X's and O's (Will Kilpatrick, DVM Mystery Series Book 1)

by A. Carlock Maxwell DVM

  By the time he worked through the appointments, the clock struck noon. Along with his stomach. Rather than a sit-down meal, he would stop by the Bee-Quick gas station and get a sack of fried chicken livers, potato wedges, and a Dr. Pepper.

  On the way, Will stopped by the body shop where PJ's wrecked car sat. At the slamming of the truck door, a middle-aged man stepped out of the low, concrete building. He stuffed a greasy rag into the back pocket of dark green work clothes while he ambled towards him. His shirt pocket identified him as Haskell. He stopped three steps away. Stubby, oil-stained hands rested on round hips resulting from the melt of his mid-section. Flat, brown eyes regarded Will with a who-are-you-and-what-are-you-up-to look. A several day's growth of beard covered his angular face.

  "Can I help you?"

  "I wanted to see the vehicle my uncle wrecked." Will moved steadily towards the mangled car.

  Haskell tucked a dip of Copenhagen. For some reason, the pooched out lower lip made him look more intelligent. "And who was your uncle?"

  "Dr. Bill. The vet. I'm Will."

  The hardness melted. "Gonna miss him." They shook hands. "He always took care of our pets. Treated us fair. But the sheriff says it's off limits. Since it's a continuing investigation." Pete matched Will stride for stride.

  Will nodded, continued moving, intent on adhering to a life maxim. When in doubt, bluff. "I don't intend to bother it. I just need to be sure there's none of his stuff left in it."

  Haskell frowned, absently rubbing his jaw and leaving a smudge. "I don't know..."

  Will stopped and smiled reassuringly. "I'll wear plastic gloves if you like. Then I won't mess up the investigation. If there really is one. The sheriff told me an hour ago that the case is closed. In person."

  The phone rang inside and Haskell turned, puffing his cheeks. "Go ahead. Nobody has been out to look at it anyway. Outside of PJ and the insurance people, of course."

  No room remained on the car for another dent. Vacant areas advertised where windows had been. Blood stains accelerated his pulse. He stepped around to the front. Deer hair and blood stains splotched the grill. The rear bumper and a quarter panel bore deep indentations in several areas. He bent closer and noticed paint smudges in different places. When he met with PJ later, he would ask her about them.

  Assuring himself Pete wasn't watching, he took several quick pictures despite it being more apparent than ever that it had been an accident. After wrapping up a few other loose ends, he could think about returning to Columbus.

  As he walked back towards his truck, Haskell stepped out and waved at him. "Find anything?"

  "Nope. Thanks for letting me take a look."

  "No problem." He waved. "Got to run. Some kids must have watched Porky's last night. Sheriff's car ended up tied to a lamppost with a log chain. Made a bit of a mess when he hit the end of it."

  Will had waved Haskell off when a white Ford Escort glided into the parking lot. A blonde in blue jeans, a burgundy blouse, and black flats swung out and looked around. Maybe mid-forties. Sunglasses straddled a perky nose, accented high cheeks. She spotted him and walked over.

  "Do your work here?"

  Will shook his head. "Haskell just left. He'll be gone for a while. Got car problems?"

  "No. Need to look at a car that was involved in an accident a few days ago."

  He pointed toward PJ's car. "That's the only one here." He stuck out a hand. "My name is Will Kilpatrick."

  "Stacy Chapman." A thoughtful look curved her lips. "Are you kin to Dr. Kilpatrick?"

  "Nephew. Did you know him?"

  "No. Do you think it will okay to look at the car?" She glanced in its direction.

  "Fine by me. But why would you want to look at it?"

  Her gaze came back to him. "I'm sorry. Insurance claim."

  Will nodded, frowning. "Haskell said an agent already looked at it."

  "That's right. I'm from the district office." She walked toward the wreck, Will close behind.

  Had he seen her before? "And you know it's not his car."

  She stopped, looked up as if mentally scanning for the name. "I left the file in my car. Remind me."

  "Phyllis-"

  She grinned, snapped her fingers. "Johnson. Phyllis Johnson." Her countenance turned somber. "This must be hard for you. If you'd rather not be here, I'm okay. Just going to get a few more pictures. Helps me stay in practice."

  As Will watched her work, a patrol car pulled in. Seth, the deputy he had met on the square, lurched their way. "Sheriff know you're here? This car is evidence."

  "No. Haskell just told me he's tied up in town. And Sheriff Ledbetter told me the case was closed. That makes it more like scrap metal than evidence."

  Seth chuckled, though his eyes didn't join in. "You're doing that suspicious thing again."

  "Just taking a look at the car my uncle died in. That's not suspicious. Psychiatrists call it closure. And this is Stacy." She gave a friendly wave. "She's from the insurance company."

  "I'm all done." She slipped her camera back in her purse.

  Seth shifted his bulk and frowned. "Why is an insurance agent driving a rental car from Nashville?"

  If her laugh was infectious, her smile was lethal. "Even insurance people have fender-benders."

  "Seth, we were about to grab a bite and discuss some insurance details. Concerning Dr. Bill. So, if it's okay with you, we'll be going."

  The radio in the squad car sounded and Seth answered. He climbed in and waved, leaving them standing there.

  Stacy turned to him. "Thanks for helping me. I'm not sure he believed us."

  "Any reason he shouldn't?" Will watched her face. Like Seth, he had his doubts. It seemed overkill that she took pictures of very dent. Especially several of the one with the paint smudge in it. If she was lying, she was good at it. He needed to quit reading mysteries. They led him to suspect everybody of something.

  "I'm not sure what you mean. But that's part of the charm of small towns. Everybody is on the watch for outsiders asking questions." She flipped her wrist, glanced at her watch. "I'm supposed to meet the witness. Otis Spivey. Do you know anything about him?"

  "Running for governor. Has a farm. That's about all."

  "Haven't heard any rumors that they had argued recently?" The dark sunglasses secluded her expression.

  "That seems to have happened. Why, do you think it's something besides an accident?"

  "Formalities and bureaucracy are our distinctives." She looked over her shoulder at the car. "But it looks like an accident. As you saw, there's deer hair and blood all over the front."

  "Have you talked to PJ? She arrived at the accident site right after it happened. I'm meeting her tonight."

  "Haven't met her yet. Hope to today." She looked at her watch. An Armani. District supervisors must do well. "I don't want to be late, so I'd better run. Maybe I can call you later at the clinic."

  Giving him no chance for more questions, she drove off.

  He suspected he had been had tricked. Someday, he would make someone a good husband.

  Chapter 16

  Not long after getting off work, he slid into a booth across from PJ. The cool air contrasted with the late afternoon heat. A senior class picture from the middle '60s hung by their table. Will casually glanced at names and faces. A few looked familiar.

  Darla drifted by and took their drink orders. She smiled big and held up two fingers, presumably for his two dates with two different women on two separate evenings.

  He looked back at PJ. Very attractive. Not intent on killing him, unlike Liza Hall. Not overly aggressive, unlike Skeets. Nice, safe combo.

  Her smile could light several galaxies. "I always wanted to be a vet when I grew up. It sounds exciting."

  How many times had he heard that? "If getting bitten and drooled on is romantic, you're right."

  A puckish look pouted her lips. "Sounds like my kind of date. Any closer to making a decision to stay?"

  "Not sure." He pointed a
t the Band-Aid on her forearm. "What happened? Donate blood?"

  She lightly rubbed the area. "Gretchen scratched me this morning. Needs her nails trimmed."

  "I heard someone shot through your house. Are you okay?"

  Her face contorted in a disparaging grimace. "Probably a deer hunter."

  "In May? Season isn't open."

  "You'd have to know how to read to know that." Though she smiled, it didn't seem she meant it.

  "I don't know how long you can stay, so can I ask you something? I need some information."

  She leaned forward. "You move quick." Impish eyes, softened in the dim light, flared at him. Fingers raked her hair. "Single. Twenty-four. Love frozen Snickers, adventure, vulnerability." Another gazillion watt smile. "And you already have my number."

  Will leaned back and laughed. Her sense of humor defused his tension. He moved his arm so Darla could places their drinks on the table. He told her they wanted to talk a while before ordering food. "In the clinic yesterday, you mentioned Momma's Girl written on Gretchen's file."

  Her shoulders lifted in a semi-shrug while she fiddled with the paper on a straw. She studied the menu, dropped eyes clouding. "And you told me what it meant."

  He laced his fingers behind his head. "Didn't seem like you believed it."

  "Really?" She raised her head. Confusion twisted full lips. "Does it matter?"

  Will shrugged and leaned forward, arms crossed on the table. "You said you'd always remember Uncle Bill's bad mood. What did you mean?"

  "Just that. Always sad when the last memories are sad ones." She flipped her hands, obviously perplexed. "Why?"

  He propped his elbows, hands cupping his chin. He noticed a thin scar above her left eye. "You hinted that his death wasn't an accident."

  Her eyes widened and she leaned away. Slim fingers pushed at her cuticles. "Really? I don't remember that."

  "Maybe implied it would be a better choice of words. You said it this way. I'm very sorry about his...accident." He watched for her reaction.

  "Implication is in the eye of the beholder. For instance, you asked for information. I told you I love frozen Snickers, adventure, and vulnerability. And then I smiled real vampy and added, 'You already have my number.' You could have implied all sort of things from that." She reached across and touched his hand. Added another smile capable of melting bone. "At least, I hope you did."

  John shifted, leaning in. He didn't know what to do about her hand. Did it imply something? So far, his detective skills would leave him cold and hungry. "Did Gretchen ever try to bite Uncle Bill or Miss Effie when you brought her in?"

  PJ glanced toward the front door. Her eyes blinked in rapid sequence. "I don't remember. Sometimes I wasn't with her when they gave her shots."

  "Miss Effie couldn't remember Gretchen ever trying to bite." He picked at a napkin while she rubbed her nose with an index finger.

  "Maybe Dr. Bill got her confused with another Gretchen."

  Will tilted his head. "Maybe. But Miss Effie thought his bad mood came from arguing with somebody. From the receipt numbers , you probably arrived about that time. Did you overhear anything? "

  An elbow on the table, she propped her chin on a thumb. Her evasive smile dimmed to ten thousand watts. "I can't remember. I was so upset about Gretchen."

  He leaned back, fearing his intensity put her off. "It wasn't even a week ago."

  She looked to the side. Someone told her hello but didn't stop. "Why are you asking me all this? Are you a detective too?"

  "No, no. Just wonder if the rumors that Uncle Bill was murdered are true." He maintained his distance. "What about this? I noticed Momma's Little Baby written on someone else's record. Meant the same thing as what was written on yours. Same person Uncle Bill argued with. Along with initials next to it."

  Phyllis's eyes returned to the menu. One hand massaged the back of her neck. "Whose file? What initials are you talking about?"

  "Is your memory coming back?"

  She set the menu down, leaned her arms on the table and smiled. "I'm not sure what you're asking. Or why. And I barely know you."

  Will shrugged while rearranging the salt and pepper shakers. "I guess I can ask him what it means to him, that being written on both your records. If your memory stays gone."

  She gave a drawn out head shake. Her eyes revealed a mixture somewhere between fearful and caring. "I wouldn't suggest that. It would put a sign on your back saying, KICK ME HARD."

  He persuaded himself to remain calm. "So you do know who I'm talking about?"

  Furtive eyes connected with his. "Tell me the initials on the record."

  "So we have a deal? Yesterday, you said you loved secrets." He grinned, hoping it helped relax her. "And I'm not sure what all that implied."

  She flipped her hand up. "I'm not sure I know anything of value. But I want to help if I can. Dr. Bill was a prince among men."

  He decided to trust his hunch. Not that he had the best track record in assessing women. After all, he'd thought Sally was the one. And Skeets before that. No guts, no glory. "They were smeared, but it's either BJ or PJ. Same as your initials."

  She paused him with an upraised hand. "Not arguing. Just playing devil's advocate. They could also be someone else's."

  "Fair enough. Like your sister's? Uncle Bill's fiancée. Funny you didn't mention that before. We would have been relatives."

  Her tenacity surprised him. The words hadn't intimidated her, instead made her dig in.

  "Maybe you didn't notice, but Miss Effie did her best to not give us time alone to talk." A hard smile thinned her lips. An edge slipped into her voice. "She thinks my family is a bad lot."

  Had she grown up feeling that way? "I met your momma today. Molly was down. She seemed very...pleasant."

  Her breath stammered before she answered. "That's a...pleasant way to phrase it. I'm just saying there are other people with PJ and BJ for initials. Look through some of the pictures on the wall."

  "Why don't you fill in some gaps for me?" Will looked at the J's on the picture by their booth while he awaited her reply. Noticed several. Penny Jones. PJ. Bobby James. BJ. No Johnson.

  "Okay. I overheard them arguing. I didn't have an appointment, since it was an emergency." She paused and scooted in to whisper. Faint tendrils of perfume stretched across the table. No smile remained in her eyes. Lights out. "I can't prove it, but I think he had something to do with your uncle's...accident."

  "Spivey?" Will noticed his hands strangling the saltshaker.

  She placed a cool, dry finger on his lips. "Keep your voice down. He owns this town. He had Dr. Bill up against the wall. Dr. Bill was telling him to grow up and act like a man. That's Spivey's campaign slogan. He sounded real mad. Accused him of trying to wreck his campaign. Dr. Bill said something about Spivey wrecking somebody's life by getting her pregnant, paying for her to get an abortion. I heard Spivey threaten to kill him if he told anyone." She paused, watching for a reaction. "Then Gretchen got upset and started barking. Spivey began accusing him of backing out of a land deal. Something involving a golf course. Said if he didn't honor his commitment, that he'd plant him in a sand trap. He was laughing like it was a big joke. Dr. Bill kept asking him what he was talking about. Said they'd never talked about any land deal." She paused, took a sip of water, set the glass down, and licked her lips dry. "I think he wanted to kill me too."

  Will's eyes narrowed at the information. Even allowing for the misplaced passion of golfers and politicians, it sounded ridiculous. Recalling his prayer in the cemetery, he willed his hands to relax. "That's hardly a reason to kill him. Or you."

  "He heard Gretchen barking and looked around the corner as I was trying to slip out. He probably thought I'd heard him."

  "That doesn't mean he would kill him. Or you."

  "If what Dr. Bill said was true and it got out, he really would be One-Yard-Short Spivey again. He's a conservative. And even Tennessee liberals appreciate a bit more character than that. And he told
me to keep my mouth shut, or else. I took that to mean he would kill me, not send roses. At least it meant he would hurt me somehow."

  Will's mouth twisted in a frown while he mulled the situation. His head ached. How did detectives survive without a whiteboard? "That might be...overkill."

  PJ looked away in disgust, shaking her head. "Somebody shot through my house. Would you classify that as underkill?"

  "Did the sheriff find any clues?"

  "He couldn't find a clue in his back pocket." She waved a dismissive hand. "Said it was probably somebody spot lighting deer."

  Her house didn't seem a logical place for that to happen. It was more common along a road or in an open field. "You don't seem overly concerned."

  She tapped the table. "We're losing focus. Spivey left. When Dr. Bill saw me, he told me to forget it. It was all a misunderstanding. Said Spivey was always blowing up. Said if he had wiped out everybody he'd threatened one time or other, the Springs would be a ghost town." She hid her face behind her hands. "I'm sorry for my part in this."

  Will fidgeted in his seat at her anguish. "I'm not following you."

  She looked up. Tears perched on her lower lids, poised to fall. "It's my fault. He was driving my car. I was trading. He was interested in my old one. He was test-driving it when he died. I was following in a friend's car." Tears began a silver crawl down her cheeks. He handed her a napkin to wipe them with.

  Unable to take in the pain in her eyes, he looked away. "But that doesn't make it your fault."

  "You don't understand." After drying her eyes, she rubbed her runny nose. She reached across and took him by the chin. "And will you please look at me while I'm talking?"

  His gaze met her distraught eyes. Their chill froze his reactions. A malignant fear of what she might say, the possible upheaval, emanated from an inner spot no larger than a thought.

  "I think it was supposed to be me that went over the bluff."

  Will shook his head, confused. PJ's words conflicted with his findings at the auto shop. With the sheriff's. With Spivey's. "But he hit a deer. I saw the car."

  "Could be coincidence. No one but Spivey saw it. He could be lying."