by Ellen Riggs
“Any idea what was in the bush?” I asked. “There’s nothing definitive on Vivian’s cause of death, but I’ve wondered if someone had a grudge against her.”
“Dunno,” Chess said. “Beyond my pay grade. They brought me in from Wyoming to wrangle this crew. I’ve done plenty of westerns before so this seemed like a cushy job. Byron could pretty much do it alone.”
“He’d need prehensile thumbs,” I said. “For the spray paint.”
Chess laughed. “You noticed that, did you?”
“I hope it’s not toxic.”
“It’s not. I made sure of it. But I’ve discontinued till further notice. They’re not shooting down here so I figure it’s okay for things to get a little dingy.”
Becky bellowed from out front. “Let’s go, let’s go.”
“Good luck to you,” he said. “Hope you get the part, Ivy. If you want it.”
“It would be great to work with another animal lover,” I said.
Chess turned to walk back to the barn and the goat butted him repeatedly on the way.
Laughing, he turned to fend the goat off and called, “There goes my last shred of dignity.”
“No dignity in farming,” I said. “Spoken from experience.”
“First rule of reality TV?” Becky said, as we trudged through the bush after Keats. “Don’t get too close to the help. They come and go and you can’t get attached. Same with the livestock, come to think of it. The network is always testing testing testing. If the audience doesn’t like the goat, the goat goes.”
I gave her a startled look. “You don’t think that’s what happened with Byron, do you? Vivian called him a dud.”
“I remember feeling him yank the leash out of my hand, so he left of his own accord.” She gave a nasty little laugh. “Maybe he sensed his days were numbered. But I think he was too dumb for that.”
Keats turned back to stare at her with his blue eye and his hackles rose.
“Becky, you know I care about animals, as do my friends.” Jilly was about 20 yards behind with Edna and Gertie Rhodes. She was doing her best to keep the two older women out of camera range, because there was no telling what either of them would say or do. If I was a wild card, they were loose cannons. “It hurts when you say things like that.”
“You’ll have to toughen up if you want to star in this show,” she said. “The network is brutal with sensitive flowers like you. They will mow you down like hay.”
“Lovely. You’re making a compelling case for my taking the role.”
She looked around to make sure the guys were out of earshot and then turned to me. It was the first time I noticed her eyes were green, like Jilly’s, only 50 shades colder. “I don’t want you to take the role. The network thinks you’d be perfect but I see a world of trouble, and I’d be the one managing you. Their values and yours collide. In this job, we don’t get to make choices, you see. We do what we’re told. Are you a yes-man, Ivy? I mean, honestly?”
“Well, no. We wouldn’t be out here right now if I were. But as you like to remind me, my inn had a rocky start and I need money and business at Runaway Farm. I can say yes to the network for the sake of my animals.”
“And your family… They’re nuts.”
“So right,” I said. “That’s a big draw for me: it would be your job to herd them.”
“I didn’t sign onto this show to herd cats.” She sneered at Percy on my shoulder. “Even cats with big ambitions.”
Percy let out a hiss. “You’ve been told,” I said.
Becky saw that Keats was still staring at her and shuddered. “Tell him not to look at me. I don’t like him.”
“He’s not big on you, either. But you can’t always pick your colleagues.”
“Yeah, I’ve been spoiled working with Vivian so long. We were like family.” After a second she added, “When family goes right, that is.”
I had to bite my lip to hold back an incredulous snort. Was this an act? Vivian had treated Becky like absolute garbage. It was possible that she had Stockholm Syndrome, where the victim starts identifying with the oppressor. That had been true of me for years at Flordale Corporation. Only my last boss had been horrible enough to make me question my beliefs, and then Keats had blown my delusions out of the water.
“Water!” Gertie called, stomping up behind us in her poncho. Under it was a camouflage parka and matching pants. The two older women had clearly been swapping fashion tips since I brought them together at Christmas.
I looked down but it just looked like regular snow to me. “What do I do?” I asked. My voice was high and squeaky and Keats froze exactly where he was. The bravest dog in the world was terrified of plunging into a pond’s murky depths.
“Psych!” Gertie said, laughing. “Just wanted to hear that squeak, Ivy.”
The two men had turned their cameras and caught the exchange.
“Very funny, Gertie. Maybe you could focus on finding the missing animals rather than scaring the daylights out of me.”
“Wilma doesn’t want to be found,” she said. “Yet. When she does, she’ll find us.”
Edna joined us. “So now you’re the pig whisperer, Gertie?”
“I’ve owned a few pigs in my time, old friend. You?”
“No, but I dated some,” Edna said, and they both broke into a wild cackle.
Jilly and I laughed too, but Becky’s mouth seemed to be locked in a pucker. If she wasn’t careful it would stay that way. Or so Mom always said. She did facial exercises every night as part of her extensive bedtime self-care ritual.
“Well, pigs are smart,” Gertie said. “No one gives them enough credit. And I have no doubt whatsoever that Wilma will reveal herself in due course. She’s just enjoying her moment.”
“But what about that food?” I asked. “Someone’s been feeding her.”
“There are people back here all the time. Still hoping for more treasure,” she said. “No one’s going to come forward and admit to it in case I shoot them. So just let the pig be.”
“Not in her wiring,” Edna said. “Ivy’s incapable of just letting things be. Especially if that thing is an animal.”
“Guilty,” I said. “I won’t give up till I find Wilma. And Byron. But I’m less worried than I was about Wilma. Everyone thinks she’ll be fine. Keats included.”
“She will be fine,” Gertie said. “Pigs are resourceful.”
I sighed. “Why doesn’t she want to come home? I give her the best of everything.”
“It’s true,” Jilly said. “Ivy forfeits some good food to make sure that pig has her micronutrients.”
“What Wilma really wants right now is some alone time, that’s all. There are fifty animals at your farm and she’s an introvert.”
“You think?”
Gertie shrugged. “I think it sounds good and the cameras are rolling.” She beckoned to the two men. “Over here, fellas. I’ve got a pig story you’re going to love.”
They came toward her eagerly, probably knowing that Gertie, with her long braid and a rifle concealed in her poncho, would provide great fodder for the show, if it ever did go on.
Becky followed them. “Wait, guys. I still call the shots around here.”
Gertie cackled again and gave a quick flash of her rifle. “Really, girlie?”
“Yes, really. I’m the producer of Faraway Farm.”
“Faraway Fart is dead in the water,” Gertie said. “Oops. Did I use my hillbilly voice?”
“Gertie,” I said. “Maybe we should focus on finding Byron now. That dog is not as well equipped to survive our winters as Wilma.”
“Sure he is. He’s bred to be outdoors year-round and he’ll be fine, too.” She raised her free hand in a salute. “You worry too much, Ivy.”
That’s when I noticed her feet were moving. Slowly but surely she was luring the crew away from Jilly and me. Edna started after them without saying a word.
All of a sudden there was a crack, followed by a scream. Becky’s arms fla
iled as she sank into muck up to her thighs.
“Stop thrashing,” Gertie said. “You’ll wake the gators. They’re down there hibernating under the mud.”
Becky’s screams grew but she did stop thrashing. “Get me out of here! Ray! Eric! Pull me out right now.”
It took them a couple of minutes to find somewhere safe to put their cameras. Eric tried to offload his on me but I shook my head. “Too valuable. I’m such a klutz.”
Eventually they found just the right log for the job and went back to pull their colleague from the swamp.
“Do leeches hibernate, Ivy?” Gertie called. “You seem to know a lot about animals.”
I shrugged, determined not to encourage her. “Leeches are out of my bailiwick.”
Freed from the mud, Becky started squelching back the way we came. “You’re fired, old lady. See if you get a cameo on my show.”
“Aw, boo-hoo,” Gertie said. “You’ll put my poncho in a knot.”
Turning back, Becky crossed her arms. “I’m reporting you to the chief of police. If you did that to me, obviously you did worse to our star yesterday.”
“Let the accusations fly,” Gertie said. “Well, I’m always glad to see Chief Hotstuff. That’s what you call him, right Edna?”
“Not on TV,” Edna said, pointing at Ray, who’d picked up his camera again. “One step too far, Gertie.”
It was a strange day indeed when Edna Evans was chastising someone else for taking things too far.
“This stinks,” Becky yelled, like a kid having a tantrum. “It stinks!”
“It’ll take a few baths but I promise it does wear off,” I said. “I found out the hard way.”
“You stink too,” she said, walking forward again. “Everything was going great until you came along.”
She continued to grumble as she sloshed away.
“Men, may I suggest you follow at a good distance,” I said. “Cameras off. Give the woman her dignity.”
“Not in our contract,” Ray said, but he jerked his head at Eric and they did leave.
Once they were out of earshot, Gertie said, “You going to thank me now or later, Ivy?”
“Both,” I said, shaking my head. “Maybe they’ll think twice the next time someone is struggling. But I doubt it. Like Ray said, it’s not in their contract.”
We gave them a good head start and then followed. Becky’s screams would have scared off the animals, had they been in earshot.
“One way or another we’ll drive these people away. In the meantime, I’m sure Becky will be out of commission for your dinner party tonight.”
“Ah, so there is a method to your madness,” I said.
“This time.” Her cackle was enough to wake those gators, both fictional and metaphorical. “Not always.”
Chapter Sixteen
“I should have listened to her,” I told Keats that evening, as we did our chores in the barn. “I never really gave her a fair chance.”
Keats mumbled something intended to let me off the hook.
“Thank you,” I said, “But it’s important to take accountability for mistakes. Wilma simply wasn’t my favorite animal here and she knew it. I couldn’t forgive her for trying to kill me in that marsh. I bet it wasn’t personal. She barely knew me by then and didn’t feel safe. Maybe never did feel safe. An animal that feels safe probably doesn’t want to take off.” I shoved manure out the back door to add it to my pile. “If she comes home, I solemnly vow to suck up to that pig.” I tossed up a shovelful too recklessly and some of the dung came back to hit me in the face. “Point taken, universe. I’ve already sucked up to Wilma and it didn’t work. What I need to do is try something new. To figure out what makes her tick. It’s not about theories of what should make a pig happy. She’s an individual.”
The next shovelful hit its mark.
“Okay, so I’m on the right track. I’ll continue. I vow to understand every animal on this farm as an individual. With more than fifty, it’s going to take time, but that’s my job.” Another shovelful landed safely. “Or at least the job I’ve given myself. I want every creature to feel happy and valued. Not just the ones that like me.”
Percy struck me about mid-back and climbed onto my shoulder. He was perfectly capable of rocketing directly to his perch but he liked the element of suspense. Sometimes he just clung there, like a burr, and then dropped off. That was more annoying than the ascent.
“Do you know what my problem is, Percy? I’m a chronic people-pleaser. It comes from being the last of six kids. From following four girls and the golden boy. My role was to be good and quiet and hardworking. That’s the only way I got attention. Then I took that attitude into my career and it sped my climb. Corporations love pleasers. Toxic corporations exploit pleasers.”
He purred in my ear and then gave me a hard head butt. Maybe he was trying to knock that notion out of me. The very idea of pleasing and validation-seeking was foreign to cats.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to beat myself up too much. I did the best I could with what I knew at the time.” The cat shifted and rebalanced as I scooped up more poop. “I left the worst of that behind in Boston but I see now that I’ve been seeking validation from my animals, and when my techniques failed, I either persisted or gave up. Food bribes weren’t the way to Wilma’s heart and I didn’t try to hear her out.”
I fired up another load onto the pile. “I hope I get a chance to make things right.”
As Percy and I chatted, Keats did his rounds again, checking and rechecking to make sure everyone who wanted to be inside at night was locked up tight. Since Wilma vanished, he’d become hyper-diligent, almost obsessive about keeping his livestock safe. He was never a good sleeper but now he stayed at the window most of the night in constant vigilance. I wondered if Edna was still doing the same across the way.
“Buddy, let’s get one thing clear,” I said, when he circled back. “There was nothing you could have done to prevent Wilma from going. Someone wanted to make a statement and they found a way. We can’t be on duty 24-7. But now I have the security camera on during the day, too. And Charlie is setting up some kind of alarm.” I shook my head. “I bet every passing raccoon triggers it.”
Keats agreed heartily with that.
“Let’s sum all this up,” I said. “Keats, you and I are going to cut ourselves some slack and just do the best we can. We have overachiever syndrome. And Percy, you’re going to continue to model your nonchalance for us. How does that sound?”
Both animals chimed in at once with a yip and a meow and I laughed.
Someone else laughed, too.
I turned so fast that Percy had to dig in hard to stay seated. Keats’ ruff came up and his tail went down. If I hadn’t been pouring my heart out to him, he would have noticed Ray standing in the doorway, camera on his shoulder.
“Are you filming me?” I asked. “I don’t remember signing any waivers.” I drove the shovel hard into the manure and then put my hands on my hips. “In fact your cameras are prohibited on my property, Ray. Understood?”
“I thought you wanted to be part of the show,” he said.
“If I say yes, all shooting would need to take place at Faraway Farm. I don’t want my privacy invaded or my animals traumatized.”
He lowered the camera. “Sorry. When you invited us for dinner I thought you were angling for a demo reel. Just trying to help out.”
“Secretly shooting me discussing my failings with my pets will help me out?”
“Actually yeah. That’s exactly the kind of thing the network would love.”
I snapped my fingers to summon Keats and brushed past Ray to head up to the house. “But it’s not the kind of thing I would love to have aired. Did it occur to you that I’m not an actor? Vivian could roll from one show to another and be someone else. I only get to be me. Forever.”
He trailed after me and sighed. “I see your point, Ivy, and I’m sorry. Guess I’ve been in this business so long I forget how real peop
le live.” I didn’t respond and eventually he added, “It’s no excuse, but I don’t call the shots very often. You must see that.”
My umbrage faded about halfway up to the house. There was no point browbeating the man if I hoped to get information out of him. Besides, it was hypocritical. Exploitation was a two-way street tonight.
I slowed so he could catch up to us but Keats didn’t settle his flags. “I overreacted, Ray, and I’m sorry. This is all so new. I’ve deliberately flown under the radar all my life.”
“Our world has a strange set of rules and I’m not always comfortable with my job spec,” he said.
“I noticed,” I said. “You wanted to help me when I walked into that pond.”
“Yeah, and I would have come after you no matter what if you’d lost your footing. You handle yourself well in a crisis.”
“Learned the hard way, unfortunately.” I stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Did you see anything at all in the woods that day that could help us figure out what happened to Vivian?”
He shook his head. “I don’t really ‘see’ while I’m shooting but I went over the footage several times looking for clues. It seemed like we all converged on the scene at exactly the same time. I said the same to the police when they demanded a copy.”
“Any sense of who might have done this?”
“Other than your pig?” he asked. “From what I could see there was nothing but a torn glove and hoofprints.”
“The town is apparently split between blaming the pig, ghosts and aliens,” I said, smiling.
“And witches,” he said. “I’ve heard that one, too.”
“Not buying any of it,” I said. “All my experience in HR and beyond tells me there’s a human behind this tragedy.”
Keats gave a mumble of agreement that startled Ray. “Did the dog just agree with you?”
I started up the stairs. “I like to think my animals understand me, but he’s probably just asking for dinner. And I bet you’re hungry, too.”
