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

roar to a soft hiss against the tin. Jessie strained to hear movement outside, but the only sound was the rasping of her own breath. Chaff stuck to her wet face and worked into her clothes.

Where was Milt?

She jammed her hand into her jeans’ pocket and pulled out her phone. Her first instinct was to call Greg.

Except she had his phone.

She punched in another number.

Vanessa sounded frightened when she picked up. “Greg?”

“No, it’s me. Jessie.” Something beeped in her ear.

“Again?” Now she sounded miffed.

“I’m in a real bind. I need you to track Greg down.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have time to go into it all right now—” Something out in the shedrow made a thud. Jessie gasped.

“Are you there?”

“Yes,” Jessie whispered. She heard that beep again. “Hold on a minute.”

She clamped the phone against her chest and listened. Footsteps. Definitely footsteps. Milt was right outside the hay shed. She battled a spark of hysteria. Stay calm. The sound stopped. She pictured him peering into the shed. Noticing the mess of broken bales she’d made in her frantic attempt to burrow in.

She heard the footsteps again, moving away this time, fading into the soft rush of light rain on the roof.

Jessie blew out a breath and brought the phone back to her ear. It beeped again. What was that? “Vanessa?”

“I’m here. What’s going on?”

“Find Greg. Tell him it’s Milt. Milt killed Doc and Sherry, and now he’s trying to kill me.”

“Oh, my.” Vanessa’s little-girl voice shot up an octave.

“Tell him I’m at Riverview and I need him now.” No response. “Hello? Hello?” Jessie gaped down at the dark screen and dead phone. That’s why it had been beeping.

How much had Vanessa heard before the phone cut out? Did she hear the part about Jessie being at the track? Did she hear the part about telling Greg she needed him? And if she had, Jessie wasn’t Vanessa’s favorite person these days. Would she even bother to make the effort?

Taking a long breath, Jessie listened again, hearing nothing.

She couldn’t depend on Greg to come to her rescue. She needed to get out of this on her own. It probably wouldn’t be long before Milt came back.

She crawled to the front of the haystack. Looked out and saw nothing. She swung one leg over the edge, then the other, and dropped to the floor, landing with a soft thud. At the front of the shed, she waited for another flash of lightning. It came and disclosed an empty shedrow. She stepped from her safe haven, jogged to the end of the barn, and stopped before turning the corner.

She needed a better plan than just darting from shedrow to shedrow. The gates were all locked, and she doubted she could scale the chain fence. Maybe she could get back to the clinic and lock herself in the office. But if Milt couldn’t find her in the barns, he would likely head there and lay in wait for her. With a little luck, she could sneak past the clinic. Make a run for the stable gate. Scream like bloody hell and hope the guard reached her before Milt did.

She peeked around the corner to see if anyone was there. Nothing. Relieved, she gathered her courage.

Something scraped behind her. She wheeled.

The back of a shovel.

Searing pain.

And everything went black.

Twenty-Eight

A low moan filtered into Jessie’s consciousness. It took a few seconds to realize the sound came from her own throat. Her face throbbed. Her sinus headache must be back. When she raised a hand to her left cheek, pain sliced through her head.

She opened her eyes. Blinked. Tried to figure out where she was. Rafters and a bare light bulb. Sounds crept through the haze. Rustling. Then a stomp followed by a snort. The smell of manure and damp straw.

“Wake up, darlin’.”

Jessie turned her head. Bad idea. The movement sent a glitter of razor-sharp stars dancing across her eyes. She squeezed them shut and held her breath until the pain subsided. When she opened them again, the source of the familiar drawl swam into view.

Milt stood over her holding the halter of a big chestnut. Jessie struggled to prop herself up on one elbow. The man and horse began to spin around her. She collapsed back into the prickly bedding. “Ow.”

“I’m really sorry I had to whack you like that, but I should’ve done it long ago. Might’ve knocked some sense into you.”

She forced her eyes open and concentrated on clearing her vision. And her thoughts.

The horse Milt was holding had his ears pinned back, and his eyes were ringed with white. A cold weight crushed the breath from her as she recognized the stallion. Clown. Milt’s other hand, encased in a Latex glove, hung at his side, closed in a fist. He noticed her looking and uncurled his fingers, revealing a syringe.

“Ace?”

Milt offered her a smile that appeared genuinely sad. “Damn it all to hell, Jessie. I hate that it’s come to this. You just wouldn’t leave it alone.”

She swallowed a hard, dry lump in her throat. “You’re going to kill me the same way you killed Doc.”

“It worked before. There’s nothing to keep it from working again.”

“Two of us dying the same way? No one’s going to believe it’s an accident.”

“Doesn’t matter. No one’s gonna suspect me. You’ve given me the perfect scapegoat.” Milt tipped his head back and chuckled. “Neil Emerick. That son of a bitch. I was never sure how much of the scheme to dump that worthless piece of horseflesh off on me was Neil’s idea and how much of it was Doc’s. This way they’ll both pay. I’m much obliged to you for finding all that evidence against him.”

She had to ignore both the pain in her face and in her heart if she were going to survive this night. Keep him talking. “Can you explain something to me?”

“What’s that, darlin’?”

“You’ve been after me all along to take over Doc’s practice. Why? If you didn’t want me digging into his