Death by Equine

by Annette Dashofy

  And where were the cats?

  Wearing her usual oversized t-shirt, she climbed out of bed and tugged on a pair of jeans. She opened the door—usually she slept with it open, but it seemed inappropriate with Greg in the house—and stepped into the hall.

  Apparently, Greg did not share her awkward need for privacy. She peeked inside the guest room where Greg lay on his back, the sheet pulled up to his hips revealing his lean, muscular torso. His arms were crossed behind his head, and he was staring at the ceiling. Molly and the tabby snuggled on either side of him. Peanut lay on the rug next to the bed.

  Traitors.

  He spotted her and smiled. “Good morning.”

  She averted her eyes and mumbled an echo of his greeting. After ten years of marriage, it struck her that she was alone in the house with a stranger. Before she had a chance to say something stupid, she wheeled and padded into the bathroom in search of something to relieve her headache.

  The medicine cabinet contained a wide assortment of over-the-counter products. Ibuprofen. Acetaminophen. Aspirin. Not to mention ointments, creams, and bandages. Rummaging through them, she located a box of generic decongestant. The expiration date had long since come and gone, but it promised relief from sinus headaches. She popped two, chased by a glass of water.

  The mundane process of making breakfast eased the tension created by Greg’s presence. Jessie laid out the bowls and spoons while he rounded up the box of cereal and the carton of milk. She made coffee. He poured orange juice. Peanut and the cats ate side by side, although the tabby, unused to the big Lab, kept a cautious eye on the dog.

  Greg broke the silence. “You really have to give that poor kitten a name.”

  Jessie shook her head emphatically. “If I name him—”

  “You’ll have to keep him, I know. Face it, Jess. That cat isn’t going anywhere.”

  He knew her all too well. “I’ll think about it.”

  Greg shoveled a spoonful of cereal into his mouth and leaned back in the chair, his forehead creased in thought as he chewed. “How about Spot?”

  Jessie almost snorted orange juice through her nose. “Are you kidding?”

  “What’s wrong with Spot?” He feigned deep personal injury.

  “Nothing if he was a dog. Or had spots.”

  “Stripe, then.”

  “Oh, that’s so much better.”

  He laughed, an easy comfortable laugh. Jessie smiled, the headache and the awkward moment upstairs almost forgotten. Almost.

  She rearranged her cereal with the spoon. “Greg, about Daniel...”

  The laughter died. He cleared his throat. “What was that about dinner?”

  She decided against answering. What part of “dinner” needed to be explained?

  “Didn’t you hear me when I told you to keep away from him?”

  “I heard you. Did you learn anything more about his criminal record?”

  “What more is there to learn? He was convicted of murder.”

  “But there has to be more to it. You said he served his time.”

  “Yes.”

  “He wasn’t given a life sentence. I mean he was released, right? He didn’t escape.”

  “No, he didn’t escape. But not all killers get life. You know that. Prisons are too crowded. Convicts get reduced sentences for good behavior.”

  “My point is he paid his debt to society. Have you found anything more about him since he started using the name Shumway?”

  “No.”

  “So he’s been clean since he got out.”

  Greg slammed his spoon down on the table. “Jess, you’re trying to convince yourself the man is innocent. He’s not.”

  The headache was back. She pressed two fingers into the space between her eyes. “Yesterday you said you investigated Doc’s death. What’d you mean?”

  “Just what I said.”

  “Uh-uh. I know you. There’s more to it. What’d you find out?”

  Greg scowled into his bowl. He glanced at her then returned his full attention to the cereal. “Doc wasn’t exactly well liked by the masses.”

  Jessie leaned back and folded her arms. “If you’re afraid you’re gonna shatter my illusion of him being a god, you can relax. I’ve already figured that out.”

  “In the weeks before his death, he managed to get into several arguments.”

  Old news. But she kept that to herself. “With whom?”

  Greg shot another glance at Jessie but continued to direct his conversation into his breakfast bowl. “Your Daniel Shumway for one. My source wasn’t able to say what the argument was about, just that it was animated.”

  “Who else?”

  He looked up again. This time his expression clearly stated he didn’t think he needed to go on.

  Jessie held his gaze, determined he would.

  He sighed. “A guy from security.”

  “Butch.”

  Now Greg looked annoyed. “You already know so much, why don’t you tell me?”

  “No, that’s okay. You go on.”

  He started ticking names off on his fingers. “Sherry Malone. Neil Emerick. Frank Hamilton.” Greg held his hand in front of her with the four fingers poised, waiting to include the thumb. “Do you have anyone to add?”

  “You’ve pretty well covered it.”

  “You could have shared what you knew.”

  “You kept telling me there was no murder. No investigation.”

  A muscle in Greg’s jaw twitched.

  “Did your source tell you what any of the arguments were about?”

  “More than one source, actually. And no. They either didn’t know or wouldn’t say.”

  “Care to share your sources’ names?”

  “So you can track them down and pump them for information after I’ve promised them anonymity? I don’t think so.”

  Jessie picked up her spoon. “Can’t blame a gal for trying.” She took a bite. “Anything on who broke in here?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve checked all the pawn shops from Chester to Follansbee for your laptop.”

  A soft tapping on the doorframe between the dining room and kitchen drew Jessie’s attention. She looked up to find Vanessa standing there, the one small fist that had been doing the knocking still raised. Peanut abandoned his food, nails scratching and sliding on the floor as he scurried to his new best friend.

  Jessie lost interest in her meal too, but for a different reason. Greg jumped to his feet. His chair tipped back, and he grabbed for it, catching it before it went all the way over.

  The petite blonde’s childlike voice was barely audible. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  Jessie’s head throbbed with renewed vigor. “What are you doing here? I fired you. Remember?”

  “I’m not here to work. I came looking for Greg.” Vanessa gazed at him with those plaintive blue eyes. “I missed you.”

  Any remaining appetite Jessie had vanished. “You might not have a job, but I do.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going now.”

  Vanessa scooted out of the doorway, keeping her head lowered as if afraid Jessie might attack her. Peanut looked back and forth between them.

  Jessie stopped to scratch him under the chin. “See you tonight, fella.” She straightened and glared down at Vanessa, who was almost a head shorter and still avoiding her eyes. “Enjoy your visit. Because I’m still not giving you my house.”

  “Jess.” Greg apparently didn’t approve of Jessie’s tone. She started into the kitchen, but he called her name again, this time using his stop-in-the-name-of-the-law voice.

  She wheeled. “What?”

  He dug in his pocket and removed his cell phone. “You’d better take this until you can get a new one. Since yours is at the bottom of the pool.”

  Or at the crime lab.

  He tossed it to her. “Make sure you get your calls forwarded to it.”

  Jessie stared at the phone. Part of her longed to wing it back at
him. Bounce it off his head. Instead, she curled her fingers around it. “Thanks.”

  As she paused on the back porch to tug on her boots, she glanced through the window into the dining room. She looked away. And looked back. Vanessa was in Greg’s arms. Six-foot-four state cop holding barely five-foot unemployed veterinary receptionist. It occurred to Jessie that in spite of the size difference, they fit. It also occurred to her that her head still ached. But her heart didn’t. The realization made her smile. Maybe she’d reached the final stage of grief after all.

  Twenty-Four

  Trooper Popovich’s navy-blue Ford Explorer sat in Jessie’s usual parking spot, so she pulled to the side of the clinic and cut the engine. Had Popovich never left? Or was he back again bright and early?

  Yellow crime scene tape still hung in the hallway between the clinic and the spa just past her office. That was fine. The last place she wanted to be right now was anywhere near the equine swimming pool.

  She inserted her key into the office door’s lock.

  “Good. You’re here.”

  She jumped.

  Popovich stood in the semi-darkness of the roped-off hallway with one hand resting on his sidearm. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Jessie thought about reminding him that two vets had recently turned up dead, giving her every reason to be jittery. Instead, she pushed into her office.

  He followed her. “I thought you might like to know we’ve got the autopsy results.”

  “That was fast.”

  “Seems Miss Malone’s death was no accident.”

  Jessie dropped into her chair. “I figured as much.”

  He studied her, sizing her up. A smile curled his lip. “Greg mentioned you think you’re Nancy Drew. You believe that old man’s death a couple of weeks ago was murder too.”

  Jessie decided against sharing her suspicions. “I’ve been told the coroner ruled that one accidental.”

  “That’s right.” Popovich’s smile faded. “Mind if I take a look around?”

  “Why?”

  He tipped his head to one side. “Why not?”

  She came up with a quick list including the fact her head was about to explode. “Do whatever you want.”

  Popovich had just wiggled his fingers into a pair of nitrile gloves when Milt rapped on the open door. “Hey, darlin’. What’s going on?”

  “Ask him.” Jessie hoisted a thumb at the trooper.

  Popovich flashed a smile. “Just doing my job.”

  “He’s investigating Sherry’s murder.”

  Milt scowled. “Oh?” He swaggered into the room and planted a hip on the edge of the desk. “You okay?”

  She pressed her fingers into her eyebrows. “Not in the slightest. I don’t suppose you have any aspirin on you?”

  “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. I think I need something stronger anyway.”

  Popovich, who was opening and closing file cabinet drawers, gave her a questioning look.

  “Like antibiotics. I’m working on a good case of sinusitis from inhaling that crappy water.”

  “That’ll do it.” Milt swung one leg creating a slow, hollow thunk every time his heel hit the desk.

  Popovich straightened from his rummaging. He held the logbook for the pool in his hands. “What’s this?”

  “That’s the appointment book for the spa.”

  He slipped on a pair of old-fashioned reading glasses and thumbed through the pages. “Looks like Miss Malone had scheduled time to swim a horse yesterday.” He peered over the glasses at Jessie. “Where was the horse?”

  “In quarantine.” When he stared blankly at her, she went on to give him the Cliff’s Notes version of the dilemma in Emerick’s stable.

  “Then why didn’t she cancel her appointment?”

  “I told you yesterday. She called and said she wanted to meet with me.”

  “Oh, yes.” His tone turned patronizing. “And you got called away and left her a note, which we still haven’t been able to locate.”

  Jessie didn’t have an answer for that one.

  Popovich set the book on the desk. “Do you mind?” He waved a paw at her as if shooing a fly.

  She sighed and vacated her chair, moving to the futon.

  Milt followed, taking a seat next to her. He leaned toward her and whispered in her ear. “Any idea what Sherry wanted to talk to you about?”

  Jessie thought she noticed Popovich’s ears twitch.

  Seeing that the trooper’s eyes were focused on the desk’s center drawer, she mouthed the word, “Later,” to Milt. He winked at her and nodded.

  “What’s this?”

  Jessie looked up to see Popovich sitting in her chair, holding the silver and turquoise barrette. An icy stillness settled over her.

  “Jessie, isn’t that the hair thingamabob Sherry’s been yammering about losing?” Milt asked. “Where’d you find it?”

  She widened her eyes at him hoping he got her wordless message to shut the hell up.

  Popovich made an annoying humming sound. He turned the barrette first one way and then another as he scrutinized it. “That’s a very good question, Mr. Dodd. Would you like to tell me what it’s doing in your desk, Dr. Cameron?”

  Jessie rehearsed her words inside her head, wondering how they would sound to a cop investigating a murder. Speaking deliberately, she said, “Someone broke into my house last week.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And I found that barrette in with the broken glass.”

  “Did you know it belonged to Miss Malone?”

  “It looked like one she wears.”

  “Looked like? Mr. Dodd here says she lost it.”

  “I didn’t know that at the time.”

  “But you thought it was hers?”

  “I thought it might be.”

  He hummed again. “What do you suppose it was doing at your house?”

  “I’ve been wondering that myself.”

  “You think she had something to do with the break-in?”

  His rapid-fire questions exhausted her. “I don’t know.”

  More humming. “I’m going to keep this. And the logbook.”

  “Knock yourself out.” Popovich glowered at her, and she came up with a more respectful reply. “Yes, sir.”

  Popovich stood up, tucking the book under one arm and cradling the barrette in his palm as if it were some valuable piece of jewelry instead of a cheap, gaudy hunk of costume crap. “One more question, Dr. Cameron. You can answer this one too, Mr. Dodd.” The trooper’s gaze shifted from one to the other. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted Miss Malone dead?”

  Jessie wished she knew. Daniel? She couldn’t bring herself to say his name in this context. Not yet.

  Popovich cleared his throat. “Besides yourself, that is.”

  There it was. The blatant accusation. She climbed to her feet and glowered at the trooper. “You find out who killed Doc Lewis and you’ll have Sherry’s murderer too.”

  JESSIE LEFT HER TRUCK parked at the clinic and struck out on foot for the front side, hoping the walk might calm her nerves.

  Popovich might be putting his money on her as Sherry’s killer, but he hadn’t arrested her. Yet. Before he had a chance to reconsider, Jessie had to see a man about a horse.

  Although it was still only May, the rising humidity was more akin to July. Jessie peeled off her hoodie before she made it halfway across the backside and tied it by the arms around her waist. Riverview was virtually deserted following the EIA scare, so the unmistakable sound of truck and trailer—grumbling diesel engine and clanking aluminum gooseneck—rolling up behind her seemed out of place. What brave soul dared venture onto contaminated soil when everyone else had beaten a hasty retreat?

  Zelda waved from the driver’s side window of her red and silver rig. Jessie stepped aside and waited for Zelda to pull up next to her.

  “Hey, Dr. Cameron. How are you holding up? Terrible thing, what happened to Doc’s assist
ant.”

  “It was.” Jessie shielded her eyes from the glaring sun and looked back at the trailer. “Are you hauling in or out?”

  “In. I’ve got Clown back there.” Zelda gestured toward the big four-horse slant-ride. “I wanted to thank you for allowing it.”

  “I had nothing to do with it.” Doc’s death wasn’t the Thoroughbred’s fault. No reason Zelda or the horse should suffer those consequences.

  Zelda gave her a knowing smile. “Sure you did. And I intend to make certain nothing else happens like...” She didn’t finish the sentence but waved and gassed the truck, leaving Jessie in a wake of dust and diesel fumes.

  No, none of it was Clown’s fault, so why did Jessie suddenly feel overwhelmed with apprehension?

  She slipped through one of the pedestrian gates and jogged toward the track on her way to the grandstand. She stopped at the rail on the far turn to watch two horses in the middle of their morning workout, loping around the oval with exercise boys standing in their stirrups. A hefty man with a rounded back cupped a stopwatch in his hands. Even after the exodus, life went on.

  Following the footpath around the outside of the homestretch, she listened to the drumming of hoof beats on the dirt to her left, savored the heat of the sun on her face. For a few brief minutes, all was right with her world.

  Inside the grandstand, the squeak of Jessie’s rubber-soled boots echoed, but at this hour, the solitude was normal. She crossed the expansive lobby to the offices, stopped outside Daniel’s, and hesitated. She’d made some foolhardy moves in her life. This was possibly the biggest. She considered beating a hasty retreat. Instead, she stepped inside.

  Daniel was on the phone. He looked up and smiled but not his usual, full-blown boyish smile. He held up one finger and spoke into the receiver. “How long have we been doing business? You know I’m good for it. Just give me a couple weeks to let all this blow over...Yeah? Well, thanks a lot.” His smooth voice had turned bitter. He set the receiver down hard in its cradle. Then he leaned back in his chair and ran both hands through his hair.

  The distressed look on his rugged face softened Jessie’s resolve. “Rough day?”