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

the day. No one had called or texted, so she decided to give in to her growling stomach. She aimed the Chevy through the stable gate, cruised toward the grandstand, and parked in the lot reserved for trainers.

She watched for a couple of minutes as grooms and their horses bustled into the indoor paddock in preparation for the next race. Hopefully, it would be a quiet night with none of them requiring her services.

She entered through the back door next to the security office and took the stairs two at a time. In the grandstand’s main concourse, a cluster of eager racing enthusiasts discussed the previous race and debated the merits of the entrants for the next one. A group of well-dressed patrons of the gambling arts sat at a bank of slot machines, choosing to test their luck on mechanical beasts rather than four-footed ones.

She’d zeroed in on her favorite concession stand when the sight of a lady in too-snug orange Capri pants and knee-high nylon stockings with purple sandals distracted her. Amused, Jessie turned to make sure she wasn’t imagining the outlandish fashion statement and slammed into someone coming the other way. Sputtering an apology, she reached out to steady her victim. “Catherine?”

“Jessie.” Catherine Dodd primped her strawberry blond up-do. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. What about you?”

“Heavens, I’m not fragile. You know that.” Milt’s wife struck a pose. “Seriously. Do I look fragile? Or do I look like the owner of a world class racehorse?” In her bright yellow fitted jacket and skirt, low-cut silk blouse, string of pearls and matching earrings, and off-white pumps, Catherine stood out against the rest of the casual crowd.

“You’re definitely dressed the part,” Jessie said. “How’s Risky doing after last Friday’s race?”

“He’s fine.” Catherine dropped the smile and the pose. “I’m just not convinced he’s the one to get me to Kentucky on the first Saturday in May.”

Jessie wasn’t about to point out the obvious. She didn’t know what percentage of colts made it to the Derby, but she was pretty sure Risky Ridge, in spite of his bloodlines and strong third place finish, wasn’t in that elite group. “You’ll get there eventually. Have faith.”

“Faith, I’ve got. It’s a horse I need. I keep after Milt. I mean, he meets and greets a lot of horse people around the business, so you’d think he’d be able to find me a horse. A good one.” She sighed. “We thought he had. Remember that big gray?”

“The one with the broken coffin bone?”

“Mexicali Blue. He was supposed to take us to Churchill Downs. Maybe Pimlico and Belmont too.” Catherine’s lower lip jutted out in a childlike pout. “But instead, thanks to that damned little bone in his foot, we’re stuck with a three-year-old who can’t do anything except eat. He’s really good at that. Don’t suppose you know of anyone shopping around for a smashing-looking thousand-pound house pet, do you?”

Jessie suppressed a smile. “Sorry.”

Catherine clutched her hands to her chest. “Blue broke my heart. But what are you going to do? I keep hounding Milt to find me another like him. Only sound.”

“Sound is good. You should let me vet check the next one before you buy it.”

A fleeting scowl clouded Catherine’s face. “I thought...Oh, never mind.” She brightened. “Anyhow, Zelda has her eye on a colt in one of the claiming races tonight. She asked me to meet her here and watch him run. Are you planning to stay to watch?”

“Afraid not. I’m just grabbing something to eat while I have a chance.”

“Oh. Too bad. You work entirely too hard.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Doc did too. He spent way too many hours at this place.” Catherine picked at an imaginary spot on her sleeve. Her voice was no more than a whisper when she said, “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

“Me neither.”

Catherine brushed away whatever had been on her sleeve. “I’d better go find Zelda and look at that horse. You never know. It might just be my ticket to the Triple Crown.”

Jessie wished her well and watched as she sauntered away with the air of a model on a runway.

The sun was hanging low on the western horizon by the time Jessie trudged back across the trainers’ parking lot. She balanced a plastic tray of nachos in one hand while fumbling with the keys to the Chevy in the other. As soon as she reached for the door, her phone chimed with an incoming text, signaling the end of her respite. She set the tray on the truck’s bench seat, slid it over, and started to step up into the cab when someone called her name.

“Hold up there, darlin’.” Milt ambled toward her, his Texas good ol’ boy swagger firmly in place.

“I’ve got an emergency call.” Jessie tugged her phone from her pocket and checked the message. A request for x-rays over in Barn I.

Milt propped his polished boot on her pitted chrome bumper. “I won’t keep you long. You looked kind of pale last time I saw you. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t coming down with something.”

She flashed back to the events of the afternoon. “The only thing I’m coming down with is a case of Sherry Malone-itis.”

“What’s that girl done now?”

“Nothing really. Except...” Did Jessie dare say it out loud? “I think she threatened me.”

“She what?”

Jessie rolled her phone in her hand while replaying the conversation—or her disjointed memories of it—over in her mind. “I confronted her in the spa about something. We argued. Then she made some comment about shoving me into the pool, knowing full well I can’t swim.”

Troubled lines creased Milt’s forehead. “What were you arguing about?”

“We weren’t really arguing. We were talking about Doc’s practice.” Jessie leaned against the truck’s open door. “You’ll never guess what I found out today.”

The lines disappeared. “Okay. Since I’ll never guess, just tell me. You know I love good backside gossip.”

This ought to thrill the old rumor monger to tears. “Sherry Malone is—” Jessie said and winced. “Was