by Ellen Riggs
Jilly craned around, too. “Keats and Percy are practically curled up together, and I caught them snuggling in the dog bed yesterday when you were out. The problem isn’t the cat.”
“Then what is it? I feel like he’s… distant. Like a radio station I can’t quite tune into.” I hit the brakes so fast the truck stalled right beside the pig pool—the deep swampy pond where bad things happened. The timing couldn’t be a coincidence. It must be a sign.
“What’s wrong?” Jilly asked.
“What if it’s me? What if my concussion is finally healing and I can’t connect with Keats anymore?”
Jilly actually laughed. “You’ve told me dozens of times that you wished you could recover fully. So now you don’t want that?”
I thought about it for a second, stalled in the dark lane by the treacherous pig pool. “I don’t want that anymore, actually. I like being who I am now—the quirky farmer who talks to her animals and believes they talk back in their own way.” She let me ponder some more and I added, “I mean it would be good if the headaches went away and I regained some impulse control. But I don’t want to give up the rest. It would be like seeing life in black and white again. I can’t go back to old Ivy.”
She reached out and put her hand over mine as I clutched the steering wheel hard. “I don’t think there’s any risk of your becoming Old Ivy again. And I’m glad about that because New Ivy is endlessly fascinating and her big heart cracked right open.”
“I can’t go back. I can’t go back…” I muttered. It felt like I was stuck in a nightmare loop that had no way out.
“Stop that right now or I will get out of this truck, risk my life passing the pig pool and open your door to slap you properly.”
A long white muzzle poked between the seats and rested on my shoulder. Keats licked my cheek and mumbled something motivational.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you, buddy.”
“What did he say?” Jilly asked.
“That he trusts me,” I said, starting the truck again and rolling forward. “That it’ll work out fine. And that I should get moving.”
“See? What did I tell you?” She turned and looked at the dog. “Took you long enough. You can’t give her the silent treatment forever, dude.” Keats licked her cheek, too. But she wasn’t done ranting. “I mean, it’s a wonder we keep going at all, yet here we are. Delivering feral cats in the dark to an empty house. How did our lives become so weird?”
“Life is about to become even weirder,” I said. “Because the house is neither dark nor empty.”
“Ivy Galloway! Where are my cats, dagnabit?”
Edna’s big old suitcase was still on the porch and she came out the front door and put her hands on her hips. She was wearing a tweed coat that looked new and her hair, which had been gray when she left, was now dyed tan to match the coat. Even her lines had faded. The Edna who left a few weeks ago had come back a changed woman. At least on the surface.
She stomped down the steps as we got out of the truck, still fuming. “Can’t I leave you with a simple task without it getting royally messed up? I saw you stalling that truck in the lane, by the way. Some things never change.”
“Like your foul mood, apparently,” I said. “And for your information, looking after your feral colony was no simple task. Someone stole most of them before she got murdered in my mom’s new salon.”
That actually shut her up. It took something extreme to stop Edna Evans, octogenarian and apocalyptic prepper. We had joked that she was impossible to kill, but she was also impossible to beat in verbal warfare. I should know. I had tried often enough. But I’d grown to enjoy our sparring and she’d been letting me win in the week before her trip. I was actually glad her pilot light was back on and spitting fire.
“Who got murdered now?” Edna said. “And why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Most people still aren’t speaking to you, for starters,” I said. “Some are mad you got murdered and others are mad you didn’t. Either way, they felt duped.”
“Don’t get smart with me, young lady. I will box your ears, just as I did your brother before he got all high and mighty. You’ve sent me plenty of emails that neglected to mention either missing cats or murders.”
“We didn’t want to ruin your trip, Edna,” Jilly said. “You deserved some down time.”
Edna gave Jilly the once-over, ending with a scornful sneer at the pajamas and rubber boots. She hadn’t bothered to change when we were home.
“I don’t need to hear from you yet, Jillian,” Edna said. “The one with the murder problem is Ivy.”
I shook my head. “As I recall, the most recent murder problem was yours, Edna.”
“And now it’s yours again, as one would expect. Someone’s dead, yet it wasn’t worth mentioning. Typical.” She shook herself and looked around. “It’s good to be home.”
“Are you drunk, Edna?” I asked. “Were they handing out tangerine vodka on the plane?”
“I wish. There was so much turbulence I wanted to throw the captain out of the cockpit and take over. Honestly. He looked sixteen years old.” She paused for breath and stared at me. “Well…? Where are my cats and who died?”
“There’s good news and there’s bad news. First—”
“Get to the point, Ivy. I’m over eighty and might not live long enough for you to finish beating around the bush.”
“Fine. In a nutshell, Portia Parson stole your cats and then someone killed her.”
“Portia? Why on earth would she steal my cats? Did she lose her mind? Why, I’d kick her across hill country and back if she weren’t already dead.”
“We don’t have all the answers yet, but in a way, yes, she did lose her mind. She thought these animals were suffering and moved most of them into the Bingham manor.”
Edna came down the stairs and walked to the passenger side of the truck. “Let’s go and get them right now.”
Resting my arms on the hood, I said, “Edna, I’m sorry. Most of them are gone. For good.”
All the fire vanished and she looked 80 again. “Gone for good? Did the County…?”
“No! I have friends who rescued them and placed them in shelters. Many have been successfully adopted already. We raised money to help.”
She stared at me with eyes that were dark holes in the light streaming from the porch. “All gone? Fifty of them?”
“No, no! I mean yes, that’s the good news.” I ran around the truck and pulled Panther’s crate from the back. When I released him, he ran over to Edna and wove around her flesh-colored support hose and sensible oxford lace-ups.
By the time she’d bent over to pat him, I’d released Fleecy and the two remaining gray tabbies.
Standing, she brushed at her eyes. “Let Red out of the truck, too.”
“He’s adopted us, I’m afraid. His name is Percy.”
“Percy. Oh, lord, not another romantic poet. He deserves better than that.”
I opened the door and Percy leapt down. He circled Edna’s legs in a tight figure eight and then came to sit on my boots.
“You see?” I said. “He and Keats have hit it off.”
She shrugged. “Fine. As long as I have visiting rights.”
“He’s free to come and go as he likes,” I said, smiling. This had all gone far better than expected. Four cats were plenty, when all was said and done, and now Edna didn’t need to worry about placing the others.
“Who’s that?” she said, turning at a crackle in the bush down the lane. “Someone’s on my property. Eavesdropping.” Stomping toward the sound she called, “Don’t make me go inside for my gun, whoever you are.”
“Edna, you can’t shoot anyone.” I ran after her, but Keats beat me to it and herded her gently back.
Down the lane, we heard an engine turn over.
Edna shook off my arm. “You know what? I’m done with playing the nice guy. We’re going after him.”
“We’re what?”
She shoved me
out of the way and hurried to the truck. “Get while the getting’s good, ladies, because I’m driving.”
“This is my truck,” I said, jostling with her at the driver’s door.
“Tell that to the dang truck,” she said, giving me a sharp elbow in the ribcage. “Leave the driving to someone who knows how to use a stick, for pity’s sake.”
“You are out of line, Edna,” I said, blocking her next blow.
“While you’re getting butt hurt, the creeper’s getting away,” she said. “It’s Portia’s killer, mark my words.”
There was a mad scramble as we all got into the truck, with Jilly and the animals in the back, and me in the passenger seat. Before my door was even closed, Edna gunned it down the driveway. She rolled down the window and let out a whoop.
“Slow down! Are you crazy?” I shouted over Jilly’s shrill scream as we rounded a tight curve at breakneck speed.
Edna stuck her head out the window and hollered. “Coming for you, loser. Better hurry.”
There wasn’t a single hiccup as we pursued a beat-up old brown car into town. I had to hand it to Edna: she knew how to handle a truck and she was good with a tail. She gained on the brown car fast, and if she hadn’t gotten cocky and tried to run it off the road in front of the recreation center, things would have ended much differently. Instead, she gained the attention of a passing police car, and the sirens and flashing light came on. I thought she was going to flee, but she knew when to call it. Still, the language as she pulled over and saw Kellan getting out of the SUV was a little spicy.
“Talk him down, Ivy,” she said. “I can’t afford demerit points.”
“You don’t even own a vehicle,” I said.
“I do now. I’m buying your truck for a fair price so you can get something you can actually handle.”
I put my face in my hands. “As if I don’t get into enough trouble on my own… Now Kellan’s caught me joyriding with a feisty octogenarian, a dog, a cat and poor Jilly.”
“There was no joy in that ride,” Edna said, rolling up the window. “Get your story straight. I saw a trespasser and pursued. It’s likely he was after the last of my cats and I will defend what is mine.”
Kellan knocked on the glass. Then he leaned over and his mouth dropped open when he saw who was driving. Keats whined and clawed at the glass in the back to get at him.
Edna put her hand on the window button and then chuckled. “For the record, I lied. There was plenty of joy in that ride.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The next day I doubled down on farm work, spending considerable time on my manure pile to ground myself after the mayhem of the previous day. I could handle some mayhem but was no fan of roller coasters. Yesterday had been one heck of a wild ride, from the celebration of Portia’s life, through rescuing Mom from the Langman sisters, to getting chastised by Cori Hogan during the Rescue Mafia 911, and finally the car chase with Edna at the wheel. To round things off, I got a second lecture of the day from Kellan, and a thorough razzing from Edna about my driving as I took her home.
If it weren’t for the guests, I’m sure Jilly and I would both have gone back to bed after breakfast. Michael was at loose ends. Hazel had warned me her nephew bored easily and they were set to depart the next day. In the meantime, Jilly and I offered a list of activities that might engage them. Michael surprised me by taking up Jilly’s suggestion of joining her for a full-day cooking class in Dorset Hills, that would be followed by dinner in the city’s best restaurant. It was good of her, because she could actually be teaching cooking classes to others.
Caroline wasn’t interested in learning to cook and after sweetly turning down every other suggestion, opted to spend the day with needlepoint and napping. As close as she was to Michael, she probably craved some “me time.” He was constantly on the go, a true extrovert, whereas she often went an entire meal without saying a word, other than to prompt him to share his stories. It was a perfect example of how very different personalities could complement each other. I liked to think Kellan and I had some of that working for us, what with his steady, serious focus and my more spontaneous, irrepressible curiosity.
On the other hand, he’d described my behavior the night before as impulsive and dangerous. Edna had started it, but I’d gone along with it. He’d ended the discussion by questioning her faculties and mine. It was the opposite of romantic.
“Oh Keats,” I said, as I dug deep with my spade and turned the manure. “Relationships are hard at the best of times. Relationships with murder in the mix are… well, murder.”
He mumbled something at me from the base of the pile. Instead of patrolling and surveying his charges, the dog stayed with me. Occasionally, he flicked his eyes at Percy, who was aggravating the camelids simply by sitting on a post in their pasture and twitching his tail. It was provoking the donkeys, who gathered nearby to plot their next move.
Normally, Keats would interrupt Percy’s game. He may not like either the donkeys or the llamas, but he still liked order on his farm. The cat was a disruptor, just for the sake of it. He was bored, too.
“Percy, go entertain yourself elsewhere,” I called. “Try hunting like a normal cat.”
The orange tail flicked harder and reminded me of Cori Hogan’s signature gloves.
Keats changed position, ears pricked and head constantly swivelling. I got the sense he was guarding his domain from something, but had no idea what. Later, I’d send Charlie around on the tractor to see if there were any signs of intruders, human or otherwise.
“Keats?” He glanced up at me for a second. “I apologize for not listening to you lately. I think it’s a combination of me being distracted and you choosing to stay on the farm instead of riding with me. But let that end today. You have my undivided attention, and I’d love to have yours. I feel like we’re on the verge of something big.”
He mumbled and it sounded like agreement. Anxious agreement, but I’d take what I could get.
“Let’s take a walk to clear our heads. The next steps are circling like turkey vultures in the periphery of my mind. I can’t get them to land if I don’t give them space.”
The dog got up and started pacing, as if torn. Normally the prospect of a walk had him dancing on white paws like a dressage horse. Well, now was the time to listen.
“What do you think we should do, buddy? Walk or farm work? I’ll follow your lead.”
He went back and forth a few more times, nose up, sniffing for threats. Finally he started walking toward the meadow and looked back with a clear message: “You coming?”
Out in the fields, we climbed the small hill that let me look down over the farm and Edna’s house. My spirits rose and I sucked in the fresh air as if I hadn’t had any for weeks. Keats was still a bit jumpy, but after a mile or so, he flushed Percy out of the brush and gave chase with jubilant barking. Now I sighed with relief. My dog was still in there, and his mood had nothing to do with the cat.
There was a big rock at the top of the hill that glaciers had dropped eons ago. I climbed up and sat with Keats on one side and Percy on the other. After a spell of quiet contemplation, Keats gave me a nudge with his muzzle and then turned in the direction of town. I shifted to follow his gaze and saw nothing but gently rolling meadows and trees desperately clinging to a few bright leaves, like scraps of clothing. Somewhere in between sat the Bingham manor but I couldn’t see it from here.
Keats whined and poked me again. This time he stared up at me with his eerie blue eye and didn’t shift his gaze until I said, “How about we head over to the manor? See if we missed anything?”
He jumped up and now the dressage horse paws came into action. Percy also left his silent reflection and the two jostled to be first down the hill, although there was plenty of open space for all of us.
“Boys, boys,” I said. “Can’t we all just get along?”
All the way back they frolicked, stopping only when I got out my phone to make a call.
“Okay,” I sa
id. “So I know what we’re looking for now. But I’m going to have to count on you two to help me find it. Understood?”
Percy took a flying leap and landed right on the dog’s back. Keats let out a startled yelp and as the cat spring-boarded off, gave chase. They were soon out of sight, and I enjoyed the rest of the descent alone, only to find them both sitting beside the truck when I got home. Buttercup had been towed into town for service while we were gone, so it was either the truck or the golf cart, which were sitting side by side.
Keats voted with his paws on the door of the pickup.
“Stalling it is,” I said, pulling out my keys. “Remember, you asked for it.”
As we drove to the manor, I said, “I’ve decided not to sell Edna the truck. It’s tempting but that would be admitting failure. And worse, admitting failure to Edna. I’ve just got a mental block about the pickup and I’ve solved many a bigger mental block. So, just as soon as we get Portia’s murder sorted, I’m taking those lessons I’ve cancelled five times. It’s a matter of pride.” After a minute I added, “And fear. I honestly think Kellan will dump me if there’s another episode like last night. His reputation is on the line. It must be so embarrassing for him to have me stalling around town. Then I surrendered the wheel to Edna and participated in a car chase… well, that may have been the last straw. I couldn’t blame him.”
Keats mumbled something and I turned to see him happy-panting.
“Fine, it wasn’t the last straw. But when it comes to his job, he probably only has a few straws and I’m using them up fast.”
Keats stood up against the dashboard and I said, “Why do I get the distinct impression we’re going to use another straw or two today?”
Percy let out a meow from the back that prompted me to pick up the pace. I missed Jilly riding shotgun on this one, but it felt good to have unity with my pet partners in crime. Or crime-solving.
