Smoke (2 page)

That
Amy JoBeth bent down and snapped a piglet-sized harness on Marshmallow, led him from the pen, and handed the leash to Drew.

“Did you used to work for Mike Mallett?” Immy asked her. “The Mike Mallett who’s a PI in Wymee Falls?”

Amy JoBeth nodded as she took the check. “Yes.” She chuckled. “I am
that
Amy JoBeth. And I worked for that Mike Mallett.”

“Maybe you don’t know that I now work—”

Amy JoBeth’s cell phone trilled and she wandered away for a private conversation. Immy would like to talk to her some time about some clippings she’d found in the desk. She’d assumed they’d been collected by her predecessor and wondered why they’d been left behind.

Ralph and Drew started for the van. Marshmallow trotted alongside on his leash, like he’d always known them.

Immy started to follow but Amy JoBeth finished her conversation and called after them. “You have a cage in the car?”

Ralph nodded. “Yep. I’m loaning out my dog crate. I built a pen in Drew’s yard, too.”

“Wonderful!” Amy JoBeth rubbed her hands together. “He’ll do fine in the house, but he needs to be outside sometimes, too. Let me run in the house and get the booklet.”

Ralph picked up Marshmallow and carried him to the crate in the back of the van. He cradled the tiny animal like a baby. The pig looked even smaller in his huge hands, hands more suited for holding a football, or taking down a drunken arrestee.

Amy JoBeth came running out the front door waving the booklet, which proved to be three pieces of paper stapled together. She peeked through the rear side window and Immy saw tears in her eyes.

“He’s a very special pig, you know. The son of Gretchen.” She stood on tiptoe to see the crate. “Gretchen is the best pig I ever had. I hated to let her go, but Tinnie Bucket wouldn’t have any other. Just fell in love with Gretchen.” She stepped back to the driver’s window. “He’s been neutered, but he’ll need a shot and a de-worming. I called Dr. Fox in Cowtail before you came and you can stop there on your way home if you’d like.”

“I think Drew loves him already.” Immy turned to Ralph. “Do you mind if we stop at the vet’s? Could you help us get him out?”

“No problem, Immy,” said Ralph. “I’m off until tomorrow.”

“Okay,” said Immy, buckling Drew and climbing into the van. She started it up, waved to Amy JoBeth, calling “Thanks!” and drove away, thinking out loud. “I’ll go to the vet’s first, then head home. Is that all right, Ralph?”

He turned and gave her that heartwarming smile of his. “I told you. I’m all yours tonight.”

She realized she hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to Amy JoBeth about those papers in her desk at Mike Mallett’s office. But she could do it another time. Now she wanted to get the pig home to meet Hortense.

Immy had begun to favor Ralph with a few dinner dates and he seemed satisfied with that for now, but how long would that last? It had taken awhile to be able to let her defenses down this far. Immy had a history of bad choices in men and knew she should probably give up on them. It was hard though. She was only twenty-two and she liked them. And Ralph made it clear he liked her a lot.

Immy didn’t know if she liked Ralph as much as Ralph liked her and she thought she ought to keep him at arm’s length more than she had lately. She was afraid she might be leading him on, as they used to say in school. He’d been over every night for two weeks building the pig pen, fixing up a shelter for it and lining it with straw. Next, he said, he would dig a hole and pour a cement pond for the pig. Immy felt like she needed to help, or at least entertain him.

But she had studying to do. She’d signed up for her online PI course three months ago and was already getting behind in the homework. There was so much to learn.

Ralph leafed through the sheets on pig care. “Hey, it says they can be trained to a litter box. I’d better get one set up in the pen. And one in the house, too, I guess. Do you need a pet door?”

“I don’t think that would work, Ralph.” The doors out of the single-wide, both the front and back doors, led to small wooden porches with steps to the ground. The pig would probably have to be carried in and out until it got bigger. “I need to study tonight.”

“That’s what you say every night. Why do you want a PI license anyway?”

Immy sighed. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

But they had reached the vet’s parking lot. “Later, Ralph. Let’s go get Marshmallow de-wormed, whatever that means.”

Ralph grinned. “It means the vet reaches down his throat and pulls slimy, stringy worms out.”

“Ew, gross!” called Drew. She giggled louder than Ralph.

“He does not. Don’t tell her that.” Immy frowned at Ralph. “He’ll just give Marshmallow some medicine, sweetheart. I think.”

Ralph fetched the pig while Immy unbuckled Drew. As soon as she set her daughter on the pavement, Drew ran around to the back of the van to see her new pet. An orange truck careened around the corner from behind the vet’s building and barreled toward her.

While Immy screamed her daughter’s name, Ralph, pig in one hand, grabbed Drew with the other and flattened both of them against the side of the van. Although Ralph didn’t get very flat.

“Son of a bitch,” yelled Immy after the careless speed demon, but the driver was out of hearing by the time she recovered enough speech for the curse.

Ralph hurled a few choice words of his own in lieu of the finger, since his hands were full. “Damn, I didn’t even get the license number with all that dirt on the plate. The sorry, fuckin’….” He shook his head, then his whole body, like a wet dog, and seemed to remember Drew. He gave Immy a sheepish look. “Sorry about that, ladies. Drew, Uncle Ralph should not have said that word.”

Drew ignored both the grownups and gave Marshmallow a kiss on his snout. “He has a big nose!” She giggled and stuck a finger up one of his large nostrils.

“Drew!” said Immy. “We don’t—.”

“I think he likes me.” Sure enough, the pig’s eyes were closed and he was grunting softly, sounding almost like a purring cat.

Immy wiped off Drew’s hand in case of lingering pig snot and held it tight, crossing the parking lot to the door, her hands trembling from the close encounter with the maniac driver. Inside, Ralph lowered Marshmallow to the green tile floor and handed Drew the end of the leash.

No one was behind the high counter, but a young woman soon showed up and gave them a high watt smile, which made her face seem mostly teeth. “HELL-o there. I’M Betsy Wiggins. Dr. Fox’s assistant. And YOU must be the people Ms. Anderson called about. How’s the little piggy doing?”

She looked at Immy as she said the last bit, which disconcerted Immy for a second. She thought Betsy had called her a little piggy. The toothsome smile, baring her glistening white teeth, and the shiny blonde helmet of hair above almost hurt Immy’s eyes.

“I think that’s what we’re here for, for you to tell us how he is,” said Immy. “Ms. Anderson says he needs a shot and de-worming, but I’d like Dr. Fox to give him a once-over.” After all, if you should get a car examined when you buy it, you probably should get a pig looked at, too.

“Sure thing. O-key DO-key.” Betsy sat to type at the computer. Her long, red fingernails clicked against the keys and Immy wondered what on earth she could be typing at such length.

“Well, all righty then,” Betsy said, straightening up when she finished her treatise, or whatever. “Y’all can wait in Room Two.” She flipped a wrist toward a door.

Immy saw two rooms, so deduced that the one Betsy hadn’t waved at must be Room One. Yipping exploded from it as they passed, but the puppy grew quiet as they entered their examination room. They could hear the departing dog owner talking to the doctor. Dr. Fox came in shortly afterward.

He was a tall, stringy man with carrot top hair and light blue eyes. “This is Gretchen’s little boy, isn’t it? He has her coloring.” Marshmallow seemed to like Dr. Fox, too. Maybe he liked everyone. Friendly piglet, Immy thought. That might make being a pig owner easier.

Dr. Fox peered into the pig’s mouth, eyes, and ears, then took a look at the other end and felt the soft, droopy tummy. He assured them that the pig was healthy and that the one shot and the de-worming was the only thing he needed that day, then stuck his head out the door and yelled, “Vern! Pig Inoculation! Wormer!”

“Vern and Betsy will take care of you,” he said to them as he left.

Immy knew Vern Linder from his brief stint as a dishwasher in the diner when she used to wait tables. He always seemed to have a job in Saltlick or Cowtail, sometimes in the much bigger town of Wymee Falls, but didn’t stick with any of them for long. Vern could be charming when he wanted, and kept himself in shape, except that he usually needed a haircut. He came into the room bearing a tray with a vial and syringe and threw Immy a smile that brought an answering grin. My, those dimples were cute.

She glanced at Ralph and wondered why he was frowning so hard. His eyes had that steely glint they got sometimes. Vern, Immy noted, still dressed like he was one step up from homeless.

Betsy followed Vern into the room and shut the door. “All righty, then. Ready for your shots, little guy?” she chirped. She fluttered her hands toward Marshmallow, just as Vern moved toward the counter with his tray.

The tray flew into the air.

The vial smashed on the tile floor.

When Vern hollered, Immy realized the needle had landed in Vern’s biceps.

Chapter 2

“Oh, I am SO sorry,” simpered Betsy. She snatched the syringe from Vern’s upper arm. Twisted it and yanked it out. Blood dripped from his arm and a drop spattered onto the floor.

“What in the HELL are you DOIN’, bitch?” Vern grabbed his arm, which prevented him from striking Betsy. Immy thought he looked like he wanted to.

Betsy’s eyes turned almost as hard as Ralph’s. “What did you call me?” Her ugly sneer threatened to crack her makeup.

“Never mind.” Vern opened the door, smearing blood on the doorknob and started out the door, running into Dr. Fox.

“I just came to tell you someth—What happened here?”

Vern threw Betsy a sour look and she glared back, her lips pursed tight.

Betsy spoke first. “Vern dropped some things and—”

“Your wonderful assistant, the one who sleeps around with married men, knocked the tray out of my hands, then she—”

“You were in my way or I wouldn’t have—”

“—then she stabbed me with a needle.” Vern parted his fingers to show Dr. Fox the blood, still oozing from the jab.

A shadow of bewilderment flitted across Dr. Fox’s narrow face. “Vern, wait in my office and I’ll bandage your arm. Betsy, bring a new syringe and dose for the patient. I saw the note you left.”

He turned to Immy and pulled his face into serious doctor mode. “About that note I just mentioned? I came in to tell you what I’ve just learned. The Buckets’ new pig, Gretchen, the sow who farrowed this little guy….” Dr. Fox gave Drew a worried glance. “Could I speak with you outside, Ms. Duckworthy?”

Immy threw Ralph a perplexed look and he lobbed it back. “I’ll stay here with Drew and Marshmallow,” he said.

The vet paused on his way out the door. “Marshmallow?”

Immy didn’t like his incredulous tone. She stuck her chin out, daring him to make fun of Drew. “Yes. My daughter named the pig Marshmallow.”

His face eased into a gentle smile. “What a wonderful name, Drew.”

Immy relaxed and followed him out of the examining room.

He kept his voice low so it wouldn’t carry into Drew. “Gretchen got out of her fence at the Buckets’ place.” Immy didn’t like the direction this was going. “I told them chicken wire wouldn’t hold a potbelly. Tinnie, Mrs. Bucket, thinks a drunken hunter killed her by accident, since she found Gretchen, dead, after she heard a shot outside her house.”

“Dead?”

“Tinnie wants me to do an autopsy. She had Rusty drop the pig off a short time ago. But all I can tell her is that a bullet killed Gretchen. I don’t do necropsies on pigs.”

“Thank you for sparing Drew. She doesn’t need to hear this right before her birthday, not when she just got Marshmallow.”

“I don’t want you to lose your pig the same way. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that chicken wire will make an adequate fence.”

“Oh, Ralph built us a nice wooden fence already.”

He frowned. “Be careful she doesn’t chew through it. If he could reinforce it with woven wire it might be better.”

This would mean more nights with Ralph over to the house. Less time for studying. “I’m sure he could.”

“I’ll take care of Marshmallow’s shot and de-worming today. Then I’ll go talk to Vernon and Betsy about professional behavior.” This last was added in an undertone.

As soon as Immy and Ralph got Drew and Marshmallow loaded into the van, Immy’s cell phone rang. She glanced at caller ID as she picked it out of her purse. “It’s Mother.”

“Geemaw!” called Drew to her grandmother. “Tell Geemaw ’bout my new pig.”

“Yes, sweetheart, I will.” Immy answered the summons, which turned out to be an urgent request for beef jerky from Jerry’s Jerky Shoppe.

“I guess I can,” Immy said into her cell. “What kind do you want?”

“My usual, I think,” her mother, Hortense, answered. “Oh, wait, I heard Rusty was going to begin processing porcine jerky. See if he will confer a free sample on you. If not, please purchase a modicum so I can examine and taste it.”

“Sure thing,” answered Immy, cutting the connection. “We’re going to Jerry’s Jerky first. For Mother.”

She glanced at Ralph to see if the detour would be okay. But he smiled and nodded. “Fine. I’ll get some, too.”

Ralph and her mother got along surprisingly well. Hortense was fond of demonstrating the full breadth and depth of her extensive vocabulary and, although Ralph could be slow on the uptake at times, he seemed to understand most of what she said. Hortense also had turned into darn good cook ever since the chief had started coming to supper, and Ralph loved to eat.

Jerry’s Jerky Shoppe was down the road a short piece from the vet’s clinic. The hot sun of the long summer day baked the hardtop road and wilted the grass in the ranch pastures stretching to the horizon. To her left, invasive mesquite shrubs clogged the pastureland, but the land to the right of the road was kept clear. That land belonged to the Buckets and was where they grazed some of their cattle. They had to burn the mesquite off every few years to keep it from choking out the sparse grass that managed to survive the hot summers and harsh winters on the high plains.