Till the Cat Lady Sings (Bought-the-Farm Mystery 4)

by Ellen Riggs

  Mom still had her head up, neck stretched like a turtle’s to glare at me. “I can’t believe you’d throw me to those old dogs like that.”

  “They’re your age,” I said.

  “But they look decades older with those haircuts. I never liked those girls in school, but I had to play nice. They’re powerful influencers in town.”

  “You handled yourself great,” I said. “Right now they’re up to their waists in garbage looking for a wooden manatee that never existed. Kellan can pop down and arrest them.”

  He actually laughed. “There’s such a thing as just cause, Ivy. I have no evidence the Langmans did anything wrong.”

  “Other than to come in here without an invitation and scare me,” Mom said. “Not to mention exploring Ivy’s house on the sly.”

  “Plus, Keats doesn’t like them,” I said.

  “I can attest to that,” Jilly said. “He normally only acts like he did when someone is rotten to the core.”

  “See?” I turned back to Kellan, who was easing out of the corner. He obviously thought his pant cuffs stood a better chance if the sheep got on the move.

  “And this is how he acts when he likes someone?” Kellan said, scooting behind Asher.

  “Yeah, Chief,” Asher said, grinning. “It is. But I’m glad I can cover you, like you’ve covered me so often.”

  “You can at least go down there and question the Langmans,” I said. “You know Keats has amazing intuition.”

  “Well, I can’t arrest people based on your dog’s nose or intuition,” he said. “And if you’d asked me, you’d know I already talked to Heddy and Kaye and they have alibis.”

  “As if they wouldn’t lie for each other,” I said. “That’s what families do.”

  “Yeah?” he said. “Is that another Galloway code?”

  It was as if he’d taken a match to Asher, whose face burned, and the flame passed quickly from one of us to the next, with the notable exception of shameless Poppy.

  “We would if we had to,” she said.

  “But we haven’t had to,” I said. “Or at least, very rarely. Anyway, those two are acting pretty shady. They know something.”

  “They want the fake collectible you metaphorically waved under their nose. You know as well as I do that treasure hunters are passionate. But their alibis checked out.”

  Mom signaled for Iris to raise the barber chair and slid out. “Well, at least I had the presence of mind to send them on a wild goose chase into the rubbish. I hope they stink for weeks.”

  Jilly looked reproachfully at Asher. “You could drive over with the lights on and embarrass them, at least.”

  “People like them don’t embarrass easily,” he said, leaving Kellan to fend for himself against Keats as he sidled up to Jilly. “Are there real butter tarts in there?”

  She gave him the tin. “Crushed pumpkin squares. Share them with the Langmans when you help them out of the trash.”

  Mom shook her head. “On this I agree with the boys. Leave those two to flounder around in that dumpster. Ivy, go down there and get a photo.”

  “She will not,” Kellan said.

  “On this I agree with Kellan,” I said, echoing Mom’s words.

  “Fine.” She pulled out her phone. “I’m calling the Expositor to send down a reporter.”

  “Mom, no!” I think I counted all six voices, even Poppy’s. It was loud enough for Keats to flinch and Percy to frisk away to another shelf and start knocking products off deliberately. The first splat of conditioner hitting the hardwood redirected Mom’s attention nicely.

  “Stop that, you cur,” she yelled up at him.

  “Only a dog can be a cur,” I said.

  “Go home, Ms. Galloway,” Kellan said. “It’s not safe here until we know who killed Portia.”

  “But you said we could reopen next week.”

  “Which is not the same thing as being here alone cleaning in the evening.”

  Putting her hands on her hips, she said, “You don’t understand what this—”

  “I understand I’m the one driving you home tonight. Can you see yourself home, Ivy? Before I make your brother impound your truck for being parked on the sidewalk?”

  “Come on, Keats,” I said, deliberately letting the dog take one last dive at Kellan. As I walked past my mother I said, “Enjoy your ride home, Mom.”

  She tapped her watch at me, getting the last word without saying a thing. Tick tock.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  We were almost back at the farm when our phones pinged at once. I knew what that meant, even before Jilly pulled out her phone and announced, “Rescue 911.”

  “Chow chow?” I asked, slowing carefully. Making a U turn here with the truck would be a death wish. I’d need to find a side street or driveway and even then the chances of stalling were high.

  Knowing that, Jilly braced herself on the dash as she checked her phone again. “No. The old Bingham manor.”

  “Huh. Well, at least that’s closer than Dorset Hills.” It took me a few minutes to find a good place to turn, and then there was a stall midway down the manor lane. I added one more for good measure just before parking.

  Cori was doubled over with laughter when the four of us jumped out. “You are a hazard to humans and animals, Ivy Galloway.”

  “Well, I’ve saved more lives than I’ve taken,” I said, waving to Bridget, Remi and Andrea MacDuff, who went by Duff. “At least, so far.”

  Keats trotted over to Cori and offered an elaborate play pose. It was like he was bowing to royalty, which only irritated me more.

  “Good,” she said. “You brought reinforcements. We need a sheepdog to help with our task.”

  Keats pranced around her now, awaiting instruction. It was as if he knew that on a Rescue Mafia mission, Cori was top dog.

  “What’s happened?” I asked.

  “When we emptied the manor—off the record, of course—we set up motion activated cameras to let us know if any of Portia’s cats were outside.”

  She offered her phone and Jilly and I looked at the footage. “That’s Panther,” I said. “Edna’s favorite cat. She wanted to keep him.”

  “Keep watching,” Cori said.

  On video, Panther came out of the bushes and sat in plain view of the camera, his eyes glowing in the light. Next came a pure white cat. It was Fleecy, who used to belong to one of the Bridge Buddies, but had apparently sworn allegiance to Edna’s feral colony. Six or more cats joined them, two of whom looked like my former barn cats. They lined up in a row and sat with their tails wrapped around them. It looked like a pose for a family portrait.

  “Oh no,” I said. “They’ve been on their own for days. I stopped putting out food at Edna’s after foxes ripped the wire fencing. I guess they migrated over here.”

  “I think they’ve been here for awhile,” Cori said. “I spotted movement more than once but couldn’t get a bead on them. It’s like they didn’t want to be discovered till now.”

  “Why now?” I asked. “Because they’re finally hungry enough?”

  Cori shrugged. “I don’t speak cat, and you do. So call them out and let’s have a discussion.”

  “They’re not going to come if I call. They’re cats.”

  “You don’t know unless you try,” she said.

  “Fine. Whatever.” I took a deep breath and shouted, “Here, kitty-kitty-kitty.”

  We waited for a few moments and nothing happened, except that Cori laughed, which I expected.

  “You’re not going to give up that easily, are you?” Cori asked.

  “Nope. If you’ll surrender your hold on my dog, I’ll deploy him and the cat.”

  “I shouldn’t have to surrender him,” she said. “If you have to work that hard for his attention, something’s undermined your bond.”

  “What? Keats, come.”

  He did, but he kept looking back at Cori, as if hoping she’d take over.

  “He hung off your every word when we first met,”
Cori said. “Now he’s not. What’s happened between you?”

  My stomach seemed to curl in on itself and bile rose in my throat. Losing Keats—losing his respect and love—was my worst nightmare. Even with Jilly, Kellan and my family, I was quite sure that would kill me. Or at least kill any desire to live. I’d be nothing more than a shell.

  “Relax,” Cori said. “You look like you’re going to heave.”

  Remi stepped forward with Leo and tried to force the beagle on me, but I declined. “Cori,” she said. “It’s a terrible thing to make someone afraid of losing her dog’s love. You’ve done it to me before.”

  I backed away, still staring at Keats, who was staring at Cori.

  “It’s a trainer’s job to point out changes and prevent that from ever happening,” Cori said. “When the cat came along, did you stop listening to Keats, Ivy?”

  “No. But he’s stopped wanting to come along with me everywhere. If Jilly stays on the farm, he wants to stay. I asked the vet to look him over and he’s fine.”

  “Of course he’s fine. But he wants to stay on the farm for a reason. You need to figure out what that is. And the cat is an obvious place to start.”

  “You said yourself that they’re pals,” I argued.

  “They are pals. Keats likes the cat, but the bond he craves is with you. When we first met, you two were talking your private language all the time and now he’s just… a regular dog.” Keats offered a whine at that. “A brilliant sheepdog, but within normal parameters. Before, he was extraordinary because the two of you were more than the sum of your parts.”

  “We’ve had a lot going on,” Jilly said. “And it’s cumulative stress. PTSD, more like. Go easy on Ivy.”

  “I don’t go easy,” Cori said. “Not my style, because it doesn’t benefit anyone.”

  “She doesn’t,” Remi said. “Trust me.”

  “Cori means well,” Bridget said. “And this is just something for you to consider. If you feel like all is right between you and Keats, just ignore it.”

  “I… I know it’s not all right. I just don’t know how it’s wrong. Or how to fix it.”

  Cori gave a nod of what seemed like grudging approval. “Admitting there’s a problem is halfway to fixing it. Just give him your full attention like you used to, and he’ll let you know.”

  I didn’t even realize tears were rolling down my cheeks until Keats turned from Cori and nudged my hand. I couldn’t see his warm brown eye in the darkness but I felt it filling me up.

  “See?” Bridget said. “It’s better already.”

  “It’s a start,” Cori said. “But with the way you carry on, Ivy, you need that dog working at peak capacity. If you put yourself in harm’s way without the magic you two have, you may not come out on top the next time.”

  “That’s enough,” Jilly said, moving in front of me.

  Cori held up both gloved hands and the neon middle fingers gleamed in the light of Duff’s phone. “Peace, pit bull friend. I appreciate your loyalty, but this puts you at risk, too.”

  “It’s okay, Jilly,” I said, patting her back. “She’s not wrong. I told you something was off.”

  “You’ll fix it,” Cori said. “I have complete faith in you, and I don’t say that often.”

  “She doesn’t,” Remi said. “In fact, I’ve never heard it.”

  “And you won’t as long as you’re singing lullabies to Leo,” Cori said. “Now can you get the crates, Remi? Because our feline friends have joined us.”

  While we were arguing about Keats, Percy had apparently lured his old pals from their hiding spots. He sat at the end of their row now. When Remi and Duff lined up the open crates on the grass, the so-called feral cats stepped inside, one by one, until the only loose feline was Percy.

  Cori picked up two crates and loaded them into the bed of my pickup.

  “Why my truck?” I asked.

  “Two of them are yours, so here’s your chance to woo them to stay.” She put two more crates in my truck. “Take the others back to Edna’s and feed them until she gets home.”

  “Is that what they want? Or will they just come back here?”

  She stared at me in the darkness. “You tell me what they want.”

  I thought about it for a minute while watching Percy race away across the wet grass. “They want a ride home to Edna’s. They were here to give their pals moral support but their job is done.”

  Cori tapped her head with her gloved index finger. “That’s using your noggin. And what are your pets saying now?”

  Keats had run off after Percy and I followed them with my phone light on. The dog was in the garden flinging up dirt between his white paws. “Keats, leave it,” I said. “You’ll get filthy.”

  Meanwhile, Percy was nowhere in sight, until my scanning flashlight caught his eyes overhead. It was the old tree house Michael Bingham had loved so much. I wanted to explore it, and I sensed I should, but with a structure that old, it would be better done in daylight.

  “Message received,” I told them, snapping my fingers and walking back to the others. “We’ll be back. For now, we have passengers to deliver.”

  “See you soon, I hope,” Remi said, squeezing my arm. “Everything’s going to be fine. I know it.”

  “Of course it is,” Cori said, hopping behind the wheel of her own pickup. She looked like a doll in the large vehicle. “Sometimes we all need a little wake-up call. Even me.”

  “Did anyone record that?” Remi asked, and they all laughed as they climbed into Bridget’s van.

  Cori led the convoy out, but when I stalled my truck, she flashed her lights a few times—probably to signal her hilarity—and kept on going.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jilly and I released the barn cats into the empty stall and left them with food and water before heading up to the house to check on our guests.

  We found Caroline on the couch in the family room working on the needlepoint that seemed to be her constant companion. I sensed it was as therapeutic as my manure pile, only a whole lot cleaner.

  She looked up and smiled when she saw us. “I have something to show you,” she said, biting off a thread and tucking the needle into the taut fabric.

  I took the ring she handed me and a grin spread across my face. “It’s Runaway Farm! How lovely.”

  “I’ll have it framed and send it to you when I’m done,” she said, rising from the couch. “I might even include Keats, if he’ll agree to pose for me.”

  The dog was pacing back and forth, making a show of brushing my shins. He obviously wanted to get on with the next stage of our evening’s mission.

  “I’m sure he will tomorrow,” I said, knowing that was unlikely. Posing was probably on par with a bath in the dog’s eyes.

  “We’re leaving to meet friends in Dorset Hills for drinks soon, anyway,” she said, turning around. Her dress was only half-zipped. “Would you mind, Ivy? Michael’s still in the shower.”

  I tried to step around Keats and nearly tripped. My arms pinwheeled and I almost clipped Caroline in the head. That was no way to impress a guest.

  “I’ve got it,” Jilly said, sidestepping the dog to do as Caroline asked. “Since you and Michael are going out, I can give Ivy a hand.”

  “You two work so hard. I get tired just watching you,” Caroline said, collapsing on the couch again. She unfurled a long strand the exact shade of my red barn, and bit that off, too. “And yet you’re always so calm.”

  I laughed, as Keats parked himself on my boots. “We’re like ducks—all glide on the surface while the feet paddle like mad underneath.”

  “Truth,” Jilly said, taking a few steps toward the door.

  Caroline laughed, too, as she deftly threaded her needle. “I’m the same way, I guess. When my hands aren’t busy.”

  Maybe she was the one I’d heard pacing the night before. I’d assumed it was Michael, with his boundless energy.

  Jilly clapped her hands now. “Ivy, let’s get moving. I won’
t be truly calm until we get this next task out of the way.”

  “What is it this time?” Caroline asked, jabbing the fabric.

  “More barn chores,” Jilly called back. “Never ending, never glamorous.”

  “Also truth,” I said, easing my boots out from under Keats. “But you’ll make farm life look pretty, right?”

  “Of course,” she called after me. “Thanks to you two, I only see the pretty, anyway.”

  I followed Jilly out and then poked my head back in. “Thanks, Caroline. That’s the nicest thing a guest has ever said to us.”

  “You’ve let what Cori said get under your skin, haven’t you?” Jilly asked, during the short drive to Edna’s.

  “Is it that obvious?” I asked.

  “Well, you’ve stalled more than usual and you keep looking at Keats like you don’t know him. I haven’t heard you say a word to him, other than basic sheepdog business.”

  “So in other words, normal.”

  “Right. And you two are far from normal.”

  “Not you too, Jilly,” I said, easing the truck into Edna’s lane. “I don’t think I can handle another lecture. I feel… broken.”

  “You’re not broken, you’re distracted and stressed. It’s bad enough when your own livelihood is on the line, but now it’s your mom’s and Iris’s, too.” She sighed before adding, “It’s cumulative, like I told Cori.”

  “How could Keats and I get so off kilter that Cori noticed before I did?”

  “You did notice. You’ve brought it up to me several times and had him looked over by a vet.”

  It was true. I’d seen Senna York twice in three days and asked her to check him each time. She pronounced Keats to be “as fit as a fiddle.” Portia Parson, on the other hand, had been far from it, in the veterinarian’s opinion. She’d only learned of the cat overpopulation days before The Cat Lady’s demise and was trying to come up with a solution that wouldn’t stress Portia out more. She never got the chance to intervene.

  I glanced at the dog in the back seat and sighed. “Something is off with Keats. I know it, and you know it. I guess I just figured it would fix itself. Maybe I need to rehome—” I jerked my thumb in the direction of Percy, who was lounging against the dog’s side. On cue the cat raised huge, glowing eyes. “So that things can go back to normal.”