Death by Equine Annette Dashofy (black authors fiction txt) 📖

being her brutally honest, pull-no-punches self. She was also right.

Meryl opened the door to leave but turned back. “What’s the deal with that Sherry Malone person?”

“She was Doc’s assistant. I figure she might be able to shed some light on everything that happened Sunday night. Or some of it, at least.”

Meryl gave a thoughtful nod. “I hope you find out how it happened. And not just for Amelia. I know how much the old guy meant to you.”

With that, Meryl left Jessie alone in Doc’s office. But she didn’t feel alone. She faced the desk and could picture him behind it. “Not just for Amelia and me,” she said to the empty chair. “For you too, Doc.”

By nine thirty, Jessie had responded to half a dozen texts and another five phone calls from trainers. So far, nothing out of the ordinary.

A light drizzle speckled her windshield as she parked her pickup in the road between stables. She sipped her third cup of coffee and gazed out at Riverview Park’s backside.

The rows of barns reminded her of train cars, linked by a common roof. Each housed fifty-two stalls, twenty-six per side, facing outward. Paved roads, on which she and track personnel drove, separated the shedrows. Fire hydrants and dumpsters full of manure and dirty straw created something of an obstacle course, not to mention the horses coming from and heading to the track for their morning workouts.

Most days, there were a few horses being hand-walked in the road too. Today the chilly spring rain had driven them under the cover of the shedrows, where they passed the stalls on one side, looped around the end, and then passed the stalls on the other side, counterclockwise. Always counterclockwise.

Jessie drained the last of her coffee and added the empty Styrofoam cup to the collection behind the seat. She decided to take advantage of a lull in the action.

Milt had said she might find Sherry hanging around Neil Emerick’s barn. Jessie “just happened” to be parked next to it.

She studied the shedrow housing Emerick’s stable and realized she’d never been inside it. Twice this week, including yesterday, she’d made stops here to administer Lasix. Both times, one of Emerick’s grooms had brought the horses out to her. They’d said they were trying to do her a favor. Save her some time. But it struck her as peculiar. Especially since Emerick himself had never so much as cracked a smile in her direction.

Nor had he called about the horse that flipped in the gate last night. She didn’t expect him to but hated the idea that the gelding might suffer because his trainer and vet had a falling out. Checking on the horse sounded like a reasonable excuse should anyone, including Emerick, wonder why she was there.

So far, she hadn’t spotted him moving around inside the barn.

She hadn’t spotted Sherry either.

As Jessie entered at the gap between barns, a voice called out, “Through the middle.” She waited, and a short, stocky man with skin the texture and color of leather appeared from the other side leading a dark bay. The groom nodded to her and kept going.

She fell into step behind the pair, glancing into stalls as she went. Emerick claimed all the stalls on this side, but she wasn’t sure which one held the gelding in question. What was his name? Soldier something. Bob. That was it. Soldier Bob.

The first stall held a tall black with a flashy white star and stripe on his face. The second held a dark chestnut with his front legs wrapped, snoozing in the back corner. As she approached the third stall, a lighter chestnut with a row of neat stitches angling across his face lunged at her, straining the stall webbing. For a moment, she feared he might come through, but thankfully the heavy plastic panel held firm.

He reached over it, though, showing her a mouthful of teeth.

“Hello, Soldier Bob.” Jessie studied the stitches from safely out of range.

Behind her, a voice demanded, “What are you doing?”

Jessie spun to find the very person she’d hoped to run into. Sherry Malone. “I didn’t think anyone was around.”

“So you’re just snooping.” The young woman—Jessie guessed her to be in her early twenties—glared at Jessie with blue-gray eyes that sparkled like ice, only twice as cold. A scar marred a face that might otherwise have been pretty. Hair the color of an old bale of straw hung down her back in a thick braid, gathered at the top by a silver and turquoise barrette. She wore a white tank top, and the bulging muscles in her tanned arms and shoulders would put a body builder to shame. Jessie may have stood several inches taller, but she wouldn’t want to take on this young woman in a fight.

“I’m not snooping. I saw this colt flip in the gate last night and wanted to make sure he was okay.”

“If he wasn’t, Neil would’ve called you.”

Would he?

Soldier Bob had relaxed a bit, so Jessie leaned in for a closer look at his head. “Who stitched him up?”

Sherry rammed her hands into her jeans’ pockets. “I did.”

“I didn’t realize you were licensed.”

Sherry didn’t answer. She looked toward the road.

“You aren’t, are you?” A little thing like a license to practice veterinary medicine wouldn’t matter to Emerick. Not if Sherry could save him some money.

“I’m waiting for the results of my boards. Then I will be.”

If the stitches were any indication, she was probably right. “Nice work.”

Sherry looked down but not before Jessie caught a glimpse of a proud smile.

“Do you have a minute?” Jessie asked. “I’d like to talk to you.”

Any hint of a smile vanished. “About what?”

“The night Doc died.”

Sherry jutted her jaw. “I don’t know what there is to talk about.”

Jessie leaned against the rough concrete block wall, trying to look casual. “It’s been nagging at me. Why he would go in Clown’s stall alone. Why weren’t you with him?”

Sherry’s jaw tightened. “Because he didn’t call me. I’d worked with him all day,