Death by Equine

by Annette Dashofy

  It should have been her.

  Three

  Five days later, Jessie leaned on the wood rail fence surrounding Riverview Park’s outdoor paddock and scrutinized the movements of her patient. Inside the oval, ten Thoroughbreds in various states of nerves paraded, led around the circle by handlers wearing brightly colored numbered vests, waiting for the next race. But the only one concerning her at the moment was the sleek black two-year-old named Risky Ridge. The colt’s owner, Catherine Dodd, stood at her side.

  “Don’t you just love all this excitement?” Catherine didn’t take her eyes off her horse. “I’ll bet you’ve been over here every night watching the races.”

  Jessie freed her unruly hair from the elastic band that had held it, captured a few errant strands, and rebound her long ponytail. “To tell you the truth, this is the first time.”

  Catherine looked at her, astonished. “Really?”

  “I don’t know how Doc kept up the pace.” Jessie had long ago become accustomed to the frantic emergency calls in the middle of the night. But for the last five days, she’d been arriving at Riverview each morning by seven and was still treating patients until well after the last race. Other than Wednesday and Thursday when the track was closed, she hadn’t collapsed into bed earlier than midnight.

  Catherine lowered her head. “I still can’t believe Doc’s gone.” She returned her gaze to the colt in the paddock. “What do you think about Risky? How’s he look to you?”

  The colt’s sleek, dark coat, sprinkled with dapples, glistened in the sun. He carried good weight, and his muscles rippled beneath his skin. Risky Ridge showed all the evidence of being ready to run. “He looks good. In fact, I’d say he looks terrific.”

  Catherine smiled. With her hair caught up in a gravity-defying style, and attired in a bright pink linen jacket, skirt, and heels, the woman appeared ready for Kentucky Derby crowds as opposed to a warm Friday night at Riverview Park. “Maybe this is the one.”

  Jessie had known Catherine since high school and was all too aware how desperate she was to find the horse to take her to the big time. Until now she’d only encountered disappointment.

  Jessie looked at her. The black colt might have been the picture of health, but the owner lacked her usual glow. “Are you all right?”

  “Why do you ask?” Catherine said, perhaps too quickly.

  “You seem...pale.”

  “Oh. That.” Catherine shrugged. “I’ve been fighting a spring cold. I’d hoped the pink suit would brighten me up.”

  It didn’t.

  “But I couldn’t miss seeing Risky in his maiden race.”

  The colt strutted around the circle, his long neck arched as if posing for the crowd of bettors lining the rail. Otherwise, he showed no signs of the nerves one might expect from a horse about to run in his first race.

  Jessie had to admit, he had charisma. Maybe Catherine was right. Maybe this was the one.

  The chestnut gelding in front of Risky, on the other hand, was soaked in a nervous sweat. A tall, older man, who Jessie recognized as one of the local trainers, picked up a hose and aimed a stream of water at the horse. The gelding leaped away from it, jerking his young handler off his feet. The dark-haired youth, who wore a bright red vest with the number one on it, grabbed the lead shank with both hands. The trainer flung the hose aside and stormed after them, giving the horse—and the kid—a thorough cussing out.

  Ignoring the ruckus, Catherine worked a strand of her auburn hair free from the clips holding it in place and twirled it around one manicured finger. “What did you think of Doc’s funeral this morning?”

  The weight that settled on Jessie’s shoulders every time someone mentioned Doc bore down on her again. “It was...nice.” She immediately regretted her word choice.

  “Yes, it was, wasn’t it? Quite a crowd. I guess you never know how many people love you until you’re gone.” Catherine’s wistful voice trailed off.

  A quick riff of rock music burst from Jessie’s pocket. She pulled out her phone.

  Catherine glanced at her. “Duty calls?”

  Jessie checked the message, then the time. “Not yet. I’ll have to leave right after this race though. I have to scope a horse in Barn E, but I want him to be cooled out a bit first.” She tapped on the keyboard, Be there in 20.

  When she looked up, several of the horses, including Risky, had been led into the numbered saddling enclosures on the far side of the paddock. Valets carrying saddles and equipment approached the horses and handlers.

  Catherine pointed toward the woman who held Risky’s lead shank. “Zelda’s done a superb job of bringing him along. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yeah.” Jessie still had a hard time looking at Zelda Peterson without flashing back to that night with Clown.

  Zelda moved with practiced precision as she placed a chamois on Risky’s back, followed by the weight pad, and the pink number eight saddle towel. On top of that, the valet placed the tiny racing saddle—little more than a leather pad to hold the stirrups. The trainer buckled the under girth and topped it with the over girth.

  Zelda led the black colt out of the three-sided enclosure and fell into step with the other young horses.

  A loud crack made Jessie jump. The same chestnut gelding that had given the dark-haired kid a hard time wanted nothing to do with the whole saddling routine. He kicked out, striking the wall of the number one enclosure a second time. His trainer snatched the lead shank from the young handler and gave it a sharp snap, sending the animal onto his hind legs.

  Catherine gasped. “What does Neil think he’s doing?”

  Jessie watched in scornful silence. In the few short days she’d been working there, most of the trainers had made every effort to welcome her. Neil Emerick was not one of them. And if this was any indication of his style of horsemanship, she decided his avoidance might be for the best.

  After directing more harsh words at the sulking boy, Emerick led the jittery gelding across the paddock to the indoor saddling area.

  Catherine continued to toy with her hair. “What did you think of Sherry Malone?”

  “Who?”

  “At the funeral. Sherry Malone. You know. Doc’s assistant.”

  Jessie ran the long list of funeral attendees through her mind and came up blank. “Which one was she?”

  “You never met her? She was the one with the long braid.”

  “So that’s who that was.” Jessie had wondered about the stony-faced young woman standing off to the side of the group gathered around the casket.

  “What did you think of her?”

  “I guess I didn’t think one way or the other.” There had been quite a few mourners at Doc’s funeral whom Jessie didn’t recognize. His circle of friends and acquaintances extended well beyond her own. As for the young woman in question, Jessie had assumed she was a friend of one of his and Amelia’s kids. Or one of many track employees in attendance.

  “Didn’t you notice the way she looked at Amelia? And at you, for that matter.”

  “No.” Jessie wished she’d paid closer attention. “How was she looking at us?”

  “Oh, it’s probably just my imagination. But you know the old saying. If looks could kill.”

  For a moment, all sound became muffled as Catherine’s words rumbled through Jessie’s head, and Sherry Malone’s face, cold and stoic, floated across her mind’s eye. What would Doc’s assistant have against her? Or Amelia?

  “Jessie?” Catherine’s hand on her arm jarred her from her daze. “Jessie? Are you all right?”

  “Yeah.” She pulled her attention back to the horses in the paddock. Certainly Catherine was mistaken. Not everyone expressed their grief in tears.

  Neil Emerick’s horse was back, saddled and adorned with the red number one saddle towel.

  The paddock judge called out, “Riders up!”

  A procession of jockeys attired in various colorful silks poured into the ring and approached the horses, seeking their assigned mo
unts.

  Zelda leaned down, caught her jockey’s leg, and boosted him into the saddle. The black colt stepped out, disappearing into the building. Jessie turned to head for the stairs to the grandstand, but a commotion drew her attention back to the paddock in time to see the chestnut’s jockey being launched into the air. The rider managed to land on his feet, as light as a cat.

  The horse continued to buck. Neil Emerick gave several quick yanks on the lead shank. The animal flung its head up and reared. Emerick yanked again, spitting out curses at the horse, the young handler, who had retreated to the far side of the paddock, and the jockey.

  The chestnut scrambled backwards. The number two horse and groom behind him pulled up short and scurried to get out of the way.

  Reacting on impulse, Jessie ducked through the fence and charged toward the disaster in the making. She was vaguely aware of voices around her, but her focus locked onto Neil Emerick and the wild-eyed chestnut gelding.

  “Stop it.” She drew her voice up from the soles of her boots, a deep commanding tone that worked on frightened horses. And obstinate men. Sometimes. “Neil. Stop.”

  He whirled on her and snarled. “What the hell are you doing? Get away from me.”

  She held his gaze, but cautiously kept the colt in her peripheral vision. “Quit jerking on him and he might settle down.”

  Emerick towered over Jessie. The stench of his pungent breath led Jessie to doubt his familiarity with dental hygiene. “This is none of your concern. Get out of my way. I’ll deal with my own damn horse any way I damned well see fit.”

  Jessie willed herself to stand firm. “It is my concern if your stupidity results in one of these horses getting injured.”

  A hand on her arm startled her. Frank Hamilton, Riverview Park’s paddock judge, stood next to her. “Mr. Emerick, Dr. Cameron’s right. Please tone it down. If you can’t control your horse, I’ll remove him from the race.”

  Emerick drew a hissing breath. He glared at his horse, which was standing stock still, its head in the air. It gazed down on them with white-ringed eyes. “I’m sorry, sir,” Emerick said through clenched teeth. “We’re good.”

  “All right then.” Hamilton kept his grip on Jessie and escorted her to the fence.

  Emerick led the riderless horse past them, glowering at Jessie. The trainer and gelding moved through the doorway to the indoor paddock where they entered the tunnel under the grandstand to the racetrack.

  The jockey chose to walk.

  The official gave Jessie’s arm a squeeze. “Dr. Cameron, I’d appreciate it if you left the policing of the paddock to me.”

  Stunned at the reprimand, Jessie pulled away from him. “Someone was going to get hurt if he wasn’t stopped.”

  “Yes, however, it’s my job to keep things in line here. Not yours.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, even though she wasn’t. “But I didn’t see you doing anything about it.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  Catherine cleared her throat behind them. “Jessie? Excuse me. Should I just meet you over there?”

  Jessie held Hamilton’s stern gaze. Seconds ticked away. He released a soft growl. “Get out of here. And don’t step into my paddock again unless I’ve summoned you.”

  “Yes, sir.” She climbed through the fence before he could change his mind.

  Jessie fell into step behind Catherine and the others who’d been watching the scene in the paddock, but now moved toward the track for the race.

  “Do you think that poor horse will be all right?” Catherine asked as they climbed the flight of steps to the mezzanine viewing area above the indoor paddock.

  “I hope so.” Jessie also hoped he’d left his antics in the paddock and didn’t do anything to bring harm to himself or the other horses once they hit the track.

  A tinny recorded rendition of the “Call to the Post” followed Jessie and her well-dressed client through the doors to the grandstand. They skirted the lines at the ticket windows where hopeful bettors waited their turns. Jessie glanced at the concession stand and wondered if she’d have time to grab some nachos after the race. Probably not. The last meal she’d had was french fries for lunch.

  At the front of the grandstand, Jessie headed for the door, but Catherine caught her arm. “Come watch the race from my lucky box.”

  “No, thanks.” Jessie had seen Catherine’s “lucky box.” It consisted of four uncomfortable chairs at a table with a small cheap TV showing a snowy live feed of the race. “But you go ahead. And good luck.”

  Catherine offered an anxious smile. “Thanks.” She teetered up the steps in her high heels.

  Jessie squeezed through the doors with the rest of the crowd heading outside to the concrete apron next to the finish line.

  “The horses are on the track,” blared the loudspeaker. “This will be the third race, five and a half furlongs, a maiden special weight for two-year-olds. Post time, eight minutes.”

  Jessie squinted across the track where the tote board listed Risky Ridge at fifteen to one. The horses made their way toward the backstretch where the starting gate was parked almost directly across from the finish line. Ten young hopefuls, none of whom had broken their maiden. For Risky, it was his first attempt. For a few of the others, it was a second or third try at a win.

  Surveying the area in front of the grandstand, Jessie spotted an unoccupied picnic table on the nearby deck. She darted through a group of bettors studying their programs and took the two steps onto the platform with one big stride, only to see a couple of older men claim the table as their own. Muttering under her breath, she turned and slammed into the person behind her.

  “Sorry,” she sputtered before looking up to see her victim happened to be the track CEO.

  Daniel Shumway let loose a deep laugh. “Well, hello, Jessie. I was hoping to bump into you at some point. Didn’t think it would be quite so literally.”

  Jessie’s cheeks warmed. Daniel was the kind of guy men liked to hang out with and women wanted all to themselves. His rugged outdoorsman appeal had never been lost on Jessie, even before her marriage had begun to unravel. Back then, she’d secretly rationalized any ogling by thinking, “I can still look as long as I don’t touch.” Not that someone with Daniel’s good looks and sophistication would be even remotely interested in an awkward bookworm like her. And a full body collision didn’t count as touching. More like making a total fool of herself. She stammered an apology.

  He waved it off. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

  “I was looking for a place to sit.” She cast a glance at the two men at the picnic table. “But I wasn’t fast enough.”

  “How about joining me?” He motioned to another table where an attractive brunette eyed the two of them with a scowl on her face.

  “No, thanks.” The last thing Jessie needed was to be the third person in a party for two. “I’ll just watch from the rail.”

  “Nonsense.” He gently took her elbow and led her toward the table and the brunette. “I need to talk business with you anyway.”

  An embarrassed flush of heat spread down her neck.

  Daniel released Jessie and leaned down to buss the woman on the cheek. “Would you mind excusing us for a few minutes?”

  The brunette rose, gave Jessie the stink eye, and strutted away.

  “Have a seat,” Daniel said.

  Instead of taking the woman’s spot, Jessie perched on the table next to a pair of binoculars and braced her boots on the bench. She pointed to the field glasses. “Do you mind?”

  “Be my guest.” He took a seat next to her on the picnic table and bumped her with his shoulder.

  Jessie scooted over to give him more room, certain the brunette was watching them.

  “Are you interested in any horse in particular?” he asked.

  Through the lenses, Jessie found Risky loping easily down the backstretch with his lead pony at his side. “Catherine Dodd asked me to take a look at her colt in the paddock. I have a few min
utes before my next patient, so I thought I’d stick around for the race.”

  He squinted across the track. “Which one?”

  “Number Eight. Risky Ridge.” She handed him the binoculars.

  “Is he any good?”

  She relaxed. Horses were a topic she could handle. “You don’t really expect me to comment, do you?”

  “Doctor-patient confidentiality?”

  “Something like that.”

  Daniel gave the binoculars back to her. “How’ve you been holding up?”

  She studied the glasses without raising them to her eyes. “It’s been a rough week.”

  “I hope no one here at Riverview has made it any tougher on you.”

  She decided to keep quiet about her dust-up with Neil Emerick. “Everyone’s been great.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. That makes what I wanted to talk about a little easier.”

  Static crackled over the loudspeaker, interrupting him. “The horses are approaching the gate. Soldier Bob is balking.”

  Jessie raised the binoculars and focused on the horses bunched behind the starting gate. Neil Emerick’s chestnut had his head in the air again, pulling against the assistant starter who was tugging the horse toward the number one slot.

  Daniel shaded his eyes. “What’s going on over there?”

  “One of Neil Emerick’s horses. He was acting up in the paddock too.”

  Daniel pulled a racing program from his hip pocket and flipped a page. “Soldier Bob. From the looks of his workouts, he has some good speed.”

  “If he has enough energy left to show it once the race actually starts.”

  “Could be all this carrying on is just an indication of his spirit.”

  Jessie had her doubts. “Maybe.”

  “Soldier Bob is still refusing to go in the gate.”

  Three members of the gate crew worked with the horse. Finally, with one assistant starter at his head and two locking arms behind his rump, the chestnut gelding loaded.

  “And Soldier Bob is in.” The announcer called out each horse as it stepped into the gate without a fuss. Including Risky Ridge.

  Jessie handed the binoculars back to Daniel, relieved Risky had loaded like a gentleman.