Jessie abandoned her office and moved down the dimly lit hall into the spa. The odor of chlorine and liniment hung in the air. As much as Doc had taken pride in the indoor equine pool, she’d avoided this part of the building. Until now.
The massive back door, a duplicate of the one on the clinic side of the building, stood wide open. Just inside, Sherry unbuckled a stable sheet from a sleek Thoroughbred who stood tall and proud, ears flicking forward and back.
“Hello,” Jessie said.
Sherry glanced up, but dismissed Jessie’s presence and returned her attention to the horse.
Jessie assessed the pair as she approached them. Sherry, wiry and tough. The horse’s well-groomed dappled chestnut coat told her Emerick was at least doing something right. The Thoroughbred’s hip and back legs looked like something straight out of a book on perfect conformation, but both front legs were wrapped from the knee down.
Whispers around the backside spoke to this horse’s potential. He’d won handily in the cheaper $5,000 claiming races and moved up the ranks to the higher priced claimers. Recently, he’d shown flashes of brilliance in the pair of allowance races he’d run. Then he’d come up lame.
Jessie positioned herself in front of the horse and crossed her arms. “So this is the mighty Sullivan.”
“He used to be before he bowed a tendon.” Sherry hung the stable sheet on a nearby rack. Squatting beside the horse, she unwound the bandages from one front leg. “Hopefully, he will be again.”
“I’m sure he will.” As long as Emerick didn’t rush his rehab.
Sherry tossed the leg wraps into a pile and reached across to the other leg. “I didn’t realize I’d have an audience.”
“Do you mind?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not really.”
“That’s what I figured.” Sherry added the second set of bandages to the heap.
She stood and led Sullivan to the ramp that descended into the pool. The horse moved with a barely discernable limp and balked at the top of the slope. Muscles at the base of his tail twitched and tightened, and the tail lifted and cocked to one side. The whisper of gas was quickly followed by the soft plop, plop of manure hitting the rubber-matted floor. When the horse continued to balk, Sherry made a kissing noise at him. He responded, stepping gingerly down the ramp and into the water. Once in the twelve-foot-deep pool, he swam away on the end of his lead rope. Sherry strode after him on the catwalk. “Get the gate,” she called to Jessie and nodded at the plank that was hinged open over the entrance to the pool.
Now it was Jessie’s turn to balk, but the last thing she wanted was for Sherry to see her fear. Summoning her courage, Jessie approached the edge of the water. She reached up to release the gate, which was more of a bridge, closing the gap in the catwalk while also blocking the horse’s exit from the pool.
Her task completed, Jessie retreated to safety outside the rail surrounding the walkway. Sullivan doggy paddled around the pool, only his head above the waterline.
Sherry lengthened her stride to keep pace. “What are you doing over here? I remember Doc mentioning how much you hate being around the spa.”
Jessie had no intention of discussing her phobia of water with Sherry, and she wasn’t pleased knowing Doc had either. “I remembered your appointment. Saved me tracking you down.” Time to get down to business. Waiting until she had a good view of Sherry’s face, she asked, “How long have you known Doc was your father?”
Jessie expected Sherry to act surprised. To respond with denial. Or at least some cagey retort. Instead, she appeared unfazed. “Always.” She clucked to Sullivan and then added, “I grew up knowing.”
Not the response Jessie had anticipated. “Really?”
“How did you find out? I was under the impression Doc didn’t mention it to anyone else.”
Jessie rested her elbows on the railing. “He didn’t. Miguel Diaz let it slip.”
“Damn him. Can’t speak more than half a dozen words in English and he still can’t keep a secret.”
“Then why’d you tell him?”
“I didn’t. He overheard Doc and me talking about it.”
A theory began to take shape in Jessie’s mind. What if Sherry had sprung her true identity on Doc and he’d reacted badly. Rejected her. Wouldn’t that be a possible motive for foul play? “How long had he known?”
“Miguel Diaz?”
“No. Doc.”
“Oh. My mother told him as soon as she knew she was pregnant.”
So much for that idea.
“I didn’t get to spend much time with him when I was a kid. In fact, until I decided to follow in his footsteps and go into veterinary medicine, he never showed much interest in me. But then everything changed. I was ‘daddy’s little girl’ once I started college. We’ve been inseparable since I started helping him here.”
Jessie watched Sullivan chug around the circular pool. Every few strokes, the horse snorted. “Does Amelia know about you?”
Sherry chuckled. “Hell, no. Haven’t you heard? The wife’s always the last to know.”
Jessie cringed. News of Doc having an illegitimate daughter was going to be yet another shock for his widow. “I suppose you plan to tell her?”
“She’ll find out soon enough. As soon as the contents of his will are made known.”
Jessie caught a glimpse of an icy twinkle in Sherry’s eyes as she passed in front of her. “His will?” Jessie asked.
“Yep. Dear old Dad left his practice to me.”
If Sherry’s intention was to knock the wind out of Jessie, she succeeded. “How do you know that?”
“I just know.” Sherry barked a laugh. “You should see the look on your face. I told you not to get too comfortable around here. As soon as my license to practice comes through, you’re history, Dr. Cameron.”
Jessie clutched the railing. She’d thought she was going to be the one to blindside Sherry. At least Meryl would be happy to learn Jessie’s stint at the track truly was temporary. Jessie hadn’t really wanted the clinic. Had she? But if that were true, why was she beginning to think of Doc’s office as her office? She no longer called it “Doc’s desk.” It had become her desk. The backside felt more and more like home.
From across the pool, Sherry said, “You always thought of yourself as his shining star, didn’t you? Well, you were nothing but an employee. You always wanted to be his daughter, but you weren’t. I was.”
“I never wanted Doc to be my father.” Jessie hoped it sounded like the truth when she knew it wasn’t.
“Uh-huh.” The sarcasm in Sherry’s voice told Jessie she’d failed.
Time to try another angle. “The night Doc died,” Jessie began, keeping her voice low and controlled. “Did you know the call came from Miguel Diaz’s phone?”
The startled look on Sherry’s face suggested Jessie had chosen the right topic this time. “Miguel made that call?”
“He says no. But his phone is missing.”
Sherry’s pace slowed, but Sullivan’s lead line tugged her forward.
“I had Clown tested at OSU. In case you’re interested in what caused your father’s accident, someone administered acepromazine to Clown that night.”
Sherry stumbled but caught herself and kept walking.
“I understand he went after you once when he was tranquilized.”
“Went after?” Sherry fingered the scar on her face. “He tried to take my damned head off.”
“Any idea who might have tranquilized him?”
“No.” Sherry’s voice had grown tight. “How would I know?”
“Just asking.”
Sherry’s circuit of the catwalk brought her toward Jessie again, and her expression took on a hard edge. “Look. My father’s dead and nothing is going to change that.” She came closer to Jessie. “It’s a shame he didn’t stay home that night like he was supposed to. Then it would’ve been you in that stall.”
The now familiar pang of guilt hit Jessie in t
he gut again. It should have been her. The pang was joined by something darker, swirling beneath the surface of her thoughts like Sullivan’s legs churning in the murky water.
“If you keep butting in where you don’t belong,” Sherry continued, “someone might just give you a little shove, and you might end up taking a swim like old Sullivan here.” Her gaze locked on Jessie’s. Then a smirk crossed her lips as she passed. “Oh, I forgot. You can’t swim, can you?”
Eight
It wasn’t every day that Jessie received a death threat, so she wasn’t entirely sure what they looked or sounded like. Sherry’s cold voice, combined with the glint of pleasure in her eyes, shook Jessie. All afternoon as she made her Lasix rounds, the poolside exchange lurked in the periphery of her thoughts. Twice, she picked up her phone and punched in Meryl’s number. She wanted to dump this whole mess in Meryl’s lap and let a calmer head prevail. Twice, Jessie changed her mind before the call rang through. Meryl, never known for tact, was hardly a calmer head. In fact, Jessie imagined Meryl would be ecstatic to learn someone else would be taking over Doc’s practice. Jessie could almost hear Meryl shouting at her to get the hell out of there now and get back to the vet hospital where she belonged.
By six thirty, Jessie had administered her last dose of the diuretic for the day. No one had called or texted, so she decided to give in to her growling stomach. She aimed the Chevy through the stable gate, cruised toward the grandstand, and parked in the lot reserved for trainers.
She watched for a couple of minutes as grooms and their horses bustled into the indoor paddock in preparation for the next race. Hopefully, it would be a quiet night with none of them requiring her services.
She entered through the back door next to the security office and took the stairs two at a time. In the grandstand’s main concourse, a cluster of eager racing enthusiasts discussed the previous race and debated the merits of the entrants for the next one. A group of well-dressed patrons of the gambling arts sat at a bank of slot machines, choosing to test their luck on mechanical beasts rather than four-footed ones.
She’d zeroed in on her favorite concession stand when the sight of a lady in too-snug orange Capri pants and knee-high nylon stockings with purple sandals distracted her. Amused, Jessie turned to make sure she wasn’t imagining the outlandish fashion statement and slammed into someone coming the other way. Sputtering an apology, she reached out to steady her victim. “Catherine?”
“Jessie.” Catherine Dodd primped her strawberry blond up-do. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. What about you?”
“Heavens, I’m not fragile. You know that.” Milt’s wife struck a pose. “Seriously. Do I look fragile? Or do I look like the owner of a world class racehorse?” In her bright yellow fitted jacket and skirt, low-cut silk blouse, string of pearls and matching earrings, and off-white pumps, Catherine stood out against the rest of the casual crowd.
“You’re definitely dressed the part,” Jessie said. “How’s Risky doing after last Friday’s race?”
“He’s fine.” Catherine dropped the smile and the pose. “I’m just not convinced he’s the one to get me to Kentucky on the first Saturday in May.”
Jessie wasn’t about to point out the obvious. She didn’t know what percentage of colts made it to the Derby, but she was pretty sure Risky Ridge, in spite of his bloodlines and strong third place finish, wasn’t in that elite group. “You’ll get there eventually. Have faith.”
“Faith, I’ve got. It’s a horse I need. I keep after Milt. I mean, he meets and greets a lot of horse people around the business, so you’d think he’d be able to find me a horse. A good one.” She sighed. “We thought he had. Remember that big gray?”
“The one with the broken coffin bone?”
“Mexicali Blue. He was supposed to take us to Churchill Downs. Maybe Pimlico and Belmont too.” Catherine’s lower lip jutted out in a childlike pout. “But instead, thanks to that damned little bone in his foot, we’re stuck with a three-year-old who can’t do anything except eat. He’s really good at that. Don’t suppose you know of anyone shopping around for a smashing-looking thousand-pound house pet, do you?”
Jessie suppressed a smile. “Sorry.”
Catherine clutched her hands to her chest. “Blue broke my heart. But what are you going to do? I keep hounding Milt to find me another like him. Only sound.”
“Sound is good. You should let me vet check the next one before you buy it.”
A fleeting scowl clouded Catherine’s face. “I thought...Oh, never mind.” She brightened. “Anyhow, Zelda has her eye on a colt in one of the claiming races tonight. She asked me to meet her here and watch him run. Are you planning to stay to watch?”
“Afraid not. I’m just grabbing something to eat while I have a chance.”
“Oh. Too bad. You work entirely too hard.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Doc did too. He spent way too many hours at this place.” Catherine picked at an imaginary spot on her sleeve. Her voice was no more than a whisper when she said, “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”
“Me neither.”
Catherine brushed away whatever had been on her sleeve. “I’d better go find Zelda and look at that horse. You never know. It might just be my ticket to the Triple Crown.”
Jessie wished her well and watched as she sauntered away with the air of a model on a runway.
The sun was hanging low on the western horizon by the time Jessie trudged back across the trainers’ parking lot. She balanced a plastic tray of nachos in one hand while fumbling with the keys to the Chevy in the other. As soon as she reached for the door, her phone chimed with an incoming text, signaling the end of her respite. She set the tray on the truck’s bench seat, slid it over, and started to step up into the cab when someone called her name.
“Hold up there, darlin’.” Milt ambled toward her, his Texas good ol’ boy swagger firmly in place.
“I’ve got an emergency call.” Jessie tugged her phone from her pocket and checked the message. A request for x-rays over in Barn I.
Milt propped his polished boot on her pitted chrome bumper. “I won’t keep you long. You looked kind of pale last time I saw you. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t coming down with something.”
She flashed back to the events of the afternoon. “The only thing I’m coming down with is a case of Sherry Malone-itis.”
“What’s that girl done now?”
“Nothing really. Except...” Did Jessie dare say it out loud? “I think she threatened me.”
“She what?”
Jessie rolled her phone in her hand while replaying the conversation—or her disjointed memories of it—over in her mind. “I confronted her in the spa about something. We argued. Then she made some comment about shoving me into the pool, knowing full well I can’t swim.”
Troubled lines creased Milt’s forehead. “What were you arguing about?”
“We weren’t really arguing. We were talking about Doc’s practice.” Jessie leaned against the truck’s open door. “You’ll never guess what I found out today.”
The lines disappeared. “Okay. Since I’ll never guess, just tell me. You know I love good backside gossip.”
This ought to thrill the old rumor monger to tears. “Sherry Malone is—” Jessie said and winced. “Was Doc’s daughter.”
Milt’s foot slipped from the bumper. “I’ll be damned. Are you sure?”
“Sherry confirmed it for me. According to her, she expects to inherit Doc’s practice once the will has been read.”
The look of astonishment on Milt’s face faded to one of despair.
“Sorry. I know you wanted me to take over.”
“Hell, yes, I did. And don’t you go lying to me or to yourself. You wanted it too.”
She gazed across the lot to the eager Thoroughbreds being ponied from the barns to the paddock. “It doesn’t matter now. If Sherry’s right—”
“I don’t think she
is.” Milt removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “You said she expects to inherit the practice.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t believe it. No way would Doc leave his practice to her, daughter or not. Hell, I doubt she even passes her licensing exam.”
“But—”
Milt waved a hand to shut her up. “Listen to me. Those two argued like cats and dogs all the time. I overheard Doc giving her a verbal thrashing once about her work ethic. Or lack of it. He said she doesn’t have what it takes to do this kind of work. Now you tell me. Does that sound like someone he’s gonna trust his life’s work to?”
Jessie mulled over his words. Work ethic. It was something Doc had always stressed. And had praised her for. Others—Greg for example—had called her a workaholic. Doc had called it devotion. Passion. A good work ethic.
“And another thing.” Milt slapped the hat back on his head. “Why would Sherry threaten you if she was so sure of herself?”
“That wasn’t the reason. We were talking about OSU finding acepromazine in Clown’s blood. I asked her about the time he’d attacked her and if she knew who might have administered the drug to him the night Doc was killed.” Jessie paused to quell the pounding in her temples. “She told me to stay out of it. Or else.”
The creases were back in Milt’s forehead. “The horse had been tranquilized?”
“Didn’t I tell you?”
“And you think someone did it intentionally?”
“I got my hands on Doc’s records. There were notations everywhere about Clown’s sensitivity to the stuff. There’s no way Doc gave him ace.”
“Guess not.” Milt squinted across the Monongahela River at what was left of the setting sun.
Jessie’s phone burst into song. A quick check revealed a second horse needing attention. “I have to go. Do you want a ride to your truck? Where are you parked?”
Death by Equine Page 9
