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

in her hand. “I’ve called all my employees. So far none of them say they were here tonight. I can’t get hold of one of my grooms, but I can’t imagine why he’d have been here either.”

Jessie massaged her temples. “What about Clown? Is he colicky?”

“No. He’s acting spooked, but no colic.”

“Spooked?”

“I mean, he does colic. Doc’s here all the time treating him for it. But right now, Clown’s fine.”

Except he’d just killed a man. Jessie glanced down the shedrow toward the crowd gathered around the stall and forced her attention back to her work. “Can I see him?”

“Clown? Sure.” Zelda hoisted a thumb. “He’s in the first one.”

Jessie drew a breath, hoping it would alleviate the dull ache in her chest, and edged toward the stall. A metal grate barricaded the door. Inside, a tall, muscular chestnut leaned into the back corner. He flipped his head at her, ears pinned flat to his neck.

Jessie reached for the clip securing the grate.

“What are you doing?” A note of panic rang in Zelda’s voice.

“We may not know who, but someone called Doc about this horse. I need to examine him to make sure he’s okay.” Greg’s words about not needing another body echoed in her brain.

“Dr. Cameron, I appreciate this, but he’s really high-strung tonight. All this excitement. I’m afraid you might get hurt.”

“How about if I sedate him?”

Zelda’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. You don’t want to do that. Clown becomes completely uncontrollable when you tranquilize him. Especially when he’s already aggravated. We found out the hard way a couple of years ago.”

Greg stormed down the shedrow toward them. “Jess!” In the poor lighting, she couldn’t tell if the urgency in his voice was from anger or fear. “I told you to stay away from that horse.”

“Fine,” she snapped at him and turned to Zelda. “This horse needs to be looked at. I want him shipped to Ohio State University for a complete workup.”

Zelda cast her eyes downward. “Okay.”

“They’ll draw blood and do a urinalysis for every medication they can think of. He’s going to be tested from stem to stern, and if he has a hair out of place, they’ll find it, and I’ll hear about it.” Jessie knew the prospect of that kind of scrutiny would throw a great many trainers into panic.

But Zelda gave a resigned nod. “I’ll arrange transportation first thing in the morning.”

“No. Tonight. I’ll contact them so they’ll be expecting him.”

The woman’s shoulders sagged. “I’ll go home and get my trailer.”

“Before you go,” Greg said to Zelda, “we have a few more questions.” As he escorted her toward the other cops, he shot a look at Jessie.

She raised both hands in exhausted surrender. Let him think she was obeying his orders. In truth, the horse looked fit and healthy. His coat was shiny and his eyes bright. She saw no reason to risk her life treating a horse that wasn’t in distress.

Instead of trailing behind Greg and Zelda, Jessie slipped out of the barn and walked the road back to her pickup. She noticed Doc’s truck and changed course, heading for the dented Dodge Ram. Doc kept the tools of his trade immaculate. Except for his vehicle.

The driver’s window was down. She rested her arms on the edge of the door and inhaled the smell of stale cigarette smoke. Not her favorite aroma, but closing her eyes and drinking it in, she could almost pretend Doc was sitting behind the wheel, cracking off-color jokes and making her blush.

Doc always said he’d seen something in Jessie all those years ago when she’d hung around the old farm, mucking stalls in exchange for riding privileges. He’d taken her under his wing—and into his home—given her veterinary books to read, helped her earn her scholarship to Ohio State. She wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t be a vet, if not for Doc.

A burst of tinny music interrupted her memories. She opened her eyes and spotted Doc’s phone on the passenger seat, the screen lit up with an incoming call. She glanced around, but the cops were all gathered in the barn, and the paramedics were inside their ambulance, paying no attention to her.

Jessie climbed into the truck and picked up the phone. Caller ID showed the incoming call was from Amelia. Doc’s wife. Doc’s widow. Jessie swore under her breath. Her thumb hovered over the answer button. What should she say? What words could she use to soften the blow?

While Jessie deliberated, the music stopped, and the call went to voicemail. A thought struck her. She had a million questions about what had happened here tonight. Doc’s phone might provide the answer to one of them.

She pressed the button to wake the device, grateful he’d never bothered to set up a lock screen. She pulled up the list of recent incoming calls. There was Amelia’s unanswered one. The last call that had been picked up revealed only a number. No name. Disappointed, Jessie looked around for Greg and spotted him with Zelda, the other trooper, and two of the township cops not far from the stall where the coroner was now at work.

Jessie crooked a finger at Greg. They exchanged a few hand signals, his saying “in a minute” and hers saying “now.” He gave her his evil eye and excused himself.

“What?” he demanded.

She held up the phone. “I have the number of whoever called Doc about the horse.”

“That’s Doc’s phone? Where did you get it?”

“In his truck.”

Greg let out a growl. “Have I taught you nothing about evidence?”

“You mean like don’t touch it?” At the moment, she didn’t care about proper procedure. “By the way, Amelia is trying to reach him. Shouldn’t Daniel be there by now? Maybe you should call him again.”

Greg retrieved a nitrile glove from his pants pocket and wiggled his fingers into it. “Just give me the phone.”

She handed it over, realizing with a pang that Doc would never call her from it again.

Greg read the number on the screen aloud as he scribbled in