Death by Equine

by Annette Dashofy

  Or wanted to see.

  Since then, Jessie had been struggling through the stages of grief, starting with denial. The night she ran into Greg and a stunning redhead holding hands at a restaurant slapped her out of stage one.

  Anger followed. Meryl helped her craft a pair of wild schemes as revenge, but good sense prevailed, and the plans were aborted.

  After weeks spent wrapped in a protective blanket of guilt and depression, Jessie truly believed she’d reached the final stage—acceptance.

  And then Greg stepped out of the Interceptor in front of the clinic, and the grief hit her all over again.

  She climbed down from the Chevy’s cab slow enough to let her head regain control over her heart. Remembering the redhead always did the trick. “What are you doing here?”

  “The Medical Examiner released his report on Doc’s death,” Greg said stiffly. “I thought you’d like to hear it.”

  He thought right. “Let’s get out of the rain.” Jessie put her shoulder to the heavy door. Greg reached over her and, with one hand, easily rolled the thing open. “Show off,” she muttered, torn between annoyance and gratitude.

  The rain thrummed against the tin roof. She raised her voice to be heard over it. “What’s the verdict?”

  Greg removed his trooper hat and held it somberly in front of him. “No big surprises. Cause of death was blood loss. He suffered massive internal injuries to several major organs.”

  Doc’s mangled body flashed across her memory. Closing her eyes only intensified the image, so she focused on the stainless-steel counter behind Greg. The sink. The glass canister filled with swabs. Anything to blot out that picture.

  “The tox screen came back clean,” Greg continued in his flat, all-business voice.

  She could have told them that much Sunday night. “Any word on the missing groom? Miguel Diaz?”

  “He turned up in Akron. Says he had a fight with his girlfriend Sunday evening and took off. He’s been staying with friends and didn’t know anyone was looking for him. He didn’t seem very concerned about leaving Zelda Peterson in the lurch.”

  A fight. Sunday evening. Sunday. Evening.

  Jessie didn’t give a damn about Miguel Diaz’s love life. But the timing? That was another matter. “What about the call to Doc?”

  “He says he didn’t make it.”

  “How does he explain his number on Doc’s phone?”

  “Says he lost his phone last week. Figured he’d left it in the barn. He didn’t want to pay to replace it until he was sure it wasn’t gonna turn up.”

  “How convenient. You don’t believe him, do you?”

  Greg worked the brim of his hat, still hanging from his fingers. His gaze dropped away from hers.

  There was more. Something he wasn’t telling her. “Greg?”

  “I do believe him. His story checks out. His buddies confirm he’s been there since eight o’clock Sunday evening.”

  “Of course, they do. They’re his friends. Giving your pal an alibi is part of the friends’ oath, don’t you know that?”

  Greg gave her a tired smile. “Friends help you move. Good friends help you move bodies.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Except these same friends took Mr. Diaz out to drown his sorrows Sunday night. Bartender and several patrons remember him.”

  “Are they sure it was Sunday?”

  “Very. Apparently, he was trying his hand at a new romance since the old one didn’t work.” Greg cleared his throat, and Jessie wondered if he was recalling having done the same thing. “But the girl he tried to pick up had a jealous boyfriend with her. The resulting altercation made enough of an impression that the witnesses were quite certain of the day and time. Miguel Diaz has been cleared of any connection to Doc’s death.”

  Jessie slumped into a worn chair. “Where’s his phone?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do we do next?”

  “Nothing.”

  Jessie couldn’t have heard him right. “What do you mean?”

  “That’s the other part of the Medical Examiner’s report. Manner of death was determined to be accidental.”

  “So? What’s that got to do with tracking down the missing cell phone?”

  “Accidental,” Greg repeated, biting off each syllable. “We don’t investigate accidental deaths.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Greg knelt next to her, bringing his face close enough to hers that she couldn’t avoid his stern gaze. “Doc’s death was an accident. We know he was killed by a horse, but we haven’t started arresting horses for homicide.”

  Jessie brushed aside his feeble attempt at humor. “How can he rule it an accident if we don’t know why Doc was there?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me.” She cringed at the shrillness of her own voice. “I was supposed to be there, Greg. It should have been me.”

  “But it wasn’t you. Look, Jess, you’re dealing with survivor’s guilt. You think because Doc’s dead and you’re not that you have some obligation to prove it could have been avoided. Sometimes accidents are just accidents.” He patted her leg awkwardly and rose.

  “It’s not survivor’s guilt. I promised Amelia I’d find out why Doc died.”

  “I can answer that. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “You think it’s that simple?”

  He gave a short, humorless laugh. “It’s not simple. It’s the way it is, Jess. Move on.”

  She stood. “You’re not going to do anything else about it?”

  “Nope.”

  “The case is officially closed?”

  Greg slapped his hat back on his head. “Officially there is no case.”

  Fuming, she turned away from him.

  His voice softened. “There’s another reason I’m here. It’s about Peanut.”

  Jessie spun back. “Peanut?” Their yellow Lab. The one Greg had claimed custody of when he left. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. He’s due for his shots. I was going to call for an appointment with Meryl, but I figured you’d want to see him. When will you be back at the vet hospital?”

  Good question. “I’m not sure. Why don’t you just bring him here one day next week?”

  “I’ll do that.” He hesitated. “One other thing.”

  Jessie couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re turning into Columbo.”

  Greg didn’t smile. “I was wondering if you’d found a divorce attorney yet.”

  Her own smile died as she hurdled back a few steps in those stages of grief. “Not yet. I’ll get on it as soon as I finish up here.”

  He raised a doubtful eyebrow at her.

  “I will. I promise.” She thought of all the promises he’d made—and broken—to her. Like that big one. Until death do us part.

  He eyed her for a moment but didn’t say anything else before he ambled out into the rain.

  Jessie rubbed the hint of a headache lurking at her temple. Okay, yes. It was time to accept the end of her marriage. But she was not ready to let go of her questions about the night Doc died. No matter what the coroner or the police said.

  MONDAY MORNING, THE rain gave way to fog. OSU had promised to send Clown’s tox results today. Jessie checked her email before leaving her house and before starting her rounds. Nothing.

  She parked next to Barn M where she had a request for a Coggins test. Before getting out of her truck, she again scanned the email on her phone.

  A gruff voice outside her window startled her. “Hello. You the new vet?”

  She looked up to see a tall, bony man with gray hair and skin. “Yes, I am.”

  He grunted and pulled a ragged sheet of paper from his pocket. He handed it and a twenty-dollar bill to her through the window. “This should handle it.”

  Jessie looked over the tattered and expired Coggins test paper and noted the information listed. “Are you Harvey Randolph?”

  �
�Yes, ma’am.”

  She picked up a pad of the Veterinary Service Equine Infectious Anemia lab test forms—more commonly referred to in horse circles as Coggins tests—from the seat next to her and reached for the door handle.

  “What’re you doing?” he asked, a puzzled look on his grizzled face.

  “I’m going to draw blood from...” Jessie glanced at the old paper again. “Extreme Valor.”

  “You’re gonna draw blood?” He seemed surprised.

  Jessie wondered if he’d been drinking. “Drawing blood is the normal procedure for running a blood test.”

  “Well, yeah. But the old guy...” Randolph shook his head. “He just never bothered. You know?”

  No, she didn’t know. “Never bothered?”

  “He was a busy man. And Valor, he don’t like needles.” The man’s gray skin grew even paler. “But, hey. Whatever floats your boat. I just hope you brung a twitch. Or a hefty dose of tranquilizer.”

  The memory of Doc’s body in Clown’s stall flashed through her mind, but it was overshadowed by Randolph’s words. He just never bothered. She’d heard about unethical veterinarians drawing blood from a “substitute” horse, sending it to the lab under the name of another animal. But that was one of those urban legends. Wasn’t it? True or not, she refused to believe this was something Doc would have condoned. Let alone willingly taken part in. Whether a horse was a handful or not.

  “I hate to see you get hurt.” Randolph tugged at his ear. “Why don’t you check with that little gal that used to help Doc?”

  “You mean Sherry Malone?”

  “Don’t recall her name. His assistant.” He tapped the back of his head. “With the long braid. She took care of a lot of that stuff for him.”

  Jesse swung her door open and slid down. “I’ll check with her later. But for now, let’s go see about drawing some blood from this boy.”

  “Whatever you say. It’s your funeral.”

  She wondered if he noticed her shiver.

  Harvey Randolph hadn’t been kidding when he said Extreme Valor didn’t like needles. But she’d been prepared. Doc had trained her well on the skills of staying safe.

  The sun gradually burned off the fog and warmed Jessie’s skin as she drove around the shedrows with her window open and her arm hanging out. A skittish filly with an exercise boy on her back appeared from the gap between barns. Jessie braked, preferring to wait and give the young horse space in case the filly decided to test her rider’s skills. The trainer trailed after the horse and rider and gave Jessie a smile and a wave.

  Sitting with her foot on the brake, she watched two grooms walk their horses in the road instead of under the cover of the shedrow, soaking up the glorious sunshine. Pigeons swooped across the sky, landing on one of the roofs. A cat sauntered across the road from one barn to another. Over the PA, a monotone voice was giving the rundown on upcoming race entries. A normal, peaceful spring morning on the backside.

  Inside her head was another matter entirely.

  Could Doc have been taking shortcuts with Coggins tests? Randolph had to be mistaken. Or maybe it had been a one-time occurrence when Doc was extra busy. Somehow, though, she had no trouble believing Sherry might have taken the lazy way out on several occasions.

  None of her barn calls this morning took her near Emerick’s stable. Not that she knew what to say if she did run into her. Hey, Sherry, are you dealing in fraudulent Coggins tests? Jessie doubted the direct approach would get her more than a quick and venomous denial.

  She picked up her phone and thumbed through her messages, texts, and emails, hoping for something from Ohio State. Nothing. The clock on the dashboard read ten thirty. Still plenty of day ahead to fidget over what those tests might reveal. Be patient.

  In her mind, she heard Doc’s gruff voice mutter, “Patience my ass,” and smiled at the memory. Waiting hadn’t been one of his strong suits either.

  The cat had disappeared into its destination, and the frisky filly had rounded the far end of the shedrow on her way to the track. Jessie eased the truck toward her next appointment.

  By noon, she’d completed her rounds, and her rumbling stomach demanded her attention. A full slate of farm calls promised to keep her running until the afternoon’s Lasix shots required her presence back at the track. Since none of those farms took her near a fast food joint, she headed for the front side and her favorite food concession.

  Five minutes later, Jessie bounded up the back stairs into the relative quiet of the grandstand. The musical drone of the slot machines mingled with the low chatter of the television monitors simulcasting races from other venues.

  As she waited for her order, she became aware of footsteps behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. Wearing a white shirt unbuttoned at his neck, khakis, and boat shoes, Daniel looked like he’d taken a wrong turn at the beach. Even as a married woman, she had to admit to being attracted to the man, although she’d never act on the attraction. Then she remembered. She wasn’t exactly married anymore.

  Daniel offered her a bemused smile. “What’s wrong?”

  “Headache.” She rubbed her temple to cover the lie.

  “Sorry to hear that.” He leaned against the counter and said to the woman behind it, “Coffee, please.” Then he turned again to Jessie. “What brings you to the front side today?”

  “Lunch. The rec hall was too crowded.”

  Daniel nodded. “Have you given any more thought to what we spoke about on Friday?”

  “You mean Doc’s practice? I haven’t had a chance to check with other vets. Sorry.”

  “What about you? I still think you’re the best choice for the position.”

  The woman behind the counter set two plastic containers in front of Jessie. “Grilled chicken salad, hold the chicken. And nachos with extra cheese. Be right back with the coffees.”

  Jessie dipped a corn chip into the sauce and crunched into it, savoring the salt and the clash of textures. “Sorry.” She hid her mouth and her sheepish grin behind her hand. “I’m starved.”

  Daniel eyed her dubious meal choice. “Chicken salad, hold the chicken?”

  “I’m vegetarian.” She swallowed the nacho and resisted diving into another. “Never felt right about eating something that might have been a patient of mine.”

  “I always assumed vegetarians were...” He motioned toward the too-yellow-to-be-real cheese. “...health conscious.”

  “Maybe I should complain to the CEO about the shortage of menu choices.”

  A smile crept across Daniel’s face. “Maybe you should.”

  The woman set two large cups of coffee on the counter.

  Daniel waggled a finger at Jessie’s order. “Put it on my account.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Consider it a bribe. I’ve been hearing wonderful things about you from the horsemen.”

  Jessie closed the lids on both plastic containers and stacked them. She shoved a plastic fork, a napkin, and a packet of ranch dressing in her jeans’ pocket. Lack of dining choices aside, the idea of making the move to Riverview permanent was growing on her. But giving up her hospital? Abandoning Meryl? “I can’t. I have too much invested in my own practice to jump ship.”

  Daniel studied her. “I hope you know I’m going to keep trying to change your mind.”

  “Go ahead. But it’s made up.” Talk of Doc’s practice jogged her memory. She moved her lunch and her coffee to a nearby table and pulled out her phone. It showed no new texts or messages. However, her inbox listed the awaited email from Ohio State.

  Daniel sipped his coffee. “What is it? An emergency?”

  “No. It’s Clown’s blood work from OSU.”

  “And?”

  “It’s too hard to read. I’ll check it on my computer later.”

  Daniel hoisted a thumb toward his office at the back corner of the grandstand. “You can use mine if you want to pull it up now.”

  The answer she’d been seeking might very well be in
the palm of her hand. Could she stand to wait until later that afternoon, or maybe even that night, to learn the truth?

  Patience my ass.

  “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “I wouldn’t have offered if I did.” Daniel gathered her lunch and strode across the grandstand. Jessie followed him through the doorway and up the long staircase to Riverview Park’s inner sanctum.

  Daniel’s private office reminded Jessie of a Thoroughbred racing museum with dozens of framed photo finishes and winner’s circle portraits hanging on the wall. But there was no time to gawk at the artwork. She sunk into his cushy leather chair and logged in to her email. A few clicks later, she studied the attachment listing OSU’s findings and scanned pages of test results. Normal. Normal. Normal. Until she came to the drug panel. That one brought her up short. “Son of a bitch.”

  “What?” Daniel peered over her shoulder at the screen.

  Jessie scanned the rest of the report before answering. The tests revealed no abnormalities to explain why Doc had been called. The horse had been healthy. However...

  “This shows the presence of acepromazine in Clown’s blood.”

  Daniel shrugged. “As I understand it, Clown can be a handful. Wouldn’t it be normal procedure to tranquilize him?”

  “Normal, yes. Which is why nobody paid attention to this before.” Jessie tapped the monitor with her finger. “But there are some horses that suffer an adverse reaction to ace. If they’re high strung to start with, it can make them behave with excessive aggression.”

  “I’ve heard that.”

  “Clown is one of those horses.”

  “Why would Doc use it on him? Wasn’t he aware of Clown’s history?”

  “That’s a good question.” And one she didn’t have an answer for. But she intended to find out.

  Six

  Afternoon farm calls took longer than Jessie planned, forcing her to launch immediately into her Lasix rounds at the track. Once the races began, she had to alternate between the pre-race injections and the calls for horses coming back from the track in worse shape than when they left. A lull finally hit, and she retreated to the office. All afternoon she’d puzzled over the report from OSU. She wanted desperately to dig into Doc’s files on Clown.