Whisker of Evil

by Rita Mae Brown

  29

  While everyone else returned to work on Monday, Fair Haristeen, who’d been on call during the weekend, was still working. Fortunately, he loved his work, but this afternoon he was tired.

  Priscilla Freidberg and her daughter, Dharam, had saved a lovely thoroughbred mare from the killers. So many good animals wound up on the knacker’s wagon to be hauled to the slaughterhouse because people could no longer afford them if they couldn’t run. Thoroughbred, standardbred, and quarter-horse racing, while exciting, led to heartbreak back at the shed row. Horses were run too young in America, the fault of punitive taxes and rising prices. Few could afford to keep a horse until three to run him. The youngsters would go out as two-year-olds. The people in Washington, responsible for much of this, would then turn around and consider passing legislation to protect the animals at the end of their careers. If they’d considered how very different and difficult raising stock was, this would never happen in the first place. The suffering should be laid at Congress’s door.

  Fair, like most large-animal practitioners, honed his contempt for government over the years. What would a bunch of urban politicos know about country life? Nor did they care. The votes were in the big cities.

  The rescued mare suffered a high bowed tendon, which turnout in the pasture would cure in six months or more. A low bow usually had a better prognosis, but this mare would be fine. Bowed tendons occur on the back side of a horse’s foreleg: Hemorrhage and inflammation cause swelling and adhesions to develop between the tendon and its sheath. The swelling is visible to the human eye and warm to the touch.

  “Pasture rest. She’ll be fine in six months. Call me back then, just before you start her in work.”

  People like Priscilla and Dharam saved what animals they could working with thoroughbred-rescue operations. This mare, a typey bay who could have stepped out of a George Stubbs’s painting, might have been a touch slow on the track, plus she bowed in heavy going, but she had a winning attitude.

  “Dr. Haristeen, I’m thinking about vet school after I graduate,” Dharam said.

  “You see wonderful things and terrible things in this business. And you see wonderful and terrible people, but all in all, I wouldn’t trade one minute of my life as a vet. Not one.” He cleared his throat and turned as the white Jeep with the county seal drove down the gravel drive. “Well, maybe this one.” He sighed. “Better go get your paperwork. All your rabies paperwork, Priscilla. Jerome is on a major tear.”

  Without a word, Priscilla dashed into the small office in the barn as her daughter’s eyebrows raised. The sight of Jerome slamming the door of the county car provoked no comment. They’d talk plenty after he left.

  “Jerome, I can’t get away from you.” Fair smiled, as he’d encountered Jerome twice over the weekend.

  It seemed Jerome wasn’t taking the weekend off.

  “Fair, had a thought since yesterday.”

  “Only one?” Fair’s lips curled slightly.

  Jerome ignored this and asked, “Could you lie about giving rabies shots?”

  This took Fair by surprise, so he thought a moment. “Sure. But what would be the point?”

  “Money.”

  “Money. How could I make money faking the paperwork?”

  “Easy. You don’t put out for the vaccine. You’d pocket the cash for the paperwork, right? How would your patient know whether they were actually getting the vaccine or just a placebo?”

  “Hopefully by my reputation,” Fair replied evenly.

  “Oh, I don’t mean you personally. But it’s possible?”

  “It’s possible, but first let me explain that even the small-animal veterinarians aren’t getting rich off rabies shots. An equine vet pays two dollars per large animal dose. They pay for the syringe and needles. The first shot usually costs the customer about fifteen dollars, here in central Virginia. Figure in the gas cost to drive to the various farms, too. Don’t forget taxes. Even if a vet managed to give one hundred rabies shots a week, which is extremely doubtful, he’d pocket seven hundred fifty dollars at best. Only a fool would risk his practice for a piddling sum like that. And more to the point, Jerome, I think I can speak for every veterinarian in Virginia. Rabies is a matter of public health, human health, not just cats, dogs, horses, cattle. Who would be that irresponsible? That would be criminal.”

  Jerome scuffed the dirt with his boot. “Well, Fair, I’m heading that way. This is criminal.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Barry and Sugar. What if a doctor gave them a shot of live virus, not killed?”

  Fair’s eyes widened. “That’s monstrous.”

  “All a doctor or some smart person would have to do is put saliva from a rabid animal into a syringe and shoot it into someone, not even into their bloodstream. I’ve been doing my reading. Just shoot it into the muscle. It would get to the nerve endings soon enough and start that long journey to the brain.”

  Fair shook his head. “The victims would remember getting a shot.”

  “Barry couldn’t tell anyone anything. As for Sugar, his mind was going, wasn’t it? And it’s not like he would have known. He might have thought he was getting a flu shot or that Lyme-disease shot that’s questionable. Some say it works and some say it don’t. Bill Langston, Hayden McIntire, a nurse friend—anyone could give a flu shot.”

  Dharam and Priscilla walked over. “Jerome, I believe you want our rabies certificates.”

  Jerome grunted. “Thanks.” He rifled through the sheets of paper. “What about your cats and dogs?”

  “Uh, I’ve got those up at the house. I’ll be right back.” Priscilla knew from her friends that Jerome was being a stickler about all this.

  “I’ll get it, Mom.”

  “We’ll both go.” Priscilla had noted the intense conversation between the two men.

  Jerome returned to his subject. “The other thing about a needle. If those guys thought they were getting a flu shot, by the time the rabies showed up there’s no needle mark. Slick.”

  “Tell you what. Why don’t you come to my office Wednesday? Let’s sit down and go over this and I’ll help you. I’m not saying your thesis is wrong. I suppose it could be done. Have you asked other vets?”

  “Every single one I see.”

  “Well, what have you heard?”

  “Like you, they wondered about getting a live virus, but when I talked about saliva they listened. No one outright said it wouldn’t work, although everyone thought it was”—he paused—“far-fetched.”

  “I guess what keeps crossing my mind is, why?”

  “That’s easy. Rabies is one hundred percent fatal.”

  “I know that.” Fair tried not to be irritated. “But surely there are easier ways to kill someone, if we even knew that those two men were killed. There’s no reason to think Sugar was murdered.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “You’re right, I don’t,” Fair conceded.

  “See, what I think is that this is a fine way to get rid of someone. They wouldn’t know what hit them and they’d never think of their flu shot or whatever carrying rabies. They’d die long after their shot.”

  “Jesus, it’d be a lot more humane to pull the trigger.” Fair whistled.

  “This ain’t about being humane.”

  “No, no, it isn’t.” Fair watched the two tall women, folders in hands, emerge from the back door of the house. “Now you’ve got me wondering. Well, look, I’ll see you Wednesday and that will give me time to make a couple of calls. My old professor at Auburn ought to have some thoughts about this.”

  “Talked to Hayden McIntire, Bill Langston, Tavener, Dr. Flynn, Dr. Cowles, all the vets. Kinda got them interested, too.” Jerome puffed out his chest. “And Sheriff Shaw. See, Fair, I see the bottom of the barrel, a lot. I know how those people think.”

  “People who mistreat animals aren’t necessarily killers. I know they’re the bottom of the barrel, but killers, I don’t know.”

 
“People who disrespect living things or disrespect the law, I know how they think. We got a situation here.” Jerome’s eyes blazed.

  30

  Tuesday after work, Harry nimbly walked along the spine of her new shed roof. Fair, Blair, Paul, Susan, Tazio, and BoomBoom, who was able to help today, stuck to their promise to help. The T-111 siding with batten added for looks had yet to be painted, and it emitted a fresh lumber odor. Harry had splurged on a standing seam tin roof. Mrs. Murphy trotted behind Harry, since she wasn’t afraid of heights either.

  Tazio, Paul, Blair, and Susan taped the seams of the Sheetrock inside Harry’s workroom. She’d put in insulation and a small gas flame stove that looked just like a wood-burning fireplace, which she carefully vented. Harry wanted to experiment in the coming winter to see if gas heat was effective and if it was cheaper. She was very interested in the cost of operating the stove. If it worked she might put one in her bedroom, since that side of the house was bitterly cold in wintertime. Also, if the power cut out, she’d still have heat.

  Paul couldn’t live without music. His boom box played Latino tunes. Harry almost always worked in silence so she could listen to every animal around her, the wind come up, whatever, but she found she liked Paul’s music. And she liked Paul.

  Tucker sprang to her feet, followed by Brinkley. They ran down the drive.

  “Intruder!” Tucker announced.

  Brinkley asked, “How do you know it’s an intruder?”

  “I don’t, but I have to do my job, you know.”

  Pewter, who had joined Mrs. Murphy on the roof, observed the Lab’s one stride to Tucker’s three. She started to giggle.

  Mrs. Murphy’s eyes followed Pewter’s gaze and she giggled, too. “Let’s just say that Tucker can turn inside Brinkley. You’ve got to give her that.”

  “I do,” Pewter replied. “Here comes Tavener. It’s about time he buys himself a new truck.”

  Equine and cattle vets could easily rack up forty thousand miles a year in Virginia making calls. A very good vet, which Tavener was, would cover his own county and adjoining counties, plus he would be called out of state for special consulting jobs. On any given day Tavener or Fair might find themselves down at Blacksburg at Virginia Tech or up at Leesburg at the Marion duPont Scott Equine Center, two outstanding hospital facilities.

  Tavener’s Ford, a 1996 diesel engine, labored with over 320,000 miles on the speedometer. Strong as a work truck is, sooner or later the owner is going to pour money into brakes, clutch cables, maybe even a replaced piston. Tavener wasn’t cheap, but he’d get attached to a vehicle and then complain bitterly if he had to adjust to a new one, because there was always something different. He did not regard items like air bags or wishbone suspension as improvements.

  The two dogs stopped as the truck pulled up to the shed.

  Tucker, wishing to teach the young Lab, who had just turned a year old, said, “Never take your eyes off the human until your human indicates it’s okay.”

  “But it’s Tavener.”

  “That doesn’t matter, Brinkley. The only people you don’t guard are family members or best, best friends. For instance, I wouldn’t stare down Susan. But I even follow BoomBoom until Harry says ‘Hello’ or something. A dog can’t be too careful. And you have to remember—I know I keep repeating this to you—human senses are dull. It’s not just their eyes or nose, but they shut down their feelings. They miss so much.”

  “That doesn’t make much sense.” The yellow Lab wagged his tail as Tavener smiled at them.

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to break a sweat.” Fair, who’d just come up on the roof, laughed as he looked down at his colleague.

  “You’re right.” Tavener laughed, too.

  “There’s room up here on the roof. I don’t want you to feel lonesome down there. I’m checking the crimping on the seams,” Harry called to him as the other people stuck their heads out of the workroom to greet the genial vet.

  “Okay, now we can tag along.” Tucker bounced up to Tavener, who scratched her ears.

  “Keeping everyone in line, Tucker?” Tavener sternly regarded her.

  “Indeed.”

  “Me, too.” Brinkley offered a paw.

  “Dog’s are so-o-o obsequious.” Pewter sniffed.

  “They can’t help it, Pewter. They’re pack animals. So are humans. It’s why they get along like they do,” Mrs. Murphy sagely noted.

  Pewter shrugged, a thinly disguised air of superiority. “Well, not everyone can be a cat.”

  “Hey, look at that.” Mrs. Murphy quickly walked to the edge of the roof, turned around, and backed down the ladder.

  Tavener had lifted from the back of his truck a long, thin package wrapped in butcher paper. A verdigris pole could be seen sticking out from the bottom.

  Harry hurried down the ladder, Pewter perched on her shoulders. Pewter could back down a ladder if she had to; she did it in the barn often enough, but that ladder was nailed to the wall. Under these circumstances, hitching a ride with Harry was preferable.

  “Harry, you need this.” Tavener beamed as he handed her the package.

  She knelt down, carefully placing it on the grass, and the others gathered around. Fair finally climbed off the roof to join in.

  “Oh, Tavener. This is just about perfect.” Harry stood up and hugged him.

  “A cat weather vane!” Mrs. Murphy thought this an excellent present.

  The hunt horses, curious, watched from the paddock.

  Gin Fizz said, “Don’t get the big head, pussycats.”

  “You have your weather vane on the barn,” Pewter sang out. “We do just as much work in the barn as anyone.”

  “Pewter, how can you lie like that and keep a straight face?” Tomahawk sounded stentorian.

  The other horses laughed, including the broodmares who had come up from the adjoining paddock.

  “What about me?” Tucker cocked her head. “I protect every animal on this farm.”

  “You’re right.” Brinkley was very sympathetic.

  Tavener, as if understanding, opened the passenger door to his truck and lifted out a three-by-three-foot hand-painted sign. Against a Charleston green background was Tucker’s head, a beautiful likeness. A thin red and gold pinstripe border was painted one inch from the edge of the sign. And underneath Tucker’s likeness, neatly lettered in Roman bold, was, DEATH FROM THE ANKLES DOWN!

  Harry laughed so hard, Fair had to catch her under the armpits before she fell over.

  “Wherever . . . ?” BoomBoom fell in love with the sign.

  “Tree Street Signs over in Stuart’s Draft. Course, there’s Burruss in Charlottesville. Those are the two best, but I’ve grown fond of the group over in Stuart’s Draft. I couldn’t resist! Harry, you need to warn any newcomer of your security system.” He laughed heartily.

  “We’ve got to get one for Herb for his anniversary.” Susan clapped her hands together. “How about his two cats with halos over their heads?”

  “Susan, do you think all the parishioners will like that?” Tazio wondered.

  “Oh, look, if you’re going to be a Lutheran you might as well have a sense of humor. Anyone who tries to understand centuries of dogma better get a grip,” Susan forthrightly replied.

  Paul laughed and shrugged. “I’m Catholic.”

  “And whatever Little Mim is at the moment, I am. We’re leaning toward refurbished Episcopalianism.” Blair admired the sign. “Harry, do you want this hanging as a sign by the back door, or do you want it on the side of the house by the back door?”

  “Hanging.” She couldn’t get over how delightful these gifts were. She hugged Tavener again, giving him a big kiss on the cheek.

  “Luckily, we’ve got a four-by-four left over. Bet I can build you a pretty signpost in no time,” Fair volunteered.

  “How about a Coke or a beer or something?” Harry offered Tavener.

  “Beer. You wouldn’t have any St. Pauli Girl in there, would you?”

&nbs
p; Susan handed him one. “You know, you and I ought to buy stock in the brewery.”

  “Good idea.” Tavener took a deep pull. “I came bearing gifts, but I came with a mission. Alicia and I have been talking.” Tavener paused for a moment. “Alicia and Big Mim have agreed. Oh, Herb has agreed. And Harry, finding the ring started all of this, really. Got me to thinking. What would Mary Pat have loved best? So many things crossed my mind, but you know, I hit on the right one. I hit on the thing that would have made her so proud. If all of us put in some money, whatever you can afford, we could create a scholarship in Mary Pat’s name to be awarded each year to a senior graduating from Holy Cross and going on to college. Mim says she knows how to set it up so our money will make money in the stock market. This way we only have to give once.” He held up his hand. “She swears she knows how to do this. But I want all of us who benefited from Mary Pat’s kindness to pitch in.”

  “That’s all of Crozet.” Susan smiled. “Ned and I will certainly be part of it.”

  The others agreed, even Paul and Tazio.

  “But you all never knew her,” Harry said.

  “We can give a little something,” Paul said. “A scholarship, that’s special.” He asked Tavener, “What would the student have to do?”

  “Oh, not so much do but be. A leader. A good student, maybe not the best student but good. I was thinking maybe it would be a young person who was planning a career in the equine industry.”

  “She’d love that,” Harry enthused.

  Pewter had heard enough about all this. “Let’s put the weather vane on the shed.”

  No one paid much mind.

  “Sit on the weather vane,” Mrs. Murphy counseled.

  Pewter, with much ceremony, plopped on the pretty metal cat.

  Harry reached down and picked her up, making a large groaning noise that Pewter did not find amusing.

  Fair lifted up the weather vane. “I’m going to put this right up.”

  “Told you,” Mrs. Murphy bragged.

  “Before you get back up on the ladder, Jerome been bugging you, too?” asked Tavener.