Saddled with Murder

by Eileen Brady

  “You charged me way too much, Doc,” he said. “I never told you to do half of this stuff.”

  Both of us backed off a bit when Frank emphatically sprayed the word “stuff” at us.

  “Mr. Martindale,” I began, “all the tests I ran were necessary to diagnose your cat, Teddy. He has feline infectious anemia, a somewhat rare and complicated disease caused by a specific group of mycoplasma bacteria. Did you read the information I gave you?” My medical explanation fell on deaf ears.

  “He just needs some red meat to build up his blood.” Frank spoke with authority, although he was completely wrong.

  “No. Your cat needs antibiotics to kill the parasites in his blood, or he might die. Also, he needs to be kept indoors and away from other cats until he recovers, because his blood is contagious.” This detail was important for Frank to understand. “Teddy probably was infected by an outdoor cat in your neighborhood.”

  He slammed his hand down on the countertop, his breathing heavy. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. I never let him go outside except to go to the bathroom.” Frank wiggled a meaty finger at me, not seeing how illogical that statement was.

  A glance over at Cindy, normally calm and able to handle any problem, made me suspect she’d like to bop him over the head with her copy of his bill.

  Tired of arguing, I told Frank that Cindy and I would go over his charges, but he had to make sure to give his cat the prescribed medications. What I didn’t say was that my sweet patient, Teddy, deserved a more compliant owner.

  Of course, he wasn’t finished yelling at us.

  “I’m still angry,” he reiterated, his face a blotchy red, “and I don’t care who knows it. Old Doc Anderson sure never charged me like this.” With that he stormed out and slammed the hospital entrance door behind him. The other people in the waiting room diplomatically looked down at their phones.

  “That’s because Doc Anderson made him pay cash,” whispered Cindy. “I’m sure he’s going to complain about us to everyone he can, and I’ll bet those people in the waiting room are on Facebook as we speak. Two dissatisfied clients in two weeks, Kate. Merry Christmas.”

  “Please, don’t remind me again,” I pleaded.

  “Where’s your magic wand now?” Cindy added, getting in the last whispered word.

  * * *

  That evening, as I sat in my cramped converted garage apartment attached to the hospital, I felt sorry for myself. Objectively, I went over both cases that had gone sour. Frank Martindale I dismissed, since his concern centered on money, not quality of care. The other, bulldog breeder Eloise Rieven, was another story.

  Most people don’t understand how unique bulldogs are. Although comically adorable, they have a wealth of physical problems, including difficulty mating and giving birth. Their physiology, the way they are built with huge heads, tiny nostrils, and short stubby legs can lead to breathing problems, heart disease, and other medical emergencies.

  Artificial insemination is the norm for many female bulldogs. Knowing when to do it can be tricky. One of my old professors used to say the only one who knows when a bulldog is ready is an unaltered male dog. Not having access to the real thing, we were relying on the frozen one, and Eloise was convinced she knew more than I did. External signs and mucus smears would help me pinpoint when her dog was most fertile, but Eloise preferred to count from when Queenie went into heat. Since my employer, Doc Anderson, currently in some exotic locale enjoying himself, always did it her way, my back was up against the wall.

  Headed for a showdown, the odds were stacked against me. Eloise had purchased only enough frozen sperm for two tries. Queenie, her prize bitch, had already produced three litters and was at pregnancy retirement age, in my opinion. Eloise felt Queenie was in her prime.

  Although I tried once more to dissuade her, Mari and I were overruled by an increasingly irate Eloise, who insisted that her counting-days system was accurate. Even though my smears showed the dog wasn’t ready, we were forced to go ahead. Queenie didn’t conceive, and I had one mad customer on my hands.

  That was two months ago. At day forty post-insemination, an ultrasound proved there were no puppies and instead indicated an enlarged liver. I strongly urged a medical work-up, but that further infuriated Eloise and she stormed out of our building—well, stormed out as fast as you can with a bulldog at your side. Cindy had received two nasty phone calls from her since then.

  “Don’t let those two crabapples get to you,” Mari had told me. “Everyone else loves you.”

  Somehow that didn’t make it feel any better.

  * * *

  The howling wind briefly woke me at two in the morning, before I fell back to sleep. A look out the window while drinking my first cup of coffee the next day showed at least three new inches of snow. Our parking lot, however, had been neatly plowed, thanks to our next-door neighbor, Pinky.

  He always seemed to be looking after me.

  Chapter Three

  “Ready,” Mari said, her curly dark hair escaping from a fuzzy hat. We’d just finished packing up our equipment in the hospital Ford 150 truck, preparing for a new day of house calls.

  Before I went out to the parking lot, Cindy came in. “Great, you haven’t left yet. Can you do me a favor?” our receptionist asked.

  “Sure.” In her hand was a small paper bag. “Is that for a patient?”

  “Yes. You’re going to drive right past his place, so if you can drop it off, it will save him a trip. He left it on the counter last time he was here.”

  Mari took it from her hand. “Do we need to go over how to dispense it?”

  “Don’t think so. The name and the address are on the bag.”

  “No problem. Anything else?” I took my stethoscope off the cabinet pull, where I’d left it, and checked my pockets to make sure I had my phone.

  By then Cindy had started back toward reception, her heels clicking on the tile floor. “Drive safe, guys. I’ll text you if the schedule changes.”

  Even on the day of their appointment, some people canceled, which disrupted the entire day. One thing our office manager excelled at was juggling last-minute schedule changes to maximize everyone’s time instead of letting us sit around complaining. The many hats she wore—manager, receptionist, accountant—assured a smooth-running office.

  With the roads pretty clear and our leaving a little early, I anticipated a good day. Getting out during the week on house calls gave us a much-needed break. Through the windshield the pastures on both sides of the road glistened with newly fallen snow. Here and there a valiant maple clung to a few red and gold leaves until the next storm blew them away.

  “Where do we drop those meds off?” I asked Mari, trying to plot out the drive. A four-way stop forced us to slow down.

  “Let’s see,” she said. There was a pause then a huge sigh.

  “What?”

  “Cindy pulled a fast one on us. She’s got us dropping this off at Frank Martindale’s place.”

  “Oh, no.” Someone behind me honked. Mari’s news stopped me as well as the truck. The last time I’d seen Frank, he was yelling at Cindy and me about his bill. I could only hope he hadn’t heard about my antics at the Christmas party—basically wishing he would disappear. Dropping in on him today felt very awkward. Maybe we might be able to take a pass?

  When I shared my feelings with Mari, she told me no. “If I know Cindy, she called him to say we were on our way.”

  I drove a few more minutes before coming to terms with the inevitable. “Alright. Let’s get this over with. Where is his place again?”

  She shifted in her seat and stared out the side window. “About a mile up the road on the left. A stone house with green shutters.” Mari opened our office laptop and typed something in. “I’m recording this stop in our log.”

  “Put his address into the GPS or let me know when to slow down.
” Although highly used, the road had only two lanes. In anticipation of seeing Frank, I did a quick mental review of his cat Teddy’s medical issue. I planned to make sure Teddy was doing well, then leave as soon as possible. When I ran that past Mari, she agreed. “By the way,” I asked, “how come you know where he lives?”

  “That’s easy. My mom warned me never to cross his property to take a shortcut to the road. He kept a shotgun full of buckshot next to the front door and liked shooting at teenagers—mostly to scare us—and he succeeded. Believe me, all the locals know where Frank Martindale lives.”

  “Perfect,” I said.

  A few minutes later Mari cautioned me to slow down. “It’s the next driveway on the left, with the metal mailbox. Number 185.”

  I was happy to see his driveway was newly plowed, because I wouldn’t have wanted to navigate it in deep snow. A few feet in from the main road, it dipped into a gully, then rose at an angle to above road height. Safely through, we approached the stone house. I noticed an SUV parked under a covered carport attached to the house. “At least he’s home,” I told her.

  We pulled up the driveway and parked next to the front steps. “Do you have Teddy’s medication?”

  “Here it is.” Mari handed it to me.

  I handed it back to her.

  “Please. I don’t want to go in there by myself,” Mari pleaded. “If he starts yelling at me, I don’t know…”

  “Okay.” Since I knew exactly how she felt, I turned the truck engine off. “We do this together. Maybe we’ll be lucky and he’ll meet us at the door. Since he likes you better, you do the talking. Tell him to call Cindy with any questions.”

  She didn’t look convinced, but I smiled and said, “Come on. I’ll race you.”

  Of course it was no contest. Neither one of us wanted to be first.

  I rang the doorbell and waited, then rang it again. No answer.

  “He’s a little hard of hearing,” Mari reminded me. “I noticed he wore hearing aids in both ears during his last office visit. Maybe he took them out. That what my uncle does when he gets home. Drives everyone crazy.”

  That created a dilemma. I couldn’t leave his medication on the front porch in the freezing cold. I rang the doorbell again and this time added a couple of fist pounds.

  “Try the handle,” Mari suggested. When I hesitated, she said, “Here. I’ll do it.” She took hold of the handle, and sure enough, the unlocked door opened. We immediately heard a television blaring somewhere in the house.

  “Boy, is that loud,” I said. “No wonder he didn’t hear us.” A movement in the hallway caught my eye. It was Frank’s cat, Teddy, staring wide-eyed at the two of us. When we moved toward him, he darted away.

  Mari walked further into the hallway and beckoned me along. “I see the top of his head. He’s watching television. Come on.”

  Hoping we wouldn’t get shot, I shouted, “Mr. Martindale. It’s Dr. Turner and Mari from the animal hospital. Cindy asked us to drop off your medication.” As we walked toward the noise, I hoped this would be easy, but I prepared for the worst.

  “There he is.” Mari stopped and glanced around. In front of us was a living room stuffed with old-fashioned furniture and piles of cardboard boxes. A gigantic television with extra speakers on the floor took up most of the far wall. Stationed directly in front of the screen sat two lounge chairs separated by a small table.

  I made my way to the side of the television, prepared to be yelled at.

  But Frank Martindale wasn’t going to be yelling at anyone. His unseeing eyes were glazed over, mouth open and slack. Even the colorful reflected images from his high-resolution screen didn’t alter the grayish color of his skin.

  Checking for a pulse was a formality, his skin cool even in the warm room. Down at my feet Teddy rubbed against my leg, then leapt into his owner’s lap, big yellow eyes staring at us.

  “Mari.” I took a step back. “Call 911.”

  * * *

  We waited outside, Teddy safely tucked into his cat carrier inside the warm truck. Within fifteen minutes the police, an ambulance, and the fire department were all milling around. Chief Garcia ordered everyone to stay outside so the scene could be secured.

  What little I’d seen pointed to a heart attack or an accidental overdose. On the side table next to him lay an empty bottle of whiskey along with a few empty beer cans and some prescription medication bottles. An old-fashioned wooden desk, its writing surface covered with papers, sat at the far corner of the room.

  A glimpse into the other rooms showed numerous cardboard boxes stacked three or four high plus an inordinate amount of furniture, wardrobes, and chairs crammed against each other. The place smacked of hoarding.

  The only other odd thing I’d noticed before Mari and I left was a round daily pillbox, made of copper, the kind you put in a pocket, which had fallen on the rug, scattering pills at his feet. Was Frank in the process of taking something, but dropped it? I didn’t see a cell phone but then, I hadn’t lingered.

  Mari, it turned out, also had given the room a good look while I approached the body. We compared notes sitting in the truck. “No sign of robbery, but that’s hard to tell with the clutter,” she said. “Wonder why the front door was unlocked?”

  “No idea,” I answered. “Maybe he forgot?”

  “I’m afraid he took that information to the grave.” Her gloomy voice matched our feelings. We were trying to keep our spirits up, but it was hard to walk in on a death scene.

  The first responders who came after us pinned our truck in. No one updated us, even though they’d taken our statements earlier. I’d texted Cindy to ask her if I should tell the chief we needed to leave and was waiting for an answer.

  “Do you think it was suicide?” Mari asked me. Teddy gave a forlorn meow from the back seat.

  “No, I don’t. But we’ll all know when the toxicology report comes in. Last I checked you’re not supposed to wash your medications down with boilermakers.”

  Sitting in the truck, I started to get antsy. Mari and I had given our statements at least an hour ago, and I know Cindy confirmed the story we were dropping off the cat’s medication. I rolled down the window to take a breath of cold air. Someone needed to tell us how long they anticipated us sitting here.

  “Wait a minute. That’s weird.” Mari’s voice sounded strange.

  “What are you talking about? What’s weird?”

  Her voice now insistent, she explained. “That wish. The one you made at the Christmas party. You wished Frank would disappear.”

  “So? Not my finest moment.”

  “Yes. But you’re the one who wished for all of them to disappear with your magic wand.”

  I corrected her. “Magic finger.”

  She didn’t smile at my joke. “Kate, don’t you get it? Your wish came true. Frank disappeared. He’s dead.”

  * * *

  The rest of the day was a bit of a blur. Chief Garcia, his bushy brows drawn into a permanent frown, freed us to finish our appointments with the admonition to remain available if needed. Cindy sent our intern, Greta, to pick up Teddy the cat, and we were on our way.

  Before we left I asked the chief if he thought Frank died from a heart attack or possibly a suicide, but he wouldn’t commit to either. I don’t even know why I asked.

  Mari’s phone kept ringing again and again until she turned off the ring and put it on vibrate. The only person she contacted was her mother to tell her we were both fine and going back to work.

  And work we did. Because of our delay, Cindy had to move our appointments around, shunting some clients to six o’clock, way past our normal hours. Mari and I didn’t mind. We were both going on autopilot. I, for one, was happy to be busy and not reliving the moment I discovered Frank’s corpse. I’d have plenty of time tonight, alone in my apartment, to replay every last frame of Frank Martin
dale’s death scene.

  I hoped he’d gone quickly with no pain.

  * * *

  “Kate, I’ve got to tell you something.”

  We were in the truck on our way back to the animal hospital, and I was bone-tired. “Sure. Things can’t get much worse.”

  The uncomfortable silence that followed made me suspect it could.

  “You know how I’m always posting on Facebook and Twitter.”

  This wasn’t going to go well.

  Mari continued. “I’m sorry. I posted the litter box cake video from the Christmas party and didn’t realize it included your wish.”

  When I glanced over at her, tears glittered in her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry. It was late. I didn’t really notice.”

  My Gramps always said don’t yell at the person who forgot to close the barn door. They feel bad enough already. Just find the darn horse.

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure no one’s looked at it.”

  She opened her phone and scrolled to a saved page. “Five hundred and twenty-two hits so far.”

  “What?” My surprise almost caused me to drive off the road. “You need to take it down.”

  “The chief said I couldn’t. Not now.” She turned off the phone and stuffed it in her coat pocket.

  More and more surprises. “Why not?” I turned the heat setting lower, the windshield clouding up along the wipers.

  “Something to do with Frank’s death, I suppose.”

  “That makes no sense.” I turned into the vacant hospital parking lot, Cindy long gone. Only Mari’s black SUV was left, windshield nice and dry.

  I parked the truck alongside her. “Your windshield’s dry,” I noted, climbing out of the truck. “It’s been blowing snow all day. How is that possible?”

  Mari stared at it in astonishment.

  A thought occurred to me. I looked at the front window of the house next door. Pinky stood behind the heavy living room curtains, visible only for a moment, then vanished into the dark room.