Bought the Farm Mysteries Books 1-3

by Ellen Riggs

  She shuddered. “I’ll do my best today. It’s important to know if my charms still work.”

  “Oh, they still work. My brother is at the farm constantly and it isn’t just to see Alvina.”

  “He does like my cooking, but he’s not overly discriminating. It’s all good to him.”

  A little smile played on her face that told me my brother stood a chance with her. I wasn’t sure how I felt about combining friends and family but I figured the more closely woven my safety net, the softer my landing.

  “Just flirt a little with Brian. With that ponytail, it probably doesn’t happen often. I’ll owe you.”

  “You already owe me.” She pulled out a compact and examined her reflection. Jilly always complained about her supposedly crooked nose, but she was gorgeous by any standard and had a long string of romances behind her to prove it. “But let’s add more to your tally.”

  Brian didn’t look quite as unsavory as I remembered when he opened the door, but his expression darkened when he saw Keats. “I hate dogs,” he said. “They’re a collector’s worst nightmare.”

  “My dog’s training is impeccable, but of course I’d pay for anything he damaged inadvertently.”

  He shook his head. “That shows how little you know. Collecting isn’t about money, it’s about passion. The only reason I agreed to see you today is that I have two Wonder Woman figures right now. Selling one would let me add something new.”

  He didn’t invite us in, so Jilly tossed him an easy smile. For a moment, it looked like it wouldn’t land, but then a slight flush started around his collar. Brian had a hard shell, but he wasn’t immune to an attractive woman. Stepping back, he let us pass and gestured to the living room. “Stay here,” he said. “I don’t let anyone into the gallery.”

  It only took a few minutes before he returned with Wonder Woman in what appeared to be the original packaging.

  “Wow, she’s perfect,” I said, reaching for the box.

  He slapped my hand away. “Don’t touch. She’s in pristine condition and she’ll stay that way till she’s out of my care.”

  “My brother is going to be super thrilled.” I craned over to peek into the box. “I’d already talked to Lloyd Boyce about hooking me up, but you know how that went.”

  Brian took a step backwards, clutching Wonder Woman to his chest as if he didn’t want her to see any of this. “Lloyd didn’t have Wonder Woman. He wanted this one but he couldn’t afford her. I even offered to trade for Iron Man. He had three of those, but do you think he’d part with any of them? No. He was a jerk and a hoarder. I don’t know how he almost caught up with my collection because he was always broke.”

  “I guess he found a way when something like Wonder Woman came along,” I said.

  “Well, his impulse control was going to get him into trouble,” Brian said. “I heard he was racking up a charge with the Scorpion. I warned him that wouldn’t end well.” His eyes never left Jilly’s smile, as if spellbound. “Maybe it didn’t.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “I wonder who’s going to get Lloyd’s collection. Nadine will need to sell it off at some point, after the smoke clears. The sooner the murder is resolved, the better.”

  He dragged his eyes away from Jilly and stared at me, dazed. “Maybe I’ll get my hands on one of the Iron Man figures. I have pretty much everything else Lloyd had, though.” After a second he added, “Someone should go down to Rattlesnake Tattoos and talk to the Scorpion. I bet he knows something.”

  “Have you mentioned that to the police?” I asked. “I’m sure any tip would be welcome.”

  He took another step back. “I’m not getting anywhere near the Scorpion. He’s probably a suspect. I probably would be too if I hadn’t been out of town. Lloyd and I had some disagreements.”

  “Chief Harper would want to know about that,” I said.

  Again he shook his head. “I want to stay out of it. You could just tell Asher about the Scorpion, right?”

  “He got pulled off the case, unfortunately. That’s why I’m splashing out on Wonder Woman for his birthday to cheer him up. So I guess all that’s left is agreeing on terms.”

  Jilly kept the smile dialed up and I like to think that eased Brian’s disappointment when I yelped in horror at the price. There was no way I could afford that kind of money for a doll my brother didn’t even want. Besides, I’d learned all I needed. It seemed unlikely that Brian had killed Lloyd for his collection. At worst, he was trying to score an easy Iron Man.

  “Think about it,” he said, as we left. “Asher would be a lucky man to get this.”

  “No question. But I don’t know if his ratings are that high this year.”

  “Talk to the police, okay?” Jilly called back with another fetching smile. “Bring Iron Man home where he belongs.”

  “I will,” he called after her. “Come back and see him.”

  Jilly had to shoo Keats out of the passenger seat because he beat her inside and then pretended not to see her. “Dude, I earned that seat,” she said. “You’re a good sidekick, but some things are better left to a woman.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Butterflies?” the young man said, raising a heavy load of metal studs on his eyebrow. “You know where you are, right?”

  “Of course we know where we are,” Jilly said. “The best tattoo parlour in Clover Grove.”

  “The only tattoo shop in town. We don’t call it a parlour, though, and we don’t do butterflies.”

  “Oh, come on,” I said. “Women like tattoos, too.” I scrolled through the samples on their laptop. “You can’t tell me everyone wants scorpions and reptiles.”

  “That’s our speciality. You’d have more luck over in Dorset Hills. Someone runs a shop catering to girls.”

  I glanced at Jilly and grinned. “That one’s a parlour, I guess.”

  Resting her elbows on the counter, she turned up the smile wattage. “I’m quite sure Mr. Scorpion could do a pair of butterflies for two best friends like us. Given the complexity of most of his work, this would be a walk in the park.”

  “That’s where he is, actually. Taking a walk in the park with his dog, like he is every day at this time.” He gestured to the door. “If you want to convince him to do butterflies, go give it a try.”

  “Challenge accepted,” I said. “Keats could use a run anyway. Which park?”

  The young man gave me directions to one of the four dog parks in town. It surprised me that Clover Grove had so many, given its small population and close proximity to beautiful trails. It was another spillover effect from being neighbors with Dorset Hills.

  As we walked back to the truck, I shook my head. “I wouldn’t have pegged the Scorpion for a dog park kind of guy. He has a snake tat coiled around his bald head. It’s terrifying. Especially when you’ve recently been groping around in a snake tank.”

  “Guess you can’t judge by appearances,” Jilly said, smoothing her already perfect hair. It was obvious from her appearance that no ink would ever mar her pale skin. I liked to think my chances with the Scorpion were slightly better. Since arriving in Clover Grove, my dress code had gone out the window and it was a good day when I managed anything nicer than the jeans and T-shirt I wore today.

  “Maybe not, but you can judge by how someone treats their dog,” I said as we drove the few blocks to the park. “And if the Scorpion is taking his dog to the park every day, he’s not a murderer.”

  She laughed. “I bet many murderers are skilled with deception.”

  “You can’t fake this,” I said. “You’ll see. And Keats will prove it.”

  “Yeah? How?”

  “He can smell a fake from a mile away. Just watch his posture—his ears and tail go down when someone isn’t a legit dog lover or a decent person. He can’t even hide his contempt for them.”

  She turned to stare at me. “You know I love you, but you’ve gotten a bit weird since Keats came along.”

  “I was weird before Keats came along. I just
hid it better.”

  “Okay, well… Maybe keep this kind of talk to yourself once you have guests at the inn.”

  I turned to catch her eye. “There’s nothing wrong with a quirky innkeeper. Not in Clover Grove. In fact, I think that might even be a plus.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sure. People love to share stories about eccentrics.” I pulled up at the curb and parked. “I won’t lose business from talking to my animals. But murder is another matter. I don’t want my guests worrying about being killed in their sleep.”

  “Even your former colleagues?” she asked, getting out of the truck. “A little scare might do them good.”

  Jilly was so incensed over Flordale burning me that she had severed ties with them at a significant financial loss. I’d tried to convince her not to burn bridges on my account, but there was no telling Jilly how to be a friend.

  Coming around the truck, I couldn’t help grinning. “Scaring the crap out of the Flordale people would make me pretty happy, actually. But I need good reviews.”

  “You don’t need their help. This place is going to take off like a rocket. You can trust my instincts. And my cooking.”

  “I do, my friend. Just like I trust Keats’ instincts.”

  “Please don’t compare me to your dog.”

  I signalled Keats to run ahead and he gave me what looked like a glare. He was not the kind of dog to enjoy dog parks, where he was forced to socialize with canine riffraff. Dog park dogs tended to be rude, whereas dogs on the trails showed respect.

  “Just suck it up, Keats,” I said. “We all have to make sacrifices.”

  But then I snapped my fingers for Keats to return to my side. The tattooed man I’d seen at Myrtle’s Store was standing with a group of people. They were surrounded by dogs, and I guessed immediately that the rottweiler belonged to the tattoo artist. Most of the dogs were roughhousing but none were as rambunctious as those I’d seen elsewhere. That spoke volumes about the clutch of people. Dogs behaved as owners allowed.

  “Let’s mingle,” I said, as a few dogs frolicked up to meet Keats. He stood perfectly still, allowing the other dogs to sniff him, but indicating in dog language that they were beneath his notice. The rottweiler ambled over and offered a polite greeting.

  An older woman joined us with a friendly smile. “Gorgeous border collie,” she said. “He thinks he’s above the rest of them, doesn’t he?”

  I laughed. “Is it that obvious?”

  “A real sheepdog usually can’t be bothered with other dogs,” she said, reaching down to pat the rottie’s hind end. “That said, my Roswell likes to keep his own counsel, too.”

  “The rottie’s yours?” I said. “I was sure he belonged to—”

  “Graham? The man with tattoos?” she said. “You can’t judge a man by appearances.”

  “No, of course not,” I said, avoiding Jilly’s I-told-you-so gaze. “We’ve heard a lot about his talent and wanted to chat to him about getting some ink done.”

  “He doesn’t like mixing business with dogs, I can tell you that,” the woman said. “You’re better to hit him up down at Rattlesnake Tattoos.”

  “We just came from there and his assistant was discouraging. I thought if we could bond over dogs, he might agree to work with us.”

  “Worth a try, I guess.” She pointed at a small white crossbreed of indeterminate origin. “That’s his sweet Charlotte.”

  “What breed is she?” I asked.

  A middle-aged man with a prodigious mustache joined us with a genial smile. He tried to pat Keats, who literally shrank under his hand in disdain.

  “A rescue from the Caribbean,” she said. “A lovely dog that he treats like a queen. He brings her here every single day, rain or shine. We have a regular dog party from four to five thirty.”

  “Every day? I tried to find him here on Monday and didn’t see him. Maybe I came too late.”

  “Monday?” Her eyes studied the horizon before she nodded. “Yes, we had full attendance on Monday. We’re planning a little fundraiser for rescues and Graham offered to do the marketing materials.”

  “I remember,” the moustachioed man said. “He’s a graphic designer, too.”

  “A man of many talents,” I said, following as she led us to the group. My eyes were on Keats rather than the Scorpion. The dog quickly circled the small group, taking their measure. His ears stayed up and his tail at a perfectly respectable half-mast. No one, including the Scorpion, gave him cause for concern.

  “I’ll introduce you,” the woman said.

  The Scorpion turned and eyed me suspiciously. Maybe it was impossible to look any other way when a yellow snake slithered around your head and a blue scorpion sat on your eyebrow. If I could stop judging by appearances, it was possible I’d discover he was a sweetheart, like his friends said.

  “I know you,” he said, his voice as chilly as the coldblooded snake circling his ear. “You’re the one who killed Lloyd Boyce.”

  “I most certainly did not!” The words shot out of my mouth. “Do you think I’d be hanging around at the park with my dog if that were true?”

  He stared at me with fierce amber eyes that were also like a snake’s, only without the vertical slits. They fell to Keats and he let out a sigh. “I guess not. Looks like a good dog. No one who loves dogs can be a murderer.”

  “Funny, I’ve heard others say the same thing,” Jilly said. “Seems like a truth universally understood.”

  He gave her a stare that forced her to back up a step. “It is. If you owned one, you’d know.”

  “Agreed,” I said. “Someone can be an ass, but if he’s an ass who loves dogs, he’s redeemable.”

  The Scorpion nodded grudgingly. “Pretty much.”

  “But Lloyd Boyce didn’t love dogs.”

  “You don’t know that,” the Scorpion said. “He wasn’t a bad guy, really. He just got bitten a lot on the job.”

  “Maybe he got bitten a lot because he didn’t like dogs and they knew it. People have told me he snared dogs with a noose and hauled them away from their families. He carried pepper spray and an electric prod. I saw that with my own eyes.”

  The Scorpion shifted uncomfortably and his little white dog ran over. Scooping her up, he kissed her head hard. “I don’t want to hear about that.”

  “I’m just saying that Lloyd probably wasn’t as good a guy as you think.”

  “I know he wasn’t a saint,” the Scorpion said. “He owed me five grand I’ll probably never see again.”

  “You’re not the only one he wronged, obviously. Someone actually wanted him dead.”

  Hugging Charlotte close, he shook his head. “Sometimes I hate people. You never know what they’re hiding. With a dog you know where you stand.”

  I nodded. “I know exactly what you mean.” Pulling out my phone, I said, “That’s me. We’ve gotta run, unfortunately. I’ll catch up with you folks another day.”

  The older woman called out, “I thought you wanted to talk about tattoos.”

  Jilly turned and called back, “Cold feet.”

  “I don’t blame you at all,” the woman called after us. “Ink is so permanent.”

  “Exactly,” I chimed in. “I’m a firm believer in leaving room to change your mind.”

  “I only work on people who can commit anyway,” the Scorpion shouted.

  Waiting till we were out of earshot, Jilly said, “That was it? You barely questioned him.”

  “No need. Keats questioned him for me. If the Scorpion had been on my property, Keats would have known it. His nose never forgets.”

  “Seriously? You trust the dog that much?”

  “That much and more.” I opened the passenger door and Keats jumped through to the back seat. “I trust him with my life.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jilly wasn’t one of those people who wore yoga gear 24-7 for comfort and style. She’d earned the right to wear those cute outfits with years of practice back in Boston. There’d always been
a rolled-up mat sticking out of her bag, even when she was wearing her best suit and heading off to meet with a corporate CEO. In fact, she credited yoga with making her more effective in her job. No bigwig could faze her when she’d put in her mat time.

  My refusal to drink the yoga Kool-Aid was one of her biggest disappointments. She just wanted to share the joy and tranquility with me, her best friend. Yet I continued to maintain that anxiety and neurosis had driven me to the top of my HR game. We all find our own way up the mountain, I’d said.

  That explained her Cheshire Cat smile as she rode shotgun on the way to Serenity Yoga Studio. For once, she had the seat entirely to herself. There was no white paw gently and slyly trying to usurp her. Keats and his boundless energy were even further beyond the help of yoga than I was, so for once he’d stayed home.

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” I said as we slowed in front of the perfect parking spot. “This isn’t going to stick. I’m here to interview Hayden, that’s all.”

  She stayed quiet as I made my first attempt to parallel park. The truck stalled with its nose out, blocking traffic, and I cursed quietly. Sometimes it seemed like the vehicle was possessed.

  “I was just thinking that yoga and a solid meditation practice might help with your driving.”

  “My driving!” I pulled out and maneuvered into position for another attempt. “How do you figure?”

  “Well, I notice that the more stressed you are, the more you stall the truck. If I keep you distracted, you do pretty well.”

  The next attempt was such a spectacular fail that I gave up and drove down the block to a double space. “Charlie told me that Hannah Pemberton struggled with driving stick as well. I think it’s the truck.”

  Jilly laughed. “Okay. You can delude yourself or you can just manage your stress better.”

  I managed to pull the truck close enough to the curb that it wasn’t totally humiliating. Still, an old man smirked as he passed. A trickle of sweat ran down my cheek. Of all of my struggles in recent weeks, my driving challenges may have taken the biggest toll. Well, other than feeding the snakes, perhaps.