by Ellen Riggs
She was reversing too fast and erratically and hit the big pothole hard.
I’d have to think about filling that again. But there was no hurry.
Chapter Thirteen
“Well, boys,” I said, as we drove toward town the next morning, “this is the first time we’ve had a direct order to sleuth. That practically makes us private detectives, doesn’t it?”
Keats mumbled a definitive yes to that while Percy just curled up in a tighter ball on the passenger seat. He had less drive than Keats and me and some of it had already fizzled after our morning rounds. I had no doubt, however, that the cat would bring his A game when needed.
We only had a couple of hours to spare before meeting Cori and the search party. Kellan had declared Gertie’s property and the neighboring ones off limits until he was satisfied with his investigation. It didn’t make sense to go much farther afield when we knew the pig had been in the area the day before and there was food to keep her there.
Now we needed to find Byron, too. I couldn’t help wondering if he’d joined ranks with the pig while we were dealing with the Vivian situation. A guardian dog normally wouldn’t stray from his official charges, but perhaps he’d found another animal that needed his protection. A framed and defamed pig.
“Kellan won’t be happy with our new designation as the Mayor’s Task Force,” I said. “Hopefully he’ll get the case solved before we need to do very much. Her biggest priority may be solving Vivian’s murder but mine is finding the animals.” I released my death grip on the gear shift to rest my hand on Keats. I avoided touching his jacket, which just made him cringe. “We’d better be the Mayor’s Secret Task Force. Hearing that the mayor puts more faith in us than the police might hurt Kellan’s pride. We can’t do that.”
Keats panted a no-no-no. He respected Kellan more every day, especially now that he was practically on the police payroll. In fact, Kellan couldn’t have picked a better way to win the dog over. Assisting the chief was a great honor and privilege, especially for a sheepdog. Normally only German or Belgian shepherds got the nod for that.
“The mayor’s just manipulating us anyway,” I said. “She’s probably trying to foster dissent between Kellan and me to get what she wants. I don’t even blame her for it. She’s not pretending to be anything other than what she is, namely a politician.”
The dog’s ears flattened and he gave me a steely stare. He blamed her for it. No doubt he thought the only things coming between Kellan and me should be him and Percy.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “She won’t win this game. I’ll poke around to see what I can find out about Vivian to serve my own goals. I want that production to leave town, and the sooner the better. Until then, she’ll keep trying to sell me on that show. But she can’t make me do it.”
His expression looked doubtful now and he mumbled a warning.
“Oh, I hear you, buddy. The mayor has ways. The network has ways. For all I know they could be holding Wilma hostage until I comply. And they could do much worse.” I blew out a big sigh and then did a couple of rounds of four-count yoga breathing. Panic was the enemy of the Secret Task Force. “Here’s my take on it,” I continued. “They could twist my arm hard enough by threatening my animals. It’s my weak point. What they don’t realize is that hiring me would tank their ratings. Thanks to that concussion, I’m a wild card and a liability. All I’d have to do is be myself and the show would fire me and cast another new farmer. Total authenticity is my ace in the hole.”
Keats’ pant turned to a hearty ha-ha-ha that was loud enough to rouse Percy, who stretched in his little yellow jacket and flexed his claws against my leg. I could feel them through my fleece-lined overalls.
“Percy, must you? I’m always covered in little pinpricks. It’s not nice to puncture your meal ticket.”
We pulled into the parking lot outside Mandy’s Country Store.
“Just between us, boys, my money’s on Becky. I bet she hired someone to take Vivian out. After suffering years of bullying, Becky probably turned. Or one of the camera guys. Or all three.”
Percy stepped into his carrier so that he could come inside. I never let him wander free in places that served food. I was already pushing my luck with Keats, but he normally sat with me rather than flaunting his fluff like freewheeling Percy.
The investigation began, as others had, with pie. We took our usual place in the corner seat along the long laminate bar at the front window. There was a shelf underneath where Percy’s carrier allowed him a view of both parking lot and store. Keats sat beside the stool, muzzle swiveling.
I’d timed my arrival perfectly. Within the hour, regulars would come in to nurse a coffee for hours, do the crossword puzzle and gossip. If I wanted privacy and Mandy’s undivided attention, it was best to get there right after she opened. It was early for pie, and I’d already had breakfast, but that didn’t stop me. Mandy raised her eyebrows as I came in and nodded to confirm my standing order. Moments later, she slid a double wedge of her classic coconut cream pie in front of me. It had dairy. It had protein. It had calcium. Practically health food.
She hopped onto the high stool beside mine and said, “If you’re here this early for pie, you must be up to no good.”
I laughed. It was nice that we could joke comfortably with each other again. After what had happened with Lloyd Boyce, the dogcatcher, I’d sworn never to come in here, let alone be friends. She’d hidden facts from me with catastrophic results, but she truly regretted it. Now she tried to make up for it by collecting and sharing whatever intel she could glean from her customers. In short order, she’d become our star informer. And on top of everything else, this expert baker had pie on her side. That was her ace in the hole because it primed my forgiveness pump. So I’d done what I’d once thought impossible and put the dogcatcher betrayal behind me. Mandy was a good person who’d been in a difficult situation. Nowadays, I tried hard to see the other perspective before judging. Particularly if that person was a genius with coconut cream.
“Maybe I am,” I said. “I’m sure you heard what happened yesterday.”
She shrugged her slim shoulders. Mandy probably burned as many calories worrying as I did mucking stalls. “Couldn’t really avoid it,” she said. “It was even on the national news. No need for the grapevine this time.”
“But the grapevine adds local flavor. More sensational than anything Hollywood has to offer.”
Now she laughed. “Speculation is running rampant. I think people are hoping reporters will descend on us. Local theories are more farfetched than ever.”
“I assume a pig attack tops the list?”
“It tops the list of routine possibilities. But there’s so much more this time. Ghosts. Witches. Even aliens. Because there were no prints, apparently.” She sipped her own coffee. “Is that part true?”
“I didn’t see any prints but Wilma’s. But then I wasn’t at my best after my dip in the pond. Turns out hypothermia dulls my perception.”
“I would think so. I’m amazed you bounced back so quickly.”
“No choice. I’ve got a farm to run and a pig to find. Not to mention Byron, the show’s dog. He’s on the lam, too.”
“So, how can I help?” she asked, raising delicate eyebrows. Her once dirty blonde hair was highlighted now and her makeup was on point. Running this place was transforming the shy girl into a confident woman day by day.
I took my first mouthful of pie and closed my eyes to savor it before answering. “The usual. I’m assuming people visited here in the weeks before word of the show got out. What did you notice?”
Nodding, she crossed her legs. “The locations people came first. Weeks ago, just days after what happened at Vinnie Swenson’s. They were trying to secure the property for the show but the estate was tied up until one of Vinnie’s cousins came forward. Money solved everything, of course.”
“The network really splashed out on this. Kind of strange for a so-called simple farm show.”
; “That kitchen, right?” Mandy said. “The things I could make…” She laughed again. “The things I did make so they could pass them off as Vivian’s. It was already bringing me good business.”
I continued to work through the pie. “I guess the whole town got its hopes up for that.”
“Yes and no. Some were excited about possibilities and others worried about how they might be portrayed. With people like Becky Bower, you can’t control the spin.”
My throat tightened for a moment but another forkful of coconut cream eased the tension. “No, you cannot. So, who was worried? Other than me?”
“The Langman sisters, for starters. They’re already on the outs with nearly everyone after finding and hoarding the treasure they illegally dug up at the Swensons’. Most people believed it should have gone into the town coffers for the good of the community, rather than the Langmans’ wallet.”
“I’m with them there. Gertie’s donating a lot of her so-called treasure to the new recreation center, as well as animal rescue. She calls it laundering through good causes. There’s no way of knowing how much Heddy and Kaye pilfered and hid.”
“Exactly. So their social currency isn’t high and they were worried the story would come up on the show.”
I set the fork down at the halfway point. It was important to respect the double slice—to take a moment and give thanks for the abundance of the universe. That way there might always be more pie. “Who else is upset?” I asked.
“Beverly Roxton. She’s still in a tizzy over what happened at Christmas but can’t keep a low profile because the show enlisted Dr. Roxton to be the show’s veterinarian. I think he sees it as a chance to clear the family name, but Beverly doesn’t trust him not to get into trouble.”
“Sounds like people who’ve taken some kicks in the rumor mill are worried about being profiled on the show.”
“They’re right to worry. I overheard Becky and the crew talking about the show’s evolution. The goal was to start out charming and then gradually expose the town’s seedy underbelly. They called Clover Grove ‘Crimetown USA.’”
“Lovely. I figured as much. Seedy probably brings better ratings.” I picked up my fork again. “I wish the mayor realized that. She might not be so generous with her tax incentives.”
Mandy looked out at the empty parking lot and sighed. “I guess it’s all a moot point now. With Vivian gone, the show can’t go on.”
“Don’t be so sure of that,” I said. “The network is trying to connive a way to continue.”
She glanced back at me quickly. “That would be tacky and disrespectful to Vivian’s memory. Won’t that bring bad press?”
“They’ve got the budget for spin doctors. My hope is that exposing the murderer might be enough to drive them away for good. Especially if it’s someone on their own team. It seemed like there wasn’t much love lost for Vivian.”
“I hate to speak ill of the dead but she wasn’t a kind woman. I met up with her both here and on set and each time she pretended not to know me or even see me. Becky, on the other hand, liked to browbeat me about my pastry. Not flaky enough. Vivian herself could make a better pie, apparently.”
I dropped the fork on the plate with a clatter. “Blasphemy! No one makes a better pie than you, Mandy McCain. I’ve been to the finest pie baking establishments in this country and beyond. Your pastry is perfection and your coconut cream sublime.”
She flushed and grinned at the same time. “No need to lay it on so thick, Ivy. You know you’re in the double slice club for life.”
Picking up the fork, I relished the last mouthful. “Who else is in that club?”
“Only Kellan and Asher,” she said. “And Kellan can’t handle the double hit like you can.”
“I know. Poor man only eats for one, whereas I need to fuel a farm.” I washed the pie down with a few gulps of coffee. “I’m aiming for the triple slice club, just so you know.”
“That’s half a pie. I’m afraid you’d be sick.”
“You underestimate me, Mandy.”
“Never.” She slipped off her stool and collected a pepperoni stick for Keats and a couple of small treats that were like crack for cats. “There’s something else, Ivy. I hope you already know but I need to be sure. It’s about your family.”
“Oh?” That’s what I said aloud. Inside I said, “Oh no.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing, but I’ve witnessed a couple of private meetings that may or may not have been dates. Not here, though. At Pages and Pastries, and the Berry Good Café.”
“Dates? With whom?”
“One of the camera guys. Ray Faux, I think his name is. He seems nice enough, at least in comparison to the others.”
“Ray? Mom is dating a man half her age?” I downed the rest of my coffee. “Why does that even surprise me?”
“Not your mom this time, Ivy.”
I stared at her over the cup. “Who else would sell me out by dating that crew?”
Mandy cringed at having to deliver the bad news. “Poppy. In her defense, we’ve talked about how hard it is to find good guys in this town.”
I swallowed hard, realizing there may indeed be an upper limit on my pie capacity. A betrayal by family could make even my strong stomach protest.
“Yesterday Ray Faux was willing to let me drown or freeze to death on Becky’s orders. He is not a good guy.”
“She didn’t know that then,” Mandy said. “I’m the first to say people do stupid things for love. Even when it’s not really love. Poppy will regret it, just like I did.”
A couple of six-count yoga breaths helped me regulate my mouth before I spoke. “Thank you for everything, Mandy. I’d always rather know than be surprised later.” Sliding off the stool, I slung Percy’s carrier over my shoulder and headed for the door. My fingers were already on the handle when I told Keats to wait. I turned to Mandy and said, “I’d better take a couple of cookies to settle my stomach. It’s going to be a long day.”
Chapter Fourteen
Mom hopped onto her stool at Daisy’s kitchen counter with relative ease. For once she’d worn a skirt with some traction. Normally she was sliding all over with flailing heels and one of us had to brace her. Today, however, she hooked her stilettos over the footrail, steadied herself, and then reached for the mug of coffee Daisy offered.
Inspecting the mug, Mom rolled her eyes. All of Daisy’s dishes were white, including the mugs, but the one in Mom’s hand was bright red. It would hide waxy lipstick stains.
“World’s Best Mom,” I said, reading the words on the side. “Well, aren’t you special?”
Mom glared at me and then Daisy. “You all make it perfectly clear that I’m anything but every time I sit on this stool.”
“Don’t take it that way,” I said. “We’re just trying to keep you on your game. What’s family for?”
Iris, Violet and Poppy laughed, but Jilly gave Asher a look to keep him from joining in. She tried to back Mom when it didn’t undermine me.
“Buying me a dollar store mug isn’t going to make me strive for more,” Mom said.
Daisy smiled as she spritzed cleanser onto the pristine counter and gave it a wipe. “Oh, Mom, I didn’t buy that for you. The twins bought it for me for Christmas. All four pitched in to cover the buck it cost. You’re not the only one with underwhelming kids. I’m just sharing the joy they bring me.”
There was real joy on her face, however, because the true gift was keeping Mom away from the white china.
Mom actually laughed. “Well, that’s different. Asher didn’t do much better at his age. This year he gave me a lovely silk scarf.” She turned to eye Jilly. “His taste is suddenly exquisite.”
“He chose it himself,” Jilly said. It was technically true. She’d given him three great options so he couldn’t go wrong.
Asher beamed at Jilly from his usual spot against the refrigerator. “Glad you liked it, Mom.”
The golden boy’s gifts had always been the very best in Mom’s
eyes, including the spatula set, a power drill, and even a life preserver. He stocked up on gifts while supporting fundraisers, raffles and every kid with a cause. It was hard to fault him for that, even if I received more chocolate covered almonds than even I could enjoy.
“May I ask why you called this meeting?” Mom said, staring at me over her mug. Her eyeliner was getting more dramatic by the day. I envied her steady hand but it was a bit much under the bright lights of Daisy’s kitchen.
“Don’t we usually have a little chat after a major incident?” I asked. “It’s important to be on the same page.”
“We’re all on the same page,” Asher said. “Chief Harper’s page.”
“I’m always on Kellan’s page,” I said. “But there are other pages we should consider.”
“I’m not being lured down your path of subversion, Ivy,” he said, shifting uneasily. “The chief says I’m too gullible with you.”
Asher was too gullible with everyone. It was one of his key charms, though also his key weakness. No doubt that’s why our deadbeat father tried to infiltrate our ranks through my brother. Asher hadn’t raised the issue since our last family meeting because Jilly had told him that he could not force his agenda on the rest of us. That would help but the dam would break eventually. At least it gave me time to prepare.
“You always try to do the right thing,” Mom said. “Ivy can be very wily.”
“Wily! What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Cunning. Crafty. Cagey, and slightly devious,” Mom said. “But I prefer wily.”
“I didn’t need a thesaurus,” I said. “I’m wondering why you’re insulting the person who not only covers your rent but shares two rooms in her home.”
Iris raised her hand. “Don’t forget kicking in for the salon start-up, too.”
“Right,” I said. “Respect, Mother.”
“It’s a compliment,” Mom said, raising her coffee in a salute. “A gift, just like this sweet mug.”
Keats raced in from greeting and perhaps terrorizing my nephews’ ferrets and collided with the legs of my chair. Daisy’s polished floors were a hazard. His arrival reminded me to stay on track.
