But in the midst of the violation of her home, the only things that mattered were Molly and the kitten.
Jessie dumped the blackened files onto the hearth and picked her way through the ruins of her printer.
She rounded the corner to her bedroom, which appeared unscathed, but she had an eerie sense that someone had gone through her things. She dropped to her knees and peered under the bed. “Molly?”
Nothing. No black and white longhaired tuxedo-marked fat cat. No small drug-addled orange and white tabby.
Frantic, she checked the rest of the rooms. The bathroom, Greg’s old office, the guest room. All seemed intact. She peered under the guest bed and behind bureaus and desks and dressers. Anywhere that Molly had ever claimed as a hiding spot. Nothing.
As Jessie clumped down the stairs, none of her surgeon’s training helped. Her hands trembled. She couldn’t fill her lungs. After another sweep through the first floor, she wasn’t sure which scared her more—the idea of never finding the cats at all or finding them in some condition she couldn’t accept.
Jessie unlocked the heavy front door, which no one ever used, and stepped out onto the porch. The lawn sloped down through a thick growth of ancient pines to the road. If Molly had escaped and was out there, Jessie didn’t have a clue where to start searching. She cupped her hands around her mouth and called, “Molly!”
Nothing but the chirp of spring peepers answered. What about the little guy? That little tabby. He had no name, but he could hear. Would he respond?
“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” she called into the night.
Nothing. Of course not. He didn’t know her or this place. He was terrified. Hiding.
Jessie went back into the house and closed the door behind her. She staggered to the stairs and collapsed on the second step. With trembling fingers, she unbuckled the ankle straps and peeled off the old high-heeled shoes. Then she cradled her face in her sooty hands and surrendered to the flood of tears.
Scritch, scritch, scritch.
Jessie lifted her head.
Scritch, scritch.
Swallowing her tears, she tilted her head to listen. What the hell was that? And where was it coming from?
She climbed to her feet and tiptoed up the steps, listening for the sound. But it stopped. At the top of the stairs, she paused. Waited.
Scritch, scritch, scritch, scritch, scritch.
It was coming from her office. She went to the doorway and surveyed the rubble.
Scritch.
The sound—could it be?—came from behind the closed closet door next to the fireplace. She charged across the room, ignoring the pain as her bare foot came down on something sharp, and flung open the door.
Molly and the tabby blinked as the light fell upon them. Jessie dropped to her knees. Molly let loose with one of her high-decibel meows. Jessie translated it as, what took you so long?
Laughter bubbled in her throat as she scooped up the old cat and held the small warm body tight, burying her nose in the silky fur. The tabby, still shaky on his feet, wobbled out. Jessie pulled him close against her thigh, rubbing his ear.
Molly gave Jessie’s chin a head-butt, and a purr nearly as loud as her meow echoed through the room. It was the most beautiful sound Jessie had ever heard.
Immense relief soon gave way to intense anger. Who the hell had done this? Vanessa came to mind. Vanessa wanted her out of the house, and what better way to accomplish it than to scare her out?
Logic told Jessie the idea was preposterous. Sweet, waiflike Vanessa was incapable of such vandalism. But the alternative meant some unknown intruder had been in Jessie’s house, trashing her things, messing with her cats. Setting fire to Doc’s files. The notion of the break-in being related to his death started to raise the hair on the back of her neck, but she shook it off.
Blaming Vanessa felt so much easier to accept.
There was a gaping hole in the front of Jessie’s house, courtesy of the shattered window. She’d already imagined the cats escaping into the night. No way was she about to let it actually happen. She packed some clothes in a bag and both cats in the carrier. Wearing work boots with her sooty dress, she loaded everything into the Chevy and got the hell out of there.
LIGHT SEEPED AROUND the curtain covering Greg’s apartment window. Jessie stood on the stoop at the top of the steps and pounded on the door.
Greg jerked it open. “What the...?” He gaped at her. “Jess?”
She pushed past him into the kitchen. “Where’s Vanessa?”
He closed the door behind her. “She’s out with some girlfriends. What’s going on? Why...?” He waved a hand up and down at her, indicating her attire or condition or both.
Jessie collapsed into one of the retro chic vinyl and chrome chairs. “Someone broke into my house.”
“What?” He sank into the chair across from her.
Exhaustion closed in. She braced her elbows on the table and told him about her evening.
When she fell silent, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Did you call 911?”
“No. I’m reporting it to you. I’ve got the cats in the truck and I’m going to stay at my office at the track for a few nights.”
“Any idea who might have done this?”
Jessie tried to meet his gaze and failed. “I was thinking Vanessa.”
He shot forward and slammed his palms on the table. “Come on, Jess.”
“She wants me out of the house. Well, I’m out. But I’m telling you here and now, it’s only temporary.”
“There is no way Vanessa would break into our house and bust it up.”
The “our house” comment didn’t escape Jessie’s notice. But did he mean “our” as in his and Jessie’s? Or “our” as in his and Vanessa’s? “She’s not here, is she? Besides, she could’ve hired someone else to do the dirty work.”
“You’ve gone over the edge on this one.”
She knew he was right but wasn’t about to admit it. Maybe tomorrow in the rational light of day, but not tonight when her nerves were raw.
“Did you ever think that maybe this has something to do with you accusing everyone at the track of murder?”
She had, but denial was so much safer. “Explain to me why a murderer would put the cats in my closet.”
“Why would Vanessa?”
“To freak me out, which is exactly what happened. And besides, you keep telling me there is no murderer.”
“I don’t think there is, but you’re making accusations and getting people fired up. Sounds like a good way to make enemies.”
She hated it when he made sense. “Look, I just wanted you to know what happened and where I’ll be.” She stood up. “You’d better get over to the house tonight and board up that window. I don’t want any wild critters moving in. Vanessa probably wouldn’t like that either.”
He opened his mouth to continue the argument, but then clamped it shut. After a few moments of glaring at each other, he said, “We should go through the place together to determine if anything’s missing.”
Jessie headed for the door. “I can already tell you my laptop’s gone.”
“Okay, that’s a start. I’ll nail up some plywood tonight and see what I find. How about you meet me there sometime tomorrow?”
“Fine. My morning is booked, but I have time after lunch.”
He rose and opened the door for her. “Are you gonna be okay at the track? Where will you sleep?”
“I’ve got the sofa in the office, and there’s a small bathroom with a shower.” She failed to mention its grungy condition.
Greg gripped her shoulders. “Be careful, okay? Call me if you need anything.”
There he was, warning her to be careful again. “There is one thing you can do for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Tell Vanessa she’s fired.” Jessie jerked free of his grasp and stepped out into the night.
AT SEVEN THE NEXT MORNING, Jessie returned from an emergency coffee run t
o find Molly grooming herself in the middle of the desk. Next to the cat, Jessie’s phone sat on a folded sheet of paper. She picked up the note and recognized Daniel’s letterhead as well as his blocky printing.
You left this in my car. I thought you might need it.
No kidding. She pocketed the phone and crumpled the note.
The tabby curled into a feline doughnut on the blanket under which Jessie had slept on the sofa. At about three in the morning, she’d decided to replace the too-short tattered sofa with a new futon the first chance she got, whether she took over the practice or not.
She set the coffee down and flopped into her chair. Molly greeted her loudly while offering her head to be scratched. When the door swung open unexpectedly, Jessie jumped.
Milt swaggered in. “Good morning, darlin’.” He froze in midstride and pointed at the cat on the desk. “Who’s this?”
Jessie took a slow, deep breath to settle her jangled nerves. “This is Molly. And close the door, please.”
He obliged, and then glanced around the office. His gaze settled on the blanket and pillow on the sofa and the sleeping tabby. “What’s going on?”
Jessie ran her hands through her matted hair. “Someone broke into my house last night.”
“Good lord. Were you home when it happened?”
“No.” The thought of being there to encounter the vandals sent a chill along her spine. “I was out.”
Milt pushed the blanket aside. The tabby stirred briefly. “Are you all right?” he asked as he took a seat.
“I’m fine, but they broke my front window. Greg’s supposed to put up some plywood to cover it. In the meantime, the cats and I have moved in here.”
“Dang. I’m sorry to hear about that. I just came in to see how your big date went with the boss man. Everyone’s buzzing about it.”
Terrific. At least the horror of the break-in had distracted her from thinking about the horror of the date-gone-wrong. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Really? What happened?”
“Didn’t I just say I’d rather not talk about it? Nothing happened. Nothing at all. Then I came home, and my house was trashed.” She thumbed the lid off the cup. “Perfect end to a perfect evening.”
Milt studied her without saying anything for a moment. “I’m really sorry, Jessie. How long before you figure on moving back into your house?”
“I don’t know. Depends on a lot of things.” She hoped Greg would catch whoever had done it, and then she could feel safe in her home once again. But if he made no more progress in solving the break-in than he had solving Doc’s murder, she might be out of her house for a very long time.
“You could always stay with me and Catherine.”
She offered him as much of a smile as she could muster. “Thanks, Milt, but I’ll be fine here.”
“If you change your mind, the offer stands.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Did they take anything?”
Jessie sipped her coffee and let the medicinal effects of the caffeine spread throughout her body. “They destroyed my TV and some other electronics. But the only thing I know they stole for sure is my laptop.”
Milt stroked the tabby, who stretched and purred. “Maybe they figured it was more portable.”
“I guess.” She thought of her other laptop. The one that had been smashed thanks to Frank Hamilton’s visit. Her shopping list was getting longer. “Something else that’s odd. They burned a stack of Doc’s files I’d taken home with me.”
Milt stopped petting the kitten and frowned. “Why would anybody do that?”
“I don’t know.” Jessie rested her head on the back of the chair. “I don’t know why any of this is happening.”
The door swung open again, and Greg in his State Trooper uniform strolled in, carrying a nylon duffel bag.
Milt climbed to his feet. “Well, darlin’, I’d best be going. Remember what I said. My offer stands.” Milt shook a finger at Jessie and then let himself out.
“What offer?” Greg asked.
“To let me stay with him and Catherine.”
Greg set the bag on the desk next to Molly. “I’ve come to take your fingerprints. I need to determine which prints at the house belong there and which ones don’t.”
Jessie checked her watch. “Okay, but I’ve got to look at a horse in fifteen minutes.”
He unclipped a pair of buckles and flipped the bag open. “No problem.”
“Have you found anything?”
“I haven’t had a chance to do a thorough investigation yet. I did a quick walk-through before boarding up the window. I’m headed back over there as soon as I finish up with this.”
Jessie considered asking if he’d taken Vanessa’s fingerprints but didn’t feel up to the ensuing argument. Besides, as she’d expected, in the light of day, the petite blonde looked less and less like the culprit.
“What time do you think you can meet me?” Greg asked.
“About two?”
“Good.” He inked each of her fingers and rolled them from one edge to the other against a card, which he labeled and tucked back into the box. After repeating the process on her other hand, he offered her a paper towel.
She scowled at the mess. More black gunk. She still had soot under her fingernails. “Why don’t you have one of those scanner things to do this?”
“It’s broken.”
Just like her window. Their marriage. Her life.
Greg’s head tilted toward the duffel, but his gaze rested on her face. “When did you and Shumway start seeing each other?”
“Last night. Started and finished. I blew it.” She cringed. Why confess to Greg, of all people?
His gaze shifted back to the fingerprinting kit. “If that’s true, Shumway’s a fool.” Greg packed his gear and closed the lid. “Are you okay?”
“I’m terrific,” she said without conviction.
“Maybe you should take Milt up on his invitation.”
She glowered at him. “Maybe you should find out who busted up my house.”
He rubbed Molly’s ears before picking up the duffel bag and heading for the door. “Two o’clock, then?”
“Yep.”
He pulled the door shut behind him, and Jessie felt the emptiness close in on her.
Fourteen
Walt McCutcheon, a stout red-haired man wearing a beat-up ballcap, stood outside Barn P when Jessie pulled up. The call was for a Coggins test, and when the trainer approached her truck before she had a chance to open the door, she hoped she was wrong about what was coming next.
“Dr. Cameron.” He handed her a folded piece of paper through the open window. The old Coggins test with all the horse and owner’s information. “I sure appreciate this. You’ll put it on my bill, right?”
“Yes, sir.” She kept a hand on the door handle, but he stood too close. She’d hit him if she tried to open it.
“All righty then. Thanks.” McCutcheon slapped the truck and turned to leave.
Jessie seized the opportunity and opened the door. The trainer turned back to her, his face the picture of confusion. “Was there something else, Doctor?”
“I have to see the horse. Draw his blood.”
“Oh.” McCutcheon’s eyes widened. “Oh. I just assumed...I’m sorry. Doc was always so busy. Of course. Right this way.”
She tucked the pad of test forms under one arm, opened the compartment in the storage unit to retrieve the plastic bin containing empty Vacutainers and clean needles, and wondered. How could she dismiss Doc’s laziness as a one-time occurrence now?
JESSIE SAT BEHIND THE wheel of the Chevy, jotting notes about a lame colt she’d just examined. He’d likely run his last race until fall at the earliest, but she had a difficult time concentrating on the paperwork.
Out of everything that had come to light about Doc in recent days, this Coggins test situation weighed heaviest on her mind. While her view of him as an honorable man had been sullied beyond
repair, she’d still clung to the belief that he was a good vet who cared for the animals above all else.
Until now. Bypassing the legally required procedures for running a Coggins test potentially put all horses at risk. If EIA, the highly infectious disease the test screened for, managed to slip into the track’s stables, carried by a horse with fraudulent papers, untold numbers of animals could be destroyed.
A loud metallic boom jarred her from her quandary. She lifted her head and saw Daniel standing next to her truck’s front fender, his palm resting on the hood he’d just slapped, a dimpled grin on his tanned face. “Wake up.”
“I am awake, thank you very much.”
“I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“That’s where I’ve been. All over.”
He moved to the door and rested his forearms on it. “I tried to call you earlier at your house but got no answer. Then I ran into Milt. He told me what happened.” Daniel’s expression turned grave. “I should’ve seen you in last night instead of just dumping you at the door.”
“You didn’t just dump me. I don’t recall inviting you in.”
“Oh, yeah.” The dimples returned. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m sure. But I hope you don’t mind if I camp out here for a while until Greg gets this sorted out.”
“Here? At the track?”
“In my office.” She wondered if he noticed she didn’t refer to it as Doc’s office.
He gave no indication if he had. “I don’t mind, but it can’t be very comfortable. Why don’t you stay at my house?”
Everyone wanted her to move in with them. “That’s sweet, but I don’t think it’d be a good idea.” A warm breeze carried the smell of impending rain through the open window, and wisps of hair that had escaped her ball cap tickled her nose. She caught a strand and tucked it behind her ear. “Why were you trying to call me?”
“To tell you I had your cell phone for starters, but also, I wanted to thank you for last night.”
Death by Equine Page 15
