The mare was up, her flanks dark with sweat. She rolled an eye at me, but seemed to welcome the dog. I took her pulse and her respiration. Rapid, but that was to be expected.
“This is her first, according to Jerry’s file,” Joe said behind me.
“Gosh,” Allegra said. “She looks scared.”
I noted the panicked roll of the eye. “She is.” I went to her rear and eyed her cervix. “May I have my gloves, please?” Joe brought them in. I put them on and thrust my right hand into the birth canal. “Good.”
“Good?” Joe said. “What d’ya mean, ‘good.’ Oh! The foal’s presenting the right way.”
“Correct. Hind end to.” I withdrew my hand and stepped back.
“Austin?” Madeline said. “We don’t know her name.”
“Sunny.” I laid my hand on her neck. She sighed.
The contractions stopped.
“Oh, my god,” Allegra said.
“That’s not unusual.” I smoothed my mustache. “Mares are among the very few mammals that can stop contractions under stress. It’s a curious anomaly in equidae.”
“She can’t just stop!” Allegra expostulated.
“She just did,” Joe said dryly. “Should we leave her alone?”
“It’d be best, at this juncture. Let her settle down.”
We exited the stall, closed the door, and turned out the overhead lights. Sunny rustled a little in the dimness. Then I heard her at the water bucket.
“We’ll wait a bit,” I said.
No one spoke for a moment. The three of them peered anxiously at Sunny through the wire mesh. I took the opportunity to contemplate aloud on the consequences of the research on Jerry Coughlin’s computer. The news was of too much significance to keep to myself.
“FieldChek,” I mused, “began with a simple, quite brilliant idea. What if one were able to immediately detect the presence of EIA specific antibodies in a cheap, quick, disposable testing device?”
“You mean a portable Coggins?” Allegra said after a moment.
“Yes. A portable Coggins. A Coggins a veterinarian could carry with him . . .”
“... or her,” Madeline added.
“... of course. Could carry with him or her.” I sighed. The locution was deplorable, but what was one to do? “Could have with him/her/it at a barn call. Rather than waiting weeks for the state-approved testing facility to get the results by mail or fax. And all that tests is whether the horse was infected at the time of the serum draw. It is of no help in determining the health of the horse after that time.”
“You could use it at shows, too,” Allegra said. “That’d be handy.”
“Handy, indeed. Think of its utility at a show. All horses could be tested before entering the grounds. Do you know, there are at least two hundred cases of EIA reported each year? This would help stop the spread of the disease entirely. And it works. Coughlin used it successfully on three horses, Faraway, Hugo, and his own mare. Each successful test was marked with an upward arrow.”
Madeline touched me gently. “You’re waving your hands, around, sweetie. It’s disturbing the mare.”
We all peered through the mesh at Sunny. She peered back at us. I turned the infrared light back on. After a moment, she relaxed under the warmth.
“Gosh!” Allegra whispered. “I think that’d be good thing, Dr. McKenzie. A portable Coggins.”
“That’s what Coughlin was working on?” Joe asked.
“Not just that. If it were just that, it would be, as McClellan told us at dinner, a handy product that would sell well, at a profit.
“But what if there was at-point testing for pregnancy for farm animals? Even better than that, for human diseases like cholera, flu, and pneumonia? What if physicians were able to carry a small diagnostic tool wherever they went?”
“You’re talking millions of dollars,” Madeline said.
“Billions of dollars, my dear. That’s what FieldChek was all about. What’s more, I’m certain of the very device Coughlin was going to adapt for its use.” The diabetic glucose monitor was still in my pocket. I withdrew it.
“Can I see that?” Allegra took the monitor and examined it. “How do you get the data out of this and into the system? Does this thing have a computer hookup or something?”
“That thing doesn’t,” Joe said. “My grandmother used one just like this. But if you designed a computer chip that could send data over a wireless modem, you sure could. Or if you adapted it to plug into a telephone, like the cardiac monitors, it wouldn’t be a problem at all.”
“You realize,” I said, “that this puts the case in a whole new perspective.”
All three of them looked at me.
“Cui bono,” Allegra said. “Who benefits? Is that what you mean?”
“Precisely. The potential here is for a fortune that would rival Mr. Gates’s.”
“It’s hard to imagine,” Joe said. “That kind of money, I mean.”
“Our murderer seems to have no trouble at all imagining it.”
“There she goes,” Madeline said in a pleased way. She had been focused, of course, on the pregnant mare.
Sunny’s contractions had begun again. This time we remained outside her stall, “giving her some space” as Allegra said, until it became clear that the birth was under way.
The mare’s ears twitched. She thrust her head forward, knuckled over, and rolled to one side. I entered the stall and stood quietly at hand.
The hindquarters came first, then the long back legs, folded neatly under the belly, and the slender head and neck, resting out the outstretched front legs.
There has never been a study to verify this, but I believe it to be true: pheromones are released into the air at a birth that makes everyone attending feel drunk with joy. How else to explain the happiness that sweeps over one when a new life emerges? A new being appears as if by magic, and the world has another soul in it. I cleared my throat. Several times.
Sunny delivered a filly, dark with blood and amniotic fluid so that we weren’t at first able to discern her color. But as Joe and I cleared the nose and eyes with a soft cloth, I saw a white star on the little thing’s forehead, and noted four white socks on her feet. The probability was high that she would be a chestnut, like her mother.
“Come and help us, my dear. And Allegra, too. It’ll do the foal good to be handled by man, first thing.”
“And woman,” someone whispered.
The four of us helped the foal to her feet. There is a school of thought—to which I have never subscribed—that it’s best to let the baby struggle to its feet on its own. This has never made much sense to me. They are so small, so confused. And why are we human beings here, if not to help?
Sunny herself was puzzled. She peered around at her hindquarters as if marveling at what she’d done. Then she nickered, that low, chuckling sound that a mare reserves only for her young. The baby wobbled, stalky feet splayed out, and took a few tottery steps toward her dam. The mare met her halfway and began to lick her all over. This is the first of several tests a new mother undergoes and Sunny passed it with flying colors. Madeline and Ally guided the small wet nose to the mare’s teats. Sunny’s lower lip pulled up a bit as the foal began to nurse, but she soon relaxed.
“Sunny keeps turning around to look at her, like she can’t believe the baby’s there,” Allegra said. “I can’t believe it, either.”
“Better than the movies,” Joe agreed. And indeed, watching a newborn engage in that most pedestrian of activities—wobbling—is most compelling.
“She hasn’t cleansed yet,” Allegra said worriedly.
“Passed the afterbirth?” Joe said. “That won’t happen for an hour or two. Don’t fuss.”
“Can we name her, do you think?” Madeline asked. She was incandescent with feeling. “I know she doesn’t belong to us, but we can’t just call her ‘hey, you.’”
The baby fell into the straw with a sudden bump. Sunny nosed her upright, and guided her back t
o the teat. It was a task Lincoln would have aided. I realized then he wasn’t with us.
“Let’s call her Sweetie,” Allegra said. “Because she is.”
I looked down the aisle to the overhead doors. Moonlight streamed beyond. The aisle was empty. Neither Pony nor Andrew was visible; undoubtedly they had gone to sleep. But the dog should be here. I walked away from the group and whistled.
“Sweetie?” Behind me, Joe made a noise like “urk.” “The mare’s a Trakehner. What about calling her Tracks?”
Allegra’s voice was frosty. “It’s sort of a tribute to Madeline.”
“Thank you, darlin’,” Madeline said comfortably. “Sweetie it is.” She came up behind me and touched my shoulder. “What is it?”
“Have you seen the dog?”
“Lincoln? Come to think on it, I haven’t. That’s odd, isn’t it?”
I stripped off my gloves and tossed them into the garbage can. “He’s probably back at the house. I locked Juno in the pantry to keep her from harassing the puppy. She was barking fit to raise the dead. Her complaints may have raised his interest.”
Madeline followed me down the gravel path. Behind us, Joe and Allegra were engaged in another squabble over the filly’s name. Ahead, the sky was clear and the moon was at the full, with that clear white light that floods the world. So there was no mistaking Lincoln’s body. He lay beside the steps to our back door.
Sixteen
THIS has been Austin’s story, until now. But I have to horn in for just a few minutes, to say what I did the day my dog was attacked. Austin never did find out about it, thank goodness. He wouldn’t have approved at all.
First, I have to admit that I’ve never been so mad in all my life.
Austin saw Lincoln’s body before I did. He reacts faster than I do. He always has. I think it’s because he can push his feelings aside for a while. You have to be able to do that, when you’re a vet. So by the time I got myself moving, Austin was on his knees, running his hands over that tawny head and calling his name. We didn’t speak to each other. I had to let him work. I went past him to turn on the porch light, so he could see better, and then I ran back to the barn to get his carryall, where he’d left it by the mare’s stall. Joe and Ally were still looking at that beautiful little foal. It was Ally who picked up on the trouble first, but Joe wasn’t far behind her. She jumped up and ran straight to me.
“What is it, Maddy?”
“Something’s happened to Linc. I need. Austin needs.” I stopped. Ally put a gentle hand to my face. “The kit?” she said. “Austin needs the carryall?”
I nodded, because I couldn’t speak for crying.
“Where are they?” Joe asked.
“House.”
Joe grabbed the carryall and ran out of the barn. Ally dug into her jeans pocket and brought out a fistful of tissue. I mopped my face with it. “Just give me a sec. I’ll be fine. It was just such a shock.” I stopped mopping and pinched my lip as hard as I could. So I stopped the bawling, at least. Funny how pain steadies you. I took a breath. “There. Sorry, child. I think I’m overtired. I’m all right now. I just didn’t want Austin to see me like this. We’ll go back to the house now.”
But as we left the main barn, we saw Joe and Austin running straight to the clinic. Lincoln was in Austin’s arms. Ally sprinted ahead of them into the waiting room, switching on lights like some crazy Tinker Bell. I opened the door to the surgery and got out of the way as Austin carried the dog past me. He laid him down on the operating table and adjusted the klieg light over the table.
There was a mat of blood at the base of Lincoln’s skull. It colored the white of his ruff like a disgusting eclipse.
“You’ll want X-rays,” Joe said.
Austin said, “Yes.” The klieg lights showed every line in his face. It was past two o’clock in the morning. He was exhausted. That’s all we needed. My poor darling to have a heart attack. I was so angry I couldn’t breathe.
Joe wheeled the X-ray equipment to the table, plugged it in, and got out the lead blanket we use with small animals. He laid it over Linc’s flanks. The dog still hadn’t moved. But he wasn’t dead. I knew he wasn’t dead. I would have known that from the set of Austin’s back.
“Austin?” I said.
“A blow to the head, my dear. He’s unconscious, but I’m getting a deep flexor tendon reaction.”
So he wasn’t in a coma.
“I don’t know anything more. Not yet.” He turned his head and looked at me. “But I think he’s going to be all right.”
I pinched my lip again. This was just plain dumb. I never cry. And here I was, gushing away like a faucet at good news.
Austin turned back to our dog. And he whistled. That short, sharp whistle that always brings Lincoln at a gallop. Linc’s legs twitched, the way they do when he’s dreaming.
“Good sign,” Austin said. I don’t think he had any idea how tired he sounded. “But we need X-rays.”
Joe started to put the lead apron on, then hesitated and looked at me. I smiled as best I could. “You go on and give Austin a hand. I’ll go make us some hot tea. You stay here, too,” I said to Ally. “As soon as you know something more, you come right up and tell me.”
“You don’t want any company?”
I shook my head. “You check on the mare in about half an hour. See if she’s passed the placenta.” I stood at the door for a bit, watching the three of them work on the best dog we’d ever had. Lincoln sneezed, bless him, and then made as if to get up. He quieted right down when Austin told him to stay.
I was over the tears. Over the shock. And I was plenty mad. Somebody’d attacked our dog. I had a pretty good idea of who. And an even better idea of why. I was so mad, I was ready to scream. I was so mad, I had no recollection of getting back to the house. I was surprised to find myself in the kitchen where Juno was barking fit to raise the dead.
The kitchen and living room were an unholy mess. It shocked the mad right out of me. The cushions were pulled off of the couch. The La-Z-Boy stood on its head. The books were tumbled off the shelves.
I’d seen hurricanes that’d left less of a jumble. I picked my way over to the living room and then picked my way back again. And there, right next to the contents of the lower drawer that held all my baking pans, was a big, fat hazelnut.
There isn’t a hazelnut in my house. I don’t care for hazelnuts. But I knew darn well who did. And why. That greedy guts Sullivan. And he must have figured we had the laptop. I suppose we couldn’t have been more obvious, questioning him like we did.
That big, fat slob in his size-seven shoes had torn right through our home. The laptop wasn’t on the table when he tramped in here, of course—Mr. Smilin’ Phil Sullivan wouldn’t have opened all my kitchen cupboards, trashed my couch, and turned over Austin’s desk if he had found it.
So Austin must have hidden it before he’d come out to the barn. The question was, had Sullivan actually found it after he’d beaten our dog half to death, or did he make this mess because he hadn’t? There were a couple of hiding places that only Austin would think of, and I stood there and thought about it some.
The puppy squirmed in her nest and made a little squeak. Would he have put it under the puppy? No, the Lab wasn’t quite housebroken, yet. He wouldn’t want her to pee on it.
Juno’s barks were beginning to sound a little hoarse. The pantry? I opened the door, and Juno raced out of there like a Thoroughbred at the sound of the starting bell. She skidded to a halt in the middle of the floor, then looked around as if she couldn’t remember why she was in such a hurry. She caught sight of the pup, which was what the fuss had been all about in the first place, and hopped into the basket, grumbling to herself all the while.
I checked the pantry out pretty thoroughly, and there wasn’t a thing out of place, which said a lot for Jerry Coughlin’s training skills. “Good dog,” I said to Juno. I checked the oven. Nope. The refrigerator?
Yep. There it sat. Right on top of the last
of my pecan pie. I took it out, wrapped it up in Saran Wrap to keep any moisture out, and put it back. I had one more thing to do before I started to set the rooms to rights.
I picked up the phone and keyed in Lila’s number.
“What!” she shrieked, when she picked up the phone. “Who is this?”
“It’s me, Lila. Maddy.”
“Maddy? You okay? What’s wrong? It’s the middle of the night.”
“I’m fine,” I lied. “I won’t say I’m sorry to trouble you, because if I were that sorry, I wouldn’t have.”
She didn’t say anything. Maybe she was too sleepy to work that one out.
“Lila?”
“Yeah. So what’s up?”
“You know where that Phillip Sullivan is staying?”
She didn’t say anything to this, either. But I think she was grinding her teeth. “Why?”
“Never mind about why.” Goodness. I was more upset than I thought. Austin always says I get rude when I’m freaked out. It’s not like me at all. “Lila?”
“Why should I care where that jerk is staying?”
“I don’t care if you care, I just want to know.”
“The Marriott on Route Fifteen. He wanted me to come over there tonight, instead of to my place for dinner.” She simmered down a bit, then said, “God, Maddy, I am a fool about men.”
“We all get the stupids once in a while.” I don’t think she took this in quite the way I meant, because she banged the phone down, just like Austin does when he’s hissy.
I took a look at my poor kitchen with the drawers upended every which way. I got mad all over again.
“That’s Number One,” I said aloud.
I thought of our beautiful dog with a crack on his head.
“That’s Number Two.”
There was my Austin, working himself into a heart attack out in the clinic.
“And that’s Number Three.”
Juno looked at me and barked herself silly.
“Hush, dog. I’m not mad at you.”
I could take care of One right away. I sat down and thought a bit. How did a messed-up house rank on the revenge scale?
The Case of the Roasted Onion Page 22
