by Ellen Riggs
I got to my feet and beckoned. “Come on, ladies. We only have five dogs checked off so far and Nellie was set on winning.”
“Let her,” Keri said. “Who cares about manicures? I’d rather just enjoy the sunshine and these views. I love Dorset Hills.”
“Me too,” Paulette echoed.
They didn’t notice my failure to chime in. Dorset Hills had a superficial charm, but it didn’t feel authentic to me. With the way things were going, however, Dog Town might eventually subsume Clover Grove. I’d have to advocate hard for a big bronze border collie at Runaway Farm.
As the other two chatted, I pulled my buzzing phone out of my pocket.
“Red alert,” Asher texted. “Neal is MIA.”
My throat tightened as I thought about Kellan’s reaction to losing one of the guests. Then it loosened when I realized Asher, the cop, had been the one to lose Neal. Luck was on my side for once.
We converged quickly at the Bone Appetit Bistro again. There was an empty squad car beside the van. The officers had presumably gone on foot to search for Neal.
Everyone paced back and forth in the parking lot in relative silence for close to an hour. I sensed I wasn’t the only one worried that Wilf’s killer may have struck again.
Finally Asher’s text came: “Got him. Vinyl store. Automatic default on the game.”
“Manis and pedis for all,” I said. “On the house. Ben, I’ll take you to the Dapper Dog Barber Shop for a shave and a hair cut as your prize for not running away.”
He held up his treasure map. “Won it fair and square. We got sixteen dogs and a good workout before Neal gave us the slip.”
“What happened?”
“An old lady fell and knocked herself out. Asher and I were busy helping her when Neal took off.”
“That’s terrible,” Paulette said, oozing disapproval. “He got everyone worried for nothing.”
“Let’s salvage what we can from this day,” Nellie said. “I need a nail intervention, ASAP.”
I watched Keats circle around them, bringing the herd to the van. His ears and tail were limp and listless. Normally I could interpret so much about individual “sheep” from his body language. The problem here was that he didn’t like any of them. Not even Paulette or Keri, surprisingly. I didn’t for a moment believe they’d banded together as a herd to pull off the murder, when they couldn’t agree on the simplest things. They’d have turned on each other by now. Maybe to Keats they just reeked of our old life, which we’d both desperately wanted to escape.
“Into the van,” I called. “Your reward awaits.”
Keats dove in for a little nip at Nellie and she tried to kick him. “Look, dog, I won’t hesitate to break a nail on you since I’m getting acrylics.”
He took another little lunge at her heels until she slammed the door of the van in his face.
His tail rose and fanned as he followed me around to the driver’s side. “Proud of yourself?” I asked.
When I opened the door, he took a leap and landed in Jilly’s lap. She gave a startled squawk but her bag shielded her from his claws. He found his footing on the leather and then put his paws on the dash, sweeping her face with the white plume of his tail.
“Honestly, Ivy,” she said. “I don’t mind playing second fiddle, but there are limits.”
“Keats, don’t push your luck,” I said, pointing to the footwell. “I adore you, but without Jilly, we don’t eat.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
I didn’t need to lecture Neal because Kellan had done a thorough job of it. The chief collected Neal in Dorset Hills, gave him some quality time at the police station, and then drove him back to Runaway Farm. By that point, the rest of us were home, and most considerably better groomed. Since I’d only escorted Ben to the barber shop, I looked the same as usual when Kellan asked me to “take a walk.”
Following him out to the pastures, I thought about how that request used to make my heart race. I’d been conditioned, just like my dog. Today, my heart still raced, but now the excitement was mixed with dread. Was I going to get another sermon? Had I messed up some crucial aspect of his investigation? Was I going to be trapped with these people forever?
Keats circled Kellan again and again, trying to keep him away from both the livestock and me.
“Really, Keats?” Kellan said, stepping lightly around the dog yet again. “Is this harassment necessary?”
“Leave it, Keats,” I said, although I enjoyed watching the show. Kellan was surprisingly graceful for a tall, muscular man. I wondered if he was a good dancer. The only time we’d ever tried it was at our senior prom, and that night we were both stilted and awkward. Just like we were now, actually.
Keats, on the other hand, wasn’t awkward at all. He blatantly flouted my command and continued his game. I knew it was a game because of his pricked-up ears, lolling tongue and waving tail. This was apparently even better than herding ducks, his number one favorite hobby.
Kellan tried a new tactic and stood still. “Why me?” he asked. “How do I merit this special treatment?”
“Oh, he herds everyone now,” I said. “He’s maturing and exploring his natural gifts. Obviously we have a little work to do on his self-control.”
Keats tried to herd almost everyone, that much was true. The difference with Kellan was the spirit behind it. There was a mischievous persistence in the dog’s moves that probably stemmed from the feelings he picked up from me. Obviously I couldn’t say anything of the sort to Kellan. Instead, I let him fight his own battles with my quirky dog.
Keats started taking lunges at Kellan’s cuffs to get him moving again. Herding was no fun unless you were going places. When that didn’t work, he lifted his muzzle to see if he could mesmerize the police chief with his mismatched eyes.
Kellan wasn’t unnerved by his hypnotic stare at all. In fact, he laughed. “Go work your sheepdog mojo on someone else.”
There was no way Keats was leaving me alone with Kellan. Instead, he gathered himself to pounce.
“That’s enough, Keats,” I said. “I mean it.”
Keats went back to lunging at Kellan’s feet, eyeing me defiantly. I could only assume he wanted to move things along between us and dispel the tension. If so, he had his work cut out for him, because Kellan and I were two stubborn, flighty sheep.
Eyes still on the dog, Kellan said, “Keats, you should know by now that I’m on Ivy’s side. Even if Ivy herself doesn’t believe it.”
“Oh, I believe it,” I said. I did know he had my best interests at heart… at least in his official capacity. It was his personal capacity I doubted. Seeing him with that woman at the harvest fair had rattled me, despite what he’d said later. Maybe I’d been wrong about the “moments” we’d shared. A few sparks shooting up my arm when we brushed against each other. A look here and there that shimmered with emotion. A tone of voice that sounded too intimate for everyone else. Was it all wishful thinking on my part? Maybe our long-dead romance clung to our interactions like the bouquet of the barn—familiar and oddly comforting, yet slightly ripe from decomposition.
“If you believed I had your back, you wouldn’t be hitching rides in the Animal Services truck,” he said, hopping twice to evade Keats’ teeth. “You’d have called me to handle it.”
“That was a spur of the moment thing. A hunch. I acted on impulse and I’m sorry.”
Keats managed to get Kellan moving again and the fancy footwork continued until they reached the alpaca pasture.
“I believe in hunches,” Kellan said. “Intuition is just your subconscious making connections in the background.” Crossing his arms over the top rung of the fence, he effectively cut Keats off from circling. “Where we differ is what we do about those hunches. You get a sudden idea and then take action immediately. Where’s the beat in between where you stop and think, “Oooh… great idea. How about I call the police so they can do their job?”
I smiled at his delivery. His voice was high and lilting, like a
teenage girl’s.
“You’re right about that missing step,” I said, staring out at the alpaca and the two llamas, who’d retreated to a corner. Unlike most of the animals, they hadn’t embraced Keats at all. The sheep and goats seemed to be grateful for his leadership, and the cows tolerated him. The camelids had each other and their two cranky donkeys. They didn’t want another boss—particularly a young dog who liked to flaunt his moves. “I worry about sounding like an idiot with some of the odd notions that cross my mind. Plus a lot of my hunches don’t pan out and I hate to trouble you when you’ve got so much to do.”
“A lot of my hunches don’t pan out, either.” He turned to look at me. “Let me decide if yours are crazy or not. Only I can see the big picture, the web of interconnections. Only I can decide whether and when to pursue a lead. Doing things in the right order can be crucial, Ivy.”
“I know. I’ve watched a few TV police procedurals in my time.” I directed an imaginary remote control at him and flexed my thumb. “Normally, I want to fast-forward. I don’t see the point of dragging out the suspense when you can just get on with it.”
Now he turned right around. “Ah-ha. I see. You’re mixing up real life with TV. A very common problem that can get people killed. Guns are real, too, by the way.”
“Very funny, Chief Comedian. Add another chapter to your crime scene etiquette book. This could become a whole series.”
Keats renewed his assault on Kellan’s uniformed ankles, darting in and out. “Stop that, you cur.”
“He doesn’t like your preachy tone, I’ll bet. Keats takes his job of protecting me—and the farm—very seriously. He’s on duty around the clock.”
“We’ve talked about getting a proper security system—one that doesn’t treat the chief of police like a chew toy.”
“Keats, enough,” I said, more forcefully this time. “He never cared for chew toys, you know. This isn’t a typical dog, Kellan.”
“Tell me about it.” He climbed up on the fence to evade Keats, who had fallen back but was still eying Kellan’s cuffs like wayward lambs.
After a pause, I said, “One reason I don’t share all my hunches is that some come from Keats.” I studied the llamas to avoid meeting his eyes. “Take Tess Blade, for example. I assume Keats knew she grabbed the castrator after the murder and he definitely wanted me to check out her truck.”
I thought he’d dismiss this with a snort, but instead he shrugged. “I know he has talent, but what I said earlier still applies. If Keats gets a notion, you still need to let me follow through. Jolting around in the back of a truck with a feral dog is not the way to handle it.”
“That dog wasn’t feral at all. I called about her this morning and she’s been claimed by her owners.”
“Evading the point. You could have been injured.”
“True.” I sighed. “I didn’t expect so much stuff rattling around back there.”
“And you could have riled up the County even more about your farm. I had some explaining to do about how that device came into my possession, without implicating you.”
I nodded. “Thank you for that.”
“As for the bogus call about the rabid raccoon… All of Main Street was in a panic, and no wonder. I could charge you with public mischief.”
I felt the heat creeping up from my chest and over my collar. “Oh. I didn’t think about that.”
“Right. Did you think about how I could charge Jilly with public mischief for making that call? Or Teri? How would you like that?”
“Obviously I wouldn’t like that at all, Kellan. So I take your point and you can stand down.” I looked up at him. “Or climb down, in this case. Then maybe you’ll confirm for me whether Keats and I were right about the murder weapon.”
He hopped off the fence. “I hate to give you the slightest encouragement, but the device—”
“The castrator. Or emasculator, if you prefer.” I grinned at him.
“Do you want to hear this, Ivy?”
“Definitely.”
“There was DNA evidence from Wilf Darby.”
Keats’ tail rose and the white plume lashed in seeming triumph.
“I knew it!” I beamed at the dog. “You’re brilliant.”
Keats mumbled something to me that sounded both proud and quizzical.
“Sometimes it seems like he understands human conversation,” Kellan said.
“I know, right? And I’ve noticed you chat to him directly now. Didn’t you tell me you’d surrender your badge the day that happened?”
He turned and started walking back to his car. “True. I’d better get right on that.”
“Not before telling me if there were prints on the cutter,” I said, rushing after him.
“Nope. Whoever used it was careful.”
“Well, what did Tess Blade say about stealing that thing?”
“She said she picked it up behind the barn and didn’t think twice about ‘borrowing’ it. She wanted to try it out and educate the farmers about bloodless…”
“Castration,” I offered, smothering a grin.
“Well, it sounded legit,” he continued, trying to stay ahead of me. “She truly seems to care about animal welfare.”
“A castrator costs about twenty bucks. Why did she have to steal it from the crime scene and hide it under towels in her truck?”
“Apparently she acted on impulse and only realized after the fact how it looked. That’s why she hid it.”
“You actually bought that story?”
“I did, as farfetched as it sounds.” He turned and met my eyes. “Her attitude is mostly a front.”
“You mean her ego. I hope you’re still checking into her conversation with Piers Frankel.”
“She has an alibi,” he said. “And yes, I met with Piers.” He blew out a disgusted snort. “Talk about ego. There’s no question he wanted Wilf gone but a man of his stature likely wouldn’t hire someone like Tess Blade to do his dirty work. There were more expedient ways, and Wilf was about to get an offer he couldn’t have refused. Even Avis supported the move.”
“What kind of offer?”
“A very large payout, from what I understand. And a face-saving move to another firm where someone owes Piers big.”
I stopped walking, too disappointed to move. “So, we’re no further ahead, then.”
“Sure we are,” he said, turning. “We have a murder weapon. We’ve ruled people out. That’s how this usually goes.”
I groaned. “But it’s so slow.”
“Fortune favors the diligent detective,” he said, smiling as Keats frolicked around him, tail still swishing. “Don’t act so happy to see me go, buddy. It hurts my feelings.”
I followed Kellan the last few yards. “What about Neal? What was he doing when he gave us the slip?”
“You mean Keats doesn’t know?” he said, teasingly.
“Only because he wasn’t with them. Neal never gives Keats the slip.”
“And I’m not thrilled he pulled the wool over Asher’s eyes, trust me.” Kellan shook his head. “Your brother will be hearing about this for a while.”
“Was Neal in the vinyl store the whole time?” I asked.
“Nope. My officer got there before Neal did. So that means we can’t account for his whereabouts for about an hour. He said he was taking in the sights, but there’s no proof.”
“Interesting,” I said.
“Interesting indeed,” he said. “I’m checking security feeds from the area and I’ve got a few leads to check out.” He turned as he reached the police SUV. “Now it’s time for you to check out of this investigation, okay? Keep your guests here. Keep your guests busy. Keep yourself from talking about anything related to the case. Got it?”
“How do I keep myself from going insane?” I asked. “I quit Flordale for a reason.”
He got into the car, turned the key in the ignition and rolled down the window. “Vipers. I remember. But you let them into your house and you’re stuck with
them until further notice.”
As he backed the car around, I called, “Keats will get to the bottom of this. I bet you a hamburger with all the toppings.”
He hit the brakes and a smile lit up his face. “That’s a bet you’d lose, Ivy. But then I’d lose because I can’t handle that kind of thing now. I’m not a kid anymore.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant the burger or our old romance, but the smile vanished as fast as it came. He raised one hand as he turned the wheel hard with the other and then sped off, blowing a cloud of dust in my direction.
Keats shoved his head under my left hand as I covered my mouth and nose with my free arm to keep from choking on dust.
“Don’t worry, buddy,” I said, heading for the house. “One day he’s going to admit that he needs you.” I sighed and then added, “But he doesn’t need me. Unfortunately, I’ve become bad for his digestion.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
I’d expected Keats to help me flush out the truth about Neal’s joyride in Dorset Hills, but the answer came not from a dog, but a dog rescuer.
Before I even got up the front stairs, my phone rang. It was almost as if someone knew I was still alone. “Runaway Farm. Ivy Galloway speaking.”
“Hey, Ivy,” a woman said. “You don’t know me, but you will.” The voice was assertive, yet oddly calming. I could tell she was used to issuing commands and having them obeyed. “My name is Cori Hogan and I’m a dog trainer in Dorset Hills.”
“Cori! We may not have met but I know you by reputation.” My voice spiked, giving away my nerves. “You’re famous around these parts.”
“Notorious, you mean. I won’t say I don’t like that.” She laughed. “We’ve been meaning to throw down the welcome mat for you, like Hannah asked. But we want to do it properly and most of us are out of town dealing with a… situation.”
“A rescue situation?” I walked back down the front stairs and headed for the barn. “I watched the show—The Princess and the Pig—and I’ve heard the stories.”
“Myth and legend,” she said. “Mostly. But yeah, we keep busy. We’re on a mission out of state right now.”
