Free Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 01 - Headaches Can Be Murder by Marilyn Rausch, Mary Donlon Page B

Oscar’s Holstein bull. Jethro was mighty sick, and then this weekend he bellied up, all twenty-four-hundred pounds of him. Too bad. The fella was the best breeder in Boone County.”
    This really didn’t explain anything to Chip. “So why does a dead bull cause all these farmers to congregate? Surely cows die all the time. Are they holding a wake for him or something?”
    Iver peered at him oddly. “It’s how Jethro died that’s got them all worried and speculating. Some said it might be Mad Cow, but Doc Swanson, she said no, isn’t anything like Mad Cow and nothing like anything she’s ever seen before. It’s a mystery, just like in those books you write. She had to put Oscar’s whole dang herd in isolation.”
    “How do you know about the book I wrote?”
    “Read it.”
    Chip was amazed. “You read The Cranium Killer ?”
    “Ja, I had some time on my hands. Not too much snowplowing since that first big blast we had. Chief Fredrickson lent me his copy. Can’t say I cared too much for all the details about how the killer cut out the brains of those women. Pretty gross. That story’s making some of the women in town a little edgy around you—”
    “It’s not a memoir,” Chip broke in. “Jeez. It’s fiction.”
    Iver was nodding. “Mabel’s been assuring them that you’re a decent, dog-loving guy.”
    Bernice arrived with two plates balanced on her arms and a carafe in each hand.
    “I nuked those cinnamon rolls a tad for you guys and added a pat of butter just for good measure. Enjoy.”
    Chip and Iver dug into the fat, cholesterol, and sugar and listened to the conversations around them. Words of worry and agitation took seed, sprouted and grew in numbers as the farmers of Turners Bend faced the threat of an unknown disease among their cows.
    “If it ain’t Mad Cow, then what in the hell is it?” said the farmer wearing a green John Deere cap.
    “Don’t know. It’s enough to make a fella wonder if isn’t one of those bio-terrorist attacks we’re always reading about.”
    “Poor Oscar. I heard when Dr. Jane put his herd into isolation, his ticker just about gave out. This could ruin the old codger, if he doesn’t kick the bucket first.”
    Licking cream cheese frosting off his fingers, Iver said, “With Mabel out sick and Doc busy with this bull business, maybe we should go over to the clinic and see how Honey’s doing with your little ones.”
     
     
    Honey lay contently with seven little bodies nestled at her side each sucking away with vigor. Chip counted the puppies and then got a sick feeling in his gut.
    Jane entered and he asked, “Where’s my last little guy?”
    “Oh, he’s in a warmer,” she said, pointing across the room. “We’re hand feeding him until he’s strong enough to fight for a place at his mother’s table. I could sure use some help today. Here, I’ll show you how to feed him. By the way, we’re calling him Runt. I hope you don’t mind.
    “Chip, Honey should be spayed soon. It’s the responsible thing to do. Too many puppies in the country never find homes.”
    “I’m kind of liking this puppy thing,” Chip said as he cradled the little golden pup, “but I know I have to spay her. Promise I’ll have you do it soon.”
    While Iver fussed over the puppies, Chip sat holding Runt and feeding him with a tiny bottle that looked like the kind that children used to feed their baby dolls.
    “Which one are you going to take, Iver?” asked Chip.
    “I don’t have time to take care of a puppy what with the training and all.”
    “We’ll see about that.” Chip chuckled to himself.
     
     
    Back at home that afternoon Chip found a new email from Lucinda.
     
    Monday, November 28, 3:47 p.m.
    Chip,
    You won’t believe this, but I got a call from Howard Glasser. Yes, the movie producer! He’s interested in buying the movie rights to The Cranium Killer. I’m meeting with him in La La Land next week. On the way to Hollywood I’ll need to meet with you to go