Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Luke
It wasn’t often Luke got a call to handle large animals, but when he did, there were two people he could rely on: Darren Duarte and Mel Chassi.
Both of whom hated each other’s guts.
But they had one major thing in common, other than being each other’s ex: They loved animals to the core of their beings.
Darren was the town veterinarian, and Luke was in his office before they headed out for lunch, the doc stocking pharmaceutical packages and organizing a cabinet while Luke availed himself of some crappy overcooked coffee from the machine.
Darren was a decade older, so their friendship had formed fairly late, about five years ago, and Luke liked their conversations.
Talking about something other than his kid was nice sometimes.
“Kylie Hood, huh? Man. Haven’t heard that name in years. I hear she has a smoking hot bod and a smile that lights up the town.”
“Cut it out, Darren.”
“What? I can’t pay her a compliment?”
“Not when it comes from your pants.”
“Speaking of pants…” Darren looked down at his work khakis, which were currently crusted with a mud-like substance that Luke suspected was not mud. “That pony really didn’t like being in a Ford Fiesta.”
“Who the hell crams a horse inside a hatchback?”
It was a rhetorical question.
They both knew.
“Old man Bevenili doesn’t spend a dime without making it scream. You know that. Didn’t want to pay the vet transport fee.”
“Crazy.”
“To you and me? Sure. To a guy who is eighty-nine and living only on his Social Security check and whatever the farm brings in? Makes sense. Most of the work I do for him is barter.”
“What does he produce that you want?” Luke asked, incredulous.
“For one thing, Bevenili’s land has some of the best mushrooms around.”
“That’s your hobby!”
“Sure is. And he makes it easy. I’m set for life as long as he and his ponies stay alive and I can go on the hunt.”
Around here, the mushroom people were some of the weirdest characters in the area. Mycologist rhymed with psychologist, which was what most of them needed. Luke was sure most of them were good, well-balanced, emotionally healthy humans.
Those weren’t the ones he ran into in the woods.
“Good for you. Have fun. I’ll just buy my boring white cap mushrooms at Kendrill’s Market, like everyone else.”
“You have no idea what you’re missing.”
“Accidental poisoning, fisher cat bites, wild boars–you’re right, Darren. I’m really depriving myself.”
“Let’s get back to Kylie Hood. You like her?”
“Of course. Wouldn’t have hired her if I didn’t.”
“You like her?” His tone took a prurient turn.
“Cut it out, Darren,” Luke warned.
“Can’t bang your nanny, dude. Everyone knows that.”
“Hey!”
“What? Just because you don’t like the answer doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
“Not that. Don’t be so disrespectful about Kylie.”
“What was disrespectful?”
“Bang.”
“You want me to use a different word? How about fu–”
Luke shut him up with a well-timed water bottle to the head. Too bad Darren had great reflexes from years of avoiding horse kicks.
Their phones buzzed like mad, in unison, and they both went instantly serious.
And both muttered a curse.
“Giraffe accident at Murphy’s Curve,” Luke read, rubbing one eye because there was no way his phone actually said that.
“Mine says the same thing.”
Murphy’s Curve was less than five minutes from the veterinary hospital.
“Let’s go–must be bad if we’re both called at the same time.” Darren grabbed a huge medical bag and ran outside, climbing into his pickup truck. Luke got in his cruiser and turned on the siren and lights, because hey.
Wasn’t every day you had a giraffe accident. If anything called for flashing lights, it was this.
Four and a half minutes later, they pulled up to Murphy’s Curve, the name a bit misleading. Yes, it was a curve. Yes, the Murphy farm was here, where it had been in continuous operation since 1730.
But it was the bridge you drove under that epitomized Murphy’s Curve.
Every year, at least three or four truck drivers made the grave mistake of thinking the warning sign that screamed “10 feet, 2 inches!” couldn’t be right.
Normally, it was the top of a moving van or a bread truck that was stuck in the stone arch of the ancient bridge.
But this time?
It was a giraffe’s head.
A dark green SUV that had seen better days was parked smack in the middle of the right lane, its hood under the tunnel, the hatch still in the sun.
A giraffe’s neck and head stuck out of the open sunroof on the vehicle, the poor thing looking half drunk way up high, its head mercifully not stuck, but resting against the top of the arch.
“Oh, no. Not her,” Darren moaned as Luke got out of his car and began to assess the situation.
Mel Chassi was arguing with Potter Barnes, a deputy with the sheriff’s office.
Potter was nice enough but not exactly blessed in the spatial reasoning department, and it was clear he was intimidated by Mel.
Which made him about average, because most people were.
Mel wasn’t particularly big or tall, and she didn’t have bucketloads of charisma, but what she lacked in those departments, she made up for in intensity. Eight years older than Luke, she was fiercely protective of animals. All animals.
Except for humans.
And right now, her giraffe was preventing her from driving under the Murphy’s Curve bridge, its head pressing up on the arch, making Luke wonder if it were literally stuck.
And how in the heck that had happened.
“Oh, goody. More cops,” Mel said as he walked over, looking up.
“Here to help, Mel. You know how we work.”
Deprecating snorts he was used to, but Mel elevated it to an art. “In that case, maybe you can help Potter here understand that what I need is a veterinary chiropractor, so poor Needle can get back to the sanctuary.”
“Needle?” Darren looked up at the distressed animal, who seemed frozen in place, the top of its head scraping the bottom of the arch.
“You here to help or make fun of names?” Mel challenged.
“How did this happen?” Luke inquired, ready for a doozy of a story.
“One of those exotic animal collectors,” Mel said, as if she had a rotten oyster in her mouth. “Some jerk near Farmington. Abandoned all of them when his prized tiger got loose. I offered to watch Needle here until someone from a ranch down in Florida can get up here.”
“So this poor thing has never even been to your place yet?” Darren asked, righteous anger on the animal’s part making Luke warm up on the inside. His buddy could be gruff, but he was also moral to the core.
“Right. She’s traumatized. And I’ve been driving nice and slow the entire way, but...”
“From Farmington? That’s an hour on back roads!”
“Closer to two going as slow as I have.”
“No trailer?”
“Hitch broke.”
“So you came in an SUV to get a giraffe!”
“In my defense, Needle is a baby.”
Luke, Darren, and Potter all craned their necks up to look at Needle.
“I don’t know anything about giraffes, but that doesn’t seem like a baby,” Potter said contemplatively.
“I was given all my information from a very nice, distraught humane society volunteer. Once I got there, I couldn’t do anything but put the poor thing in my SUV and drive.
And for the record, she is a baby. Poor thing is still nursing.
Estimated to be about a week or two old.
No mother giraffe at the ‘collector’s’ compound.
No way could I fit a full-sized giraffe in an SUV! ”
“How much does she weigh?” Luke asked.
“About two hundred and fifty pounds.”
Potter let out a low whistle.
“How, exactly, did you get her in there?” Darren asked.
“We sedated her.”
“A properly trained vet did that, I hope.”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t he accompany you? Or why not call me?”
“She was a bit busy managing the three baby elephants and a very sick mama.”
“Good grief!” Luke couldn’t help but interject. “Elephants?”
“These ‘collectors’ have no decency. They abuse and neglect the animals, then sell them to people.”
“Rachel’s dad collects exotic animals,” Luke mused aloud. “Kell mentioned it to me.”
“Really? My opinion of him just dropped.”
“I’m sure they don’t abuse their animals.”
“Well, poor Needle here definitely wasn’t treated well. And I’m probably going back for more rescues.”
“No elephants!” Darren boomed, earning a withering look from Mel.
“If I have to, I will. You know how I work. Get them safe and stable first, then find someone who knows how to help them.”
Darren huffed. “Oh, I know all too well. You have a huge heart. Too huge. You act like there are no limits to how much you can do, and -- ”
“Are you going to give me a lecture like you did when we were married, or are you going to help poor Needle here?”
“I can manage both at the same time.”
“And that’s why I didn’t call you when I was informed of the mess in Farmington,” she said with an angry sigh.
Luke was about to intervene and calm all the ruffled feathers when Darren shook his head, looked up at Needle, and declared: “All you need is some muscle relaxers and she’ll fold like a snipped rope.” Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a syringe.
“Don’t you dare,” Mel growled.
“You want my help, or not?”
“Not. Not if that’s the only solution.”
Needle began making weird sounds, breathing hard and sputtering.
Darren frowned. “She’s in distress. We need to hurry.”
“No muscle relaxers! The cranio person’s almost here.”
“The what?”
Mel sighed, exasperated. “The vet chiro is out of town, so I called in a cranio-sacral specialist.”
“For a giraffe? You and your woo.”
“It's not woo! She’ll be able to get Needle to relax the fascia enough to bend. Poor thing’s been sedated once already.”
“I can get her to relax that with one jab.” Darren walked over to Needle, touching her gently, making calming noises. Mel seemed to relax as she recognized the compassion in her ex.
“No drugs! Needle’s a slow acetylator.”
“Huh?” Luke asked, wondering if that was something like an elevator.