The vehicle stopped on the road in front of Barn B. Jessie couldn’t see the occupants. That meant they couldn’t see her either. Two car doors slammed. Muffled voices wafted toward her. Time to forget about subtlety. She dropped the wire back into the bucket and picked up the screwdriver.
The voices were getting louder. They—whoever they were—were headed her way. Jessie prayed they’d stop short of the gap between barns, but she couldn’t take any chances. She rammed the business end of the screwdriver into the lock and tried to pry it open. It held tight. Adjusting her grip, she tried again. Still, it held. What did they make these things from?
She ventured a quick peek around the corner, hoping the darkness would shield her. Two figures—one tall, one short—walked directly toward her. Her cockamamie story about responding to the wrong barn for an emergency suddenly sounded ludicrous. She ducked back around the corner, protected from their eyes but only if they didn’t come much closer. Taking a deep breath, she repositioned the screwdriver. This time, she threw all her weight into it. She stifled a groan as the handle bit into her palm. The door creaked. Gritting her teeth, she gave one more heave. The lock sprung open with a loud metallic clank.
The approaching voices and footsteps stopped. “What was that?” one asked.
“Probably one of the horses rattling his gate,” the other replied.
Jessie quietly placed the screwdriver in the bucket and removed the padlock from the latch. Snatching the bucket, she darted inside the tack room and shoved the door shut behind her.
Breathing hard in the dark, she listened. Neither of the voices outside sounded familiar. Nor did they seem to be coming any closer. Jessie slumped against the wall and waited for her heart to stop pounding against the inside of her sternum.
A pale shaft of light snuck under the gap beneath the tack room door. They had turned on the shedrow lights. Through the wood, she heard dull thumps and bumps. All the while, the voices kept up a steady patter. It sounded as though they had opened the feed room door just across from where she hid. A chorus of nickers confirmed her suspicion.
Jessie willed her shoulders to relax. She’d made it in. But how was she going to get out? She pushed the concern from her mind. Time enough to worry about that minor detail later. She dug a black Maglite from the bucket, figuring it would provide better illumination than the flashlight on her phone. She swept the beam around the room. Three bulky Western saddles with wool saddle pads draped over them hung on racks built into the wall. Bridles and breast collars hung from nails next to them. The equipment had the look of years of hard use, but glistened, clean and well oiled.
Jessie swung the light to three plastic fifty-gallon garbage cans with lids secured by bungee cords. She crossed to the cans, unhooked one end of a bungee and lifted the lid. The sweet fragrance of oats floated up into her face. Above the cans, small plastic buckets of vitamins and supplements lined a shelf. Four dusty framed photographs of Daniel and assorted associates, either mounted on a horse or standing beside one, hung on the wall.
She turned and flashed the beam ahead of her. A countertop, cluttered with everything from rusty horseshoes to tools to bottles of fly spray, ran the full length of one wall. She pulled on the Latex gloves, quietly opened a metal cabinet mounted to the wall, and reached inside. A dozen or so packages of Vet Wrap, a box of eighteen-gauge needles, assorted syringes, a plastic tub of Finish Line Kool-Out Clay, two jugs of alcohol, and a square brown bottle of Regu-Mate filled the shelves. She encountered the same supplies in every racehorse barn she’d ever been in.
Jessie started to close the cabinet, but something caught her eye as she swung the light away. She brought the beam back to the cabinet’s interior and reached behind the tub of poultice clay. Her fingers touched glass. She pulled out a bottle and aimed the Maglite at the label.
Acepromazine. Exactly what she’d hoped she wouldn’t find. The date on the label matched the date on the records back at her office. Sherry hadn’t been lying.
Jessie held the bottle up to eye level. Although impossible to tell for sure, she guessed that about four cc’s were missing. Enough to tranquilize one horse.
Her phone burst into song, startling her. The bottle slipped from her fingers. She grabbed for it, bobbled it, and managed to catch it. Setting down the flashlight, she ripped the phone from her pocket. No longer muffled, the music rang out even louder before she could jab the dismiss button.
Another sound—a soft rumble—drew her attention. The Maglite had started to roll on the not-quite-level countertop. She stretched for it but only succeeded in knocking it to the floor. The lens end struck first with a crack and went dark.
Her pulse pounding in her ears, Jessie stood motionless in the pitch-black room and listened. The voices outside had fallen quiet.
“Did you drop something?” one of them asked.
“No. I think Jacob stomped at a fly.”
Jessie closed her eyes in relief.
“I thought I heard a cell phone.”
“You sure it’s not yours?”
Jessie’s eyes flew open, staring into the blackness.
“Yeah, I’m sure. It must be yours.”
“I left mine in the car.”
The stillness hung in the air like a threatening storm cloud, alive with electricity. Jessie didn’t dare breathe.
“You sure you heard something?”
“I’m positive.”
Another long silence.
“Maybe somebody left their phone in the barn somewhere.”
“Could be. Sounded like it came from Shumway’s tack room.”
One of them laughed. “Somebody’s probably going nuts trying to remember where they left the thing.”
“Should we try to find it?”
No. Panic crushed in on Jessie. Why hadn’t she braced something against the door?
“It’s not our problem. Let’s get back to work.”
Jessie’s knees gave way. She slid down onto the dirty floor and waited for her legs to feel like something other than overcooked spaghetti. She may have escaped one dilemma but knew she was a long way from being in the clear.
Clutching the container of ace in one hand, she fumbled for the flashlight in the dark with the other. On hands and knees, she crawled through the dust, searching through the cobwebs under the counter. In the back of her mind, she recalled her mother commenting on what a clean child she had been. If Mom could see her now.
Her fingers grazed the round barrel of the flashlight, and she clutched it to her. Now all she had to do was get out.
She found her bucket next to the door, pulled a Ziploc baggy from under the decoy vet supplies, and dropped the acepromazine into it. After peeling off the gloves and stashing everything, including the broken Maglite, in the bucket, she pressed a shoulder and one ear against the door.
The voices were still there, but more distant. Were they done? Or were they simply feeding their horses farther down the row? It didn’t matter. This was her chance.
She wrapped her fingers around the door handle. With a gentle tug, she swung it toward her. She closed her eyes and offered up a silent prayer to whoever was the patron saint of good-intentioned cat burglars. Opening her eyes again, she leaned out and peered into the walkway between the two stables. The gray dawn cast just enough light to reveal a clear path. She stepped out, snatched the lock from the bucket, and hooked it through the hasp. She hoped prying the padlock open hadn’t broken it. With a quick shove, the lock clicked into place. She might just make it free and clear after all.
Exiting the covered gap, she looked around. Only a few sleepy horses with heads hanging over their stall webbings greeted her.
Jessie lugged her bucket down the shedrow toward her truck, feeling the exultation of charging down the homestretch toward the finish line with no one even close to catching her.
Until a white Ford Expedition rolled passed the end of the shedrows. Daniel.
Jessie froze, praying he hadn’t seen her.
/>
But the Expedition reversed and swung toward her.
Suddenly, breaking into Daniel’s tack room seemed like the stupidest idea she’d ever had.
“Jessie?” Daniel stepped down from the big SUV.
Time to find out how good of an actor she was. “Morning.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as pathetically perky as she feared.
He smiled. “What are you doing here? Did you come to join me for a morning ride?”
“Sorry.” She held up the bucket and tried to forget what was hidden inside. “I have an emergency, but I mixed up the barns.” She threw in an eye roll for good measure.
“Oh.” He sounded either disappointed or doubtful. Or maybe she was hearing her own doubts reflected in his voice. “I’m glad I ran into you though. I need to talk to you about this quarantine thing.”
“Okay. But I need to get going. I’m supposed to be in Barn F right now.” She gave him a sheepish grin.
“I understand. As soon as you get a chance, come see me, okay? Maybe we can have lunch?”
“Sure. That would be great.” Lunch would be great. If she didn’t fear he might have something to do with Doc’s death. She started to pass him. Get to the truck. Just get to the truck.
He caught her arm. “Wait.”
The touch of his hand sent electric shivers through her. Shivers of attraction or shivers of fear? Or both? She couldn’t decide.
“Can you at least tell me when you expect the results of the bloodwork you drew yesterday?”
“A minimum of twenty-four hours. With this being the weekend, I’d say Monday, maybe Tuesday.”
He didn’t appear pleased, but he released her arm.
She moved toward her truck, fighting the urge to break into a run.
“Jessie?”
Gritting her teeth, she stopped and pivoted.
“Are you all right? You look exhausted. And have you been rolling around in the dirt?”
She felt the blood drain from her face. Smile. Act normal. She looked down at the patches of dust and cobwebs covering her jeans and sweatshirt and made a feeble attempt to brush them away. “I was—uh—trying to drag the cat out from under the sofa this morning. Guess I need to clean in there.”
He laughed. “In your spare time?”
She laughed back. “Right.” The laugh and the smile died as soon as she turned away.
She wondered if his eyes lingered on her, watching her go, but she didn’t dare look to find out. And she didn’t breathe until she had climbed into the cab of the Chevy with the incriminating bucket.
FALLOUT FROM THE NEWS of the quarantine hit the clinic midmorning. Jessie had gotten off the phone with Greg’s voicemail when an angry horde of owners and trainers descended. The complaining she’d endured from Emerick while drawing blood turned out to be a mere whimper compared to the onslaught they delivered.
“What the hell’s going on with this epidemic?” demanded a tall, rotund man wearing a plaid shirt with pearl snaps straining over his oversized belly. Jessie recognized him as one of the horse owners but couldn’t put a name to the face.
His question was greeted with murmurs from the crowd, echoing his inquiry.
“I never said this was an epidemic.” Jessie stood just inside the exam area. Her imagination played out a scenario of being mobbed and forced to sprint through the passageway between clinic and spa and out the doors at the far end of the building.
“Then why the quarantine?”
“To prevent an epidemic. And so far, the quarantine is limited to Barns K and F.”
“So far,” said another in the crowd. “But it’s bound to expand to the entire track, isn’t that right?”
“It’s too early to tell.”
“What can you tell us? You’ve quarantined two barns with the threat of closing down the track. I think we all ought to just load up and beat it out of here before things get worse.”
Jessie raised both hands. “Hold on. What I don’t want anyone to do is panic. If you’ll calm down a minute, I’ll tell you what I know and what I believe may or may not happen.”
Another murmur ran through the group. The heavyset fellow with the gapping shirtfront appeared to be the leader, assigned or otherwise. He looked over his constituency and exchanged a comment or two with several of them before facing her. “Fine. Give it to us straight, Dr. Cameron.”
She searched for the words that would keep everyone, if not happy, at least less murderous.
“One horse stabled in Neil Emerick’s barn has shown symptoms I suspect could be EIA.”
“Aren’t all horses coming onto track property supposed to be tested for that?” came a shout from the back of the crowd.
“Yes, but the papers are good for a full twelve months. Within that time frame, anything can happen, I’m afraid. A horse could become infected two months—or two weeks—after the test and still carry valid health papers. The testing system isn’t failsafe.” Especially when a lazy vet bypassed it.
The answer seemed to satisfy the group, so Jessie continued. “Placing the entire facility under quarantine may become necessary if the horse under suspicion and any other horses test positive. At the very least, blood tests will be required of all animals on the property. I know quarantine for everyone isn’t something any of us want to think about, and it very well may not be necessary. The final decision falls to the Department of Agriculture. But if EIA is present, it must stop here. You used the word ‘epidemic.’ That’s what we’re desperately trying to avoid. A few days of inconvenience is a small price to pay, don’t you think?”
The heavyset man folded his arms. “A few days? Is that all it’s gonna be?”
“I hope to have the first set of test results Monday. Tuesday at the latest. If everything is negative, then the issue is dropped, and I focus on diagnosing one horse’s ailment. If we get one or more positive results, decisions will have to be made. If that’s the case, the horses affected will have to be put down, and the rest of Barns K and F will be in quarantine until all the horses continue to test negative after two months. I presume, if the decision is made to quarantine the entire facility, that quarantine will only be in effect until all the horses in every barn test negative.”
“But what if they don’t? What if it’s spread?” This came from a young woman with short pigtails and sad eyes.
Jessie met her gaze. “Then the track will have to be shut down and no one will be able to take their animals off the property until they all test negative for two months.” Hearing the grumble of impending revolt echoing through the group, she raised her voice. “But, if you happen to be the owner of one of the sick animals—and it may not appear to be sick at the moment—and you take it out of here now, take it home, put it in your barn or your pasture with your other horses, you risk spreading the virus beyond Riverview. You risk infecting your entire herd. Is that what you want to do?”
The throng grew so silent that Jessie could hear the pigeons cooing outside. Heads began to nod, and little by little the crowd broke up and drifted off. A few people, including the sad-eyed woman, thanked her for her time. Finally, only the big man with the straining snaps remained.
“I’d sure like to know how this horse was allowed to be brought in,” he said. Then he turned and left with the others.
Jessie slouched against the clinic’s doorframe. For a moment she wished Doc were still alive so she could have the pleasure of killing him herself.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, she lifted her head. Daniel loomed over her, a cup of coffee in hand. “You managed that really well.”
With his blond hair disheveled from the spring breeze, he did not look like her idea of a killer.
He fixed her with a troubled frown. “Do you really think it’s EIA?”
“I don’t know. That’s why we do bloodwork.”
“But you suspect it.”
“I do.”
He took a sip of coffee. “And what about the quarantine? Do you expect it to close u
s down?”
She caught his use of the word us, as if they were still on the same team. “Like I told them, it depends on the test results.”
“Educated guess.”
Jessie sighed in exasperation. Everyone wanted her to predict the future. They didn’t teach that at OSU. “Honestly, I don’t know. I think we should just be patient and see what the lab has to say.”
“But you said the entire track might be closed down.”
She studied his face. If he had in fact been aware of what Doc was doing, he had to know this could happen. What was he really trying to get out of her? Was he trying to determine how much she knew? She gazed into his pale blue eyes and felt a chill at the realization that while she was trying to read him, he was trying to read her.
“Well?” His voice took on an insistent edge.
She’d forgotten the question. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Do you think there’s a chance the entire track will be locked down? I need to know.” His fingers closed around her arm.
The urgency in his voice cut through her. She longed to offer him some small comfort. Her gaze settled on his mouth, and for a split second she was back at her house after their dinner at Lorenzo’s. That fleeting kiss as he said goodnight. Followed by Milt’s voice telling her, Shumway, or whatever his name is, killed a man. Had he killed Doc too? She clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms. “There is a chance, yes. But it’s too early to worry about it.”
“When?” He gave her a gentle shake. “When should I start worrying about closing down the track? About losing everything I own?”
The anguish in his voice made fearing him impossible.
“Look.” She brought her hands up between them, hesitated, then rested her palms lightly on the front of his shirt. “I imagine you heard what I told them.”
“I did.”
“That’s really all I know. Guesses, educated or otherwise, will only feed the panic.”
His eyes bore into hers as if mining for answers. She held his gaze but sensed a great many of his questions had nothing to do with the quarantine.
Outside, a vehicle rolled up to the clinic door. Jessie looked over Daniel’s shoulder to see Greg climb out of the state police SUV. Daniel released her and crossed to the stainless-steel sink and counter.
Death by Equine Page 19
