by Gale Borger
"We shouldn't hold him up. Ian is not interested in the investigation, only the seeds. We can catch up later, okay?"
Idiot Mag didn't get it, or ignored me and instead listened to her hormones. "But he offered to buy lunch, Buzz. Didn't you Ian? We're not keeping him too late, are we Ian?" She batted her eyes at him. I wanted to gag.
He laughed and said, "No, no. I'm flexible. Whatever you guys decide. I'd like to see how an investigation looks. It might be a good idea to go over the stuff while it is fresh though, don't you think, Buzz?"
He gave me the same face I gave Mag, only I picked up on it. I laughed out loud. "Okay I give. Pile back in. I'll drive. We'll get you back here later, Ian."
He sat back with a satisfied smile. "Lead on, MacDuff!"
10
Vanished! "The filly vanished?"
Alejandro felt the blood drain from his face. He put his cell phone on speaker then threw the last of his gear into the pickup truck. The sick feeling in his stomach was quickly turning into panic as what Donny Ray said sunk in. "Disappeared? Wrecked your clinic? Oh no! The refrigerator men; maybe it was those bad men who beat me up and put Jose in the hospital. Are you okay, Dr. Little?"
"Okay? Well, I wasn't beat up by any bad refrigerator salesmen, if that's what you're asking. Uh, Montoya, I think y'all better come down here and tell the police about your bad men. I don't know what the hell is going on here, but someone's got to pay for this mess. All I got left to show your mare was even here is one little old sample of blood in a busted vial. Under all this other garbage and busted shit, I might not even have a clinic left."
"Dr. Little, I have already told the police all I know. Something is very wrong here, and I think my boss knows more than he tells me."
"No shit, Montoya. When did you come to that brilliant conclusion? When they busted your lip, or my stuff?"
Alejandro slammed the back door and jumped into the truck. He started the engine. A terrible thought crossed his mind. "Dr. Little, please, can you do me a favor? Please run the blood if you can. Maybe we can find out what killed my Princesa. I might sound crazy, but I don't think I can trust anyone else. This whole thing is crazy. Can you call me when you have the results? You have my cell phone number, and I have yours. I will tell no one, and please, for your safety, I think you should tell no one of the blood sample."
Alejandro hesitated before addressing his greatest fear. "Dr. Little? Do you think that maybe those bad men were hired by my boss?"
Donny Ray thought a moment. "It looks pretty suspicious all right." He looked around his clinic and at the broken vial of blood on what was left of his desk. He gingerly picked it up and turned it in his fingers, studying the blood as if it would give him some answers. "On second thought, Montoya, y'all may be right, and maybe you'd best be heading out right now."
He heard the truck engine in the background. He scrounged around in the debris for his microscope and an unbroken slide. He found them both and set up the microscope on the stainless steel counter. He pulled up a stool and placed a drop of blood on the slide. "So tell me everything that happened last night while you light out of this town."
Heading northbound out of Dallas, Alejandro told Donny Ray what happened after the mare was taken away. He spared no detail as he described everything that had happened up until the time Donny Ray called him. The shocked veterinarian let out a huge sigh.
"Shee-it! It's no wonder you're getting out of town, Montoya. I ain't talking to no one until I find out what the Hell is going on around here. Don't worry about your friend. I'll check on him at the hospital and bring him back here when they let him go."
He spied his broken centrifuge under a surgical table across the room and swore to himself. Thank God most of this stuff was insured. He thought a second more. "Hell, Alejandro, I don't know who to trust either, but I'll tell you what. If I know one thing, I know that you loved that little mare. You've been the only one who's been straight with me so far, so I'll put my trust in you, too, amigo."
Tears of gratitude welled in Alejandro's eyes. He dashed them away before he drove off the road. "That is very kind of you to say, Dr. Little, but how can you run tests if you have no lab?"
"I got a real good friend who teaches over at Southern Methodist University. I know he'll let me use his lab, and no one will know anything about it. I'll stay over to his place for a few days in case those varmints come back for more."
Guilt lay heavily on Alejandro's shoulders. "I am sorry you have to leave your business, Dr. Little."
Donny Ray chuckled. "Hell, man, I can't do much here until after the cleanup is done anyway, and there was something about that little mare those guys didn't want me to find out. I'll give you a holler if and when I find something."
Relief spread through Alejandro and he swallowed the lump in his throat. "Gracias, Dr. Little, thank you very much. I owe you big. Princesa did mean the world to me, and I want whoever did this to her to suffer as she did. I appreciate anything you can do. Again, thank you, sir."
"Under the circumstances, Montoya, since we are now partners in crime, don't you think it's time you called me Donny Ray?"
This time, Alejandro did chuckle as he said, "Yes it is, Donny Ray, it certainly is. Talk to you soon, my friend." He disconnected the phone, stepped on the gas and sped toward Oklahoma.
11
Mag, Ian, and I were each busy with our own thoughts on the short drive over to my house. I went over things in my head again, but nothing seemed to add up. I was very curious about the seeds, but it didn't look like Ian was burning any rubber off his shoes trying to get back to Madison, Milwaukee, Timbuktu, or wherever the Hell he came from, to identify them. Maybe he thought the seeds were not that important to the case. He sure had a cavalier attitude about them. Maybe he already knew what they were. Maybe he had an ulterior motive for his procrastination. Whatever the maybe, it merited keeping him close, and keeping an eye on him.
Mag was another problem. She had really screwed up my chance for an interview with Rob, but it was in no way earth-shattering. Rather like losing the battle but not the war. I hate losing. It pisses me off. I also hate loose ends, and Rob was a dangler. I was also hoping Rob didn't lawyer up on us, in case he actually had something significant to say. Maybe I should have left Mag in the room with Rob and let her beat a confession out of him–oops! Another violation of an Amendment issue, but a nice thought.
Still deep in thought, I automatically turned onto my street without a resolution to the problem of whether or not to kick Mag off the team. This probably meant I would wienie out and give her another chance. Slowing down near my house, I noticed cars lined up along the curb of my street. I absently wondered who was having a party. I about crapped when I realized I was!
Cars filled my driveway and spilled over in front of the neighbor's houses. I saw a small army of seniors, barking dogs, and squawking kids pile out of my front door, and food-lined folding tables near the front of my house. I looked for a place to park, almost missing a small opening between cars.
I cranked the wheel and bumped over the sidewalk, parked in the middle of my own front yard. Slowly exiting the car, I stood there, staring like an idiot. I braced myself when Wesley bounded over, grinning from ear to ear, and slobbered on my jeans. I bent to hug him, and he knocked me on my butt. It was the first time I'd felt normal in hours.
Mag's, "Oh, crap! Who called Rosie?" startled me out of my hug session with Wes. When I saw what she saw, I saw red.
"Dammit, Maggot! You called Rosie the Slut at the Times, didn't you? What's next? Fox News?" It was then I noticed the Channel 6 truck in my driveway. I about blew a gasket.
Mag backed away, holding up her hands (like that was going to stop mine from circling her neck). "Was not me, Kemosabe! I was with you, screwing up your chance to talk to Rob Graff, remember? I didn't call anyone, let alone Rosie the News Whore! Honest, Buzz, she's Alexandra's friend, not mine!" We stopped and stared at each other.
The answer cam
e like a flash and we simultaneously hollered, "Al, you bitch!"
As if on cue, there stood Al in all her glory, using my rail-less front porch as a dais and wearing a pink sundress. She wore Tammy Faye makeup so her nose didn't shine on national television. She was also wearing a brilliant smile, and waving like the Queen of England for the cameras.
We speculated on whether Alexandra was going to do a 'Fish and Loaves' thing for the masses. (If you recall, Wesley ate the only bread I had. Other than that, there were three slices of drying bologna in the fridge.) She looked like she was preparing to accept her Academy Award for Best Performance by a Moron. One thing we did know: Al was in her element, so we ignored her.
I surveyed the pandemonium that was once my front yard with distaste.
"The whole damn town must be here."
At first I thought I had voiced my own opinion out loud, but then realized that, of all people, Ian had said it.
I stretched out my arms to encompass the entire chaotic scene. "Probably more than half. What's up, Big City Boy? This is the Small Town Grapevine at its finest. It's the Ninth wonder of the World!"
"What's the Eighth?"
I grumbled.
It didn't even faze him. Still wearing that deer-caught-in-the-headlights look, Ian turned to me. "I thought nothing could amaze me any more, but this is outrageous. Do you actually know all these people?"
I scoped out the crowd. "Yeah, pretty much. See that little old lady hiding behind the Russian Sage, wearing combat boots? That's Mrs. Simmons from two blocks over. Her cat pees on my patio furniture every morning. I always wondered where it pees in the winter. I keep hoping Mr. McCauley's Rottweiler will eat that nasty little sucker one of these days. That damn cat also pees on his doggie door. How insulting is that to a Rottie?"
I could feel his incredulous gaze on me, but I ignored him. Mag and Wesley came bounding up, each wearing identical grins. Wes woofed and sneezed. I automatically reached in the glove box and grabbed a Milk Bone.
Ian did a double take. "You reward your dog for sneezing?"
"Why, yes. It's his only trick, and he is very proud of it."
Mag dropped the bomb. "I just talked to Mom."
"Oh no. Mom's here, too?"
Visions of hot dogs on the grill and the Geriatric Mod Squad shuffling around my notes and reading my whiteboard swam through my head. "I can't stand this. I'm going to your house. Are you guys with me?"
They nodded. I issued orders. "Mag–find Hillary. I'll load Wes in the car, grab our case notes, and we'll blow this carnival joint."
Mag and I took off on our separate missions. I remembered we left Ian standing at the car, and saw him wandering in my direction. He looked perplexed and definitely out of his element. "But what about your house? What about all these people? And all that food; ooo, I'm starving…"
He veered left and headed for the tables and stopped dead. "WHOA! Who is that gorgeous chick on your front porch?"
Mag spun around as if she was going to let fly, but just glared at him, and stomped off instead.
I elbowed Ian in the ribs and whispered, "Ix-nay on the ick-chay, Buster Brown. That is our sister Al, and a sore subject with Mag. If you value your life, don't go there. As for me, if you value your family jewels, don't go there. Just…don't go there, okay? Get in the car instead. My Mom or someone will lock up; they broke in easy enough, didn't they?"
Ian shrugged. "I guess so. Tell you what. Wes and I are going to grab a hot dog first. We'll meet you at the car." They trotted off in the direction of the food tables.
Circling around to the back door, I ran into the house, dodging Mom, Al, and the reporters. I grabbed my whiteboard and our notes and ran like the Devil was chasing me back to the car. Ian sat beside the car, munching on a hot dog while Wes looked at him with adoring eyes. I quirked a brow and he gave me a lopsided grin. "They started feeding me, how could I say no?"
Wes sneezed and Ian dropped the rest of his hot dog in Wes' mouth. He stood up and picked up a plate, mounded with food, off the trunk.
He gestured to Mag. "I was thinking about what you said about your sister. I don't get what the big deal is about your other sister. Sure, she's good to look at, Mag's much prettier in a fresher, outdoorsy sort of way. She oozes beauty from the inside out."
Ian paused, choosing his words. "Mag doesn't need war paint to knock 'em dead. The other sister is glam, a flash in the pan. Mag's kind of beauty stays with a woman as she ages."
I sat next to him and looked at Ian in astonishment. My whole attitude about him did a 360-degree turn. I leaned over and smooched him, and Wesley did the same. Actually, Wesley crawled up him and slobbered on top of his head, but Ian didn't notice and I didn't mention it.
He looked startled. I said, "It's a special guy who can see past the beast to the beauty of Maggie. You'll do, Ian Connor. You'll do just fine."
I smiled and turned Wes toward the car door. I thought Ian was much different than I had first imagined. I just wished he'd come clean about himself and his mission. Mission? Where did that thought come from? I looked back at and noticed he was looking toward the house. He smiled distractedly, watching for Mag and Hillary. Mom trotted over and shoved a grocery bag stuffed full of Ziploc containers into his hands. Ian smiled up at her, clearly smitten.
Mom patted him on the head and tottered back toward the crowd. She stopped and looked at her hand. I giggled because I knew she had a handful of doggy slime from Ian's head. She glanced back at Ian, and looked at her hand again. Someone called her name and she shrugged, wiped her hand on her jeans, smiling as she went.
Al caught sight of Ian's smile from the porch and her face lit up. I could almost see her drooling. I also saw that predatory look of a starving cougar in her eye. She jumped off the porch and started pushing and elbowing her way through the crowd. I saw disaster and bloodshed written all over that scene.
"Uh-oh," I said, and opened the door to stuff Wesley in the back seat.
Mag came down the driveway carrying Hillary. She looked like Quasimodo as she awkwardly lurched through the yard while carrying the Bulldog. Another plastic grocery bag hung from her arm and banged against her hip. She and the dog were both panting as she staggered to a stop, "Uh-oh, what?"
I grabbed Hill and stuffed her into the back seat with Wes. Grabbing Mag by the shoulders I spun her around. I pointed to Al and two of her friends who had just joined the hunting party. I yelled in Mag's ear, "The carnivores are hunting and Ian is the red meat!"
Mag bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. Her hands started doing that fluttery thing they do when she's in a panic. "Oh, crap! We gotta get out of here!"
We each grabbed a hand and dragged Ian around the car. I stuffed him into the front seat, getting doggie slime all over my hand from his head. Mag dove into the back seat and Wes promptly sat on her head. Her door slammed shut. I jumped into the driver's seat and gunned the engine. Grass flew from under my spinning wheels as the car fought to gain hold.
I saw Al break into a run, falling off her high heels in the process. She kicked off her shoes and sprinted toward the car. I fishtailed toward the street, thinking only of escape. I had to drive down the sidewalk, dodging Mrs. Simmons and barely missing her cat (damn!) before I found another opening. I cranked the wheel to the left and bumped back out onto the street.
I swerved and careened around a corner. By this time I was singing the theme song from Batman. Ian and Mag joined in. With dogs barking and us wailing, I laid rubber on the street. We peeled off toward freedom.
We were a couple of blocks away, and my slobber-coated hand kept sliding off the wheel. I grabbed up an old Dairy Queen napkin and mopped up the Wesley spit. I handed Ian the napkin and casually mentioned, "Uh, Ian? Get your head."
Ian touched his head, his facial expressions ranging from grossed out to resignation. Welcome to the family, I thought, as he scraped the drool out of his hair. Wes looked on and grinned and Hillary looked at me as if she were the guilty party. Ma
g sat with her arms crossed, silently staring straight ahead–never a good sign.
I pulled into Mag's driveway and we sat for a moment. Mag distractedly opened her door. Wesley did not wait for her to exit, but clambered over the top of her and bounded into the yard. Mag lay half sprawled out of the car, her hands braced on the ground, her feet still inside the car. Hillary used Mag as a ramp and followed Wes at a much more dignified pace. Mag tucked her head and did a summersault out of the car.
She sat up and said brightly, "Hey, I just remembered. I still have a microscope!"
I was confused. "And this is important because why?"
Mag sashayed to the back of the car, talking over her shoulder. "Because, my little brain child, Ian needs a microscope to look at the seeds, and I still have my mini lab set up in the guest room, which includes a super-dooper beauty of a scope. He can get a look at the seeds while we order pizza–I am not eating any more of Joy Broussard's Jell-O salads."
She looked at the grocery bags stuffed with food and said, "Heck, we don't need to order pizza, look at all this stuff!" She unloaded containers of burgers, brats, beans, green bean casserole, and potato salad, and hauled them into Mag's kitchen.
As she handed a container to Ian to open, she continued. "If you can hook up your laptop to my big terminal, or if you can access your computer from here, maybe you can get a jump on the seed identification thing."
She looked at her watch. "It's just three now. Marla, over at the school works all summer until four, so we can probably get into the science department for any materials we may need like slides or solution, or even a dead frog if we want."
Ian blinked, grabbed her up, spun her in a circle, and pasted a mongo-kiss right on her lips. "You are…incredible, Maggie." He set her down and she swayed.
"Good thing the counter is there to hold you up, Mag-pie."
She turned to me with a dazed look on her face.
