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

  Eyes widened, one hand lifted toward heaven, Pete exclaimed, "God did a miracle."

  "I wouldn't go that far."

  The reaction was understandable in light of the instantaneous improvement. A sprig of satisfaction reminded him of his childhood dream to be heroic. If he hadn't been here, Bonnie would have died. But was saving an old man's dog in the Springs worth giving up his dream of becoming a Surgery Professor at Auburn? Worth exposing himself to the fishbowl small town professionals lived in, something he had decided he couldn't do? Not after that day in Goolsby's Grocery eleven years ago.

  "Pastor Bob would."

  "Pastor Bob?"

  "Where I go to church." He crouched to pet Bonnie. "He lets anybody come."

  Miss Effie had stayed silent longer than expected. Contempt sharpened her voice. "Silly notion, God still healing folks, much less dogs."

  Will remained quiet. Pete looked like someone who might start a cult, not attend the same church as Uncle Bill.

  Tears welled up in Pete's milky eyes, then scurried down the hairless portion of cheek and hid in his beard. "I think God enjoys doing stuff like that. That's what signs are for, to make us wonder." He paused, squinting at Will. "Doc, if you was prettier, I'd give you a big hug."

  That could lead to being quarantined. Miss Effie was amused. "Miss Effie's pretty, so give her my hug."

  Before she could evade him, an ebullient Pete grabbed her hand, then dragged her in a fractured rumba.

  In mid-step he stopped, his gaze locked on her face. "Miss Effie, you have the most beautiful eyes. If you're open to it, I might reconsider my ban on dating."

  The way her mouth pinched to a crease, she had won a round of The Dating Game featuring a contestant pool drawn from serial killers, stalkers, and personal injury lawyers.

  "I never heard such." She disentangled from Pete and stomped towards the pharmacy area.

  Pete winked. "I like it when they play hard to get."

  "I don't think she's playing, Pete."

  "Did that animal rights bunch have something to do with what happened to your uncle?"

  "Sheriff says it was an accident."

  Miss Effie, steps stiff and measured, returned and set chewable calcium tablets, milk replacer, and a nursing bottle on the table. Pete's smile glanced off her clenched face.

  "From things I hear, I wouldn't be so sure. There's something not plumb about it all. Talk to Jug Marlin."

  Miss Effie's eyes bulged. "Jug Marlin? Pfftt. He stays so pickled he wouldn't know up from Georgia."

  Pete faced her, arms crossed. "Could be his drinking has a cause."

  "He's been that way since I can remember."

  "Exactly. Since high school. I've listened to his ramblings a long time. I'm thinking he knows important, confidential things."

  Miss Effie's head shook in disgust. "Dr. Bill swerved to miss a deer, hit it, ran off the road. End of story." Her voice was a guillotine, cutting off further conversation.

  What was going on behind Pete's recessed eyes? Did he have more to say? "Well, son, if somebody helped him die, you'll have to forgive 'em."

  "I'll keep it in mind, Pete." All the rumors. Was one of them true? Would he discover anything vital in his upcoming meeting?

  "You can't keep it there." A gnarled hand stroked Bonnie's head. "It ain't something you take off a shelf to use now and again. It's for every day. Seventy times seven."

  "Right."

  "Hardest thing I ever learnt. But the best." Pete shook Will's hand. "I'll ask you to let me charge this 'til next week. I was fine until I ran into Billy Frizzell. You know Billy?"

  "Can't place him." The old hippie Jesus Freak was becoming a frustration. There were important things to do. Listening to disjointed ramblings wasn't on the list.

  "Lives up Dry Fork Branch. Lost his job. Was he surprised when I gave him some money."

  "You gave him money?" Pete appeared as financially solvent as Skid Row.

  "Sure. Wish I'd had more. But God's been good to me. He'll feed me tomorrow. He wants us to stop for other people and be a blessing." Pete lifted Bonnie and kissed her head. "Thanks for tending to my girl. If you ever need anything, let me know. I know you're busy, so I'll git."

  Will swallowed hard. Pete's simple generosity dwarfed his complicated selfishness. Maybe his decisions shouldn't be all about him. "Maybe I'll see you in church. If I'm still around by then."

  A grin warped Pete's beard. "That would be grand. We can sit together. Back row right is where I light."

  "I'd be honored."

  "And have a talk with Jug sometime. His memory ain't always the best. His thoughts can get wadded up. But there's some sharp amongst the dull." Pete shook a finger in the air. "He needs to be free. It's time."

  Chapter 4

  The charge nurse okayed his visit, saying the patient was heavily medicated. "Don't be surprised to end up as totally confused as he is. He's gotten worse today, sees everybody as cartoon characters. Us nurses, we're the Three Little Pigs. And don't get who and whom mixed up. He thinks he wrote the Harbrace Handbook."

  Will stepped in, eased the door closed, wondering what awaited him. Already he sensed it would be a waste of time.

  Death's dreariness ruled the room. Bleak eyes appraised him. Shriveled fingers clutched the sheet to a wasted body. Nervous chirps and beeps bounced across the monitor. IV stands stood by the bed, silent witnesses.

  "Goldilocks. Sit down." His voice croaked. He tried clearing his throat, gagged, then swallowed.

  The Naugahyde chair squeaked under his weight. He bent forward, waiting. He had never met the man lying in the bed. Two jumbled phone conversations, one Sunday morning, an urgent one yesterday, summed up their history. From the looks of the man, today would complete it.

  A few questions had revealed why he lay there. Mother Teresa wearing a haz-mat suit would have avoided him. Cancer had decayed his body to an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet for bacteria and viruses and assorted fungi. Being embalmed would be an upgrade. His fragile condition evoked a sense of profound sadness for the human condition.

  "I'm Ted Hensley." He extended a bony claw of a hand. "Who are you?"

  "Will Kilpatrick." He leaned back, establishing a comfortable distance. "You called. About my uncle's death."

  Hensley's forehead squished into wrinkles. "I called you? You sure? Have I met you somewhere?"

  Not a good start. "I'm Bill Kilpatrick's nephew."

  "All these phone calls. So many people in and out. I can't keep up with it all. These drugs don't help." His cracked lips slid inward. An attempted smile lacked momentum and stalled, leaving a smear of confusion. "I'm dying. About time."

  Will inclined his head in sympathy. "I'm sorry. What can I do to help? Could I pray for you?"

  "Listen, Goldilocks. Listen. Too late for prayers."

  His hands shifted to his lap, one beside the other like dogs being told to heel. "Listen to what?"

  Nervous eyes strove to maintain contact. "I want to end well."

  "Who doesn't?"

  "Whom." He coughed. When he spoke, the words warbled through a wad of phlegm. "I didn't start well." An attempted chuckle became a congested sneeze. "Failed the in-between to boot."

  "Don't be so hard on yourself."

  His eyes gave a series of wide blinks as if trying to remain awake. "Hard not to. I need to clear some things up. Get in the way, where I'm going."

  Will slumped back to one side in the chair, pinched his lower lip between a thumb and index finger and wiggled it back and forth. "Such as?"

  "In high school, I had friends. Your uncle was one."

  When he fell silent, Will inclined forward, prompting him to continue. "Okay?"

  "We were in a club.The Xs and Os." Hensley's chin quivered. "Time for another dose." He pushed the morphine pump, relaxed. "Where were we?"

  "A football club?"

  "We won the state championship. Only time ever. Undefeated. We were like little gods." A twitch of his lips passed fo
r a grin. "Gave us keys to the city. Overlooked some of our stupid stuff."

  He leaned forward, elbows resting on knees, palms together. "Like what?"

  "For some of us, the O, it was our blood type. Being Type O's... gave us leverage."

  He shifted in the chair, crossed his legs, ran the pants crease between thumb and forefinger. "Leverage?"

  "Yeah. Good thing to have." He raised a finger. "Get some."

  He offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile. One hand roughed the hair on the back of his head. "I know you're trying hard, but I'm not tracking. Could be the drugs."

  Hensley focused on the ceiling tile. "You're on drugs? I'd never guessed it."

  "No, sir. I was talking about you."

  Hensley's face brightened, like he suddenly remembered something. "Our club. We scored more than touchdowns."

  He shifted again, pressing both feet to the floor. The antiseptic smells irritated his nose. "With girls?"

  "The less mainstream girls. Not homely. But Home-Ec, Glee Club kind of girls. We rotated dating the same ones." He paused, barked out a deep exhalation and massaged the back of his neck. "Two got pregnant. Wanted to get married. That wasn't about to work."

  "Whats this have to do with my uncle? That's what you called about."

  "We made a pact. We said we all slept with them. We had the same blood type. O. Our figuring was, no way could they identify the father. Plus our folks had power, money. Theirs didn't. So they were exes. We were Os."

  "Was Uncle Bill involved in all this?" The question had to be asked, despite the possibility of hearing an answer that would detonate fond memories.

  "We tried to help 'em out. If you get my drift. One girl's family, they was quite religious. She kept the money and moved off." He paused to adjust his oxygen tube. "Had the baby. Her mom pretended being pregnant the same time. Faked having it at home. Took in the baby. Raised her up as hers. Old Doc Andrews, my uncle, signed the birth certificate." His breath rattled and he spat into a soggy Kleenex. "That's how I know this part. She ended up moved away from here."

  The moral strictness of twenty-five years ago amazed him. "Who?"

  "Whom. Miss Longley said it's whom." He sucked his lips in, frowning while he glared at him. "Whom are you again?"

  A deep breath allowed him to continue. "Will. Kil. Patrick."

  "Don't do a fool thing like that. Promise." He took several large blinks again and clawed at his arms. "Need some bug spray. Am I doing okay?"

  "You're doing fine. Let's try to move ahead."

  "How's this?" He wobbled his head side to side. "Now let's try to move abroad." His giggles shook the bed. It took several breaths to get his next words out. "Send Mayflower for my mother-in-law."

  Hensley enjoyed his private world as Will patiently pressed on, trying not to laugh in light of Hensley's dire condition. "How did Uncle Bill fit into all this? Was he an O? And who are we talking about?"

  "Whom." He drug the word out in a patronizing tone.

  "Whom?"

  Hensley's eyes became clearer. "Can you be quiet one minute?" The clipped words machine-gunned through clenched jaws. The effort eliciting moans, he raised himself, braced on his elbows. "I've lived with this all my life. Might be to blame for what's killing me. You think I'd lie about it while I'm dying?"

  "You've done it for twenty something years. If it's true." Frustration sharpened the words to short, measured thrusts, like a toreador's sword. At once, he regretted the edge in his voice.

  "Touche'."

  "Sorry. It's just..." He wanted to explain himself, but stopped. There wasn't time to waste on something that would only help his conscience. "What were you saying about the father?"

  Confusion stalked across Hensley's brow. "We're talking about your uncle."

  "We were, but you mentioned a father whom doesn't know he's a father. Do you remember that?"

  "Who." He grasped wet strands of hair and yanked at them in irritation. "Of course he doesn't know. Thought she had the abortion."

  It was time to get back on track. If there was one. "What does this have to do with my uncle?"

  "What if I told you where he's buried?"

  "Where who's buried?"

  "Whom's. That's what I've been trying to tell you." A harsh cough knocked him from his elbows. He panted, stared at the ceiling. "I'm starting to believe you are on drugs."

  This was a waste of time. He needed to be meeting with Kincaid, signing whatever papers needed signed, hitting the road. Not listening to the hallucinations of a stranger on enough drugs to jump start Woodstock. "We've been talking about several things. Who versus whom. But not a dead body."

  Hensley's mouth formed a surprised circle. "Oh. It's a very dead body. A very long time."

  The Naugahyde squealed as he slid back and crossed his legs. He checked his watch. Two more minutes. Then he would leave. "Whom is that? How could you know where he's buried?"

  His lips slumped. "Things happen."

  He leaned forward, chin cupped in hands. "What's this have to do with my uncle?"

  "I didn't do it. We got drug into helping hide the body." He rolled his head to face him, stared through eyes saturated with pain. Honest and haunting and tormenting pain.

  The hint of truth in the words turned his lungs inside out. "What does this have to do with my uncle?"

  Hensley reached under the thin sheet, withdrew a wrinkled piece of paper. Will felt its warmth as he held it to the light, intent on a penciled sketch on paper embossed with the hospital logo. Iris Springs Community Hospital. A Great Place To Be Sick. He recognized road names. Scribbles pointed through woods in a remote area of the county. An X marked a wooded spot in an open field.

  Hensley shifted his body, grunted in discomfort. "The grave was shallow. There should be enough evidence."

  He lowered the paper. "Who is it?"

  "Whom." He cackled. "Told you once. Not going to repeat myself." Thin arms folded across his chest while he stared stubbornly at the wall.

  He seemed lucid again. Ask questions fast, before he returned to the Twilight Zone. "You haven't answered my questions."

  A long breath whistled through congested nostrils. "You're free to believe what you want."

  "Why are you telling me this?"

  "I can't carry it any more." His voice quivered.

  He folded the paper, stuffed it in his shirt pocket. The meeting was winding down. All he'd gained was a piece of paper. Nothing about Uncle Bill's death. He swallowed his irritation. "What's it?"

  "The guilt."

  "How did it happen?" Did it even happen? Would it take him digging up a supposed grave to affirm it? If he found anything, what then? Sack up the bones, waltz into the sheriff's office, plunk them down next to their morning doughnuts? Recognize these?

  "Self-defense. Scared boys." Bony fingers tried to push tears back in. "We buried him. Kept quiet. Stupid choice. How were we to know?"

  Hensley's voice had reduced to a croaky whisper, so he leaned in to better hear. "Who did it? Who were the others?"

  "Whom." His breath was dead leaves rattling. An unsteady hand wiped a tear from a hollowed eye. "Worried about my family. My girls. If they knew..."

  "I still don't understand. You said you had information about my uncle's death."

  Confusion contorted Hensley's gaunt face to resemble an anorexic Vincent Price. "Whom's your uncle? We were talking about Os." His eyes blinked as if struggling for focus. A wizened finger pointed at the IV. "I'm sure gettin' my money's worth. I'll be high for a week after I die." He giggled. "It rhymed." He gave a thumbs-up. "Momma always said I was the poetic one."

  Hensley was fading. Reality might have died several days ago. One last try, then he would leave. "Bill Kilpatrick. He's my uncle. He died a few days ago. Car crash."

  Hensley swatted at the air, clapped his hands as if killing mosquitos. "Try being a hero someday." A pained smile slanted his flaky lips. He spoke in a small boy's voice. "See what happens. Not polite to argue. My
momma told me that. Your momma tell you that? And not to do drugs?"

  The stage coach was headed towards the bluff. "Sheriff Ledbetter says he hit a deer."

  "Did it once, could do it again." Hensley made a teepee with his hands and sang the words in a flat tenor. "Got to be careful. They're everywhere."

  He ran fingers through his hair. He spoke gently, as if to a confused child. "Why not tell the sheriff this? Why tell me?"

  "You'll see, Goldilocks. Ask the others." Hensley stared at him. Agitation warbled his words."Got family to worry about. My girls. If they knew I told anyone..." He tried to whistle but could only produce the sound of a balloon deflating.

  Logic didn't seem to be working, but it was his only tool. "What about the TBI?"

  His head made elaborate sideways swings. "Wouldn't, wouldn't. Connections. They'll be watching." He pecked his head with a thumb, narrowed his eyes. "It's what they do. Watch. It's what the I stands for."

  "Have you told anyone else?" Maybe he could talk to them.

  He shook his head while doing tomahawk chops with one hand. "They'll help. I'm sure of it." The chops gave way to a tired wave. "I'm needing a nap. Naps make things right." His eyes flickered and he pointed a finger. "So can you. Come back later, when I'm stronger." He tried to snap his fingers to an invisible beat. "Dance all night, dance a little longer, take a little nap, get a little stronger. Momma was right. I'm a poet." He pulled the sheet up to his chin, winked, and drifted away.

  Will sat a minute, expecting Hensley to wake up. Moist snores deepened to moose sounds, so he stood to leave. Why had Hensley called? Questions about Uncle Bill hadn't been addressed. Did the map actually mark a grave? Was there a link to Uncle Bill? He sighed and, after looking back once, reached for the door handle.

  The door emitted a tiny squeak as he pulled it open. A petite nurse carrying a clipboard sidestepped to avoid bumping into him when he absent-mindedly stepped into the hall. She smiled brightly and turned into the next room.

  Bicycle Pete's comment came to mind. He opened the door, walked back in, determined to ask Hensley if he knew Jug Marlin. Maybe something would click. Choppy snores bubbled through erratic breaths. He stepped back out into the hall, nearly colliding with the same nurse as she scooted back down the hall. She didn't return his smile this time.