Drop Dead on Recall (20 page)

61

Ten minutes later I
pulled into the vet clinic parking lot and took the last space. By the time I’d paid the bill, put a week’s worth of vitamin K pills in my bag, and made an appointment for a follow-up liver function test, Jay was dragging the kennel assistant into the lobby, wriggling his bum off and “awoooing” a long list of indignities he’d endured since the day before. I’d never seen him so happy to hop into the back of the van.

Call me paranoid, but before I let Jay out I walked the perimeter of the fence and the entire backyard, back and forth in parallel tracks, looking for anything remotely out of place. Nothing showed up. Jay barreled into the yard, checked to see if Goldie was out, updated a few of his favorite sites, had an enormous drink from the bowl I keep under the spigot, and crashed under the patio table with a huge panting grin on his face. There’s no place like home.

I sat with him, stroking his side with my bare foot for about five minutes before I got up and opened the back door. “Sorry, Bubby, but I have to go take care of other stuff for a while. Come on.” Leo sashayed into the kitchen and bonked noses with Jay, and the two of them lay down side by side on Jay’s favorite rug. I wanted nothing more than to stay with them, but duty called. “See you guys later. I’ll bring something special home for …” I didn’t dare finish the sentence—
dinner
would have them both up and hopeful. They are not opposed to moving the meal schedule up a few hours.

I was about to turn out of my subdivision onto Maysville Road when the car behind me blasted its horn several times.
You talkin’ to me?
I glanced in my driver’s side mirror and saw a neighbor I knew only by sight scramble out of the car and scurry toward me. Had she been a dog, I would have said she displayed classic avoidance behavior as she arced her path away from the back of my van before veering back toward my window. She had a hand clamped over her mouth and her eyes were enormous. I was already opening the door, my heart climbing into my throat.

“What?” My feet were on the ground and moving along the side of my van. The neighbor held one hand over her mouth and waved me toward the hatch with the other. I rounded the back bumper and stopped.

The back of my van below the rear window was smeared with a thick black and red mess, and the air reeked with the coppery smell of blood. Dangling from the windshield wiper was a wet furry mass of gore.

62

I swallowed a mouthful
of saliva, managed to keep my cookies, and stepped toward the van.

“Is it …?”

I got a close look. “It’s not real.” My initial horror metamorphosed into red-eyed rage mingled with relief. “It’s a stuffed toy.” A stuffed blue merle Australian Shepherd toy to be precise. At least it looked like the blue merle version. It was hard to tell, saturated as it was with a mess that looked an awful lot like blood.

A thin nylon cord was tied around the neck, the other end fastened to the rear window wiper blade. The throat of the toy was torn open and the stuffing hung out, all of it sopping. There was an index card tied to the cord, but the side facing out was blank and I didn’t want to touch it until the police arrived.

“But why?” She still had one hand over her mouth, the other running through her short brown hair. Her blue eyes were enormous and her face an odd shade of mint green. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“Not exactly. I don’t think so.” We introduced ourselves, then she said, “My God, I thought it was a real puppy.”

I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Jo Stevens’ number as I asked, “Did you see anyone around my car?”

“No, I just came out. I did see someone pull away from the curb across the street from your house when I was putting some things in my car. I didn’t pay much attention.”

I signaled her to hang on while I told Detective Stevens what had happened and listened to her instructions. “Stay where you are. Pull
off to the side of the road, but stay put. I’m near Georgetown.” About
half a mile away. “I’ll be right there.”

I explained that “some things” had been going on, and said the detective would like her to stay if possible, but she was on her way to work, so I got the information and thanked her again. “What do you remember about the car?” I asked as she was getting behind her own wheel.

“Oh, gosh, I didn’t pay much attention. It wasn’t a car, really. A van. Red, I think, or brown. Kind of ratty looking. That’s really what caught my eye. It was rusty, you know, patches of rust, and didn’t have any sign or anything like, you know, carpet trucks or plumbers or whatever.”

“Did you see the driver?”

“Not really. I think he might have been wearing a red hat.”

“He?”

Her forehead wrinkled, “To be honest, I’m not sure. I guess I was thinking a man because, you know, it looked like a work van. I figured you were having some work done on your house.”

I nodded.

“I’d recognize the van if I saw it again, though. One of the rust spots was shaped like Texas.”

She took off, and the police arrived a few minutes later.

“Oh, too sicko weird.” Jo Stevens’s reaction when she saw the mess about summed up my opinion. She put on a pair of latex gloves and carefully turned the note over. My mouth went dry as I read the cut-out words pasted to the paper to spell out in rainbow colors, “Back off, you nosey bitch.”

“That would be you, I presume?” Jo removed her gloves and pulled out her pen and notebook.

“I guess.” It came out like a croak.

She looked me in the eye and said, “I agree with the first part. You need to back off whatever you’re doing that’s pissing this nut case off.”

I didn’t answer, but decided that since I really hadn’t done much, I might as well
do
something to deserve all this attention. If Jo read my reaction, she didn’t pursue it right then.

“We’re going to have to process your car, so you’ll have to leave it here.” I explained that I needed it the next day to take Fly to her breeder, and was assured that I could have it all to myself in a few hours.

“Look, Janet, I don’t like this at all.”
You don’t like it?
I thought. “I want you to be very careful until we get to the bottom of these threats. This,” she pointed her pen at the toy, “is the work of a serious nut. A dangerous nut.” Almost as an afterthought she asked, “Do you need a ride?”

She arranged for a uniformed officer to drive me to the nursing home, promising they would park my car in my driveway when they finished. I handed her my spare key. I also told her what my neighbor had told me, including her contact information, and that the stuffed toy was a now-defunct version of the one on my dashboard. It looked sort of like Jay must have looked as a puppy.

I kept the rest of my thoughts to myself. If I got my hands, which I realized were shaking as I settled into the police car, on whoever was threatening my dog, probably the same person who tried to poison him, the cops could well find themselves processing another dead body.

63

Three hours after I
left them, Tom and my mother were still walking. I found out later that they’d been around and around the common area, up and down two hallways that led off it, and around the lobby I don’t know how many times.

Tom was the picture of patience, and where my little old mother got the stamina was a mystery. Somehow Tom had convinced her that the door we came in was “in only,” so they were still looking for the exit. Mom asked several people how to get out, with mixed results. Some didn’t answer, one told her there was no way out, and at least three pointed in the general direction of the lobby door. Tom asked her every so often if she’d like to rest for a while, but she said no, she was fine.

At 4:52, Mom stopped a volunteer who happened by and asked her how to get out. The ever-so-helpful but not-so-observant young woman pointed to the lobby door.

“No, that’s the entrance. I need the exit.”

“You can go out that way too.”

Mom stiffened. “I can?”

Tom tried to signal the girl to shut up, but she bubbled on in the affirmative.

Mom jerked away from Tom and swung her purse at him all in one unbelievably fast maneuver. “You tricked me! You son of a bitch! How could you? Get out! Let me out!” She kept whacking at him with her purse, her intent clearly to maim if not kill. Jade shot out from behind the desk, and another staff member came running from down the hall.

“Calm down,” pleaded Tom, trying to grab the ninja purse, but Mom was too fast for him, landing a couple of good whacks to his shoulder and forearm. He stepped toward her and she backed away, swinging and yelling. One end of the shoulder strap on her purse tore loose, letting the business end of the weapon bob erratically from the remaining strap as it arced back and forth. The clasp popped open and the contents flew around the lobby, a billfold, pens, tissues, checkbook, and a lipstick scattering across the floor. I watched a quarter ricochet off a gilt-framed mirror and roll across the vinyl floor to topple by my toe.

I looked up in time to see Mom swing her handbag toward the top of the lobby counter. She let go of the strap, and the film in my head went to slow motion. I could see what was coming before it happened, could think
oh, shit
, but I couldn’t stop the inevitable.

64

The gaping metal maw
of the purse struck the vase dead on and the crystal exploded in a sparkling burst of water and glass, daffodils and pussy willows. Jade screamed and ducked. Tom pivoted away from the bouquet shrapnel, hooking a protective arm across his face. And my mother finally stopped.

My muscles slowly came back under my control and I jumped
out of the chair. “Mother!” I crossed the lobby in two lunges, grabbed her by the arms, and shoved her into a chair. “Stay!” She sagged
into the seat as if drained. Finally.

I turned back to Tom and Jade. “Are you guys all right?” Jade had picked up a phone and was calling for help, but she nodded at me.

Tom got the worst of it. He was drenched with water, and a daffodil was draped upside down across his shoulder. A fine trickle of crimson traced the center line of his right temple. “Oh my God, you’re bleeding,” I hurried to him and pulled a clean tissue from my pocket.

“I am?” He recovered more quickly than I did, and grinned at me. Looking at his hands, he asked, “Where?”

“Here.” I pointed at his temple. “It’s not bad. Just a nick, but it’s bleeding.”

“I’ll live. What about your mom?”

“I guess she’ll live too, although I’d like to throttle her.”

Tom was already moving to Mom’s chair, so I followed and pressed a tissue against the nick on his head. He took it from me with a nod
. “Are you okay, Mrs. MacPhail?”

Mom didn’t answer. Two young men had appeared with mop, broom, and bucket and had started to clean up the mess.

“Vacuum that after you get the water up. Do the whole room to be sure,” Jade acted as if nothing were out of the ordinary. “Mrs. MacPhail, are you ready to go to your room?”

Mom jumped to her feet. “Yes. Let’s go home, George,” she called Tom by my father’s name again as she took his arm. “Let’s go now.”

“Why don’t we go see the room as long as we’re here.” Tom tried to get her moving toward the hallway.

No way.

“Why don’t you take her home and bring her back later, when she’s calmed down?” asked Jade.

“She’ll never get in the car with me again after this,” I fought back
tears. “I don’t know what to do.”

Mom busily unfastened and refastened her blouse, one button at a time.

“Can you sedate her slightly to calm her down?” Tom asked Jade.

“Not without a doctor’s order.”

We were all quiet for a moment. “This can’t be your first difficult admission.” Tom used a no-nonsense voice that surprised me. “What do you suggest?”

“We could call for an ambulance and take her to the hospital for evaluation. If a doctor prescribes sedation, that will calm her. You can have them bring her back.” Jade put her hand on my forearm. “Sometimes it’s easier on the resident if family members aren’t present at first. She may be more cooperative with strangers.”

Mom seemed to have forgotten us and her buttons, and was watching the cleanup efforts. “Someone must have spilled something. People should be more careful.” She smiled at me. “Do I know you?”

I turned to Jade. “Call the ambulance.”

65

Twenty minutes later two
EMTs walked in the door. One was the gymnast-looking little blonde who responded to Abigail’s collapse. She nodded at me. “Our bus is here, Mrs. MacPhail,” said Tom. “Shall we?”

“About time,” Mom muttered as she walked out the door hanging on to Tom’s arm. I tagged along behind and almost bumped into her when she stopped short. “That’s an ambulance.”

“It is! Come on, let’s take a ride.”

“I’m not sick.”

“I know. We’ll go for a ride. It’ll be fun.”

“George, I don’t have time. I have to get to work.”

“Work can wait. I’m going for a ride.” He unhooked her arm from his and took her hand as he climbed aboard the ambulance. “Coming?”

She hesitated but then started forward. One of the EMTs, a muscular young man in blue scrubs, stepped up to help her in, but she slapped him away and climbed aboard on her own steam. Mom looked around, then surprised us all by lying down on the gurney.

I started to follow them up the steps, but Tom tossed me one of those winks. “Alice, you bring the car in case we need it there.”

Right
. So once again I found myself not the least bit reluctant to abdicate my self-determination for a while. By the time I walked into the emergency room the staff had told Tom to “just wait,” and he and Mom were strolling around the waiting room.

“They say we need to wait for a doctor. They can’t do anything since they haven’t seen her in action.”

“I owe you.”

“Nah. It’s okay. It was this or grading exams. This is more interesting.” I stepped closer and laid my fingertips against his cheek, turning his head for a better view of his wound. It was barely visible now that the bleeding had stopped. “Think I’ll need plastic surgery?” he asked, flashing that grin of his. I wanted to cry, or punch someone. I went to get Tom a cup of coffee instead.

When I got back, Sylvia Eckhart, hair pulled back neatly and not a speck of baby goo on her scrubs, was talking to Mom. I hadn’t realized she was back at work, but knew that they could no doubt use her salary with two babies in the house. Sylvia placed a hand on Mom’s arm. “Mrs. MacPhail, if you’ll have a seat over here I need to take your temperature.”

Mom jerked away from her. “I’m not sick!”

Sylvia did something to the thermometer in her hand. “We can’t admit her against her will, Mr. MacPhail.”

“I’m Tom Saunders, a friend. This is Mrs. MacPhail’s daughter, Janet MacPhail.” He tipped his head toward me, his hands occupied with trying to link Mom’s arm back through his for control.

“Oh! Janet!” Sylvia smiled. “I didn’t realize … I’m sorry, Janet, but we can’t do anything if she’s not showing any symptoms.”

“Can you call Shadetree Retirement Home? Ask Jade Templeton, the assistant manager, how she was over there.”

As I spoke, Mom apparently decided to help me along. She was squirming around, trying to get her arm away from Tom’s grasp. When he wouldn’t let go, she took a swing at him with her other fist, socking him in the shoulder and yelling, “Let me go!” She leaned forward and tried to bite his bare wrist, and Tom let go. Mom pummeled his chest with both fists, shouting, “I don’t even know you! Keep your grubby mitts off me!”

Sylvia shoved her thermometer into her breast pocket and reached
for Mom’s arms. “Okay, Mrs. MacPhail, everything’s fine.”

Mom rounded on her and gave her an uppercut, and Sylvia called out, “Need some help here! Now!”

Two orderlies came running from behind the swinging double doors and gently but firmly grasped Mom from both sides. They guided her back through the doors, and lifted her onto a gurney. Sylvia signaled me to come along, so I tagged close behind, leaving Tom in the waiting room.

A young, dark, sharp-featured man in a white lab coat appeared and began talking to Mom in a hypnotically silky singsong, asking questions and soothing her at the same time.
Must be the old lady whisperer
, quipped Janet Demon. She always responds to stress with a smart remark, this one in reference to “whisperers” who soothe troubled animals with gentle talk and body language.

When Mom had relaxed a bit, the doctor issued some orders to the nurse, then turned to me. “I am Doctor Patel. She is your mother?”

I explained, none too coherently, what was happening. Dr. Patel, in turn, explained that he had prescribed a sedative and would examine her when it took effect. He assured me that mine was not the first parent to resist nursing home care, even if it was the safest option for her. I felt a lot better when I watched them move my now-calm mother into a curtained examination area. Sylvia hugged me and said, “It’ll be okay,” and I returned to the waiting room.

“They’ve given her a mild sedative,” I told Tom, as he nudged me into a chair. “Dr. Patel suggested we leave and let them examine her, talk to her regular doctor, and take her back to Shadetree.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Tom nodded. “I think Ms.—what was her name?—Temple?”

“Templeton.”

“Templeton. I think she was right, your mom will probably cooperate better with strangers.” Considering how often she mistook me for someone else, I thought I qualified, but I could see his point.

I walked out in a daze. Tom drove me home and offered to come in for a while, but I said I’d call him later. I just wanted to curl up in my bed with my dog and, if he was so inclined, my cat.