The Sow's Ear
Page 16
Only problem was he used too much on the horse’s stomach and ears—where the hide was thin and the anesthetic got into the bloodstream quicker and in greater amounts. The poor beast faltered and died before they could free him. Seems the anesthetic used in great amounts thinned the blood, among other things, and the horse bled to death in front of them.
It was a sad tale, and Cassie was almost in tears before it was over; but it got me thinking.
The night Aggie had been near death in Andrew’s surgery, he had shaved a small spot on her little tummy, donned some heavy rubber gloves, and rubbed in a very small amount of anesthetic ‘to help relieve the pain in her belly,’ he had said. When I asked how it worked, he quickly told me about the transdermal vehicle vets used to get meds into animals who couldn’t swallow pills. It had some long chemical name which didn’t register at all, but I remembered the acronym: DMSO.
Mick’s story had made me curious, so I did some research on the drug and quickly found an article about a drug company in Brisbane. The Australian company had been fined and their license taken away for unlawfully using a ‘schedule 4 poison’—DMSO—in one of their topical medications.
Apparently this particular ‘schedule 4 poison,’ increased the effects of blood thinners, heart medications, and steroids—sometimes with fatal results. There was even a supposition that it had caused the death of a woman after topical use for a ligament sprain. And all this excitement took place around the time a bright young university student would have studied it as a cautionary tale.
It kinda made you want to go, “hmmm.”
Chapter Fifty-One
I finally got up the nerve to confront Andrew about my suspicions one spring day when I went back to Minton. The reason for my trip was to check out the new restaurant’s menu before the grand opening the next day.
Everything was delicious, and I told the proud new owners so. “Especially your shrimp, Mick! Where in the world did you find such colossal shrimp?”
“Trade secret, love,” he answered proudly. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
“Um, speaking of that, do you mind if I have a word with Andrew alone?”
Mick looked puzzled for a moment, and then the penny dropped. With apologies to the others, he took me off to one side.
“That would be okay, except maybe I’m the one you want to speak to, not Andrew.”
“Mick—surely not you?”
“Not admitting to a thing, Paisley, and please don’t bring this up to Andrew. He’s been through enough for one lifetime.”
“But…”
He sat down heavily in the chair next to me.
“Funny, isn’t it? I never met Andrew until this year but I knew about him all my life. Aunt Jane was very proud of him—bragged about him all the time. When she told me about her little blackmail scheme over the years, I didn’t believe her—considering her background of mental illness and all—but six months ago when she asked me to empty out her bank account and invest what was left for the future…”
“So that’s how you and Andrew managed to buy the restaurant?”
“Yeah, and to take care of her, too. She really is a grand old lady, she is. And Andrew and I are all she’s got. It would kill her to lose either one of us, Paisley. Think about that, will you, when you decide what to do about a hateful old pervert’s death—a hateful old man who never gave up on his addiction to—”
“Never mind, you don’t have to draw me a picture.”
“But there were pictures, Paisley—hundreds of pictures—even some old faded ones of Jane, and Millicent, and Meg watching the awful things he did to those two little girls. But most of them were of other young girls—many, many young girls being abused and degraded and ruined just like he did his own daughters.”
He was crying silently now, the big shiny tears rolling down his cheeks into the soft downy beard.
“He had to be stopped, Paisley, love. The pictures had to be destroyed. You do see that, don’t you?”
I remained quiet. What could I say?
“I remembered the story about the rancher and the brumby, and it was easy enough to glom onto some of that medicine when I went on a tour of Andrew’s new office. He was so proud of being able to find a way back to Rowan Springs. He wanted to do the right thing—the thing his mum had raised him to do—but he just couldn’t go through with it. And mind you now, I’m not saying I did it, but it’s a sure thing that no one will ever miss the likes of a monster like James A. Poole.”
* * * *
I drove home slowly. The events of the day tried to find a comfortable place to settle down in my mind—like Aggie circling the sofa cushion before she took her nap. I was still mulling over the things I had learned when I pulled up in the driveway of the big old house on Meadowdale Farm.
Cassie was out front gathering up the first daffodils of the season in a big wicker basket—no doubt for a dinner table bouquet. Aggie was running circles around her mistress, trying to get her to go for a romp, and Horatio and Mother, all bundled up in sweaters, were enjoying what was surely the first of many evenings on the patio.
The closeness of my loving family brought forth memories of how my parents and grandparents thought—what their values were and how they really felt about their fellow man.
I was lucky. They were good people—people who were not just socially kind, but truly kind—especially when no one was looking. I was proud of them, and even as a small child I had known I was in the midst of something very special. Once, when I was five and it suddenly occurred to me that I was very lucky to be loved by these extraordinary folk, I started crying—overcome with emotion.
When my grandmother asked what was wrong, I cheapened the moment by declaring the big boys up the street had thrown rocks at me, and then slunk off to my room, ashamed of my lie; ashamed that I couldn’t bring myself to tell them how much I loved them, not for fear of being rejected, but fear of sounding fey. Love was never in short supply in our house, but it was never mentioned. I wasn’t prepared at the age of five to change the pattern. I saved that for after Cassie was born—and I’ve told her I love her every day since.
I couldn’t help but feel that what Andrew had intended to do—and what Mick had done—was done out of love…and a desire to set things right with a sometimes wonky universe. Suddenly I felt at peace with what I had learned and what I would forget, and went to join the people who loved me as much as I loved them.