Bought the Farm Mysteries Books 1-3

by Ellen Riggs

  Kellan smiled at me and I smiled back, touching the red marks on my neck that hadn’t faded much after a week. The bruising on my forehead and nose was now an attractive shade of yellow. It was the second time in just a few months that I’d survived a deadly adventure, after 10 years of a sedate corporate existence. I was ready to enjoy some of the serene country living Clover Grove’s marketing materials promised.

  I knew that tranquility probably wouldn’t begin until my former colleagues had come and gone, however. Flordale Corporation had been rife with politics before I left. They’d probably spend their entire stay at Runaway Inn squabbling, scheming and backstabbing. Hopefully they’d all get out of here alive and leave me in peace.

  My nephew, Beaton, gave me a cheeky wink and pulled a long strand of fettuccine right off the serving platter. Then he tipped his head back, dangled the strand into his mouth, dropped it with a flourish and swallowed.

  “Stop that!” Daisy said, slapping his hand. “Were you raised by wolves?”

  His twin, Reese, threw back his head and let out a howl he’d obviously practiced a lot.

  Keats, sitting on my left, raised his muzzle and howled, too. It was an eerie sound, not unlike the coyotes roaming in packs in the hills.

  The boys dissolved in raucous laughter and I stared down at Keats in dismay. “That is inappropriate behavior for the innkeeper’s dog,” I said. “Manners.”

  Keats mumbled something deep in his throat and Asher laughed. “Back talk from all the boys. I like to think they learned it from me.”

  Jilly took her seat beside me and whispered, “Got an answer for me yet?”

  “Yeah,” I said, grinning at her as we held hands to say grace. “Bye-bye big city. I’m glad to be home.”

  Jilly’s Chicken with Dreamy Creamy Tomato Basil Sauce

  Ingredients:

  1 tbsp olive oil

  1.5 lb chicken thighs (boneless, skinless and ideally organic)

  ½ tsp salt

  ¼ tsp pepper

  8 oz tomato paste

  2 garlic cloves, minced

  ¼ cup heavy cream

  4-6 oz chicken broth

  4 oz fresh spinach

  8 leaves fresh basil (or ¼ tsp dried)

  For serving:

  ¼ cup parmesan cheese, grated

  Optional: sautéed mushrooms.

  Instructions:

  * * *

  Heat oil in a large frying pan on medium heat. Sprinkle chicken thighs with salt and pepper. Add them to the pan top side down. Cook for 5 minutes, until the top side is seared.

  * * *

  Flip the chicken thighs and sear for 5 more minutes on medium heat.

  * * *

  Remove the chicken from the pan to a plate. Drain the fat from the pan.

  * * *

  To the same, now empty frying pan, add tomato sauce, minced garlic, heavy cream and chicken stock. Bring to a boil and stir.

  * * *

  Reduce heat to low and add spinach and basil (plus sautéed mushrooms, if using). Stir until spinach wilts and reduces. Add more salt and pepper, to taste.

  * * *

  Add the cooked chicken back to the pan and increase heat to medium. Reheat the chicken thighs in the sauce until the chicken is completely cooked through and no longer pink in the center.

  * * *

  To serve, spoon the sauce over boneless chicken thighs and top with grated parmesan.

  * * *

  Delicious served over your favorite pasta or spiralized zucchini.

  Mandy’s Old-fashioned Apple Coffee Cake

  Ingredients:

  2 cups all-purpose flour

  3 tsp baking powder

  1 tsp salt

  1/3 cup soft butter

  1 cup sugar

  1 egg

  1 cup milk

  1 cup grated, peeled apples

  ½ cup raisins

  2 tsp cinnamon + 1/3 cup sugar for topping

  Instructions:

  * * *

  Preheat oven to 350 degrees and butter a 9-inch square cake pan.

  * * *

  Mix dry ingredients with a fork.

  * * *

  Beat sugar and butter together with a mixer until light. With mixer on low, add egg and then milk. Stir in dry ingredients. Then stir in apples and raisins.

  * * *

  Spoon into pan and spread evenly. Combine sugar and cinnamon and sprinkle overtop.

  * * *

  Bake 35 minutes.

  Dark Side of the Moo

  Ellen Riggs

  Chapter One

  I got a little thrill every time I turned into the long, dusty lane that led to my hobby farm. The last curve would open up to reveal the beautiful property, the small but stunning inn, the big red barn, and pastures full of animals. I still couldn’t believe my luck. Despite all that had happened since I took ownership, buying the farm was in the top five most amazing things that had ever happened to me. Top two, actually.

  The truck kicked up a cloud as we passed under the iron arch that said, “Runaway Farm.” At least, that’s what it had said long ago, before the “m” rusted away.

  “Are you going to fix that sign?” Jilly asked, from the passenger seat. “It sends the wrong message, Ivy.”

  I eased up on the gas so that I could glance at the sign over my shoulder. “I think it’s perfect. ‘Runaway Far’ is what I’ve done in buying the place, right? I left Boston and the corporate grind behind me for good. Country life isn’t always polished.”

  “You can say that again.” She braced herself on the dash. “But you don’t want guests at your new inn to ‘runaway far,’ do you? This is about optics. We need to create a welcoming, come-hither vibe. That’ll be challenging enough given recent history.”

  “You’ve got a point,” I said, sighing as I faced the twisty, gravel lane again.

  Jilly Blackwood, my best friend, always had a point. She was smart, skilled and sensible—a natural at so many things that didn’t come easily to me. Or at least, didn’t come easily to me anymore, after a pretty serious concussion.

  “Careful, Ivy,” she said. “Don’t slow down. Steady, now. You know what happens…”

  The truck lurched and then stalled. Despite covering a lot of miles in this big pickup since I arrived, I hadn’t fully mastered the standard transmission.

  “Sorry, Jilly.” I looked into the back seat at Keats, the black-and-white border collie whose dramatic rescue had led to my move here. “You, too, buddy. I’ve been doing so much better, right? That was my first stall in a week.” He stared at me with his blue eye, the one that seemed to look right through me and expose the little lies I told myself. “Okay, four days. Yesterday’s bunny hop didn’t count.”

  “You’re getting nervous about today’s grand opening, and that’s no surprise,” Jilly said. “But we’ve worked our butts off and I think we’re ready.”

  Jilly had taken a leave from her successful headhunting business in Boston to help me get set up to open the refurbished and expanded farmhouse to guests. In fact, she’d done the lion’s share of the work inside, while I learned the ropes with the livestock outside. I had no experience with farming or animals, but I loved getting to know the unique needs of my sheep, goats, cows, llamas, donkeys, chickens and alpaca. There was a large and varied menagerie of rescue animals at Runaway Farm. Some were sweet, like Alvina the alpaca, and others less so, like Wilma the dangerously sly sow.

  On top of hard labor in the barn, I’d had bigger worries. Specifically, solving a murder. And escaping being murdered myself. Not to mention staying on the right side of Kellan Harper, the chief of police, who also happened to be my former high school sweetheart.

  All in all, it had been an eventful month in my old hometown of Clover Grove. Running the quaint, farm-themed inn would be a welcome reprieve.

  Now, with the worst behind us, I could take time to smell the roses. Or more specifically, the ever-present stench of manure. When people rave about fresh
country air, they never seem to mention that. I was getting used to the farm bouquet, although I wondered if it permanently clung to my hair and clothes.

  Turning the key in the ignition, I said, “How about I get Clover Grove’s most famous artist to design a new sign? We can put Teri Mason’s version out at the highway to create a first impression and leave the old one for posterity. I want to respect what the previous owners did here. Keeping the sign pays homage to them.”

  The luckiest moment of my life had come after the unluckiest. Hannah Pemberton, the heiress who’d bought this hobby farm and converted it into an inn, saw media coverage of my rescue of Keats and called with an offer to sell it to me for “what I could afford.” In the end, she’d practically given it to me because my savings would barely cover the cost of finishing the reno and getting the inn launched. It was an honor to take over and care for the animals she’d loved so well before being summoned to Europe to run her family’s business.

  “I like that idea,” Jilly said. Her blonde hair was in a messy yet stylish knot and her makeup was low key. The fingers gripping the dashboard were unpolished for possibly the first time since we’d met in college. If someone had told me that Jilly would “go country” so fast, I’d have bet good money they were wrong. I thought she looked all the better for the change in priorities. She thought I took things too far with my bibbed overalls and steel-toed work boots. Turning, she raised her eyebrows. “Any word from Chief Hottie?”

  “No, it’s been blissfully quiet on the police front,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road.

  “I meant the romantic front and you know it.”

  I shook my head. “Who has time for romance anyway? This place is ten jobs in one.”

  “That I know, too,” she said. “Our time will come.”

  My brother, Asher, was carrying an obvious torch for Jilly but we really had been too busy to socialize with anyone but service people and Charlie, my farm manager.

  Keats stuck his head through the seats and gave a sharp bark I had come to recognize as a warning. “Ow. Must you, Keats?”

  He directed his long muzzle at the side of the dusty lane and his white front paw came up in a point. Like most border collies, he was smart enough to pilot a space shuttle. Unlike most border collies, he’d also mastered the inbred talents of many other breeds, from scent work, to retrieving and even protection. The only thing he didn’t do was swim and he was unwavering about that.

  My eyes followed his gaze and I gasped.

  “Is that a little cow?” Jilly asked.

  Keats barked again, a little higher, as if confirming.

  Pulling over, I parked and flicked on the hazard lights. “Stay here, Keats,” I said, opening the door. The dog was great with livestock, but he was still young and exuberant, and I didn’t want to scare the baby.

  When I got close to the black-and-white Holstein calf, I took a quick step backward in shock.

  “What’s wrong?” Jilly called. Her head was out the window and Keats was battling for real estate.

  “He’s missing an eye,” I called back. “And one ear is just a little nub. Birth defects, I think.”

  Jilly elbowed Keats back as she slipped out of the truck. “Aw, poor baby. Where’s your mama?”

  The calf’s tail twitched and a slip of brown paper fluttered. It was like a gift tag, tied there with twine. Reaching for it, I read aloud, “Take good care of me.” Looking up at Jilly, I sighed. “He’s been abandoned here. Hannah said it happened all the time. Alvina was a dump-and-run, too.”

  “Who’d dump an alpaca?” she asked.

  “It’s a disposable world nowadays, I guess. But Hannah said Alvina brought her good luck, so maybe the same will hold true for this little guy.”

  Jilly’s eyebrows rose. “You’re keeping him? Don’t you have enough animals?”

  “Yes and yes.” I stared down at the calf. “I mean, he was dumped because there was probably nowhere else for a defective calf. Runaway Farm was welcoming rescues long before my time.”

  “But what about Heidi and Clara? Don’t they get a vote?”

  “For sure. I don’t want to upset the heifers.” Pulling the phone out of my front pocket, I texted the vet. “Heidi miscarried just before I got here. Maybe she’ll welcome little Archie.”

  “Archie?” Jilly shook her head and smiled. “Well, how are we going to get Archie down to the barn? I’m not holding him in my lap, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I’d never risk injuring you now, Jilly,” I said, grinning. “Not with guests arriving in six hours. Those folks need to be fed. A good chef leads to good reviews.”

  She laughed. “I see my value has risen dramatically. But I bet these people are less interested in my culinary feats than my headhunting skills.”

  Our first official guests were my former colleagues from the human resources department at Flordale Corporation, where I’d worked for a decade. My career had ended on a sour note, however, and I’d been glad to put the place behind me. Particularly my boss, Wilf Darby. But when my successor asked to hold their annual team breakaway at Runaway Inn, I couldn’t say no. Any guests were better than none, I figured, especially when the Clover Grove gossip mill was still churning out stories about the death of the county dogcatcher, Lloyd Boyce, on my property.

  I let Keats out of the truck and his brown eye, the compassionate one, pleaded with me. “You can take him to the barn, buddy, but you’ve got to be super gentle, okay? He’s just a wobbly baby.”

  The dog’s ears flicked forward and back in what I took to be agreement. Keats and I had developed a good understanding of each other in our few months together. I should have trusted him, now, too, because he simply walked down the lane slowly and the calf followed. Jilly pulled out her phone and took pictures of the two black-and-white creatures for the farm’s social media page.

  Watching them made my heart swell. I nearly lost my life when I saved Keats from a neglectful owner who also happened to be a criminal. But Keats had saved me, too. And a few months later, he saved me again. I hoped that wasn’t going to become a regular thing. Fate probably hadn’t allocated me nine lives, like a cat.

  “It’s exciting, Jilly,” I said as we trailed after the dog and calf to the big red barn. “Our first rescue here at the farm.”

  “You always remember your first,” Jilly said. “I’ll even make an exception to my rule of never stepping into the barn while you go back for the truck.”

  Keats was torn. He was my constant shadow, but Archie had clearly become his new mission. He ran back and forth between us, until I said, “Stay, Keats. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Jilly needs you more than I do right now and the vet’s coming.”

  The dog gave me another pleading look with his warm brown eye and mumbled something deep in his throat. I nodded and smiled. “Yes, you can keep him. If he’s healthy.”

  “Ivy?” Jilly said. “Can I suggest you avoid talking to the dog like that in front of the Flordale vipers?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Like what?”

  “Like he understands you, even when you’re sharing complex ideas.”

  “He does,” I said. “I don’t know how, but he does. I think he’s just smarter than most humans. Smarter than most of the Flordale vipers, anyway.”

  She laughed. “No argument there. Just don’t give them anything more to gossip about, okay?”

  “Let them bond over my eccentricities. They’ll probably be scared they’ll crack under pressure like they think I did.” I gave an evil cackle. “Maybe I’ll scare them a little more.”

  “It’s not your corporate reputation you need to worry about now, my friend. It’s five-star ratings online. My cooking isn’t enough to float this ark.”

  “Fine,” I said, starting to walk back to the truck. “I’ll keep my weird under wraps until the vipers have slithered off to their big-city lairs.”

  “Eggs-actly,” she called after me. “Do you see what I did there?”

 
“When I told you to work on your egg game, I meant in the kitchen,” I called back.

  The veterinarian had pulled up behind my truck to wait for me. Sticking her mop of short brown curls out the window, she said, “I was in the neighborhood delivering quintuplets.”

  “Sheep?” I asked.

  “Goats. Cutest little things.”

  Senna York had recently taken over the local agrarian vet practice and I’d already called her out half a dozen times for what turned out to be non-issues. She was kind enough to charge me a lower rate for “coaching” while I got on my feet. Charlie was amazing and knowledgeable, but still on part-time hours after getting injured on the job.

  It was unnerving to be a novice hobby farmer, a novice innkeeper and even a novice dog owner, all at the same time. I went from being at the top of my game as an HR executive to the bottom here. Although I was constantly racked with uncertainty, I had no regrets… other than wishing I’d held onto my automatic transmission sedan.

  Senna followed me down the lane, parked in front of the barn and hopped out. Keats immediately circled to herd her inside. “Thanks Keats, but I do know the way,” she said, laughing as he nipped her pant leg to get her to hurry.

  “He’s adopted Archie,” I said, snapping my fingers to get the dog to fall back.

  Senna examined the calf, murmuring kind words to the spindly creature. “Poor thing,” she said. “He’s just a day or two old. Abandoned because he’s not perfect. But at least they didn’t—”