A Streak of Bad Cluck (Bought-the-Farm Mystery Book 3)

by Ellen Riggs

  “Well, for starters, Asher trusts everyone. It’s a bit of a disadvantage in his job, but a nice quality in a brother and boyfriend.”

  Jilly laughed. “He’s not my boyfriend, and if I go sneaking around on him, he may never be.”

  “It’s possible the sun will rise from the north tomorrow, as well,” I said. “In fact, that’s even more likely than my brother letting you get away.”

  “I hope you’re right. We’ll run into town for groceries to cover our butts, right?”

  “Definitely. This won’t take very long.”

  “That’s what you always say. It’s almost never true.”

  “I know. Have I mentioned how much I appreciate you yet today?”

  “You have, but it’s good to keep that on the front burner.”

  Keats didn’t bother worming his way onto her lap. He was pacing across the back seat, looking more anxious than I’d ever seen him. Normally he was excited about a mission—any mission—but this one had him seriously rattled.

  “It’ll be fine, buddy,” I said. “But if you want to sit this one out, I understand. Jilly’s got my back.”

  That only made him pace faster. Keats and I had pledged a solemn oath to each other and he couldn’t abandon his duty. But the steady panting told me it came at a cost.

  “Should I be scared?” Jilly asked. “I mean, Keats is never scared. So I should probably be terrified.”

  “It’s all good. Just in and out in less than an hour. We will assess the situation, notify Kellan about anything untoward and then make our way into town for supplies. Keats is being a drama queen.”

  I turned right, geared up smoothly and then turned right again into Edna’s driveway.

  “You’re doing so much better in this thing,” Jilly said. “My neck barely hurts now and the scratches on my legs from Keats trying to balance are healing nicely.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “But don’t jinx me. I think the truck just needed to be embarrassed into behaving by a yellow jalopy.”

  We parked around the back and jumped out of the truck. Both of us were dressed in black—jeans, jackets, hats and gloves. Everything felt restrictive after months in baggy overalls, but I’d taken our cue from the Rescue Mafia.

  Lowering the tailgate, I grabbed a large backpack. Inside, I’d packed a powerful flashlight, a coiled rope, a small hatchet, and handcuffs I’d found in an apartment I’d rented after college and kept around just in case. Jilly’s backpack contained protein bars and a dozen tins of liquid meal replacement.

  “I hope we don’t need any of this,” she said.

  “Me too. I’ve got the bad twin covered with my bag, and you’ve got the good one covered with yours. Keep in mind that the hatchet and handcuffs can be used against us by either one.”

  We slid the straps of the backpacks over our shoulders and started walking to the trail. I ignored Keats skulking behind us, knowing he’d be even more ashamed if I drew attention to it. We were all entitled to our demons, and cats in swamps happened to be his.

  “I’m sure we’re capable of handling an old woman together,” Jilly said. “Even if that woman is capable of scaling buildings.”

  “We can’t let our guards down for a second,” I said. “If she’s there, she’s probably gone a little bush crazy already. She must be terrified at the prospect of winter out here.”

  “I bet she has a ticket to Maui,” Jilly said. “She’s just waiting till the coast is clear to fly.”

  “Maybe. I doubt it though. She loves her house. She loves her creepy dolls and she loves her hens. Imagine starting all over at her age. Even in Maui.”

  “I know. But it’s not safe for her to do any of the things she loves while her sister’s killer is still at large.”

  “Now I understand why she was always surveilling with binoculars and night vision goggles. She had good reason to worry about her safety.”

  “If she’s lived all those years in fear and frugality, it’s no wonder she got so bitter,” Jilly said.

  “Once this is resolved she can have a peaceful life,” I said. “But first we need to talk some sense into her. Kellan will make sure she’s safe.”

  As we forged deeper into the bush, Jilly stared around and shivered. “For the record, I’m with Keats on this. I’m not big on cats and I’m definitely not big on swamps. If I fall in, you’re going to owe me so big, Ivy.”

  “How could I owe you any bigger?” I said, squeezing her arm. “I’m already on the lifetime repayment schedule.”

  “It’s a good thing I got my kitchen back. That goes a long way to even things out. No way I could ever in this lifetime afford a kitchen like that.”

  “And it would be utterly wasted on me, so it worked out well. I’ll never bake Kellan a buckle, I’m afraid.”

  Jilly laughed and it was a comforting sound. “You have other assets he admires. When is that date happening?”

  “Half past never at the rate we’re going. But a girl can hope.”

  She gave me a sidelong glance. “If the girl hoped that much, she wouldn’t stage sly expeditions behind Chief Hottie’s back.”

  “A girl’s gotta do right by her crabby old neighbor. Even if it comes at the expense of her love life.”

  “Are we there yet?” Jilly whined. “I wanna go shopping.”

  “Almost.” I looked over my shoulder at Keats. He’d been following right on my heels but I wanted him to be free to watch for scary cats. “How ya doing, buddy?”

  He was panting so much that his tongue was actually dripping. His muzzle swivelled left and right over and over, scanning for the dreaded colony of abandoned—or stolen—cats.

  Finally we reached the clearing. Unlike the other day, it appeared completely empty. There were no cats sitting sentinel on the wall of Asher’s old fortress. No cats tripping lightly over the crisscrossing highway of mossy logs. Nothing.

  “Maybe she took all the cats and left,” Jilly whispered. “Like a queen bee does with her hive.”

  “Possibly,” I whispered back. “But I bet she’s in the old clubhouse.” I pointed across the pond. “Asher and his friends built that at least twenty-five years ago.”

  Jilly shook her head hard. “I’m not crossing the pond to get there. No way. Those logs look treacherous. Half of them are rotted out.”

  “Probably,” I said. “I’ll go alone. You and Keats stay here.”

  “I’m not letting you go alone,” she said. “What kind of friend would I be?”

  “The kind of friend who doesn’t want to fall into a swamp?” I said. “Someone needs to be reasonable here. If something happens to me, you and Keats need to run back and get help.”

  Jilly looked down at Keats. “You staying?”

  The poor dog looked as miserable as the day I found him in the criminal’s yard. “Buddy, stay with Jilly. I mean it.”

  He gave me a quick trio of pants: no-no-no.

  “If he’s going, I’m going,” Jilly said. “Besides, I’m just as scared to hang back here. What if the Queen Bee is out for a jaunt and comes back with the hive?”

  “Good point,” I said. “Alright, folks. Take it slow. Stay focused. Distraction is the enemy of balance.”

  I took my first tentative steps across a log.

  “How deep is it anyway?” Jilly asked.

  “Not very,” I said. “It’s the silty bottom you’ve got to worry about. Like quicksand.”

  “So reassuring,” Jilly said.

  “Just let yourself float to the surface and grab the nearest log. Easy peasy.”

  “Unless you’re weighted down with a heavy backpack.”

  “Good point. Drop the pack and save yourself. If she wants it she can dive for it. I bet she has scuba gear out here. I think she’s a prepper.”

  “Well, she was right about the zombie apocalypse,” Jilly said. “You’ve got to hand it to undead Edna.”

  I stopped walking and raised my arms. “If you make me laugh, Jilly Blackwood, so help me dog I will drow
n you myself.”

  She held her arms out, too, and for a second, I really thought she was going to topple—first with hysterical laughter and then into the marsh. But then she remembered her own yoga-style lectures to me and took a couple of deep breaths.

  “That was close,” she said. “The rotting vegetation must be releasing laughing gas.”

  “Stop it, or you’ll never be more than bush league Mafia. Think black ops, Jilly.”

  There was another snicker behind me and I came pretty close to losing it myself. But then something caught my eye. Flitting figures. Black, orange and white. I pointed as they ran off to the right into the bush.

  “Should we follow them?” Jilly whispered.

  “Decoys,” I said. “Onward to the clubhouse.”

  We were two-thirds of the way there when the door flew back and the camouflage scarecrow darted out. Today she was wearing a balaclava, too. Without so much as a word, she hopped onto another log that ran parallel to us and started back across the pond on her very own highway.

  “Edna, stop!” I yelled. She raised her hand, either for balance or a rude gesture. I didn’t have the luxury of a leisurely assessment. “Turn back, Jilly.”

  Somehow I managed to pivot fully, grateful for the treads on my sneakers.

  Jilly turned even more skillfully and said, “Go, Keats, go.”

  He was the slowpoke of the party. Despite being 10 times more agile than the two of us combined, it was like he was moving through thick tar. Nonetheless, we reached a log crossroads just in time to head Edna off at the pass. She turned back with surprising ease and started back toward the clubhouse.

  What we didn’t expect was the cats running interference. It was like they’d choreographed the whole thing beforehand. Dozens of them came at us from every direction, racing nimbly over every log. Their tails were aloft, like so many furry flags, suggesting they were actually enjoying their maneuvers.

  “Keats, can you bark or something?” I said. “Fake it buddy, fake it.”

  He tried, but it was a weak, hollow-sounding wuff. Pitiful actually.

  “Okay,” I said. “I got this.”

  Taking a deep breath, I started running. I’d seen Asher do it long ago, just like a professional log roller. The worst that could happen was that I’d end up in the drink, and I’d been there before. But today I didn’t slip. Instead, I almost danced across the last few yards like a cat myself. I looked back and urged Jilly and Keats on.

  Meanwhile I kept an eye on Edna, who was beating it across the clearing literally surrounded by cats.

  When Jilly and Keats touched down, I turned and ran after Edna, leaping over gnarly tree roots and squelching through puddles. She knew the terrain well and it almost seemed like the cats were leading her. Still, we gained on her. It was good to know that two thirty-somethings could still outrun an octogenarian, even carrying heavy backpacks.

  “Fold your cards, Edna,” I called, puffing hard. “The game is over.”

  She kept going, but the cats turned as one and surged back toward us with the black cat in the lead and Big Red and Fleecy right behind him. The others fanned out like a flock of geese. When they reached me, they split and kept going. All of a sudden there was yelping. They had Keats! I turned so fast I nearly smacked into Jilly.

  “Back off,” I yelled when I saw the three lead cats had surrounded Keats, all puff, hisses, and swiping claws. “Get off him right now. We are trying to help Edna.” They ignored me, dancing at Keats sideways, letting out yowls that seemed to echo back from the distant hills. “Stop that racket right now,” I said, heading back. “I’ve never hurt an animal in my life and I won’t start now. But whatever you do to my dog, I’ll do to Edna. Trust me, I’ve got claws too.”

  It was like a switch turned off suddenly. All the caterwauling stopped and the cats turned and raced after Edna. Keats came up to me and his tail started rising. His ears pricked. He was getting his nerve back.

  “Okay, you guys,” I said. “One last push.”

  We raced after Edna again. I hated that we had to do it, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit there was some small satisfaction in tag-teaming with Jilly and Keats to take Edna down. We were as gentle as we could be, but she was fighting and caterwauling like one of her feral cats. That she rolled into the water was entirely her own fault.

  It might have been sweet icing on the cake, but unfortunately, I had to wade in, pull her out and restrain her. I didn’t get to enjoy the moment as fully as I might have otherwise, but once she was cuffed and cursing, I felt pretty darned good.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I waved a tin of the meal replacement in Edna’s general direction. “How about a snack?”

  We had tied her securely to a tree before Jilly skipped lightly across the log highway, escorted by a dozen cats, to collect Kellan and team to show them the way back in.

  “And how do you propose I consume that?” she said. “Since you’ve trussed me up like a Christmas turkey?”

  “I haven’t taped your mouth yet. Yet. Just tip your head back and I’ll pour it in.”

  “The day I let you feed me like an old lady is the day I depart this mortal coil,” she said.

  “You didn’t move like an old lady, I’ll give you that.” I rubbed my arm where she’d struck me with her walking stick. “Now I know why we never found your cane.”

  “You should have just let me go,” she said. “I can look after myself. Always have.”

  Her little roll in the swamp had added greenish brown muck like camouflage to her cheeks, and the tight curls that had become so contentious didn’t have much spring left in them. Her eyes, so frighteningly sharp, seemed to have dulled. In that moment, I could almost believe it wasn’t Edna after all, but her evil twin Agatha.

  Luckily, Keats had no such doubts. Now that the cats had backed away to a respectful distance, his confidence was nearly restored, and he sat beside Edna with his tongue lolling. She’d never had a kind word to say to him or about him, and today she’d tried twice to give him her signature kick before I tied her ankles. But he saw something good in her, and if he did, I did.

  “I know you can take care of yourself in normal times, Edna. But this is different.”

  “What do you know about anything, Ivy Galloway? You’re a do-gooder who can’t mind her own business.”

  “Guilty,” I said, pacing. The dampness had penetrated to my core and I was trying to stay warm. “I’m going into the clubhouse to get you a blanket. You’re going to catch your death.” I started to walk away. “Poor choice of words.”

  “Stay out of there,” she called after me. “That’s my private sanctuary.”

  “My brother built that clubhouse, and he’d want me to go in there and get you a blanket.”

  “Oh, he’d want me to die out here in the cold. Your brother hates me.”

  “Asher doesn’t hate anyone, but you can’t blame people for being scared of you after the way you ran the school vaccination program. All chickens eventually come home to roost.”

  She muttered something unintelligible and I continued to the clubhouse.

  Inside, I discovered Edna had prepared well, and likely over a long period, for an event such as this. The place was small but well built, considering the age of the boys who designed it. There was room only for a cot and storage. She’d added the shelving herself and stocked it with canned goods and plenty of water. In one corner were a couple of locked metal trunks. Maybe that’s where she kept her crossbow and other weaponry.

  When I came out with two blankets, she said, “Tell your dog to stop staring at me.”

  “Tell your cats to stop following me everywhere.”

  “They’re not my cats. They just gathered after I started my work here. Someone had to feed them.”

  “Annamae and Gertrude said you stole their cats. My two barn cats are here, too.”

  “All arrived of their own free will. But they’re yours now, since I’m obviously going to jail.”
r />   “Why would you go to jail?” I squatted in front of her. “Did you kill your sister?”

  She gave one shake of her droopy hair. “No, but I probably should have decades ago. Aggie’s been nothing but trouble since the day she came into the world 13 minutes ahead of me.” Her throat worked and she coughed before continuing. “Our parents were what people today would call abusive. Harsh. Mean. Punitive. Aggie snapped one day and burned the house down with my parents and a hired hand inside. I wish I could say I was sorry about losing our family, but it was actually freeing—especially when Aggie fled to Australia.”

  “But she didn’t stay gone,” I prompted.

  “Turned up every few years like a bad penny. Always wanting money. She found out about a mistake I’d made as a young nurse—a medication error that nearly killed someone—and that’s when the blackmailing started. Doctor Grainer wouldn’t have hired me had he known I’d covered that up. Once I’d become indispensable I came clean with him, and Aggie lost her leverage. But by that point she had a record of petty crimes in Australia and I just wanted her to stay gone.” Edna’s eyes met mine for a second. “All I ever wanted was a quiet, respectable life. Do you know how hard it can be to get that?”

  “Yeah, I do.” I’d had a quiet, respectable life in Boston, but in Clover Grove, it seemed like someone was always trying to snatch that away from me. “So then what happened?”

  “What happened is that I worked myself to the bone with two and sometimes three jobs to keep Aggie comfortable. It was never enough because she gambled and made poor investments. Australia should thank me for boosting their economy.”

  I laughed and she gave a dry cackle, too.

  “After I got pensioned out early from the school board, and Doc Grainer retired, I worked at Myrtle’s Country Store. I was grateful to her for hiring me when no one else would. I needed the money to keep Aggie away. That’s why I helped her out when the Lloyd situation came up. I didn’t question why she wanted information. I had a debt to her.”