Paws and Effect
Scarlett English
Paws and Effect
Copyright © 2020, Scarlett English
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Paws and Effect
© 2020, Scarlett English
Written By: Scarlett English
Publication Date: May 2020
All cover art and logo copyright © 2020 Scarlett English
Cover design by Ron Perry Graphic Design
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EPILOGUE
Chapter One
Petronella
Garrett O’Leary lay face down on the table at the Drunken Duck, his head cradled on his outstretched arm. I was next to him at the table, sipping a cup of tea. He wasn’t drunk—Garrett hadn’t stretched his two pint limit even for his birthday. He was asleep, his blond hair, which he’d allowed to get a little longer since he’d arrived in England, flopping over onto his forehead. It wasn’t too late, about an hour before midnight, but Garrett’s thirty-first birthday party was officially winding down, and he hadn’t even made it to midnight.
I loved Garrett’s innate responsibility and obviously knew he didn’t need alcohol to have a good time. I would have just liked to have seen Garrett relaxing and having fun, which had been the purpose of giving him this party in the first place and not falling asleep, because he was simply exhausted.
The problem was he was being pulled in too many directions. Garrett had left Atlanta, where he had few responsibilities outside of being an experienced police officer and had come to England to care for his elderly grandmother. In the States, he had worked on task forces set up to catch serial killers and the like, which had worn him down and made him long for escape. But his move to England to find an easier life had backfired a bit, when he found himself not only in charge of all the community-based constables in the surrounding area, but also taking care of his grandmother’s old house. It was a house that needed extensive repairs, and he’d been trying to do them on his own.
As for his job, he was finding that he was too experienced to either not be taken advantage of, or resist the pull of doing the investigating himself. He was juggling murder, stolen bicycles, and family responsibilities, and I was worried he was going to drop them all.
Beside him was Tom Pearson, his detective friend from Newbury. Judging from the three pints and two whisky chasers he’d had, he had an entirely different problem than Garrett. He was sitting bolt upright in his chair, his legs outstretched in front of him, his hands hanging down nearly to the floor and his head thrown back as he snored peacefully beside Garrett. Henry, my partner at the Veterinary Practice, turned to blink at me, very slowly, like a big owl. He was weaving ever so slightly on the bar stool just behind our table. Maisie Wickham, who, along with her dad, ran the local pub called The Drunken Duck, had been tending bar for the event, but had left fifteen minutes before to see Lily, Garrett’s grandmother, safely home. Considering how fast she usually drove, I expected her back momentarily, but I thought we should wait for her return.
She shouldn’t be gone long, because Maisie had the dubious distinction of having received three separate speeding tickets in the last two months, her excuse being that she was always in such a rush to get everything done. It was true she had a lot on her plate, helping her father run this pub, all day, every day, with hardly any time off for weekends or holidays. She also kept his rooms over the pub cleaned for him since her mother had passed away a couple of years before, and still somehow found time for a bit of a social life. She’d even taken an interest in our good friend, Lily Kay, who happened to be my next-door neighbor and a long-time friend of Maisie’s family. Though she was older than both of us by almost fifty years, Lily was still one of our best friends in the world. She was also the grandmother of the birthday boy, who was currently stretched out on the table in front of me.
“Petronella,” Henry said, his eyes opening wide as a hiccup suddenly took him by surprise. He put his fist to his chest and tried again. “Petronella, I believe I may have had a bit too much to drink.”
“It’s all right, Henry. As the designated driver, I’ll take you home, but perhaps you really shouldn’t have any more.”
Garrett raised his head and opened one bleary eye to gaze up soulfully at me “You’re so nice, Ella. And pretty. I really should have gone for that kiss this morning when you brought me coffee.”
I smoothed the blond hair off his forehead and couldn’t resist smiling down at him. “Oh, is that right, Sergeant O’Leary?”
“Oh, yes,” he replied, his eyes closing again, as he slurred his words in the groggy way of those who weren’t properly awake. He’d be embarrassed by what he was saying in the morning, if he remembered. “You were right there, close enough that I could have simply leaned over, very casually, and tasted those lips.” He pointed at my face. “Those pretty, pink lips right there,” he helpfully pointed out, in case I didn’t know which ones he meant. “As I’m probably going to die from exhaustion before the night’s over, it might have been my last chance.”
I just wished Garrett would have the courage to repeat these words to me when he wasn’t half-asleep. It was hard for him, though. Garrett’s gran was Lily, the aforementioned next door neighbor and good friend. If we did date, and it went wrong, it would be so much harder in a village this small. There was only one thing worse than not dating Garrett in my opinion, and that was us no longer being friends.
Henry spoke up, interrupting my increasingly ambivalent thoughts about Garrett O’Leary. “Wasn’t there an old American movie like that? A Kiss Before Dying? Seems like I remember that.”
“Yes, I believe so,” I replied. “But Garrett is not dying, dear.” I looked down at Garrett. “You’re not dying. And as for you, Henry, three pints and two glasses of gooseberry wine don’t constitute alcohol poisoning, so you’re safe too. I was very proud of you both for not letting Geoffrey challenge you to that drinking contest.”
“What was he doing here anyway?” Garrett said querulously, still not opening his eyes. “I don’t remember inviting him.”
“You didn’t invite anybody, Garrett. This was a surprise party, remember? And I thought we should invite the entire Morris Dancing team. We couldn’t v
ery well leave him out.”
Garrett raised an eyebrow in apparent disagreement, and I chuckled. He really didn’t like Geoffrey. And to be honest—much as I shouldn’t—I had been hoping the invitation might make him a little jealous.
“Don’t mind Garrett,” Tom suddenly spoke up, startling me, because I thought he’d passed out. His eyes were still closed, but apparently, he had been monitoring our conversation. “I don’t think he’s just tired. I think he’s a bit drunk off those two little pints. Can’t hold his liquor, like they say in the American westerns. I, on the other hand, am British. Therefore, though I may be a wee bit tipsy, I can rest here for a moment or two, and I’ll be right as rain again.”
“Yes, that may be. But I’ve spoken to your wife, and told her that you’ll spend the night on the sofa in Garrett’s lounge, just the same. We’ll leave your car here for the night, and I’ll do the driving home.”
A soft snore was my only answer, and I thought I should probably be getting this lot to the car. I slapped my palm down on the table to wake everyone back up and get their attention.
“All right, up with you! When Maisie gets back from taking Lily home, she’s going to want to close up and get in bed herself, and she’ll be here any minute.”
There were groans all round, but Henry lurched to his feet, and Tom gave a massive heave and lifted himself out of the chair with a groan. He turned to lean over Garrett. “Get up, O’Leary. You’re too heavy for me to carry.”
Tom and Henry linked arms to hold each other up, I suspected, and followed us to the door. Garrett kept a tight arm around my waist, as he claimed to be feeling a bit weak. I nearly called him out on that, but his arm felt too nice, so I decided not to say anything. We were almost to the door when we heard a car or maybe two, outside on the little country road. “Oh, maybe that’s Maisie returning,” I said. “Good, she can lock up behind us and go home to get some rest herself.”
I’d been a bit worried about Maisie, actually. Earlier in the evening, I witnessed an argument between her and her sometimes boyfriend, Roger. In the year or so she’d been seeing Roger, they’d seemed to have a somewhat contentious relationship, arguing over just about everything. Yet she said she still had hope they could work things out.
Roger Battersley worked for a newspaper in nearby Newbury and lived in an apartment there. Maisie had met him almost a year before, when he was doing a story on a local farmer, Barry Hislop, who raised llamas in our little village of Adlebury. He had stopped in the Drunken Duck to get a pint after going out to the Hislop farm, and he and Maisie had hit it off. He was perhaps ten years older than Maisie, but he’d come back to see her the next weekend, and things had progressed from there. She visited Newbury almost every evening off she had now, and she’d invited him to Garrett’s birthday party. Mostly, I thought, because she wanted a chance to see him, since she had promised her dad she’d work that weekend.
When the evening began, everything had looked good between them, and I noticed Maisie laughing a lot at things he said to her and twirling a finger around a strand of her hair as she stood talking to him. Then, as the party progressed, I noticed Roger was drinking too much and talking to Roberta Gideon. Roberta was a new young special constable who had been employed after George Atkinson, our previous constable, was murdered. She was a serious, sensible young woman, a few years older than Maisie and I, but not yet thirty, I thought. She had a broad country drawl and wasn't an overly large woman, but Garrett had told me that Roberta was well able to handle herself, even with men twice her size.
Tom had suggested inviting her to Garrett’s party, and she had shown up looking quite pretty, with her long, brown hair spilling over her shoulders rather than being worn in her usual tight bun as she did when she was on duty. She was wearing surprisingly well-fitting jeans and a pair of decidedly unserious and unsensible shoes. I had felt a twinge of something very like envy when she came in. Then when she gave Garrett a hug for his birthday, the emotion I felt definitely morphed into something that felt more like jealousy.
I wasn’t surprised a bit later to see Maisie give Roberta and Roger a bit of a sour look as they sat together at the bar for over an hour talking, and Roger drank one pint after another. At one point, he leaned in close to say something in Roberta’s ear. She left soon after, though she lingered at the door, speaking to a friend.
It was only a few minutes later that Henry pulled me aside. “Is Maisie all right? I noticed she was having words with her friend Roger a minute ago. I think he’s had a bit too much to drink, and she cut him off and switched him to coffee. He got angry and left.”
“Well, he has to drive home to Newbury, unless he stays over at Maisie’s. So I imagine she’s trying to be responsible and get him to sober up.”
“Hmm. Didn’t work, I guess. He took off out the door, saying he was going to sleep in his car tonight.”
I had glanced at Maisie, but she was smiling at something Lily was saying, so I have to admit I forgot all about it, figuring she’d work things out. If she couldn’t she knew where I was, and I could enlist Garrett’s aid if I had to. And besides, I had my own inebriates to handle tonight after agreeing to be the one to drive home.
When we stepped out on the front stoop, I expected to see Maisie’s car turning into the car park, but instead I saw bright headlamps in the middle of the narrow lane, about thirty yards away. They weren’t moving, and I could hear a loud, agitated female voice crying out for help. It sounded like Maisie. I ran out in the parking lot and saw her old red Toyota in the ditch just beyond the car park, with the driver’s door standing open, and its headlamps shining at a rakish angle into oncoming traffic.
A larger, darker car was stopped in the middle of the road, its headlamps helping to light up the scene. Maisie was kneeling a few yards in front of this larger car by something dark lying in the road. It looked like a heap of clothing partially in front of the car, but as I got closer I felt cold shock as I realized it was actually a person lying there.
“Maisie! What is it? What’s happened?” I cried out, running a few steps toward her.
“Petronella, get help!” She dashed a lock of hair from her face and her hand left a distressing streak of red. “It’s Roger. Oh, Petronella! He was walking in the road, and I-I think I struck him with the car!”
I could see the look of horror on her face even from this distance away. I could feel someone come up beside me, but I couldn’t spare him a look. “Have you called for an ambulance?”
“Not yet, it just happened! I didn’t dare move him. Oh God, he’s unconscious.”
I headed her way immediately, realizing Garrett and the other two men were following behind me. I wasn’t sure if the urgency of the moment had perhaps sobered them up a bit or not, but Garrett soon passed me by, running full speed toward Maisie, with Tom on his heels. Garrett reached Roger first and was kneeling beside him as I came hurrying up. I heard Henry on his mobile behind me.
“He has a pulse, but I don’t think we should try to move him,” Garrett said, “Tom, give me your jacket,” But Tom was already stripping it off and covering Roger with it, as Garrett seemed to be checking him for injuries, but Roger looked to be so broken up, it was hard to know where to start. Henry offered his jacket too, as Tom and Garrett worked to stabilize him. I knew they were all three well-trained in first aid, so I stayed with Maisie, trying to calm her.
She was clutching me, talking so fast I could hardly understand what she was saying.
“I didn’t see him Ella! I rounded the curve and the headlamps were in my eyes, and suddenly, he was just there in the road. I felt the car strike him.” She looked around wildly. “And we’re still in the road! We should move him,” Maisie cried again, reaching for him, but Garrett shook his head.
“No, it’s best not to move him until the paramedics arrive. We could hurt him worse. Henry, take Ella and Maisie and get them safely to the side of the road. Then you go watch for any cars coming this way, but stand well to the
side. We don’t need any more casualties. Just flag any cars down to let them know to use caution.”
Roger was moaning softly and had begun to thrash around a little. His hair was dark with blood, and Maisie was shaking like she was about to come apart. I put my arms around her and held on tightly, as we waited for the ambulance to arrive.
I watched as Garrett pulled out his mobile phone, presumably to call whoever was on duty tonight. Since he and Tom had both been drinking, they obviously would only work the accident scene until help arrived.
Though it seemed like hours, it was probably only about six or seven minutes until the paramedics came, and then we were all asked to stand aside so they could do their job. Tom and Garrett showed them their credentials and even directed the occasional car passing by to go around us. The police, when they arrived to work the scene, knew them both, of course, and gladly accepted their help controlling traffic. Finally, Roger was loaded onboard, and the paramedics informed us they’d be taking him to the West Berkshire Community Hospital, about two miles east of Newbury.
“We’ll follow the ambulance in my car,” I told Maisie as I steered her back to the parking lot outside the pub. She was trembling and crying softly, and I knew she was worried sick about Roger. Garrett gripped my arm just as I got in. He and Tom Pearson were standing behind me.
“Wait up, Ella. I’m not sure Maisie is cleared to go yet. Tom, what do you think?”
“Normally, I’d say no, but…she’s not a flight risk and well known to us. She’s only going to the hospital.” Tom turned to the senior officer, calling him over. “It’s all right, isn’t it, if Ms. Wickham goes to the hospital with the victim? She can wait for the detectives there. I can vouch for her personally.”
“Yes, sir, I think that should be all right.”
I threw my arms around Tom and hugged him tight. “Thank you.” I squeezed Garrett’s hand as well and turned back to find Maisie already in the front seat, looking a little shell-shocked.
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