X's and O's (Will Kilpatrick, DVM Mystery Series Book 1)

by A. Carlock Maxwell DVM

  "But I haven't delivered a calf in years. I have things to do around town." He scooted deeper into the womb of the covers, searching for asylum. This was what he feared. A large animal call. "Have them get somebody else."

  "You're the somebody else. And you can do all things through Christ who strengthens you."

  Will sighed. She countered arguments by employing warped application of slogans and scriptures and song lyrics. "Keep it in context. Paul wasn't talking about bovine obstetrics."

  "The Psalms say God owns the cattle on a thousand hills. I suspect He knows something about 'em giving birth."

  He sat up, breathed in the old farm house's aroma. "I told you yesterday I didn't come to work. Especially large animal calls. I'm supposed to meet Kincaid this morning."

  "Things change. Think flow." Her pronunciation undulated with a ribbon-like quality.

  "That's being negative."

  "Being high-strung won't help. And Kincaid isn't exactly Matlock. Just drop in after you finish the call."

  "I haven't even had breakfast." He clung to a faint hope she would come to her senses, realize he lacked the necessary experience to be taking the call.

  "Good to cleanse the system now and then. Take some psyllium husks while you're fasting and you're on the high road to GI health." She gave him directions. "Make a good first impression."

  This is what being sucked under by a whirlpool was like. Scream. Wave your arms. Hold your breath. None of it mattered. "Why?"

  "Why not?"

  "Lots of reasons. Not staying to make a second impression being first."

  "At least go see if you can help. Then get to the clinic after Kincaid's. You've got appointments."

  Will glanced at the mirror. He leaned forward. For a second, the dauntless little boy who had dreamed of a future like this stared back at him, a wide grin splitting his innocent face. "Okay. But no more appointments. I have things to do this afternoon."

  Unwilling to forfeit good clothes to an activity usually involving baptism in animal fluids, he rummaged through his uncle's closet and found a set of scrubs. Even though sizes too big, they would have to do.

  As Will began down the driveway, a silver Mercedes turned in and blocked it. He groaned. Even when doing something he didn't want to do, he preferred being on schedule.

  A man in his mid-forties emerged. From the waist up he swaggered, but his feet glided, even with the slight limp, as he coasted toward Will. Wings of blond curls fringed the headband on a Green Bay Packers cap. "I'm Otis Spivey."

  Will nodded. Though he had put on weight since high school, Otis was recognizable from his yearbook pictures. "You played football."

  "And Fred Astaire danced." Direct, copper eyes probed Will's. He possessed the arrogance to be a successful politician. "I'm also running for governor. You're Dr. Bill's nephew?"

  "The same."

  Spivey flinched and grabbed his side, grunting.

  "You okay?"

  "Yeah. Side's acting up. Probably an old sport's injury. Played pro, you know." He seemed to wait for a response, then continued. "Supposed to see my doctor about it. Enough about me. I hear you finished a surgical residency." He sliced Zorro Zs into the air. "You must be a fancy cutter."

  The relentless smile, highlighted by a gold crown on an upper front tooth, bullied Will. Something said he took note of everything, would use it to his advantage in due time. "He was bad to exaggerate."

  Another grin, twin to the first. "Top surgeon, top practice. His exact words. By the way, I'm sorry about his death. Got there right after the accident. Nothing I could do. Got a minute?"

  "Not really."

  Spivey stood motionless, solid as Mt. Rushmore, the stony smile carved into his face. "Good. Won't take a second. A hot shot like you won't be staying in the backwaters long, so we need to get our business done."

  Will puffed a sigh. Punctuality wouldn't merit a person heaven, but being late might keep you out. "You must not have-."

  "I know this may sound callous, but when will you be selling this place, sport?"

  Sport? May sound callous?

  "I'm going on an emer-."

  "He and I had a gentleman's agreement. Said he was going to sell me this property. Discussed it just before the accident."

  Will raised his eyebrows. "I heard y'all argued just before the accident. Is that the same as a discussion?"

  "Ask anybody. We always argued." Spivey grinned and shook his head, releasing shimmers in his hair. "Our dream was a golf course." He looked around. "Tenth hole should be right about here. Par five. Do you golf?"

  The question hadn't intimidated Spivey. He slid through it like he had on his historic run in the state championship game his senior year featured in the campaign ad on TV last night. Countered by an opponent's ad showing him tackled on the one yard line as time ran out the previous year, earning him the political nickname One Yard Short. "No."

  "Took it up after my knee doc said it was good for stress." He barked a laugh. One hand rubbed his chin. "He was right. Been stressed ever since."

  Will tried to look away. Spivey's insistent smile immobilized him like a Taser. "If y'all had an agreement, take the paperwork to the lawyer. I need to be going."

  "And I said this wouldn't take a minute." Spivey's crossed arms could bench press a bass boat. He leaned on the window ledge. Discolored sclera suggested slight icterus. Will's eyes blurred. Spivey must marinate in Brut. A mobile phone in the Mercedes bleated. Spivey ignored it. "I'll give a good price for his properties."

  "And you're way ahead of things." Will kept his voice in check. "Do you have a business card? I'll call you later."

  "So it's a deal?" Spivey pulled a card from his shirt pocket while maintaining his position. "I have first option to buy?"

  "I'll call when I know something."

  "I'll hold you to it, sport. First option. Remember?" Spivey edged closer.

  Will looked in the rear view mirror, plotting his escape. "Nobody said anything about a first option."

  Spivey's tongue flicked across his lower lip. Fumes of Juicy Fruit combined with the Brut, creating a sinister aroma riper than excellent goat cheese. "I did."

  "It takes two to dance the option. Now I'm going on my call." Will jammed the truck into reverse, determined to leave. Spivey walked beside the truck, one hand gripping the door. "We can talk later."

  "Listen, sport, maybe you don't know who you're talking to-"

  Will shifted to first gear and spun across the dew slickened yard, hating what he saw in the mirror – Spivey with a vertical speed stripe of mud and grass from knees to chin. From the man's dyspeptic face, now wasn't the time to offer an apology.

  Minutes later, barreling down Big Bottom Road, he wrenched the steering wheel to avoid Liza Hall's yellow mongrel he'd nicknamed DW. Death Wish. Gracie Lee fell to the floor, looked up, much offended.

  ***

  Liza, coffee cup in one hand, pushed the rickety screen door open with a hip. Bare toes wiggled against the cool stones of the front porch as she paused, her breath snatched away. For the second time in two days, she watched Will swerve to avoid hitting Blue.

  "Watch where you're going!" She almost spilled the coffee, which if not completing the ruin of a day already complicated by fatigue and hormones, would have rendered it at least badly bent.

  She shooed Clarice, her chubby calico cat, from a cane-bottomed chair before easing onto the warmth of the vacated cushion. Up since five, this might be her last break until supper.

  She crossed her legs, ran her hands their length. Too skinny. The scalding coffee fuzzed her tongue while soothing her nose. At least his nearly hitting Blue again absolved her of the guilt yesterday's behavior had visited upon her during the night.

  Chapter 9

  Gritty dust clouds rose behind the truck and flattened into gray sheets before coating roadside weeds. The engine whined when geared down over a rock outcropping and eased through the large washout beyond it.

  Will experie
nced a peculiar calm in the embrace of familiar geography. He belonged, even unwillingly, to his memories. A jumble of meandering hollows separated by sharp, cedar-strewn ridges sprouting an occasional trailer, farmhouse, one family market, and a Methodist church, the community dubbed Brimstone sat in splendid isolation.

  Hunched shoulders relaxed when he spotted the landmark - a crudely lettered sign, Madison Cemetery, End of the Road, clinging to spindly gateposts resembling an old man's slick legs.

  His patient came into view over the small rise – an immense red and white cow, a rope around her horns attaching her to a pickup. Melting icicles of saliva drooled from her lips. A variety of dents and a warped rear bumper distinguished the truck. A huge white turkey stood sentry atop the cab.

  Three burly men larger than a solar eclipse, dressed in camouflage attire, perched on the tailgate, tilting the truck's nose heavenward. They stood when Will got out.

  "Hi, Doc." Moon-faced Ted introduced his brothers, Ed and Fred.

  "Say howdy to our newest family member, Jed the guard turkey." Ed's twisted smile pooched from beneath an off-centered nose that appeared to have been mashed on with great force but poor aim. "A highly intelligent avian. We've taught him things. Right, Jed?"

  Its beard and wattles shook when it gobbled at the mention of his name. Marble eyes scrutinized every movement. Will faced the men, and smiled. What kinds of minds could effectively communicate with a turkey? Optimistic answers weren't comforting. Pessimistic ones were frightening.

  "Better than having one of those Clubs on the steering wheel." Ted petted the bird's back. Its head ducked to the side at each languid stroke.

  "A Club can't peck a pump knot on somebody like an attack turkey can." Fred's smile shone with the confidence of a Ginsu knife salesman. He pointed at the truck. "Go for the door."

  "I'll take your word for it." Will stepped back as the ill-natured Butterball sized him up.

  "Watch this then." Ted spoke to the bird. "Yankee." Jed began gobbling, then jumped, spurring at imaginary enemies. "Down."

  Hyperventilating insufficient proof of being impressed, they waited for further response. "You must be very proud."

  Fred's head bobbed. "Oh, we are. Bordering on smug."

  Will moved towards the cow. "What seems to be her problem?"

  "No seeming to it. She can't bring her calf." Ted's voice was blunt, though not impolite.

  "She's tried though," Ed said.

  Fred elbowed between his brothers. "Humped and strained all morning."

  "I couldn't get it rearranged." Ted pushed Fred aside.

  "It's backwards."

  "Butt first."

  "She strains too darn much for me to help her."

  "Push and grunt, grunt and push." Ed spoke before all Ted's words were airborne. Facial contortions and horrific grunts embellished the statement.

  "We've all tried."

  "We're whipped."

  "Beats all."

  Will stepped into Uncle Bill's boots, floppier than clown shoes. He shuffled to keep them from falling off. Ronald McDonald down on the farm. And Ronald was probably better qualified.

  The tip of the calf's tail, smeared with orange secretions, protruded from the cow. A quick exam revealed that the rear legs were tucked under the calf's abdomen. Not an easy case, although the cow's roominess would be advantageous.

  A block of ice replaced his stomach. He hadn't delivered a calf since his senior year. What if he couldn't do it? Who wanted their inadequacies paraded in front of turkey whisperers? Then broadcast around town?

  "Going to be a hard one, ain't it?" Ted watched Will draw lidocaine into a syringe.

  "Big time." Ed stepped closer to not miss anything.

  Fred's lips scrunched in what might have been concentration. "Can't figure out how it got put in there that a way. Reckon something's wrong with our bull?"

  "Guess you've done this lots of times."

  "Sure he has. Right, Doc?"

  It was pointless to keep up with who said what. Will spoke before another salvo of sentence fragments strafed him. Forcing him to confess his inexperience. "Can y'all hold her against the truck while I work?"

  A human tsunami, they swept the cow against the truck and gave a thumbs-up.

  He flexed the cow's slick tail in search for the appropriate intervertebral space, located between the last immovable and first moveable one. That's what he thought he remembered. Why had he agreed to come on this call? He needed boundaries.

  Sweat flooded his eyes, blurring vision. He jabbed the needle into the joint space. His shriek knifed the air.

  The stabbing jolt reverberated in the marrow of his left shin where the cow had kicked him. Several deep grunts disguised as coughs wandered up his throat, looking for the exit.

  "Sure smacked a lot for such a smallish cow." Ted's observation was a dispassionate recitation.

  "I thought I saw sparks fly."

  "Reckon post-partum depression made her do it?"

  Eyes on the cow, he attached a syringe to the needle and injected the lidocaine. It flowed without resistance, a sign he was in the correct spot.

  Ted's brow furrowed, giving him the appearance of inquisitive bread dough. "What's that shot going to do?"

  "Make it squirt out?"

  "Make it turn around?"

  The constant barrage of chatter rasped on the three nerves not engaged in routing currents of pain to his shin. He chose words softer than his thoughts. "It should help her relax in a few minutes."

  "Sorry to hear about your uncle."

  "Heard those animal people might have been involved. Got their dander up about him neutering cats and whacking puppy tails off."

  "Heard that Otis Spivey plans to build a golf course on Doc's home place. Can't believe he'd sell it to him. They didn't get on so well."

  Had Spivey spread the rumor? Or did he assume Will would be willing to sell the farm? "You know more than I do. Supposed to hear the will read when I get back to town."

  "Oh."

  "So, you think somebody kilt him?"

  Will shook his head. "Appears it was an accident."

  "He knew that road by heart. Strange he drove off the bluff that way. Even if there was a deer."

  "Ted, you still believe no one ever landed on the moon."

  Ted wouldn't be put off. "Lots of traffic that night. Funny stuff going on. We got nearly there and helped Spivey move The Road Closed sign. It was where it wasn't supposed to be. He was heading up the road where he could get phone reception. Said he'd just seen it happen."

  Will gave a small lift of his shoulders. "Sheriff said the case is closed."

  Ted scratched his head. "He would."

  "What's that mean?" Will checked the cow's tail. It wasn't limp yet.

  "Not saying anything is wrong, but they've covered each other for years. Just a bit strange, Spivey being around when it happened. Especially since that girl said him and Doc had been arguing a few days before."

  Will looked up. Miss Effie had mentioned the argument, but hadn't overheard specifics. Maybe someone else had. "What girl?"

  "Phyllis Johnson. Pretty little nurse that works for Dr. Dudley. Said she walked in on Spivey ranting at Dr. Bill. Saying he'd better keep his end of a land deal. And then there's that animal rights group claiming they did it."

  "Funny, first time we saw Spivey that night, he was in his truck. When he came back, he was in his car."

  Ed wiped his hands on his shirt. "I asked him about that. Said the truck was overheating. It did smell hot."

  "Let's be a little sensitive, guys. Doc here is probably still mourning. Right, Doc? Still grieving?"

  "It was all a shock, yes." Maybe he would have to follow up with the sheriff. With Phyllis Johnson. And Spivey. He might have to stay another night.

  "Guess it sorta glares through that Fred tooked some counseling classes. Part of a session was helping people grieve proper."

  Will nodded. "I'm sure that'll come in handy here on the far
m."

  "He'll share his gift. It's bigger than our fence can keep in."

  "Just so you know. We're for you in all this."

  Will dipped his head in appreciation. "Lets worry about your cow."

  "Those animal kooks been letting stock out all over the county. Cut some of our fence. Took us most of a day to gather our cows."

  "That don't mean they killed old Doc."

  "Some of their comments were right demeaning."

  Ted nodded at Will. "Yeah, we're not dumb just 'cause we train turkeys."

  Ed entered the fray. "Right. We're dumb all sorts of ways."

  "That counseling gift should help you cope." The time neared to reveal how inadequate his large animal skills were. He prayed beneath his breath. An out of context petition beat nothing. Let what is hidden in the darkness be brought to light.

  When the epidural had caused the cow's tail to hang limp, he lubricated his right arm then, eyes glued to her rear feet, inserted it into the intense heat of the birth canal.

  Teeth gritted, he attempted to repel the calf forward in order to reposition the legs. Lodged tight from the prolonged labor, it resisted his efforts. He pushed another minute, almost fell when the calf slid forward. The sudden movement twisted his neck, prompting him to take a providential step back in pain. At the same time, the cow humped its back and urinated. The gushing stream, instead of filling his boots, as it would have seconds earlier, barely splattered them as he danced to the side. Its hot pungency clogged the air.

  "Did you see Doc get out of the way? I'm severely impressed."

  "Just like he knew it was coming. Must be prophetic."

  "Never underestimate what a college learning can do for a man."

  Will smiled, willing to appear brilliant, even by accident. He returned to the task. With an arm shoulder deep in the cow, his stretched fingers barely touched a rear hoof.

  Head resting against the cow's tail, he strained to reach two inches farther and managed to snare the soft foot and begin drawing it back and up. Pain ripped through his shoulder at the exertion. His slender build allowed him to insert his other arm to assist in repositioning the leg. To magnify the degree of difficulty to his rapt audience, he added a series of intense grunts.