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

by A. Carlock Maxwell DVM

  "Told you, didn't I?" Miss Effie said when he emerged. "Now are you going to tell me what's got you all upset?"

  Will massaged his temples. "I've got a headache, that's what's going on."

  "Best thing for that is a good foot rub and a couple whiffs of lavender oil."

  Will huffed a spiteful sigh. "And if your feet ache I guess you rub your head."

  She shrugged in condescension. "Go ahead. Be my guest. Suffer."

  "I need to make a phone call."

  "Try to be quick. There's more folks waiting up front."

  Disappointment seeped from Liza's voice after he apologized for not stopping by first thing like he promised last night. He assured her that he would visit later in the day. Before or after bleeding Spivey's herd.

  "Don't feel obligated. I'm feeling much better today. I know you're busy." She had ended the conversation in the zone between succinct and miffed. "At least you remembered to call."

  Chapter 39

  Four bright-eyed eight-graders, decked out in scrub suits, greeted Will in the surgery room. He pulled Miss Effie into an exam room for an explanation. "What is this?"

  "Job shadows. It's a program in the junior high. They sign up to follow somebody around in the job they might like to have someday. Cool, huh?"

  His head shifted sideways. The expectation of bleeding Spivey's herd today exceeded his excitement quota for the day. "I see. So they all want to be herbologists?"

  She waggled an index finger. "They're shadowing you. I mentioned it when you were running out the door Friday." She shot him a lecturing look. "You don't listen too good sometimes. A good morning for them to be here. Got cat and dog surgeries on each sex."

  Will sighed. "Get four extra buckets, just in case we get to see what a teenager's breakfast looks like."

  During the surgeries, the kids buzzed in and out of the room like bees working a hive, some challenged by the harsh brightness of the initial incision, then by the opening into the abdomen, by the handling of the internal organs. Others were bothered by the others. Behind the surgical masks Miss Effie had provided, their skin tints flashed with the raucous energy of the Northern Lights.

  "Wasn't that fun?" Miss Effie asked as they lined up at the water fountain, shooting nervous glances at the clock. From gaining insight into a profession, their goals had switched to a three-fold quest for teenage survival - avoiding the social embarrassment of gagging and vomiting and fainting in front of their peer group.

  The front door swung open. Sounds associated with animal sacrifice scraped the air. The students traded quiet glances and looked around, possibly for exits.

  "I need some help up here." A woman's voice shouted over the horrific screams. "Where is everybody?"

  Will hurried to the front and saw a stout pug dog of a lady in t-shirt and shorts. She held a thirty-pound goat that emitted an excruciating bleat with each labor contraction.

  "Been working on her for hours. Should have been a vet myself, much as I love animals. I've delivered hundreds. But we can't buy the things you use, so I couldn't do much with her." The bristly words formed an accusation, as if Will had personally infringed on her rights. "So here we are. Victims of the system."

  Will ignored her tone and glanced at the goat. From the pronounced swelling in the baby's protruding head, the doe had labored through the night. He led the lady, Judy Barr, into an exam room and placed the goat on the table.

  "Hope you don't mind if these students watch. They're my job shadows for the day." More like dark shadows. She nodded her agreement, which was more than the students did. They lined the wall like a group awaiting, maybe preferring, a firing squad.

  "Guess you'll give her an epidural or sedate her." Arrogance commanded her eyes as she shook her head. Dirty jeans were stuffed into grimy rubber boots. "Anybody could do it if they had the stuff. World's stacked against common folk."

  The goat continued the horrible bleating. Will looked into Judy's stubborn face, nodded. "The baby's dead. First, I'm going to cut its head off, get some room to work. Then I can get the legs out. Miss Effie, would you bring me a scalpel blade? And bring a roll of paper towels." He winked at the students. "It's going to be messssy."

  Eight feet shuffled in out of sync choreography at the warning. Judy insisted on holding Blossom during the procedure. She cooed to her as Will began.

  He immobilized the kid's head by inserting a finger and thumb into the eye sockets, then quickly incised through the joint behind the skull. Mahogany blood spilled from the jugulars, ran off the table onto the floor, splattered toward the students, whose feet moved like a troupe of Celtic step dancers.

  He held the grotesquely swollen head aloft, a cannibal with a trophy to display before the tribe. "Step one is done."

  There would be no step two for the students fighting their way through the door like the Three Stooges. Another, Courtney, remained plastered against the wall, held by either a voluntary decision or temporary paralysis.

  He dropped the head into the trashcan. Thud. Judy wobbled from side to side, eyes rolling from view as she sagged to the floor. Will grabbed Blossom before she took a leap, held her until Miss Effie took over. When he tried to help Judy, she slapped at him and slid back by pushing with her legs. Her bottom smeared the discharges on the floor, creating art similar to a preschooler's finger painting.

  After lubricating his hand, Will slid it into the birth canal, trying to ignore the tortured bleats as Blossom pushed against him. He maintained pressure against the baby until the contraction passed, then located a turned back leg, flipped it forward and out. He repeated the process on the other leg. Then as Blossom strained, he delivered the kid. Maternal fluids and afterbirth gushed out, adding to the blood smearing the floor. He palpated the abdomen, assured himself there was no twin.

  A raspy noise preceded Courtney's sagging down the wall like wallpaper coming unglued. From her sitting position, she gave an apologetic shrug before adding her breakfast to the carnage. Blueberry Pop-Tarts.

  Will left Miss Effie with Blossom while he checked on the other students. In a cloistered wad, they sat in the shade of a row of trees edging the parking lot. They waved weakly, declared they were okay. Will chose to believe them. Noticing that Judy's truck had a stock frame on it, he carried Blossom out. Once in the truck, she began munching the hay bedding. From agony to ecstasy in five minutes. Better recuperative powers than the shadows had at their disposal.

  Miss Effie handed him the phone when he came back in. "For you, Mr. Excitement. I'll take care of Judy and clean up."

  He held he phone to his ear.

  "Doc, this is Jug. Can you come out?"

  For once, the man sounded sober. Will placed his head against the wall, closed his eyes. So many things needed attention. Seeing Liza was top of the list. With the next hour or so open, he intended to surprise her before going to Spivey's. "Whatcha got?"

  "Think Rosie's took the mastitis fever."

  Liza would have to wait. He wouldn't tell her he was late because of a drunkard's hog. "I'll be there shortly." Miss Effie joined him in the pharmacy while he gathered medications.

  "Are you taking your shadows?"

  He shook his head. Life seemed toxic enough without riding around with the stench of a human vomit spill. "And run the risk of them being shot, tempted to consume alcoholic beverages, or see him running around in his underwear? You saw how weak their stomachs are."

  "You need a dose of burdock. You're waaay too tense. Now load them kids up and take 'em with you. It'll do all of you good to get some fresh air."

  She was right. And there wouldn't be time to run by Liza's anyway, so having a crowd along didn't matter. The day was sunny. They could keep the windows down. "Have my stuff ready for Spivey's call when I come back through."

  ***

  No more than eight nerves were not rubbed to a high gloss by the time the fifteen-minute drive ended and he parked next to Jug's old Dodge. The kids had forty-two more questions than he had answe
rs. He was relieved, and surprised, to see Jug sitting fully clothed on the porch. A small travel bag sat by his chair. Will instructed the kids to remain in the truck while he investigated Jug's sobriety level.

  "Looks like you got company." Jug stood and moved to the porch's edge. His eyes were clear, his stride steady.

  Will explained their presence, hoping Jug would suggest they stay in the truck. Instead, his face beamed.

  "Rosie's a people pig. She'd enjoy the extra company."

  While the kids played with the piglets Jug handed them, Will examined the sow's breasts, took her temperature, and agreed with Jug's diagnosis. "I'll walk up to the truck and get some medicine."

  "I'll go with you." Jug turned to the kids. "Can y'all stay out of mischief a minute?"

  "Yes, Mr. Marlin," they chorused. As long as they had pigs to play with, they looked to be content.

  Silent until they reached the trucks, Jug halted, crossing his arms and leaning against the side of the Dodge's bed. It was partially full of trash, some contained, some loose. Will stopped with him, concerned by the stricken look on the man's face. "Something wrong?"

  Jug's head dropped and he shifted from foot to foot. A deep sigh rattled its way out. He nibbled at his lower lip. "I did it. That's why my bag is packed."

  Remaining patient while anticipating the unpleasant visit at Spivey's seemed impossible. Jug's conversations rambled over several time zones whether sober or drunk. A small cardboard box containing empty vials and blue and white boxes in the bed of Jug's truck caught his attention. Baby Ruth nugget wrappers. "Going on a trip?"

  "Reckon that's up to you."

  "How's that?"

  Impatience registered in Jug's voice. "I just told you. I did it."

  "Maybe you need to tell me what it is." Will wiped at a trickle of perspiration wandering down his forehead.

  "I'm telling you this because you said you've been changed and all that." A frown squinted Jug's face. "That, and my mind's been galling me. And Pete. He's been galling me too."

  "Okay."

  "Don't know a good way to say this besides plain." His sigh could rattle the leaves. "I killed your uncle. And I tried to blame it on those animal nutters. Even left another note taped to your door today. Guess you saw it."

  The words stumbled over each other in their escape from Jug's lips and regrouped to kick Will in the solar plexus. Oh, God, help me. Unable to speak, he could only stare into Jug's stricken face, recognize the pain shrieking from his haunted eyes as kin to his. All his conclusions, all wrong. What a detective he was.

  "I'd been fishin'. And I'd had a few. When I got up to the road, I turned on my light, like I always do." Tears overtook Jug but he talked through them, his words bubbles. "I swear I never seen 'em until they was nearly on me. They was going smokin'fast. Dr. Bill started slowing down for the curve. But Otis was following too close, tapped his bumper. Bill lost control. I feared they might hit me, so I waved my light. Then Bill, he hit the brakes. Got by me good. Then Otis, he was skidding and somehow bumped him again. Doc might of made it, 'cept then a stupid deer jumped from the woods. He swerved again. Hit the deer, hit the gravel, then it was all she wrote." Jug made a sailing through the air motion with one hand. "I knowed I'd killed him. When Otis got out, I ducked down and moved. He looked around with a light. I was hid good by then. Don't know why he didn't go down to check on him. Maybe his bum knee. Then he tried using his phone. Must not of got a signal, 'cause he cussed and drove upriver. So I checked on Dr. Bill. He was dead. Knew I'd be in trouble if anyone saw me there. With the weapon."

  Will spoke through the hollowness in his chest. Out of Jug's story, some of his own conclusions came back. "You're saying Spivey hit him on purpose?"

  Jug covered his eyes, rubbed his temples with thumb and index finger. "I don't know. They was both driving like fools. But it looked like that way. Like those NASCAR guys do. But he was tailgating him for sure."

  "Would you be willing to tell that to the sheriff?"

  "They're both family."

  "This goes further than family."

  Jug's misery propelled him on. A high keen replaced his normal voice. "But I was the one killed him. Sure as I'm standing here. He saw my light. If he hadn't swerved to miss hitting me, he might have made it." A fresh cascade of tears tumbled down Jug's gullied features.

  "If Spivey hit him, if the deer was there, he still would have swerved and gone over the bluff. Even if you hadn't been there. Then nobody would have known." He waited a moment, spoke again. "I guess you've noticed Spivey hasn't volunteered that information."

  Jug continued to shake his head. "Probably my hollering that spooked it. If I'd been at home minding my business, none of it would of happened."

  "Did Uncle Bill's car spin. Do a 360?"

  "No. Before you cart me off to jail, I'm askin' you to forgive me."

  Before Will could form an answer, his uncle's note stirred in his mind. No matter how I got here, it wasn't a day early or a day late. An extra deposit of forgiveness. He needed it now. In himself, he didn't have enough to override the hollowness of heart or the sense of futility inherent in senseless tragedy or the animosity he felt towards Jug at the moment. Not to mention Spivey.

  But he had the willingness to forgive, meager as he felt it was, and faith that God would multiply it if only he would offer it to Him. He had to speak the words. The sooner the better. For Jug. And for himself. Twice lately, he'd faced it. Not seventy times seven in a day, but a start. He cleared his throat, swallowed hard, and pushed the words out. "I forgive you, Jug."

  Jug's shoulders rattled from the force of his sobbing. He looked up. "I won't have to go to jail?"

  Will placed an arm across Jug's shoulders, wiped his own eyes with his free hand. "No, you don't have to go to jail."

  Jug looked at him, nose running like a fire hose. "That's good. Don't know what would of happened to Rosie and the boys."

  "But you need to tell somebody what you saw. Or when things hit the fan, you could be caught up in it."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Can't go into details. Just a helpful hint. Friend to friend."

  Jug's mouth pinched in an apprehensive frown. "They'll never believe the likes of me. I was pie-eyed, to boot."

  "I'd go with you."

  "You don't understand. He's my family. He's took care of me since high school."

  "And I've got family in this too. So do others. What about them? What they've covered up has gone on way too long. Ruined too many lives. Like yours. You've paid for their wrong. You can stop paying today or pay with them when they go down. Your choice."

  "I'll study on it."

  "Good. Because they are going down."

  "We'd better get Rosie tended to before those kids rub all the hair off them pigs." Jug remained silent while Will prepared several injections. "Doc, you sound a lot like your uncle the last few weeks he was with us."

  "Where did this come from?"

  Jug looked at the box Will held out. "Otis was cleaning out his truck the other day. Put it there for me to cart to the trash. Must have been left over from when he gave something shots. Why?"

  Would a bit more pressure be beneficial? Would Jug mention it to Spivey? If so, would that be a bad thing? "Remember Liza's cow problems? This might be the answer. Okay if I take it with me?"

  Jug shrugged. "If it'll help Miss Liza, that's fine with me."

  Will wrestled with what to share with Jug, decided he'd best keep his light low. Plant seeds. "What Uncle Bill did, not hitting you and dying himself, is sort of what Jesus did for us."

  Jug nodded while Will pulled medicine for Rosie into syringes. "I'll have to study on that."

  The thought came unbidden. "Jug, what's your real name?"

  He seemed reluctant to answer. "Clarence."

  "That's what I'm going to call you."

  "Why?"

  "Because that's the name God knows you by."

  Jug shrugged his shoulders, but r
epeated the name several times on the way to the barn. He was still voicing the word as he waved them away.

  The town square bustled, but Will managed to find a booth in Sarge's that held them all. For being such good sports, he bought them milkshakes before dropping them at school.

  When he pulled to the rear of the clinic, he was relieved to see Miss Effie's car gone. Peace and quiet beckoned. In his own chair. In his own office. He walked to the front, opened the door to his sanctuary and stepped in. A box sat on the desk, a note propped against it. He opened the box, puzzled to see a German chocolate cake. Or instant death, as Miss Effie might say. After he ate several dollops of the rich icing, he opened the note card, embossed by the writer with Galatians 5:16.

  But I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not carry out the desire of the flesh.

  Sorry it took so long. Here's the cake I promised you.

  With much thanks,

  Liza

  P.S. Eat it in the Spirit and it will not take up residence on your flesh.

  Gentry's words came back to him. One down, one to go. He picked up the phone. He could at least thank her for the cake before he left for Spivey's.

  Chapter 40

  Five minutes after encountering Spivey on his farm, it was evident that getting away from reporters had not improved his disposition. Besides stomping and glaring from the moment Will parked next to his truck, he looked ill. The accusations leveled in what was billed as Part One of the TIME article were sufficient to produce sickly feelings. Next week's issue promised to pronounce him terminal.

  Will intended to surprise them all before then.

  "Let's get on with this charade." Spivey pointed a threatening finger at Will. "You won't be finding nothing wrong with my stock."

  Will flashed Spivey an easy-going smile. "Have you got them all up?"

  Spivey's eyes jerked. But edgy people's eyes tended to jerk at erratic intervals. His abrasions and bruises were looking better, though one eye still appeared inflamed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Now you've lost me. You'll need to be more specific."