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

kept up the pace.” Jessie had long ago become accustomed to the frantic emergency calls in the middle of the night. But for the last five days, she’d been arriving at Riverview each morning by seven and was still treating patients until well after the last race. Other than Wednesday and Thursday when the track was closed, she hadn’t collapsed into bed earlier than midnight.

Catherine lowered her head. “I still can’t believe Doc’s gone.” She returned her gaze to the colt in the paddock. “What do you think about Risky? How’s he look to you?”

The colt’s sleek, dark coat, sprinkled with dapples, glistened in the sun. He carried good weight, and his muscles rippled beneath his skin. Risky Ridge showed all the evidence of being ready to run. “He looks good. In fact, I’d say he looks terrific.”

Catherine smiled. With her hair caught up in a gravity-defying style, and attired in a bright pink linen jacket, skirt, and heels, the woman appeared ready for Kentucky Derby crowds as opposed to a warm Friday night at Riverview Park. “Maybe this is the one.”

Jessie had known Catherine since high school and was all too aware how desperate she was to find the horse to take her to the big time. Until now she’d only encountered disappointment.

Jessie looked at her. The black colt might have been the picture of health, but the owner lacked her usual glow. “Are you all right?”

“Why do you ask?” Catherine said, perhaps too quickly.

“You seem...pale.”

“Oh. That.” Catherine shrugged. “I’ve been fighting a spring cold. I’d hoped the pink suit would brighten me up.”

It didn’t.

“But I couldn’t miss seeing Risky in his maiden race.”

The colt strutted around the circle, his long neck arched as if posing for the crowd of bettors lining the rail. Otherwise, he showed no signs of the nerves one might expect from a horse about to run in his first race.

Jessie had to admit, he had charisma. Maybe Catherine was right. Maybe this was the one.

The chestnut gelding in front of Risky, on the other hand, was soaked in a nervous sweat. A tall, older man, who Jessie recognized as one of the local trainers, picked up a hose and aimed a stream of water at the horse. The gelding leaped away from it, jerking his young handler off his feet. The dark-haired youth, who wore a bright red vest with the number one on it, grabbed the lead shank with both hands. The trainer flung the hose aside and stormed after them, giving the horse—and the kid—a thorough cussing out.

Ignoring the ruckus, Catherine worked a strand of her auburn hair free from the clips holding it in place and twirled it around one manicured finger. “What did you think of Doc’s funeral this morning?”

The weight that settled on Jessie’s shoulders every time someone mentioned Doc bore down on her again. “It was...nice.” She immediately regretted her word choice.

“Yes, it was, wasn’t it? Quite a crowd. I guess you never know how many people love you until you’re gone.” Catherine’s wistful voice trailed off.

A quick riff of rock music burst from Jessie’s pocket. She pulled out her phone.

Catherine glanced at her. “Duty calls?”

Jessie checked the message, then the time. “Not yet. I’ll have to leave right after this race though. I have to scope a horse in Barn E, but I want him to be cooled out a bit first.” She tapped on the keyboard, Be there in 20.

When she looked up, several of the horses, including Risky, had been led into the numbered saddling enclosures on the far side of the paddock. Valets carrying saddles and equipment approached the horses and handlers.

Catherine pointed toward the woman who held Risky’s lead shank. “Zelda’s done a superb job of bringing him along. Don’t you agree?”

“Yeah.” Jessie still had a hard time looking at Zelda Peterson without flashing back to that night with Clown.

Zelda moved with practiced precision as she placed a chamois on Risky’s back, followed by the weight pad, and the pink number eight saddle towel. On top of that, the valet placed the tiny racing saddle—little more than a leather pad to hold the stirrups. The trainer buckled the under girth and topped it with the over girth.

Zelda led the black colt out of the three-sided enclosure and fell into step with the other young horses.

A loud crack made Jessie jump. The same chestnut gelding that had given the dark-haired kid a hard time wanted nothing to do with the whole saddling routine. He kicked out, striking the wall of the number one enclosure a second time. His trainer snatched the lead shank from the young handler and gave it a sharp snap, sending the animal onto his hind legs.

Catherine gasped. “What does Neil think he’s doing?”

Jessie watched in scornful silence. In the few short days she’d been working there, most of the trainers had made every effort to welcome her. Neil Emerick was not one of them. And if this was any indication of his style of horsemanship, she decided his avoidance might be for the best.

After directing more harsh words at the sulking boy, Emerick led the jittery gelding across the paddock to the indoor saddling area.

Catherine continued to toy with her hair. “What did you think of Sherry Malone?”

“Who?”

“At the funeral. Sherry Malone. You know. Doc’s assistant.”

Jessie ran the long list of funeral attendees through her mind and came up blank. “Which one was she?”

“You never met her? She was the one with the long braid.”

“So that’s who that was.” Jessie had wondered about the stony-faced young woman standing off to the side of the group gathered around the casket.

“What did you think of her?”

“I guess I didn’t think one way or the other.” There had been quite a few mourners at Doc’s funeral whom Jessie didn’t recognize. His circle of friends and acquaintances extended well beyond her own. As for the young woman in question, Jessie had assumed she was a friend of one of his and Amelia’s kids. Or