Death by Equine

by Annette Dashofy

  “You could say that. Creditors don’t like to hear the barns are mostly empty. And bettors don’t like to hear there are barely enough horses entered to fill a race card.”

  She wished she could ease his pain instead of adding to it.

  He met her gaze. “I don’t blame you for any of this, you know.”

  She licked her dry lips, trying to summon up courage. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.” He interlaced his fingers behind his head. “Anything.”

  She drew a breath. Blew it out. “Did you have anything to do with Doc’s death? Or Sherry’s?”

  Minutes felt like long, silent hours as Daniel held her gaze. When he finally moved, it was in slow motion. He came forward in his chair, brought his hands to his desk surface, and broke the silence with a strangled, “What?”

  The question didn’t require any elaboration, so she continued to wait.

  “Why in heaven’s name would you think such a thing?”

  The words stuck, but she forced them out. “You’ve done it before.”

  Daniel Shumway, who’d always seemed larger than life, shrank. “You know.” He choked a humorless laugh. With one thumb, he rubbed at a sunspot on the back of his other hand as if trying to wipe away a memory. “That was a long time ago.”

  “When you were Daniel Brice?”

  “Yes.” He made a few false starts, but finally managed to ask, “Are you going to report me to the racing commission?”

  “Did you have anything to do with Doc’s death?” She said it with more force this time.

  “Would you believe me if I say no?”

  “Convince me.” She considered taking a seat in one of the chairs facing his desk. Instead, she opted to keep the chair between them and rested her hands on its back. “Doc found out about your past. He blackmailed you into keeping quiet about him falsifying Coggins test results.”

  Daniel didn’t blink. Nor did he deny her allegations.

  “You got a vial of ace from Sherry right before Doc died.”

  A sad smile crossed his face. “I wondered what you were doing in my tack room that morning.”

  “And Sherry—” Jessie’s fingers tightened on the chair back. “She figured out who murdered her dad and was just about to tell me.” Jessie fought to hold her voice steady. “Did you—” She failed, and it cracked. “Did you kill her?”

  The heartbreak in Daniel’s eyes cut deeper than any scalpel could. “I thought we had something. I thought you trusted me.”

  She wanted to. More than anything. But she couldn’t block the picture of Doc mangled in Clown’s stall or Sherry floating in the pool. She couldn’t afford to trust anyone right now.

  Daniel didn’t blink. “I guess this means you’re canceling our raincheck for dinner.”

  Heat singed her eyes, but she wasn’t going to let him see her cry. “I guess so.”

  Both Daniel’s phone and the phone Greg had given Jessie rang at the same moment. Daniel picked his up and swiveled his chair away from her. She yanked hers from her pocket, brushed an arm across her face, and answered.

  “Dr. Cameron?” She recognized Trooper Popovich’s voice. “I need you to come back to your clinic.”

  “Why?”

  “We’ve found some evidence, and I’d like your input on it. Now.” The line went dead before she could protest.

  Daniel was hanging up his phone too. “That was security. A cop just called.”

  “Popovich?”

  “He thinks they have the murder weapon. They found it at your clinic.” Daniel gazed at her with the same accusatory expression she’d used on him a few minutes earlier. Only he didn’t come right out and ask if she’d done it.

  Twenty-Five

  Wearing gloves, Popovich removed a pair of hoof nippers from a brown paper evidence bag and waved them in front of Jessie. “Do these look familiar, Doctor?”

  “They’re mine.” Blacksmiths weren’t the only ones who owned farriers’ tools. On occasion, she needed to pull a shoe from a lame horse.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m positive.” She had run a band of red electrician’s tape around each handle to keep her tools from being mixed up with anyone else’s. Now it felt like a damned stupid thing to do.

  “Can you explain the blood on the end of them?”

  “No.”

  Popovich squinted as if to study the dark reddish-brown stain. “The crime scene boys got a strand of long blonde hair from them too.” He eyed her. “Your hair isn’t blonde.”

  The comment didn’t require an answer.

  Daniel stood next to her in the dreaded spa. “If you’re accusing her of something, I think she’d better have an attorney present before she says anything else.”

  Jessie looked at him. Why was he standing up for her after what she’d said to him mere minutes ago? She half expected him to shove her into Popovich’s vehicle, maybe help slap the cuffs on her wrists.

  “Did I say I was accusing anyone of anything?” Popovich’s innocent routine didn’t work, but that didn’t stop him from using it. “We’re simply having a conversation. We don’t know what the blood and tissue samples we got from these—what are they? Some sort of pliers?”

  “Nippers,” Jessie said. “Hoof nippers.”

  “Ah, nippers. Thank you. As I was saying, we don’t know what the blood and tissue samples we got from these nippers will show.” Popovich returned the tool to the evidence bag. “May not even be human. But I believe we’ll find a match to Miss Malone. And I believe our murderer used these to knock Miss Malone into the water. Any thoughts on that, Doctor?”

  If she’d learned anything from Greg, it was that she had the right to remain silent. For once, she decided to invoke it.

  “Any idea who, besides yourself, might have access to these...nippers?”

  Daniel stepped between them and looked up at Popovich. The state trooper stood several inches taller than the track CEO, but at that moment Daniel’s presence overpowered the officer’s. “Anyone could have grabbed those from that bucket.” He motioned to the white plastic pail Jessie used to store her farriers’ tools. “This isn’t a conversation. It’s an interrogation. And you need to put an end to it until she has a lawyer present. Do I make myself clear, Trooper?”

  Popovich looked down his nose at Daniel. “Fine.” He pointed the bagged nippers at Jessie. “I want to be able to find you at a moment’s notice, you understand? Do not make me look for you.”

  He sauntered out of the clinic, motioning for the remaining Crime Scene Unit guys to follow him.

  Alone with Daniel, Jessie restrained an impulse to throw herself into his arms for making Popovich go away. When Daniel turned to face her, his expression made her wonder if Popovich should’ve stayed.

  “I told you they suspected you.” His voice took on a hard edge. “You know damned well the blood is Sherry’s. He may not have arrested you today, but it’s only a matter of time.”

  Her gaze drifted to the black, glassy surface of the pool, the reflections of the overhead lights, uninterrupted this time. But the memory of that blue balloon gave her a chill, intensified by the cold reality in Daniel’s words. She took a step toward the passageway. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He caught her arm. “You need to get a lawyer.”

  “Don’t suppose you can recommend one?” She offered him a conciliatory smile.

  “Yes, I could.” His expression didn’t look very forgiving. “However, I’m going to need him myself, considering what you’ve accused me of. You’re on your own.”

  Her headache was back, but sinusitis had little to do with it.

  “There’s something else.”

  She pressed her fingers into the space between her eyes and squinted up at him.

  He lifted his chin, looking down at her with an expression she couldn’t read. “I want you off Riverview property.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re a suspect in a murder that took pla
ce here at my track. Pack your things. I’ll have someone from security come by at seven and escort you out. The guards will be given orders that you are not to set foot through the gate again. At least until things are settled.”

  Jessie took a lurching step to the wall and reached out for it. “But—but what about my patients?”

  “There aren’t any races tonight. I’ll arrange to get someone qualified in here tomorrow.” Daniel studied her in silence for a moment before speaking again. “I’m sorry, but you haven’t given me much choice.” He reached across the gulf between them, fingered a loose strand of her hair, and tucked it behind her ear. Turning, he strode across the spa, and ducked under the yellow tape at the back door.

  Jessie watched him go, her mind reeling like a roulette wheel. And then the ball dropped. “My God,” she whispered to the empty spa. “He really did kill Sherry. Now he’s barring me from track property so I can’t investigate and prove he’s framing me.”

  Gripping the wall, she staggered in the opposite direction, through the hallway to the office. Her office. Except that it wasn’t. And never would be.

  OLD MCDONALD HAD NOTHING on Meryl’s farm. Half a dozen beef cattle grazed in the pasture next to the drive. A small herd of horses and ponies in the lower field napped in the shade of a strand of willows. A coonhound and a yellow Lab—slightly less rotund than Peanut—offered her a raucous greeting, leaping at the fence enclosing Meryl’s front yard. Jessie circled to the back deck where a trio of cats lounged in the fading light. The yelps, squeals, and shouts of a house with three boys and one young daughter in residence filtered through the walls. Jessie rapped on the sliding glass door. The din continued with no change in volume or pitch. Nor did anyone come to the door. She knocked again, louder. This time the house fell silent. The slats in the blind parted, revealing a brown eyeball that widened at the sight of Jessie. The latch clicked and the door slid open with a soft whoosh. Meryl stood there in jeans and a gray t-shirt. “Jessie? Are you all right?”

  “Other than being homeless, unemployed, and a suspect in a murder investigation?”

  Meryl opened her mouth with the obvious intent of making a smartass remark, but the murder suspect comment sank in. Her expression changed to one of puzzlement. Standing aside, she invited Jessie in.

  The interior decibel level had cranked back up to rock-concert levels, and it took a few minutes for Meryl to round up her troop and shoo them outside. “Sorry about that. Hal’s in the barn. He can handle them for a while.” She motioned toward the kitchen table, piled with papers. “Have you eaten?”

  Jessie tried to remember the last time she’d had a real meal. “Not recently.”

  Meryl gave her The Mom Look. “Sit.” She dialed up the flame on the stove and reached for a skillet. “What’s this about being a murder suspect?”

  Jessie dropped into a solid oak chair and poured out the events of the last couple of days while Meryl cracked and whisked eggs with the efficiency of a master chef. Jessie skipped over the part about thinking she was falling in love with the man she believed to be the real killer. She already knew what Meryl would have to say about that.

  As Jessie reached the end of her sad tale, Meryl slid a mushroom and cheese omelet onto a plate and plunked it in front of her. “You’re being a bit melodramatic, don’t you think?”

  “What do you mean?” Jessie shoveled a large forkful into her mouth.

  Meryl held up one finger. “You aren’t homeless. Just boot Greg’s ass out of your house and move back in.” She held up a second finger. “You aren’t unemployed either. I have a ton of work waiting for you.” Third finger. “And you didn’t kill anyone, which Trooper Popoholic will soon figure out.”

  Jessie snorted and grabbed for a napkin. “Don’t let him hear you call him that.”

  Meryl blew a raspberry and withdrew a bottle of white zinfandel from the refrigerator. “Care for a glass?”

  Jessie stopped chewing. Ordinarily, she didn’t drink, but only because she was always on call. “Depends.”

  “On what?” Meryl had already removed two wine glasses from the cupboard.

  “Can I crash here tonight?”

  “Just so you won’t have to drink and drive?”

  “Just so I don’t have to go home and face Greg.”

  Meryl huffed a sarcastic laugh. “Of course, you can stay here.” She sat across the table from Jessie and filled the two glasses. “As for Greg, I already told you what you should do about him. Especially now that the Malone chick is dead.”

  Jessie winced. Funny. She’d started to have kinder feelings for Doc’s illegitimate daughter now that she was gone.

  “You still believe she’s the one who broke in, don’t you?” Meryl swirled the wine in the glass.

  “I’m not sure.” Jessie traded the fork for the glass of wine, sipped, and let the warm tingle seep into the back of her throat while she considered the question. “No, I don’t think she did.”

  “Why not? And if not Malone, who?”

  Jessie set the glass down and went back to picking apart the cheese and egg. “Whoever broke in destroyed a bunch of Doc’s files.”

  “They stole your computer too. Maybe they took it to get the records on it.”

  “If that was their intention, they failed miserably.”

  Meryl fingered the stem of the wine glass. “You mean because you back up your computer files?”

  “Uh-huh.” She’d already retrieved her electronic records. “But Doc backed up his files too.”

  Meryl stopped with her glass halfway to her lips. “Wait. He only kept paper records, right?”

  Jessie took another bite of the omelet. “And a spare set at his house. I’d retrieved Zelda Peterson’s folder because I couldn’t find Clown’s record at the clinic.” She realized what she’d just said and set her fork down on the plate with a hard clink.

  “What?”

  “When Clown’s record first went missing, it crossed my mind that Doc’s killer might be responsible, but I dismissed the idea because I assumed Doc had just misfiled it.”

  “Was that record with the stuff that got burned at your house?”

  “No. I only had the files from A to H. The backups of those should still be at Amelia’s.”

  Meryl’s phone rang. She excused herself and crossed the kitchen to retrieve it from the counter.

  Jessie forked down the rest of the omelet while forming a plan of attack for the morning. Could the answer to two murders be in Doc’s file cabinet? Around the periphery of her thoughts, she heard Meryl agreeing to something on the phone and not sounding particularly happy about it.

  Meryl returned to the table and tossed the phone on top of a pile of papers. She flopped into her chair and slugged down the rest of her wine.

  “I gather that wasn’t an emergency call.” Jessie knew Meryl shared her aversion to the idea of drinking “on duty.”

  “Not exactly. You have to work for me tomorrow.”

  “But I wanted to go over to Amelia’s and go through Doc’s stuff.”

  Meryl shook her head. “That was Daniel on the phone. He wants me to fill in for you at the track.”

  Last winter, Jessie had walked into the little diner in West Cumberland and spotted Greg holding hands with a leggy redhead. Having Daniel replace her within hours, and with her best friend no less, may not have hurt quite as much. It was a business deal, after all, not an emotional one. So why was she feeling so damned betrayed?

  Meryl reached across the table to give her a gentle nudge. “Hey. If you’d rather I told him to go to hell, I will.”

  Jessie coughed out a laugh. “No, I know my patients there will be in good hands with you.” Then she slammed a hand down on the table, making her fork rattle on the empty plate. “But don’t go falling in love with the place. I still might want to buy Doc’s practice if I can swing it.” She thought about all that had transpired in the last few weeks. “If there’s anything left at Riverview once the dust settles.”
<
br />   DROPPING IN ON AMELIA before work was becoming a bad habit. This time, Jessie called first. Doc’s widow sounded much cheerier on the phone than during their previous talk.

  She also looked better when she met Jessie at the front door. “It’s so good to see you, sweetie.” Amelia gave her a big hug.

  “I should’ve stopped in again before now.”

  “Don’t be silly. I know what kind of schedule you have. I was married to the man you replaced, remember?

  “I could never replace Doc.”

  “You know what I mean. Come in. Can I get you some breakfast?”

  “No, thanks. I already ate.” But she ventured a peek into the kitchen and was relieved to see a neat table and uncluttered countertops.

  Amelia caught her looking. “I’m doing better.”

  “Good.”

  Amelia took a seat on the couch, which was free of blankets and bed pillows. “Please. Sit down.” She motioned to a chair.

  “I wish I could, but I have to get to work.” Jessie decided against mentioning that “work” didn’t involve the track today.

  “You said on the phone you needed Doc’s records.”

  “I don’t know if you heard. Someone broke into my house and destroyed some of the files I had there.”

  Amelia gasped. “How horrible.”

  “I think there was something in them the burglar didn’t want me to see.”

  A cloud of sadness crossed Amelia’s eyes. “I’d hoped there was another reason you wanted them.”

  Work or not, Jessie took a seat beside Doc’s widow. “What do you mean?”

  “I imagine you’ve heard about Sherry Malone.”

  Jessie’s mind spun through all there was to know. The topic was endless. “What about her?”

  “She was his daughter.”

  Amelia knew after all. Jessie remained quiet, choosing to let Doc’s widow volunteer whatever information she wanted to share.

  “Sherry wanted his practice. Doc was going to leave it to her in his will. But something happened. Not long before he...died, he changed his mind and left her money instead.”