Karin Slaughter - Like A Charm

'Could you describe it?'

'What?'

'We have a young man here who's lost his Jack Russell. He says it's got a black ear, on the left. Is that the one you have there? Only the stray we've got here has a brown ear, brown left ear.'

'Yes, it's got a black ear and a sort of brown spot over its right eye,' Carol snapped.

To Carol's fury she was left waiting as the kennel maid went to talk to the young man. When she came back she asked if the dog was still at the surgery.

'Yes, it's still here.'

'He's coming right over, can you keep it there?'

'It's dead.'

'Yes, you said, but he wants to make sure it's his dog, and if it didn't have a collar and it fits his description…'

Carol sighed. 'No. No, I'm sorry, he can't come here.'

'Is that you, Carol?'

'What?'

'This is Barbara, remember? We worked together? I knew you'd got a job at the clinic. I didn't recognize your voice. Is it OK for the boy to come over, he's so upset, Carol. CAROL?'

Carol closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 'Yes, he can see it, but he had better come over right now.'

Carol slammed down the phone. 'Fucking dog, the fucking stupid fucking dog.'

Carol checked her watch; her whole schedule was off now with this fucking Jack Russell and she had to get rid of it before fucking Hilda or anyone else turned up for surgery.

At eight o'clock the doorbell went again. Carol steamed out and snatched it open. He was red haired with round owl glasses and wearing a dirty anorak.

'Can I see if you've got Rex?' he asked, gulping, almost in tears. Carol nodded and went and brought him the dead dog still wrapped in the bloodstained towel.

'Yes, yes, that's Rex,' he said, then burst into tears.

'Do you want to take him?' she asked brusquely.

He nodded, holding out his arms, and she passed over the dog wrapped in the towel.

'You can keep the towel,' she said, opening the door to usher him out. In fact, it was quite useful that he wanted to take it. She wouldn't have to dump the dog along with the bloodstained clothes.

'I'll bury it at my Grandma's. She's got a garden,' he said, blinking, his eyes watering behind his owl glasses.

'Fine, thank you, goodbye.' She shut the door, then had to open it again as the cleaner appeared.

'Morning, Carol, love, I'm ever so late today, my other job had left the place in a right state so I had a lot of cleaning.'

Carol didn't wait to listen as Mrs Dart prattled on while she got out her cleaning equipment. By now she was way off schedule; she was supposed to have taken the clothes to the dump. All she could do was bundle them up and hide them under the counter until it was time for her to go home. She'd wasted time searching them for the charm and now it was almost eight thirty and the surgery would be open soon. Mrs Dart washed down the floor in reception, dusted and watered the plants, all with a non-stop conversation to herself. She even washed the floor in the operating room, clanking her bucket and mop.

'Can you hurry it up, Mrs Dart? It's almost time for surgery. Mrs Dart?'

Mrs Dart was still dusting when the first customer arrived. Carol couldn't believe it; they were fifteen minutes early. She felt almost as sick as their parrot! But at last Mrs Dart left. Carol itched to ask her if she had found her goblin but decided against it.

Miles arrived to start his surgery and the day began. As Carol answered the calls, she could feel the bag close to her legs under the counter. It was a full morning, and come lunchtime she put the plan back on schedule.

'I'll get off at lunchtime, going on my holiday, unless I'm needed. I wouldn't mind leaving at twelve thirty.'

'You do that love,' said Hilda as she proffered a coffee; she managed at least three mugs every morning. 'You've done enough good turns, so you go on off.'

Hilda stepped aside as Carol collected the bag and made to leave.

'Did the mortuary van come this morning?' Miles asked as he appeared at his surgery door.

'Yes.'

'Frogton got off sharpish, didn't he?'

Hilda murmured that she had not actually seen him, as he'd gone before she arrived.

'Can you get him on the phone, Hilda? It's this German Shepherd; I don't know what tests he's done and I can't find the X-rays.'

Carol was at the door, listening, as Hilda called and then replaced the phone.

'No answer and his answerphone's not on. I'll try again but I think they were all going straight to the airport.'

'I thought she had already left?' Carol said, feeling her colour drain.

'No, she changed her mind. They were all going together – well, with the baby she didn't want to travel by herself. It's understandable.'

Miles, irritated, snapped as he returned to his cubicle, 'Just try and contact him, Hilda. I really need to speak to him.'

'The X-rays are on his desk, second drawer are the details I think you'll need,' Carol said, hovering, eager to leave.

'Thank you, Carol, we'll miss you, but have a good holiday.' Miles stood at his doorway.

Hilda waved as Carol smiled and walked out.

'Bit inconvenient, isn't it?' said Miles, 'Carol taking off the same time as old Froggie; makes us very short staffed.'

Hilda nodded, then said Carol had booked her break a good while ago, just after Christmas. She turned, smiling at the baby photographs pinned up on their noticeboard. Frogton's son, born January 4th.

'Be nice for them both to get away with the new baby,' Hilda said, checking down the appointments; they had a very busy day ahead.

Carol slammed her front door shut. She tipped out the clothes, she felt in all the pockets, in the cuffs, everywhere, but found no charm. No fucking goblin. She then tipped everything into the sink and poured bleach over the clothes and shoes. She waited until they were almost shredded before she put on rubber gloves to ring the remains out and put them back into the bag, the shoes' rubber soles were sticky, the suede coming apart. She then went into the bathroom. The smell of bleach made her feel sick so she ran the shower, picked up the towel and was about to put it on the heater rail when she stopped. 'Shit. Fuck shit, the fucking towel!'

She closed her eyes; the bloody Jack Russell! She'd wrapped it in a towel, the blood-covered towel, fucking shit! She was now certain the charm must have caught on the fluffy cotton towel; the fucking goblin had to be with the dead bloody Jack Russell dog.

Carol called the dogs' home, and got the boy's address. Shit, shit, he'd said he was going to bury it at his grandmother's house! Fuck shit, how the hell was she going to find that address?

At the surgery Hilda thanked a woman, Mrs Palin, and as soon as she left looked down the entries. Miles appeared, ushering out a very elderly woman with an equally ancient cat in a cage.

'Just feed her once a day, small portions, and she should be fine.'

He leaned in to Hilda as the elderly woman paid her, 'Just a check-up, won't need to see Mitzie again.'

He returned to his surgery, gesturing for a young boy to carry in his pet mouse. Hilda gave the receipt to the woman and put the money into the till before she went back to Mr Frogton's lists. Something didn't quite make sense; Mrs Palin had come in to thank them as she had now got her Jack Russell back, and he was none the worse. But they had no record of it being released from the clinic. They did have a Jack Russell but, according to Frogton, it was doubtful it would survive the night. It was scheduled to be collected for the mortuary.

Frogton's girlfriend had called three times wondering where he was as they were due to catch a flight and were going to miss it. Hilda said he had left in the early morning and she had no idea where he was, just as she had no idea why Carol had not made any mention of the Jack Russell's recovery and signed him out. There would be quite a bill to be paid. It was very unlike Carol as she was usually so methodical. Hilda went into Miles' surgery.