Death by Equine

by Annette Dashofy

  Death by Equine

  Annette Dashofy

  Published by Annette Dashofy, 2021.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  DEATH BY EQUINE

  First edition. May 11, 2021.

  Copyright © 2021 Annette Dashofy.

  ISBN: 978-1393766858

  Written by Annette Dashofy.

  Also by Annette Dashofy

  Death by Equine (Coming Soon)

  Watch for more at Annette Dashofy’s site.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also By Annette Dashofy

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

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  Also By Annette Dashofy

  About the Author

  In memory of Ramona DeFelice Long

  I miss you, my friend.

  One

  Doc Lewis smiled into the tunnel of light created by his high beams. The stillness surrounding a barn call at three in the morning appealed to him. No one looking over his shoulder. No one questioning why the hell he was so damned happy, even though he’d been dragged out of bed, away from the warm body next to him, to venture into the damp chill of a spring night in western Pennsylvania.

  Tomorrow morning he’d be out of here. Two solid weeks in Maui sounded awfully good right about now. In over twelve years at Riverview Park Racetrack, he hadn’t had a vacation, hadn’t missed a day of work. He’d balked at first, like one of his equine patients, but Amelia had insisted. He had to admit, he owed her this. The last few days had been nothing but one long headache. Five hours and some odd minutes from now, he’d be on a plane headed for paradise.

  Doc pulled his battered Dodge Ram off the road at the sign marked “Stable Gate” and braked to a halt at the guardhouse. He half expected the idiot kid keeping watch at this hour to be asleep in his shack, but the scrawny figure in a uniform suited for a much larger man stepped out of the small building and approached. Doc shifted out of gear and rolled down the window.

  “Evening, Doc.” The guard’s accent told of a Southern upbringing.

  “Butch.” Doc nodded with forced civility.

  “What brings you out tonight? I thought you were on vacation and that Cameron gal was filling in for you.”

  “She is, but she’s out on an emergency call of her own.” Sometimes he wished his former protégé wasn’t so dedicated to her patients. Made it hard to be mad when she couldn’t jump at his beck and call. “I got a call from someone in Zelda Peterson’s stable saying Clown looked colicky. I wasn’t sure how long Dr. Cameron would be delayed. Figured I’d better check on him myself.”

  “Clown, huh?” Butch scratched the stubble on his upper lip. “I ain’t seen anyone from that crew around here all night.” He craned his bony neck to look beyond Doc to the empty seat beside him. “Where’s that cute assistant of yours?” His lip curled into a sneer.

  Doc resisted the urge to wrap a hand around Butch’s skinny throat. Not worth dirtying his fingers. Doc reminded himself, Maui. “I get called out to treat this horse for colic every few months. No big deal. I didn’t see any reason to wake her for this one.”

  “Too bad. She’s a real babe, that’s for sure. Once we get our little business matter settled, I think I might just ask her out.”

  The thought of Butch’s grubby paws on Sherry sent a stabbing pain through Doc’s jaw. He realized he was gritting his teeth.

  “Well, I’ll get the gate. You have a good trip, you hear?” Butch turned and shuffled back to his shack.

  Doc dropped the truck into gear. The yellow and white striped arm swung into the air, and he drove into the racetrack’s barn area.

  The night air carried the distant rumble of the Monongahela River and the chirp of spring peepers. Doc steered around the potholes dotting the pavement. He slowed as he approached the veterinary clinic. It didn’t look like much from the outside—just a long, gray block structure with a sliding metal door big enough to back a semi through in front and a matching one in the back. No sign hung on the exterior to declare the building’s purpose. It didn’t need one. Everyone at the track knew. It was this clinic—his clinic—that kept him hanging around an otherwise second-rate racing operation. The only way he’d find better surgical facilities would be to throw in with another vet—or two—at some university or equine care center. Here, he ran things the way he wanted. Not to mention the prestige of having an indoor therapeutic equine swimming pool on the premises.

  Yes, he could put up with all the other crap in order to maintain bragging rights to his practice at Riverview Park.

  This night, however, he would not examine his patient at the clinic. He ticked through a mental inventory of the supplies stashed in the truck’s Bowie storage unit. He had what he needed.

  Doc made the next left and drove between the long rows of stables, dark save for the halogen lights set high on poles scattered about the backside. He breathed in the fragrances of horses and hay and hoped treating Clown’s colic wouldn’t take too long. There was still packing to be done before the flight.

  He parked beside Barn E, cut the engine, and climbed out of the truck, expecting Zelda or one of her hirelings to meet him. But the place appeared deserted. Only the light streaming from one of the stalls indicated anyone had been around.

  He opened a compartment of the Bowie unit and filled a syringe with the painkiller, Banamine. Capping the hypodermic needle, he dropped the syringe into his shirt pocket and looped his stethoscope around his neck before strolling toward the barn.

  “Yo, Zelda,” he called out. “Hello? Anybody around?”

  The clomp of his boots against the pavement echoed against the stillness. Where the hell was everyone? Zelda’s groom had sounded half tanked on the phone. Probably got tired of waiting and went to get coffee. By the time he returned, Doc would have the horse well on his way to recovery, and he’d be on his way back to his warm bed.

  He entered the shedrow. A gray with soft, dark eyes and a black with a wide blaze down his face hung their heads over the stall webbings and eyed him warily as he passed. He noted the numbers above each door. Twenty-four, twenty-three, twenty-two. Twenty-two. That was it. A lone, naked bulb lit the twelve-by-twelve box stall. Inside, the angular chestnut stallion cringed against the far wall. The stall reeked of sweat and manure.

  This didn’t smell right. Literally. “Hello?” he called out again. Again, no answer, except for Clown, whose explosive snort sounded like the detonation of a small bomb.

  “Whoa, boy.” Doc’s voice usually soothed the horse, but not tonight. Clown tossed his head. One front leg struck out, the hoof pounding into the stall’s bedding, digging a hole in the straw.

  Clown had a knack for pawing. His stall had been victim to it for so long the dirt floor sloped toward the center, like a crater. No, it wasn’t the pawing that triggered Doc’s internal alarm. It was the smell. Fresh manure...something he cert
ainly didn’t expect to find in the stall of a colicky horse.

  Doc lifted a lead shank from a hook on the open top half of the stall door and unlatched the lower half. He stepped into the stall and pulled the door closed behind him, too hard. Clown flinched. Doc studied the horse as it paced back and forth along the back wall, head low, ears pinned. He caught a glimpse of white-ringed eyes.

  “Easy, fella,” he cooed. “What’s wrong there, old boy?”

  The horse had a tendency to act aggressive, but Doc knew it was all for show. Clown believed if he scared you off, you might leave him alone. When the ploy didn’t work, he’d give up and behave more gentlemanly.

  Doc stepped toward Clown, keeping up an easy patter to relax the horse. Clown stopped pacing and tipped his head toward Doc. Good. But when he reached for the horse’s head, Clown squatted back onto his haunches and reared. The animal struck out with one front foot. Doc tried to dodge the blow, but it came too quick and grazed the side of his skull. Stunned, he staggered back. Pain seared his head. He raised a hand to his ear. Touched a chunk of loose cartilage where the appendage had once been. The hand came away warm and sticky. And red.

  “Damn—” He stared at the big horse. Tried to think. Entering the stall alone had been a huge mistake. He prayed he had time to correct it. “Easy, big guy. No one’s gonna hurt you. Steady there.” He drew the words out, keeping his voice soft. One small step back. No quick movements.

  Clown flung his head, showing Doc his teeth. With a ferocious, deep-throated roar, the stallion again went up on his hind legs, lashing out with both front feet. The aluminum racing plates he wore slammed into Doc’s chest, driving him down in the straw. The syringe sailed from his pocket in one direction. His straw hat flew the other.

  Doc struggled for breath. A million flashbulbs burst behind his eyes. “Son of a bitch,” he wheezed through the pain and the panic. He lay there for a moment, clutching at his chest, his gaze riveted on Clown. Doc had to get out of the stall and do it quickly, but without further aggravating the stallion. When he was finally able to catch his breath, he began to crawl backwards on his elbows, propelling himself with the heels of his work boots, in one last effort to reach the stall door.

  Head lowered, the horse advanced on him. Teeth gleamed between curled lips. He raised one front leg and rammed the hoof down on Doc’s thigh. The bone snapped. The sound of it screamed through Doc’s head, meeting with the explosion of pain that raced up from his leg to nearly push him into the encroaching darkness. A shriek tore from his throat.

  “Help! Someone!” He wasn’t sure if his thoughts formed words or if the words made sound. As he sprawled in the crater in the center of the stall, it occurred to him that Clown had dug Doc’s grave.

  The horse retreated for a moment against the back wall. Doc looked toward the stall door, searching for some sign of rescue. Was that movement he saw? A shadow? Or was he hallucinating? He called again for help. Believed he saw the shadow move. His heart leaped. But imagined or not, the source of the shadow was not coming to his aid. A rustle from the back of the stall drew his attention once more to Clown. Something—some one—had driven the horse to react this way. Doc had only seen such rage in this animal’s eyes once before. He should have recognized the signs sooner. Now it was too late. Clown went up on his hind legs, and Doc knew the last thing he would ever see was the underbelly of this chestnut stallion.

  Clown’s front feet thrust down on him and all went silent and still.

  Two

  Dr. Jessie Cameron’s first inkling of something amiss was the abandoned guard shack and the raised gate at the stable entrance. Even at three o’clock in the morning, security never left the place unattended. Never. The red and blue flashing lights of several police vehicles, including two Pennsylvania State Police SUVs, and an ambulance positioned in the roadway between barns confirmed her sense of foreboding. A swarm of uniforms around the stall to which she’d been summoned completed the trifecta of bad vibes.

  She left her Chevy pickup next to one of the state trooper’s vehicles and struggled to maintain a calm exterior. Don’t spook the horses. It was a lesson drilled into her from as far back as she could remember, but at the same time, her gut prodded her into a run for the barn.

  She recognized the trooper who cut her off before she reached the first stall. “Greg, what’s going on?” Any other time, the sight of the man who’d ripped her soul to shreds would’ve driven her to either head the other way or want to slug him. Tonight, all she wanted to hear was this emergency response was a false alarm.

  He caught her by her shoulders and held her firm. “Jess, don’t get any closer.” The words sounded gruff, as if he was fighting a cold.

  They only fed her apprehension. “Tell me what happened.”

  Greg’s face was set in deep lines. She’d known him long enough to recognize the look. This was bad. Real bad. “There’s been an accident. It’s Doc. He’s dead.”

  His words hit her with the force of a sucker punch. “Dead?” she echoed. “Doc? No. He wasn’t supposed to be here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s supposed to be on vacation. I’m covering for him.” She struggled to make sense of what Greg had just told her. Doc was home in bed. His flight would take off in a few hours. It was the only reality she could accept. “There must be some mistake.”

  “There’s no mistake. We found him in the stall. Horse must’ve trampled him. There wasn’t anything any of us could’ve done for him.”

  “No. It must be someone else. Doc’s too smart. Too careful.” She searched Greg’s face for some hint of uncertainty, but he avoided her gaze. Seizing the moment, she spun from his grasp, ducked under his arm, and dodged the guy in the county police uniform, tripping to a stop in front of the stall. She immediately wished she’d heeded Greg’s warning.

  Doc’s broken and bloodied body sprawled in the center of the stall. One leg was obviously shattered at the femur. His chest, unnaturally concave. And his head...

  The metallic stench of blood...lots of blood...smacked her in the face and overpowered the more soothing smells of straw and manure.

  Gagging, she wheeled away and closed her eyes against the sight. Closing her mind to it was harder. She sagged against the cool block wall and tried to breathe in the spring night air. But her lungs constricted as if her own chest had been crushed.

  This couldn’t be happening. Not Doc. Not the man who’d been more of a father to her than her own had ever been.

  A second state trooper, every bit as tall as Greg but twice his weight, appeared in front of Jessie. “Get her the hell out of here,” Trooper Larry Popovich said, his voice gruff and no-nonsense.

  A gentle hand closed around her arm. “Sorry about that, Larry.” Greg tugged her away.

  Once they were out of the shedrow, away from the cops and the helpless medics, Jessie managed to find her breath. Doc was dead. There was no going back, no undoing what had happened. But she couldn’t go to pieces. Not now. Focus. “Have you notified Amelia?” God, this was going to devastate Doc’s wife.

  “I called Daniel Shumway. He offered to go over to their house and break the news.”

  “Good.” As Riverview’s CEO, Daniel possessed a quiet strength that served him well in business. Jessie felt certain it would also serve him well while delivering the news that would destroy Amelia Lewis’s world.

  Greg steered Jessie toward their vehicles, but she stopped and pulled free of his grasp. She wasn’t about to be sent home. There was work to be done. Questions she needed answered. “Where’s the horse from that stall? Did you guys shoot him?”

  “No. The trainer moved it to another stall.” Greg pointed to the far end of the shedrow. “The horse’s name is Clown Around Town. Trainer’s a woman by the name of Zelda Peterson.”

  Jessie thought of the phone call from Doc only a few short hours ago. Clown Around Town was the name of the horse he’d asked her to treat for colic. But she’d been on another emer
gency. If only she hadn’t told Doc she’d be delayed, he wouldn’t be laying in that stall. He wouldn’t be dead.

  She brushed a hand across her face, fending off the guilt and the rush of tears searing her eyes. “I have to check on him.”

  “Him? Who?” Greg’s eyes widened. “Not the horse.”

  “Yes, the horse. I’m a veterinarian. Doc called me about this animal. I have to find out why.”

  Greg stepped in front of her. Again. “No, Jess.”

  She started to point out it was a little late for him to show concern for her wellbeing, but the arrival of a van marked Monongahela County Coroner shut her up. Her vision blurred at the realization she wasn’t going to awaken from this nightmare.

  “I have to go talk to the coroner,” Greg said.

  She battled the rising hysteria. Fought to hold it together.

  Greg shook a finger at her. “Stay away from that horse until I can go with you. We don’t need another body here tonight.”

  She watched him walk away. Under different circumstances, she might have found his protective act touching. Tonight, it only further reminded her of all she’d lost. She had no intention of being the next body with or without Greg playing security guard. Shrugging the tension from her shoulders, she headed for the far end of the shedrow.

  A gray-haired woman with the physique of a linebacker paced the narrow end of the barn, her phone pressed to her ear. Jessie remembered meeting Zelda years earlier when she’d worked as Doc’s assistant. When the woman spotted Jessie’s approach, she ended her call.

  “I’m not sure you remember me. I’m Dr. Cameron.”

  The woman extended her hand and Jessie grasped it. “You’re filling in for Doc.” As soon as Zelda said it, her eyes filled with tears.

  “He called me to treat Clown. He said the horse was colicking.”

  Zelda appeared confused. “Really?”