"I don't know much about her family," he said, "but I'm sure someone does."
A fit woman with a cap of silvery hair rounded the house as Tobias parked the truck in the driveway. She wore muck-covered boots, a faded green T-shirt and jeans. Her lean, muscular arms belied a lot of time in a gym... or working outdoors.
"Here about the kid?" she asked as we got out of the truck. "I'm Marcie Auckland," she said, extending a callused hand.
"Lucy Resnick," I said.
"Come on back to the barn," she offered. "I've been bottle-feeding her, but I'm sure she'd like to get back to her mama."
Tobias and I followed her around the house and down a short path to the barn, a large wooden structure a ways from the house with a galvanized metal roof. It was painted a soft green, and was clearly a step above the utilitarian barn construction I was used to seeing in Buttercup. Again, there was money here.
"She's right in here," Marcie said as we followed her into the shady interior. She walked to a small stall on the right and opened the door.
My heart sank. The kid was around the right age, but it wasn't Cinnamon.
"It's not her," Tobias confirmed as he squatted down beside the kid. "When did she turn up?"
"Right after the storm," she said. "I don't have any other goats, so she's been kind of lonely."
Tobias did a quick check of the kid, palpating her abdomen and checking her over. "She's a little thin, but nothing broken or hurt. She's definitely a Nubian. I wonder where she came from?"
"Peter's got some Nubians," I said, "but the storm didn't hit his place. Maybe somebody strayed?"
"It's not that far from here," Tobias said. "I'll give him a call." He finished his exam and stood up. "I guess the big question is, what do you want to do with her?"
She eyed me. "I'm not really in the market for goats," she said. "If you want to take care of her, you can have her."
I looked at Tobias. "Do you think Carrot might accept her?"
"It's doubtful," he said, "but you could try. It would take a lot of time bottle-feeding, most likely."
"She looks awfully sweet," I said.
"They all do," Tobias said. "Until you're not watching, and then they're wreaking havoc. But you know that," he said, grinning at me.
"I do," I said. Most of the animals at Dewberry Farm seemed to have a streak of wanderlust, and I'd had to rescue Blossom, my Jersey cow, along with my goats Hot Lips and Gidget, from the Town Green more than once. I was getting tired of replacing the geraniums in the tubs flanking the Town Hall. "But they've been very good for a long time."
"This is the first town event they haven't visited, isn't it?"
"You mean the Easter Market?" I asked. "I think you're right."
"There's still time," the judge said with a wry smile. "Want to come in for some tea?"
"Sure," I said, "if Tobias has a few minutes."
"I do," he said.
"Good," Marcie said with a smile, "because I've got some cookies I need help eating."
The inside of the stone house was as lovely as the exterior, with golden pine flooring and white curtains on the huge windows. It was what I called "curated country," with several pieces that had been selected by an interior designer, I was guessing, along with what looked like a few family heirlooms, including a pie safe that looked a lot like the one I had inherited from my grandmother.
"I've got one just like this," I said.
"I love that piece," she told me as she poured us glasses of tea and set out some shortbread cookies on a plate. "I picked it up at the antique fair last year."
"How long have you been in the area?" I asked.
"Only a few years," she said.
"And you're a judge, I hear," I said as I sat down on one of the big leather couches in the living room.
"I was," she confirmed. "I'm retired. I hear you're going to have a judge as a neighbor soon, though," she said.
"What?"
"I heard a rumor the county judge—Todd McLain—was looking to move out of La Grange. I don't know if there's anything to it, but he might be your neighbor."
"Really?" I asked. "What do you know about him?"
Her mouth quirked down. "I don't know him well," she said stiffly.
Uh-oh. Something told me that she might not know him well, but what she did know she didn't much like. "Can you tell me anything?"
"He's an elected official," she said shortly. "Not for me to make judgments." She paused, taking a sip of her tea, and then added, "But he does seem to be acquiring rather a lot of property lately."
"Oh?" I asked.
"Someone might want to look into that," she said as she put a tray with cookies and tea on the coffee table.
I reached for a glass and took a sip; it was delightfully cool, with a touch of mint. "Why?"
She shrugged. "Judgeships, particularly in rural districts, usually aren't top-dollar positions." I glanced around at the lovely living room. "I know," she said, reaching for a shortbread cookie. "I live in a lovely place, and I'm lucky. But I worked as an attorney in private practice for twenty-five years. I did the government work as a way of giving back to the community."
That made more sense. "Well, you picked a lovely place to live," I said.
She smiled. "Thanks. It's a change from the city, but I'm enjoying it here. I've only been here about three years, but I think this will probably be my forever home."
"Mine too," I said, thinking that for a retiree, Marcie seemed rather up on things legal in Buttercup. "This is a total non sequitur, I know, but I understand someone was looking into Sunset Home. I know it's a long shot, but do you happen to know anything about that?"
"I did hear something about it, actually," she said. "Didn't the person who was looking into it die unexpectedly?"
"She did. How did you hear about it?"
"I met Eva down at the Blue Onion. Someone told her what I used to do, and she told me she thought the place wasn't being run very well, then asked me what I knew about filing lawsuits."
"What did you tell her?"
"I gave her the names of a few attorneys, but I never heard back from her."
"Would you mind telling me the names you gave her? I want to know if she moved ahead. This whole thing with Eva is bothering me, and I keep wondering if it might not be tied up with Sunset Home somehow."
"The thought had crossed my mind as well," Marcie said, giving me an approving look. "You're sharp."
"She used to be an investigative reporter for the Chronicle," Tobias told her.
"Ah. I'll bet you were good at it, too."
"She was," Tobias said. "And she's done a bit of investigating since coming to Buttercup, too."
"The bane of Rooster Kocurek's existence, from what I hear," Marcie said with a small grin.
"You know about that?"
"Who doesn't?" she said. "He's a blithering idiot. Thank heavens we've got Deputy Shames on the scene these days. And concerned citizens such as yourself."
"Thanks," I said. "You're making me blush. And I'm sorry we haven't met before."
"We have now," she said with a smile. "What brought you to Buttercup, anyway?"
"I think I've always been in love with it," I told her. "I came here as a kid... Dewberry Farm used to belong to my grandparents."
"You're lucky," she said. "My grandparents lived in Detroit. I would have loved to have a place like this to come to. But I guess we can't be the architects of our childhoods, can we? All we can do is build our own futures."
"That's very true," I said. "And you've built something beautiful here."
"Thanks," she said. "Feel free to drop by anytime. It hasn't been as easy as I'd hoped meeting folks in town; a lot of them get nervous when they find out what my day job used to be."
I laughed. "Kind of like being a cop. Or an investigative reporter."
"Exactly," she said. "I'll be curious to see what you find out. Keep me posted, will you?"
"I will," I said. "And thanks so much for t
he help."
"I just hope it all gets figured out," she said. "And that you find your missing baby goat."
"Are you sure you're okay with us taking yours?"
"If that baby can find a mother, I think it would be best for everyone."
"You really think Carrot will take her?" I asked Tobias.
"Hard to say," he said. "I've got some tricks up my sleeve... but we'll have to cross our fingers."
Although Tobias had a busy afternoon scheduled, he postponed a few appointments and drove both the kid and me back to Dewberry Farm; he'd had the presence of mind to toss a crate in the back of his truck.
"What do we do?" I asked when he pulled up outside the barn.
"We've got to make her smell familiar," he said. "Let's rub Carrot and Thistle with a towel, and then rub down this little one so that she smells familiar."
"Okay," I said. "What else?"
"We probably want to cover her in some of Carrot's milk. And maybe rub her all over her future mom."
I wrinkled my nose. "Really?"
He nodded. "Really."
"All right," I said. "Whoever said farming was boring didn't know what they were talking about. I'll get a towel and milk her. What do we do with the other kid?"
"Let's start with her in there and see how it goes. I think we should tether Carrot, though, so she can't get too aggressive with the new one."
"Aggressive?"
"It can happen. I know she's pretty good-natured, but it's easier to do this when the kids are just born. Still, there's a chance it will take."
"You think?"
"It may be kind of hard for a while, and we may have to take Thistle out of there, but we'll give it a shot."
We spent the next thirty minutes "preparing" the new kid as much as we could. Then, once Tobias had rubbed the squirming kid all over Carrot and Thistle, it was time for the moment of truth.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Ready as we can be, I suppose." He set the little one down in the stall, nudging her toward Carrot, and then backed away, closing the door behind him.
If I was hoping for a quick, heartwarming moment of connection—which, in truth, I was—I was quickly disappointed. Carrot took one look at the newcomer and attempted to butt her away. Thistle soon followed suit, shoving the new arrival to the corner of the stall.
"This doesn't bode well," I said.
"Give it some time," Tobias suggested.
Unfortunately, ten minutes later, it was still the same situation. The new kid would approach Mom, only to be rebuffed with a bleat and as much of a shove as she could manage. As the new kid stood in the corner, looking forlorn, I started to open the door, intent on rescuing her.
Tobias put a hand on my arm. "No," he cautioned me. "We have to let them work it out."
"What if it doesn't work out?"
"Then we'll keep bottle-feeding her," he said. "But give it time."
As we watched, the new arrival made another go at sidling up to Carrot. Thistle was nursing on the other side, and the new kid managed to latch on for a moment or two before Carrot realized what was happening and shoved her away again.
"Is that progress?" I asked.
"It could be," he said. "We should probably give her a name, don't you think?"
"Let's see who she is first," I said.
"I hate to leave you, but I've got to head back to the clinic," Tobias said, giving me a kiss on the forehead. "Keep an eye on her. I'd do a supplementary feeding in a few hours just to be sure, but we need to see if they manage to bond."
"Should I stay here and watch?"
"You don't have to be right here all the time," he said, "but I'd check in from time to time."
"Got it," I said, watching the lonely little goat in the corner of the pen. "I hope it works. But what if we find Cinnamon? Can she handle three kids?"
"Let's deal with that as it comes," he said. "I'll check in later, okay?"
"Thanks," I said.
He gave me a quick kiss and headed back to his truck.
Sadly, it did not appear to be a case of love at first sight in the goat pen. After watching for about a half hour, I headed inside to process the day's milk and get some goat cheese going. I was milking, and although I was saving a lot of it for the kids, there was enough to make quite a bit of cheese; I was glad to be able to put several new rounds into the fridge that afternoon.
When I finished cleaning up, I looked up the names of the attorneys Marcie had given me. Unfortunately, that was a dead end; no one would even tell me if Eva had been a client. I had just hung up, trying to figure out how else to get info out of them, when the phone rang. It was Jennifer.
"Are you doing okay?" I asked her.
"No. Yes. I don't know." Her voice was rough, as if she'd been crying.
"I'm so sorry," I told her. "It's been a pretty awful week for your family."
"It has," she agreed. "And I just left Faith Zapalac's office."
"What's the news on the house?"
"She said there's no way for the seller to get out of the contract. She didn't want to talk to me at all, in fact... kept trying to push me out the door."
"Have you talked with your mom?"
"She isn't sure she can afford to keep the house. I have to go over to see if I can find the account statements this afternoon; she has no idea what her financial situation is. And I may have to hire an attorney."
"I think whoever has the contract on your mom's house has bought a lot of properties recently," I said.
"What are you thinking?"
"I don't know yet," I said, "but it may be linked to a local judge, and local judges aren't usually raking in the big bucks." Nor was I overly confident in Faith Zapalac's moral compass.
It was time to talk to Dottie again.
16
When I got to Sunset Home, there was no one at the front desk. I glanced around, then hurried behind the desk and opened the first binder I saw. It was a list of amenities and schedules, but the second one had a list of patients, their rooms, and their legal guardians. Jerri Roswell was listed as guardian for at least a dozen names. I snapped a quick pic of each page with my phone, and was just hurrying back around to the front of the desk when the receptionist reappeared from the hallway. She gave me a suspicious look.
"I'm here to see Dottie Kreische," I announced breezily as I turned left to head down the hallway.
"Wait..." she said. "Who are you?"
"I know where it is," I told her. As I walked briskly away from the reception desk, a man with a stethoscope emerged from Dottie's room. He was chatting with a woman I recognized: Jerri.
"Is Dottie okay?" I asked, hurrying down the hallway.
"Who are you?" the man asked.
"She's not a relative," Jerri said. "In fact, I'm not sure why she's here. I'm not sure she's authorized."
"Authorized?" I asked. "Since when do you have to be authorized to visit a friend?" I pushed past them and into Dottie's room.
My friend was lying on the bed, looking—for lack of a better word—cadaverous. Her face was drawn and waxy, and her chest barely moved, her breathing almost imperceptible.
"What's wrong with her?" I asked, looking up at the doctor and Jerri. "What did you give her?"
"She was experiencing agitation," Jerri said smoothly. "I called Dr. Frederick. He gave her a sedative to help her sleep."
"She was fine yesterday," I protested.
"She's suffered a major loss," Jerri pointed out. "Grief can be agitating... sometimes our patients become a danger to themselves."
I looked down at Dottie. How could I keep her safe?
"I really think it's time you left," Jerri said shortly.
"You're not her guardian," I said. "And you're not the administrator here, either. I turned to the portly man with her. "You must be Dr. Frederick. How did you come to be Dottie's doctor? She's never mentioned you."
"Dr. Frederick is our attending physician," she said.
"Our? I thought you were
just a guardian. Are you affiliated with the nursing home, too? That sounds like it could be a conflict of interest."
She gave me a sour look.
"Be that as it may, I am the attending physician, and I think it's time for you to leave," the doctor said in a gravelly voice that held a note of warning. He fixed me with a level gaze. "Ms. Kreische needs her rest."
"I'm calling her daughter first," I said, reaching into my bag for my cell phone. Jerri and the doctor exchanged glances. As I scrolled through the numbers, I added, "I hear you and Eva Clarke had a bit of a falling out."
"Eva Clarke's relationship with Sunset Home is the purview of human resources," Jerri said shortly. "Now, I think it's time you left before I have to call the authorities."
I crossed my arms. "Like I said, you have no legal right here."
"I think the administrator would disagree with you."
"Call the administrator, then. I have a few questions I'd like to ask. In the meantime, I'll just wait for Dottie's daughter to arrive." I parked myself in the visitor's chair and dialed as Jerri and the doctor stood in the doorway watching me.
Jennifer answered the phone on the third ring. "Hi, Jennifer? It's Lucy."
"Everything all right?"
"I'm in your mom's room at Sunset Home right now, with the doctor." I glanced up at Jerri and Dr. Frederick, who were exchanging meaningful glances. "They sedated your mother."
"Sedated?"
"She's completely out of it," I said.
"I'm getting her out of there," Jennifer said. "Can I do that?"
Jessie had had power of attorney, or maybe more, but he was dead, so it seemed to me that Dottie would no longer be subject to anyone else's whim. "I can't think why you wouldn't, if she wants to go." As long as the sedation wore off, that was.
Jerri murmured something to the doctor; I couldn't catch it, but I thought I heard the word "ward."
"I'll be there as fast as I can," she said.
"I'll wait," I told her, staring hard at Jerri.
"Thanks, Lucy," Jennifer gushed. "You've been wonderful."
We hung up a moment later, and I sat back in my chair, crossing my arms.
Dyeing Season Page 12
