Dead to Rights

“Dr. Buckwalter?” Joa

He glanced up at her. “Yes. What is it?”

“Don’t worry about Mr. Morgan,” Joa

The practiced but phony smile dimmed. “You’re saying I have to let him stand out there and harass my customers without doing anything about it?” Bucky returned irritably.

Instead of being irate that Hal Morgan was outside the clinic gates of Buckwalter Animal Clinic protesting Bo

Joa

“That’s right,” she replied firmly. “You’re to do nothing at all. Leave Hal Morgan alone. And just to be on the safe side, don’t water down your parking lot as long as he’s out there, either. Some of that icy spray just might make it over the fence into the public right-of-way. That would be unfortunate. Don’t forget, Dr. Buckwalter, harassment is a two-way street.”

Before Bucky could respond and before Joa

“Oh, Dr. Buckwalter!” Irene exclaimed. “I’m so glad you’re here. Murphy Brown has some kind of bone stuck in her throat. I’ve been trying for almost an hour to get it out with a pair of tweezers, but I can’t do it myself. She just won’t hold still long enough so I can grab it.”

“Come on,” Bucky said at once, holding open the door to one of the examining rooms. “Bring Murphy right on in here. I’ll see what I can do for her.”

Irene Collins dropped both her purse and the brochure on the counter as she hurried toward the examining room. Terry Buckwalter left the purse where it was, but with a glance in her husband’s direction, she snatched up the brochure and tossed it into the trash. She wasn’t quite fast enough at removing the offending piece of paper. Bucky had already seen it. They all had.

Irene and the ailing Murphy Brown disappeared into the examining room. Shaking his head, the vet stalked after them. Joa

“I’m sorry about all this,” Terry Buckwalter called after her. “It’s so embarrassing.”

Terry was clearly stuck in a no-win situation. Maybe Bucky Buckwalter didn’t feel any regret over the death of Hal Morgan’s wife, but Joa

Terry Buckwalter’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s where you’re wrong,” she mumbled. “It’s a problem for both of us.”

Joa

“How’s it going?” she whispered.

“It’s a good thing you got here when you did,” he said. “You’re up next. From the treasurer’s report of another downturn in expected tax revenues, it isn’t going to be any kind of picnic.”

And it wasn’t, either. Joa

Their friendship had started with their first day in seventh grade at Lowell School. During lunch recess, one of the boys had made the mistake of calling Maria

The half-breed comment had been a typical grade school taunt, delivered with casual indifference and with zero expectation of consequence. What Maria

The Maculyeas had moved to Safford by the time Maria

“You look like you’ve been through a meat grinder,” Maria

“I’m sorry it shows that much,” Joa

Joa

“Besides,” Joa

“You’ve got me,” Maria

Daisy Maxwell, the cafe’s rail-thin, seventy-year-old owner, plunked an empty cup and saucer down in front of Joa