Bought the Farm Mysteries Books 1-3

by Ellen Riggs

  I didn’t need to say a word. Keats led me at a run to the side door, and with my phone light turned off, I made my way outside. Signalling Keats to stay behind me, I crept to the corner of the house and peered around. A man was walking up the front steps. While I couldn’t see his face, I did notice a stringy ponytail. It was the customer from Myrtle’s Store who’d been so pushy about a package two days ago.

  Was it really just two days ago?

  I stood motionless as I watched him scanning the place. He was looking for a way in, but he wouldn’t find it as easily as I had. The key from the Buddha had joined the other one in my pocket and they were both coming with me.

  Keats trotted by my side as I skulked back to the truck. Without the light, I couldn’t run for fear of tripping and making noise. The bushes rustled and crackled as I pushed through, but when I stopped to listen, there was no sound of someone following.

  Finally I reached my truck, and clambered inside after Keats. Locking the door, I puffed as if I’d run a marathon. Sweat dripped down my face and back and when I let out a long breath of relief, I got a full-body chill.

  The man with the ponytail must be trying to collect whatever Lloyd had locked away. Maybe he wouldn’t bother using a key to get at it.

  But I couldn’t worry about that now, because there were lights from another vehicle pulling into the driveway. Even from here, I could hear the sound of the police radio. I wondered if the ponytailed man would have time to sneak off into the bushes. Probably. He’d parked somewhere else, as I had.

  Starting the truck, I pulled out without lights. Turning in the opposite direction, I watched the rear view, praying for two things: that the police wouldn’t follow and that I wouldn’t stall out.

  It was only after we rounded a bend that I dared to breathe again. Then I turned to Keats, whose eerie blue eye was already on me.

  “Here’s what I really want to know, Keats,” I said, tapping the glass on the photo I’d slipped between the seats. “Why on earth did Lloyd Boyce have a framed photograph of my sister Daisy and her boys sitting on his dresser?”

  Chapter Nine

  A delicious aroma woke me even earlier than Aladdin, the rooster, the next morning. Normally, all I could stomach before dawn was black coffee, if that, but when I walked into the kitchen and saw two fresh quiches steaming on the counter, I suddenly remembered I’d skipped dinner the night before. A farm girl could not survive on apple crisp a la mode alone.

  “What are you doing up so early?” I said, brushing past Jilly on my way to the coffee pot. “You used to be a night owl.”

  She rested her hands, encased in silicone baking mitts, on her aproned hips. “That’s before I had a purpose in life.”

  “You already had a purpose in life. You’re the best executive headhunter in all of Boston. I can’t even count how many great hires I got from you.”

  “I always hated that term,” she said, turning back to the oven. Opening the door, she slipped in a muffin tray holding another eggy concoction. “Headhunter. It sounds lethal when it was really about glorious opportunity. Anyway, I’m looking for a kinder, gentler purpose.”

  I found a clean space on the counter and hopped on top, swinging my legs. Keats looked at me earnestly, angling for breakfast. I couldn’t promise anything until there was caffeine in my system. “And your new gentler purpose is egg dishes?”

  She smiled as she slipped off the oven mitts and walked over to the coffee pot. “My new purpose is helping you get Runaway Inn launched,” she said, pouring herself a cup. “Dreaming up ways to use up your endless supply of eggs is just a bonus. And speaking of dreams, this kitchen is amazing. The granite counters, the six-burner, two-oven stove, the high-end cookware… It’s everything an amateur chef like me could ever want, and I’m not leaving it anytime soon.”

  “What about your business? I can’t let you jeopardize all you’ve worked for to help me chase my crazy dream.”

  She brushed blonde tendrils off her forehead with her sleeve. “I’ve left Steve in charge, and I’ll stay in frequent touch. But even before I heard about Lloyd’s abrupt departure from this earth, I’d planned to stay awhile. A deep breath of that fresh country manure confirmed taking a leave of absence was the right decision.”

  “You can’t take a leave from your own business. You’ve been building it for ten years. And this rural adventure of mine seems suddenly ill-fated.”

  “Running my own business means I can do exactly what I want. And your inn is going to take off like a rocket, based on my breakfast specials alone.” She clinked her coffee mug against mine. “Don’t let a minor setback like a murder get you down, my friend.”

  Setting my coffee on the counter, I lifted my legs and swung around to jump off the other side. Keats followed me to his food bin and offered a full pirouette without my asking. After I’d set his full dish on the floor I told Jilly about my visit to Lloyd’s the night before. “Can you believe he hid a key inside with the snake? Pretty clever, right?”

  My words tumbled out fast because Jilly’s hands were back on her hips, and not in a self-satisfied way.

  “Excuse me? While I was slaving in the kitchen and entertaining Daisy, you were creeping in a dead man’s house? Among killer snakes? Ivy Galloway, what were you thinking?”

  I shrugged sheepishly. “I was thinking I might find clues about what happened to him. Nadine gave me the opening I needed. Literally.”

  “But you were almost caught in the act not only by the cops, but by a possible suspect.” She swatted me with a silicone oven mitt. “That could have ended very badly. What if you’d been squeezed to death and no one found you?”

  I held up my hands to shield myself from the oven mitts. “Keats wouldn’t have let that happen. He can unlatch doors and he would have found help before my last breath was gone.”

  “Don’t even joke about this, Ivy. You’re a corporate HR manager, not a private investigator or a snake wrangler. And you broke into Lloyd’s house. What will Asher say? Let alone Kellan Harper.”

  “It wasn’t breaking in when Nadine gave me permission. I’m just more invested in solving this murder than anyone else.” I hopped back up on the counter and crossed my legs. “You heard Kellan: he’s down one investigator, so the cops aren’t moving fast enough. I have less than three weeks before the Flordale guests arrive. Worse, every day that passes spreads the word farther across hill country. So many inns fail even without a murder hanging over them. It takes more than fine egg cuisine to make people feel relaxed and at home.”

  Jilly sighed and reached for a dish cloth. The mess looked daunting to me, but she liked to create chaos and then restore order. “You’ve got to tell Asher and Kellan, Ivy. This is no joke. You were almost caught by some guy who truly was breaking into Lloyd’s house.”

  “It’s Nadine’s story to tell. Kellan’s already interviewed her and she didn’t tell him about the snakes. Clearly he hasn’t pressed her hard enough. He seems to be more interested in pegging me for the crime.”

  Scrubbing a counter vigorously, Jilly shook her head. “He doesn’t think you’re responsible. You know I’m good at reading people. Chief Hottie’s just doing his due diligence since the murder happened here. And he’s probably giving Nadine a bit of time to adjust since she’s the grieving widow.”

  “Well, she’s handling her grief well enough to chat about snakes and dogs with me,” I said. “I shouldn’t even be on his list. It’s insulting.”

  “Why? Because you were his first love?” She gave me a sly grin. “Just because you were innocent then doesn’t make you innocent now.”

  “Nice one.” I grinned back, but it faded quickly. “What do you make of Lloyd having Daisy’s photo on his dresser?”

  Jilly’s smile faded just as fast. “It’s creepy. Especially if he was dating Mandy. She must have been telling the truth when she said they weren’t serious, because if they were, she’d have been in his bedroom and seen that.”

  “True, but
a selection of her finest baked goods was in the fridge, alongside the thawed mice.”

  “Don’t even.” Jilly shuddered. “Did Daisy know him well?”

  I shook my head. “No more than anyone who’s had a run-in with him. He seized their black lab when the first twins were small and she had to go down to the pound and beg to get him back. Then it happened later with their roaming beagle. I never heard her say a kind word about him.”

  “Well, you’d better tell Chief Hottie about that, too,” Jilly said, turning on the hot water and clattering pots in the sink.

  “I don’t want him to know Lloyd was ogling my sister. In his bedroom.”

  “You mean you don’t want him to know you stopped in and stole something from Lloyd’s bedroom.” Her voice rose above the running water. “Understandable. But you’re going to need to tell him eventually. Your prints must be all over.”

  “Duh. I wore gloves. Do you think I’m a complete novice at private investigation?”

  Turning, she blew away long blonde strands now frizzing in the steam. “Aren’t you?”

  “Officially, yeah. But these days you’ve got to do a fair bit of sleuthing in HR before you hire people. Seems like everyone has something to hide.”

  She rolled her eyes. “The people I sent you were properly vetted. And I certainly hope you didn’t break into any applicants’ homes.”

  I shrugged and hopped off the counter. “Do you hear Clara and Heidi? They’re complaining about the service here. Time to get down to the barn and do the chores.”

  “Right,” Jilly said. “All you can hear is the sound of your own resistance to common sense.”

  “That has a sound?” I asked, following Keats to the door.

  “Come back in an hour,” she said. “I’ll have three different breakfasts for you to sample.”

  “You’re hired,” I said, opening the door.

  “You haven’t tasted them yet.”

  “Don’t need to. Everything tastes great when it’s made by someone who has your back.”

  “I’m not the only one. It just feels that way today.” She came over and gave me a quick, damp hug. “Daisy said she’s worried, and knows you’re avoiding her.”

  “She’ll have all kinds of bossy big sister advice I don’t need right now.”

  “That she will. I got the brunt of most of it.”

  “Sorry. My family can be a handful.”

  “All families are a handful. And Daisy and I got on just fine after her initial skill-testing questions. I had to prove myself worthy of your friendship and then she allowed me to help her put up the new curtains.”

  “Oh my god. I should have taken you with me.”

  “No way would I have entered a home with snakes.”

  “See? I figured.”

  She stared at me with intense green eyes. “Snakes aside, Ivy, I want you to remember this: I know who you were, and who you are now. And I’ll defend you to my last breath and spatula.”

  “We’ve got a problem,” Charlie said when I arrived in the barn. “Wilma’s on the lam again.”

  “Again? I thought she’d given that up after retiring from YouTube stardom.”

  “Maybe she resents losing the limelight and wanted to cause a ruckus. You know how grumpy she is.”

  Wilma was indeed one grumpy sow, although Hannah Pemberton claimed the pig had sweetened considerably after having a litter, being spayed, and adjusting to a life of luxury. I still didn’t dare enter her pen without what Charlie called the “pig poker,” which was a long heavy wooden pole with a blunt iron point on the end. Grabbing it now, I went outside to investigate. Charlie walked around the perimeter of Wilma’s pen with me, and Keats took the lead, as always. On the far side, the bottom plank of the fence had fallen aside, and when I leaned in for a closer look, grooves in the paint showed it had been loosened with a crowbar.

  “So, Wilma didn’t escape, she was set free,” I said, standing to meet Charlie’s eyes. “Why would someone do that?”

  He shook his head grimly. “That’s what happened last time and it took all of the m— er, Hannah’s friends, to find the pig.”

  “I know about the Rescue Mafia,” I said. “Hannah told me when she interviewed me. She said I was ‘Mafia material,’ which I took to be a compliment.”

  “It is, trust me.” Charlie’s smile spread from ear to ear. “I was Mafia, too, before I aged out. Do you want me to call them? I’m still in good standing.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not that I don’t want to meet them. I really do. But Runaway Farm is going to be crawling with cops for a while and I don’t want to put the Mafia in harm’s way.”

  “It’s not as risky anymore,” he said. “With Isla McInnis-Duncan serving as mayor of Dorset Hills, it’s been pretty peaceful. There isn’t the same need for rescue.”

  “I have the feeling that crew still has plenty of work on its hands without dealing with my problems.” I pulled out my phone and texted Asher. “Surely my brother can rally a few friends and help find an ornery sow. Besides, if someone’s vandalizing the farm, he needs to know.”

  While Charlie hammered the plank in place, I propped the poker against the fence and started the search for Wilma. Although he wasn’t a hound, Keats had a good nose and I trusted him when he led me off into the bush that stretched between the farm and Edna Evans’ house. In fact, the closer we got to Edna’s the faster Keats moved. He was so agile and quick that he needed to slow down repeatedly to wait for me. Finally we came to a large open space behind Edna’s that served as a yard. Keats went into a point, with his front paw raised and his nose directed at Edna’s vegetable garden. Sure enough, Wilma was enjoying breakfast on Edna’s tab.

  “Oh no,” I whispered. “Get her out of there, Keats. And try not to trample everything. Edna hates us already after the chicken incident.”

  Keats dropped practically to his belly and crawled toward the pig. Normally he was faster and more confident but he seemed to realize Wilma was a whole new ballgame. The pig didn’t even look up. She was grabbing greens, jerking carrots out of the soil and devouring them with contented grunts.

  Creeping up behind her, Keats flipped the herding switch. He darted in and gave Wilma a little nip in the rump, startling a squeal right out of her. She picked up her hooves and ran out of the garden, moving with more speed than I thought she could muster.

  “The road, Keats,” I said, pointing. I was afraid we’d lose the pig in the bush, where the dog’s smooth moves would be curtailed.

  He swung back and forth behind Wilma, keeping her going at a steady trot down Edna’s driveway. Finally we reached the smaller trail that ran between all the houses in the area. Most people used ATVs to get around and be neighborly.

  Keats turned the pig expertly and we jogged over rougher terrain toward Runaway Farm. Everything was going perfectly until we came upon a swampy patch that was apparently like catnip to a pig. Wilma charged around Keats, took his nip in her stride, and flopped on her side in the shallow, fetid water.

  There was nothing Keats could do to get her out, or at least that’s what he told me, as he planted his four white paws in the firmer mud on the dry trail and barked. It was rare for him to be so vocal, but he’d never been foiled by a pig before. Wilma let out a contented sigh and sank even deeper into the stinky silt.

  “Oh, come on,” I told Keats. “I didn’t bring the pig poker. You don’t expect me to go in there in my sneakers?”

  The white tip of his tail fluttered delicately like a butterfly’s wings at half-mast. At least he had the decency to feel ashamed.

  “Fine. I’ll do your dirty work, mister gotta-keep-my-toes-white. You totally owe me.”

  Gritting my teeth, I stepped into the swamp and gasped as I sank right up to my knees. Wilma was blissfully blowing bubbles, almost submerged like a malignant hippo.

  “Get up,” I said, pushing on her side. My hands disappeared into water so dirty you couldn’t see them.

  Wilma had the
chance to do the right thing. Instead, she flipped in my direction and took me with her, deep into the muck. There was a terrible moment where I thought I was going to join Lloyd, wherever he’d gone. My inner rage surfaced before I did and I thrashed like a maniac. Drowning under a pig wasn’t the way I’d depart this earth. Not if I had any say in it.

  When my head broke the surface I let out a scream. Wilma, who was a screamer herself, did not like loud noises, especially at close range. It was a dangerous move, because she could have taken me down again harder under hundreds of pounds. Instead, she got up and moving again, running ahead of Keats, who managed to do his job while avoiding the splatter flying off the pig.

  I ran after them, squelching in muddy runners and doing something my mother would have fainted to see: spitting like a baseball player. I had a mouthful of foul-tasting silt and there was no time to fret about ladylike etiquette.

  When we approached the lane that ran into Runaway Farm, I called for Keats to turn left and he steered Wilma around the bend. Then she picked up speed, barreling past Asher’s squad car and heading directly for the small crowd assembled in the driveway. Someone shouted commands and people adjusted position. There was nowhere Wilma could go without ramming into someone. She’d done that without hesitation before.

  A woman in a baseball cap moved forward, brandishing the pig poker with skill. I wondered if it was a member of the notorious Rescue Mafia. They were said to appear out of nowhere when needed, ready to take on the most daunting animal-related task.

  The woman in the baseball cap let Keats do most of the work but she used the poker when Wilma took a sudden turn and headed for freedom once more. The whack wasn’t very hard but the pig squealed as if she’d been electrocuted.

  There was a loud bang as the gate to the pen closed and an even louder cheer. I slowed to a stop and looked around. The woman I’d mistaken for Mafia was Gwen Quinn, and she bravely shook my filthy hand.