The Postman is Late by Vicki Vass

Author:Vicki Vass [Vass, Vicki]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780692552353
Published: 2015-11-03T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

It was a perfect summer morning but I could tell it was going to get hot. It was already in the mid 70s. I made my newspaper deliveries and saw a raccoon slinking along Helen’s curbside evergreens. They were getting bolder. They usually weren’t out at this time of day. The sneak thief stood up on its hind legs and hissed at me. In its claw was a piece of meat. Its mouth was all crusty and bloody. I thought the blood was from whatever it was eating but then it fell over dead.

Jim Reeney was back in Alexian Brothers, recovering from his last tranquilizer dart battle. I wouldn’t call him anyway. I went home, got a shovel and a black garbage bag. I shoveled the raccoon into the bag, tied it up tight and threw him in my Saturn’s trunk. I drove to the animal clinic, which was adjacent to the dog park. I didn’t want to leave the raccoon on the sidewalk. I was worried the kids might touch it on their way to summer camp.

I left the raccoon in the trunk and went inside the Woodland View Animal Clinic. “Hi Audrey,” I said to the veterinary assistant. I met her during the annual pet lover’s fair the park district holds every fall. The fair features demonstrations, animal adoption booths and local pet-related crafts. I felt a little hypocritical wearing the t-shirt “I heart PAWs,” but I liked helping out at community events. “Is Dr. Grover available? I have an emergency.” I asked her.

Audrey went in the back room and retrieved Dr. Grover, a nice young man with shaggy brown hair and puppy dog eyes. “What’s the emergency, Jan?”

“Doc, come with me. It’s out in my trunk.” He followed me out the clinic doors. I opened the trunk, and he opened the bag. He closed the bag up and brought the raccoon into one of his examination rooms. I followed behind him.

“Where’d you find this, Jan?” He set the bag on the steel examination table.

“It was just walking down our street. It hissed at me and dropped dead,” I said. “It looks sick like the raccoon from the night out.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The night of the National Night Out, a raccoon got in the building. His mouth was all crusty and bloody. He was hissing and shaking like this one. I threw a garbage can over him until the county animal control guys came.”

“I’ll contact them to see if they did an autopsy,” Dr. Grover said. He donned surgical gloves and examined the raccoon’s mouth. “This guy ate something pretty bad. He’s been throwing up blood. Raccoons have a high tolerance for spoiled food so this is unusual.”

“The raccoon at the Night Out threw up frog legs,” I said.

“I’ll find out what he’s been into once I cut him open,” Dr. Grover said, taking the gloves off and washing his hands.

I left the clinic after Dr. Grover promised to call me with the autopsy results. I could see over to the dog park from where I was parked.

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