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

flashlight, and she clutched it to her. Now all she had to do was get out.

She found her bucket next to the door, pulled a Ziploc baggy from under the decoy vet supplies, and dropped the acepromazine into it. After peeling off the gloves and stashing everything, including the broken Maglite, in the bucket, she pressed a shoulder and one ear against the door.

The voices were still there, but more distant. Were they done? Or were they simply feeding their horses farther down the row? It didn’t matter. This was her chance.

She wrapped her fingers around the door handle. With a gentle tug, she swung it toward her. She closed her eyes and offered up a silent prayer to whoever was the patron saint of good-intentioned cat burglars. Opening her eyes again, she leaned out and peered into the walkway between the two stables. The gray dawn cast just enough light to reveal a clear path. She stepped out, snatched the lock from the bucket, and hooked it through the hasp. She hoped prying the padlock open hadn’t broken it. With a quick shove, the lock clicked into place. She might just make it free and clear after all.

Exiting the covered gap, she looked around. Only a few sleepy horses with heads hanging over their stall webbings greeted her.

Jessie lugged her bucket down the shedrow toward her truck, feeling the exultation of charging down the homestretch toward the finish line with no one even close to catching her.

Until a white Ford Expedition rolled passed the end of the shedrows. Daniel.

Jessie froze, praying he hadn’t seen her.

But the Expedition reversed and swung toward her.

Suddenly, breaking into Daniel’s tack room seemed like the stupidest idea she’d ever had.

“Jessie?” Daniel stepped down from the big SUV.

Time to find out how good of an actor she was. “Morning.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as pathetically perky as she feared.

He smiled. “What are you doing here? Did you come to join me for a morning ride?”

“Sorry.” She held up the bucket and tried to forget what was hidden inside. “I have an emergency, but I mixed up the barns.” She threw in an eye roll for good measure.

“Oh.” He sounded either disappointed or doubtful. Or maybe she was hearing her own doubts reflected in his voice. “I’m glad I ran into you though. I need to talk to you about this quarantine thing.”

“Okay. But I need to get going. I’m supposed to be in Barn F right now.” She gave him a sheepish grin.

“I understand. As soon as you get a chance, come see me, okay? Maybe we can have lunch?”

“Sure. That would be great.” Lunch would be great. If she didn’t fear he might have something to do with Doc’s death. She started to pass him. Get to the truck. Just get to the truck.

He caught her arm. “Wait.”

The touch of his hand sent electric shivers through her. Shivers of attraction or shivers of fear? Or both? She couldn’t decide.

“Can you at least tell me when you expect the results of the bloodwork you drew yesterday?”

“A minimum of twenty-four hours. With this being the weekend, I’d say Monday, maybe Tuesday.”

He didn’t appear pleased, but he released her arm.

She moved toward her truck, fighting the urge to break into a run.

“Jessie?”

Gritting her teeth, she stopped and pivoted.

“Are you all right? You look exhausted. And have you been rolling around in the dirt?”

She felt the blood drain from her face. Smile. Act normal. She looked down at the patches of dust and cobwebs covering her jeans and sweatshirt and made a feeble attempt to brush them away. “I was—uh—trying to drag the cat out from under the sofa this morning. Guess I need to clean in there.”

He laughed. “In your spare time?”

She laughed back. “Right.” The laugh and the smile died as soon as she turned away.

She wondered if his eyes lingered on her, watching her go, but she didn’t dare look to find out. And she didn’t breathe until she had climbed into the cab of the Chevy with the incriminating bucket.

FALLOUT FROM THE NEWS of the quarantine hit the clinic midmorning. Jessie had gotten off the phone with Greg’s voicemail when an angry horde of owners and trainers descended. The complaining she’d endured from Emerick while drawing blood turned out to be a mere whimper compared to the onslaught they delivered.

“What the hell’s going on with this epidemic?” demanded a tall, rotund man wearing a plaid shirt with pearl snaps straining over his oversized belly. Jessie recognized him as one of the horse owners but couldn’t put a name to the face.

His question was greeted with murmurs from the crowd, echoing his inquiry.

“I never said this was an epidemic.” Jessie stood just inside the exam area. Her imagination played out a scenario of being mobbed and forced to sprint through the passageway between clinic and spa and out the doors at the far end of the building.

“Then why the quarantine?”

“To prevent an epidemic. And so far, the quarantine is limited to Barns K and F.”

“So far,” said another in the crowd. “But it’s bound to expand to the entire track, isn’t that right?”

“It’s too early to tell.”

“What can you tell us? You’ve quarantined two barns with the threat of closing down the track. I think we all ought to just load up and beat it out of here before things get worse.”

Jessie raised both hands. “Hold on. What I don’t want anyone to do is panic. If you’ll calm down a minute, I’ll tell you what I know and what I believe may or may not happen.”

Another murmur ran through the group. The heavyset fellow with the gapping shirtfront appeared to be the leader, assigned or otherwise. He looked over his constituency and exchanged a comment or two with several of them before facing her. “Fine. Give it to us straight, Dr. Cameron.”

She searched for the words that would keep everyone, if not happy, at least less murderous.

“One horse stabled in