by Ellen Riggs
“He’s sick and he’s the only parent she has left,” Remi said. “We can’t blame her and her brother for going, and she couldn’t care for the farm properly from Europe.”
“She should have left it with us,” Cori said.
“We’ve all got targets on our backs as big as Ivy’s,” Bridget said. Her hand reached for the black dog’s head and for a moment I envied her. The dog was so tall and so willing to be stroked. It wasn’t easy to snatch a pat from Keats when you needed one. He was young and always on the move, not to mention considerably smaller.
I looked down at him now, feeling instantly guilty about my traitorous thoughts. He was staring back at me with his blue eye, no doubt reading my mind. But he wasn’t one to hold a grudge. Instead, he gave my pant leg a rare lick as if to say, “Buck up, little camper.”
So, I did. Just as I had earlier with my family, I straightened my shoulders. I was as tall as Bridget and towered over Cori. I also had something none of them had—a decade of faking it in the cutthroat corporate world. It was amazing what you came to appreciate about prison once you left it behind.
But that didn’t mean I ever wanted to go back.
“Listen, ladies,” I said.
“Do not call me lady.” Cori’s voice had a thunderous edge but I simply smiled. After all the fearsome executives I faced at Flordale, she couldn’t scare me. Much.
“Okay, listen, worthy rescue renegades.” I smiled to lighten the mood. “I appreciate your concern, and especially Hannah’s. But Runaway Farm isn’t just a job that I can give up. It’s a calling.” I glanced down at Keats again and he waved the white tuft of his tail. “I’d go so far as to say it’s my destiny. I love every furry face in my custody. I’ve even rescued a couple of my own, you know.”
“She isn’t kidding,” Jilly said. “I call it Ivy’s Ark.”
Cori raised one glove, which I matched with my own raised palm before continuing. “I enjoy running the inn, too. At least with Jilly’s help.” My friend squeezed my arm again and I finished my speech. “So, no. I’m not selling. And no, I won’t be driven out by some bad luck. If you want to continue offering help now and then, I’d be glad to receive it. But I don’t want you to put yourselves or your work in jeopardy. Because I know that’s your calling.”
Taking a step toward me, Cori stared up into my face. After a moment or two, she shrugged. “You know what? I like you, Ivy Galloway. And I don’t like many people.”
She spoke with the true confidence of knowing her opinion meant something. And judging by Keats’ fanning tail, it truly did.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Remi muttered.
Cori turned on her. “People who persist in treating dogs like handbags forfeit the right to comment. Look at Ivy’s dog, Remi. Independent, yet obedient. He has his own opinions.”
“That he does,” I said, laughing. “And he isn’t afraid to share them.”
“Not everyone can manage a border collie. Or even be managed by a border collie, which I think is more the case here,” Cori said. “I doubt I could even steal him.”
“Steal him!” I glanced quickly at Keats and his mouth hung open, as if enjoying the joke.
“Almost every dog transfers allegiance to Cori,” Bridget said. “She has magic powers of canine seduction. Thank god Beau chose me over her.”
“And Leo chose me,” Remi said. “Even if he isn’t Cori’s superstar.”
“He could be,” Cori said. “If you ever let him walk on his own legs.”
Bridget gave a sweeping wave to end the attack. “We’ve got to go. Mayoral business.”
“It’s always something,” Cori grumbled. “Isla treats us like her own personal army.”
“And we’re happy to serve after what we went through with the last mayor,” Bridget said.
As we walked back to the parking lot, Remi said, “I’m sorry if Cori upset you. We all mean well.”
“I know.” I reached out and touched Leo’s long ears. They were long and silky, and impossible to resist. “We share a common goal of keeping Runaway Farm safe.”
Cori, who was at the front of the pack, waved a glove over her shoulder, directing the orange flare at Remi. “If I’ve worried you, Ivy, please accept Remi’s apology.”
Bridget shook her head, smiling. “What Cori means to say is that we are at your service. Solving murder isn’t our area of expertise, but general security is. What we’ve learned about protecting dogs and each other can help.”
“I don’t want to draw you guys into my troubles,” I said. “Like I said, you have your own calling in rescue.”
“It’s such fulfilling work,” Remi said. “I wish you and Jilly could join us.”
“Someday, I hope,” I said.
Cori turned and gave me a grudging smile. “Your skills in the crime-solving arena could come in very handy. If you can manage to stay on the right side of the grass.” Remi squeaked another protest but Cori forged on. “If anything happens to you—”
“It won’t,” Remi interrupted.
“But if it does,” Cori continued, “I’ll take Keats.”
Jilly raised her hand now. “Get in line, lady. I’m his backup.”
Keats danced around between us, utterly delighted to be the center of so much attention.
Cori flipped a glove at Jilly, and then added, “You’re okay, too.”
Chapter Eleven
The large parking area at Runaway Farm was almost full when we got back from our Rescue Mafia liaison. There were four police SUVs and a big truck with the Clover Grove coat of arms.
“What’s going on?” Jilly said, craning to watch police officers as they carried boxes out the front door.
I didn’t answer as I spun the wheel hard to squeeze Buttercup into a tight space. What was Kellan thinking by making me drive this old thing? Was it a joke? How were the good people of Clover Grove better off with Buttercup back on the road?
After a couple of tries, I got the car parked and then turned to Jilly and stopped her before she could get out. “I have bad news, my friend. Those officers are picking your kitchen bare.”
Her sudden screech hurt my ears and sent Keats lunging into the rear footwell. “How dare they?”
“They’re looking for whatever poisoned Edna, Jilly. You know they have to do that.”
“It happened at Mandy’s store, not in my kitchen,” she said.
“I really hope that’s true, but isn’t there a chance that one of the Bridge Buddies slipped a little something under the E on Edna’s dessert?”
Jilly groaned. “If it did happen under my watch, we’d never live it down. Five-star country cuisine that kills… I can see the reviews now.”
My friend’s gorgeous green eyes filled and spilled over. This felt like a complete and utter violation to her. It moved me that she felt so strongly about this place I’d just had to defend to doubters. Well, we’d show them. The three of us.
“Jilly, remember how you’re always telling me we’ll get through this together? Now it’s my turn. We will get through this. I know that with every fiber of my being and Keats does, too. Look at him.”
The distraction worked. She turned to see the dog back on the seat with his tail lashing. He gave her the full force of his sympathetic brown eye, and when that wasn’t enough, poked his head through the seats to give her cheek a generous slurp.
“Ewww, Keats,” she said. “You’re not the smooching type.”
“He is now. You fought a duel with Cori for him and won.”
Shaking her head, she finally smiled. “You two are something else. Now maybe you can put your heads together and figure out how I’m going to feed ten of us when Mandy McCain’s kitchen will likely be closed, too.”
“I’ll go into town right now and arrange for catering,” I said.
“Give me a few minutes to think about my menu,” she said. “I’ll have time while you chat with Kellan.”
“That can wait till I get back,” I said, quickly. “T
he guests must eat.”
She pointed and grinned before opening the car door. “Chief trumps chef.”
Kellan turned and leaned against the fence of the pasture that held the alpaca, llamas and donkeys. No matter where we started out or what path we took, that was always where we ended up. He probably thought he had a choice in the matter, but Keats was calling the shots. Maybe the dog hoped the sight of Alvina, the cavorting alpaca, would make Kellan go easy on me. It never worked but you couldn’t blame a dog for trying.
“So let me get this right,” he said, crossing his arms. “You got out of bed at two a.m. on the dog’s whim and hurtled over to Edna’s to have a poke around.”
It wasn’t a question so I didn’t treat it as such. “We didn’t hurtle. We kept a rather sedate pace on the only vehicle that seems to cooperate with me.” He opened his mouth and I hastened to add, “Did you put me in Buttercup just for a laugh, by the way? She’s already broken down once and steering a cruise liner would be easier.”
He pressed his lips together to suppress a grin. It was nice seeing that it was harder for him to stay mad at me now. That was a significant advancement, or so I hoped.
“Don’t change the subject,” he said. “You broke into Edna’s house. For what?”
“I’d tell you if I knew. It really was a whim, more or less. I felt like I’d missed something earlier. And I felt like I owed it to her to take a second look.”
“There was no indication of foul play at that point,” he said.
“I had a feeling,” I said. “You saw the Bridge Buddies beating her down and it only got worse later. It wasn’t a big stretch of the intuition to think someone took the bullying too far.”
“Heaven forbid you trust me to do my job,” he said, sliding a foot to the left.
Keats was pressing in on him with sheepdog body language and Kellan was responding completely unconsciously. At least there was no nipping of pant cuffs today, for which I was grateful. That seemed to irk Kellan more than anything. He was always meticulously dressed, whether in uniform or civvies. No wonder he kept looking around at the farm and shaking his head. He probably wasn’t aware of that either. The man was likely in constant conflict, feeling the pull of our high school romance while facing today’s reality. I shrugged mentally. There was nothing I could do about his inner struggle. I’d committed to this place again twice today and my future was covered in so much fur it was ridiculous.
“I trust you,” I said. “But it doesn’t hurt to have a couple more sets of eyes on the situation, does it?”
“It may well have hurt you to have a set of night goggles on the situation, now, mightn’t it? After you survived your hurtle back over rough trails, you could have been staring down the barrel of a gun, for example. That happens out here more than you know. Locals mistake people for bears.”
“Seems like a stretch but we’ll run with it,” I said. “On the bright side, nothing happened. Keats sniffed around while I made sure the animals were locked down and the cameras were working. Then we went back to bed and slept well till dawn.”
Kellan slid another foot down the fenceline, shaking his head. “Honestly, Ivy. What am I going to do with you?”
The expression on his face was a mixture of bewilderment, bemusement and frustration. I wanted to suggest he could take me on a date, but the timing was wrong. Besides, it really had to be his decision.
“For starters, you could tell me what kind of poison killed Edna,” I said. “Do you know if she ate the crème brûlée in the evening or the morning?”
“Morning,” he said. “It was strychnine, a medicine that nurses often carried to treat heart problems in the old days. Very toxic. Very fast. Very unpleasant.”
The wheels in my head started turning. “She was killed by her own poison? When was it put in the crème brûlée? Can you tell?”
“We’ll need advanced testing and that may never be clear.” He slid another few inches. It was like he was being pulled away by a tractor beam, whereas Keats was just easing him gradually away from me. “Do you have any reason to believe Edna would take her own life?”
I shook my head. “I’ve thought about that a lot. She was obviously lonely and very unhappy, at least much of the time. But she took great pride in being a survivor. We talked about that as I drove her home the night before she died. I think she would have seen it as terribly weak to do that—especially when she’d gone to some lengths to arrange this event. Plus, she could have arranged an easier and more dignified passing if she’d wanted to go. Honestly, it seems more likely that one of the Bridge Buddies staged this.”
“With what motivation? They seemed happier to have Edna alive to bully.”
“They all had secrets. Edna must have known some of them.” I shared the highlights of our discussion over dinner after Edna’s death. “They were still resentful that she terrorized their kids, and you can’t really blame them. We know that pain.”
Kellan nodded. “But it’s not enough to motivate a drastic move after all these years.”
“They complained she was the gatekeeper at Doc Grainer’s office. She might have collected some dirt on them there.”
“Again, old news. But I’ll look into it.” He shifted another foot along the fence. “They’re an odd group. When I told them that the death had been declared a murder, they barely looked up from their cards. And when I told them they’d have to stay here until I was ready to let them go home, they actually looked… happy.”
“Of course they did,” I said. “They get to indulge their addiction all day while Jilly and I wait on them hand and foot. I won’t be able to charge them a penny extra since it isn’t their choice to stay, either.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I hope you actually get to enjoy a group of guests some day. This one is as bad as the last.”
I shook my head. “Nothing could be worse than the Flordale crew, because their presence brought back such miserable memories. With this group, the ringers are nice enough, but the Bridge Buddies try to keep us from talking to them, or even treating them like real guests. They’re paid help.”
“Interesting.” His eyes glazed a little as he contemplated the puzzle before him. It was enough of a distraction that he didn’t notice the canine puzzle beside him, easing him down the fenceline. Finally he said, “Now the real digging begins. Starting with Jilly’s kitchen, I’m afraid.”
“She cried when she saw the boxes, Kellan. Actual tears. You need to prioritize reuniting my friend with her stove.”
“I’ll move that to the top of my to-do list,” he said, smirking. Then he looked around, suddenly alert. “Speaking of moving… what just happened?”
We were now at least six feet apart, and I burst out laughing at his expression. “You’ve been pranked,” I said, gesturing to his feet.
Keats was panting ha-ha-ha while his tail lashed in satisfaction.
Kellan gave an exasperated sigh. “That dog just herded the Chief of Police without his knowledge or consent. He’d better not do that in front of my team. It’s embarrassing.”
“I’ll stop him if he even entertains the thought,” I said. “Are you feeling a little… sheepish?”
Kellan took a mock lunge at Keats and the dog ran off with a flourish of his tail.
“I heard you had a family meeting,” he said. “How did that go?”
The smile left my face in a hurry. “They want me to give up the farm. Asher let it slip about Edna’s passing not being an accident and Mom got everyone riled. She said the situation ‘just isn’t sustainable.’” I turned to watch the baby pygmy goats for a second. There was no better way to switch emotional channels than with a trio of dancing kids. “It was hard hearing how upset they are about what’s gone on here. But I don’t back away from a challenge. Especially when animal welfare depends on it.”
“I can certainly attest to that,” he said. When I turned back from the goats, he gave me a smile that pretty much melted the soles off my work boots. “These ani
mals are lucky to have you. Hannah chose her successor well.”
I beamed at him, happier in that moment than I’d been in some time. If the baby goats frolicked or the alpaca danced I was completely unaware of it.
Finally Kellan broke the spell by saying, “Some day it would be nice to go out without the dog. A guy likes to call his own shots when it comes to things like that.”
“Sounds great. I can speak to Keats about freeing up some time.” I tried to sound cool when my heart was now frolicking like my giddy livestock. “On one condition.”
“Oh?” He came closer again, apparently unaware of the black-and-white force pushing him in my direction. “What’s that?”
“We’ll need to take your vehicle. I refuse to go anywhere with you in Buttercup. She’s a romance killer.”
Kellan took a startled jump and turned. “Gah! He nipped me. If that mutt isn’t a romance killer, I don’t know what is.”
“Enough, Keats.” I was pretty sure the romance was still alive and breathing and I wanted to keep it that way. “I suppose if we can make it through a third murder together, we can survive a yellow jalopy and a jealous sheepdog.”
Kellan laughed as he led me back to the house. “Amen to that.”
Chapter Twelve
“Relax,” I told Keats, as we drove into town later. “It’ll be fine.”
He didn’t answer or even look at me because he was too busy trying to keep his balance on the dashboard of the truck. I’d waited till all the cops were inside the farmhouse and then snuck off in my own truck like a devious teenager. I hadn’t stalled once as I left, either, probably because I was still floating on a high from that smouldering smile Kellan gave me. I felt like I could do anything right now—even drive my own darn truck.
“Edna would be disgusted with me,” I said. At that, Keats gave me a quick and curious glance. “A smile from a handsome man shouldn’t make me so giddy… Not when there’s a murder to solve. Specifically, hers.”
