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

Tears glistened in Amelia’s eyes. “You haven’t found anything to explain why he died?”

“The tox screen from Ohio State showed the horse had acepromazine in his blood.”

“A tranquilizer.” Amelia nodded. One didn’t live with a vet for as long as she had and not pick up some of the terminology.

“Yes. But the horse’s owner said he—the horse—had a history of bad reactions to it. I wondered if Doc knew.”

“You’d have to check his records.”

“I tried. They’re missing. That is...the ones for that particular horse are missing.”

“Oh?” Amelia looked dazed.

“But I know Doc always kept duplicate files here. Would you mind if I looked through them?”

Amelia was silent, frowning at a spot on the carpet. For a moment, Jessie wasn’t sure she’d heard the request. But she blinked. Met Jessie’s gaze. “I’m sorry. My mind wandered. It’s been doing that ever since...ever since he died.” Amelia flapped her hand as if chasing away a bothersome fly. “What did you say?”

“I’d like to look through the records Doc kept here if it’s okay with you.”

“Absolutely.” She rose, but her knees buckled, and she flopped back down onto the couch. “You know where they are, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Jessie stood. “Can I get you something while I’m up?”

Amelia’s gaze drifted again. “A glass of water would be lovely. Thank you, dear.”

Jessie crossed the hall to the kitchen and froze in horror. Open containers of lunchmeats, salads, and casseroles—probably offerings from worried neighbors and friends—cluttered the table. The countertop and sink were piled high with dirty dishes. The trashcan overflowed onto the floor. The stench of rancid food choked her. Trying to hold her breath, she found a clean glass in the cupboard and filled it from the tap. Back in the living room, the usual odor of stale cigarette smoke came as a welcome relief in comparison.

“Amelia, where are your kids?”

“They left right after the funeral.” She accepted the glass of water. “Had their lives to get back to, you know.”

Jessie turned toward the disaster in the other room. She was going to be late getting to the track as it was, but she couldn’t very well leave the kitchen in that condition. Bracing against the smell, she plunged in.

She located the roll of trash bags under the sink. Wishing she had brought a pair of Latex gloves with her, she gingerly picked up the scraps that had spilled onto the floor.

“What are you doing?” Amelia called from the living room.

“Just cleaning up in here.” Breathing through her mouth, she shook the full bag to settle the contents. A swarm of gnats rose out of it. She clamped her lips shut and waved them away.

Jessie managed to tie off one bag and lugged it to the back door. When she returned, she found Amelia standing wide-eyed in the middle of the mess, as if she hadn’t noticed it before. “I guess I let things get ahead of me a bit.”

Jessie paused. She didn’t think Amelia was attempting humor.

Amelia gave her a weak smile.

Maybe she was trying for humor after all. Jessie smiled back.

Picking up a plate with something unidentifiable dried to it, Amelia said, “I’ll start loading the dishwasher.”

A half an hour and three trash bags later, the kitchen was beginning to look like it might pass an inspection by the health department. Amelia was still at the sink, soaking a few of the more stubborn dishes. “Jessie, you didn’t come here to clean my house. Go find what you were looking for.”

Grateful for the reprieve, Jessie headed down the hall. The smell followed her. She wasn’t sure if the kitchen still stank or if the odor had attached itself to the inside of her nose.

Doc had claimed the house’s smallest bedroom as his home office. Jessie hesitated in the doorway. She recalled sitting on the carpeted floor of this room, struggling with one of the classes she was taking. She would come home from university on the weekends and obsess over an upcoming exam. Doc would sit her down with one of his books and a notepad. He’d take a seat at the desk, lean back in his chair, and lecture her on the difficult topic du jour. Somehow, coming from his lips, the material made sense.

Now the corner desk held sloping towers of junk mail. Two books lay forsaken on the floor. Another ashtray in need of emptying teetered on top of a stack of papers.

The same style of metal filing cabinets that inhabited the office at Riverview lined three of the walls. Yellowed tags alphabetically identified the contents. Jessie touched the cool metal and slid a finger down the drawers until she came to one listing “Pa-Pi.” The drawer screeched open, but the file she wanted wasn’t there. Recalling the filing system back at the clinic, she closed the drawer and moved to the one labeled “X-Z.” A quick search brought her to a thick folder for Zelda Peterson Stables.

Jessie looked at the desk. There wasn’t a clear spot big enough for the folder, so she carried it back to the kitchen. Amelia was spritzing something floral around the room, which now smelled like rot and lavender. Not really an improvement.

Amelia noticed Jessie’s return and lowered the spray can. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Jessie set the folder on the cleared table. “I’m not certain yet.” She flopped into a chair and thumbed through the pages of records for all of Zelda’s horses. Jessie couldn’t determine any order to Doc’s system, but finally came across a bundle of papers labeled Clown Around Town. “Here it is.”

Amelia moved to Jessie’s side.

Clown’s chart appeared no different than any other. Jessie flipped to the back sheet. The earliest dated report showed a clean pre-purchase vet check followed by an array of minor afflictions: exam for soreness after a brisk morning workout, his first reported pulmonary bleed and the subsequent order for Lasix, and several bouts of colic all successfully treated with Banamine.

Jessie only had to read as far as