he's going downhill fast. I think the best thing to do is put him down."
She nodded, not speaking, and walked over to pet the horse. He pushed his face up against her and she rubbed his ears. It was clearly a routine they had.
Tears were running down her face, but when she spoke her voice was under control. "I just feel so bad, like it's my fault he got so thin and run-down and all. I meant to do him a favor, turning him out to pasture, and it's ended so badly." She looked at her horse while she talked, gently rubbing his ears. "I've had him a long time. He's always been a good horse."
The old horse bumped his head against her again and her voice caught in her throat. She gave him a final pat and stood up. "Okay, Gail, I know it's the right thing to do."
"It might be easier if you don't watch."
She looked at me and then at the horse and reached down to stroke his ears again. "All right," she said. "Will you pet him while you do it?"
"Yeah, I will."
She turned away, her face still wet with tears. I took the syringe out of my pocket, where I had put it earlier, just in case, and bent to the old horse to make the injection in his jugular vein. I rubbed his ears and spoke to him as Teresa had done and was relieved when he died easily, folding over on his side. The shot killed quickly, but some horses reacted more violently in the first instant of its effect than others. I'd seen one flip over backward.
When I walked out of the shed, Teresa was waiting for me, her face more composed. She gave me a questioning look and I said, "He died real peacefully."
She nodded in relief and, obviously making an effort to change the subject, said, "I heard you found Ed and Cindy Whitney, Gail. That must have been hard on you."
"It was pretty bad."
Teresa went on talking as we walked out to my truck. "My husband's a deputy sheriff and he says they're getting ready to arrest one of those street people. I guess they found him at the house and he ran away."
I shook my head with a sense of shock. That would be the Walker. "What do they have on him?" I asked her.
"Mike said he's been arrested for assaulting people. He hasn't got an alibi and I guess they think he had some kind of obsession about Cindy. Anyway, his fingerprints were in the kitchen."
"Was he supposed to have a gun?"
Teresa shrugged. "I don't know. But Mike said there were half a dozen guns hidden in that house. A gun in every drawer, he said. I guess the guy must have picked one up." She sighed. "This has been a bad week. First hearing about Cindy and now poor old Toby."
"Did you know Cindy well?"
She shook her head. "No. She was friendly, though. I saw her at a couple of horse shows. It just seems so terrible." Teresa's eyes were filling. "Thanks, Gail," she whispered.
I knew it was time for me to leave. She probably wanted to be alone to cry. Stifling my desire to ask her more questions about the Whitneys' murder, I got in my truck.
"Okay, Teresa. I'm sorry about Toby," I added awkwardly.
She gave me a faint smile. "Thanks. I know it was the only thing to do."
I could see her walking back to the barn in my rearview mirror. Her head was bent forward. Poor Teresa. I felt bad for her and a little bit bad for myself. Situations like this were the hardest part of being a vet.
NINE
I spent the rest of the day looking at horses. A mare with a messy uterine infection turned out to be a smelly job that took me an hour. Next I stitched up a stallion that had climbed on top of a pipe corral fence in an overeager attempt to get to a mare in heat. He had a gaping hole in one side that looked worse than it was. I stitched it up neatly, put a drain in it, and told the man who owned him that he'd be as good as new in a couple of weeks.
After that I saw three horses that were lame for various reasons, none of them serious, and one mild colic case. I didn't get home until 5:30 and I was due to meet Lonny at 6:00. The sun was low in the western sky, and the evening fog put a cold
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