Totally Buzzed (A Miller Sisters Mystery)

by Gale Borger

  "Weeesley? Did you have a butter and jelly sandwich today?"

  Grin, wag, grin. He let out a big sneeze–it was his only trick.

  "You menace. That will not earn you points. Go outside and poop me a butter wrapper, would you?"

  Grin, wag, grin. Jumping to his feet, the tail going 90 miles a minute, he danced to the back door, ready and willing to do as I bid. We all piled out the back door. Hillary trailed behind; she moved a little more slowly these days. She still had a slight limp from her injuries, and some days she was a little sore.

  I grabbed the portable phone and a Diet Pepsi on the way out the door. As the dogs investigated the back yard, I sat in the big swing and checked my messages. One from Mom, two from Al and one from the pet shop Fred owned. Mom's was from this morning, asking if I'd come help her find the cowboy lamp. I now wished I had been in Kokomo or Ashland. I called Fred. She wasn't in, so I left a message. Al, I ignored. No call from Malcolm or J.J., so I began to relax.

  Watching the dogs play and root around was like watching tropical fish at the doctor's office. It had a calming effect on me and let the burdens of the day melt away. Wes brought me a slobbery ball, dropped it, and sneezed. I absently tossed it into the yard. I smiled as he bounded after it, barreling down the length of the fence like a runaway freight train.

  I admit I got a little mushy feeling as I watched him retrieve the ball, drop it in front of Hillary, and patiently waited as he watched her bring it back to me. He bumped her with his head as they turned around and headed back out into the yard. He dropped her off about ten feet from my chair and took off down the fence line again, eager to repeat the game. I threw the ball again and let my mind wander.

  I realized it was probably a good idea to involve Mag in the investigation after all. A partner was good for bouncing theories and ideas back and forth. I knew Mag well, and knew what to expect of her. How I was going to tell our parents that I was going to involve not one, but two of us in a homicide investigation, I had not a clue. I figured if it came down to it and Mom had a fit, we'd just lie. The biggest advantage of having my sister as a partner was that we could sit around in our underwear eating pizza and discussing the day.

  Come to think of it, that was about the only thing I had liked about being married, too, but then I was married to a cop. Mom always said, if we wanted a man who did not cheat and was at home at night, never marry a cop, a lawyer, or a doctor; marry a nice farm boy instead. Did I listen? Hell no, and I have the physical and mental scars to prove it–but I digress. Mag would make a good partner, and she was not afraid to kick some major booty if the situation called for it. The problem was keeping her mouth under control; she can get people pissed off in three sentences or less. Oh well, I'll stop at the hardware store and buy some duct tape or something. I dug my toe into the ground and started up the swing, relaxing my mind and body. I floated into another vision.

  Horses. A coliseum. People running. Carole running, scattering seeds over a cactus. In a boat on a river, the Sears Tower looms in the distance. A man, holding a horse over his head, the horse looks like the dying horse in my other vision. Who is that man? Carole entering a greenhouse, beckoning me to follow.

  My feet are stuck, and the bad men chase her through the door. A huge gun materializes and points to my head. The trigger slowly pulls back. Tic, snick. I hear the cylinders roll and I squeeze my eyes shut and scream for J.J. The blast fills my head and I am jolted back to reality.

  Reality slammed into me with a physical force…then I noticed Wesley on my lap. I was breathing hard and tears streamed down my face. I raised a shaky hand and Wes stuck his head under it. I collapsed against him, buried my face in his fur, and cried until I was empty.

  7

  A shadow crossed over Alejandro as he sat on the tack box. He looked up thinking it was Jose. He opened his mouth to apologize to Jose for his outburst and froze. What looked like three large refrigerators stood in the doorway, blocking the light from the stall aisle. Alejandro blinked. The refrigerators took the shape of three very large Hispanic men. Knowing better than to stand up, Alejandro addressed the Frigidaire closest to him

  "May I help you, gentlemen?"

  A rumbling noise came from the direction of Fridge Number One. Alejandro realized he was speaking.

  "You Huerta?"

  "No, Montoya. Alejandro Montoya. I'm the head trainer. I have not seen Dr. Huerta since…" Pain blasted through his head as Fridge Number Three sent him flying off the tack box with a kick to the jaw.

  He looked through pain-filled eyes at Number Three. "What was that for?"

  Number One stepped closer, dragged him up by the shirt, yelled loudly, "Huerta! Where is he?"

  Before he could answer, a knee nailed him hard between the legs. Sucking in air and gagging, Alejandro fell to the floor. The men kicked him repeatedly, but Alejandro was beyond pain. He weakly shook his head and whispered incoherently before passing out.

  He came to at the sound of Jose's high-pitched screams. He dragged himself across the floor and silently lifted the tack box lid. Digging out the .38 caliber Smith he kept for emergencies, he crawled toward the door. He watched the thugs relentlessly beat the helpless Jose. He used the jamb to stand. Pain shot through his ribs.

  A sound Alejandro did not even know he made must have alerted the 'Refrigerators Three' to his presence in the doorway. They turned as one hulking mass toward Alejandro, who stood with the cocked revolver aimed at the middle monster's family jewels.

  The dead calm on Alejandro's bleeding face must have told them he was ready to commit murder.

  He said in a lifeless voice, "Huerta is gone. Yesterday morning was the last time we saw him. We are employees of the Martinez ranch, not Huerta. Whatever business you have with him has nothing to do with us. Go now or he dies." Alejandro again gestured to the middle hulk.

  Watching him with matching lethal eyes, they backed slowly away. Alejandro kept the revolver on them until they disappeared around the corner of the barn. He stood frozen, continuing to hold the pistol on the door until a mewling sound distracted him.

  "Jose!" Alejandro fell to his knees and crawled to Jose, lying sprawled, broken, and barely breathing. "I will get help." As he flipped open his cell phone, barn security entered their aisle and saw the two of them on the floor. They rushed over, one called on the radio and the other kneeled by Jose. Alejandro looked on as if it were happening to someone else. He felt detached from the shouting of security, the screaming sirens, the scurrying of medical people and the rapid-fire questions of police.

  Alejandro watched in numb silence as they took Jose away on a stretcher, not knowing if his friend was dead or alive. He allowed medical treatment but refused to go to the hospital and leave his horses.

  The police badgered him about Huerta, asking again and again if Alejandro thought Huerta's 'disappearance' (as the police were calling it) had anything to do with the dead filly. He lost count of how many times he said, "I don't know."

  The morning sun was up over Dallas by the time everyone cleared out, leaving Alejandro to wonder what the hell had happened. He was finished feeding the mares and had begun packing up the tack room when his cell phone rang.

  "Montoya? Martinez here."

  "Señor Martinez! I have been trying to contact you. I am so sorry to tell you…"

  "Stop talking and listen to me, Montoya. I know about everything. I have men looking for Huerta. You will pack as soon as you can. Since we can not locate Huerta, you take the mares to Chicago as planned. The maps are in the truck, and I will wire you money. I will stay and take care of everything here, and call Chicago to tell them to expect you."

  "But Señor Martinez, what about Princesa? She went with the American veterinarian. If you are in town, please, let us sit down and talk…"

  "Stupido! I told you no Americans!" Martinez took a long breath and let it out. "Montoya, listen to me. Get packed. Take all the horses and get to Chicago. Now." Martinez hung up.

  St
unned, Alejandro stared at his cell phone. A nicker from down the aisle galvanized him into action. Grabbing whatever was handy, he stuffed the horse trailer's dressing room full.

  After loading the feed and the mares, he called Dr. Little's veterinary office.

  Donny Ray answered the phone. "Little Animal Clinic, who's sick at your place?" Under different circumstances, Alejandro would have smiled.

  "Dr. Little? Alejandro Montoya. I'm calling because I have orders from my boss to leave for Chicago right away. I wanted to touch base with you about the autopsy."

  "Montoya? I've been trying to get you or that boss of yours on the phone all morning." He covered the phone momentarily and spoke with someone. Back on the phone, he said, "Listen, you got a minute to stop on over here? It's kind of a long story."

  "Well, you see, Dr Little, my boss told me to leave for Chicago right away. I am to take the mares to the Gamble Appaloosa Farm north of Chicago and drop them off for breeding. I do not even know where he called from, and he hung up on me before I could find out. He told me he would take care of everything. Is there a problem with the mare?"

  "Well, you could say that, mi amigo," the sarcasm heavy in his voice, "Your boss never called me back. I got up this morning to discover my place had been trashed and your horse has vanished."

  8

  I was startled out of my stupor by the clanging of the phone. The dogs piled off and trotted to the back door. Drawing on my reserves, I dragged myself back into the kitchen to answer the phone's incessant ringing.

  "Buzz? Malcolm here. That forensic botanist from Madison just called back. He's on 94 East coming up on Highway 50, so he's about 30 minutes out. I thought I'd give you a ring so you could meet us here."

  That sure didn't take long. Why was this big-shot-plant-geeknoid-algae-eater so eager to look at a couple of stupid seeds in Podunk, Wisconsin? This was a thought to contemplate at a later date. "Sure Mee-Me, I'll meet you at the morgue, and thanks. Just so you know, I'll be bringing Mag with me. She's going to help me out with some stuff on this case."

  "Mag? Uh, okay. How about Fred, will she be here too?"

  Slow down, Malcolm, I thought, you are way too eager to see Fred. "Why would… Oh. No, Mee-Me. She won't be coming. I think she's still at the shop."

  I could almost hear his embarrassment. "That's good, uh, okay, I didn't mean–hey, Buzz, do you think you guys could call me Malcolm while the state guy is here? I mean, I think it makes me sound more like a professional and less like a French Poodle."

  "Sure, Mee-me, er, Malcolm. I'll tell the Maggot to behave in front of 'Dr. Plantus Identifyus'. See you then–bye."

  I hung up and called Mag. She was waiting in the driveway when I got to her house, squeaky clean and raring to go. Boy, was she pumped! She complained non-stop all the way to the morgue.

  We pulled in. I saw a black BMW no one in White Bass Lake would be caught dead in parked outside the door. Mag immediately went into a diatribe about Yuppie Scum who drove BMWs with university stickers in the back windows. She was just hitting her stride when we hit the door.

  "Braggarts and Yuppie Scum, that's who drives Beemers. I'll bet this guy is some slick talking, Slim Shady suit wearing creep-noid. The kind of guy that Al would go out with. Speaking of old pain in the ass Al…uh, holy crap, I mean wow." Mag's tirade faded into nothing. I looked back at her, but she was staring beyond me.

  Her mouth was slightly open, which was normal, but no sound came out–which was not. I turned around and froze, staring into the greenest eyes I had ever seen. I was momentarily speechless, my mind going fuzzy. I knew someone should say something, but my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. Finally, Malcolm stepped in and filled the awkward silence.

  "Buzz, Maggie, this is Ian Connor, the Forensic Botanist from Madison. He's going to take a look at those seeds you found, Buzz."

  Being the consummate professional I am, I turned back to Ian, held out my hand and said, "Ah, eh-eh."

  Mag jumped in front of me, nailing me with one of those lethal hips of hers. I flew sideways and bounced off the doorjamb. Mag skidded to a stop in front of Ian, and stuck her hand out, nearly knocking his coffee cup off the table. "Hi, Ian, I'm Mag, er, Margaret. Margret Miller. Maggie. Nice to meet you Ian. I'm working on this investigation. I'm not a cop, but I'm pretending for a while. I have a body, uh, not my body, but a dead one. Mine's not dead. Yet. Dead body, I mean. Uh, maybe we can compare notes–not on our bodies but on uh, oh–this is my sister Buzz. She's the cop. Or was."

  More humiliated by her own nonsensical ravings than by the butt full of whipped cream she'd had this morning, she finally shut up, stepped back, and shoved me forward, breathing heavily and swearing softly at herself.

  Ian blinked trying to make sense of Mag's babble. He stared past me at Mag, who stood looking at the floor, still swearing at herself. He calmly placed his cup on the stainless counter behind him. He stepped past me and took Mag's hand. She jumped. He looked into her eyes and said, "Glad to meet you, Mag, is it? Malcolm was just filling me in on what's been happening out this way. He thought perhaps I could service you–I mean be of service, you know, help. I hear you have some seeds which need identifying."

  She stared at him as if mesmerized. "Uh, yeah, seeds. Buzz?"

  Ian smiled and turned to me. We shook hands and I finally regained my composure. "Glad to meet you Ian. You will have to excuse Mag and me; you're not quite what we were expecting." At his quizzical expression, I tried to explain. "No! You're better. Uh, better than we expected, I mean. Different, in a good way." Oh shit. Mr. Plant Guy thinks we're all insane. "We're very glad you could come down on short notice. I hear you've had a long weekend. I hope we aren't keeping you from your family." Subtle, Buzz, real subtle.

  Ian looked nonplussed, but smiled and shook my hand. "No, actually, my Mom lives not far from here, so I can stop and see her on my way back to Madison. I'm staying with her while I teach a class at UW Madison this fall called 'Court Presentation of Botany Forensics'."

  He smiled again and showed off a beautiful set of white teeth. Too perfect, I thought. His physical beauty had momentarily stunned me, but I recovered sufficiently to converse successfully in English. Mag, unfortunately, had not. She still had that deer-in-the-headlights look about her, and was not yet speaking coherently, very un-Mag like. This might prove to be very interesting, I thought, something I could have a really good time with.

  "Say, Ian, Mag is a teacher too. She teaches Biology at the local high school, which is why she is free to help us out on this investigation."

  Mag stood there like a statue and I elbowed her hard. She squeaked, but her brain went dead and she lost her capacity for simple speech. I slowly exerted pressure on her toes with my foot.

  "Yep, Mag graduated from UW Madison. I'd bet she could answer any questions you might have about anything up there. Isn't that right, Mag?"

  He turned to Mag. I thought she was going to faint. Still standing on her foot, I nudged her at the same time he leaned forward and they almost bumped noses.

  He smiled from about three inches away. "You teach Biology? Uh, that's great. I loved my Biology teacher in high school."

  He took her hand and led her over to the chairs across the room. Mag continued to smile like a jackass and Ian kept up both ends of the conversation. Malcolm and I just stood there, looking on in awe.

  Mag was not only quiet, she was not rude, not crude, nor was she socially unacceptable. It was truly a Kodak moment.

  Malcolm, ever the party-pooper, must have gotten tired of waiting around, because he crossed the room and gently tapped Ian on the shoulder. "Uh, Dr. Connor? Did you want to take a look at those seeds now?"

  Looking startled, Ian excused himself to Mag. He turned, blessed Mag with one last smile, and crossed the room to where we were standing. Gesturing to the seeds and microscope, Malcolm explained how they were found. Using what looked like a long, slim set of tweezers, Ian gently unfolded the paper towel and separated the se
eds into a single layer. He picked up a tiny round seed and looked at it under a magnifying glass.

  Completely absorbed in his task, he mumbled, "Papaveraceae," and placed it apart from the others. He picked up another seed of approximately the same size. After examining it, said the same word.

  Mag finally came up for air, and at the sound of Ian's quiet voice, wandered over to see what was going on. "Did he say Papaveraceae? That's the poppy family. Are those all poppy seeds of some sort?"

  "Not this one," said Ian as he held up a larger seed of an odd shape. "I'm not sure what this one is. I'd have to take it back to my lab and match it up. I have software and testing equipment that would give us positive identification while maintaining the integrity of the seed."

  He jotted down some notes and made a simple sketch of the seed while he talked. "Did you know that the molecular biology guys could use randomly amplified polymorphic plant DNA (RAPD) to identify a specific plant? RAPD is rather like human DNA. It's like a genetic fingerprint, and has been admitted into court as evidence. If we need to, I can find out not only what kind of plant this is from, but what specific plant it came from."

  "Wow," we all breathed.

  Ian looked at us and chuckled. He placed the seed back onto the paper towel and said, "Gee, I wish all my students were as interested as you guys. Malcolm, what will it take to gain permission to take your evidence back with me to Madison for about 24 hours?"

  Mee-Me clasped his hands in front of him and danced in place. "All we have to do is call J.J., our Sheriff, sign off on some paperwork, and we'll be good to go. We can pack this stuff up and go now if you want."

  They proceeded to pack the seeds and Ian's equipment while I flipped open my phone and made the call to J.J. I wanted to know how the interview went with Glenn Graff anyway.