by Robbi McCoy
Stef was clearly distraught, looking completely different without all the attitude. At first glance, Deuce didn’t appear to be hurt too badly. He was alert and standing, tail swishing slowly from side to side.
“What happened?” Jackie asked, stepping out from the hallway.
Stef glanced at her and did a double take. “You?”
“What happened?” Jackie repeated firmly.
Looking impatient, Stef said, “He got kicked by a horse.”
Jackie handed Precious to Niko, then knelt before Deuce to observe his wounds. He had a cut across the top of his snout and a deep gash in his lower jaw which was open and raw, but no longer bleeding.
Speaking to Niko, Stef said, “Look, when can we see the vet?”
Jackie glanced up at Niko, who knit his eyebrows together in confusion. Then he jerked his head toward Jackie with a look of “Duh!”
Stef stared at Jackie, clearly stunned into silence.
Jackie turned her attention back to Deuce, keeping her smile to herself. “Hey, there, boy,” she said gently, visually examining his eyes. She looked up to ask Stef, “How many times was he kicked?”
“Uh,” Stef said haltingly, but much calmer than before, “once, I think, but things got a little crazy there. I’m not sure. He was limping, so there’s something else wrong. He could have internal injuries. He seems to be in pain when he walks.”
“How long ago did this happen?” Jackie asked.
“Maybe an hour.”
Jackie patted Deuce’s head and stood to face Stef. She seemed to have gotten over her surprise at finding Jackie here and searched her face for information. “He’ll need some stitches. Any drug allergies? I’d like to give him Telazol.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a sedative and will help with the pain. He’ll be woozy after, for an hour or two.”
“As far as I know, he has no drug allergies.”
“What about you? Are you okay?”
Stef looked momentarily confused, then glanced down at her bloody shirt. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. This is his.” She seemed significantly calmer than she had a moment ago.
“How did it happen?”
“He was trying to play with some horses. Pissed them off, I guess. I should have been watching him better.”
Jackie took the leash from Stef’s hand. “Niko will do the paperwork while I take care of Deuce.”
“I’d like to come in,” Stef said.
“I’d prefer you didn’t. I’ve got a full schedule of appointments this afternoon and need this to run as smoothly as possible. He seems calm. Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of him. You can wait out here or come back later to get him.”
Stef’s body slumped in resignation. “I’ll wait.”
Jackie realized her manner was cool, but foremost in her mind was how Stef had rejected her attempts at friendship and made a fool of her.
She led Deuce into the back, to an exam room where she checked him over thoroughly. He remained passive throughout, licking her hand once when she reached in to press the stethoscope to his chest.
“Gave your owner quite a scare, didn’t you?” she asked quietly. “She doesn’t seem nearly so tough and sure of herself today. Nothing like a pet in trouble to unhinge somebody, is there?”
***
Stef sat in the reception room and filled out a form giving her name and address and some details of Deuce’s history. She didn’t know everything. She wasn’t sure of his age, but she guessed as close as she could. The letterhead at the top of the form read Delta Veterinary Hospital, Jacqueline Townsend, DVM, Stillwater Bay, CA.
A woman sat near her holding a cat crate in her lap. Inside was a white ball of fur with two green eyes peeking through the wire grate. A birdcage stood near the reception desk with a blue parakeet inside, clinging to the side of the cage and pecking at a tiny bell.
There was no one at the reception desk. Jackie had asked for Niko’s help with Deuce. Before leaving, he had put a placard on the counter that said, “Back in a few minutes. Sit! Stay!”
After ten minutes, he returned and removed the sign. Niko was a pale young man of about twenty, slight and thin with black hair parted in the middle and falling down to his shoulders, and a long, straight nose. Stef got up to hand him her completed form across a counter containing pamphlets about heartworm and feline gingivitis. At one end of the counter sat a plastic jar full of jerky strips. Ida’s World-Famous Beef Jerky.
“How’s it going?” she asked Niko.
“Fine. Don’t worry. Dr. Townsend’s the best.”
He smiled that smile that meant, “Just sit down and be patient and don’t ask any more questions because I’m not going to tell you anything anyway.”
She went to the restroom where she cleaned the dirt and blood off her face, hands and arms. The rest could wait until later. She looked at herself in the mirror and ran her hand through her hair, moving it away from her face. Her eyes, she thought, looked haunted. She closed them briefly and tried to shake off the feeling of impending doom. He’ll be okay, she told herself. Jackie didn’t seem too worried. But maybe she was trying not to alarm Stef. This was her job, after all.
Stef had called her landlord in a panic and asked for the nearest vet, and, surprise, the vet had turned out to be Jackie. It was shocking and embarrassing after the way she’d treated her.
She waited impatiently, watching the clock on the wall as Niko carried the green-eyed cat to the back, then returned without it. For forty minutes there was no sign of Jackie until she finally emerged from the hallway with the cat in its crate and set it on the counter.
“All ready to go, Michelle,” she said to the cat’s owner.
Stef stood up in anticipation of some news. Jackie approached, her expression passive, her manner professional and distant.
“It’s not too bad,” she reported. “No broken bones. Some bruises. Nothing serious. I closed the wound on his lip. You’ll want to give him soft food for a few days. I’ll send an antibiotic home with you to prevent infection. Give him five hundred milligrams every day for ten days, till it’s gone. Any sign of oozing or swelling, bring him in. You can take a cone home in case he tries to scratch the wound. Niko will show you how to put it on. If he leaves the sutures alone, he doesn’t have to wear it.”
Stef nodded at each instruction.
“Niko will make you an appointment to remove the sutures.” Jackie held her gaze, her expression noncommittal, making Stef uncomfortable.
“I didn’t know you were a vet,” she blurted.
“You didn’t ask,” Jackie said evenly, “anything.”
Jackie was so different today. So impersonal. During their earlier meetings, Stef would have described her as nearly “perky.” Certainly eager and friendly. Nothing even close to that today. The best that could be said for her manner was that she was courteous. Was it just the setting? Or was she still angry? She certainly had every right to be, after the way she’d been treated.
“Thank you…doctor,” Stef said as humbly and sincerely as she could.
She thought she detected a tiny smile before Jackie left the waiting room.
CHAPTER TWELVE
As usual on Saturdays, Rosa’s Brazilian Churrascaria sat parked on the edge of the lot in front of the bait shop. The familiar food truck was painted in brilliant colors with parrots, palm trees, a profusion of tropical ferns and flowers and a buxom Latina woman in a low-cut blouse. She had voluminous blue-black hair decorated with an oversized magenta orchid, large, alluring eyes, extravagant eyelashes, scarlet, shimmering lips, and a look that suggested she was selling more than arroz com feijão. Jackie’s brother Ben, Rosa’s husband, had painted the truck. The spicy Rosa on the truck resembled to some extent his wife, though the real woman was less like a professional samba dancer and more like the young working woman and new mother that she was. Jackie had never seen her wearing such a blouse or a flower in her hair. If she ever did put on such a costume, Jackie ima
gined, it was possible she’d look like the Rosa Ben had created with his paintbrush.
The food truck was highly successful, so much so that Ben no longer worked another job, but worked full time in support of the restaurant. The food served on the truck was all authentic Brazilian cuisine, all cooked by Rosa as taught to her by her Brazilian-born mother and aunt. The churrascaria had become a popular fixture in Stillwater Bay, and it didn’t bother the locals a bit that it was the only restaurant in town that didn’t serve crawdads in one form or another. Even during the crawdad festival, Rosa’s truck delivered the same menu as always: grilled meats with Brazilian spices and sides, as authentic as any served in a home in Rio De Janeiro, Rosa claimed.
Jackie parked and walked over to the truck counter where Ben greeted her with a familiar smile. His round, clean-shaven face was red from the heat inside the truck, his brown hair slicked back from his forehead like a forties gangster. He leaned his bare arms on the stainless steel counter and said, “Looking for lunch?”
“You bet. How about the churrasco sampler? And a couple of fried plantains.”
He nodded and ducked back through the window. “Rosa,” he called, “give me a sampler. And make it spicy. It’s for Jackie.” He popped back through the window.
“Dad said he’s making homemade ice cream for Grandpa’s birthday tomorrow.”
“Really? What kind?”
“Strawberry.”
“Great.” His smile drooped. “If we go.”
“Why wouldn’t you? Is the baby sick?”
“No. It’s just Mom. She’s constantly bugging us to put a jar of her jerky in the truck. She won’t give it up and I’m tired of hearing about it. I’ve told her a hundred times Rosa has this thing about nothing goes on the truck but her own cooking. No exceptions.”
“You know how Mom is about her jerky.”
“Yeah. Impossible!”
Their mother had launched her jerky-making enterprise less than a year ago, and had done so with immense energy and enthusiasm. It wasn’t her first business venture. Most of the others had fallen flat, but this one actually seemed to be working out. Ida had approached it seriously, getting the proper permits, keeping accurate books, aggressively marketing her product. As a result, there was a jar of Ida’s World-Famous Beef Jerky on the counters of restaurants, bars, drugstores, grocery stores, the hair salon, the feed store and just about every other establishment within a twenty-mile radius, including the Delta Veterinary Hospital where Jackie’s clients sometimes purchased the jerky as treats for their pets. Jackie kept that fact to herself, as she thought it might make Ida indignant.
One thing Ida was good at was bullying people into doing what she wanted. Jackie sometimes wondered if she hadn’t also blackmailed a few people into selling her product, knowing everyone’s secrets as she did. Apparently she had no secrets to hold over Rosa because she had so far failed to win her over.
“Now she’s implying that if I was a good son,” Ben said, “if I loved my mother, I wouldn’t turn down such a small request.” He lowered his voice. “If it was up to me, I’d do it. Just to keep the peace. But Rosa won’t budge. Both of those two, they’re stubborn as hell.”
Rosa appeared beside him with a paper plate. “Who’s stubborn as hell?” she asked in her mild Latin accent. The look she gave him with her dark, languorous eyes made it clear she knew he was talking about her. She handed the plate to Jackie with a smile. “Here you go, Jackie.”
After leaving the truck, Jackie walked into the bait shop, pulling a chunk of spicy grilled beef off a wooden skewer with her teeth. Her mother sat behind the checkout counter reading a gossip magazine. She looked up as the door chime rang.
“Hi, Mom,” Jackie said. “Where’s Dad?”
“He’s gone to town to get some turkey livers. He wants to surprise Grandpa for his birthday. He spent all morning phoning all over creation looking for a store that carries them and finally found this little Asian grocery in Walnut Grove.”
“Turkey livers?” Jackie made a face.
“He’s not gonna eat ’em! It’s for bait.”
“I know. Still, you’re going to ruin my lunch.”
“What are you eating?”
Jackie held up a meat skewer. “Charrusco. Want a bite?”
Ida sat up straight on her stool with a sudden look of interest. “Are they out there?”
Before Jackie could answer, her mother was on her feet and coming around the counter. Jackie nearly gasped out loud when she saw her mother’s shorts, black with a skeleton design in white—tailbone, pelvis, hip bones and femurs cut off at the bottom hem of the shorts.
Ida ran to look out the window, let out an excited grunt and scurried back to the counter where she scooped up the jar of Ida’s World-Famous Beef Jerky. Then she was out the door in a flash.
Jackie stole one more bite before putting down her plate to follow. Her mother stood at the window of the truck, her chin just reaching the ledge. Ben and Rosa crowded each other at the window, leaning out to observe her. Ida placed the jar of jerky on the edge of their counter with both hands and held it there.
“You can put it right here,” she was saying. “It won’t bother anybody.”
“No!” Rosa shrieked, shoving Ben out of the way as she leaned out the window and tried to push the jar off the ledge with one hand. But Ida had a firm grip on it, so it stayed where it was.
Jackie stopped on the porch steps of the bait shop, debating her next move. She didn’t want to get involved in this family feud, but it was starting to look like it might get carried away and someone had to be the voice of reason. Ben, she knew, would have a hard time coming between his wife and mother.
Rosa gave up trying to push the jar off the ledge and disappeared from the window only to reappear from the side of the truck, stomping toward Ida in her white apron. Ida clutched her jar protectively to her chest.
“I’ve told you before,” Rosa said angrily, “only food authentic to the República Federativa do Brasil goes on my truck. Only food I cook myself goes on my truck. Why don’t you understand that?”
“What harm could it do?” Ida asked. “It might even bring in some new customers. Maybe not everybody likes Brazilian food.”
“What?” Rosa stood with her hands on her hips, her face scrunched into an intimidating scowl. “Are you kidding me? If they don’t like Brazilian food, they’re not going to come to Rosa’s Churrascaria. Are they?”
Ida shrugged. “They might come for the jerky.”
Rosa let out a cry of frustration and glanced at her husband, who was still hanging out the service window, looking worried. He offered nothing.
“This is my truck,” Rosa declared. “I make the rules. No beef jerky! No jerky of any kind.”
Ida sputtered defiantly. “And this is my parking lot,” she countered.
Uh-oh, Jackie thought. This was heading in a bad direction. She started toward them.
“No jerky,” Ida proclaimed, “no taco truck on my property.”
“Mom,” Ben protested, “we’ve been parking here every Saturday for three years.”
“Taco truck?” Rosa looked like she was about to blow. Her eyes bulged out and her lips were set into a thin, hard line. “Does this look like a taco truck to you? Do you see a taco anywhere?”
“Move it!” Ida ordered.
“Mom, calm down,” Ben suggested gently.
“Me? You tell your wife to calm down. All I’m asking is that you put your mother’s little jar of jerky right here.” She reached up and put the jar on the ledge again.
Just as Rosa moved to knock it off, Jackie interceded and grabbed it. “Maybe you should go back in the shop, Mom,” she suggested.
“I’m not budging until these people move their truck off my property.”
“Fine!” Rosa proclaimed, then stomped around to the cab of the truck and started the engine.
Hanging out the window, Ben threw up his hands, looking distraught and apologetic as the tr
uck tore out of the parking lot, flinging up gravel.
Ida’s look of defiance remained intact as the truck headed down the highway into town. She turned to Jackie and said, “And you aren’t allowed to eat at that taco truck anymore!”
Jackie opened her mouth to argue, but thought the better of it.
Ida pulled the jerky jar roughly from her hands, then marched into the bait shop, the little pelvic bones on her rear end swishing fiercely to and fro.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Captain Shoemaker wants to see you Monday, Byers,” Sergeant Miller told Stef over the phone. “Nine a.m. sharp.”
There was nothing in his voice to tell her whether this was good or bad news.
“What’s it about?” she asked, though she was positive she knew.
“IA has finished their investigation,” he reported.
“And?” she prompted.
“That’s what the captain wants to talk to you about. See you Monday.”
After he hung up, Stef called her mother. As the phone rang, Deuce tramped in, head hanging down, his gloomy, bandaged face peering out from a white cone. He couldn’t have looked more dejected. After having discovered that normal movement around the house was dangerous because the cone kept banging into things, he now walked plodding and tentatively everywhere he went. Both of them couldn’t wait for the day they could remove what Deuce most certainly thought of as a punishment.
When her mother answered the phone, she explained about her Monday morning appointment.
“Okay if I spend the night Sunday?” she asked.
“Of course,” her mother replied. “I can make lasagna.”
“You know I love your lasagna.”
“Are you nervous, Stephanie? What do you think they’re going to say?”
“I’m expecting to be exonerated. I can’t think of any reason I wouldn’t be. It was obviously an accident.”
“No, I’m sure you will be. I don’t even see why they had to go through all this. You didn’t do anything wrong.”