Death by Equine

by Annette Dashofy

  Jessie swallowed down the panic. “You removed Clown’s records from the file cabinet in the office.”

  “Yep. You were digging into this boy’s history.” He nodded at the horse. “I figured as long as you didn’t find out about his reaction to the drug, you’d drop it. How the hell did you get your hands on them after I got rid of them?”

  “You didn’t know? Doc kept backup records at his house.”

  Milt pressed his lips into a thin, flat line. “Dang.”

  “Why did you break into my house?”

  “You know why.” He rubbed Clown’s neck—the spot he intended to inject.

  “I get why you burned the records.” She had to keep him distracted. “But why bust up my stuff?”

  He chuckled. “If all I did was get rid of evidence, it would’ve been too obvious, don’t you think?”

  Jessie longed to check over her shoulder in hope of seeing Greg, or even Popovich, standing outside the stall but doubted anyone had received her distress call. And she didn’t know how much longer she could keep this up. “What about the cats?”

  “Pardon?”

  “My cats. You locked them in the closet.”

  “Them danged cats.” Milt rested his elbow on Clown’s withers. “That black and white one kept getting under my feet when I was rummaging through your office. I tossed her in the closet to get her out of my way. But then she started yowling so loud it about drove me nuts, so I got the other one out of the cage and put it in there to keep her company. I suppose I could’ve shut her up permanently, but like I said, I never intended to hurt you. Or your kitty cats. I just wanted to scare you into backing the hell off.”

  “And you planted Sherry’s barrette.”

  Milt held up one finger. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doin’. But you’re just delaying the inevitable. Enough with the chitchat.” He looked up at the stallion who was standing quietly despite the curled lip and worry lines around his eyes. “It’s time for this to all be over. That scum Emerick will take the fall. And no one will look at me twice.” He moved his right hand, the one holding the syringe, toward Clown’s neck.

  This was it. When Milt turned his attention away from Jessie, she looked toward the stall door. Instead of a simple stall webbing or grate, the bottom half of the split door had been closed and probably latched. Before she could make a move, the steel toe of Milt’s work boot caught her in the ribs. Her breath whooshed out of her as if he’d given her the Heimlich maneuver. The pain threatened to cut her in half. She hugged her knees and groaned.

  “Don’t make this any harder on yourself than it has to be.” Milt’s voice had turned stone cold. He’d released his hold on the horse to kick her, and Clown cowered in the stall corner. Milt turned his back on Jessie and approached the stallion. He grabbed the halter with his left hand. With his right, he slammed the needle into his neck and rammed the plunger home.

  Jessie judged the distance to the stall door. She turned back just in time to see Milt’s boot coming at her ribs again. Blocking out the searing pain screaming through her body, she rolled toward the foot and caught it in her arms. With one hand on the heel of his boot and the other clutching the toe, she twisted.

  He roared in a mixture of pain and fury and crashed into the straw beside her.

  She made it onto her hands and knees. Milt caught her around the waist and heaved her away from the stall gate. She rolled over him, landing between him and Clown. The chestnut stallion hunched back into a corner to avoid stepping on the humans in the middle of his stall.

  Milt lunged for the door. Jessie scissored her legs around his. He tumbled onto his side and struck out, only succeeding in thumping her thigh. At this point, one more bruise didn’t matter. Jessie released her legs’ vice-like grip long enough to draw one back and let loose with a kick to his groin. She wasn’t close enough to land a crippling blow. But it was enough to curl him into a ball and elicit a string of foul language.

  A different kind of roar drew her attention. Clown no longer cowered in the corner. A thin film of sweat darkened his coppery coat. His eyes looked more crazed than frightened. The drug had hit his bloodstream.

  Her peripheral vision caught movement. Milt was on his knees. Clenching both fists, he swung at her. She rolled away from him, and he caught her shoulder instead of her face. Thrown off balance, he toppled onto her.

  Jessie tried to wiggle out from under him. His fingers found her throat and squeezed. She fought to pry his hands free. Tiny flash bulbs began going off inside her eyes. Sound became muffled. She could hear a primordial bellow, but it seemed miles away. Suddenly Milt’s grip loosened. He screamed. Instinctively, she rolled and found her way to her knees.

  Clown had Milt’s shoulder in his teeth. The horse began shaking him like a dog worrying an old sock. Milt’s arms flailed. He kicked at the horse.

  Jessie scrambled toward the stall door. Somehow, Milt broke free. She heard him behind her, clawing his way on all fours. He grabbed Jessie’s ankle. As he tried to climb over her, she kicked at him with her other foot.

  But it wasn’t her foot that made contact. Something cracked like a tree limb snapping in a storm.

  Milt shrieked and crashed facedown into the straw. Jessie caught a glimpse of Clown’s drug-addled eye and one hoof pawing. It must have nailed Milt’s leg.

  God, Jessie thought. This was how Doc died. She didn’t want to go this way. She didn’t even want Milt to go this way. The only way to stop it from happening was to get out of the stall. Find a pitchfork or something—anything—to hold the crazed stallion at bay.

  She made a lunge toward the door.

  But Milt once again caught her ankle. “Jessie, help me.”

  She flipped onto her back. Sat up. Grabbed a handful of Milt’s shirt fabric. Dug her heels into the straw. And heaved. But it was like trying to drag a sack of lead.

  A shadow fell over them. Clown reared behind Milt, blocking the light from the bare bulb. The stallion’s front legs raked the air. And then drove forward. Jessie saw what was coming but was powerless to stop the inevitable. The hooves caught Milt’s back and slammed him into her with the force of a truck.

  The deep-throated growl coming from the horse was unlike anything Jessie had ever heard before. Clown hunkered back onto his haunches and reared again. The blacksmith lay still, no longer holding onto her. Jessie managed to wrest free of him just as the horse came down, battering his front hoofs into Milt’s motionless body. The crack of bone and the sickening thud of metal shoes against flesh filled the stall. The coppery stench of blood curdled Jessie’s stomach. As the horse reared a third time, she made it to the closed stall door and clawed her way up the wood. The stallion drove down on Milt one more time.

  Jessie reached over the door and fumbled for the latch. Straw rustled behind her. From the corner of her eye she saw the big chestnut. His head snaked out in front of him as he advanced toward her. In two more steps he’d be on her, but she couldn’t watch. She had to find the damned latch.

  Her fingers did not touch the steel bolt, but she heard it scrape, metal-on-metal. The door swung open, and she tumbled into the aisle. Strong hands dragged her from the stall. The door slammed behind her. She heard and felt the impact as Clown crashed into it and let loose another blood-chilling scream.

  Jessie’s rescuer knelt beside her and helped her to sit. She raised her head and stared into Daniel’s pale blue eyes.

  “Milt,” she whispered. “Help me save Milt.”

  “It’s too late.” Daniel’s voice was soft. “There’s nothing left to save.”

  Jessie choked back a sob. “How did you...?”

  “Vanessa called me. She said you phoned and were in trouble. She couldn’t track down Greg, so she called me instead.”

  Jessie closed her eyes, grateful for the ditzy blonde’s remarkable memory for names and phone numbers. At the same time, Jessie wished she could close her ears to the thrashing going on inside Clown’s stall. Wished she could c
lose her mind to the memories of the last few hours. The last few weeks. When she opened her eyes again, Daniel was watching her. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  In the distance, the wail of sirens merged with Clown’s screams.

  Daniel took off his coat and bundled it around her. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

  She glanced at the stall. The same stall where Doc had died. And now Milt. “You’re wrong. There’s everything to be sorry for.”

  Twenty-Nine

  The icepack felt delicious against Jessie’s face, quelling the fiery daggers stabbing into her cheek and eye. If only it could numb her brain.

  “You’re gonna have a hell of a shiner.”

  She looked at Greg with her good eye. “You think?”

  Jessie sat sideways on the gurney inside the ambulance. Greg perched on the edge of the jump seat across from her, resting his elbows on his knees. They both turned their heads to look out the open back doors.

  The sight was too déjà vu for Jessie. The road below Barn E was jammed with police cars, lights flashing. The coroner’s van had pulled in a few minutes earlier. From where she sat, she couldn’t see them wheel the cot into the shedrow. Couldn’t see them bring the bagged body out. She didn’t need to.

  She’d already given statements to two uniformed officers as well as Trooper Larry Popovich. He’d had the nerve to hint that she was the one who drugged the horse, so she wasn’t exactly thrilled to see the big trooper show up in the ambulance doorway. He sat on the bumper step, and the vehicle rocked slightly from the additional load.

  Greg shifted to face his colleague. “Larry, don’t you think you could cut her some slack?”

  “Relax, Cameron.” The trooper pulled a paper bag from his pocket, snapped on a Latex glove, and removed a cell phone from the sack. “We found this in the blacksmith’s truck.”

  Jessie looked at the phone and then back at Popovich. “Is that...Miguel Diaz’s?”

  “Uh-huh. Apparently, Mr. Dodd found it and instead of turning it in to lost and found, used it to call Doc Lewis and then 911 after watching Lewis die. And he texted you. Those are the last three numbers in its log.” Popovich dropped the phone back into the evidence bag and peeled off the glove. “By itself, it doesn’t clear you. But I’ve talked to Vanessa Yarnevich.” He shot a glance at Greg before turning his full attention back to Jessie. “And one of the county detectives spoke with Mrs. Dodd. They both confirm your story.”

  The numbness had leeched out of Jessie’s skin, leaving her face throbbing. She squished the chemicals around in the plastic sack to find the coldest spot and pressed it to her cheek. “Catherine must be devastated.”

  Popovich crossed his arms. “The only thing I still don’t get is that hair clip in your desk.”

  The one thing she hadn’t been able to get Milt to clear up. She didn’t need him to. “Milt planted it at my house so I’d think Sherry was behind the break in.” Jessie huffed. “Turns out Sherry’s the one who pieced it all together. He killed her before she had a chance to tell me.” Jessie looked at Popovich. “Or you.”

  Daniel appeared at the rear of the ambulance. It was the first Jessie had seen of him since the ambulance arrived. His face and voice remained stoic. “Are you okay?”

  She looked down at her boots. Okay was about the last word she’d use to describe how she was. She’d lost the man who’d been closer to her than her own father only to find out she hardly knew him. Now she’d lost another man she’d thought was a good friend after discovering she’d been even more wrong about him. Milt had killed Doc. And nearly succeeded in killing her. Yet, on top of all that, she ached at his death. “I’m just peachy.”

  Popovich rose. The ambulance lifted with him. He reached in and slapped Greg on the knee. “I’ll catch you later.” He pointed a stubby finger at Jessie. “Stay out of trouble.” Then he disappeared around the side of the vehicle.

  Daniel’s gaze shifted from Jessie to Greg and back. “Seriously. How are you?”

  Jessie lowered the icepack. From the reactions she’d been getting, she gathered the shovel had left a mark. “According to the paramedics, I probably have a concussion. They’re pretty insistent I let them transport me to the hospital.”

  “I think that would be wise.” Daniel motioned for her to put the icepack back.

  She complied without argument. The cold felt so damned good.

  He stepped back. “Call me if you need anything.” He turned to Greg. A look of understanding flashed between the two men. Daniel gave him a nod. To Jessie, Daniel said, “I’ll be in touch.” And then he was gone.

  Greg gazed out the doors. “He’s not a bad guy.”

  “No, he’s not.” There was someone else she’d been wrong about. “Speaking of not being so bad, I need to talk to Vanessa.”

  Greg’s gaze snapped to Jessie. “Why?”

  “To apologize. And to thank her.”

  “Oh?”

  “She saved my life tonight. If she hadn’t called Daniel, there would be two bodies for the coroner to deal with.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. Daniel said you were halfway out of that stall already when he arrived. He says he just caught you as you came tumbling out.”

  She looked out of the ambulance. The flickering blue and red light show reminded her of a colorized version of the storm that had long since blown over the mountains to the east. “Daniel was being kind.”

  She could feel Greg’s gaze on her. “I think he’s rather fond of you.”

  Jessie choked out a laugh. “Let’s see. I threaten to close down the track, basically throwing him into financial ruin. Then I dig up a past he’s trying to put behind him. Not to mention accusing him of two murders. I’m sure ‘fond’ isn’t the word he’d use.”

  “He might not, but I would.”

  “Anyway, tell Vanessa thanks for me.”

  Greg met and held Jessie’s gaze. “I will.” He started to get up and thunked his head on the storage cabinet over the jump seat. “Dammit.”

  Jessie extended the icepack toward him, but he waved it away, gave her a weak smile, and climbed out of the ambulance.

  As she watched him go, it occurred to her that maybe—just maybe—she and Greg might make it out of this mess as friends.

  Epilogue

  Jessie padded barefoot down the stairs of her house, a pair of scuffed Mary Janes clamped to her side by one elbow as she attempted to slide the post of one of her pierced earrings through the hole in her lobe. She hadn’t worn the things since her dinner with Daniel.

  She crossed the center hallway into the living room where Molly lay on the sill of the newly replaced front window. The tabby crouched next to the sofa, his rapt attention riveted on something black in front of him. A spider. He drew one paw back and batted it.

  Jessie left him to his prey and headed toward the dining room. The earring back slipped into place on the post just as someone pounded on the back door. She glanced at the mantle clock. Who the hell could that be? She was going to be late.

  After dumping the shoes in the middle of the floor, she crossed the kitchen and peeked out the windows of the enclosed back porch.

  Daniel waved.

  She hadn’t seen or heard from him since that night two weeks ago at the track.

  “I hope you don’t mind me just dropping in like this,” he said when she opened the door. “Are you going somewhere?”

  Jessie smoothed away some nonexistent wrinkles from the front of her sleeveless sweater and glanced down at her black jeans. Not quite the attire for Lorenzo’s but a step up from her usual faded blue jeans and t-shirt. “I have an appointment.”

  “With the doctor? You look great.” Daniel motioned to her cheek. “The swelling has really gone down.”

  “And greenish yellow is a better color on me than the old purple and blue. But no, not the doctor.” She stepped back and tipped her head to one side, inviting him in. “I’m meeting with my divorce attorney.”

  He feign
ed shock. “Really? I’m surprised.”

  She started to close the door but hesitated when she caught sight of the smallish red SUV parked on the hillside. “Where’s your Corvette?”

  “I sold it. And the Expedition.”

  She shut the door behind him. While the contractor had been there fixing the window, he’d repaired the door too. It closed and stayed closed.

  Jessie followed Daniel through the kitchen to the dining room where he turned toward her. “Money’s been tight lately.”

  “But your ’Vette? You loved that car.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll own another one when the situation improves. I’m working on some investments to turn things around. What about you? A divorce attorney?”

  “I’ve put it off long enough. I’m moving on. I’ve had to accept Doc wasn’t the hero I always believed him to be. And Milt—” Her voice caught. Daniel reached a hand toward her, but she shook her head. “I’m still having trouble accepting that Milt was responsible for Doc’s death. And tried to kill me. But I’m working on it.”

  Daniel studied her, his eyes narrowed.

  Jessie lowered into a chair at the table. “At least one good thing came out of the ordeal. After sleeping here those few nights, Vanessa discovered she doesn’t like the dark and quiet of country life, so she’s not lusting after my house anymore.”

  “That’s great.” He pulled out a chair and sat next to her.

  Silence fell over the room, broken only by the steady tick, tick, tick of the mantel clock. Jessie wasn’t sure how to broach the subject of her future employment with the man she’d accused of murder. She studied the backs of her hands, but the answer wasn’t there. Finally, she drew a deep breath and lifted her gaze to find him watching her. “I...wanted to talk to you. About Doc’s practice at the track.”

  Daniel leaned back and crossed an ankle over a knee. “What a coincidence. I wanted to talk to you about that too.”