Reclaim My Life (14 page)

Wil pulled out his cell phone and checked the signal. “My battery’s low. Let me use your phone, Dad.”

He opted for the wall phone in the kitchen and reached Jamie at home. “I know it’s your day off, but I have an emergency.”

Wil told her about Sophie swallowing rat poison, and Jamie offered to locate the name and telephone number for Cathleen Hodges’s assistant.

“Could you call and ask her to meet us at the vet’s office?” Wil asked.

“I’m on it,” Jamie said.

“My cell phone’s about dead. If you need to call me back, call Dad’s.” He gave her the number, then ended the call.

Back in the den, Elizabeth hovered over Sophie, unaffected by the gross puddle of dog puke at her feet. “We need a mop and some paper towels, please.”

“I’m on it,” he said, echoing Jamie’s words. He grabbed a mop and bucket from the utility room, stopped at the kitchen sink for water, then ripped off a handful of paper towels. He returned to the den, where Elizabeth patted Sophie’s back. The dog hiccupped.

His dad rolled closer. “Will she be all right?”

“She’s a healthy dog, and she emptied her stomach— but it can take days for the effects to show up,” Elizabeth said.

Wil mopped up the worst of the vomit, then tossed the water out the back door. He refilled the bucket and mopped a second time. Elizabeth used the paper towels to finish the job. Wil returned after rinsing out the mop and bucket, and found his father sitting, staring at Sophie. He wasn’t crying now and, in fact, seemed less anxious—though far from relaxed. Wil placed his hand on his dad’s right shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

Finally, Dad spoke. “When you get back, take every one of those damned rat baits and throw them in the trash.”

“You bet. Want me to have a word with Hazel?”

Dad nodded, his tired eyes suddenly stormy. “You better. If I do it, she’ll quit without notice.”

Elizabeth disappeared into the kitchen with her wad of paper towels, probably in search of the garbage can. When she returned, she gestured toward the dog. “We need to know more about the rat poison. Could you look for the packages in the garbage?”

“You bet.” First dog puke, now garbage. This was not how Wil had envisioned his Saturday evening with Elizabeth. Under the sink, the thirteen-gallon trash pail held nothing but the wad of paper towels. Great. He leaned in the doorway of the den. “I’ll have to look through the trash can outside. Are you sure this is necessary? I mean, rat poison is rat poison, right?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I need to know whether it’s first-generation or second-generation rodenticide. I can tell from reading the label.”

“Do it, Wilson.” His dad’s voice, though weak, discouraged argument.

Rodenticide
. Why hadn’t she just said
rat poison?
If she was trying to impress him, it was working. He sure as hell didn’t know the chemistry of rat poison. Curious that a Shakespeare professor did. Resigned to the task, he went out to the back of the house. Lifting the lid on the trash can, he was rewarded with empty cardboard packages. Their position at the top of the bin spared him from the odorous refuse tied up in bags. “Thank you, God.”

He returned to the house and handed one of the blue and gold packages to Elizabeth. “Here. Now what does this tell you?”

She read the ingredients and directions on the package. “Bait blocks. Sophie probably thought they were treats. This is a first-generation type containing warfarin, so we don’t have to worry about other ingredients—”

“Warfarin? That’s a blood thinner, like Coumadin—” His dad took Coumadin. His dad took … rat poison?

She checked Sophie’s eyes again, then looked at her gums, as if she knew the mysteries of animal health. “Well, yes, in controlled doses it’s medicinal for humans. And it kills rats, although some rodents have developed a resistance, which is why chemists developed the second-generation rodenticides.”

“But you said this is first generation, so that’s a good thing, right?”

She didn’t respond, but maybe she didn’t have an answer. Why would a Shakespeare professor know so much about rodenticides? The fact that she did had most likely saved his dog’s life, but he couldn’t overlook the strangeness of it.

As if speaking to herself, she said, “Cathleen should have a supply of vitamin K1 I can inject—”

“You
can inject?” He’d exercised restraint when she’d poured peroxide down Sophie’s throat, he’d dug through trash and mopped up vomit, but he’d be damned if he’d let an amateur poke his dog with a needle. “Whoa!”

“No, um, I mean that’s why we need her assistant to help us.”

“My deputy’s working on finding her as we speak.”

Elizabeth turned to his dad. “Sir, did you see how many of the blocks Sophie ate?”

He shook his head. “Hazel put a bait in every corner probably, the damn woman. But I think three at most.”

Wil nodded. “Dad would know. Sophie stays right with him.”

“Wilson, help me carry Sophie to your truck. We need to get her treatment.”

His dad waved him on. “Go. I’ll stay out of trouble until you get back.”

Wil stared at his disheveled and weepy father sitting in his wheelchair. He debated leaving him. “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“We’ll not be long if Cathleen has what we need.” Elizabeth’s calm voice belied the underlying tension.

Elizabeth was more than an animal lover. She was way more than a Shakespeare professor, too, if she knew her way around rat poisons and antidotes. Who was Elizabeth Stevens? Could he count on her to treat their beloved Golden Retriever? “Maybe we should run her on to Gainesville or Jacksonville, to one of those emergency clinics—”

“I know what to do. Trust me.”

Wil wanted to trust Elizabeth, but what did she know about doctoring dogs? If anything happened to Sophie, Dad would be devastated. Wil credited the dog with having pulled Dad out of the depression he’d suffered following the stroke. Sophie seemed to sense what the old man needed and stayed at his feet, often to the aggravation of the hired help who came to care for him.

Wil gathered up Sophie and carried her to the Jeep, Elizabeth holding the doors for him. She crawled into the backseat beside the dog.

He slid in the front and started the engine. Taking advantage of his flashing lights, he sped toward town. “I hope you know what you’re doing, darlin’.”

“I used to work in a veterinarian’s office.”

“That’s it?” Working in a vet’s office could explain her familiarity with animals and medical treatments. Wil prayed it would be enough experience to save his dog.

“Yes. I promise you, I can do everything for Sophie that a vet can do, only faster, because there isn’t a vet within thirty miles of here—right?”

“Level with me, okay?” He spoke to her via the rearview mirror, his gaze never leaving the narrow county road. “I can’t let anything happen to Sophie. She means everything to my dad. She’s become his helper dog.”

“I understand.” She said nothing else for at least a minute. “Wilson, this much I can tell you. I’ve had enough training to help her. She needs subcutaneous injections of vitamin K1—”

“How the hell do you know that?” He slowed when he reached the edge of town, where County Road 471 broadened into Main Street. “You learned that much from working in a vet’s office?”

“Yes. Sophie’s a strong, healthy dog. She’d probably recover without treatment, now that she’s emptied her stomach, but don’t take that chance. If we treat her aggressively with the vitamin K1, she’ll have a stronger chance at recovery. You’ll need to have her blood checked later for anemia.”

He parked in front of Hodges Animal Clinic and cut the lights. He remembered enough of high school health class to know that vitamin K1 was found in lettuce and other greens, and that it was important because it helped blood to clot. It made sense if Sophie ate a bunch of anticoagulant, she’d need vitamin K1. His gut told him he could rely on Elizabeth’s judgment. “I’ll unlock the door to the clinic and come back to get Sophie.”

Inside the silent building, he turned on lights and adjusted the thermostat so the air conditioning kicked on. On his way back to the Jeep, he stopped beside a Volkswagen Beetle, which he assumed belonged to the assistant. A young woman got out of the car and approached him. He’d met her once when he’d brought Sophie in for her rabies shot, but Brady had been the one to take her statement after the murder. He thought she looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her other than from his one vet appointment.

“Sheriff Drake, I’m Iris Porter. I used to work here as Doctor Hodges’s assistant.”

“Yes.” He paused to shake hands. “Thank you for coming. If you want to go inside, I’ll get the dog.”

With Elizabeth’s help, he got Sophie out of the Jeep and into Hodges Animal Clinic. Once inside, he carried Sophie to the examination room, Elizabeth following. Sophie could walk on her own, but he wanted to keep her as calm as possible. He placed her on the examining table while he introduced Iris to Elizabeth.

“We’ve met.” Iris shook her hand. “You were one of Doctor Hodges’s friends.”

Elizabeth nodded and got down to business. “Iris, Sophie ate some rodent bait blocks. We induced vomiting shortly after, but she needs the injectable vitamin K1. It should be in an amber-colored bottle. Do you know where Cathleen kept her supplies?”

“Sure. I’ll get a syringe ready.” Iris frowned. “Would you know about the dosage?”

Elizabeth chewed on her lower lip. “Eighteen CCs should do it, but I’ll weigh her to be sure.”

Iris went into the kitchen-slash-surgery room, leaving them alone in the examination room. Sophie tried to jump from the table, but Elizabeth’s soothing and petting calmed her.

“I don’t think this is legal.” Wil met Elizabeth’s gaze.

She didn’t flinch. “Breaking and entering?”

“Dispensing drugs without a license.”

She smiled then. “It’s a vitamin shot, Sheriff. And animal owners can give their own injections. Ranchers and farmers do it all the time.”

“I see.” But ranchers and farmers dealt in livestock, not beloved family pets. “Sorry to be a skeptic. This is a special dog, particularly to my dad.”

“Let’s try to weigh her. I guessed at eighty pounds for the dosage.”

“How did you know about that? Seems to me you know more about animal doctoring than Iris does.”

“I doubt that.” Together they placed her on a scale that resembled a treadmill until Elizabeth got a reading. “How long have you had Sophie?”

So she wasn’t going to give him a straight answer. He returned the dog to the examination table. “Three years or so. She belonged to a homicide victim when I worked in Jacksonville. We found her whining at his side. The deceased had no family, no friends, no one willing to take the dog. She was just a puppy, probably close to a year old.”

“Softie Wilson Drake rescued her.” She smiled again, and his earlier doubts evaporated. As long as she smiled at him that way, he’d believe anything she said. Not good for a detective. Or an objective county sheriff. But he’d lost his objectivity where Elizabeth Stevens was concerned, probably the first morning she’d shared a table with him at Boyd’s Diner. “Hey, don’t let it get around that I’m a soft touch, okay?”

Her smile collapsed, and she lowered her voice. “If you don’t let it get around that I treated your dog.”

“Deal.” Not that she need worry. Using the deceased’s property for personal reasons surely violated some code of ethics. But the image of his father’s tears overrode propriety. “But I can’t stop Iris from talking.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I know.”

“Darlin’, I’m sure you have your reasons for not wanting me to think you’ve more than a passing acquaintance with veterinary medicine. But I wish you’d talk to me. You can trust me.”

Were those tears in her eyes before she looked away? “I can’t.”

Iris returned with a hypodermic needle. “The dog ate rat poison blocks?”

“Yes.” Wil stared at the needle. “Are you going to give her the shot?”

Iris gave her head a rapid shake. “I don’t do injections.”

Elizabeth reached for the syringe and pinched a bit of Sophie’s furry yellow coat.

“You know how to give the injections?” Iris asked.

“Yes, I do.” This time Elizabeth met Wilson’s gaze and held it. She seemed to be silently pleading with him, but he wasn’t a mind reader.

Wil held Sophie’s head in both hands. “Steady, girl. This is going to hurt.”

“If I inject it all in one spot, it can cause a reaction.” She injected Sophie repeatedly in various parts of her body, just beneath the skin. Sophie neither flinched nor whimpered. “All done.” Elizabeth turned to Iris. “See if you can find fifty-six capsules of K1.”

“Right.” Iris followed the order as if she’d expected it.

“That many capsules?” Wil asked.

“Yes, it comes in twenty-five milligrams only, and Sophie’s a large dog. You’ll need to give her four of the capsules every day for the next two weeks.”

No longer questioning her about her knowledge, Wil nodded toward Sophie, who was pawing at the table’s metal surface. “She wants down.”

“Good girl.” Elizabeth ran her fingers through Sophie’s coat. “All right, set her on the floor.”

“She’s going to be all right?” Wil asked, forgetting for the moment Elizabeth wasn’t really a vet. He stooped to pet Sophie, who stood on her own and appeared none the worse for wear.

“She should be. She emptied her stomach fairly quickly.”

Yeah, all over the floor of the den. He almost gagged at the memory. Not that he was squeamish or anything. “Watch for things like bruising, pale gums, or labored breathing. Anything that indicates a bleeding disorder. Will you be able to watch her tonight?”

“You bet.” He ruffled the fur around Sophie’s ears with both hands. “Sophie, darlin’, tonight you’re sleeping with me.”

His golden retriever ended up in his bed most nights, anyway. A fantasy of Elizabeth sharing his bed instead of his dog fluttered through his one-track mind. Would she understand dog hair in the sheets?

“As I said, you’ll need to take her to a vet as soon as you get a chance for blood work, to be sure she’s not anemic or anything.” Iris handed him the bottle of vitamins, and he stood. “Thanks for helping out, Iris.”