I’d be gone. Since the animal hospital was closed for Christmas, any clients in need of care were being sent to the emergency clinic. Cindy would be handling the hospital email, coordinating medicine refills, and answering non-medical questions. I’d be handling the veterinary part through text or email.

  As I worked my way through today’s emails and notes, I happily checked each one off the list. Cindy and I conferred on one issue and I was done.

  “Isn’t it getting late?” she asked.

  “I’m leaving in a few minutes. Have a wonderful Christmas.”

  “You too. Safe travels and don’t worry! Things will go great.”

  Confident and proud of myself for pulling everything together, I took out the garbage and unplugged the toaster. As I crossed the final item off my checklist, the phone rang.

  “Mari, I was just going to call you,” I said. “Can I drop Buddy off?”

  “Ahh, I’ve got a slight problem.”

  * * *

  Turns out that Lucy, Mari’s pregnant Rottweiller, did decide to have her puppies early. We’d already ultrasounded her and knew she had seven pups. She’d delivered her first puppy four hours ago, and now there were six healthy puppies. Only one to go. Rottweillers are big dogs with big heads, but they usually whelp without issues. After two hours with no baby, my assistant started to worry.

  “Go,” she said to me. “You’re supposed to have left by now. Gramps is waiting for you.”

  “I’m not going to leave until I’m sure Lucy is okay,” I told her. “Can you bring the whole gang over here?”

  “Be there in twenty minutes.”

  * * *

  Nineteen and a half minutes later, Mari pulled up in front of the hospital. I had carefully taken my traveling clothes off and put on a pair of scrubs. Mari brought Lucy in while I carried a basket full of puppies.

  “Don’t worry, Lucy. Your babies are right here.” A first-time mother, this anxious Rottie mommy let out a nervous whimper.

  I secured the babies under a nice heat lamp set on low, and then we brought Lucy into X-ray. I wanted to make sure I knew where this last pup was and if it was viable before I gave her the oxytocin to stimulate contractions. While we waited for the digital X-ray to develop, I put some lubricant on her belly and ultrasounded her. Sure enough, there was a little forearm moving.

  We got her off the table and set her up in a double cage, puppies squirming next to her. With Lucy distracted, I took a quick blood sample to check her chemistries, especially the electrolytes and kidney function.

  A chime alerted me to someone at the front door. When I opened it, Luke lifted me up in the air and kissed me.

  “Nice surprise,” I told him, the cold seeping through my lightweight scrubs.

  “I thought you’d left, but I saw your truck. Let’s go inside. You’re shivering.”

  He closed the door and started to ask me a million questions, but I interrupted. “Ob-gyn emergency.”

  For an almost-lawyer, he caught on quick. “Mari and the puppies?”

  “Got it in one.”

  * * *

  Because of a few amorous stops along the way, it took a little longer than normal to reach the treatment room.

  Mari sat with Lucy murmuring good thoughts. “Hey, Luke, welcome to puppyland.”

  “Let’s try a little oxytocin,” I told Mari. “If we can’t persuade this puppy to hurry up, we’re looking at a C-section, which we all want to avoid if at all possible.”

  “You and me both.”

  “And Lucy makes three.”

  “Count me in,” Luke added. “No C-section, please.”

  Every pregnant animal is different. Some pop their babies out, and some deliveries stretch over several hours. I usually told my clients to call if more than two hours went by between puppies.

  We were up to three and a half hours.

  “Mari, if we need to do a C-section, I’m not letting you assist.” This was a judgment call, but I didn’t want anyone to assist on the surgery of someone they loved. “I texted Juliet before you got here, and she volunteered to come in and help me. She’s a great surgical nurse. Lucy will be in good hands.”

  Luke made himself useful by brewing some coffee.

  The expectant mother lay comfortably on her side, nursing and licking the puppies. The oxytocin didn’t seem to have any effect on her. The drug usually stimulates contractions and helps move the babies into the birth canal from the uterine horns where they develop.

  Mari looked worried. “I don’t want anything to happen to her or the puppy. This is going to be her first and last litter. Most of the puppies are going to family members.” She shifted her weight and moved into a lotus position on the floor.

  “Take a deep breath, Grandma,” I advised. “Massage Lucy’s back from neck to tail in a downward stroke. I’m going to clean her up a bit, and then we’ll try another dose of oxytocin. Keep the puppies nursing if you can. That ought to help, too.”

  Calculating her dose by body weight, I drew up the syringe, then took a moment to text Juliet to stand by. We would know soon if a C-section was necessary.

  I got down next to Mari, gave her a hug, and administered the injection. We passed the time by checking each puppy’s umbilical cord and noting the sex and weight. Luke wrote everything down for us. So far there were three boys and two girls.

  “Any guesses? Girl or boy?” Luke said, trying to ease the tension.

  “No idea.”

  Mari appeared calm, but her eyes said worried
.

  “I say girl.”

  She looked at me. “Why do you think that?”

  “Because, she’s already running late.”

  We both laughed, which was the purpose of my lame sexist joke. All of a sudden, Lucy stood up, puppies cascading off her shiny brown fur. She circled once, turned, and licked herself.

  “Scoop the puppies up, Luke, and put them in the basket. I believe we’re getting some contractions.” As he carefully moved the little ones, some let out tiny squeaks, which made poor Lucy more agitated. When she sat down, she began shredding the newspaper at the bottom of the cage.

  All good news. Lucy circled once then back again.

  With Mari crooning words of encouragement, the dog whined, and slowly puppy feet appeared, then retreated, only to slide out in one last push. I reached down with my gloved hands and let Lucy lick her baby until it started wiggling and blowing bubbles on its own. To help things along, I cut the cord and cleared the airway. The lungs’ ability to transition from a liquid environment to air was always remarkable to me.

  “It’s a girl,” I said, handing the puppy to Mari. “Told you.”

  “Meet Turner. I’m naming her after you. Merry Christmas.”

  She passed Turner to me. I looked down at the new beautiful life in my hands.

  Lucy curled up with her puppies, periodically licking them, a happy mommy dog expression on her face. Carefully, I positioned our last pup adjacent to a teat just vacated by a sibling, and she latched on immediately.

  I looked up at the clock and noticed the time.

  Luke came over and put his hand on my shoulder. “Didn’t want to bother you, but it’s started snowing.”

  So much for all my plans.

  Mari checked her phone. “Weather report says it’s snowing now with accumulations of three or four inches but will be clear by the morning. I’m sorry you missed your Christmas Eve dinner with Gramps. What are you going to do?”

  Luke sat down next to us. “If it’s okay with Dr. Kate here, I’ve got that covered.”