by Ellen Riggs
Keats gave them a cool-eyed stare, sent all his alarm flags flying and then obeyed my request to move under the table. He leaned heavily against my shins. Maybe he was a third of Byron’s size but his presence was massive.
“We’re so pleased you asked to see us,” Stan said. “We’ve been eager to talk but Meryl Martingale discouraged it.”
It made me feel slightly better that the mayor had kept them at bay.
“Listen, I’ll cut to the chase,” I said. “I’m going to keep Byron. Do you remember his original name?”
“Byron?” Dex asked, peering at me over his glasses.
“The show’s dog. The one that ran away. Or was stolen.” His expression was still blank, so I continued. “Clearly you won’t miss him if you don’t remember him. But I found and rescued him today when I went looking for my pig. The murder weapon was there, too, in case you hadn’t heard.”
The men looked at each other quickly, and Stan adjusted his beret. “I don’t think anything’s been proven.”
“Sure it has,” I said. They thought I was a rube—a country butt-kin—but I knew a thing or two about bluffing. “It’s only a matter of time before the press shares that Vivian Crane was killed by a network anxious to avoid a very expensive contract.”
Hearing a man in a beret shriek was exactly what I needed to feel better after my public humiliation.
Before he could say anything, Keats gave a warning bark and I looked up to see Becky Bower walking into the café. She gestured for me to make room for her on the bench and I said, “Sorry, Becky. This is a private meeting.”
“Private? Who are you to—?”
“Private,” Stan echoed. His voice was far less strident now. “We’ll speak later.”
He flicked his fingers and her face furrowed like a raisin before she turned. Under the table, Keats panted a ha-ha-ha.
“What is that noise?” Dex asked.
“My dog. I mean, my other dog. Now I have two, thanks to you.”
“Our production dog is pedigreed,” Dex said. “If it’s the one I’m thinking of. An Anatolian shepherd.”
Jasmine finally came over and I ordered a coffee and refills for the men.
“Caucasian shepherd,” I said. “It’s a generous gift from you to Runaway Farm to make amends for the damage you’ve done. It might stop me from suing you.”
Dex laughed. “For what?”
“For having cameramen trespassing on my property and airing private footage without my permission.”
“You can’t prove that,” Stan said, relaxing now. He was getting his sea legs.
“I can, though. I have security cameras that will show Ray and Eric lurking in the bushes. I know exactly where they were to get that shot.”
“Ray was invited onto your property,” Stan said with a smug smile. “By your sister.”
“Not that day. And not with cameras. It’s our word against yours and with that murder problem, I think my word will win.”
“That’s utterly ridiculous,” Stan said. Yelled, really. He hadn’t noticed that the seats nearby were filling quickly as people spread the word we were here.
“Do you really want to raise your voice, Mr. Ellis? Because the town grapevine is incredibly fast and annoyingly inaccurate.”
He leaned across the table and hit me square in the face with breath far worse than that of any rescue animal I’d met. Even Hollywood wasn’t immune to halitosis.
“Young lady,” he whispered. “I suggest you stop impugning our network. We will not hesitate to bring the full force of our legal team down on you. You have nothing.”
“I do, though.” I gave him my very best HR smile: no teeth, just lips pressed in the small arc of doom. The one I used when I fired someone for cause. “I have proof you wanted Vivian gone over your contract dispute.”
“Contract disputes are all in a day’s work in our business,” Dex said.
“Plus there were complaints about her bullying and harassment,” I said, taking a wild guess.
“Again, just typical business. Someone always hates someone else who makes more money.”
“But you were at risk of losing good people over this.”
Dex shrugged. “People come, people go. We’re all replaceable.”
“Is there a team for that?” I asked.
“For what?” Stan asked, finding his voice again.
“For making people go. Permanently.”
“No,” Dex said, “but there’s a legal team that delights in addressing specious accusations.”
“They used to call me the grim reaper of HR,” I said. “Maybe you’ve got one for real.”
“Keep that up and you will lose your farm,” Stan said. “You can’t leave our butts hanging out to dry.”
“Why not?” I said. “You just left my butt hanging.”
“You’re really willing to lose your pig and your cows and whatever else you’ve got in that menagerie?” He leaned even closer and I had to hold my breath to stand his. “We will take your dog. The one chewing my jeans under the table. You will always wonder what happened to him.”
“Can you say that again?” I lifted my phone from the seat beside me. “I’m not sure I caught it.”
He swept off his beret and flung it across the café.
“Stan, chill,” Dex said. “We’ll just give Ivy what she wants and this will all go away. Like it always does.”
Stan sat back and crossed his arms.
“Thanks, Dex,” I said. “You seem like a reasonable man and I’m not an unreasonable woman. My list is quite short, really. I want Byron. He makes my pig very happy.”
“Done,” he said.
“I want you to leave me alone. No cameras, no phone calls, no offers. Nothing. Stay away from my family, and friends—furry and otherwise.”
“Done,” he repeated.
“Then we’re good,” I said, slapping some money on the table to cover my coffee. “I just want to go back to leading the quiet life. Do I have your word?”
He held out his hand and I dropped the phone in my pocket before I shook it.
Stan crossed his arms and looked away.
“Don’t be like that, Stan,” I said. “Your show will go on without me.”
“It most certainly will,” he said. “You can count on it. And you haven’t heard the last of us.”
“No threats, Mr. Ellis. The chief of police hates that.”
“I wouldn’t count on him covering your butt,” Stan said, with a nasty laugh. “It’s a liability to him.”
I shrugged. “Maybe. He seems to like it though. Gotta run. I really appreciate your time.”
Stan dropped a few bombs under his breath as I slid out of the booth and snapped my fingers for Keats.
I was halfway out the door before I realized Keats was carrying something in his mouth. The remains of a beret.
Grabbing a few mints from the bowl, I went back to the table and set the beret in front of Stan.
“Sorry, Mr. Ellis. I’ll replace that for you.” I rained the candy down in front of him. “In the meantime, have some mints.”
Keats panted a ha-ha-ha as we left. I smiled and then sighed.
“That was just one battle, my friend. We still need to win the war.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
I stalled twice on my drive through town the next morning. My bravado had disappeared overnight and now I was more than a little unnerved by the network executives’ threats. Who was I—farmer Ivy—to take on the big guys? I didn’t have evidence that they’d done anything to Vivian. It was just the drunk ramblings of bitter cameramen.
However… however…
Ray had been right about Vivian being in a dispute with the production. They had wanted her gone. Were they willing to take extreme measures to do it? People got fired and replaced in Hollywood all the time. It was just a matter of money.
Or did the execs convince the crew to do the deed for them? I had seen so many bullied employees snap over the years, in
cluding a fatal episode at my own farm. If they were worn down enough, the execs could have shoved any of them over the edge.
Another possibility was that Vivian had something on them that they didn’t want revealed. Only Becky would know that, I figured, and that’s what I wanted to find out today.
Keats mumbled some encouragement as I started the truck again in front of Miniature Mutts. A few people gathered and waved. The pratfall highlights reel was dancing in their eyes. We’d all be seeing that for a long time. It would go viral online, if it hadn’t already.
There was another mumble from Keats to confirm it had. No doubt Mom and Jilly had closed ranks to keep me from knowing for as long as possible.
“Never mind that,” I said. “We’re going to focus on Becky right now. She’ll have her guard up, to say the least. It will take all our wiles to get her to talk.” I glanced at him doubtfully. “I don’t think my wiles go that far.”
He panted some encouragement, but I could see the doubt in his blue eye, too. I had no more tricks up my sleeve and Becky was smart enough to know it.
“Let’s just see how it all plays out,” I said. “Strange things happen sometimes. You know that.”
He pounded his white paws on the dashboard in a blatant “bring it on.”
That lifted my spirits enough that I didn’t stall again until I pulled into the parking lot at the Faraway Farm set.
“What the…?”
I was more puzzled about what I didn’t see than what I did. Specifically, there were no vehicles at all.
“Have they left? Oh please, tell me they’ve left town for good.”
Keats didn’t look convinced. In fact, his ears were back and his ruff up. He didn’t like the atmosphere here one bit. No surprise in that when the Swenson farm had been steeped in crime and abuse for generations. I didn’t believe in ghosts and evil spirits, but if such things did exist, they’d find plenty to feed on here.
“On the off chance they’ve pulled up stakes and gone, I’d better check on the livestock,” I said. “Sadly, I wouldn’t put it past them to leave them behind. Poor white critters.”
Keats was subdued as we walked up the driveway and around the house. I felt the weight of the stories here and maybe he did, too. At least it was broad daylight. At least we were together.
The cute little red barn looked as bright and perfect in the weak morning sunshine as it had the first day I saw it. It was like a dollhouse for animals. I wanted one to play with. Keats gave me a look and I shrugged.
“I’m too practical to get one, but I’m still a girl, Keats. I like cute things.”
He grumbled something like “let’s get this over with” and I didn’t argue. If there was any trouble with the livestock, I’d call in Dr. Roxton immediately and stay till he arrived.
By the time I reached the barn, my worries had eased. The horse was standing at the doorway, chewing a mouthful of hay. Healthy and happy.
“Hey girl,” I said. “Where are your buddies?”
There was a movement behind her and Chess, the farmhand, came out. He tipped back the brim of his Stetson and smiled. “Well, good morning. If you came to see the crew, they’ve shipped out.”
“Shipped out? As in left? For good?”
“Don’t sound so happy.” His smile turned to a grin. “Because they’re just having an offsite meeting in the city. One of the head honchos flew in and the police chief let them go.”
“Darn. You got my hopes up.”
“You may get your wish,” he said. “I never count on anything in this business. It’s like a travelling carnival. You arrive, try to get settled but not too settled. Then you wait and see if the show wins or loses.” He shrugged. “This one may lose but the game ain’t over yet.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here, anyway, because I wanted to talk to you.”
He beckoned me to follow him into the barn. “Can’t take my eyes off that goat for one second or she’s eating something she shouldn’t. Yesterday she managed to climb right up on top of the barn. Threw my back out getting her down.” He looked around and shook his head. “It’s designed for looks, not practicality.”
“I thought the same thing when I was admiring it earlier.” Peering around him I saw the white goat gnawing on a broom handle in the corner. “Oh no! That splintered wood can’t be good.”
I started over but he stopped me. “My bad, I got it.” He walked over and gently pried the little goat’s mouth open and took the broom away. “She’s a handful.”
“What you’re kindly not saying is that I’ve taken her babysitter away.”
His eyes crinkled. “You didn’t take Byron away. He got away from the crew. Then you found him and took him to a good home. I’m not complaining about that. Just about the mischievous goat. He kept that girl in check. Felt sorry for him sometimes, though.”
“He’s got another challenging girl now. My pig is a trickster. One minute she’s wallowing, the next she’s running like the wind.”
“Glad you got her back. How far did she get?”
“Miles from here, which is even further from my place. I couldn’t believe it when I saw them together. They were perfectly happy. Didn’t want to come home.”
He looked a little sad and for a second, I wondered if I’d made the right move. “Is he settling in okay?”
“Beautifully. He’s a wonderful dog and I’ll have plenty of work for him, besides Wilma. I bet you love him, too.”
“He’s a real good dog. But like I said, you try not to get too attached in this business. Places, people and animals come and go.”
“I promise I’ll look after him well. Would you like to come and see him?”
He shook his head. “Don’t want to disrupt him again. We weren’t together long, anyway.”
“I understand. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Yeah,” he said, smiling again. “Take the goat.”
I’d had some quirky passengers in the back seat of my truck but the small white goat was the most trouble. She was small, agile and very determined to drive. Keats was equally determined to keep her from taking the wheel. She tried every trick in the book to get over, under and around him and he fielded every assault, even if it meant going after her from my lap. Eventually he nipped and she bleated. Even then she persisted. She simply would not take a telling and Keats wasn’t used to that. Never was I so happy to drive under the familiar arch to the farm. Amazingly, I hadn’t stalled once or hit the ditch. I was that focused on getting home.
I backed the truck right into the open area of the barn to make sure the goat didn’t make a run for it when I unloaded. After Wilma, I was being extra cautious.
As I set her hooves on the ground, she collapsed, attacked my boots and then slithered away from me. My hands caught thin air but for once I got lucky. She did the exact opposite of what I expected and jumped right into a pen. Specifically, Wilma’s indoor pen, where the pig herself was lounging with her new boyfriend.
I worried Wilma would take offense but she didn’t even bother to lift her head. Byron got to his feet, sniffed the bouncy, frenzied little creature, and then crashed in the straw again. The goat climbed on top of him and went to sleep instantly. It was like the dog had hit her “off” switch.
“Nicely done, Byron,” I said, trying to tie the remains of the bootlace the goat had just torn off. “You’re hired. Again.”
“Did I just see you driving with a goat in your lap?” Kellan was behind me, and he didn’t sound amused.
I froze, hands still on my boot. “No. She was never in my lap.”
“Well, she was everywhere else and Keats was fighting her off from your lap. She was a wildcat.”
“She’s young and exuberant,” I said, pulling out the whole bootlace. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“I followed you for a mile, trying to decide whether to pull you over. It seemed like it might do more harm than good.”
“I appreciate that,” I said. “Because I’m
sure someone would have caught it on video and that would have gone viral, too.”
I was still bent over showing him exactly what he’d seen on the big screen at school yesterday, but I didn’t particularly want to face him, either.
“Ivy. Can you leave this boot crisis for a minute and talk to me?”
“She ate my lace. I’m trying to fix it.”
He came over and knelt in front of me. “I’ll do it. You’re worn out from being trapped in a moving vehicle with a feral goat.”
“Thank you. I am.” Straightening, I left the reins in his capable hands. “Keats was fed up. Look at him.”
The dog who never napped had climbed onto a hay bale and collapsed. It was probably the first time he hadn’t greeted Kellan with audacity.
“Maybe it’s better not to take your baby goats for a drive,” he said, threading the remains of my lace through the eyelets. “Some animals make better travel companions than others.”
That made me laugh. “I won’t do that again,” I said. “But Chess Cochrane unexpectedly asked me to take her for a week.”
“Chess?”
“The livestock wrangler at Faraway Farm. I went over to apologize for keeping Byron. He was fond of the dog.”
Kellan glanced up at me skeptically. “You went over there just to talk to him about the dog?”
“No one else was there. I heard you let them leave town.”
“Did you also hear Asher went with them? No one’s going anywhere unsupervised until this case is solved.”
“Fine. I went over there to see if I could wrangle some information out of Becky.”
“As if she’ll open her heart after you threw her out of the café yesterday.”
“Oh, you heard about that?”
“Calm cool Ivy lost her temper, or so I’m told. Jasmine doesn’t hold back anymore.”
“I lose my temper plenty when there’s an animal involved. No one cared the dog went missing. They didn’t know his breed or his real name.”
He pulled the lace out and started over. “That doesn’t make them murderers, Ivy. There’s no evidence to suggest any of them are implicated. Trust me, I’ve looked. They were at loggerheads with Vivian, but lawyers would have sorted that through eventually.”
