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Trooper Popovich’s navy-blue Ford Explorer sat in Jessie’s usual parking spot, so she pulled to the side of the clinic and cut the engine. Had Popovich never left? Or was he back again bright and early?
Yellow crime scene tape still hung in the hallway between the clinic and the spa just past her office. That was fine. The last place she wanted to be right now was anywhere near the equine swimming pool.
She inserted her key into the office door’s lock.
“Good. You’re here.”
She jumped.
Popovich stood in the semi-darkness of the roped-off hallway with one hand resting on his sidearm. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Jessie thought about reminding him that two vets had recently turned up dead, giving her every reason to be jittery. Instead, she pushed into her office.
He followed her. “I thought you might like to know we’ve got the autopsy results.”
“That was fast.”
“Seems Miss Malone’s death was no accident.”
Jessie dropped into her chair. “I figured as much.”
He studied her, sizing her up. A smile curled his lip. “Greg mentioned you think you’re Nancy Drew. You believe that old man’s death a couple of weeks ago was murder too.”
Jessie decided against sharing her suspicions. “I’ve been told the coroner ruled that one accidental.”
“That’s right.” Popovich’s smile faded. “Mind if I take a look around?”
“Why?”
He tipped his head to one side. “Why not?”
She came up with a quick list including the fact her head was about to explode. “Do whatever you want.”
Popovich had just wiggled his fingers into a pair of nitrile gloves when Milt rapped on the open door. “Hey, darlin’. What’s going on?”
“Ask him.” Jessie hoisted a thumb at the trooper.
Popovich flashed a smile. “Just doing my job.”
“He’s investigating Sherry’s murder.”
Milt scowled. “Oh?” He swaggered into the room and planted a hip on the edge of the desk. “You okay?”
She pressed her fingers into her eyebrows. “Not in the slightest. I don’t suppose you have any aspirin on you?”
“Sorry.”
“That’s okay. I think I need something stronger anyway.”
Popovich, who was opening and closing file cabinet drawers, gave her a questioning look.
“Like antibiotics. I’m working on a good case of sinusitis from inhaling that crappy water.”
“That’ll do it.” Milt swung one leg creating a slow, hollow thunk every time his heel hit the desk.
Popovich straightened from his rummaging. He held the logbook for the pool in his hands. “What’s this?”
“That’s the appointment book for the spa.”
He slipped on a pair of old-fashioned reading glasses and thumbed through the pages. “Looks like Miss Malone had scheduled time to swim a horse yesterday.” He peered over the glasses at Jessie. “Where was the horse?”
“In quarantine.” When he stared blankly at her, she went on to give him the Cliff’s Notes version of the dilemma in Emerick’s stable.
“Then why didn’t she cancel her appointment?”
“I told you yesterday. She called and said she wanted to meet with me.”
“Oh, yes.” His tone turned patronizing. “And you got called away and left her a note, which we still haven’t been able to locate.”
Jessie didn’t have an answer for that one.
Popovich set the book on the desk. “Do you mind?” He waved a paw at her as if shooing a fly.
She sighed and vacated her chair, moving to the futon.
Milt followed, taking a seat next to her. He leaned toward her and whispered in her ear. “Any idea what Sherry wanted to talk to you about?”
Jessie thought she noticed Popovich’s ears twitch.
Seeing that the trooper’s eyes were focused on the desk’s center drawer, she mouthed the word, “Later,” to Milt. He winked at her and nodded.
“What’s this?”
Jessie looked up to see Popovich sitting in her chair, holding the silver and turquoise barrette. An icy stillness settled over her.
“Jessie, isn’t that the hair thingamabob Sherry’s been yammering about losing?” Milt asked. “Where’d you find it?”
She widened her eyes at him hoping he got her wordless message to shut the hell up.
Popovich made an annoying humming sound. He turned the barrette first one way and then another as he scrutinized it. “That’s a very good question, Mr. Dodd. Would you like to tell me what it’s doing in your desk, Dr. Cameron?”
Jessie rehearsed her words inside her head, wondering how they would sound to a cop investigating a murder. Speaking deliberately, she said, “Someone broke into my house last week.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And I found that barrette in with the broken glass.”
“Did you know it belonged to Miss Malone?”
“It looked like one she wears.”
“Looked like? Mr. Dodd here says she lost it.”
“I didn’t know that at the time.”
“But you thought it was hers?”
“I thought it might be.”
He hummed again. “What do you suppose it was doing at your house?”
“I’ve been wondering that myself.”
“You think she had something to do with the break-in?”
His rapid-fire questions exhausted her. “I don’t know.”
More humming. “I’m going to keep this. And the logbook.”
“Knock yourself out.” Popovich glowered at her, and she came up with a more respectful reply. “Yes, sir.”
Popovich stood up, tucking the book under one arm and cradling the barrette in his palm as if it were some valuable piece of jewelry instead of a cheap, gaudy hunk of costume crap. “One more question, Dr. Cameron. You can answer this one too, Mr. Dodd.” The trooper’s gaze shifted from one to the other. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted Miss Malone dead?”
Jessie wished she knew. Daniel? She couldn’t bring herself to say his name in this context. Not yet.
Popovich cleared his throat. “Besides yourself, that is.”
There it was. The blatant accusation. She climbed to her feet and glowered at the trooper. “You find out who killed Doc Lewis and you’ll have Sherry’s murderer too.”
***
JESSIE LEFT HER TRUCK parked at the clinic and struck out on foot for the front side, hoping the walk might calm her nerves.
Popovich might be putting his money on her as Sherry’s killer, but he hadn’t arrested her. Yet. Before he had a chance to reconsider, Jessie had to see a man about a horse.
Although it was still only May, the rising humidity was more akin to July. Jessie peeled off her hoodie before she made it halfway across the backside and tied it by the arms around her waist. Riverview was virtually deserted following the EIA scare, so the unmistakable sound of truck and trailer—grumbling diesel engine and clanking aluminum gooseneck—rolling up behind her seemed out of place. What brave soul dared venture onto contaminated soil when everyone else had beaten a hasty retreat?
Zelda waved from the driver’s side window of her red and silver rig. Jessie stepped aside and waited for Zelda to pull up next to her.
“Hey, Dr. Cameron. How are you holding up? Terrible thing, what happened to Doc’s assistant.”
“It was.” Jessie shielded her eyes from the glaring sun and looked back at the trailer. “Are you hauling in or out?”
“In. I’ve got Clown back there.” Zelda gestured toward the big four-horse slant-ride. “I wanted to thank you for allowing it.”
“I had nothing to do with it.” Doc’s death wasn’t the Thoroughbred’s fault. No reason Zelda or the horse should suffer those consequences.
Zelda gave her a knowing smile. “Sure you did. And I intend to make certain nothing else happens like...” She didn’t finish the sentence but waved and gassed the truck, leaving Jessie in a wake of dust and diesel fumes.
No, none of it was Clown’s fault, so why did Jessie suddenly feel overwhelmed with apprehension?
She slipped through one of the pedestrian gates and jogged toward the track on her way to the grandstand. She stopped at the rail on the far turn to watch two horses in the middle of their morning workout, loping around the oval with exercise boys standing in their stirrups. A hefty man with a rounded back cupped a stopwatch in his hands. Even after the exodus, life went on.
Following the footpath around the outside of the homestretch, she listened to the drumming of hoof beats on the dirt to her left, savored the heat of the sun on her face. For a few brief minutes, all was right with her world.
Inside the grandstand, the squeak of Jessie’s rubber-soled boots echoed, but at this hour, the solitude was normal. She crossed the expansive lobby to the offices, stopped outside Daniel’s, and hesitated. She’d made some foolhardy moves in her life. This was possibly the biggest. She considered beating a hasty retreat. Instead, she stepped inside.
Daniel was on the phone. He looked up and smiled but not his usual, full-blown boyish smile. He held up one finger and spoke into the receiver. “How long have we been doing business? You know I’m good for it. Just give me a couple weeks to let all this blow over...Yeah? Well, thanks a lot.” His smooth voice had turned bitter. He set the receiver down hard in its cradle. Then he leaned back in his chair and ran both hands through his hair.
The distressed look on his rugged face softened Jessie’s resolve. “Rough day?”
“You could say that. Creditors don’t like to hear the barns are mostly empty. And bettors don’t like to hear there are barely enough horses entered to fill a race card.”
She wished she could ease his pain instead of adding to it.
He met her gaze. “I don’t blame you for any of this, you know.”
She licked her dry lips, trying to summon up courage. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” He interlaced his fingers behind his head. “Anything.”
She drew a breath. Blew it out. “Did you have anything to do with Doc’s death? Or Sherry’s?”
Minutes felt like long, silent hours as Daniel held her gaze. When he finally moved, it was in slow motion. He came forward in his chair, brought his hands to his desk surface, and broke the silence with a strangled, “What?”
The question didn’t require any elaboration, so she continued to wait.
“Why in heaven’s name would you think such a thing?”
The words stuck, but she forced them out. “You’ve done it before.”
Daniel Shumway, who’d always seemed larger than life, shrank. “You know.” He choked a humorless laugh. With one thumb, he rubbed at a sunspot on the back of his other hand as if trying to wipe away a memory. “That was a long time ago.”
“When you were Daniel Brice?”
“Yes.” He made a few false starts, but finally managed to ask, “Are you going to report me to the racing commission?”
“Did you have anything to do with Doc’s death?” She said it with more force this time.
“Would you believe me if I say no?”
“Convince me.” She considered taking a seat in one of the chairs facing his desk. Instead, she opted to keep the chair between them and rested her hands on its back. “Doc found out about your past. He blackmailed you into keeping quiet about him falsifying Coggins test results.”
Daniel didn’t blink. Nor did he deny her allegations.
“You got a vial of ace from Sherry right before Doc died.”
A sad smile crossed his face. “I wondered what you were doing in my tack room that morning.”
“And Sherry—” Jessie’s fingers tightened on the chair back. “She figured out who murdered her dad and was just about to tell me.” Jessie fought to hold her voice steady. “Did you—” She failed, and it cracked. “Did you kill her?”
The heartbreak in Daniel’s eyes cut deeper than any scalpel could. “I thought we had something. I thought you trusted me.”
She wanted to. More than anything. But she couldn’t block the picture of Doc mangled in Clown’s stall or Sherry floating in the pool. She couldn’t afford to trust anyone right now.
Daniel didn’t blink. “I guess this means you’re canceling our raincheck for dinner.”
Heat singed her eyes, but she wasn’t going to let him see her cry. “I guess so.”
Both Daniel’s phone and the phone Greg had given Jessie rang at the same moment. Daniel picked his up and swiveled his chair away from her. She yanked hers from her pocket, brushed an arm across her face, and answered.
“Dr. Cameron?” She recognized Trooper Popovich’s voice. “I need you to come back to your clinic.”
“Why?”
“We’ve found some evidence, and I’d like your input on it. Now.” The line went dead before she could protest.
Daniel was hanging up his phone too. “That was security. A cop just called.”
“Popovich?”
“He thinks they have the murder weapon. They found it at your clinic.” Daniel gazed at her with the same accusatory expression she’d used on him a few minutes earlier. Only he didn’t come right out and ask if she’d done it.