Death by Equine

by Annette Dashofy

  Maybe she was trying for humor after all. Jessie smiled back.

  Picking up a plate with something unidentifiable dried to it, Amelia said, “I’ll start loading the dishwasher.”

  A half an hour and three trash bags later, the kitchen was beginning to look like it might pass an inspection by the health department. Amelia was still at the sink, soaking a few of the more stubborn dishes. “Jessie, you didn’t come here to clean my house. Go find what you were looking for.”

  Grateful for the reprieve, Jessie headed down the hall. The smell followed her. She wasn’t sure if the kitchen still stank or if the odor had attached itself to the inside of her nose.

  Doc had claimed the house’s smallest bedroom as his home office. Jessie hesitated in the doorway. She recalled sitting on the carpeted floor of this room, struggling with one of the classes she was taking. She would come home from university on the weekends and obsess over an upcoming exam. Doc would sit her down with one of his books and a notepad. He’d take a seat at the desk, lean back in his chair, and lecture her on the difficult topic du jour. Somehow, coming from his lips, the material made sense.

  Now the corner desk held sloping towers of junk mail. Two books lay forsaken on the floor. Another ashtray in need of emptying teetered on top of a stack of papers.

  The same style of metal filing cabinets that inhabited the office at Riverview lined three of the walls. Yellowed tags alphabetically identified the contents. Jessie touched the cool metal and slid a finger down the drawers until she came to one listing “Pa-Pi.” The drawer screeched open, but the file she wanted wasn’t there. Recalling the filing system back at the clinic, she closed the drawer and moved to the one labeled “X-Z.” A quick search brought her to a thick folder for Zelda Peterson Stables.

  Jessie looked at the desk. There wasn’t a clear spot big enough for the folder, so she carried it back to the kitchen. Amelia was spritzing something floral around the room, which now smelled like rot and lavender. Not really an improvement.

  Amelia noticed Jessie’s return and lowered the spray can. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  Jessie set the folder on the cleared table. “I’m not certain yet.” She flopped into a chair and thumbed through the pages of records for all of Zelda’s horses. Jessie couldn’t determine any order to Doc’s system, but finally came across a bundle of papers labeled Clown Around Town. “Here it is.”

  Amelia moved to Jessie’s side.

  Clown’s chart appeared no different than any other. Jessie flipped to the back sheet. The earliest dated report showed a clean pre-purchase vet check followed by an array of minor afflictions: exam for soreness after a brisk morning workout, his first reported pulmonary bleed and the subsequent order for Lasix, and several bouts of colic all successfully treated with Banamine.

  Jessie only had to read as far as the second page to find what she’d been looking for. During an otherwise routine call to have Clown’s teeth floated, Doc had administered acepromazine. Not only were his notations about Clown’s adverse reaction to the tranquilizer quite clear, but Doc had scrawled reminders at the top of each subsequent page, including the top, most recent one: Drug reaction: acepromazine.

  “He knew,” Jessie said.

  “Knew what?”

  “I was sure Doc knew Clown reacted badly to this drug.” Jessie tapped the page. “I thought maybe he’d forgotten and administered it to the horse that night. But he made clear notes.”

  “You said OSU had found it in the horse’s blood?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  Jessie stared at Doc’s familiar and distinctive handwriting. “It means someone else drugged Clown.”

  Amelia touched her fingers lightly to her lips. “Who? And why?”

  “That,” Jessie said, “is what I’d like to know.”

  Seven

  Jessie left Amelia Lewis’s house with the woman’s renewed pleas for help ringing in her ears and Doc’s backup file of Zelda’s stable stashed behind the Chevy’s seat. Already late for her morning rounds, Jessie rolled through the stable gate with the intention of jumping right into them. The sight of Greg’s personal vehicle parked in front of the clinic changed her plans. She’d completely forgotten about her appointment with him and Peanut.

  Jessie wheeled into her usual spot and slammed the truck into park. She managed to jump out and muscle the clinic’s rebellious door open before Greg had a chance to come to her aid.

  Off duty and dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, Greg stepped from the car. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Good to see you too, Greg.”

  He gave her a wry look and folded the front seat forward. A rotund yellow Lab with a graying muzzle bounded out of the backseat.

  “Peanut,” Jessie called and dropped to her knees. The dog crashed into her, and she put one hand back to keep from tumbling over. She laughed as the Lab licked her face. His tail wagged so hard his whole body rocked.

  “I think he misses you,” Greg said with a trace of a grin.

  She directed her reply to the dog. “Did you miss me, sweetie? I missed you too.” She threw both arms around the wriggling mass of fur, buried her nose in his coat and inhaled his doggy smell. Peanut. They’d given him that name the day they’d brought him home as a puppy. It had fit him for all of a week.

  “I appreciate you taking the time to see him today. I know you’re busy.”

  She looked up at Greg, who wore his unreadable cop face, but she knew he was mocking her. She climbed to her feet and headed into the clinic, slapping her thigh. “Come on, Peanut.” The Lab happily trotted beside her. To Greg, she said, “No problem. After all, he’s my dog too.”

  “Was.”

  And to think she once believed this guy hung the moon and the stars. “Thanks.” She made no effort to contain her scorn. She led Peanut to the corner set up for animals smaller than the equine variety and coaxed the dog onto the scale. “By the way, I found out something about Doc’s death.”

  “Oh?” Greg wandered around the exam area, pausing to study a series of faded winner’s circle photos tacked to the wall.

  “The horse’s toxicology report showed traces of the tranquilizer acepromazine.”

  “So?”

  Jessie made a note of Peanut’s weight. Stroking his head, she inserted a thumb between his teeth and lips, easing his mouth open for a peek at his gums. “Clown has a history of bad reactions to the drug. It makes him even more aggressive.”

  Greg ambled to a stainless-steel counter, where he picked up the glass jar of swabs. “That explains it then, doesn’t it? That’s why he attacked Doc.”

  “It doesn’t explain anything.” She moved to the dog’s ears. “Doc had notations all over Clown’s records about it.”

  Greg set the jar down and leaned one hip against the counter. “Then why would Doc give the stuff to him?”

  “He wouldn’t.” She looked up from the exam. “Someone else drugged the horse.”

  Greg scowled. Jessie could almost hear the wheels grinding inside his cop brain.

  She waited for a response. None came. “Doesn’t that change things?”

  “Change things how?”

  “You said you weren’t investigating Doc’s death because it was ruled an accident.”

  “Yeah?”

  She reached for the stethoscope hanging on the wall and contemplated choking Greg with it. “Well, you can’t say that anymore.”

  “Why not? If I’m not mistaken, anyone can give that stuff, right?”

  “Most horsemen around here keep some on hand to use when needed.”

  “There you go. Whoever called Doc probably didn’t know about the horse’s history and thought he was doing Doc a favor.”

  Jessie contemplated Greg’s theory as she listened to Peanut’s heart. Content with the dog’s health if not with Greg’s hypothesis, she draped the stethoscope around her neck. “That brings us back to the big question. Who ca
lled Doc? Have you located the phone?”

  “Jess, there is no investigation.”

  “That means you haven’t.”

  He fixed her with his best patronizing frown. “That means we aren’t looking anymore.”

  Infuriated, Jessie stormed to the drug cabinet and prepared Peanut’s annual shot. “There is another possibility, you know.”

  Her back was to Greg, but she could hear his exasperated sigh. “What possibility is that?”

  “Someone knew Clown’s history. Knew ace would turn him into a killer. They drugged him and then called Doc.” She turned to face Greg, but his expression remained stony. “I think someone intentionally—” The word stuck in her throat. “I think someone intentionally killed Doc.”

  For several long moments, Greg silently held her gaze. When he finally spoke, he said, “You mean murder.”

  “I guess I do.” Jessie returned to Peanut, who didn’t appear to notice when Jessie gathered a handful of fur and skin and injected the vaccines into him. His tail never missed a beat.

  Greg pushed away from the counter and bent down to scratch Peanut’s ears. “Do you have any idea how crazy that sounds? Who on earth would want Doc dead?”

  “I don’t know.” She tossed the syringe into the disposal canister she kept separate from the regular trash. “But the only thing that sounds crazy to me is you cops not investigating a murder.”

  “Give it up, Jess. You’re looking for monsters in the closet.”

  “Do you mean to tell me you don’t wonder what happened to that missing phone?”

  Greg towered over her. She stubbornly refused to look up, knowing he’d give her a grin intent on making her forget how mad she was. “Would I be happier if all the loose ends were tied up nice and neat?” He rested his hands on her shoulders. “Of course. But in the real world, that doesn’t always happen.” He gave her a gentle shake. “Now, are we done here?”

  “With Peanut? Yeah. He’s healthy. A little overweight, but that’s nothing new.”

  Greg released her. “I know. He’s been getting some table scraps.”

  “Greg, you know better than that. You never used to let him eat from the table.”

  He gave a guilty shrug and clipped the leash to the dog’s collar. “By the way, in case you haven’t heard, Miguel Diaz is back in town.”

  “Zelda’s groom? The one the phone belongs to?”

  “Yep.” Greg stroked the dog’s head. “Thanks for taking the time to see us. And do me a favor. Give up these wild notions. I’m the only cop in this family. You don’t play detective, and I won’t operate on any animals. Deal?”

  “No deal. If you aren’t going to investigate, someone has to. Besides, we aren’t family anymore, remember?”

  He opened his mouth. Closed it again. “Just be careful. All right?” He called to Peanut and they headed out of the clinic.

  As Jessie watched them go, two things Greg had said stuck in her mind. First, if he had no interest in investigating the case, why had he bothered to find out Miguel Diaz was back in town? And second, why would he caution her to be careful if he truly believed no crime had been committed?

  JESSIE THOUGHT OF A poster she’d seen once that stated: The hurrieder I go, the behinder I get. As the morning nudged toward noon, she began to believe her picture should have appeared on that poster. Only when the track closed following morning exercise, and trainers headed home for lunch, did she finally catch a breather.

  It seemed the only trainer who hadn’t needed Jessie’s services was the one she wanted to talk to. Zelda should’ve left an hour ago, but Jessie gambled and swung by Barn E just in case.

  Apparently, Jessie wasn’t the only one running behind. Zelda was still there, raking the area in front of her stalls.

  The trainer spotted her and stopped to lean on the rake. “Dr. Cameron. I’ve been hoping to see you. Did you hear anything about Clown?”

  “His results came in yesterday afternoon. They didn’t find anything wrong with him.”

  “I guess I should be pleased.” Zelda’s expression, however, was not one of pleasure.

  “There was something else, though.” Jessie told her about the tranquilizer in his blood.

  As Zelda absorbed the news, her tan faded. “Are you sure?”

  “Who else knew about Clown’s reaction to the drug?”

  “Everyone. You know how the grapevine is. Something like that happens, and word gets around.”

  “What exactly happened the first time he was tranquilized?”

  Zelda gazed into the distance. “I’d asked Doc to come by and check Clown’s teeth. They’d never been done before, and Clown wasn’t too keen on letting anyone mess with his mouth. Doc was always good with him. Knew his quirks and how to calm him down. Except none of the usual tricks worked this time, so Doc injected him with ace.” Zelda shuddered. “Clown went nuts. He attacked Sherry.”

  “Sherry?” This was news to Jessie. There hadn’t been any notes about Doc’s assistant in the horse’s records.

  Zelda gave a nod. “Clown had her down in the stall. Took three of us to drag him away from her.”

  Jessie flashed on Doc’s body. There hadn’t been anyone there that night to pull the raging stallion off him.

  “We had the ambulance here. You can imagine the crowd that drew.”

  “Ambulance? How bad was she hurt?”

  “She only needed stitches.” Zelda traced a finger along her own cheek, and Jessie thought of the scar on Sherry’s face. “As I recall, she refused transport. But there was so much blood. I didn’t want to take any chances.”

  A young man with black hair appeared from Zelda’s feed room. He had a cell phone pressed to his ear. Intent on his conversation, he seemed oblivious to the two women.

  “Is someone new working for you?” Jessie asked Zelda. “Someone who wasn’t here back then? Someone who might give Clown ace without knowing any better?”

  Zelda kept glaring at the guy on the phone. Whoever he was, Jessie gathered he wasn’t currently in Zelda’s good graces. “Anyone who works in my stable knows about Clown’s reaction to the stuff. I make a point of telling them. And I have a note in my feed room stating he isn’t to be tranqued.”

  With similar warnings scrawled all over Doc’s records, Jessie was having a harder and harder time believing the drugging was an accident.

  The guy on the phone jabbed at its screen and flung it onto a bale of hay. It bounced and tumbled off the other side. Muttering in Spanish, he stomped across the shedrow and shoved the bale aside, searching for the phone.

  “That’s probably how you lost the last one,” Zelda said to him.

  “Sí.” He came up with the phone and wiped it on his shirt. “Perhaps.”

  To Jessie, Zelda said, “This is Miguel Diaz. He decided to honor us with his presence.”

  The missing groom. Jessie fought to control a flare of excitement as she introduced herself.

  “Mucho gusto, Doctor.”

  Jessie fought to keep her voice light. Something in the kid’s eyes led her to believe he might spook like a skittish colt. “We were searching high and low for you.”

  “I did not know at the time.” He shot an embarrassed glance at his boss.

  Jessie pointed to the phone in his hand. “That’s a new one?”

  “No. I borrow from mi amigo.”

  “You didn’t find the old one?”

  “I did not. I think someone stole it.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “I do not know.” He crossed the shedrow to the wood railing and set his phone on it. “I am sure I put it right here. Like this.”

  “You should’ve put it in your pocket,” Zelda said.

  He snatched the new phone from the rail and followed her suggestion. “Sí. I know that now. But I was going to bathe a horse and did not want to get it wet. When I come back, the phone is gone. I look and I look, but I cannot find it. Someone must have stolen it.”

  Jessie looked at Zelda. �
��Any idea who else was in your barn that day?”

  She gave a frustrated shrug. “You know how it is around here. People come and go. Grooms walking horses. Exercise boys. Owners and other trainers drop by. Anyone could’ve picked it up.”

  Miguel snapped his fingers. “I remember something. Someone who was here that day.”

  “Who?” Jessie asked.

  “Doc Lewis’s daughter.”

  Daughter? Doc only had one daughter and she lived in North Carolina. Miguel’s grasp on English must be shakier than she realized. “Daughter, Miguel? Hija?”

  “Sí.” Miguel nodded enthusiastically. “Hija.”

  Jessie searched Zelda’s face for an answer, but she seemed as perplexed as Jessie.

  Miguel looked back and forth between them, his dark eyes eager. When neither of them responded, he frowned. Rubbed his head and appeared to be searching for another word. Finally, he snapped his fingers again. “Assistant. Doc’s assistant.”

  “Sherry Malone?”

  His face brightened. “Sí. Sherry Malone. Doc’s daughter. Assistant. She was here the day I lost my phone.”

  Miguel’s confusion of English was giving Jessie a headache. “Sherry was Doc’s assistant, yes. But she’s not his daughter.”

  Miguel gave Jessie a blank stare. “Sí. She is. She told me.” Then his eyes widened. “Oh. She told me it was a secret.” He slapped his forehead and burst into a stream of Spanish that was well beyond Jessie’s rusty foreign language skills.

  Besides, her focus had shifted from understanding his words to understanding their ramifications.

  A LIGHT LOAD OF AFTERNOON farm calls allowed Jessie to make it back to the clinic by two o’clock. She wanted to talk to Sherry and find out for herself what kind of fantasy world the young woman lived in. And today, Sherry had an appointment to swim one of Emerick’s horses right there at the clinic’s swimming pool.

  Jessie had a plan. Rather than give Sherry a chance to make up a lie, Jessie intended to blindside her. Sherry’s reaction might be more revealing than her words.

  Jessie glanced down the darkened hallway. No lights at the pool told her Sherry hadn’t arrived yet, so Jessie nestled into her office chair and opened her laptop. She’d made it through two clinic reports when she heard the rusty screech and rumble of the back door quaking open. Note to self: replace the back door as well as the front one.