“Well,” Doc says, as we drive away from the Ferguson farm. “You did a good job out here. If you keep those grades up, and I know you will, I’m certain you’ll make it into vet school. Also, where you live doesn’t hurt. University admission people want some students from poor areas and give scholarships. That makes their stats look rounded out, which keeps their accrediting boards happy.” She looks across at me. “What’s wrong? Please don’t think I’m trying to force vet school on you.”
“No, it’s not that. I want to be a vet more than anything in the world. But Mr. Ferguson, when I asked him… he practically told me why my daddy was killed and other stuff about my mama.”
“What?”
“He said one of the Woodbines did it, probably Dale, which everybody thinks. But there was some kind of big trouble between my mama and Dale’s. Mrs. Woodbine pleaded with her menfolk not to kill Mama, so they shot my daddy instead; made it look like an accident.”
“That makes no sense, Vi. Unless… was there a feud between your clan and the Woodbines?”
“I don’t know. I asked Mama, but she wouldn’t tell me a thing.”
“Let me think. You said your father died about seven years ago?”
“That’s right.”
“At that time, I was a new vet, fresh out of school and starting my practice in Blaylock. I didn’t open the Bucktown office until a few years later. I’m trying to recall any talk in those days.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “You were busy.”
“No, there’s something in the back of my mind, if only I could remember.” She shakes her head. “I’ll give it some thought.”
When we drive into the clinic parking lot, it’s filled with cars. “Wish I could stay and help you out. You have a full house, Doc.”
“I appreciate that, but the best thing you can do for me is to go home, rest, and come back to work all well.”
“Can I take a look at the puppy again?”
Doc swings her truck door open. “Of course.”
We tread softly into the Trauma Room. “Look, Doc. She’s worked herself partly out of the blanket.” The dog raises her head a tiny bit and twitches her ears. “What do you think? At least she’s more active.”
“That’s a super good sign. If she keeps responding this positively, I’ll be one happy veterinarian.”
I put my hand next to the pup’s nose. “You keep getting better, Victory.”
“Great name, Vi; so appropriate.”
“Thanks. It just seemed right after what she’s gone through. I mean, even living this long…
She smiles and nods. “Now. Home. Rest. Doctor’s orders.”
“Gotcha. On my way.”
When I hoist myself into the truck, the pain in my side almost steals my breath, but it lets up a little on the drive home. I walk in the door, and a nail parlor smell blasts my nose. “Jess?”
“In here. Look. Whaddya think?” She waves half-painted emerald-green toenails at me.
“Glorious,” I tell her with a grin. “The word is glorious.”
She giggles. “I like it too.”
“Jess, I gotta tell you something real… really important. Mr. Ferguson told me.”
It must have been the tone of my voice, because her hand stops in midair and a splat of shiny emerald paint lands on her bare leg. “What?” she says, reaching for a cotton ball and polish remover.
“Where’s Mama? Still in the garden?”
“Naw. She’s making brownies for the church ladies.”
I close our bedroom door. “It’s about Mama and Mrs. Woodbine. Appears they used to be good friends, then something happened, like a big falling-out. Maybe that’s what’s in Dale’s craw. He thinks our mama ruined their friendship, so he killed Daddy.”
“Vi, that’s the craziest thing I ever heard. Friends fall out all the time over nothing, except sometimes because of guys. Who is this Mr. Ferguson, anyway?”
“His farm animals are Doc’s patients. He’s awful nice, and I believe him.”
Jessie shakes her head. “Well, don’t believe him on this one; sounds like some put-up story to me.”
“Yeah, but what if it is true? That could be why Dale’s after us now. First, he kills Daddy, now all of us.”
“So why would he let seven years go by and then decide to take the rest of us out? Makes no sense, Vi.”
“Not unless Mama’s done some harm to any of those Woodbines. I think we gotta talk to Uncle Gray. Don’t see another way around it, do you?”
Jess blows blonde hair out of her eyes. “Not really. But let’s hit up Mama first.” She leads us down the hall, toenails half polished. “Hey, Mama. You got a minute?”
“What do y’all want? I’m trying to get brownies made for my prayer lunch tomorrow.”
“Mama, Vi’s learned some stuff we need to talk about.”
“Why’re you carrying on? I got no time—”
Jess puts her hand out. “No. You gotta make time. The brownies can wait.”
“Well, get on with it. I’m already late with these.”
“That’s the biggest pail of hog slop I ever heard,” Mama snarls, holding her wooden spoon over the brownie mix.
I watch chocolate batter drip off the spoon into the bowl and wait for her to say something, anything, that could help us. Can’t help notice that her face is paler by a couple of shades and glistens with a sheen of sweat.
Jess and me, we stare at her and say nothing else. Finally, she clunks the ancient blue crockery bowl on the scarred counter and glares at us. “That Ferguson should shut his trap, making trouble like this for others. I’m gonna sic Gray on him. Why, he’ll whip the tar out of that pissant.”
I make my eyes small, and mean, and cold, like Dale’s. “No Mama, you’re not doing any such thing.”
“Y’all don’t know me. I can do any damn thing I put my mind to.”
I step closer to Mama. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. What happened between you and Mrs. Woodbine to put such terrible danger on us? We need to know—now.”
She backs away from me like I’ve got lice. “I am fixing to tell you two nothing, because there’s nothing to tell. Your daddy was killed in an accident, plain and simple; says so right on his death certificate. As for the Woodbines, I don’t want to hear any of their names mentioned again in my house, hear?”
“Yes, we hear, Mama, and you need to know something too. Jess and me? We’ll get to the truth of this mess, then take care of it ourselves.”