Death by Equine

by Annette Dashofy

  “That would be great. I’m over in the employees’ lot by the rec hall.”

  Jessie pressed the button to unlock the other door.

  Milt circled to the passenger side and climbed in. “There’s something else I bet you didn’t consider,” he said as Jessie shifted into drive.

  “About what?”

  “Sherry. She wants Doc’s practice, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe she’s right about inheriting it. Doc was a good man. A good father. He might just leave his practice to his daughter, hoping by the time he passed, she’d be worthy of it.”

  “That’s true. I’m sure he didn’t plan on dying for quite a few years yet.”

  “Right.” Milt turned toward Jessie, a glint in his eyes. “But Sherry doesn’t strike me as the patient type. If she wanted to take over sooner rather than later...and if inheriting was the only way she could get her hands on it...”

  The spring evening air suddenly took on a chill. “That would be motive.” Jessie shivered. For murder.

  It was after midnight by the time Jessie made the right turn off Harden Road into her farm lane. One of the lights illuminating the Cameron Veterinary Hospital sign had burned out. She made a mental note to replace it.

  Burned out light bulbs. She savored the sweetness of such mundane problems.

  The lane climbed the hill beside her 1850 vintage farmhouse and looped around behind it to the hospital. Jessie recognized the two vehicles in the lot. Their presence, combined with the light streaming from the newer building’s windows at this hour, couldn’t be good.

  She parked next to the red Ford pickup and headed for the hospital’s front door.

  Unlike the massive two-story farmhouse, the veterinary hospital was long and all one level. Jessie maintained the farm flavor by matching the white siding and red tin roof of the house.

  She entered to find the reception area was empty.

  Doors to the trio of exam rooms stood open, the rooms dark. Same for the hallway to the side entrance. Loud and unhappy voices drifted from the other hallway leading to the office. Jessie followed them.

  A bead of light traced the bottom edge of the closed office door. She reached for the knob and pushed through.

  Meryl wheeled toward her.

  Vanessa, their petite blonde receptionist, jumped to attention, her eyes so wide that white showed all the way around, like a scared colt.

  Meryl’s eyes were considerably narrower. “It’s about time you got home.”

  Jessie briefly considered retreating. “What are you doing here so late?”

  Meryl massaged one temple. “Philip Lombardo’s Australian Shepherd broke his chain and tried to herd the traffic on Route 8. Got hit by a car.”

  Surrendering to exhaustion, Jessie sank into her chair. “How bad?”

  “Bad enough. Fractured pelvis and femur. I called in a team, and we did surgery. Pinned and plated the old boy back together. I just wanted to stick around until he came out of the anesthesia.” Meryl folded her arms. “You’re going to have to add some overtime into this week’s payroll.”

  “No problem.” Jessie looked up at Vanessa, who continued to impersonate a statue. “At ease.”

  She swallowed hard. “Can I go now?” Her voice sounded like it belonged to a ten-year-old instead of a twenty-something.

  Meryl flapped a hand at her. “Hell, yes. Shoo.”

  “Thanks.” Her gaze darted between Meryl and Jessie before she bolted.

  Meryl gave a soft growl. “I’m telling you, that girl’s getting flakier by the minute. If you don’t get back here soon, I really am going to have to kill her.”

  “What’d she do now?” Jessie raised a hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. Come on down to the house. I’ll make us some coffee.”

  “No coffee for me. Got any Dr. Pepper?” Meryl’s beverage of choice.

  “Of course.”

  “Let me check on my patient. I’ll be right there.”

  Jessie retraced her steps to the parking lot. Vanessa’s pastel green VW Beetle was gone. Jessie wondered what she’d done to get on Meryl’s shit list. With Meryl’s sour mood, it wouldn’t have taken much.

  A well-worn path trailed down the hill from the parking lot to the back entrance of the farmhouse. The door had been crafted to look old even though she’d had it and a new jamb installed only a few months ago. While she adored the original doors and rippled-glass windows that graced the house, last winter’s heating bills had nudged her to reluctantly start modernizing.

  Once inside, she pushed the door shut and tested it. The door came open without turning the knob. She slammed it and tried again. It still hadn’t caught. On a third attempt, she slammed the thing so hard the windows rattled, but this time it stayed closed. New wasn’t always better. She made a mental note to look up the number for the contractor who had done the job and demand he fix the problem.

  Her footsteps filled the silence as she crossed the enclosed porch. She sat on a long rustic bench, a find during a Sunday afternoon yard sale treasure hunt, unlaced her work boots, tugged them off, and dumped them on the floor with a pair of thuds. Resisting the temptation to lean back and close her eyes, she climbed to her feet, opened the door into the dark kitchen, and smacked the light switch.

  A plump, longhaired, black-and-white tuxedo feline sat next to the stove.

  “Hello, Molly.” Jessie knelt to pet the cat who purred and skimmed under her hand. She scooped up the mass of fur, and the cat nuzzled against Jessie’s chin and meowed. Loudly. At seventeen, Molly was deaf and meowed loud enough to hear herself.

  Jessie carried the cat into the dining room, turning on lights as she went. After months of aching from the quiet that shrouded the house since Greg and Peanut had moved out, Jessie was finally embracing the solitude. Where she’d once seen only empty chairs and heard echoes of missing voices, she now saw freedom. Autonomy. No one to answer to but herself.

  And the cat.

  Jessie lowered Molly to the floor and grabbed a bag of dry food, senior formula, from the antique sideboard. She topped off the bowl that hadn’t been empty. The cat dived into the fresh food as if she’d been starving.

  The sound of the backdoor banging shut reminded Jessie that company was coming.

  “Hey,” Meryl shouted. “Anybody home?”

  “In here.”

  “THIS SHERRY MALONE sounds like a real piece of work.” Meryl scowled at her can of soda as if it had offended her in some way.

  Jessie sat cattycorner from her friend at a dining room table big enough to feed a farm family plus their hired hands and cradled her umpteenth cup of coffee for the day. “That’s putting it lightly.”

  “She threatened to throw you in the pool?”

  “More like she implied it could happen.”

  Meryl turned her scowl from the can to Jessie. “Get picky, why don’t you. What exactly is it she doesn’t want you digging up?”

  “I wish I knew.” Jessie stared across the table to the darkened living room. “Have you ever heard of anyone doing Coggins tests without drawing blood?”

  Meryl choked. “Are you kidding me?”

  Jessie looked at Meryl and waited.

  “I remember something about counterfeit papers.” Meryl grabbed a napkin from the table and pressed it to her chin. “But the department of health cracked down on it. Can’t be done anymore.”

  “Can’t?” Somehow Jessie suspected where there was a will, there was a way.

  “Why on earth are you asking about this?”

  Jessie told her about Harvey Randolph.

  “Are you sure you understood him?”

  “I understood. And he said Sherry took care of that stuff for Doc.”

  “What stuff? Fudging test results?”

  “That’d be my guess.” Jessie glanced down at Molly, who was head-butting her leg. “There’s more.”

  Meryl gave a short laugh. “Terrific. What?”

  Jessie scooped up th
e cat and settled her on her lap. “Sherry is Doc’s daughter.”

  Meryl slammed a hand on the table and let loose one of her famous strings of expletives.

  “Not only that, she says Doc left his practice to her in his will.” Jessie expected Meryl to jump up and dance around the table.

  Instead, she stared at Jessie. “Shit.”

  “I thought that would make you happy.”

  “It would if it was anyone else but her.” Meryl leaned back in her chair. Picked up the can. Took a long draw on it. “How does Amelia feel about it?”

  Jessie rubbed Molly’s ears. The deep rumble of her purr vibrated through Jessie’s fingers but did little to soothe. “As far as I know, Amelia is unaware of the situation.”

  “She doesn’t know her husband has another child?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  Meryl grunted. “She’s gonna find out.”

  “I know. I saw her this morning. She’s a mess. I need to call her kids and let them know the shape she’s in. I’m afraid hearing about Sherry will push her over the edge.” Jessie thought of the stench in that kitchen. “Further over the edge.”

  Meryl swirled the soda in the can. “You want to know what I think?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “I think you need to tell Shumway about the Coggins test business. And then I think you need to get the hell out of that place. Now. This Malone chick wants it so bad? Let her have it.”

  “But she isn’t licensed yet.”

  “I don’t care. Doc died there. You’ve been threatened. There’s stuff going on that you have no business getting involved in. Come back to the hospital where you belong.” Meryl drained the can and plunked it down. “We need you. Preferably alive.”

  The house phone rang. At that hour it could only mean an emergency. Jessie deposited Molly onto the floor and crossed to the table next to the window to answer it. She was right. One of her clients had returned home to find her cat unresponsive. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Jessie told her.

  Meryl crossed her arms on the dining table. “You mean I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Go home. You’ve put in a long enough day. The track’s closed tomorrow, so I can go in late.”

  “Don’t expect me to argue with you. I’m outta here.” Meryl rose and made it to the kitchen doorway before turning back. “Are you going to take my advice and tender your resignation?”

  Jessie watched as Molly sprung onto the dining table to sniff Meryl’s empty soda can. She thought of Amelia and the mess Doc’s death had created. She’d been able to clean up the kitchen. How could she walk away now and leave everything else in turmoil? “I’ll stay the rest of the week. I promised Doc that much.”

  “I guess it’s better than nothing.” Meryl turned and left, her footsteps clomping across the enclosed porch. The back door slammed. Slammed again. Then a third time. Jessie definitely had to get that taken care of.

  After she figured out why Doc had been killed.

  Even if it took longer than the rest of the week.

  Nine

  Wednesday mornings were normally Jessie’s one chance to sleep in, but her phone blasted her awake. Groggy, she squinted at the screen. The incoming number wasn’t a familiar one.

  A frantic voice on the other end informed her that a horse had gotten loose on the backside, had been caught, and needed a vet. Jessie scribbled the barn number on a notepad she kept next to her bed. “I’ll be right there.”

  Molly hadn’t budged from her spot on the bed. Jessie kicked off the sheet and rolled away from the cat, who awoke with an unladylike grunt. “Sorry, baby,” Jessie said, running a hand over the silky fur.

  Jessie stared at the clock. It was later than she’d first thought. No sunshine brightened the room. What she’d mistaken for a tractor trailer rumbling along Harden Road turned out to be thunder.

  She shuffled to the bathroom. After splashing cold water on her face and brushing her teeth, she returned to her bedroom to pull on a t-shirt and a pair of Wranglers. She winced as she worked a brush through the knots in her unruly hair before restraining the stuff with a fabric-covered elastic band. Tossing the brush back onto the dresser, she reached for the note next to the phone. The fog finally cleared from her brain, and she stared at the words on the page. Had she written down the message right? She looked again, but the barn number remained the same. Neil Emerick’s.

  She headed for the door, leaving the bed unmade around Molly who watched her with bored eyes.

  “Come on, sweetie,” she said, knowing full well the cat couldn’t hear her.

  But apparently, Molly could read lips. She jumped off the bed with a muffled thump and trotted after her, claws ticking against the hardwood floor.

  Jessie set a bowl of canned senior formula cat food in front of Molly and eyed the empty coffee pot. Why hadn’t she paid extra for the one with the automatic timer? She spent a moment watching Molly devour her breakfast before grabbing a ball cap and her oilskin duster and heading out the door.

  The track was closed for training and racing, so the place was largely deserted. Unlike every other barn on the backside, Emerick’s buzzed with activity. Jessie considered entering from the “forbidden” end just to see what was down there. But her snooping would have to wait.

  Emerick met Jessie at the opening between barns, looking every bit as happy to see her as he had the night she’d confronted him in the paddock. “Dr. McCarrell wasn’t available,” he said by way of a greeting.

  Jessie guessed he didn’t want her to mistakenly believe she was his first choice. “What happened?”

  He hitched his head toward the stalls. “Sullivan got loose. Busted through the stall webbing.”

  She looked in the direction he’d indicated. The same black with the star and stripe she’d seen on her previous visit peered at her from the first stall. Soldier Bob with his stitches gazed at her from the third. Otherwise, no faces greeted her. But at the far end of the shedrow, she spotted Sherry engaged in an animated conversation with a slump-shouldered man Jessie didn’t recognize. Sherry threw up her arms and strode toward Jessie. The man shuffled away.

  Sherry broke into a jog. “Dr. Cameron. I’m glad you could make it.”

  Jessie stiffened. Before she could respond, Emerick wheeled and stormed toward Sherry. Jessie noticed Sherry’s eyes widen for a split second. Emerick whispered something to her that Jessie couldn’t make out.

  Sherry, however, made no attempt to conceal her reply. “I heard you the first time.”

  Jessie watched as the pair exchanged what amounted to an entire conversation with their eyes.

  In a voice thick with menace, Emerick said, “You better have.” Without looking at Jessie, he stomped down the shedrow.

  She considered asking what that was all about but decided she didn’t really want to know.

  Sherry grabbed Jessie’s arm and steered her toward the second stall. “I want an ultrasound of his leg. I’m afraid all the running around on the concrete might have damaged that tendon again.”

  They stopped outside the stall. Sullivan, appearing much less grand than he had at the spa yesterday, stood tied in the back corner, his head hanging low. The entire left side of his body exhibited a bad case of road rash.

  It hurt to look at him.

  Jessie lowered her gaze to the stall guard, securely latched across the stall opening. If the horse had broken through this particular webbing, someone had made a quick and thorough repair. “How’d he get loose?”

  “Neil brought him out.” Sherry unclipped the guard. “Sullivan’s been feeling pretty good, and being cooped up in his stall all the time has turned him into a handful.” She stepped inside and moved to the horse’s head. “Neil should’ve been more patient with him. But when Sullivan started acting frisky, Neil started yanking on his head and yelling.”

  Jessie thought back to the incident in the paddock.

  “The two of them got into a pissing contest
, and Sullivan won. He broke free and took off before anyone could get a hand on him.”

  Jessie had no problem believing her and eased into the stall. Sullivan might have been frisky earlier, but not now. She knelt to get a better view. The front legs had been wrapped. The bandages on the left side were shredded, same as his hide. “How’d all this happen?”

  Sherry stroked the horse’s nose. “The guy that finally caught him said he ran into a car and went down on the pavement. He doesn’t appear to be lame, but...” She swept a hand at the resulting injuries.

  Jessie circled to look at his right side. “Even if he’s not lame today, he’s gonna be one sore pony tomorrow.” She placed a hand on his hip. “Watch out,” she said to Sherry. “I need to move him over so I can see.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Jessie pressed on the hip. “Over, son.”

  The horse took one slow step to the side.

  “He looks good over here.”

  “I could have told you that.”

  Jessie resisted an urge to laugh. For a moment, she’d thought someone had pulled a body snatch on Sherry, but here was the old familiar venom she’d become accustomed to. “By the way, was that the guy who caught him?”

  “Who?”

  Jessie circled back to Sherry’s side and nudged Sullivan over to his original spot. “I saw you talking to someone at the end of the shedrow when I got here. Was that the guy who caught Sullivan?”

  Sherry’s eyes shifted. “No.”

  “Who was he?”

  Sherry dropped to her knees and began to remove the tattered leg wrap. “Just an owner. Now about that ultrasound?”

  Jessie studied the silver and turquoise barrette on the top of Sherry’s head. “I’ll go get the equipment.” Jessie fingered the stall guard. Neil Emerick had lied about Sullivan breaking through it. She also didn’t believe the man Sherry had been talking to was just an owner.

  The ultrasound revealed some new, small tears in the tendon, but Jessie and Sherry agreed the new damage wouldn’t delay his healing time by more than a couple of weeks.

  To help with the pain and swelling, Jessie mixed bute and Banamine in a syringe and injected it, topped with a shot of dexamethasone in the muscle. She also dispensed some Tri Hist granules to help reduce any generalized swelling. “Make sure you tell Neil the horse will definitely get a bad drug test for the next thirty days on these.”