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

the bathroom in search of something to relieve her headache.

The medicine cabinet contained a wide assortment of over-the-counter products. Ibuprofen. Acetaminophen. Aspirin. Not to mention ointments, creams, and bandages. Rummaging through them, she located a box of generic decongestant. The expiration date had long since come and gone, but it promised relief from sinus headaches. She popped two, chased by a glass of water.

The mundane process of making breakfast eased the tension created by Greg’s presence. Jessie laid out the bowls and spoons while he rounded up the box of cereal and the carton of milk. She made coffee. He poured orange juice. Peanut and the cats ate side by side, although the tabby, unused to the big Lab, kept a cautious eye on the dog.

Greg broke the silence. “You really have to give that poor kitten a name.”

Jessie shook her head emphatically. “If I name him—”

“You’ll have to keep him, I know. Face it, Jess. That cat isn’t going anywhere.”

He knew her all too well. “I’ll think about it.”

Greg shoveled a spoonful of cereal into his mouth and leaned back in the chair, his forehead creased in thought as he chewed. “How about Spot?”

Jessie almost snorted orange juice through her nose. “Are you kidding?”

“What’s wrong with Spot?” He feigned deep personal injury.

“Nothing if he was a dog. Or had spots.”

“Stripe, then.”

“Oh, that’s so much better.”

He laughed, an easy comfortable laugh. Jessie smiled, the headache and the awkward moment upstairs almost forgotten. Almost.

She rearranged her cereal with the spoon. “Greg, about Daniel...”

The laughter died. He cleared his throat. “What was that about dinner?”

She decided against answering. What part of “dinner” needed to be explained?

“Didn’t you hear me when I told you to keep away from him?”

“I heard you. Did you learn anything more about his criminal record?”

“What more is there to learn? He was convicted of murder.”

“But there has to be more to it. You said he served his time.”

“Yes.”

“He wasn’t given a life sentence. I mean he was released, right? He didn’t escape.”

“No, he didn’t escape. But not all killers get life. You know that. Prisons are too crowded. Convicts get reduced sentences for good behavior.”

“My point is he paid his debt to society. Have you found anything more about him since he started using the name Shumway?”

“No.”

“So he’s been clean since he got out.”

Greg slammed his spoon down on the table. “Jess, you’re trying to convince yourself the man is innocent. He’s not.”

The headache was back. She pressed two fingers into the space between her eyes. “Yesterday you said you investigated Doc’s death. What’d you mean?”

“Just what I said.”

“Uh-uh. I know you. There’s more to it. What’d you find out?”

Greg scowled into his bowl. He glanced at her then returned his full attention to the cereal. “Doc wasn’t exactly well liked by the masses.”

Jessie leaned back and folded her arms. “If you’re afraid you’re gonna shatter my illusion of him being a god, you can relax. I’ve already figured that out.”

“In the weeks before his death, he managed to get into several arguments.”

Old news. But she kept that to herself. “With whom?”

Greg shot another glance at Jessie but continued to direct his conversation into his breakfast bowl. “Your Daniel Shumway for one. My source wasn’t able to say what the argument was about, just that it was animated.”

“Who else?”

He looked up again. This time his expression clearly stated he didn’t think he needed to go on.

Jessie held his gaze, determined he would.

He sighed. “A guy from security.”

“Butch.”

Now Greg looked annoyed. “You already know so much, why don’t you tell me?”

“No, that’s okay. You go on.”

He started ticking names off on his fingers. “Sherry Malone. Neil Emerick. Frank Hamilton.” Greg held his hand in front of her with the four fingers poised, waiting to include the thumb. “Do you have anyone to add?”

“You’ve pretty well covered it.”

“You could have shared what you knew.”

“You kept telling me there was no murder. No investigation.”

A muscle in Greg’s jaw twitched.

“Did your source tell you what any of the arguments were about?”

“More than one source, actually. And no. They either didn’t know or wouldn’t say.”

“Care to share your sources’ names?”

“So you can track them down and pump them for information after I’ve promised them anonymity? I don’t think so.”

Jessie picked up her spoon. “Can’t blame a gal for trying.” She took a bite. “Anything on who broke in here?”

He shook his head. “I’ve checked all the pawn shops from Chester to Follansbee for your laptop.”

A soft tapping on the doorframe between the dining room and kitchen drew Jessie’s attention. She looked up to find Vanessa standing there, the one small fist that had been doing the knocking still raised. Peanut abandoned his food, nails scratching and sliding on the floor as he scurried to his new best friend.

Jessie lost interest in her meal too, but for a different reason. Greg jumped to his feet. His chair tipped back, and he grabbed for it, catching it before it went all the way over.

The petite blonde’s childlike voice was barely audible. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Jessie’s head throbbed with renewed vigor. “What are you doing here? I fired you. Remember?”

“I’m not here to work. I came looking for Greg.” Vanessa gazed at him with those plaintive blue eyes. “I missed you.”

Any remaining appetite Jessie had vanished. “You might not have a job, but I do.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going now.”

Vanessa scooted out of the doorway, keeping her head lowered as if afraid Jessie might attack her. Peanut looked back and forth between them.

Jessie stopped to scratch him under the chin. “See you tonight, fella.” She straightened and glared down at Vanessa, who was almost a head shorter and still avoiding her eyes. “Enjoy your visit. Because I’m still not giving you my house.”

“Jess.” Greg apparently didn’t approve of Jessie’s tone. She started into the kitchen, but he called her name again, this time using his stop-in-the-name-of-the-law voice.

She wheeled. “What?”

He dug in his pocket and removed