Page 36 of Finding Silence
“I don’t think it was the alcohol.”
I’m sitting on the deck, stroking Angus’s coat, while Buck is packing up his equipment.
The last thing I thought I’d be walking in on, when I came down to check the voices outside the window, was Brant and the vet pumping the goat’s stomach on the back porch. Hell, I didn’t even know you could pump a goat’s stomach, but apparently vets have special kits for that.
“What do you mean?” Brant asks his friend.
“If he’d have drunk the entire bottle, it might’ve been lethal, but half of the contents is still in there, plus a whole puddle on the table. At best he drank whatever was left in the glasses, and maybe a bit from the bottle before he went down.”
“So if it wasn’t the whiskey, then what could it have been?” I’m curious to know.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t the whiskey,” Buck clarifies, “I said I didn’t think it was the alcohol.”
I grimace when he points at the clear plastic bag he collected Angus’s stomach contents in.
“There’s only a little and it’s liquid only. Plus, alcohol doesn’t cause foaming at the mouth.” He aims a look at Brant. “How much did you guys drink last night?”
“A sip, that’s all.” Brant’s eyes come to me and I read concern in them. “How are you feeling?”
My hand automatically goes to my head, which has felt like it’s stuffed full of wool since I first woke up. Since I didn’t drink enough for a hangover, I figured it was an aftereffect from the stress of last night’s events at my house, and tried to ignore it. Now, I’m not so sure.
“Like I drank too much last night,” I admit.
He nods. “Me too.”
“You may want to give Savvy a call and put that bottle in a safe place,” Buck suggests. “Might not be a bad idea for you guys to get some bloodwork done as well. I’ll leave his stomach contents here in case Savvy wants it, but I should get this guy to the clinic where I can monitor him properly.”
Ten minutes later, I catch sight of Brant’s daughter driving up in a sheriff’s cruiser, a small red car following right behind her.
“I brought Dana,” Savvy announces when she walks in with another woman.
She’s probably in her thirties, with fiery red hair and a big, disarming smile as she walks right up to me.
“Hi, we haven’t met yet. I’m Dana Kerrigan,” she introduces herself. “I’m a nurse practitioner at the hospital.”
Hospital is a big word for the single-story building on the outskirts of town. From what I understand, it only has ten beds.
“I thought we’d kill two birds with one stone, and asked Dana to take blood samples while you fill me in on what exactly happened,” Savvy explains the other woman’s presence. “If that’s okay with you.”
“By all means.”
Brant’s reply is a grunt. He seems to have reverted back to his grumpy self, although I recognize it as concern now. I don’t blame him. I’m pretty concerned myself.
It’s one thing for Duncan to break into my place and destroy the things I value most—my instruments, my gold and platinum albums, my framed Billboard charts, tour posters, and of course, my two Grammys. Even planting those drugs in my nightstand is something I could see him doing, but the thought he might actually have tried to harm me physically is beyond comprehension.
Which is why I immediately sit down at the dining table, roll up the sleeve of my shirt, and offer Dana my arm. The sooner I find out, the better.
“Was this a new bottle? Do you know if the seal was broken?” Savvy wants to know.
“It looked unopened,” Brant answers.
“That was a new bottle,” I confirm.
“Where did it come from?” Savvy presses.
“I put it in my bag when I was packing it last night,” I explain.
“Right, but how did it come in your possession and where was it in your house? In your liquor cabinet?”
