Stork Raving Mad: A Meg Langslow Mystery (A Meg Lanslow Mystery)

and held him while I pried open his jaws.
    “Did he eat any of the pills?” Michael asked.
    “There’s nothing in his mouth, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have swallowed one,” I said. Just then I spotted my father in the doorway with his black doctor’s bag. “Dad! How fast would Señor Mendoza’s heart medicine work?”
    “Don’t worry,” he said. “Where’s the patient?”
    “Check Señor Mendoza out,” I said, pointing. “And find out what those pills are and what to do if Spike ate one!”
    Spike was struggling to get down, but I could see at least one more of the little pills on the floor, and the students all seemed to be watching Dad and Señor Mendoza, who were conversing in a mixture of Spanish and English.
    “Get that one,” I called, pointing to the stray pill. Michael handed Spike to me and stooped to retrieve the pill.
    “Doctor!” Blanco called. “Please see to Dr. Wright. I am concerned that she may have broken something in her fall.”
    “Nonsense,” Dr. Wright snapped. “I’m perfectly fine.”
    “Broken bones aren’t nearly as dangerous as heart attacks,” I said.
    “Or digitalis overdoses,” Dad said, looking stern. “If that’s what those pills are—he doesn’t have them in the original container, so I can’t be sure. See if you can make him throw up. Spike, I mean,” he added. “Señor Mendoza will be fine if he stops overexciting himself.”
    “Sardines,” I said. “Spike loves them, but he chokes them down too fast and then pukes. Find some sardines.”
    “I’ll get them,” Rose Noire said, and ran for the kitchen. Thank goodness she was willing. All this talk of retching had me on the brink without even smelling the sardines.
    “Better yet, syrup of ipecac,” Dad said. “I have some in my bag. Ah, here.” He handed Michael a bottle and a syringe. “Squirt some in his mouth—let’s see, I think one and a half ccs should do the trick.”
    Dad turned back to Señor Mendoza, and from his calm expression I could tell that he wasn’t unduly worried about his patient.
    “If we could have some medical attention for Dr. Wright, please,” Dr. Blanco said.
    Dad smiled, shook hands with Señor Mendoza, and strode over to kneel down beside Dr. Wright. I felt myself relaxing. If Dad was taking his eyes off a patient, it meant he truly wasn’t worried—not just because he was a painstakingly conscientiousdoctor, but because there was nothing Dad would enjoy more than a breakneck ambulance ride to the Caerphilly Hospital and a few hours working side by side with the emergency room staff. I headed out for the kitchen with Spike.
    While I barged through the swarming students with Spike under one arm, out in the kitchen, Rose Noire had opened a tin of sardines and was dumping the fish onto a plate. These days I could bulldoze through crowds with remarkable ease. I wasn’t sure if it was the physical effect of being five foot ten and temporarily almost as wide, or whether everyone just scrambled out of my way these days out of sheer terror that the slightest nudge would send me into labor, but whatever it was worked. I set Spike down on the kitchen table.
    “Hold his mouth open,” Michael said.
    I suddenly realized that I was about to get sick. Maybe it was the smell of the sardines added to that of the paella.
    “I have to sit down,” I said. “Can someone take over here?”
    The students who were crowded around the table took a few steps back and looked uneasily at each other.
    “I’ll do it,” Rose Noire said. She was a seasoned Spike-wrangler. She distracted Spike by waving the sardines near his nose and then clamped her hands down on him while I let go. I sat down as far from the sardines as I could and still see what was going on. Michael grabbed a small piece of sardine, waved it near Spike’s nose, and while the Small Evil One was snapping at it, Michael managed to squirt the syrup of ipecac into Spike’s mouth. Then he tossed in the sardine scrap to keep Spike from spitting out the medicine.
    “Do you think it’s going to work?” one of the students asked.
    No one answered. We all stood or sat staring at Spike until the Small Evil One stopped trying to bite Rose Noire and waited expectantly.
    Or maybe he could feel the syrup of ipecac working. After a few moments he whined slightly, then vomited just as Dad came bustling into the kitchen.
    “Good work!” Dad exclaimed.
    Rose Noire, bless her heart, was already running to