Swine and Punishment (Bought-the-Farm Mystery 7)

by Ellen Riggs

  “Gone? Gone where? And why do you sound funny? You’re slurring. Have you been drinking?”

  “I wish. But no.”

  I could tell Kellan was on the move now. There were noises in the background and the phone shifted as he put on his coat. “What’s really going on, Ivy?”

  “I left Vivian standing in a clearing talking to Becky on the phone while I followed Keats into heavy brush. He was signaling a threat and I wanted her to stay safe. I found signs that Wilma had been around, but I came back to get help. By then, Vivian had vanished.”

  Becky shrieked again. The first screams I’d taken at face value but now they sounded contrived—and deafening at short range. Keats must have thought so, too, because he turned to give her a withering look with his blue eye. Meanwhile Percy scraped at the snow with his front paw. It was his litter box maneuver that usually meant something deadly had happened to someone. In this case, maybe he just wanted to muffle Becky.

  “Ivy?” Kellan was running now and I pictured him taking the front stairs at the station two at a time. “What aren’t you telling me? I can tell there’s more.”

  “There’s a pond,” I said. “With open water. Edna says swamps don’t freeze fully when there’s a creek running underneath. It’s possible Vivian tried to walk on the ice and broke through. Her scarf was floating on a little iceberg. So I went in to find her.”

  “You went into the frozen pond? You’ll have hypothermia.”

  “I’m okay. But I couldn’t find her, Kellan. You’ll have to—”

  “We’ll bring the right equipment,” he said. “Now get someone to help you back to Gertie’s right now and take a lukewarm bath. The others stay put. Understood? We’ll talk in a bit.”

  I managed to press “off” and looked up at Becky. “The chief of police wants one of you to walk me back to Gertie’s while the other two stay to show them where to search.”

  Ray started to come forward but Becky held him back. “We are not leaving Vivian. You got her into this situation, Ivy, and you can take care of yourself.”

  I wasn’t sure I could. It was nearly a half-hour walk to Gertie’s. If I collapsed on the way it would just make more trouble for Kellan. Not to mention stressing Keats to the breaking point.

  “Becky, we need to help her,” Ray said, taking another step forward.

  “Do it and you’re fired,” she said. “Keep rolling. We need evidence for the network.”

  Pulling on my coat, I clambered to my feet. If I moved around I’d be okay. The police wouldn’t be long and someone could take me back.

  Staggering around the clearing, with Keats moaning softly at my side, I said, “Just look around while you can, okay? Before people stomp away any signs.”

  “She’s delusional,” Becky said. “All the rumors were true.”

  “Got that right,” I said. I did feel drunk and very… floppy. My legs worked but on their own schedule. Finally, I fell over.

  “I’ve got to do something,” Ray said. “This isn’t right.”

  “What’s not right is what she did to Vivian. And what she might do to us if we don’t stick together.”

  Pushing myself upright again, I flapped a hand. “All good. No worries.”

  That’s when I saw the telltale signs of a scuffle. A bush had been flattened. There were hoof prints all around. A purple leather glove lay on the snow with its middle finger missing. Chewed off, by the looks of things.

  “Oh no,” I said. “She didn’t.”

  “Didn’t what?” Becky called.

  I wasn’t pond-drunk enough to be stupid on camera.

  “I think Vivian fell and rolled in right about here,” I said. “Maybe she fainted. She hadn’t eaten today.”

  “Vivian always fasts till dinner.”

  Becky started to walk toward me and I raised my hand to stop her from contaminating the crime scene I was already jeopardizing. If I fell again, I’d try to do it in the other direction.

  “Stop,” I said. “Where’s Byron?”

  “Byron? Who cares about the dog? The network is going to have a fit about all this.”

  My teeth were chattering uncontrollably now but I could still hear the roar of an engine.

  “The cops are coming,” I said.

  It wasn’t the cops though. Not yet. The ATV carried one octogenarian in a poncho and another in fatigues. The sight of them gave me the permission I needed to faint.

  Chapter Ten

  I spent the rest of the day reluctantly recovering from my frosty dip while Cori and an expanding group of volunteers continued the search for Wilma and now Byron, as well. I didn’t hold out much hope for success as the police had chased the rescuers off Gertie’s property and Becky had blocked them from the old Swenson place. It seemed likely that both animals were located on one of the two properties. I was more worried about Byron than Wilma. She’d been on the run before and was tough and cagey. Byron seemed like a sweetheart and he was new to the area. He probably couldn’t find his way home to his small flock.

  Jilly came in from the kitchen with hot chocolate she’d made from scratch. I’d turned down soup and even coffee, but I couldn’t pass this up. Mom complained it was too rich for her tastes, but to date nothing Jilly prepared had ever been too rich or too sweet for me. These days, with all the farm work, I needed all the calories I could get.

  “Does Kellan really believe Wilma pushed Vivian into the pond?” she asked, lifting my slippered feet, sitting at the end of the couch and setting them in her lap. “It seems extreme. Even for Wilma.”

  “If she did I’m sure it wasn’t intentional,” I said. “I mean, Wilma is always willing to knock someone down—especially me. But I don’t think she’d deliberately drown someone.” My fingers reached for Keats again and found only air. Kellan had enlisted not only the dog but also the cat to aid in the search. It had caused a little tension between him and Cori. They’d both wanted Keats on their team. The thought made me smile. As a slight and bookish kid, I’d been the last to be chosen for any team outside of math club at school. It was nice that my dog and even my cat were the cool kids. But I didn’t like giving them up, even temporarily. I trusted Kellan but these weren’t just pets… they were pieces of me. I wouldn’t be whole until they were home.

  Jilly took my twitching fingers and squeezed. “You still have me. And if you like, I could go down and get Clippers. I don’t want a horse inside, but he is housetrained and the best of the options.”

  I squeezed her hand back and grinned. It was a big concession. Too big. So I shook my head. “I’m fine, really. The shock is just physical. Edna got me out of there before I had to see… well, anything.”

  Gertie and her rifle had stayed. Indeed, only Gertie and her rifle had managed to keep the crew from filming as the police trawled the pond and ultimately recovered Vivian. By then, the body was covered in silt, Kellan said, and long past resuscitation.

  Asher escorted the crew off the property and Gertie escorted Asher. The only cop she trusted, apparently, was Kellan.

  “What do you think happened?” Jilly asked.

  I sighed and squeezed her hand even harder. “I think Kellan’s going to find signs of foul play.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “The usual. Keats was in a state and he wouldn’t get so fussed about Wilma. I’ve seen him when that pig is riled dozens of times and while he’s wary, he never hit red alert. All his flags were flying today. And Percy… well, he did the litter box thing. He made quite a job of it after she was recovered. Kellan made a point of letting me know.”

  “Maybe Percy does that with all dead things.”

  “Maybe. But I’ve only noticed it around murder victims, ceramic or real.” I shrugged. “Anything the animals do is open to interpretation, of course. I’m still learning their languages.”

  She slumped back against the cushy leather and slid down. “Not again. Oh, Ivy… not again.”

  “Let’s not get too worked up about it till
we know for sure,” I said. “When Kellan drops off the pets we’ll get a better idea.”

  “At least it wasn’t here on the farm,” Jilly said. “Not that I wished Vivian ill anywhere.” She blew a few curly tendrils out of her eyes. “I wish they’d never come here with their silly show.”

  “I expect they’ll pack up and go as soon as the police close the case. And good riddance.”

  “Ivy!” Mom’s voice blasted from the second floor. “There’s a car coming up the driveway. It’s a Mercedes.”

  “Did she move to a front room?” I asked Jilly. “One of the suites?”

  Jilly nodded sheepishly. “It happened when we were out searching for Wilma. Someone brought over her sewing machine and clothes, and she needed more space.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? The more settled she gets the harder it will be to yank her out by the roots.”

  “I know. I just didn’t want you to be more upset since we couldn’t find the pig.”

  “Which sibling betrayed me?” I said. “Someone’s going to pay.”

  She shrugged and I believed she didn’t know. The main attractions here were probably Jilly’s food and Jilly herself. My best friend was the sweet, respectful daughter Mom hadn’t fostered among her own five girls.

  “You rest while I deal with this,” Jilly said. “If it’s Becky, I may very well chase her off the porch with a broom.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” I said, picking up my phone and sending a quick text. “She’s very persistent and very accusatory, when all I did was ask Vivian to stay put for a few minutes and stay safe.”

  As fast as Jilly moved, Mom managed to beat her to the door. “What do you want, Becky Bower?” she demanded. “You have some nerve coming over here after what you did to my daughter. She could have died trying to rescue your boss. Meanwhile all you did was stand there filming.”

  “Mom!” I was willing to let Jilly fight my battles, but Mom would only layer more battles on top of them. Wrapping the wool throw around my shoulders, I walked into the front hall. “Becky, I’m not up to chatting right now. And I know Chief Harper told you to stay at… at your set. He’ll be here before long and you’ll want to get back before that happens.”

  Becky tried to come in uninvited but Mom blocked her with ease. She was small but still mighty. Raising six kids alone had made her both alert and agile. “Out. You heard Ivy.”

  “Ouch. Hey.” Becky hopped around. “You stepped on my foot.”

  “An accident,” Mom said. “But your foot was on my daughter’s property.”

  I pressed my lips together to hold back a smile. Mom was wearing stilettos, as she typically did even at home. She never wanted to be caught with her heels down.

  “It’s not funny,” Becky said, glaring at me. “Do you think I want to be here?”

  “Probably not,” I said. “So don’t let us keep you.”

  “I was sent by the network. The executive producers of the show have met to talk about what happened.”

  “I’m sure it was a terrible shock to lose Vivian,” I said. “My sympathies to all of you.”

  “I refuse to accept your so-called sympathies when you let this happen.” She tried to force her way past Mom again and got her other foot stomped in the process. “Stop that!”

  “Then stop insinuating my daughter had anything to do with Vivian Crane’s demise. It was a regrettable accident, to be sure, but no one knows what happened. And everyone warned you that country life can be dangerous.”

  “I’m sorry about the show ending,” I said. “Well, not really. But I am sorry about Vivian. Truly.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” she said, feinting right and then making a last push to get past Mom. This time she succeeded only because Mom couldn’t risk damaging her manicure by clutching the door. She always said sewing and barbering were so hard on her nails that she couldn’t engage in other risky activities. Like housework. Or cooking. Here, all of that would be done for her.

  Becky thought her fight was over, but Jilly was no pushover. “Whatever it is, spit it out so that Ivy can rest. You let her go into that pond and just stood there. She could have died.”

  “Well, she didn’t obviously. And that’s why the network wants Ivy to take over the show in the starring role.”

  “What?” Jilly, Mom and I spoke at once.

  “The show must go on, of course. Ratings for the first episode were excellent and you’re the logical choice to step into Vivian’s shoes. You know farming and livestock. Jilly can cover cooking and entertaining. And this one”—she elbowed Mom—“can cover sewing. I’m sure the rest of your family has plenty of expertise to share.”

  There was a light in Mom’s eyes but I beat her to the punch.

  “Becky, that’s appalling. Shameless. I wouldn’t participate before and I certainly won’t now. It would be disrespectful to Vivian’s memory.”

  “They said you could name your price. We all know how you’ve struggled to find your footing here, and no wonder. But all that could change now. You’ll be rich.”

  I stared at her. “That doesn’t tempt me for a second. I spent ten years compromising my principles in the corporate world. I don’t need to do it anymore. Not when I’m rich already in every way that counts.”

  “We all compromise our principles. Even you,” she said.

  I thought about arguing but she wasn’t wrong. “I have and probably will again for the sake of my animals. But I won’t profit off a woman’s passing.”

  “I don’t like the idea any more than you do. But the execs saw the footage of you going into the water. They saw your connection with the dog and cat. And they said they’ve got to have you.” She shrugged. “They usually get their way.”

  “I’ll see you out,” I said, coming forward. I was taller than either of the others but the wool throw diminished my presence. “Please go back to your place and stay there. It’s really best to listen to the police in these situations.”

  “Like you ever do,” she said, stepping out on the porch.

  Over her shoulder, I saw Ray and Eric going from pasture to pasture, filming.

  “Hey,” I yelled. “Get off my property with those cameras.”

  “Or what?” Becky said. “You’ll call the police? They’ve got their hands full right now.”

  “I don’t need the police,” I said. “I have something just as good.”

  The roar of an ATV reached us and Becky finally quailed. “Oh no, it’s that zombie hunter wack-job.”

  “Take ’em out, Edna,” I called, sweeping my arm toward their car. Vivian’s car. It was indecent that they were driving it only hours after she stopped needing it.

  Edna shouted “yeehaw” and circled the two men. It was good to see them run, cradling their cameras.

  “Careful,” Becky called, running down the stairs. “Those cost a bomb. The execs will have your head.” She turned back with a sheepish glance. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Less talk more run,” Edna bellowed, driving onto the front walk to round up Becky and press her toward the Mercedes. “Are your shots up to date, Becks? Because you never know what you might catch on a farm.”

  “I have insurance,” the producer yelled, starting to run.

  “Ah, sweet country life,” I said to Jilly and Mom, as I clutched the blanket. “Not always peaceful, but never dull.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The great thing about manure was that it was a constantly renewable resource. When winter set in, I worried that my pile behind the barn would freeze, and I’d have to find a new hobby to relieve stress. Wood-splitting was a good contender, but my nearest and dearest expressed concerns about my dexterity with an ax. It seemed better to wait till my brain injury had healed fully before getting too ambitious with sharp tools.

  It turned out to be a non-issue anyway. The manure never did freeze. Every day, there were steaming new piles to layer on top and with the various chemical reactions, things kept percolating. I
could pick up my shovel anytime and turn my worries into compost. When the pile got too high, Charlie used the tractor to dismantle it and haul it away to neighboring crop-farmers. They claimed I had some of the finest dung in hill country and I took a fair bit of pride in that. Compliments were few and far between in my new life. Or even my old life, where high prize was being called a shark or killer.

  Slamming the spade into the pile with my boot, I turned the manure. It felt good to do something constructive after a very crappy day. Next summer, my efforts here would produce tomatoes, corn and cheery pumpkins on roadside stands.

  A flurry of black, white and orange caught my eye as my beloveds arrived home. Keats delivered a series of sharp barks to get me to come down. He preferred getting his white paws dirty on his own terms. Percy wouldn’t come anywhere near me during or long after manure management. It was the price I paid for sanity.

  “Coming, coming,” I said, walking down what Jilly called my “stairway to heaven.”

  Keats was in a frenzy. With all the twists, turns, moans and grumbles, I had to kneel to shower him with attention and praise. He was “talking” so fast, I couldn’t keep up. I tried hugging him, because I needed the hug, but he was a whirling dervish.

  I looked up at Kellan. “What is he saying?”

  “You’re asking me? I barely speak dog.”

  “Well, he’s got quite a story to tell and I bet you could tell it faster.”

  Kellan smiled. “He signed our canine confidentiality agreement. Working with a police force comes at a price. I hope it doesn’t come between you two.”

  “Never.” Keats calmed down enough to not only permit the hug but wrap his paws around my neck. I stood up, holding him like a toddler. It was awkward but I buried my face in his neck and mumbled, “Missed you too, buddy. Manure was all I had left.”

  Sighing, I put the dog down and he transformed into Chief Sheepdog of Runaway Farm. As he began his evening rounds, a high-pitched whine told me Wilma’s pen would remain empty. Cori and the gang hadn’t turned up anything new, either.