Death by Equine

by Annette Dashofy

  “Catherine’s colt looks good.” He bumped her shoulder again. “I don’t suppose you had anything to do with that.”

  “In only a week? Hardly. Besides, the vet just keeps them sound. The trainer gets them in shape.”

  “And they’re all in the gate,” crackled over the loudspeakers. “Wait. Soldier Bob has flipped.”

  A murmur ran through the crowd.

  “Soldier Bob has flipped in the gate.”

  Daniel swore.

  Jessie’s heart dropped like a brick. A horse that reared in the gate and went all the way over could suffer any number of injuries. The state vet would be right there in case the horse needed treatment, but her phone would soon ring if the horse was badly cut and needed stitches. She wiggled her fingers at Daniel, and he handed her the binoculars. But the starting gate blocked her view.

  Several long moments passed. The gelding’s jockey appeared behind the gate dusting himself off. He looked none the worse for having come off his mount twice. A few minutes later, the riderless chestnut appeared. He seemed fine. Jessie released a breath. An assistant starter walked the horse in circles. One by one, the other horses were backed out of the gate.

  “Soldier Bob is a late scratch by order of the vet,” the loudspeaker announced. “There will be a delay.”

  An outrider pony loped out to retrieve the chestnut. All good news. If he’d been seriously injured, they’d have sent the equine ambulance instead.

  “Neil Emerick will be calling you to meet him back at the barn,” Daniel said.

  She bit back a sarcastic laugh. “Maybe. He’ll check the horse out himself first.” And after their confrontation in the paddock, he’d probably call Dr. McCarrell, the other vet who worked the backside.

  The rest of the horses reloaded without incident.

  “And they’re off!”

  The horses broke in one pack except for two that trailed behind. One of the stragglers was Risky Ridge. Jessie imagined she could hear Catherine’s moan all the way from her box in the glass-enclosed grandstand. The announcer barked out the horses’ positions as they charged down the backstretch toward the far turn. Risky held firm to the next-to-last spot.

  “At least he’s beating one of them,” Daniel said.

  As the horses swung into the far turn, Jessie lost sight of Risky for a moment and tried to follow the announcer’s call of the race. Most of it was a jumble to her ear. But then the horses came around toward the stretch and she caught one line of the announcer’s patter. “Risky Ridge is making a big move at the quarter pole.”

  Jessie no longer needed the field glasses. She set them down and pressed her fingers to her lips to keep from giving a yelp. With all the trainers, many of them Doc’s—her—clients, gathered within earshot, it wouldn’t do to show favoritism.

  The horses thundered down the stretch. Two battled for the lead, several lengths ahead of the rest. But one big black colt’s strides ate up the track, coming up on the outside.

  “And here comes Risky Ridge!”

  A squeal escaped around her fingers.

  “Coming to the wire, it’s Highlander Gold and Arctic Oak. Highlander Gold and Arctic Oak...”

  Jessie heard someone yell, “GO!” and realized it was coming from her own throat.

  Three horses pounded under the wire ahead of the pack. Less than a length separated them.

  “It’s Arctic Oak with Highlander Gold in second and Risky Ridge in third.”

  Daniel clapped her on the back. “Good work, Dr. Cameron. He was flying at the end. One more furlong and he’d have had that race.”

  “Catherine will be pleased.” Jessie laughed at her understatement of the century. Catherine would be over the moon. “I have to go. I have a patient to scope.”

  “Wait. We still haven’t talked.”

  Jessie stepped down from the picnic table. “About what?”

  He stepped down too, blocking her path. “I want you to take over Doc’s practice. Permanently.”

  Around them, bettors and racing fans filtered inside, either to cash in tickets or to check out the next race’s entrants in the paddock. Jessie watched the migration for a moment, using the time to let Daniel’s proposition sink in.

  In the last week, there had been more than one occasion when she’d gotten past the melancholy that engulfed her and had truly enjoyed the work at the track. The hustle and bustle of life on the backside, the colorful characters, the high-spirited Thoroughbreds. If Doc was simply away on vacation, the last few days would have been a blast. But to step into this world on a permanent basis? Doc’s shoes were just too big.

  “I can’t.”

  Daniel crossed his arms in front of him. “Why not?”

  “I have too many responsibilities. My own practice. Patients. Employees. A partner.”

  “Your partner could buy out your part of your practice.” He locked her in his gaze. “Jessie, you’re doing a great job here. The horsemen like you. You have a wonderful touch with the animals. You’ve worked with Doc in the past and you understand his way of doing things. If I had to bring in someone else, someone with no experience working at a racetrack? Let’s just say the transition will be much smoother with you.”

  Her head spun. The transition might be smooth for Daniel and the horsemen. But not for her. She’d been uprooted so often as a child, all she wanted in her life now was stability. She was already dealing with the collapse of her marriage and the death of the man who’d been a father to her. To now be asked to abandon the only other thing that kept her grounded? It was too much. “Why don’t you ask Dr. McCarrell? He’s already got a practice here.”

  “Mac’s almost seventy. He’s been talking about retiring for the last five years. I already spoke to him about helping out, but he doesn’t want to take on any more clients than he already has. Jessie, I need you.”

  Looking into his pale blue eyes, Jessie imagined this man got his way more often than not. Especially with women. She battled the urge to succumb to his charms. Somewhere in her head, she heard Doc’s gruff voice saying, “Sucker.” It elicited a laugh from her.

  “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

  “I know. I wasn’t laughing at you. Look, I’ll make you a deal.”

  “Okay. Let’s hear it.”

  “I’ve already arranged to fill in for Doc’s two-week vacation. If I can get my partner to agree to continue covering for me, I’ll stay a while longer. But only until you can find someone else to buy out Doc’s practice.”

  “But—”

  She held up her hand to him. “I’ll help you look for another vet. And I’ll stick around long enough to show them the ropes. That’s the best I can offer.”

  Daniel’s expression swung through an array of emotions. None of them happy. Finally, his face softened. “You have me over a barrel, Dr. Cameron. If that’s the best you can do...”

  “It is.”

  He held out a hand and she took it. “Then I guess I have no choice. Deal.”

  Jessie excused herself and made her way through the grandstand and down the back staircase. As she burst through the doorway into the rear parking lot, a voice hailed her from behind. She glanced over her shoulder.

  Zelda lumbered toward her. “Dr. Cameron, I didn’t get a chance to talk to you at the funeral this morning. Have you heard anything from Ohio State on Clown?”

  Jessie was fast approaching the twenty-minute window for the horse that needed to be scoped. “I have a patient to look at. Can you walk with me to my truck?”

  “Of course.” Zelda fell into step beside her.

  “I spoke with the tech at OSU earlier today. Toxicology results won’t be back until early next week. But their initial report showed nothing wrong with him.”

  Zelda placed a hand on her chest. “That’s a relief.”

  “But it doesn’t explain why someone felt they should call Doc Sunday night.” Or who had placed the call. “Any word from your groom?”

  “Miguel? No. He hasn’t
shown up for work all week. Hasn’t called in. And he doesn’t answer when I call him.”

  Jessie wondered if the cops’d had any better luck. She made a mental note to contact Greg. “Where’s Clown now?”

  “The track stewards ruled him off the property, so I have him at my farm.”

  “How’s he been since he got back? Any signs of colic?”

  “None.”

  They reached Jessie’s truck, and she turned to face the trainer. “I’ll let you know when I get the toxicology results.”

  “Dr. Cameron.” Zelda ran her tongue over her lips. “I was hoping you could do me a favor.”

  Jessie unlocked the truck and opened the door. “What is it?”

  “About the steward ruling Clown off the track. I intend to file an appeal. I was wondering if you’d be willing to speak with them. Maybe we—you—could get them to change their minds.”

  Stunned, Jessie shot a sideways glance at Zelda. “Why don’t you hold off doing anything until we get the tox results.”

  Zelda gave her a weary smile. “I know I need to be more patient. I don’t mean to sound crass, but Clown’s my biggest money maker. I could ship him to Mountaineer or Presque Isle, but I’d prefer to keep him closer to home.”

  Jessie bristled. “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”

  Zelda thanked her and walked away.

  The last thing Jessie wanted was the horse responsible for Doc’s death back at Riverview. The only thing about that night she knew for certain was Clown was the killer, but a great many questions remained. Where was the groom who’d placed the call? Why had he summoned Doc to look at the horse in the first place? Until the cops tracked down Miguel Diaz, she had no way of learning those answers.

  And why would Doc enter a stall alone with an aggressive horse? Jessie thought of something Catherine had said earlier and realized she knew exactly who could help her answer that one.

  Four

  Bleary-eyed from another night of sleep deprivation, Jessie wrestled with the massive sliding door to Doc’s clinic, careful not to spill her mug of coffee. She leaned into the door. It creaked and groaned before giving a shudder and rumbling open. Inside, the early morning sun filtered through dirty windows set too high in the cavernous exam area for easy cleaning. If she seriously considered Daniel’s suggestion she take over Doc’s practice, she’d have to make a list of things to change around here. A new door, maybe a garage-type one with a motorized opener, would be at the top of the list. And she’d hire someone to climb up there and scrub those windows.

  She quickly dismissed the thought as absurd. Instead of a list of changes, she created a list of reasons why such a move would be ill-advised. Both the door and windows were on it.

  She made her way across the space, the rubber floor mats muffling the sound of her footsteps. Every morning when she made this trek, she felt like she was walking over Doc’s grave. Even a hit of coffee failed to chase away the chill.

  She paused at the hallway opposite the big door. On one side of the aisle, a door held a plaque with the word office on it. Someone had added “Doc Lewis’s” above it in black Sharpie. Across the aisle was the surgical suite—an operating room, a padded recovery stall, and a kennel room for small animals. In the years she’d worked with Doc, they’d used the facility on a horse once. Most of the time, they’d only used it to spay and neuter stray cats. Still, Doc had been proud of the potential his clinic held.

  Jessie’s gaze trailed down the passageway to the gaping dark cavern at the far end. For the last week she’d avoided the “spa.” Simply another large room that housed the indoor equine swimming pool. Something else Doc had been proud of. To Jessie, it was another addition to the list of reasons against taking over his practice. Given her druthers, she’d have the thing pumped out and the hole filled in.

  But the spa’s future wasn’t in her hands. Someone else would take over Doc’s practice. Someone who hadn’t nearly drowned when they were a kid.

  Turning away from the hallway and her phobia, Jessie unlocked the office door and flipped the light switch. The fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling fixture flickered and finally took hold.

  Doc’s office.

  His presence permeated the space in the same way the stale smell of his cigarette smoke lingered in the air. It was as if his spirit still sat at the ancient oak desk. She pictured him there, straw hat perched askew on his head, reading glasses ready to slide off the tip of his hawk-like nose. Doc always appeared frayed and disheveled, belying the sharpness of his intellect. She’d spent endless hours parked on the worn vinyl sofa that sat against the wall opposite his desk, laughing at his tales, picking his brain, astounded at the depths of his knowledge.

  Jessie set her coffee on one of the rings created by years of Doc’s cups, placed a rumpled copy of the overnights next to the mug, and smoothed the sheet with her palm. When she’d worked here with Doc, he’d been the one to study the information to determine which of his clients had horses running that evening and which ones needed Lasix that afternoon. Now the job fell to her.

  A knock on the doorframe startled her. She whirled to find Milt Dodd, Catherine’s husband, grinning at her and bumped the coffee mug in the process. Hot brew seared her hand and slopped onto the paper. She gave a yelp and licked the burn to cool it.

  “Oh, for cryin’ out loud. I’m sorry, darlin’.” Milt whipped a bandana from his pocket and mopped up the spill. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Jessie had known Milt for years, going back to her time as Doc’s assistant. One of the track’s blacksmiths, Milt had the kind of face that made pinning an age on him nearly impossible. His full head of white hair and the deep creases where dimples had once framed his easy smile led Jessie to surmise he must be close to sixty. But the impish twinkle in his blue eyes made him seem much younger. Milt never changed. Never aged. She figured either Oklahoma or Texas had given birth to his drawl and his cocksure swagger, but she’d never been sure which.

  She rubbed her hand dry on her jeans and held up the splattered overnights with the other. “Guess I should pick up a new copy.”

  Milt pulled a crumpled bundle of papers from his hip pocket and peeled one off. “Here. Take one of mine. It’s my fault yours got all slopped up.”

  “Thanks.” Jessie slid into Doc’s lumpy chair, sipping from what was left of her coffee. “What can I do for you?”

  Milt lowered onto the sofa and crossed an ankle over a knee. “Not a thing. I realized we haven’t crossed paths all week, and I wanted to stop by and say ‘howdy.’”

  “That’s nice. Howdy yourself.”

  “I think it’s great you’re taking over Doc’s practice. We need some new blood around this stuffy old place.”

  Jessie choked. “I’m not—”

  “Now don’t get me wrong. Doc was one of my best friends. I miss him something terrible. But you’re a darn sight prettier.”

  “I’m not taking over—”

  “And...” He dragged the one short word out to almost three syllables. “I wanted to tell you how plum tickled my Catherine was with that colt’s performance last night. You did a helluva job getting him ready.”

  “The only thing I did was inject his hocks. He’s been in training long enough that he was due.” Doc would have done the same thing. In fact, he was the one who helped her master the technique.

  “All I know is you worked on my wife’s colt, and he actually earned her some money. That makes you nothing short of a hero in my book. Look, I realize this is gonna be hell. Doc was like a daddy to you. Stepping into his boots can’t be much fun. Not to mention some of these track folk can be a pain in the ass. But most of ’em are real decent.” He thumped himself on the chest. “I know which are which. I can let you know which owners you can trust to bill ’em and which ones should pay you up front. In cash.”

  “Milt.” She held up a hand to stop him. “I’m not taking over Doc’s practice.”

  “Right.” Milt winked at h
er.

  “No, seriously. I have a practice of my own.”

  “But you’re here now.”

  “Because my partner is pulling double duty covering for me. She’s not going to appreciate me staying one minute longer than the two weeks I promised.”

  “So you’ll sell her your share. You need that money to buy Doc’s practice, right?”

  “No.” Jessie took another hit of caffeine. “I mean, yes, I would need to sell my practice in order to buy Doc’s. But I’m not.” Her gaze settled on the bank of mismatched metal filing cabinets lined up against the opposite wall. She waved a hand at them. “See those things?”

  “What?”

  “Those are Doc’s patient files. On paper.”

  “So?”

  “I loved the man, but he was a Neanderthal where computers are concerned. All of those paper files are making me crazy. His idea of high-tech was this old dinosaur.” She slapped a fax machine on a cart behind her. “And he only agreed to have it here because otherwise he’d have to wait to get test results by mail. Snail mail. Ohio State actually faxed me Clown’s test results the other day instead of emailing them.”

  “I see you’ve already started to update the system.” Milt nodded at her laptop perched on the desk.

  “That’s for my own record keeping. Whoever eventually takes over this practice will have to transfer all those files onto a computer. It’s not going to be me.”

  Milt climbed to his feet, a smug grin on his face. “You’ll hire some computer savvy kid to do it for you. Trust me on this. You’re gonna fall in love with this place in spite of yourself.”

  His comment about hiring a kid raised a thought. “Before you go, there is something you might be able to help me with.”

  “Name it.”

  “Do you happen to know Sherry Malone?”

  His eyes momentarily clouded. “Sure, I know Sherry. Everyone around here does.”

  “I don’t. Catherine told me she was Doc’s assistant.”

  “Yep, she was. Kinda like you used to be. She’s in school to be a vet, just like you were.”