Tessa’s plane departed at eight p.m. and I didn’t arrive home until well after dark. Entering the house, I flicked on the hallway light.
“Petey?” I called, puzzled that he wasn’t right there to greet me as usual.
I walked to the kitchen, again calling his name.
Still no answer.
I had installed a doggie door a few weeks before and, when we were out, I usually left it open. Assuming he was in the yard, I turned on the garden lights and stepped out onto the deck.
“Petey! Come!” I called as I gazed around the yard. He was nowhere in sight. Could he have broken through the electric fence?
Becoming more than a little concerned, I decided to make sure he wasn’t somewhere in the house before searching the neighborhood. Could he have gotten down in the basement? I looked, but he wasn’t there.
Next, I checked my bedroom, calling for him as I walked through the room toward the bath. There was no sign of him and I turned, about to go upstairs, when I heard a faint whining coming from deep inside my walk-in closet.
“Petey?” I whispered as I turned on the light.
He was huddled against the rear wall behind an old suitcase, shaking and whining pitifully.
“What’s wrong, boy?” I asked reaching out to stroke his head.
As I ran my fingers through his fur, I felt something wet and sticky. Pulling my hand back, I was shocked to find my fingers coated with blood.
“Oh, my God!” I cried. “What happened, boy? Come on out. Let me look at you.”
In response to my distress, he only cowered farther back, pressing himself against the wall. I took a deep breath. I knew I had to stay calm.
“It’s okay, Petey,” I soothed. “You haven’t done anything wrong. Come to Mama.”
He whined some more and then, finally, responded to my coaxing and crawled into my lap.
I was shocked by his appearance.
There were numerous wounds all over his body and one ear was partly shredded. I tried to maintain my calm, talking softly to him. I carried him to the bathroom, grabbed a towel, soaked it in cool water, and began to wipe away the blood so I could better assess his condition.
He shivered and cried out as I ministered to him.
“It’s going to be okay, boy,” I whispered. “I’ll call the vet.”
My veterinarian had emergency hours so I speed-dialed him on my cell and left a message. Fifteen minutes later, he called back and told me to meet him at the clinic. Relieved, I wrapped Petey in a blanket and carried him to the car.
We arrived at the clinic ten minutes later.
The doctor was already there and ushered us into an exam room. When he unwrapped Petey I could see from his expression that he was shocked by my dog’s condition.
“What happened?” he asked. “Did Petey tangle with a raccoon?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I haven’t seen any raccoons since we moved here. Squirrels – but not raccoons.”
“You think squirrels did this?”
I nodded and related to him what had happened with Tessa. “Yes, I think it was the squirrels. They’re everywhere and they’re not afraid of anything.”
The vet nodded. “I’ve had quite a few squirrel bites here in the office this summer. Funny, we never usually see them. But this year…” His voice trailed off as he examined my dog.
“Has he eaten tonight?” he asked.
“No, I just got home and found him like this.”
“Well, I’m going to have to sedate him. Some of these wounds need stitches. He’s up to date on his rabies vaccination so we won’t have to worry about that. This is going to take some time. You can wait here or go home and I’ll call you when he’s done.”
“I’ll wait.”
The vet smiled. “Okay. The magazines are all out of date, but you probably can amuse yourself on your phone. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“Don’t rush. Petey deserves the best.”
About an hour and a half later, the vet led a very sleepy Petey into the waiting room. He was wearing a large plastic “cone of shame.”
“He did fine,” said the vet. “He has stitches that will need to be removed in about ten days. I gave him a shot of antibiotics to jump-start his system and here’s some pills you should start in the morning. Give them with food. The instructions are on the bottle.”
The doctor handed me Petey’s leash along with the pills.
“Thank you so much,” I said. “Do I pay you now?”
I reached into my purse for my credit cards, but the vet stopped me. “I’ve got no staff at this hour and I haven’t the slightest idea how to process a payment. We’ll send you a bill, if that’s okay.”
“That would be great,” I replied.
“Oh, and a little advice. Don’t leave Petey alone outside. There’s been too many squirrel attacks this summer. Better safe than sorry. And, get yourself some pepper spray for when you walk him. Gosh, I don’t even let my kids go outside alone anymore.”
“What do you think is causing it? Rabies? Distemper?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think so. It’s something else. I spoke to one of the town council members recently. He says they’re looking into it, but they want to keep it quiet for now. Not good for business or real estate. I told him I’d keep it under my hat for the time being, but if I see many more attacks like what happened to Petey, I’m going to go public.”
I saw a flash of anger flicker in his eyes as he spoke. I knew his family had lived in this area for decades and that he had a strong attachment to this place. He was also an excellent veterinarian and cared deeply for his clients.
“Well, if I can do anything to help, let me know,” I said. “I’m in the newspaper business, you know. Thank you again for coming out tonight to take care of Petey and I’ll take your advice about the pepper spray. I owe you one.”
The vet smiled. “All in a day’s work. Take care of this little fella and come back in ten days and I’ll remove those stitches.”
He patted Petey on the head, then escorted us to the door.
By the time we got home, it was extremely late and as I closed the garage door, I could hear the sound of thunder rumbling in the sky, coming from over the big lake. I let Petey, who was exhausted, sleep in my bed beside me.
At first, I found it hard to relax. My mind kept replaying what the vet had said. Could it be something other than disease that was affecting the squirrels? Was it, as I had previously wondered, something environmental? I thought about the area and industries in the vicinity. Could someone be dumping waste? I didn’t know, but vowed I would look into it in the morning.
I yawned.
It had been a long day and I needed sleep. Missing Tessa, I put my arms around Petey and closed my eyes.
7
A Little Research
THE NEXT DAY, I was up early and, after a walk with Petey, sat down and began to roam the Internet looking for a source of pollution in the immediate area. I was surprised by what I found.
There was no shortage of abandoned factories or other buildings in Western Michigan. Apparently, the big lake had once been like a magnet for industry and it wasn’t until 1972, when the Clean Water Act was amended, that most of the manufacturers were forced to put money into ensuring that the byproduct of their endeavors wasn’t toxic. Most of these companies either implemented pollution control programs or went bankrupt and closed.
I reviewed each of the affected manufacturers and was glad to see that those still in business adhered to a strict set of standards. Many others, who businesses went under, had initiated environmental cleanup programs to reclaim the land.
There was, however, an outlier. It was an old paper mill not far from North Laketon. The mill had been abandoned back in the late 1970s, on the verge of bankruptcy. The owners absconded with whatever assets they could salvage, leaving the property to be foreclosed by the bank when they defaulted on their mortgage. As a result, the mill sat vacant and the land ar
ound it became more polluted. The parcel the mill occupied was large and adjacent to the lakeshore and, every year or so, someone in real estate would put forward a proposal for a cleanup and subsequent partitioning of the property. They knew that, without the mill, the land would be considered prime real estate. But the task of reclaiming the property and making the water clean and drinkable again was too onerous and was projected to cost millions. The bank tried, on various occasions, to auction the parcel off, but, again, no one wanted to shoulder the environmental expense.
I thought about this for a moment. The mill was only about a mile away. It was possible that squirrels or other wild animals frequented the property and either ingested or became carriers of the pollutants in the water or soil. If this were so, could it be that, as a result, they suffered damage to their DNA? And, if this had happened, could they have mated and had litters that consequently resulted in mutated genes? Over time, could these altered genes have become dominant?
I scratched my head. I had a lot of questions, but no answers.
I continued reading and jotting down pertinent information. When I figured I’d done all I could with the limited knowledge I had, I quickly made a list of people to call. First on the list was Pam Weston, the realtor who sold me the house. She was a gossipy sort and had lived in this area all her life. If there was money to be made from that property, she would know about it. Second, was my contact at the City Council. I expected he would stonewall me, but I had to give it a try. Next, was my vet. Perhaps I could take him to lunch and get his opinion on the mutated DNA thing. After that, I would need to visit the property myself – get the lay of the land so to speak.
I closed down the computer and walked to the slider. Gazing out at the natural beauty of my backyard, the whole idea of mutant squirrels seemed ludicrous. However, the memory of the look on my daughter’s face after the squirrel attacked her and the pitiful form of my dog huddled in the closet were more than enough to convince me I had to pursue this avenue further.
Nodding, I walked back to my desk and looked at the list of contacts I’d made. There was one more I needed to add. Idly, I rifled through a stack of business cards I’d collected while on the job until I found the one I wanted. Doug Whitmore was an engineer for the county, specializing in environmental issues. I’d met him at a conference in June and gotten the distinct impression that he was interested in me. However, once the conference was over, I’d put his card in this stack and forgot about it.
Maybe it was time to get reacquainted.
8
The Old Mill
DOUG WAS MORE than happy to help and agreed to meet me at the mill the following morning. I dressed in what I thought was appropriate – jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. When I arrived, Doug was waiting, a hardhat and pair of vinyl boots in his hand.
“Brooke,” he said. “Good to see you again. You look great.”
Looking him over, I smiled. When I’d first met him, I had been very recently divorced and, thus, he was just a blip on the radar screen of my life. But now, checking him out, I realized he was definitely eye candy for a woman in her early thirties like me. He was probably around forty to forty-five, had chiseled good looks and a winning smile. I knew from friends that he, too, was divorced, but with no children. He was wearing jeans, leather jacket, hardhat, and yellow boots like the ones he now held out to me.
“It’s nasty in there,” he said. “Better to be prepared. I have gloves, too.”
I nodded. “Thanks, but what’s the hardhat for?”
Doug grinned. “The old place is falling apart. Don’t want you to get hit by a piece of crumbling concrete. Again, better safe than…”
We exchanged more pleasantries as I slid my feet into the boots, surprised at how well they fit.
“How’d you know my size?” I asked as I put my Nikes in the back of the car.
He laughed. “I didn’t. Just guessed. Now, tell me. Do you really want to go inside this old death-trap? There are a lot of much more attractive places around here I’d be willing to take you, you know.”
I couldn’t help but blush. He was flirting.
“Yes,” I finally said. “I do want to see the inside of this property.”
He looked so disappointed when I said that, I laughed.
“But that doesn’t mean I might not take you up on that offer of something more attractive at a later date,” I added.
He grinned and nodded, then his face turned serious.
“Okay,” he said. “We’ll go inside, but be careful. Stay with me. No wandering.”
His voice was grim and I briefly wondered what I was getting into. But, once again, remembering my daughter and my dog, I nodded.
“Yes,” I said. “Let’s go.”
Doug sighed, then pulled a key from his jacket pocket and proceeded to unlatch the large padlock that secured the doors to the gate.
Swinging them open, he turned to me. “I’d be a gentleman and let you go first, but I haven’t been in here in a long time and the condition of the building and grounds may have deteriorated. So, let me lead the way, okay?”
“No problem. You’re the boss.”
The main building was, as he had said, in ill repair. Chunks of concrete littered the floor and, in places, the roof had caved in. Empty booze bottles, used syringes, and vermin scat were everywhere.
“It doesn’t look like some people need a key to get in here,” I remarked.
“Yeah, tweakers, meth addicts. They’re resourceful when they need to be. Just another reason I’m here with you and I go first.”
After we finished surveying the main structure, we went back outside.
“Here’s where the real problem lies,” Doug said, indicating the grounds around the mill. “The owners weren’t very careful and they dumped a lot of really hazardous stuff. Unfortunately, by now, it’s no longer just surface pollution. It’s seeped into the ground, into the underground springs, and, possibly, into the big lake. That’s a fear we in the business worry about.”
“But if it gets into the lake, won’t it get into the drinking water?”
“Yup and we’ll have another catastrophe like what happened in Flint, only worse.”
“Well, why doesn’t someone do something about it?”
He made a gesture with his thumb and forefinger. “Moolah, cash. No one wants to pay for it. Now, I get to ask a question. Just why are you so interested in all this, Brooke? You were pretty vague on the phone. Doing an exposé?”
I hesitated, not knowing if he’d believe the truth. “Think we could sit down and talk about this? Coffee, maybe?”
Doug grinned. “Sure. Come with me. There’s a new place downtown. Quieter than Starbucks and the coffee’s good, too.”
We made our way back to the entrance where Doug replaced the lock, then walked me to my car.
“Just follow me, okay?”
The coffee shop was small, but cozy. Doug got each of us a latté and some biscotti. We sat in the back at a corner table.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ve bribed you with coffee and sweets, now it’s your turn to fess up.”
I laughed a bit nervously. “Okay, you asked for it. And, it’s not for the paper. It’s personal.”
I proceeded to tell him all about the squirrels – the attacks on my daughter and dog and even the story the neighbor across the street had told me about his wife.
“And, that’s it,” I concluded. “The squirrels are behaving strangely – aggressively – and I need to know why.”
Surprisingly, Doug just nodded, a frown on his face. “And what do you think you’re going to do with your suspicions? Go to the town council?”
“For a start, yes,” I replied.
He shook his head. “You haven’t been here very long, have you? Well, let me tell you a little something about the Laketon Council. Once upon a time, it was comprised of citizens – folks like you who cared about their community. But time passed and, over the years, one seat after another was fille
d by real estate developers and bankers. Today, there’s not one ordinary citizen on it. Five seats are realtors or developers and the remaining three are held by two bankers and one real estate attorney.”
“So, what’s wrong with that?”
“Don’t act naive, Brooke. What do you think they care about? The environment? The water? No, all they care about is land value and they’ll do anything to ensure that property values remain as high as possible. Just the hint that maybe the water’s tainted will send them into a tizzy. And these are high rollers, Brooke. It could cost you your job.”
“So, are you saying I should just forget about it? Let it go?”
“No, I’m not saying that. But I am saying that you’d better be damned sure you’re right and have the evidence to back it up before you go to them. Understand?”
I nodded. “Looks like I’m screwed.”
Doug grinned. “No, don’t say that. I’ll help you. I’ve got to go to Detroit on Friday. Be back on Monday. What say we get together the following Saturday and brainstorm a bit. Maybe over dinner?”
“I’d like that,” I replied, matching his grin with my own.
“Great! I’ll be back late Monday night. How ‘bout I call you on Tuesday to firm things up?”
I nodded. “Okay. Do you have my number?”
“Yeah, I put it in my contacts back in June when we met at that conference. And, in the meantime, gather up any more information you can and bring it with. I’ll pick a few brains at the conference in Detroit and see what I can find out.
“Now, let’s put all this aside for a while. Tell me what else is going on in your life?”
I laughed.
We chatted a bit longer, then went our separate ways.
On the way home, I thought about Doug. He was a nice-looking, intelligent man and, I had to admit, I was attracted to him. But a date? I hadn’t been out alone with a man since Larry and this would be my first date since getting divorced. Did I really want to step back into that jungle? I sighed. Yeah, I guess I did, but I promised myself I wouldn’t get my hopes up. This might end up to be just a “working” date, nothing romantic.
The Night of the Sciurus Page 3