Bought the Farm Mysteries Books 1-3

by Ellen Riggs

  Nadine beamed. “That is so nice to hear. Say hi to her for me.”

  “Will do.” I slid off the stool. “We’re meeting later to choose curtains for the inn.” I picked up Keats’ leash and he danced at the end of it, relieved to get moving.

  “You’ve got my card?” she said.

  I patted my bag. “But really, there’s no way I’d ever sell Runaway Farm.”

  “That’s what the last owner said.” Her eyes crinkled. “Some say it’s cursed, but I don’t believe in that kind of thing.”

  A shiver ran down my spine and Keats pressed closer, whining almost inaudibly.

  “Then I’d better pick up some sage and burn it tonight,” I said, heading for the cash register. “Daisy said it’ll flush out anything but your septic system.”

  Chapter Three

  “Do not let Nadine Boyce scare you,” my sister said, towing me around the biggest department store in Clover Grove. In fact, it was the only legit department store, and its selection was eclectic and dated. Luckily, Daisy had a way of seeing something unique and stylish in what looked dull and boring to me.

  “I won’t,” I said, trailing after her. Of all the tasks involved in getting an inn up and running, interior design was the one I hated most. I wasn’t fazed at all by mucking out stalls when Charlie, my farm manager, was off duty. But take me to a department store and my throat practically seized. I was suffocating.

  “Is that you panting, or Keats?” Daisy asked, keeping her eyes on the drapery panels hanging on tall racks.

  “Both. We don’t like being trapped inside.” I paced back and forth, and Keats followed, staring up at me with his brown eye—the sympathetic one. “Do we, buddy?”

  Keats offered his mumbled agreement. He always had plenty to say, even if I didn’t understand all of it.

  “You worked in a corporate cubicle for ten years, Ivy,” Daisy said. She gave me a look without even turning her head. I didn’t need to see it to know it was there. My older sister had been giving me the same look of incredulous disgust for the 33 years I was on the planet. She was the eldest in our family of six kids, and the first recipient of Mom’s flora-themed names. After her came Lily, Poppy and Violet, golden boy Asher, and finally me. Mom’s name was Dahlia, and she was about as subtle as the showiest variety.

  “I’ve escaped all that now,” I said. “Remember the year I crisscrossed the country firing people? My boss called me the grim reaper.”

  “You paid your dues and collected your bonus.” She carried two curtain panels over to a window to inspect them in natural light. “Nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Daisy was always practical. I guess she had to be, looking after us while Mom worked overtime in a series of low-paying jobs. My sister’s hair was even darker than mine, but already more salt than pepper. We’d probably aged her prematurely, and then her own kids—two sets of twin boys—finished the job.

  “I’m not ashamed. Just happy to be out of there.” I stared at the fabric she waved under my nose. “Daisy, they all look the same to me.”

  This time her look of disgust hit me head on. “The same! One is silver and one is pewter.”

  “It’s two shades of gray.” I grinned sheepishly. “Maybe my vision was affected in the accident.”

  My sister pinned me with hazel eyes that were also a little darker than mine. “That wasn’t an accident. It was a violent attack that almost killed you.”

  I tried to hold in the shudder. Daisy was the only one who spoke plainly in our family. Sometimes it seemed like she was the only one who spoke plainly in all of Clover Grove. I valued her honesty, but more so when it was directed at someone else. Especially Asher.

  “It didn’t kill me. And no matter what the cost, it was worth it to save Keats.”

  Her eyes turned into sharp points. “I know you adore this dog, but rescuing him single-handedly from a felon wasn’t your smartest move.”

  “I wasn’t alone. I had Jilly,” I said. “And I don’t regret it one bit.”

  “Ivy. That guy almost bashed your brains in, and you haven’t recovered fully yet. It’s not something to be cavalier about.”

  My fingers went to a lump hidden under my hair that was probably permanent now. “I’m not being cavalier. I just want to put all that behind me. And the attack, if that’s what you want to call it, brought me the farm, too, remember. So it all worked out, right?”

  She continued to stare at me for a moment and then her eyes dropped to the fabric again. “You’ve changed, Ivy.”

  “Isn’t change inevitable?”

  “Here’s the thing,” she said, walking back to the racks and shoving panels aside. “You’ve got to set a mood with your inn. People need to come through the door and have an instant emotion. Pewter will bring awe. Is awe the emotion you want?”

  I knelt beside Keats and shook my head. “Nope. Not awe.”

  “What then?”

  “I want them to feel relief that they’ve escaped the pressures of the real world, if only for a weekend. I want them to feel comfortable and safe, and ultimately tranquil.”

  There was silence above me, and I looked up to find Daisy staring at me with an expression I hadn’t seen before.

  “That’s more like it,” she said, crooking her fingers to make me stand. “How does this one make you feel?” She held out a different gray panel and traced the silver pattern etched into it. “What’s this?”

  “I don’t know… an amoeba?”

  Again she pulled the panel down and led me to the window. “Look closer.”

  I stared at the velvety fabric and tried to focus. “Is it… a pig?”

  “Yes,” she said, grinning. “Silver pigs.”

  I laughed out loud. “That’s perfect! A mix of elegance and country kitsch. You’re a genius.”

  She laughed, too, shrugging off the praise. “The truth is always right before your eyes. You just have to look hard enough.”

  Carrying the panel to the department cashier, she asked for a dozen sets of curtains.

  “All the same?” I asked.

  “KISS principle.” She checked her phone and shook her head. “I always tell the boys to ‘keep it simple, stupid,’ and they mostly do.”

  I kept my mouth shut out of gratitude. Daisy’s boys were sweet hooligans who spent most of their time wrestling, running or rummaging for food.

  After we’d finished, she studied me in silence while we crossed the parking lot. I pretended not to notice.

  “I’m not buying it, Ivy Rose Galloway,” she said at last. All the girls in our family shared the same middle name, because Mom had run out of good floral options.

  “Buying what?”

  “This easygoing act. You’ve always had the worst temper in the entire family.”

  I laughed as I unlocked my truck. “Wouldn’t you have a temper if you came last—after the golden boy Mom always wanted and before she got dumped by Dad? Anyway, that’s ancient history. Do you think I’d have been successful in HR if I’d had a bad temper?”

  “You drove it underground but it still pops up. Like this morning. I heard you got snippy with Lloyd Boyce.”

  I knew she’d find out but I’d expected a little more time. Daisy lived on the other side of Clover Grove, a half-hour drive from Runaway Farm. “Good news sure travels fast.”

  “Edna Evans called Nora Peters and she emailed Mom, who asked me to handle it.”

  I sighed. Three decades later, Mom was still delegating family management to Daisy. It wasn’t fair; my sister had her hands full raising the boys and working three part-time jobs. Her real passion was interior design, and I wanted to help her get launched.

  “What is there to handle? I got a ticket from Animal Services. I’ll pay it and make sure it’s the last one.”

  “You will not pay that ticket,” she said, piling curtains into the back seat of the truck. “The County could bring it up anytime and prevent you from expanding or renovating. You know this farm’s been a political s
ore spot. That’s why the previous owner got rid of it.”

  “That’s not true. Hannah weathered out the politics when the land transferred to Wolff County. Clover Grove has no issue with livestock.”

  “Not the typical farm animals, but someone’s bound to raise a concern about the alpaca and llamas at some point. And that someone is Lloyd Boyce.”

  She spit out the name like it tasted sour. Like many people, she’d had run-ins with him over her series of rescue dogs.

  I pulled the tie out of my ponytail and raked my fingers through my hair. “How about we cross that bridge when we come to it, Daisy?”

  “You got a great deal on Runaway Farm, but you’re pouring your life savings into it, too. You can’t afford to have Lloyd ruin this.”

  “My inn will bring new business into Clover Grove. The County should be grateful.”

  Leaning against the truck, she folded her arms. “Clover Grove isn’t like you remembered.”

  “I can see that. Now it’s pies and jam and fresh egg deliveries. When did that all start?”

  It was Daisy’s turn to shudder. “I don’t even know when the tide turned to homesteading. One day I realized someone had stolen our normal small town and replaced it with this sweet little village. And it is sweet, but there’s a current of something else underneath.”

  “What else?” I felt a breeze on the back of my neck that made me hug myself, although it was a warm day. Looking down, I saw Keats’ ruff was standing on end, and his ears pricked up.

  Daisy just shrugged. “I can’t explain it. You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

  I gave a nervous laugh. “Is this where you get woo-woo and tell me to smudge the house with sage?”

  For the first time all day, she truly smiled. Daisy was the prettiest of all the girls in our family, and the rest of us weren’t bad, either. “That’s a good idea. Let’s smudge the farm tomorrow when I’m over to measure for rugs. But you can’t smudge an entire town, Ivy.”

  “Why not? We could take the truck for a joyride tonight and smudge Woof County.”

  She laughed out loud. “People would talk, and I wouldn’t blame them.”

  “They always talked about us, and I guess they always will.” I opened the front door and gestured for Keats to jump through to the passenger seat. The truck was tall but border collies came wired with springs. “I’m not going to be a slave to gossip anymore.”

  Settling her sunglasses on her nose, Daisy said, “Then you’d better stop annoying your neighbors. Edna’s the queen of gossip and she’s right next door to you.”

  “Message received. I know what I have to do.”

  She let her glasses slide down and stared at me. “You do.”

  It was a statement, not a question. As if I hadn’t learned a single thing since she walked me to kindergarten.

  “Yeah, I do. I’ll take some jam and a few dozen eggs over there and suck up to Edna Evans. Pronto.”

  The glasses stayed on the bridge of her nose, telling me I’d missed the mark. “Like smudging, sucking up is never a bad idea. But that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  “Daisy, Lloyd said there was no way around paying this ticket. If you’ve got a better idea than jam and eggs, just tell me.”

  She gave me the “duh” look reserved for special occasions of sibling idiocy. “Let Asher take care of it. Obviously.”

  “I am not asking my cop brother to make my Animal Services fine disappear.”

  “Why not? He’s helped me out in a pinch and I know he’d help you.”

  Now I stared at her over my shades. “What kind of pinch?”

  She sighed. “There was an incident with the boys and graffiti, down at Hoggs Bridge.”

  “That’s all?”

  There was a long pause. “The younger boys had light fingers. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Huh.” I was surprised. Daisy ruled with an iron fist and the older boys were now fine young men.

  “You can ‘huh’ all you like, but you have no idea how hard it’s been with Reese and Beaton.” She pushed her long bangs out of her eyes and sighed. “They’re challenging.”

  I squeezed her arm. “It’s okay. I can run this problem by Asher.”

  “You do that.” She started backing away, toward her battered gray minivan. “Heading home now?”

  “Nope. Few errands to run, and then I’m heading into the hills to let Keats stretch his legs.”

  Keats let out a little yip of excitement and Daisy said, “Don’t tell me that dog understands English.”

  I slipped behind the wheel and scratched his chest. “Not yet but give him time.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Make sure you spread those curtains flat when you get home so they don’t wrinkle, okay?”

  “Got it.” I turned the key in the ignition. “No wrinkles at Runaway Inn. Except the ones I’m getting.”

  “Oh, and Ivy?” Daisy said. “We treat dogs like dogs around here. Don’t be that weird lady people talk about.”

  “I spent ten years as a paragon,” I said, grinning as I put the truck in gear. “It’s time to let my hair down.”

  When we got back from town that evening, Keats and I took a walk around the property. We’d made it to the trails above town earlier, but a chatty woman with a yappy Yorkshire terrier called Sparkles had slowed us down. As a soon-to-be innkeeper, I felt I had to be friendly with everyone.

  Runaway Farm sat on about 20 acres now, and it was far deeper than it was wide. Past owners had sold much of the land, but what was left was lovely. There was a well-worn trail that wound around gentle hills and through wooded areas of deciduous and cedar trees. There were four orchards, from ancient to middle-aged. The apples from the youngest were apparently quite tasty.

  The sun was already low when we started out but there was plenty of light to see the path, and I always felt safe with Keats. He ranged out ahead and circled back to check on me again and again. This dog didn’t miss much, and while he was always “on” he wasn’t frenetic. At least as long as he got a good run every day, which was a pleasure for both of us after city life.

  So when Keats ran out and stayed out, I paid attention. Then he started barking in a way I’d never heard before. I didn’t like the sound of it and stopped in my tracks. There were coyotes around, and wild boars, too. Something sure had Keats rattled, and when I called, he only came halfway back, his white tuxedo chest shining in the setting sun. Turning, he raced back the way he’d come.

  If it were a predator, surely Keats wouldn’t lead me into its jaws. There must be something he wanted to me to see.

  “What is it, Keats?” I called, trying to sound big and menacing. I made a mental note to bring pepper spray and my sheep hook on my evening strolls. A reformed city girl couldn’t be too careful.

  Coming over the last small hill, I found Keats running back and forth at the edge of a field that had grown wild since previous owners had stopped farming the land. It was still tall after a nice summer.

  My steps slowed until I got close enough to see what Keats was fussing about. Something dark was sticking out of the rye field.

  When I got close enough, I bent over a pair of big black boots. The heels had sunk into the damp soil, and scuffed toes pointed to the sunset sky. Manure and hay was caked in the treads.

  And unless I was much mistaken, the boots were still attached to the uniformed legs of Lloyd Boyce.

  Chapter Four

  “Ivy.” The voice came from close range but it had a hollow, faraway sound. “Ivy. Get the dog out of the way.”

  I turned to stare at my brother. He was the only one in the family with blue eyes. We used to tease him that the recessive trait that had won him the gorgeous peepers also hijacked his brains. Asher wasn’t stupid, but he was impulsive and accident prone. We had all defended and protected him, maybe a little too much for his own good. An old boyfriend of Daisy’s got Asher his job on the police department and it was a surprisingly good fit. What he lacked
in brilliance, Ash made up in decency, loyalty and courage. When he bent the rules, it was always in favor of the underdogs.

  “Keats is just trying to help,” I said, watching the dog nose around in the field. “Don’t underestimate him—he could probably solve this mystery all on his own.”

  Asher turned to a tall man whose back was to us both. “Don’t mind her. I think she’s in shock.”

  “I’m not in shock. I’ve seen a body before, Ash.”

  The tall man turned quickly and pinned me with eyes that looked darker in the dusk than they really were. “Really, Ivy?” he said. “You make that sound pretty casual. In my experience, seeing a body is always a shock.”

  Heat rushed up from my belly to the roots of my hair, and I turned away in case Kellan Harper could see my color in the fading light. He’d made me blush often enough in high school. In fact, he’d gone to great lengths to do so. That had deterred me from dating him till senior year, when he finally wore me down. I hadn’t seen him in person since our “turkey dump” breakup during college. He’d only migrated back to Clover Grove a year ahead of me, taking over as chief of police after a long stint on the Philadelphia police force.

  “I guess I am in shock,” I muttered, snapping my fingers to bring Keats to my side. “But seriously, Keats might lead you to a clue.”

  “I don’t need help from a dog to do my job,” Kellan said. He turned to issue curt commands to three uniformed men setting up lights. The gorgeous sunset had become an orange line on the horizon that would disappear completely in another few minutes.

  I knew Kellan and I would run into each other eventually, but I’d hoped eventually would take a lot longer. You’d think he would have been well over a high school romance by now. Unlike me, he’d probably had a dozen relationships since then. Yet from his expression, he hadn’t quite forgiven me. I didn’t completely blame him. For someone who’d gone on to become a talented HR executive, I’d done a poor job of breaking it off with Kellan and regretted it ever since.

  But that was another time. What mattered now was that we were standing in a field together with a dead man. It had to be the most awkward reunion ever.