Death by Equine by Annette Dashofy (booksvooks txt) 📕

her pocket instead of in her desk drawer back at the office. “I have evidence.”

“Whatever evidence you have is a lie. I don’t even know where you live.” Sherry threw open the passenger door and stepped out.

She exhibited the appropriate amount of ire for being falsely accused. Jessie’s instincts told her Sherry wasn’t lying. Then again, her instincts hadn’t been on target lately. If she was wrong, who had broken in?

Who had destroyed Doc’s files?

“You coming?” Sherry stood in front of the truck. “Or are you gonna let me do all the work?”

Steeling herself, Jessie opened her door and slid down from the truck’s cab.

They’d only drawn blood from four of the horses in Barn A when a Pennsylvania State Police Interceptor pulled up next to Jessie’s Chevy.

Greg stepped out. “I need to talk to you.”

Jessie held up a tube of blood that she was in the process of labeling. “I’m a little busy at the moment.”

“Now.” His voice carried that stern, no-nonsense tone he usually reserved for the bad guys.

Jessie looked at Sherry, who gave her a dismissive wave. “Go. I’ll grab one of the grooms to help me.”

“Thanks.” Jessie handed her the tube.

As she approached the Interceptor, Greg said, “Get in.”

First Sherry and now Greg. Jessie had dealt with more than enough attitude for one day. “What’s this all about?”

His voice softened. “Just get in, already.”

When she climbed into the passenger seat, he handed her a brown nine-by-twelve envelope. “Hold this.” He swung the car toward the stable gate.

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace we can talk without being interrupted.” He drove less than a half mile before pulling off in front of a vacant diner.

“What the hell’s going on, Greg?”

He turned to face her. “I did some digging into Daniel Shumway.”

“I thought you said you’d lose your job.”

“Yeah, well...” Greg rubbed his ear. “Believe it or not, I really do still care about you and don’t want to see you getting yourself killed. And if anyone asks, Shumway has visited the house and I needed to rule his prints out as our burglar.”

Jessie stared at Greg in disbelief. He was being...nice. Not to mention risking his career for her. “Thanks,” she whispered. “Did you learn anything?”

“His prints were definitely on the vial you stole from his tack room.”

A dull throb settled into Jessie’s temples. “And?”

“His real name is Daniel Brice.” Greg nodded at the envelope on her lap. “Go ahead. Look at it.”

She swiped her eyes and opened the flap with her thumbs.

“Daniel Brice was charged and convicted of murder,” Greg recited as Jessie stared at the single-page rap sheet. “Brice was nineteen at the time, served out his sentence, and then proceeded to drop off the map.”

The face in the mug shot was little more than a boy—tousled blond hair, eyes that appeared to have been caught in headlights. The jaw appeared sharper, and no weathered creases lined his face. No doubt about it. She was looking at a younger version of Daniel. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got about him?”

“The murder took place in California. I don’t have access to their reports. Apparently as soon as he got out of prison, Daniel Brice ceased to exist. My guess is Daniel Shumway emerged in his place.”

“Did you find any kind of criminal record for him under the name Shumway?”

Greg pointed at the page in her hands. “That’s his entire rap sheet.”

Jessie stared at the face of the terrified boy in the mug shot.

“Jess? How do you want to handle it?”

Startled, she looked up. “Me?”

Greg’s gaze dropped to his knees. “I know you have feelings for him. If word of this reaches the racing commission, he will definitely lose his license.”

“If?”

“This is just between you and me.” Greg peered at her askance. “I’m not going to say anything unless you tell me to.”

Great. Daniel already believed she controlled his destiny with regards to the quarantine and closing down the track. Now this. She studied the face in the photo. Was this the face of a cold-blooded killer? She didn’t think so.

Unless he was a very clever one.

Greg shifted in his seat. “What do you want me to do?”

Good question. “I need some time to think about it.”

“Fair enough. But will you do something for me? Stay clear of him for now. Don’t let on that you know about his past.”

“Why?”

“You have to ask? We have no idea what he’s capable of, except that he’s committed murder at least once. If he’s committed murder twice—the second time to keep his secret—you’re not safe.”

The weight of Greg’s words bore down on her. “I thought you didn’t believe Doc was murdered.”

“What I believe is beside the point. There’s no use taking unnecessary risks.”

Jessie studied him, wishing she could read his mind. “Greg, I work at the track Daniel runs, and we’re in the middle of a crisis with this quarantine. I can’t avoid him.”

“I realize that. But you can at least manage to not be alone with him.”

The prospect of no more awkward dinners at Lorenzo’s suited her just fine. But the memory of the kiss at her door flashed through her mind followed by the thought of Daniel the next day, touching her arm, whispering in her ear.

“Jess?”

“You have my word,” she said reluctantly. “No private meetings with Daniel.”

“Good.” Greg sounded satisfied, maybe even relieved.

“I need to get back.”

He faced forward and reached for the key. “If you need me for anything, call. And let me know when you decide how you want to deal with this.”

How to deal with this? She had no idea. Right now, she almost felt grateful for the overwhelming task waiting for her back at Riverview.

Almost.

Twenty

The area in front of Barn A looked like the parking lot for a veterinarians’ convention. Three pickups beside her own, all sporting Bowie storage units, jammed the road. The only human visible in the shedrow was a skinny girl sitting on a rickety folding chair, cleaning a bridle. Jessie cut between stables and glanced at the new padlock