Chained

by Eileen Brady

  Despite the weather I almost slammed on my brakes. That name rang a very loud bell.

  “Mari,” I warned my technician, “if my memory is correct, we’re in for an interesting experience.”

  Mary Ellis and her family were one of the very first appointments I saw after Doc Anderson hired me to run his practice. After I met them I guessed that interacting with his human clients was one of the many reasons Doc decided to go on a round-the-world cruise.

  Recalling that appointment made me realize how much had happened in my professional life in the last six months. Let’s see, I’d stumbled on two bodies, helped solve a different murder of a client and friend, and almost gotten killed. Twice. The highlight of my social life, on the other hand, was being maid of honor at Saturday’s pig wedding and having a Skype date with a guy I hadn’t seen since college. Winning a prize for the lowest point was finding out that Luke had gone back to his high school sweetheart.

  Which proves I don’t get out that much.

  ***

  Ten minutes later we parked in front of a familiar house. Careful not to land in a puddle, I slid down off the driver’s seat, stethoscope wrapped around my neck. Once on the ground I opened the extended cab side door to get my doctor’s bag. Mari closed the laptop, placed it in a hard case so it wouldn’t get wet, then followed me up to the front door.

  In no time at all it was déjà vu all over again.

  A teenage boy with a buzz cut answered the door. He nodded solemnly and turned back into the house, the hint of a smile on his lips. We followed him through the entryway and into the living room.

  “Where’s the patient?” I asked with trepidation.

  He pointed to a large glass bottle in the living room with coins lining the bottom. For a crazy second I wondered if he wanted me to count them. On closer look I saw one of the coins move. My guess was that my little patient didn’t get into some tar. He was trapped in a jar.

  “Your hamster is…?”

  “In there.” The teen sheepishly reached behind him, then with a flourish held up a large hammer. “Do you need this?”

  “Put that hammer away, Tommy.” Mary Ellis, his mother, appeared at the kitchen door holding a wiggly toddler in her arms.

  It was all coming back to me.

  “Hi, Dr. Turner. I’m so sorry to have to call you again.” She leaned over and put the squirming boy down. “Damien, say hello to our veterinarian.”

  Damien eyed me suspiciously. Resplendent in Superman pull-ups and what looked like his mother’s red bedroom slippers, he clutched part of a jelly donut in one grubby hand. “Peanut’s in the bottle,” he yelled, before dragging his feet along the carpet.

  “Now, Damien,” his mother admonished him, “use your quiet voice.”

  The toddler grinned at her. Two seconds later he screamed out his new favorite phrase. “Peanut’s in the bottle. Peanut’s in the bottle.”

  Mari nudged me and muttered, “I’m never having kids.”

  Another piercing scream from Damien announced the arrival of a young girl about six or seven years old wearing a poufy ballerina costume covered in spangles. She grimaced at her brothers before pirouetting smartly across the room, narrowly missing the bottle containing my patient.

  “Okay. What happened?” I directed my question at Mary Ellis but noticed Tommy the teenager had suddenly become extremely interested in his shoes.

  “Well,” Mary sighed, “I told the kids it was time to empty the change jar so they could buy a treat at the grocery store.”

  “Candy! Candy! Candy!” Damien screeched, reaching a new decibel. In a flash he stuffed the last of the donut in his mouth, stuck out his fingers and started shuffling toward his sister like a zombie. She shrieked and hid behind her mother.

  “Damien, stop trying to give Angela a shock.”

  His sister, keeping her distance, stuck out her tongue at him.

  The toddler must have learned that by rubbing the slippers on the rug he could generate static electricity. Pretty smart of him, I thought—annoying, but smart. “So, Mrs. Ellis, you were saying…” I tried to get more of a patient history but suspected I was fighting a losing battle.

  “Peanut was in his plastic roller ball.” She pointed to an orange see-through ball on the carpet, its two halves resting near the leg of the coffee table. “I don’t think it was closed tight enough because Tommy said Peanut got out.”

  I took a side-glance at Tommy, who had enough common sense to look back down at his sneakers.

  “Anyway, the bottle was laying on the rug and the next thing we knew the little guy ran inside and he won’t come out.”

  I couldn’t blame him.

  “Peanut’s in the bottle,” Damien commented, the remaining jelly from the donut smeared around his mouth. From the color of the leftovers on his face I suspected raspberry.

  “Are you sure you don’t need this?” Tommy lifted the hammer up again in anticipation.

  “Eeewwwww,” Angela whimpered. “I can’t watch.”

  Mary stroked her daughter’s back before continuing the bizarre story. “We tried bribing Peanut with hamster food but Damien squished his peanut butter sandwich into the bottle and it got stuck in the narrow part of the neck. I mashed most of it out with a wooden spoon, but it made a disgusting mess. When we turn the bottle upside down now, all the junk blocks Peanut from getting out.” Mary comforted her daughter and glared at her oldest who still held the hammer at the ready.

  “No hammers,” I said as forcefully as I could.

  Tommy reluctantly abandoned the weapon on the dining room table.

  Dodging Damien, who tried to poke me with his electric finger, I got down on the living room rug and took a good look at the situation. Two bright eyes stared at me from behind assorted change, lumps of bread, and a slimy wad of peanut butter. Despite all the excitement, Peanut looked perfectly fine.

  “Maybe we could suck him out with the vacuum cleaner?” Tommy sounded hopeful.

  “Eeewwww! Don’t be so gross.” His sister squealed and covered her eyes.

  “Gross! Gross! Gross!” Damien repeated at top volume, keeping up his end of the conversation.

  As much fun as this was, it was time to get down to business.

  “Can someone bring Peanut’s habitat in here?”

  Mary gestured to Tommy who made a face before disappearing into the back of the house. When he returned, I was happy to see they had followed the suggestions I’d made during my last visit. Their hamster now had a plastic tunnel, a nice thick nest of bedding material, two water bottles attached to his wire cage and Peanut’s favorite thing—a large exercise wheel.

  “This is a very nice home for a pocket pet,” I told the family.

  “He’s cool,” Tommy volunteered. “Peanut sits in my hand and takes food from me.”

  “We love him,” Angela whispered from behind her mother.

  Damien, for once, had no comment.

  “Mari, can you go get the duct tape from the truck?” With a nod of gratitude my assistant took off at warp speed.

  Tommy’s eyes opened wide. “What are you going to do?” I figured all kinds of bizarre scenarios involving duct tape were taking place in his mind.

  “I bet you didn’t know that duct tape is used in medicine for a bunch of things. Good things, like closing a wound in an emergency, acting as a temporary sling, even removing warts.”

  “Cool.”

  “Eeeewwwww!”

  When Mari came back I asked everyone to go into the kitchen so I could work.

  “Duck, duck, goose,” Damien flapped his arms and began to quack. Despite myself I had to laugh. This toddler was growing on me…like a fungus.

  “Do we have to?” Tommy begged his mother.

  She glanced at me and raised her eyebrows in an unspoken question.

  I didn
’t cave. “Everyone out.”

  “Let’s go, kids.” She made an about-face and put her hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Come on, guys. Let’s make some popcorn for our guests.”

  The entire family traipsed out of the room, but not before Damien got his final two cents in at the top of his impressive vocal register by screaming, “Popcorn! Popcorn! Popcorn!”

  Mari raised her eyes to the heavens. “Thank goodness.”

  “It’s only temporary, so don’t get used to it.” I took the roll of duct tape from her hand.

  “What are you going to do? Break the bottle?” For a moment Mari sounded a lot like Tommy.

  “No. I’m going to perform a veterinary magic trick. The vanishing hamster.” For emphasis I waved the duct tape in the air like a magic wand. Mari didn’t seem impressed.

  First I opened the door to Peanut’s habitat, took a few morsels of his dry food and crushed them in my hand, releasing the delicious odor of hamster kibble goodness. Next, I carefully reached back inside and sprinkled the pieces where he could see them. A quick search of his bedding uncovered a few hidden blueberries and a sliver of carrot. Those went on top of the dry food. When I snuck a surreptitious peek into the bottle I saw two black eyes watching me. I spun his wheel. As soon as it clicked he lifted his head, eyes shiny with interest.

  “That got his attention.” Mari leaned closer to the bottle.

  “Good.” I took a few pinches of bedding material and sprinkled it near the cage door. Trusty hemostats made it easy to lift out most of the debris from the neck of the bottle, creating a clear passage. Once that was accomplished I slid the habitat as close as possible to the opening in the bottle.

  “Duct tape, please.”

  Mari pulled several strips off and cut them with her bandage scissors.

  Trying not to jostle the bottle too much I duct-taped the cage to the bottle, doubling it over where the two parts met so nothing sticky would touch the hamster’s fur. Satisfied I stood up.

  “What next?” Mari asked.

  “Abracadabra. Drum roll, please.” I waved my stethoscope over my invention.

  The expression on her face suggested I had lost my mind.

  “Just kidding. Let’s turn day into night.”

  We pulled the heavy drapes across the living room window and flicked off the lights. The room was now quiet and dark.

  I was counting on the little guy getting bored in the bottle and deciding to go home to his yummy food and beloved wheel. Meanwhile, we needed to give him some privacy.

  “Hey,” I whispered to my assistant. “Want some popcorn?”

  ***

  Twenty minutes later Mari and I were stuffed with popcorn and had listened to Damien chant that all-time favorite, “Peanut’s in the bottle,” about a million times.

  When we stood up I told everyone except Mari to be quiet and stay put until I checked on my patient.

  On tiptoe I opened the kitchen door. The squeaking of the exercise wheel signaled success. Without turning on the light I stealthily made my way into the living room, cut the duct tape with the bandage scissors, peeled it away, and quickly closed the cage door. Success. Thankfully, no one was any the worse for wear, except maybe Mari.

  Despite my command, everyone suddenly burst out of the kitchen with a tired Mom unsuccessfully trying to herd her rowdy kids back inside.

  A cheer went up when I turned on the lights and they saw Peanut in his cage, happily scampering away. Angela managed several pirouettes before Damien gleefully began rubbing his borrowed slippers on the rug.

  Time to leave.

  Tommy obviously was disappointed that no hammers had been involved in the rescue.

  I went over a little basic hamster care with the kids while Mari entered the bill into the computer.

  Relieved everything had gone well, Mary Ellis escorted us toward the front door. Mari couldn’t stop herself from asking a question.

  “You seem so cool amid this chaos,” she said. “How do you do it?”

  “What chaos?” A rattling noise behind us turned out to be the giant glass bottle, now hamster-less, which one of the kids had rolled down the hall, aimed directly toward us. The leftover coins clinked against the sides with each full revolution. Instinctively, Mary blocked it with her foot.

  “I hate to tell you, but this is a good day,” their mom confessed.

  “I’m never ever having kids,” Mari swore under her breath.

  “Buzz.” Damien’s fingertip touched my hand. A crackle of static electricity zapped between us.

  The toddler stared at me, waiting for my reaction.

  I didn’t flinch. Instead I slid my shoes back and forth on the carpet, held up my index finger, and slowly inched toward him. “Buzzing you back.”

  A cascade of giggles erupted from him and kept up even as we closed the front door.

  Mari sprinted to the truck ahead of me. I waited on the porch, checking my pockets to make sure I hadn’t left anything behind. The rain began to fall harder before I dashed down the driveway trying to avoid the puddles and rivulets of water streaming along the slight incline. With one move I threw open the truck door and leaped into the driver’s seat. The windshield had fogged up and the inside of the cab smelled like damp wool with just a hint of overripe banana. After I stowed all my gear behind my seat, I started the engine and set the controls to defrost.

  Next to me Mari kept staring at her phone. From the expression on her face I knew something had happened.

  “Anything wrong?” I turned on the windshield wipers to clear the glass.

  “Cindy texted me. They think they’ve identified the remains. There was an inscription on the watch.” Her eyes were wells of darkness. “Chief Garcia is helping provide dental records to the investigators working the case.”

  I let the truck idle. “Someone local?”

  “Yes. Everyone thought he went out to California, to Hollywood.” She sounded like she was in shock, her words garbled. “He’s not supposed to be dead.”

  The rain hit the windshield with an icy slush that smeared the view. A gray-white fog hovered above the tree line.

  “What was his name?” I asked as gently as possible.

  “Flynn,” she answered.

  “His name was Flynn Keegan.”

  Chapter Five

  Our long and now sad day finally ended but the rain kept up a steady drizzle. We made it back to the Oak Falls Animal Hospital looking like two drowned rats. My straight blond hair lay plastered to my head while Mari’s darker locks had exploded in a cumulus cloud of curls. Our final house-call client had been an easy vaccination, a sweet but gigantic dog terrified to get into his owner’s car. Since Jumbo the Mastiff weighed as much as his owner, the dog always won the argument.

  A few seconds after we left their home the skies opened up for the third time that day. They say third time’s a charm but we both got soaked in a ferocious cold downpour. Periodic bursts of sleet made the driving conditions slow and hazardous. Both of us were relieved when we finally made it back to the hospital. Only Cindy’s car remained in the parking lot. Everyone else had left. We zipped in through the side door used for walking the dogs. After dumping our equipment in the treatment area, I made a beeline for the warmth and comfort of my office and portable space heater. Mari followed right behind.

  The office was dim but I didn’t have the energy to get up and turn on the overhead lights.

  “You look like a young Meryl Streep, only wet,” my assistant quipped before sinking into a chair in my office.

  “Thanks a lot, Mari,” I replied, sarcastically. This was the supposed resemblance to the famous actress that Jeremy had mentioned and that had turned into a running joke with my staff and clients. “Your hair looks like Damien zapped you good.”

  “Please, don’t remind me—I never want to hear Peanut’s i
n the bottle again.” Mari stomped her dripping sneakers on the floor. “My feet are freezing.”

  “I feel like I took a cold shower with all my clothes on.” Clinging damp pants began to stick to the black leather desk chair. The entire room started to smell pretty funky.

  Cindy poked her head in. “Let’s go, ladies. I made you hot chocolate.” Seeing no activity on our part, she pointed at the door. “Now.”

  Following orders we marched into the surgery suite where to our surprise she had set up a little picnic on one of the stainless-steel tables. Hot bright beams from above focused down on a pair of stools, each covered with a towel. Blue placemats and two mugs of cocoa with a peak of whipped cream on top beckoned to us. It smelled delicious.

  “Thank you, Cindy. You’re too good to us,” I told her. Mari and I sat down and soon the combined heat of the surgery lights and drinks warmed us up.

  “Cozy now? I figured you could use some cheering up.” Ever mindful of the utility bills, Cindy waited a beat before switching off the overhead spots.

  “That was perfect.” I’d begun to feel a little sleepy from the sugar and the chocolate and the heat.

  “All right, you two,” she announced to us. “I’m going to take off. Kate, I walked Buddy for you.”

  “Thanks again.”

  “See you tomorrow—and put your raincoats and boots in the truck. I’m not going to do this every day.” Cindy walked down the hall toward the front door, turning off lights as she went.

  “Yes, Mommy,” Mari called out.

  “I can’t hear you,” she joked. The slam of the front door left us alone in a darkened hospital.

  “She’s right,” I said, not moving.

  “She’s always right,” Mari agreed, “but I still have to give her a hard time once in a while.”

  We clicked off the remaining office lights and brought our cups to the sink in the break room.

  “I’ll wash,” I volunteered. “The hot water will feel good on my hands.”

  While I cleaned, Mari checked the countertops, straightened out the treatment area, and made sure we were ready to close up. No lab samples to put out tonight. She stowed our house-call gear away and placed the remaining vaccines with its ice pack back in the refrigerator.