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

“Pardon?”

“My cats. You locked them in the closet.”

“Them danged cats.” Milt rested his elbow on Clown’s withers. “That black and white one kept getting under my feet when I was rummaging through your office. I tossed her in the closet to get her out of my way. But then she started yowling so loud it about drove me nuts, so I got the other one out of the cage and put it in there to keep her company. I suppose I could’ve shut her up permanently, but like I said, I never intended to hurt you. Or your kitty cats. I just wanted to scare you into backing the hell off.”

“And you planted Sherry’s barrette.”

Milt held up one finger. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doin’. But you’re just delaying the inevitable. Enough with the chitchat.” He looked up at the stallion who was standing quietly despite the curled lip and worry lines around his eyes. “It’s time for this to all be over. That scum Emerick will take the fall. And no one will look at me twice.” He moved his right hand, the one holding the syringe, toward Clown’s neck.

This was it. When Milt turned his attention away from Jessie, she looked toward the stall door. Instead of a simple stall webbing or grate, the bottom half of the split door had been closed and probably latched. Before she could make a move, the steel toe of Milt’s work boot caught her in the ribs. Her breath whooshed out of her as if he’d given her the Heimlich maneuver. The pain threatened to cut her in half. She hugged her knees and groaned.

“Don’t make this any harder on yourself than it has to be.” Milt’s voice had turned stone cold. He’d released his hold on the horse to kick her, and Clown cowered in the stall corner. Milt turned his back on Jessie and approached the stallion. He grabbed the halter with his left hand. With his right, he slammed the needle into his neck and rammed the plunger home.

Jessie judged the distance to the stall door. She turned back just in time to see Milt’s boot coming at her ribs again. Blocking out the searing pain screaming through her body, she rolled toward the foot and caught it in her arms. With one hand on the heel of his boot and the other clutching the toe, she twisted.

He roared in a mixture of pain and fury and crashed into the straw beside her.

She made it onto her hands and knees. Milt caught her around the waist and heaved her away from the stall gate. She rolled over him, landing between him and Clown. The chestnut stallion hunched back into a corner to avoid stepping on the humans in the middle of his stall.

Milt lunged for the door. Jessie scissored her legs around his. He tumbled onto his side and struck out, only succeeding in thumping her thigh. At this point, one more bruise didn’t matter. Jessie released her legs’ vice-like grip long enough to draw one back and let loose with a kick to his groin. She wasn’t close enough to land a crippling blow. But it was enough to curl him into a ball and elicit a string of foul language.

A different kind of roar drew her attention. Clown no longer cowered in the corner. A thin film of sweat darkened his coppery coat. His eyes looked more crazed than frightened. The drug had hit his bloodstream.

Her peripheral vision caught movement. Milt was on his knees. Clenching both fists, he swung at her. She rolled away from him, and he caught her shoulder instead of her face. Thrown off balance, he toppled onto her.

Jessie tried to wiggle out from under him. His fingers found her throat and squeezed. She fought to pry his hands free. Tiny flash bulbs began going off inside her eyes. Sound became muffled. She could hear a primordial bellow, but it seemed miles away. Suddenly Milt’s grip loosened. He screamed. Instinctively, she rolled and found her way to her knees.

Clown had Milt’s shoulder in his teeth. The horse began shaking him like a dog worrying an old sock. Milt’s arms flailed. He kicked at the horse.

Jessie scrambled toward the stall door. Somehow, Milt broke free. She heard him behind her, clawing his way on all fours. He grabbed Jessie’s ankle. As he tried to climb over her, she kicked at him with her other foot.

But it wasn’t her foot that made contact. Something cracked like a tree limb snapping in a storm.

Milt shrieked and crashed facedown into the straw. Jessie caught a glimpse of Clown’s drug-addled eye and one hoof pawing. It must have nailed Milt’s leg.

God, Jessie thought. This was how Doc died. She didn’t want to go this way. She didn’t even want Milt to go this way. The only way to stop it from happening was to get out of the stall. Find a pitchfork or something—anything—to hold the crazed stallion at bay.

She made a lunge toward the door.

But Milt once again caught her ankle. “Jessie, help me.”

She flipped onto her back. Sat up. Grabbed a handful of Milt’s shirt fabric. Dug her heels into the straw. And heaved. But it was like trying to drag a sack of lead.

A shadow fell over them. Clown reared behind Milt, blocking the light from the bare bulb. The stallion’s front legs raked the air. And then drove forward. Jessie saw what was coming but was powerless to stop the inevitable. The hooves caught Milt’s back and slammed him into her with the force of a truck.

The deep-throated growl coming from the horse was unlike anything Jessie had ever heard before. Clown hunkered back onto his haunches and reared again. The blacksmith lay still, no longer holding onto her. Jessie managed to wrest free of him just as the horse came down, battering his front hoofs into Milt’s motionless body. The crack of bone