1 A Cop and a Coop

by Hillary Avis

  “That Walt took it into his own hands,” I said, trying to phrase it as gently as I could.

  Rusty shrugged. “Maybe. Walt’s got a bad temper.”

  I nodded as I thought about the implications of what Rusty was saying. I couldn’t deny it: Walt was very concerned about what I might have found when I was digging the foundation trenches for the coop. Maybe his question was more than simple curiosity. Maybe it was self-interest. I had a mind to ask him about it—I just had one little stop to make first.

  Chapter 11

  “The rooster colony’s full. Overfull, actually,” Sherman Dice drawled, snapping his nicotine gum. Sherman kept a coop behind the feed store like a take-a-penny, leave-a-penny dish for roosters. If you had an extra, he’d take it, and if you needed a new one, you could have your pick. Roosters didn’t usually like their own company, but if you kept the hens away, they could get along. “Spring chicks are starting to crow and everyone’s looking to unload their cockerels. The young ones are poor flock-tenders, though. Hens get tired of their antics real quick.”

  He waggled his eyebrows at me and I shifted the box to my other hip so I could open a flap and give him a peek inside at Alarm Clock.

  “This one isn’t a cockerel.” I said. “He’s mature—and very well behaved, actually. Isn’t he a beauty? He’s been riding around in the car with me all morning and he’s been a champ. Calm, friendly, quiet. He could probably teach the young ones a thing or two if you could make room for him.”

  Sherman grunted. “Then you should keep ’im. Breed him with your girls. Temperament comes from the father, they say.”

  Of course, that was nonsense. Anyone with an eighth-grade science education knows that genes don’t work that way. I had a feeling Sherman gave more weight to superstition than science, though. All these old farmers were that way, which was why they consulted the Farmer’s Almanac instead of the darn weather report. I didn’t want to be on the bad side of the feed store guy, though—I had a feeling I’d be here a lot once my egg business was booming.

  “I don’t have a need for a rooster,” I said politely. “I’m getting hatchery chicks and they’re all layers. I doubt they’ll ever go broody, so I don’t want fertilized eggs anyway.”

  Sherman grinned at me so widely I could see his wad of gum clenched between his molars. “A good cock does a whole lot more than spread his seed.”

  I rolled my eyes, hard. “I’m not feeding an animal if it doesn’t give me something in return. You have to earn your keep in my coop, and last time I checked, roosters don’t lay eggs.”

  He whistled in surprise. “Shoot, they do a lot more! They keep order in the flock. If a flock doesn’t have a rooster, one of the hens takes on the job, and let me tell you—hens make terrible leaders. Mean as heck. They’ll eat the feathers right off each other. Why do you think the commercial egg farms keep ’em all in cages?”

  I snorted. “That is not why. Anyway, lots of operations raise cage-free eggs.”

  “You ever see their birds? Bald.” Sherman opened his eyes wide, daring me to believe him, but then his face cracked into another wide grin. “Just joshing you. But really. A good rooster is worth his weight in gold. He keeps his ladies in line, plus he’ll sound the alarm when predators are near and fight ’em to the death if necessary. It can save you a bundle if you don’t lose your layers to a red-tailed hawk or raccoon what-have-you.” He nodded at my box. “Give this mister some sisters and you’ll see.”

  I looked at Alarm Clock through the gap in the flaps and he turned one beady, hopeful eye on me. I closed the flap before I fell for it. “No. Nope. A rooster is not in the plans.”

  Sherman shrugged and reached across the counter, motioning for me to give him the box. “Fine. I’ll take him, but his name’ll be Stewie Dumpling, if you catch my drift.”

  I sighed. The poor thing didn’t intend to wander onto my property—or more accurately, the Sutherlands’. Why did he deserve to die just because Walt was a stickler for a clean porch? The skeleton in my yard was enough death on my farm for one week. “Never mind, I’ll keep him until you’ve got room in the colony. I don’t want this guy to end up as supper.”

  “You some kind of vegetarian?” Sherman raised his eyebrows and looked me up and down, smirking. “I heard a lot of folks down in California only eat vegetables. You one of those? I sell rabbit pellets if you want some. They’re organic.”

  I giggled and patted my hip with my free hand. “This rear end didn’t get extra padding because I ate too much lettuce. But while I’m here, I’ll take some all-flock and some chick starter.”

  “Chick starter? This time of year?”

  I nodded. “That way they’ll be laying as soon as the spring sunshine shows its face.”

  “Makes sense. I think I have some from earlier in the season that’s still within dates. Pull around back and I’ll load it for you.”

  “How much do I owe you?” I shifted the box again as I struggled to access my purse.

  He waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll start you a tab. I know you’re good for it.”

  Now this was the reason I moved back home. For all the parts I dreaded—the rumor mill, the old-fashioned attitudes toward women, the judgment—there were good parts, too. People knew me—the real me. They remembered my parents and the kind of people they were. They trusted that my heart didn’t change when my ZIP code changed to 90210.

  I put Alarm Clock’s box back in the car and pulled around by the loading area near the rooster pen. Sherman hadn’t been exaggerating—the pen bustled with strutting young cockerels who were just sprouting their first crop of tail feathers. When I got out to open up the back of the Suburban, several of them hurried to the wire nearest me, hoping for a snack. One in particular could have been Alarm Clock’s little brother, with a ruddy orange head and long, beetle-green tailfeathers. He looked like he walked straight off a box of Corn Flakes.

  I pointed to him. “What breed is that guy?”

  “Welsummer, same as yours. Good birds.” Sherman scooped a handful of dried mealworms from a bin near the rear door of the shop and tossed them into the coop. A frenzied swarm of roosters descended on the crispy critters, snatching them and then running away to avoid having the treats stolen right out of their beaks by their compatriots. The Welsummer kept his head low to the ground, pecking up as many as he could, his large comb flopping over his eye with every bite. “See? Good forager, cool-headed, and pretty hardy.”

  He grasped the corners of a feed bag and swung it into the back of my car, and then went and got a second one. “That one’s your starter. When are your chicks coming in?”

  “Tomorrow, maybe.” I pulled my phone out and opened my email. Sure enough, the tracking number had arrived in my inbox. “Yep, tomorrow. Phew, I’ve got some work to do.”

  “Good luck with ’em.”

  I nodded. “Thanks, Sherman.”

  On the way home, I couldn’t help updating Alarm Clock on the current situation, even though I knew he couldn’t understand me. “OK, big guy, listen up. I’m giving you a stay of execution, but you’re just a temporary guest at my place, so don’t get comfortable. As soon as I find another farm for you, off you go. Understand?”

  Silence from the box. If only the other men in my life were so good at holding their tongues. A siren wailed behind me as soon as I hit the Flats, and I groaned. Of course, Eli was waiting for me again. I pulled over, rolled my window down a crack, and braced myself for a lecture, but he just leaned on the door and flashed me a cheeky grin through the one-inch gap.

  “Going pretty fast, there. Couldn’t wait to get home and see me, huh?”

  “For your information, I wasn’t even going home. I was going to the Sutherlands’ place,” I said primly.

  “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

  I squirmed in my seat, regretting my own smart mouth. I had to pop off on Eli so he didn’t think I had a thing for him, and now here I was, stuck between lying to a cop or accusing
my neighbor of murder. Shame on me. I chose the coward’s way out, a lie of omission. “I just wanted to ask Walt a few things.”

  “About?”

  I flushed. “About the farm.”

  “Well, perfect. I have some questions for him, too. I’ll come with you.” Eli patted the window frame, walked briskly around to the passenger side, and slid into the seat. When I stared at him, wondering why he wasn’t taking his own vehicle, he just smirked at me. “What, you want me to drive? We can switch.” He motioned between us.

  I snorted and cranked the Suburban. It took a couple of tries, but the engine finally turned over and I eased along the shoulder to Walt and Anne’s mailbox, then made the turn without pulling out onto the highway. The car crawled up the gravel drive as I babied the gas pedal. I was trying to prove something to Eli by driving as slowly as I could—that I wasn’t reckless, that I wasn’t up to something behind his back, who knows. He didn’t say a word, just hopped out when we reached the house.

  Walt, who’d been sitting in the lone porch chair and peering through his telescope, jumped up in surprise when he saw Eli mounting the porch steps. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking every bit like an ancient goldfish gasping for air. For once, know-it-all Walt Sutherland was at a loss to explain why he was spying on a murder investigation.

  I checked on ol’ Alarm Clock, but he seemed settled in his box, preening his tail feathers, so I left him in the car and joined Eli on the porch.

  “I’m just curious about the goings on,” Walt was saying gruffly. “I like to keep an eye on the neighborhood. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  Eli nodded, casually took a seat on the chair Walt had vacated, and looked through the telescope’s eyepiece. He sat back, his expression troubled. “You’ve got quite a view,” he said quietly. “Good thing you have curtains up, Leona.”

  Walt, to his credit, turned beet red, but before he could make any excuses for why he was looking in my windows, Anne pushed open the screen door.

  “Everything all right?” she asked, tucking a strand of her colorless hair behind her ear and touching the silver, heart-shaped locket around her neck out of habit. For all their plainness, her simple blouse and skirt had their own pleasant harmony, as though she could be a farmer’s wife from any era. Seeing her next to Walt reminded me of the famous “American Gothic” painting of a farmer and his daughter. Of course, Anne was Walt’s wife, not his daughter, but she could have been, given her age. Then her gray eyes settled on me, and she didn’t look happy. “I’m surprised you’re back so soon.”

  Walt and Eli looked at me, too, so I shrugged and went for it. “I was wondering how you knew somebody was buried in my yard, Walt.”

  Chapter 12

  Walt stood there frozen for a moment, then said, “Anne, why are you being so rude to our guests? Offer these folks something to eat.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Eli began, but Walt held up his hand.

  “I insist.” He nodded to Anne, who had her gaze trained on the freshly painted floorboards of the porch.

  “Can I offer you some pie and coffee?” she mumbled.

  “No—” I started, but upon seeing Walt’s furious expression directed at Anne, I revised what I’d been about to say. “No coffee for me, but I’d never turn down Anne’s baking.”

  “Coffee for me,” Eli said, catching my eye. “I’d love a slice of pie, too, if you’ve got some, Anne.”

  She slipped away and Walt forced a smile. “Now, where were we? Oh yes, the business on the Chapman farm. I had no idea anything was buried there, I’m sorry to say. I’m as curious to know who it could be as anyone.”

  I put my hands on my hips and gave Walt my best mother-who’s-disappointed-in-you stare. “You were real curious when I started digging in that spot, so don’t play dumb with me. I’m pretty sure you remember Toronto Joe, the guy who stole your telescope. That’s him over in that yard, and I think you knew that.”

  Eli’s head jerked toward me and I knew he was dying to ask how I’d found out the skeleton’s name. But he just waited as Walt worked his lips over his teeth and squinted at me, deciding whether or not to take me seriously, and then rose smoothly from his seat. “I’d like to know the answer to that, too. Why’d you get interested when Leona started digging. What did you know?”

  Walt’s expression turned sour. “I didn’t know. Not for sure. I just saw something over there a while back—”

  “Like twenty years back?” I interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

  He nodded slowly. “I saw someone filling in Amos’s dadgum duck pond at five o’clock in the morning. I figured something interesting was at the bottom of that hole. ’Course I didn’t know what. I thought it might be a cash deposit in the Bank of Redneck, but nobody ever made a withdrawal. Been wondering what was down there since, so when I saw you digging, I figured I’d ask.”

  “You witnessed the burial through your telescope?” Eli asked gesturing to the telescope next to him, but Walt shook his head.

  “Nope. My telescope was stolen, like she said. This here I got to replace it. I don’t know who took the old one, unless it was that hobo hanging around Amos’s place. Can’t think who else would have swiped it but him.”

  “Joe,” I reminded him.

  “Joe,” Eli echoed, pulling a notepad out of his uniform pocket. “You have a last name?”

  “No,” Walt and I said simultaneously.

  “Who had the shovel that morning?” Eli’s voice was level but I could sense the excitement jittering under his skin as he asked the question.

  Walt bristled. “Didn’t I just tell you my telescope was gone? I couldn’t get a new one until the next blueberry harvest paid out. All I could see was that it was a person. Shoveling dirt. Nothing more.”

  “A man? A woman?” Eli took a step toward him.

  “A human. With two legs and two arms. That’s all I know.” Walt crossed his arms just as Anne re-emerged from the house with a tray that held three pieces of pie and two cups of coffee.

  “Sorry it took so long. I had to brew a fresh pot,” she said nervously.

  “Cream and sugar!” Walt barked. Anne shoved the tray into my hands and scurried back inside. He sneered at the screen door as it banged shut. “I swear, as if women weren’t useless enough...”

  If I hadn’t had my hands full, I might have socked him in the mouth. Eli looked dismayed, too.

  “Is that kind of talk really necessary, Walt?” Eli’s tone was gently chiding. He took the tray from my hands and set it on the seat of the chair, then handed me a plate of pie and a fork. He blew on his mug of coffee before slugging it and setting his mug on the porch rail, then dug into his own plate of pie. “Good lord, you eat this well every day and you call your wife useless?”

  “I don’t ask much. Sugar in my coffee, clean sheets, loyalty...” Walt squinted across the blueberry field toward my house and ignored the tray completely, even though presumably the remaining pie and coffee were for him. He hadn’t asked for them, but after I’d seen how he treated Anne, I imagined that she would hedge her bets and risk wasting a piece of pie before she’d risk angering him by asking—or worse, by not bringing him anything. “That’s not setting too high a standard, is it? And yet...”

  Anne returned and set a cut-glass bowl of sugar cubes and a tiny pitcher of cream on the tray. “Is the pie all right?” she asked.

  “Perfection,” I said thickly around a mouthful of the jewel-like berries and tender, golden crust. The pie was even better than the cobbler, if that were possible.

  Eli nodded and poured a heavy dollop of cream into his coffee even though he’d been happily drinking it black a moment before. “You’ve outdone yourself. Your husband is a lucky man.”

  Anne’s pale cheeks flushed pink and Walt glowered at her; perhaps Eli’s praise felt like criticism to a husband with an inflated ego and thin skin. I suspected Eli had meant it that way, judging by his smug expression. Anne’s hand went to her neck and s
he nervously adjusted her heavy silver locket again.

  “Pretty necklace,” I said, trying to ease the tension between them. “Is it antique? There must be a story behind it.”

  Anne blanched at the attention. “It’s a family piece.” She spoke so quietly that her voice was almost a whisper. “If you’ll excuse me, I should get back to my chores. Just leave your dishes on the tray and I’ll get them later.”

  “Thanks for the refreshments,” Eli said cheerfully. He pinched the last crumb of piecrust from his plate and popped it into his mouth before setting his plate on the tray. “What a treat.”

  She smiled tightly. “Walt’s very hospitable.” At her words, the tension in Walt’s shoulders visibly eased; she clearly knew the best way to defuse his anger was to give him the credit. Disgust balled in my stomach on her behalf. She shouldn’t have to debase herself every day of her life to soothe some old man’s narcissism. Nobody should. She should stand up to him, and if she wouldn’t, then I would!

  I slid my own empty plate on top of Eli’s and opened my mouth to lay into Walt when Eli caught my eye and gave a subtle shake of his head, as though he were the one driving this conversation. Mister, you rode here in the passenger seat!

  “For someone who spends their time spying on other people’s business, you sure don’t see your own too clearly,” I snapped. Walt jerked his head toward me, and Anne didn’t wait to hear his response. She grabbed the tray of dishes and nearly bolted back through the door into the house.

  “I don’t think I like what you’re saying.”

  “I don’t think you really hear me.” I leaned toward Walt and punctuated my words with my finger. “You knew a dead man was buried in my yard. You’ve had your telescope trained on the spot for the last twenty years. You were the only one I’ve heard who had a grudge against the guy. And all you have to say for yourself is that your wife isn’t up to your standards because she forgot the creamer? I hope she waits until you’re old and then leaves you in a puddle of your own—”