Death by Equine by Annette Dashofy (read this if txt) 📗

Milt removed the toothpick. “Maybe Sherry lost it.”

Jessie let the folder fall shut. “Now there’s a possibility. She was in here right before you showed up. You weren’t kidding when you said she was rough around the edges.”

“She’s a real piece of work, all right. What’d she do now?”

Jessie considered telling him about Harvey Randolph. And Sherry’s dismissal of what could be a serious situation. But Jessie decided to keep the Coggins test thing under her hat. For now. “She was upset because I moved the appointment book for the pool into the office.”

“She does have her own ways of doing things.”

Jessie leaned forward, resting her arms on Zelda’s folder. “Do you know anything about her?”

“Sherry? Not really.”

“Does she come from a wealthy family?”

Milt gave a short laugh. “Not as I’m aware. Why do you ask?”

Jessie settled back into the desk chair again. “Sherry wants this practice.”

Milt’s boots hit the floor with a thud. He flicked his toothpick into the trash. A huge smile lit his face. “And you don’t want her to have it.” He slapped the desk triumphantly. “Because you want it. Ain’t that right?”

“I didn’t say that.” Jessie hoped her protest didn’t sound as feeble as it felt.

But Milt was laughing too hard to hear her.

Her phone’s notification ping announced a text message. She checked the screen. So much for the lull in the action. “I have to go.”

Milt’s laughter faded to a cough. “So do I. I promised Catherine I’d join her in her box when I was done with work.” He rose, wiping his eyes with a bandana. “And don’t worry about Sherry. You’re the one Doc would want taking over. No way Amelia would sell to her instead of you.”

Jessie followed Milt out of the office. At the door she stopped and looked back at the open file on the desk—her desk—and recalled another of Doc’s quirks.

Not only did he keep paper files. He also kept backup ones.

HOW EARLY WAS TOO EARLY for a social call? Since it wasn’t entirely social, did that make a difference?

Jessie considered putting off a visit to Amelia for another day. Tomorrow—Wednesday—the track would be closed, and Jessie’s workload would be considerably lighter. Not exactly a day off, but as close as she got at Riverview.

Clown’s tox panel and missing records had nagged at her all night. And since Amelia had been the one to request Jessie look into Doc’s death, hopefully she wouldn’t mind taking visitors at the crack of Tuesday’s dawn.

Doc and Amelia Lewis’s sprawling ranch-style house was the closest thing to home Jessie had known. This was where she finally found roots after spending her childhood bumping from town to town with her parents. They and her brother thrived on the vagabond life. But she died a little inside every time they uprooted her from the friends she’d struggled to make. Here, in this cozy unpretentious house, she’d felt more a part of a family than she ever did with her blood relatives.

She parked in the driveway and almost expected to see Doc’s bearded face at the door. She thought of his rowdy greeting. How he’d throw an arm around her and squeeze so hard she half expected to hear a rib pop.

Jessie shook off the memories and climbed down from the truck. At the front door, she hesitated. A light shone through the curtains in the window. She hoped that meant Amelia was up. Jessie knocked.

Long moments passed. As she stood there, chastising herself for calling at such an early hour, the lock scraped, and Amelia, in a worn bathrobe, swung the door open.

“Jessie?” she said, squinting.

Feeling like a jerk, Jessie sputtered. “I’m sorry to come by so early. Did I wake you?”

“No, no. Not at all.”

Jessie didn’t believe her.

Amelia moved to one side. “Come in. Is everything all right?”

Jessie cringed even more. The last person who woke Amelia at an ungodly hour was Daniel coming to tell her Doc was dead. “Everything’s fine. I should’ve waited until later. Or tomorrow.”

“Nonsense. I’m happy to see you anytime.”

Jessie stepped inside and waited as Amelia closed the door behind her.

At first glance, the living room looked the same as always. Framed family photos filled one wall. The Lewis’s kids called it the “Wall of Shame.” There were faded pictures of a younger version of Doc and Amelia with two small children, senior portraits, wedding photos. Included in these last two categories were pictures of Jessie’s high school and college graduations and one of her and Greg on their wedding day. She always felt humbled and honored to be given spots on that wall. She doubted her own parents even carried a picture of her in their wallets.

Copies of the Veterinary Journal and JAVMA: The Journal of the American Veterinary Medical Association covered the reading table next to Doc’s favorite recliner. The stale smell of cigarettes lingered in the air, and an ashtray still filled with butts remained next to the magazines.

Then Jessie noticed the couch. A dented bed pillow graced one end. A rumpled quilt lay where it had been dumped.

Amelia must have seen Jessie looking at the makeshift bed. “I can’t bring myself to sleep in our room,” she said apologetically. “Not yet anyway.”

Without thinking, Jessie pulled Amelia into a hug and was startled at how frail she felt. Hardly the spitfire Jessie remembered. “How are you?”

Amelia eased free from Jessie’s embrace and dug into her bathrobe pocket. “I’m taking it one day at a time.” She came up with a tissue and dabbed her nose. “What brings you here so early?”

“I’ve been doing as you asked. Looking into Doc’s death.”

Amelia motioned toward a chair and shuffled back to her nest on the sofa. “Have you found something?”

Jessie lowered onto the offered seat. “There are some oddities I’m checking out.”

“Such as?”

“I still can’t figure out why Doc was there in the first place. Clown—the horse—didn’t have anything wrong with him that we can find. And the phone that placed the