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

Catherine deflated even more. “I do too.”

“I have to think Blue was injured before you bought him.” Jessie swiveled the chair to face Catherine and leaned back. “I wish you’d had a pre-purchase vet check on him. It would’ve saved you a lot of money, not to mention heartache.”

“But we did,” Catherine insisted. “At least I thought Milt did.” She sounded less certain. “I guess it doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done.” Catherine picked up her purse. “Thanks just the same. I appreciate you taking the time to look at him.”

“I’m sorry I can’t offer you more hope. He’ll likely be fine for light riding, but no way will he hold up to the stress of training or racing.”

Catherine headed for the door, her fashion runway gait a little slower than usual. She paused to cast a weary smile at Jessie. “If only Milt and I had kids, we could use him for pony rides.” Lowering her head, she turned and walked out.

Jessie stared at the image on the computer screen. Frustration at not being able to do anything for Blue gave way to anger. Odds were someone had pushed the horse too hard. But who?

She jumped up and charged from the office, racing across the exam area. “Catherine!”

But the sedan was pulling away, and Jessie didn’t feel like chasing it. From what she’d seen of Catherine and Milt’s working relationship, Catherine probably wasn’t the one to ask.

Twenty-One

Tuesday morning passed at a snail’s pace. The only chatter was low-key conversation about anything except the elephant that had taken up residence in Riverview’s backside. No one mentioned EIA or the word “quarantine” or even the health of anyone’s animals regardless of how minor a problem might be. Consequently, Jessie received few requests for her services.

One thing hadn’t been affected yet, and that was the racing schedule. Lasix rounds came as a relief, giving Jessie something to do other than play the what-if game. Once she finished with the injections, she headed for the front side. If the evening’s emergencies mirrored the morning ones, she might actually catch a race or two.

She stopped at the concession stand, collected an order of nachos with extra cheese, and found an empty picnic table on the deck outside.

Jessie removed her ball cap to let the early spring sun bathe her face. Across the track, the tote board displayed the fluctuating odds for the first race. A tractor dragged a massive rake around the dirt surface. The normality of it appeased her. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend life was equally normal behind the scenes.

From over her shoulder a hand tossed a racing program onto the table next to her nachos. “Hey there, darlin’.” Milt swung a leg over the bench as if mounting a horse. He tapped the program. “You need one of these if you plan to hang out over here.”

“Thanks.” She tried to manage a smile of appreciation, which she was certain didn’t make it through the layers of worry. “Is Catherine around?”

“Nope. No Derby prospects running tonight.” He gave her shoulder a nudge. “What brings you to the front side?”

Jessie dipped a nacho into the artificially yellow cheese sauce and popped the dripping mess into her mouth. Chewing gave her time to contemplate an answer. As she savored the salt, the crunch, and the tang, the glass doors to the grandstand swung open. A couple dozen racing enthusiasts poured out. From the tunnel, the horses for the first race stepped onto the track.

Jessie swallowed and pointed at them. “That’s what brings me here. Same as everyone else. The horses.”

Milt shifted to watch the post parade. “It’s addictive, ain’t it?”

She mulled over the word. “It is.” She felt his gaze on her. “Sherry didn’t inherit Doc’s practice.”

Jessie didn’t have to look at Milt to know he was smiling. “You’ll be staying on then,” he said.

She sighed. “I wish.”

“What do you mean?”

She thumbed the program open to the first race. “Meryl isn’t interested in buying my half of the Cameron Veterinary Hospital. Without that money, I can’t afford it.”

Milt fell silent.

The horses on the track made their way around the far turn to the starting gate positioned in the chute at the head of the backstretch. According to the program, the race would be a maiden special weight for three-year-old fillies. Six furlongs. And Jessie had treated five of the eight entries for one thing or another. One of the other three had Neil Emerick listed as trainer. A check of the tote board revealed that entry as a scratch.

Milt reached over to reposition the program so he could read it too. “Do you have a favorite?”

“Five of them.”

He met her gaze. A slow smile spread across his face. “You get attached. You work on them, and suddenly, you got a dog in the hunt.”

She hadn’t thought of it in those terms, but he was right.

“Darlin’, where there’s a will, there’s a way. You want Doc’s practice, you’ll figure out how to make it happen. Hell, I’d loan you the money if I had it.”

Which reminded Jessie of what she’d wanted to talk to Milt about. “I saw Catherine earlier.”

He looked up from the program. “Oh?”

Jessie told him about the results of the new x-rays on Blue.

“No surprise there,” he said when she finished.

“There seems to be some question about a pre-purchase vet check, though.”

“What question?”

“I told Catherine I wished you’d had one performed on him, and she thought you had.”

Milt lifted his gaze to the track. Jessie followed it. The horses were loading into the gate. “I like that number two filly. She’s been in the money every dang time she runs but drops off in the stretch in those longer races. Six furlongs might be the distance for her.”

Jessie looked at him. Was he intentionally avoiding the subject of Blue?

He caught her watching him and sighed. “You wish I’d had him checked? Well, so do I. Damn it all to