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

by Ellen Riggs

  Tonight my biggest worry was whether or not to give in to Wilma’s insistent pleas to spend the night in her outdoor pen. After two days inside, she was getting bored with the cushy life. A dog’s love, it turned out, was not enough to make up for fresh air. I had to move the goat in with the sheep in case Wilma took out her frustrations on the innocent.

  “I don’t know, girl,” I said. “I worry about you being outside.”

  She offered an unusual series of chirps, snuffles and squeals. A sow soliloquy.

  “You’re making a good case,” I said, “and I know your boyfriend has regular predators covered. It’s the human pignapper we need to think about. I’m not sure Byron could scare him off.”

  Byron moved over beside me and stared into my face. His normally placid dark eyes were intense. I couldn’t read him properly yet, but the message he vocalized in a deep rumble was loud and clear: “Outside.”

  The two animals stood side by side watching me. Never in my memory had Wilma deliberately tried to meet my eyes. She really wanted this, and I had promised to listen and try to make her happy. I couldn’t go back on my word.

  “Okay, here’s the deal. You guys can spend a few hours outside and I’ll bed down here in the horse stall with Keats and Percy. If anything goes wrong, we’ll know about it instantly.”

  The two animals let out overlapping cross-species approval. It was interesting to hear their mingled dialects. Normally they were quiet together, so I assumed the babble was for my benefit.

  Keats added his voice to the conversation, only he wasn’t happy.

  “I thought you’d like to camp out here,” I said. “You spend the night at the window anyway. Now you can be on site, with all the comforts my sleeping bag can provide. I’ll wear the snowmobile suit.”

  He continued to complain all the way up to the house and all the way back. The return was slower as the puffy suit was meant for getting tossed in a snowbank rather than strolling with an armload of supplies.

  “This is a bad idea,” Poppy yelled after me from the porch. “Jilly wouldn’t like it.”

  “She deserves the night off from supervising me, Pops,” I called back. “Don’t you dare rat me out while she’s enjoying her date.”

  “Then let me stay out there instead. I’ll call you if anything happens.”

  I stopped and made a slow turn, like a grounded blimp. It wasn’t like my sister to make an offer like that. “That’s really sweet of you, but making my pig happy isn’t your job.”

  “Maybe I’d rather be down there with fifty animals than up here alone. Mom and Jilly won’t be home from their dates for hours.”

  “Just lock the door and keep your phone handy. You’ll be the first person I call if there’s trouble.”

  “After Kellan, you mean.”

  “And Edna. But you’re first after them.”

  She laughed. “Fine. Stay warm.”

  I turned the blimp around and started moving again. “This suit is overkill. I’m about to explode.”

  “Sounds messy,” she said, still laughing as I went into the barn.

  After dumping my things in the vacant horse stall, I unlocked the outdoor pen, did the same with the indoor pen and told Keats to move Wilma and Byron. It was his first time herding the huge dog and I worried they’d clash, but Byron either respected their different livestock roles or didn’t care. I had to trust that he’d live up to his breeding in case of real threat. He seemed more like a living teddy bear than a natural killer.

  “Satisfied?” I asked, locking the gate behind them. Wilma raced around the outdoor pen squealing with what certainly sounded like joy. Now she was truly home. I assumed they would ultimately bed down in the insulated shelter I’d filled with plenty of fresh straw. Their body heat would keep it toasty.

  Walking back inside, I said, “Maybe I should get her a coat. Do they make pig jackets?”

  Keats offered a withering comment that was more about his own coat, that he now had to wear all night. These cold days, he was often only free of it at bedtime.

  I debated about locking the three barn doors—front, back and side. It would keep trouble out but would slow me down if something went wrong. Ultimately I compromised and locked the back but kept the side door to the pig pen open. Then I lumbered to the main door at the driveway and was surprised to see lights coming down the lane.

  “Someone’s home early,” I said. “Mom’s date must have gone bust.”

  But the sedan that pulled up was familiar and when the window rolled down, I saw the blonde, highlighted hair of Mayor Martingale.

  “Sorry to come so late, Ivy, but my days are full lately.”

  “Plus you don’t want to be seen,” I said, smiling.

  “That, too.” She returned the smile. “Is that thing comfortable?”

  “Nope, but I’m winter camping. Wilma and her new boyfriend wanted some fresh air.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Is that wise when neither you nor your boyfriend have located Vivian Crane’s killer?”

  “I’ve done all I can,” I said. “I’m quite sure the network hired someone to rid themselves of an expensive contract negotiation. Stan and Dex admitted they were locked in a dispute with Vivian.”

  “That doesn’t mean they’d kill her. They have more money than they know what to do with, so they’d have settled eventually.”

  “Eventually doesn’t work for men like them. They had a good thing going over at Faraway Farm and wanted to make the shift to someone new as soon and as seamlessly as possible.”

  “Sounds like speculation,” she said. “Do you have any proof?”

  “Just the camera team’s account of rising tension. She’d been called on the carpet many times and there was yelling. Any of the crew could have done it of their own volition or as network puppets.”

  “Not buying it,” the mayor said. “Is that snowsuit making you lazy, Ivy?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe I promised my boyfriend to let him do the heavy lifting on the detective front. He’s a longtime graduate of Ordeal School, whereas I’m still a novice.”

  She blinked at me a few times as if evaluating my sanity. Making people wonder was one of my key strategies.

  “Ivy, far be it from me to understand why the network wants you starring in their show after you accused Stan and Dex of murder in public, but I’m here to tell you that it’s still the case.”

  I closed my eyes. “That’s impossible.”

  “In their own words, they’re like the Terminator. They just keep getting right back up. And for some reason they want you on board. Maybe it’s because you’re resilient like that, too.”

  I laughed despite my incredulity. “Well, I guess they just want to keep close tabs on me. It’s sweet of them, but no.”

  “Not even for the good of Clover Grove?”

  “Declining this show is for the good of Clover Grove. You must have seen that in the school auditorium. We were just starting to pull the town together with our Culture Revival Project and now the show is tearing us apart with secrets, games and manipulations. I want this town to thrive but it won’t through that particular show.”

  “You could negotiate with them to shift the focus to something more unifying.”

  “Negotiating got Vivian killed, it seems. The only thing that unified people about this show was seeing me take pratfalls. Flattering as my popularity is, I’ll stick to rescuing animals and building goodwill one book or knitting club at a time. I hope you’ll still support Runaway Inn, but if you can’t I’ll find my own way.”

  “Of course I’ll support you,” she said. “You’re a good person, even if we don’t see eye to eye on what’s right for this town.” She put the car in reverse and started coasting. “Besides, my niece would have my butt in a sling if I said one harsh word about you.”

  “Wait,” I said. “I’ll let you gain some points with her.”

  “Always welcome,” she said, hitting the brakes.

  Kneeling beside Keats, I smiled.
“Take my photo in this suit. She’ll love it. And believe it or not, I trust her not to put it online.”

  “You can trust me, too,” the mayor said, pulling out her phone. “But be careful, okay?”

  “We always try.” I raised a bulky sleeve as she drove off, then looked down at Keats and sighed. “Usually we fail but it’s the effort that counts, right?”

  He offered a grumble that sounded more worried than sulky as I started pulling the double doors closed.

  “What’s wrong? Should we check on Wilma and Byron?”

  Passing back and forth in front of me, he mumbled more that I couldn’t pick up. “Slow down, buddy. My brain is overheating in this thing and might blow a circuit.”

  I was pulling the door closed when I saw light in the lane again. A truck this time. It was probably Asher’s pickup and I was a bit relieved they’d decided to come home early. Having my brother on site was almost as good as Keats.

  The dog offered an indignant yip.

  “Almost,” I said, out loud. “If you’re going to eavesdrop on my thoughts, listen closely.”

  The truck that came into view was unfamiliar and had a trailer in tow. Turning smoothly, the driver backed the trailer right up to the barn.

  When the door opened, I was surprised to see Chess Cochrane, the livestock manager from the Faraway Farm production.

  “Hey, Chess,” I called. “Did you come for your goat? Because you’re welcome to her. I’ve never seen a more hyperactive animal.”

  “Giving her caffeine was a mistake,” he said, laughing. “But she’s your problem now. Better be more careful with your offers, Ivy, because you just won the horse lottery, too.”

  “Seriously? That’s amazing!” It wasn’t amazing that I was getting a second horse—third if you counted little Clippers. But if he was dispersing his livestock it could only mean the production was folding, despite the mayor’s plea.

  “One horse, one sheep, coming right up,” he said, looking around. “You’re going to need a bigger ark, Ivy.”

  I laughed, as if it were the first time I’d heard it. “I need a bigger budget. I have the land to expand but can’t build for awhile.” I raised one hand. “And no, I don’t need to hear that doing the show would have financed that.”

  “No reproaches from me,” he said. “I’m good with moving on, like the old carnie I am. This show felt cursed.” Blowing out a sigh, he added, “Not that I believe in things like that.”

  “Me either,” I said, smiling. “But the old Swenson place had a toxic history dating back a century. Generations of animal neglect and abuse. I’m sure a handler like you could feel that in your bones.”

  He rubbed his back. “I sure feel something in my bones. Climbing after that silly goat tore a muscle or two. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  “It’s a shame you’re not staying in Clover Grove longer,” I said. “People get better with age here.”

  “Tempting,” he said, turning to open the trailer. “But not tempting enough. I want to put all this behind me.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Before we offload the new kids, let’s go out and see Byron. He’ll be excited to see you.”

  “Byron doesn’t do excited,” Chess said. “He’s the calmest dog I’ve ever known, and I’ve wrangled a lot of them.”

  He followed me through the barn, definitely moving more slowly today. Either his back really was bad or the show had sapped his life force. Or both.

  My phone rang and I groped around till I remembered which of the many zippered pockets held it. Seeing Kellan’s name, I raised a hand to Chess and said, “Have a word with your pesky goat while I take this, Chess. She’s in with the sheep because she revs up the other goats.”

  He walked over to the sheep pen and leaned in. The movement must have hurt because he braced himself on the gate.

  “Hey there,” I said, into the phone.

  “Ivy, if you’re in the barn you need to go up to the house now. Lock the doors.”

  “Oh?” I slipped into my neutral HR tone on a dime. Mentally, I pulled a lever and several images popped up at the same time. Three lemons all lined up in a row. I was a winner, but the prize wouldn’t taste like lemonade. One casual glance around confirmed it. Chess had picked up one of the three pig pokers, with its long wooden handle and the iron hook on the end. He was leaning on it, like a man who’d taken a long walk through the snow and a creek… with a cane. My fingers twitched instinctively for the piece of stiff straw I’d found in the old barn’s rafters that morning. Now I realized it came from the broom used to sweep away tracks after Vivian died. Kellan had likely come to the same conclusion when the police found it, which is why he was calling now. And last, I remembered seeing something odd in the bushes when the mayor showed me the video the crew had taken of me walking into the pond. It was a Stetson, low to the ground, perhaps bent over a dog.

  My eyes shifted to Keats, who was standing just outside the pool of light in the doorway between us and the pig pen. And if ever his posture had sounded the ding-ding-ding of a slot machine, it did now. “Well, I’m sorry to hear you can’t come over,” I told Kellan with the poise of long practice, “because I wanted you to meet my new horse. Chess Cochrane just stopped by with the rest of the livestock from the show. They’re folding up their tents and rolling on.”

  “Chess is there right now?” His voice had a note of alarm. “Do you know that—”

  “Yep, Keats is in a state about it. He doesn’t like surprises but he’ll keep things calm as we get the new additions settled.”

  “I’m coming,” he said.

  “I can’t wait for Edna and Poppy to see this horse. She’s a beauty.”

  “Texting them now,” he said.

  “Great. See you tomorrow.”

  I slipped the phone in my pocket without hanging up.

  “Sorry about that, Chess. The news went over like a lead balloon, I’m afraid. My boyfriend thinks I need a bigger ark, too.” I gave him a carefully modulated HR smile. Never let them know you know was another one of my old mottos. “He’ll come around like he always does. The more the merrier. Now let’s go see Byron.”

  Chess stumped after me, leaning heavily on the pole. I wanted to be outside, even though there were animals to worry about on either side.

  “Hey, boy,” Chess said, walking up to the fence. And then, “Wow.”

  Inside, the huge dog had puffed to resemble a bear and his fangs were showing.

  “How strange,” I said, unlocking the gate quickly. “Something must have spooked him. I’d better check things out.”

  Keats took my cue and scooted inside ahead of me, and I closed the gate.

  I always wondered why Charlie had put a lock on the inside, too, but I was glad of it now.

  “I wouldn’t shut yourself in there if I were you,” Chess said.

  “Why not?” I asked, smile still holding.

  He smiled, too, and it had a look I’d come to know well. Feral.

  “Because it leaves me out here with the rest of your animals.” He glanced toward the inn. “Plus the lady stepping out of the house.”

  I unlocked the gate and opened it. “Come right in, then.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The invitation left Chess in a bit of a quandary. Did he want to come inside with a guardian dog that apparently considered one of us a threat? Or did he want to stay outside where he had leverage? He didn’t hear the motor in the distance, but I did. More importantly, Keats did, and he went through the gate, circled Chess and made the decision for him. The old man gave a screech and jumped forward, with a sheepdog hanging from his backside. Once the man was inside the pen, Keats backed out and shoved the gate closed.

  I was on my own now, with an aggressive dog, an erratic pig and a man with a very good weapon.

  “So, what did you want to talk about?” I asked, slowly maneuvering until I was between him and Wilma and Byron. “You came over for a reason.”

  “I came over to give
you the animals, that’s all. You turned it into something else.”

  “All I did was put the right pieces together at the wrong time,” I said. “I really wish I figured out you’d killed Vivian before you got here. Or after. It would have been more convenient.”

  “You’re telling me. I could be on the road to Wyoming right now instead of stuck in a pig pen with a problem.”

  “You could still get on the road. Drop the hitch to the trailer and get a head start.”

  He looked like he was thinking about it. “The police are coming?”

  I shook my head. “Missed my chance. So you take yours and run. But before you go, can you please just tell me why?”

  “The bigger question is why wouldn’t someone kill Vivian Crane?” he said. “She was a disrespectful bully who treated people below her like dirt.”

  “Above her, too,” I offered. “She would have been fired eventually if you’d let things run their course.”

  “Couldn’t take that chance. After the premiere, I knew the show had legs. And that meant fighting Vivian night and day for months or even years to defend these animals. This is the fourth dog she hired and fired. The third goat. The second horse. The only original standing is the sheep. And each time the animal was dumped on whoever would take them. Like they didn’t matter at all. It was abuse, and it didn’t stop there. ‘Spare the broom, spoil the mutt,’ is what she said. When she whacked Byron for being ‘a dullard who sheds,’ something snapped in me. Too many productions have treated too many animals like dirt.” He paced back and forth, twirling the pig poker like a baton. “They brought in a Caucasian shepherd and Vivian punished him for having fur. It was only a matter of time before she broke this calm dog and he turned on others. I couldn’t protect him.”

  “She was even worse than I realized,” I said. “Sounds like putting her down was the right thing to do. But why then?”