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

Sherry didn’t reply.

“And you covered for him.”

A muscle in Sherry’s jaw twitched, but she didn’t respond.

Time to change direction. “Tell me about Daniel Shumway.”

Sherry glanced up just long enough for the pinball to get kicked into the oblivion between the flippers. “Goddamn it,” she muttered when the machine’s electronic music spiraled downward. Then she stepped back and met Jessie’s gaze for the first time since she’d arrived. “What about Shumway?”

“According to Doc’s records, a vial of acepromazine was dispensed to Shumway a week before Doc’s death.” Jessie’s fingers traced the shape of the barrette in her jeans’ pocket. “Except it wasn’t Doc’s handwriting. It was yours.”

Sherry’s face remained impassive. “So?”

“You admit giving it to him?”

Sherry gave a one-shouldered shrug. “He runs the place. If he wanted the stuff, I gave it to him. Lots of people use ace, you know. Most of the time it’s no big deal.”

Most of the time. Not this time.

Back at their trucks, Milt parked a hand on Jessie’s door, keeping her from opening it. “What was that all about?” he asked incredulously. “I thought you said you needed a bodyguard.”

“I thought I might,” Jessie said. “But since Sherry’s playing things close to the vest, I decided I should too.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I get the feeling you’re fixin’ to do something stupid.”

“Probably.” The plan started to form the moment Sherry hadn’t reacted when Jessie accused her of dispensing the ace to Daniel. Jessie preferred to give it more thought, but from the look on Milt’s face, he clearly wasn’t about to back down. “Every other notation in Daniel’s records was made by Doc, except that one. That one was made by Sherry.”

Milt didn’t budge.

“Either Daniel did request a vial of ace from Sherry and she gave it to him...”

“Or?”

“Or she made it up. Wrote it in the records to throw suspicion in Daniel’s direction.” Jessie lowered her voice, thinking out loud. “Sherry knows about Doc falsifying the Coggins tests. Heck, she helped him. He’d have shared with her what he knew about Daniel. She knew he had a motive, and if he didn’t come under suspicion on his own, she could easily point the police in his direction.”

Milt looked like he’d caught a whiff of something foul. “I hate to tell you, darlin’. You might be trying to play your cards close to your vest, but you just showed your king, asking her about Shumway. Her giving him the drug and all. She won’t have to tell the police anything. She knows you will.”

Jessie flinched. Milt was right about showing too much of her hand. If Daniel was innocent, Jessie might’ve set herself up to be part of the frame job.

Seventeen

The hour before dawn suggested a gray day ahead with clouds blocking the stars. The air carried a promise of rain.

The reality of Jessie’s plan set in, making her queasy as she drove past the clinic. A few of the shedrows displayed lights and activity—horses being saddled and prepared for their early morning exercise. But most remained dark and still.

Jessie kept the truck at a crawl all the way to the chain-link fence at the edge of the Monongahela River. She braked to a stop at the corner of Barn A where Daniel stabled his horses. It was deserted. She exhaled a relieved sigh.

An idea struck her. She shifted into reverse, backed up, and swung the truck into the road above the barn, even though Daniel’s stalls were located on the lower side. As an afterthought, she pulled closer to Barn D across the road. Hopefully, if anyone spotted her Chevy, they’d assume she was attending to a patient there.

She slid down from the cab, shivered, and zipped her hooded sweatshirt. With a pair of Latex gloves stuffed in her hip pocket and her stethoscope draped around her neck, she dumped a few supplies in a white bucket to cover the items in the bottom. Should she be caught, she’d say she received a text about an emergency. If pressured, she’d claim they must have typed in the wrong barn.

Yeah, right.

She picked up the bucket and crossed the road to enter the upper side of Barn A. She tried to act nonchalant. Professional. Relaxed. Just another routine call.

Except her teeth were chattering, and she’d broken out in a nervous sweat.

She made her way toward the center of the shedrow and slipped into the covered walkway that separated Barns A and B, reaching the door to Daniel’s tack room. The flashlight from her phone revealed a sign that read, “Private Property. Keep Out.” She’d made it. So far, so good.

She lowered her light to a padlocked hasp and hoped it had been left unlocked. A quick yank proved it hadn’t. This couldn’t possibly be that easy.

She rummaged through the bucket to find the short length of wire and screwdriver she’d stashed beneath the boxes of sterile pads, bandages, and tape. She bent the wire and inserted it into the slot at the base of the lock. The absurdity of the situation struck her. Dr. Jessie Cameron: Secret Agent. Maybe she should consider a change in careers.

She worked the wire this way and that to no avail, removed and re-shaped it before making another failed effort. This always worked on TV.

The crunch of tires on gravel alerted her to the approach of a vehicle. The humor of her predicament quickly faded. The makeshift key didn’t operate any better with sweat dripping in her eyes.

The vehicle stopped on the road in front of Barn B. Jessie couldn’t see the occupants. That meant they couldn’t see her either. Two car doors slammed. Muffled voices wafted toward her. Time to forget about subtlety. She dropped the wire back into the bucket and picked up the screwdriver.

The voices were getting louder. They—whoever they were—were headed her way. Jessie prayed they’d stop short of the gap between barns, but she couldn’t take any chances. She rammed the business end of the screwdriver into the lock and tried to pry