Alpaca Lies (Bought-the-Farm Mystery Book 5)

by Ellen Riggs

  Kellan’s big hand released mine and slid up to my elbow. It wasn’t meant to be flirtatious but it still sent small shocks pinging toward my heart. Our fire ignited in high school, and despite a 10-year gap, continued to smoke. Now, he was just trying to keep me from lapsing into helpless giggles that would trigger the entire family. Judging by the way the men in the crowd were covering their mouths and clearing their throats, we’d have plenty of company.

  “It’s a big moment for your mother. Let her shine,” Kellan whispered, before pressing his lips firmly together. He was a master of the poker face. That was in the job description for the chief of police. Sometimes he looked as impassive as a mannequin.

  His restraint had a calming effect on the rest of us and we stared at our feet, casting furtive glances at each other.

  Soon, the gurgle of laughter eased down my throat to churn in my stomach. That’s when I started sensing a strange vibe in the room. The hair on my arms prickled and it wasn’t a reaction to Kellan’s touch. If Keats were here, instead of waiting in the car, his hackles would be up. I relied on the dog to confirm my feelings, but I was coming to trust my own intuition, too. After my concussion, many of my suspicions seemed paranoid and delusional. Then people started dying. Paying attention to those thoughts had become the sage thing to do.

  “What’s wrong?” Kellan asked. His intuition was also well honed from years of detective work in Philadelphia before returning to the supposed peace of his quaint hometown.

  “Not sure. Something’s just not right.” The fingers of my free hand twitched at my side, longing to feel my dog’s pricked ears. “I need Keats.”

  “You’ll have to settle for the chief of police.” He leaned in and his deep voice buzzed in my ear. “Keats has fangs but I’m packing heat.”

  My hand shot up to my mouth to smother the giggle and now Jilly treated Kellan to a glare as well. She wasn’t in the least intimidated by him. Her old job of dealing with business titans made her confident and contained.

  Finally, after what seemed like an interminable routine, José took a deep bow. Then he swung Mom around and she curtsied till red chiffon brushed the floor. As if that weren’t enough, José spun her again and dipped her. She kicked up a red pump as punctuation. They held that pose for so long everyone started shifting.

  “Chief,” Asher said. “Can you shoot me now? You promised to take me out if—”

  “Officer Galloway,” Kellan said. “Shut it.”

  “Me first,” Poppy said. “If there’s an encore, I’m going to do something desperate.”

  “We’re already standing,” Iris said. “Maybe we should sit down.”

  “Don’t you dare.” Daisy, the eldest and unofficial matriarch, sounded horrified. “There are no chairs.”

  Her cheeks were splotchy from stress and I knew she was relieved she’d left her kids—two sets of twin teenage boys—at home. She had her hands full with her sibling “children.”

  “Just stop clapping,” I said. “We’ve done the polite thing. Any more applause will encourage them.”

  Too late. The music started again, and this time it was something very sensual. José’s legs twisted through Mom’s and there wasn’t enough space between them for a puff of air. In fact, the entire studio seemed airless and my hand clutched at my throat.

  “Ivy. Ivy?” Kellan’s voice sounded far away. I felt his arm drop around me and we moved through the crowd, although my feet didn’t get the order. Kellan half-carried me downstairs and out into the street, where I pulled in deep, frosty gusts of the late fall air.

  “Thank you,” I said, leaning into him. “That was close.”

  “Are you telling me the fearless woman who faces down murderers collapses in the face of the rhumba?”

  “Don’t say it,” I pleaded. “Even the memory makes me queasy. But it was more than my mom getting up close and personal with a virtual stranger. There was a bad vibe in that room. Couldn’t you feel it?”

  He waited a beat before nodding. “Something felt off. But not enough to faint over.”

  “I get claustrophobic after my accident. That’s why I take Keats everywhere.” I followed Jilly’s normal direction of breathing in for five and out for five. “Mom banned him tonight, and I was afraid he’d get crushed in there anyway.”

  “Who would have expected such a turnout for a dance recital?” Kellan asked.

  “Hazel Bingham says we’re culture-starved as a town.” I let him prop me against the building so that he could shrug off his sports jacket. “This seems to support her claim.”

  Hazel was one of our oldest and most distinguished residents and we’d hit it off right away when we met recently. She remembered a time when Clover Grove embraced art, music and theater, among other pursuits. Now the town revolved around homesteading. The only classes I’d seen advertised were for gardening, preserving and the perpetually popular Happy Hens seminar. We’d gone so far back to our agricultural roots, Hazel said, that we had “all the vibrance of potatoes.”

  “If the rhumba is culture, I’ll stick with being— Well, whatever I am,” Kellan said, slipping his jacket around my shoulders.

  “What you are is wonderfully brave for seeing the Galloways through one of the most stressful moments of our life as a family,” I said, kissing his chin. I was the tallest of the Galloway Girls and it was nice to have a man to reach up to.

  “More stressful than repeated murder investigations?” he asked, eyebrows rising.

  “Oh, much. One murder is pretty much the same as the next once you’ve been through it,” I said, smiling.

  He shook his head but smiled, too. “I’ve never found that to be true. And I have a few more murders under my belt than you.”

  I pushed off the wall and tugged on his hand. “Let’s leave it that way, shall we? I’m ready to retire from the murder business and run my tranquil inn.”

  “Sounds perfect to me.” He followed reluctantly. “Where are we going?”

  “To get Keats. There’s no way I’m going back in there without him.”

  “We have to go back? Why? We paid our respects and you nearly fainted.”

  “There’s a reception,” I said. “With sandwiches.”

  “I don’t want a sandwich.” It was as close to a whine as he ever got. “You know what happens at events like this. People hit me up over every little complaint ‘off the record.’ A neighbor’s fence is too high. Someone else has too many chickens. And then there’s the guy who runs his leaf blower too early on Sunday mornings. No amount of tuna salad is worth it.”

  “Trust me, I know.” I forged on to Kellan’s SUV, where Keats’ blue eye gleamed from the driver’s window.

  “He’s in my seat,” Kellan said. “Isn’t that a little presumptuous?”

  I shrugged. “You’re not using it right now.”

  “So I’ve got to compete with a sheepdog for the rest of my life?”

  Sparks ran up my spine again. Words like “the rest of my life” did that to me, coming from Kellan. Especially when his furry competitor and I routinely interfered with his police work. Well, I didn’t see them as being in competition. They complemented each other and formed a perfect backup team for me, along with Jilly. I’d like to say my family was part of that team, but the jury was still out. I hadn’t missed them much during my decade in Boston, but since coming home they were growing on me. More like a fungus than a sweet trailing vine, but growing nonetheless. Even Mom.

  After I let him out, Keats frisked around us like a carefree puppy. It was good to see, because he’d never actually been a carefree puppy, or at least not for long. Once I’d rescued him from a criminal, he could have kicked back and had an easy life, but it wasn’t in his makeup. He was a working dog with a farm to manage. Even when he wasn’t on the job, he kept busy solving crimes or practicing his stealth moves on Kellan, as he was now.

  “Leave it, Keats,” I said. “The chief deserves better for putting up with us.” I looped my arm through Kellan�
��s and we started back to the studio. “In fact, the man deserves a nice sandwich. And if you could keep the pesky complainers away, maybe Kellan would like you.”

  “Oh, I like Keats well enough,” Kellan said. “Even more if he’d stop herding me.”

  “Tonight he can herd away others while I work the room. I promised Jilly I’d hand out some cards and I can’t let her down. We can’t keep the inn going without some warm bodies.”

  “It’s the cold bodies that are causing you trouble,” Kellan said, as we walked toward the entrance arm in arm. “That’s what we need to fix.”

  I stopped a few yards before the door. “No murder talk, okay? And if you don’t mind, I’d rather mingle on my own. I’m embarrassed to be flogging my wares in front of you.”

  “In other words, the police chief’s presence shuts people down,” he said, grinning.

  “Have I told you you’re amazing tonight?” I asked.

  “Can’t hear it often enough.”

  He was about to lean over and kiss me when the studio door burst open and a woman ran out. She was a middle-aged brunette I couldn’t remember seeing before. When I noticed she was crying, I pulled Kellan against the wall to give her some privacy. She was so busy patting her eyes with tissues that I doubted she noticed us.

  “Strange,” Kellan said, looking after her. “I didn’t find the performance that moving.”

  I looked at Keats and his tail and ears had drooped. “Told you. Bad vibes in that room. I hope she’s okay.”

  “Well, she didn’t wait around to be asked,” he said, nudging me inside. “So let’s get this over with, shall we?”

  I nodded. “I hope all culture isn’t this painful. Or we’ll be crying, too.”

  Chapter Three

  Jilly beckoned and I joined her with Keats. She’d given Asher the slip, too, so that we could mingle more freely. We started small, with Teri Mason, the artist who owned Hill Country Designs, and Mabel Halliday, who owned Miniature Mutts, the ceramics store. I considered both to be friends, something that still surprised me. I’d never had time nor inclination for friends in Boston. Jilly had filled all the roles in my life, which wasn’t entirely fair to her. No doubt she was secretly glad to be shifting some of the load for my emotional welfare to Keats, Kellan and others.

  Mabel was slightly plump and attractive with a classic, highlighted bob. Her husband, Alf, matched her perfectly, also being round and fair. He’d recently started helping Mabel in her store and she’d said it was a mixed blessing. Income was up and marital bliss down. She loved running her own little kingdom, surrounded by tiny ceramic dogs, houses and farm animals. I wasn’t into ceramics as a rule, but when I passed Mabel’s store I eyed her Christmas village display with childlike awe.

  Teri and Mabel had creativity in common but the resemblance ended there. With a shock of multicolored hair that left Poppy’s in the dust, and a bohemian caftan, Teri definitely looked the part of the artist. I loved her work, especially the realistic yet whimsical portrait she’d done of Keats that had pride of place over my mantel. She’d captured the essence of my special dog, and it seemed as if Keats himself knew that, because the white tuft of his tail gave Teri the swish of approval.

  When she pulled a tall man forward, however, Keats’ tail drifted down. Either he didn’t like the man, or he didn’t like Teri’s attention being diverted.

  “Ivy, this is my friend Kevin Breen,” Teri said. The color in her cheeks told me that Kevin was more than a friend. I was happy for her, because it wasn’t easy to meet eligible men in a small town. I had three single sisters to prove that. Hazel Bingham complained that all the “quality” men left for jobs in the city, and my casual observation suggested she wasn’t far wrong. I secretly hoped I could attract some good ones as guests at the inn and introduce them to Iris and Violet. Poppy would never fall for that. Her misadventures in dating seemed likely to continue as long as she had breath to offend people.

  Kevin Breen was polite, soft-spoken and reasonably attractive, but he seemed far too conservative for Teri. Opposites surely did attract, however. Kellan and I were proof of that. Jilly and Asher weren’t similar either, aside from being fair and exceptionally attractive.

  Keats remained unimpressed with Kevin and when Teri noticed his tail was down, her brows came together and I discreetly excused myself. There was no need to dampen her enthusiasm with the judgments of a sheepdog. That said, I worried for her. Keats didn’t normally do a blatant tail drop without good reason.

  The tail stayed down when we bumped into Simon Rezek, owner of Grub, the local feed store. I liked Simon, with his crazy gray curls, twinkling blue eyes, and wide smile. In fact, everyone liked Simon. He was the guy you could count on for casual advice on everything from a lame horse to a gassy cow to a hen that wouldn’t lay. In fact, he ran the Happy Hens seminar when the regular instructor was out of commission.

  “Hey, buddy,” Simon said, trying to pat Keats and looking puzzled as my dog backed away. “What gives? All dogs like me.”

  “It’s not about you,” I said. “It’s about Gregor.”

  Every time we dropped by Grub, Simon’s huge brindle mastiff took issue with Keats. While Keats normally didn’t let other dogs faze him, the mastiff’s sheer size and ferocity couldn’t be ignored. I’d started leaving Keats in the car, which he resented, because the feed store was full of amazing smells.

  “Aw, come on,” Simon said. “Keats, you just need to suck up a little to Gregor. He’s a pussycat when you curtsy.”

  I laughed. “Keats curtsies to no one, I’m afraid. His secret weapon is indifference but Gregor isn’t falling for it.”

  “Dogs will be dogs,” Simon said, shrugging broad shoulders. “They’ve all got their personalities, just like us.”

  Anne Rezek, Simon’s wife, came up behind him with a plate piled high with sandwiches. Taking a peanut butter and banana pinwheel, he stuffed it into his mouth whole and grinned at her expression.

  “Oh honey, we’re in public,” Anne said, shaking her head. Unlike Mom, Anne had grown her silver gossamer hair long. Her eyes were as blue as her husband’s and her face had few lines. Also unlike Mom, Anne was conservative—even demure. Tonight she wore a periwinkle blue dress that probably came off the racks from Chez Belle, the town’s only designer.

  “Speaking of curtsies,” Simon said, after washing down the sandwich with the small cup of punch his wife offered. “That was some number your mom did with… what’s his name?”

  “José,” Anne and I said at once, and then laughed.

  “Wow, that guy really makes an impression.” Simon reached for another sandwich. “What’s his secret? Everyone who comes into the store is chattering about him.”

  “Got me,” I said, glancing across the room. José wasn’t anything special, at least to my eye. He was slight and a little slick, with hair in a long wispy pigtail that looked awfully dark for a man in his fifties. If Mom was dating him—a distinct possibility—she was probably working her salon magic. She had what she described as a “rotation” of men who were more than happy to show her all that Clover Grove and surrounding towns had to offer. “I guess José’s got the moves. He’s a little more exotic than most of the men around here.”

  Anne tossed her silvery hair. “Not to my taste. But I’ve never cared for dancing, either. Too frivolous.”

  “Same,” I said. “Although I’m all for more frivolous pursuits in Clover Grove. Hazel Bingham is trying to revive the town’s former culture and Jilly and I are going to open up the inn to new groups.”

  “We don’t have time for culture,” Simon said. “The store keeps us busy. Livestock are hungry year-round.”

  “True enough,” I said. “But we’ll keep trying to lure you out.”

  Simon smirked. “I’d rather get dragged by a bull than attend art appreciation night.”

  “Oh, honey,” Anne said, smiling up at her tall husband. “Have another sandwich.”

  Jilly beckoned and Keats and
I joined her. She was talking to Ryan Snopes, the owner of Peachtree Fine Foods, a small, upscale grocer in town. Ryan had played football with Asher in high school, and while fine dining had added some bulk in the years since, he was still an attractive man with an army style crew cut courtesy of Mom’s razor. He’d had the good sense to follow the trends in Clover Grove and converted what had been little more than a convenience store into the destination of choice for passionate foodies like Jilly. There were more of them around than I expected. Sometimes I waited outside with Keats while Jilly and other customers discussed recipes and ingredients. I was glad she’d found her tribe and there was no reason to let my boredom ruin her good time.

  Tonight Ryan was with Tish Ramsey, his girlfriend, who was nearly a decade behind me in school. Her flaming red hair, green eyes and pale freckled skin made her hard to miss in a room dominated by older women.

  “Wasn’t your mother amazing?” Tish said, smiling. I was surprised to see she was wearing braces. Her teeth had always looked good to me, but most did after examining the worn, yellowed choppers of various ruminants.

  “Mom frequently amazes me,” I said. “This was definitely unexpected.”

  “She’s José’s star student in our class,” Tish continued. “Has she taken lessons before?”

  “Not to my knowledge, but she’s a woman of mystery.”

  “Well, if she’s a natural, she’s very gifted.” Tish paused before quietly adding, “Or maybe she’s getting private lessons.”

  I reeled back at the implication and Jilly gave my sleeve a little jerk to keep me from saying anything I shouldn’t. It was certainly possible that Mom was spending extra time with José, but if so, he had plenty of competition. Mom didn’t invest much time in any one man. The whole point of a rotation, she said, was to keep anyone from getting attached. Her goal was to stay footloose and fancy free, and I didn’t see that changing any time soon.

  Jilly took a small step forward, just enough to put Tish on notice. “Dahlia’s naturally graceful. It doesn’t surprise me at all that she’d take the dance floor by storm.”