Chapter 1

     Becky Harrington looked up from the pile of work on her desk when she heard the door chime, indicating another client on this busy Monday morning. Her eyes rested on the figure of a man dressed in tight blue jeans and a black western hat. His muscular frame could not hide behind the loose fitting, button-down shirt.   She instantly noticed his arm in a sling—probably a rodeo accident. She envisioned him mounting an angry, snorting bull, hurling snot, eagerly waiting for the gate to open to rid himself of the uninvited rider.
     Dr. Calvin J. Getsbowm walked in, disrupting her dreamlike vision of the handsome cowboy.
     “Glen, what the hell brings you here? And what the hell did you do to your arm?”
     Becky rearranged her long braids, pretending to be too busy with her paperwork to notice the conversation between the men.
     Glen, a slight blush infusing his tanned face, hated having attention drawn to him.
     “Oh, nothing. It’s just a little gunshot wound, nothing serious. I wouldn’t be wearing this damned sling but it keeps me from using the arm. I already broke the wound open once from not following doctor’s orders.”
     “Since when did you ever follow orders?”
     Cal knew Glen from the time he was a young boy living with his parents on the family farm. Glen shadowed Cal’s every move while he sutured up the family dog or performed a C-section on a cow standing in a squeeze chute. He especially liked it when Doc needed an extra set of hands. Glen’s family always believed he would grow up to become a veterinarian. Chances were good he’d work for Dr. Getsbowm then someday take over the practice. No one, not even Glen, had the slightest inkling he would become a top-notch detective in the big city instead. Frustrated from dealing with the flaws of humanity, he often considered returning to the classroom to fulfill his early childhood dream of becoming a veterinarian.
     Becky, though it took her a few seconds with his nonchalant response, couldn’t help but look up when she heard Glen had been shot, arousing strong curiosity about this newcomer. Was it a bar fight? Had he been mugged? Why was everyone so calm about a man being shot?
     Angie popped into the room to tell Dr. Getsbowm a cat, to be neutered, was prepped and on the operating table.
     “Well, well, if it isn’t Detective Karst. What brings you here?” asked Angie.
     Glen smiled at her.
     “I see you’re still hanging around here. How do you know I didn’t come all this way just to see you?”
      “Oh, give me a break.” Angie, dressed in the typical attire for a rural veterinary clinic, blue jeans, t-shirt, and scrub top, knocked dried manure from her boot. She moved closer to Glen, looking him squarely in the eye as she gripped his white sling between her thumb and forefinger.
     “Now what’d you do?”
     Before Glen could respond, Becky piped in, “He got shot.”
     “Again? I thought you would’ve learned how to dodge those bullets by now, Detective Karst,” Angie teased.
     Becky’s nearly black eyes grew huge as she sat back staring at Glen. “Whoa. A detective,” she whispered to herself.
     Glen chuckled. His jovial personality allowed easy laughter, especially at himself.
     “I guess maybe I’m getting too old to duck and weave the way I should.”
     “Yeah, right,” said Angie.
     She slid two chairs together, planting herself in one while pointing to the other. Glen plopped down in front of her.
     “Okay, spill it Detective.”
     Angie wanted the entire story, first hand. Small towns love scandal and the most important gossip comes directly from the source. Knowledge wields importance to the first person to attain the dirty details.
     Glen, embarrassed once again about the unwanted attention, said, “There’s really not much to tell. I was working a job in Omaha.”
     Angie cut in, “Wait a minute, Omaha? Why were you in Omaha? I thought you worked in Denver. Don’t tell me you moved and we’re never gonna see you again.”
     “Actually, I did move.”
     “Damn it, I knew it. You’re here to say good-bye, aren’t you?”
     Sadness surfaced on Becky’s face. She finally met her first detective, well; she hadn’t exactly met him yet. No one formally introduced them, but at least she could say she met him. Now he’s leaving before she could even get a chance to know him.
     “That’s not why I’m here. I’m here because…”
     “Forget about why you’re here, tell me about the gunfight.”
     “As I was saying…” he teased. “I was working a job in Omaha, guarding two women who were in the hospital.”
     Angie leaned closer. “I’ll bet they were beautiful, right? Had to be beautiful women to get you all the way to Omaha.”
     “Let him tell the story,” Becky blurted out.
     Glen looked up at her. His smile started a blush just above her breasts that quickly reddened her entire face.
     “I don’t believe we’ve met,” said Glen. He stood to shake her hand. She extended her right hand but immediately realized his right arm was in a sling. Reaching for his left hand, she then switched to her left hand, making a very awkward moment out of a simple handshake. She finally had to giggle, and with the giggle she relaxed.
     “Hi, I’m Becky Harrington, the new receptionist.”
     “Nice to meet you Becky. I’m Glen. Forgive me for not introducing myself before, too many interruptions,” he said, shooting a mischievous glance at Angie.
     Angie glanced over her shoulder, knowing she should get back to work, but she really wanted this story.
     “Okay, okay. Tell us what happened. I have work to do.”
     Glen returned to his seat. He adjusted the sling, trying not to reveal the pain he still experienced. He had a prescription but refused to use it. He felt it dulled his alertness. In his mind, a cop can’t exist without being totally aware of his surroundings at all times.
     “It’s really no big deal. The guy who tried to murder them in the first place was stalking these women. I set up a trap in their hospital room and he walked right into it. When I burst into the room to surprise him, he shot me.”
     “Did you shoot him back?” asked Becky.
     “I had no choice but to drop him,” replied Glen.
     “Don’t be so modest,” said Angie.
     “What exactly do you mean by drop him?” asked Becky.
     Glen tried to think of a gentle way to phrase his next words.
     “He’s dead. Right, Glen?” said Angie.
     He nodded.
     Becky, with her head resting upon her hands and her elbows on the counter hanging on his every word, said “Wow.” Then she slid quietly back into her chair.
     Crime in small towns is so minimal—breaking and entering, minor vandalisms, gasoline being stolen from a farm by teenagers, but almost no violence against another person, unless it’s a fist fight over a girl at a party, or a couple of guys over-indulging. The next day usually mends all friendships.
     Detective Karst brought a piece of the real world into this small town vet clinic, touching Becky’s sensitive side.
     “Well, I’d love to sit and chat but there’s a horse out back that’s ready to be castrated and Phil needs my help.”
     Angie gave Glen a hug before she left the room.
    “Detective Karst, do you need an appointment?” asked Becky.
    “Glen. Just call me Glen. I have my dog with me. She’s gonna need shots and a physical. I’m thinking about breeding her.”
     “What breed is she?” Becky asked, as she began filling out the clinic form.
     “German shepherd.”
     “How old?”
     “She’s three.”
     “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask, has she been here before?”
     “Nope, I just got her. She’s retired from the force with a leg injury. Actually, we’ve got a lot in common. She was shot, too. Her leg sustained enough damage that she’ll never have the ability to run any distance on it. She made a great cop, really loved her work. They retired her before she could hurt herself. She’s got a lot of heart.”
     “Oh, that’s too bad,” said Becky, with a rise in the pitch of her voice. She took the job at the clinic because she loved animals and thought it would be fun to see all the puppies and kittens coming in for their first shots. She didn’t realize the blood, guts, and gore associated with a rural vet practice. With no trauma centers or twenty-four hour emergency clinics, these vets treated every injury in the county. Taking turns being on call for the night shift, they were their own twenty-four hour emergency clinic.
     “What’s her name?”
     “Mieke.”
     “Okay, how do you spell that?”
     “M-i-e-k-e, you pronounce it Mee-kah.”
     Dr. Janet K. Jensen walked to the front desk to greet her next patient.
     “Glen, what did you do to your arm?” she asked, as she gave him a gentle hug, attempting to avoid causing him any discomfort.
     “Just a scratch.”
     She looked at her watch.
     “Do you have time to go to lunch with us?” she asked.
     “I’ve got my dogs with me. Cheyenne rode along.”
     “That’s okay, we can put them in a kennel. Phil should be just about done with that horse and I know Cal was finishing up on the cat. It should only be a few minutes.”
     Dr. Phillip E. Davis, the third veterinarian in the practice, tended to be a little more reserved than Cal or Janet. He preferred to work on horses rather than small animals.
     “I’ll get the girls then,” said Glen.
     “You stay put. Becky, call Susie and Maria up front. They can get Glen’s dogs and put them in a kennel in the back. Make sure they walk them first.”
     Susie and Maria approached the front desk. Glen tossed his keys to Susie. At first, he was surprised they didn’t ask about his arm but quickly realized Angie had already told them the story.
     Janet slipped back down the hall to her office while Becky answered phones and set up appointments for later in the week.
     Glen entertained himself by wandering around the lobby, checking out pet products and reading dog food bags. He wondered about diet changes for Mieke with his plans to breed her.
     He read flyers from other animal owners on the bulletin board. An ad for a large, black gelding caught his eye. It had been years since he owned a horse. The urge never quite left, even though he spent so many years living in the city. He made a mental note of the horses, the barn kittens, and ads for puppies.
     Phil and Janet walked up behind him.
     Phil slapped him on the back. “Look at you. I heard you were shot.”
     “It’s a scratch for Pete’s sake,” he said, as he lifted his right arm away from his body. “I just wear the sling for attention.”
     Cal joined them. “Let’s go eat. I’m hungry.”
     The three vets and Glen left the clinic together.
     After they stepped outside, the girls who remained gathered around the front desk. They intentionally never scheduled clients during the lunch hour, allowing the vets to eat together. The vets used this precious time to discuss cases and clients. However, today Glen would be their topic of discussion.
     Once they placed their orders for cheeseburgers and fries, Cal turned his attention to Glen.
     “I hear you moved?”
     “Not quite yet, but soon. Just bought the old Watkins place.”
     “No shit? The city’s too much for you, huh? Got shot one too many times?”
     “They changed the rules and cops no longer have to live within the city limits. You all know me; I’m just a country boy at heart. I’ve been looking around off and on for a while now. Since Debbie and I split and put the house on the market, I thought a quiet little place in the country would be perfect.”
     “You and Debbie split up?” asked Phil “What happened?”
     Janet quickly booted him under the table and spoke up before Glen had a chance to respond.
     “Tell us about your arm.”
     “There’s not much to say. I got shot, but returned fire and sent the son of a bitch straight to hell.”
     “What’s this about you re-injuring your wound?” asked Cal.
     “I’m not supposed to use the arm until it heals up because it tends to bleed easily. I wasn’t even supposed to shift gears with it.”
     “Yeah, but knowing you, that didn’t stop you,” chided Janet, as she took a bite of her burger.
     “I know you didn’t damage it shifting your truck. What the hell’d you do?” asked Phil.
     “I picked up more weight than I was supposed to.” Glen remained evasive as he slathered ketchup and mustard over his burger.
     “Look, if you don’t want to tell us, you don’t have to,” said Janet.
     “Speak for yourself,” said Cal. “I, for one, want to know. What’d you pick up?”
     Glen set his beer down and wiped the foam from his lip.
     “A woman. I carried a woman, make that two women, from a burning house.”
     By now, the waitress had returned to listen to Glen’s story. She leaned down, putting her cheek next to his.
     “I just have to squeeze a real hero,” she said. She walked away then returned with a large piece of cheesecake smothered with cherries. She licked the sauce that dripped onto her finger.
     “What’s this?” asked Glen.
     “I had a cheesecake in the kitchen from last night’s church dinner. I planned to take it home with me tonight. But, I remembered how much you love your cheesecake. I thought, after your heroic deed, you deserved it.”
     “Hey, I saved a cow and her calf this morning,” said Cal. “Isn’t that heroic enough to warrant a piece of cheesecake?”
     “Sorry, my husband wouldn’t agree. He’s expecting it for dessert tonight,” the waitress replied.
     “Glen, why were two women in a burning house, and why were you the one to haul them out?” asked Janet.
     “It’s a long story. I was in Omaha working on a case. I rented a room in exchange for some carpentry work from a young widow and, long story short, she had some strange events happening in her life. I put the pieces together and arrived on the scene just as the house was about to go up in flames, and carried her and one of her sisters out.
     “Shortly after I carried them out, I passed out from smoke inhalation, and came to with an oxygen mask on my face, and some paramedic trying to stop the bleeding in my arm.
     “Since then, believe it or not, I’ve actually been trying to take care of it.”
     Cal slid his fork gently into the edge of Glen’s cheesecake, slicing off a bite. “Tell us about the Watkins place.”
     “Not much to tell. I needed a place to live and thought it would be nice to return to my roots. It’s not that long of a commute to Denver from here. I only work four days a week, and most of my research can be done from home. I get so tired of all the sheep in the city.”
     “Sheep? What sheep?” asked Janet.
     “All the assholes who follow each other around doing the same stupid things, just like a flock of sheep—bunch of damn followers.”
     “When are you moving in?” asked Cal.
     “Next week, if all goes well.”
     “How are you gonna move with your arm like that?” asked Janet.
     “I’ll manage.”
     “The hell you will. We’ll gather a crew together and help. You just shout orders and we’ll follow, like a bunch of damn sheep,” said Cal.
     “I can’t let you guys do that.”
     “We didn’t ask you now, did we?” said Cal.
     “Where’d you get the new dog?” asked Phil, changing the subject.
     “She’s retired from the force. Thought I’d breed her, now that I have room to have a few animals around.”
     Janet’s cell phone disturbed their lunch conversation.
     “Again? How bad is she? We’ll be right there.”
     “What’s up?” asked Phil, as he stuffed the last bit of lunch into his already full mouth.
     “Ed Kurtleman brought Taffy in again. She’s in pretty bad shape.”
     “Don’t tell me she got hit by another car,” said Cal.
     “You guessed it.”
     The three vets stood to leave. Glen followed their lead, leaving the rest of his lunch. He gulped his beer and carried his cheesecake out the door. In small towns, no one worried the visiting cop would make away with one of their glass plates. They knew he’d return it after he washed and dried it.
                                            ***
     Glen followed Cal and Janet into the exam room where the vet techs had already anesthetized Taffy, a sable and white Welsh corgi, and had begun shaving her damaged leg.
     Glen stepped back out of the work zone, as he watched the crew take their places. One tech held the mask over the dog’s muzzle, while the other finished shaving and scrubbing the surgery site. The x-rays of her leg were mounted on the viewing board with the lights showing the break.
     Glen studied the x-ray. “What are those?” he asked, pointing to white spots in the bone of the injured leg, her hip, and the other hind leg.
     Cal glanced up at the x-ray.
     “Those are pins in her bones from previous accidents.”
     “Is she accident prone or just plain stupid?” asked Glen.
     “Neither,” said Angie. “The owner’s stupid.”
     Janet shot her a stern look.
     “Well, he is.”
     Janet turned to Glen.
     “He’s not very careful about keeping her in the yard. Her little body is so close to the ground, she’s hard to see when she’s near a moving vehicle. Actually, it’s Ed who keeps running her over.   He’s always in a hurry and she’s anxious to ride along. If he doesn’t take the time to lift her into the back of the pickup, she tries to run up to it to jump in, and ends up falling over and rolling under the tires.”
     “Crap. See what I mean about stupid people,” said Glen. His heart went out to the little dog. He had a soft spot for animals. He preferred them to most people he knew.
     Ed appeared at the door.
     “How bad is she this time?” he asked.
     “Bout the same as last time,” said Janet, irritated with his lax attitude about the whole ordeal.
     Glen studied the man’s facial expressions, disappointed to see the lack of concern for the dog.
     “This is her last time. If she gets herself into trouble again, I’m not spending another dime on her. She’s pretty worthless as a cow dog now, all crippled up like that.”
     Angie couldn’t restrain herself any longer, “Maybe you should either give away the dog or your stupid truck.”
     Ed pretended to ignore her. A smile crept up at the corners of   Janet’s mouth. She turned away from Ed so he wouldn’t notice.
     They finished the surgery then carried the groggy Taffy to a kennel in the back. Ed said his good-byes and left.
     “Let’s take a look at your new dog,” said Cal to Glen.
     Angie went to the kennel to slip a leash on her. Glen was about to hoist her onto the exam table when Cal stopped him.
     “Thought you weren’t supposed to lift anything.”
     Cal slipped his arms around the chest and back legs of the German shepherd, lifting her onto the exam table.
     “What’s her name?”
     “Mieke.”
     Cal checked her heart, mouth, and ears then palpated her internal organs. “So you say you want to breed her?” he asked.
     “Yeah, do you think she’s in good enough health?”
     Cal shook down the thermometer after taking a reading.
     “She’s a fine animal, Glen, a fine animal. I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t be able to raise some nice pups out of her.”
     “Great. What’s next?”
     “Any idea when she had her last heat cycle?”
     “Sorry, no, I don’t.”
     “I’m gonna draw some blood now, and run a fecal, and do a vaginal swab. Why don’t you give us a call tomorrow or stop by, and I’ll let you know if we find anything.”
     “That’ll be great.”
      Susie hurried into the room. “Cal, George Peterson called.   He’s got a horse down with colic.”
     Cal washed his hands then rushed out the door with Susie to drive to George’s farm.
     Angie and Becky helped Glen load his dogs, and he headed back to Denver.
     Midmorning the next day, Glen stopped by the clinic. He’d been to his new place making plans for the move.
     “Morning, Detective Karst,” said Becky.
     “Glen.”
     “Oops. Sorry, Glen. What can I do for you?”
     “I’m here for the test results for Mieke.”
     Becky left the front desk to find a vet or tech who could give Glen the answers he needed. Angie followed her to the front.
     “Doc says she’s fine,” said Angie.
     “Great.” Glen turned to leave. “Say, how’s that little dog, Taffy?”
     “She’s doing better than her owner,” said Angie.
     “Why do you say that?”
     “He was found dead this morning.”
     “Jesus. What happened?”
     Had they been in the city, Glen wouldn’t have been surprised, but things like this don’t happen often in the country.
     “Not sure. His neighbor found him under his truck. He must’ve been checking something underneath, and it rolled over the top of him. Pinned under the tire, they say. One of the neighbors stopped by to talk to him when he didn’t show up at the coffee shop this morning. I told him he should’a got rid of that truck.”
                                                                 ~Back To Top~