Leave Tomorrow Behind

by Judy Clemens

  “You brought her up. Said she was a jerk.”

  “Right.” I sat back. “So what do you know about last night?”

  “That I can tell you?”

  “No, that you can dangle in front of my nose and be a butt with.”

  He laughed. “Probably not a lot more than you already know.”

  “I don’t know anything, except Rikki Raines is dead. I don’t even know what killed her.” He didn’t respond to my hint, so I had to prod him. “Do you know?”

  “Not yet. There was nothing obvious.”

  Which meant no broken neck, or stab wound, or anything else done in a sudden, violent strike. “When they know, will you be able to find out?”

  “Most likely.”

  I rubbed my forehead, in case that might help ease my ferocious headache.

  Willard leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Stella. I was wondering something.”

  I waggled my free hand in a “go ahead” gesture without stopping the rubbing.

  “What were you doing on YouTube this morning?”

  That stopped the rubbing. “What?”

  “There you were, right on my computer screen, threatening innocent reporters and cameramen.”

  “Innocent?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. That’s pushing it a bit far. But still…” He raised his eyebrows.

  Dammit, I should’ve done more than threaten those people. “I told you. I was trying to help someone.”

  “Daniella Troth.”

  “You know her?”

  “The sheriff’s office does, after last night. She hadn’t been on their radar before, but now…”

  “They’re suspicious of her because I stopped the reporters from harassing her?”

  “Who’s getting harassed?” Nick stepped up behind me and began kneading my shoulders. God, I loved that man.

  “No one.” Willard half stood and stuck out his hand. “Good to see you, Nick.”

  “Likewise.” Nick took a brief break in my neck rub to shake Willard’s hand, then resumed when I pointed at my shoulders.

  Willard sat back down. “I was just telling Stella here that she’s a YouTube star.”

  “Hmpf.” My shoulders stiffened.

  “The altercation with the reporters last night?” Nick didn’t sound surprised.

  “Stupid reporters,” I mumbled.

  Nick squeezed my shoulder, then kept rubbing. A moan rose in my throat, but I remembered just in time that Willard was sitting three feet away, so I kept myself appropriate.

  “It wasn’t actually the reporters who posted the video,” Willard said. “It was a Rikki Raines fan waiting outside the building.”

  “I thought the cops had chased them all away.”

  “Yeah, well, you know how that goes. The comments for the video are mostly in support of you, by the way, trashing reporters in general. You even got an interview request and a marriage proposal.”

  Nick stopped massaging my shoulders again. “Do I need to be worried?”

  I patted his hand. “Nah. You’re still my first choice. Now keep rubbing.”

  “Yes, ma’am. So,” he said to Willard, “you’re here to continue questioning us? Because Detective Watts didn’t seem finished. At least not the way she was fingering her handcuffs as Stella spirited me away.”

  “Daddy issues,” I said. “I’ll explain later.”

  Willard laughed. “No, I really did just want to check in. After seeing that YouTube video I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  “Very kind of you,” Nick said.

  I was curious. “How’d you find that YouTube video, anyway? Willard, were you surfing?”

  “No.” His mouth twitched. “Your favorite police officer saw it and told me about it.”

  “What favorite—Do you mean Meadows?” An officer in Willard’s department who’d rubbed me the wrong way since the day I met him when he didn’t believe I was having a life-or-death situation on my farm. He’d sort of redeemed himself later on, but he was still a jerk. “What was he doing looking me up on YouTube?”

  “He wasn’t looking you up. He was looking up Rikki Raines, and anything that might shed light on her murder.”

  “On YouTube?”

  “People post all kinds of things. You never know what you might find.”

  “Even if you’re Meadows.”

  “Yes, even then. Anyway, he ran across that video from last night. He, um, was quite…impressed.”

  “I’m sure.” I held up a hand. “We were talking about something before Nick came in. What was it?”

  “Harassment,” Nick said.

  “Right. Daniella. Reporters. Willard said the cops suspected her.”

  “No, I didn’t. I said she was on their radar now.”

  “How come?”

  “Because she knew Rikki Raines. Very well, I guess. Not sure why.”

  The side door opened, and Lucy came in. She froze in the doorway. “What happened? What did I miss? Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Relax, Luce, everything’s fine. Well, not fine. I mean, it’s fine here, it’s just not…” My brain stopped working.

  “Detective?” she said. “Why are you here?”

  “Hello, Lucy.” He got up again to shake hands. “Everything here at the farm is going along as smoothly as always, as far as I know.”

  She cocked an eyebrow.

  “Right,” Willard said. “That might not be all that reassuring. But really, I’m here about something else entirely. Sorry to frighten you.”

  She relaxed, but narrowed her eyes at me. “You look terrible.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Nick, you look terrible, too.”

  “Terrible twos,” I snickered, then closed my eyes. I really was losing it.

  “Have a seat,” Nick said. “We’ll tell you everything.”

  I let Nick do the explaining this time. Who knew what would come out of my mouth if I kept talking? Besides, his voice was very soothing.

  Some time later, I woke up with a jerk. Someone had placed a pillow under my head, so at least I wasn’t sleeping in my cereal bowl. Voices drifted in from the living room. I stumbled over to find the other three looking up at Miranda, who had just slammed the stairwell door, which, of course, had woken me up.

  “What’s going on?” she said, far too loudly. “Why are all these people in here?”

  I groaned, and dropped onto the sofa next to Nick, letting my head fall onto my hands.

  Nick patted my back. “Shall I fill her in?” He launched into a quick explanation of the night’s events. The story was becoming stale. I’d heard it—and told it—too many times. Almost like it was a movie, instead of real life.

  But maybe that was because my head was filled with fuzz.

  Miranda’s face grew redder and redder as Nick talked, until I thought she was going to explode like a tomato thrown against a country mailbox. Not that I’ve ever seen that. Or done that.

  “Seriously?” she shrieked, interrupting him. “Seriously?”

  Nick frowned. “What? Are you a Rikki Raines fan? Or…” he looked closely at her. “Not one?”

  “No, I’m…she…this summer…him…” She pointed at Willard.

  “Me?” Willard said.

  “Yes! Can Stella not go two months without a cop checking into her activities?”

  “I’m not here as a cop. I’m here as a friend.”

  “See?” I said to Nick. “Told you I had friends.”

  “Augh!” Miranda spun around and marched into the kitchen.

  Good riddance.

  “So what does this mean for today?” Lucy said. “Do you have to go somewhere? Are you actually involved?”

  “Not involved,” I said, “except for having found the body.”

  “And annoyed the detective,” Nick said.

  “And the press,” Willard added.

  “So, no.” I held up my hands. “I have nothing to do with it.”

  My kitchen phone ra
ng, and Nick smirked. “What do you want to bet that phone call is going to make you a liar?”

  I slugged him—gently—and went to answer the phone. “What?” I said into the receiver.

  “Stella?” It was Zach, and his voice was about an octave higher than it should have been.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Melody Gregg’s calf is sick, and they’re threatening to quarantine the entire barn.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “What’s happening? Watch out for that pothole.” I was on the phone with Carla, and directing Miranda, who was driving. She glared at me. I was pretty sure she wanted to give me the finger, the way her hand twitched on the steering wheel, but she didn’t. Too bad. It certainly hadn’t been my choice to have a chauffeur, but Lucy was busy with a lame cow, Nick had a conference call, Willard was “working,” and apparently I wasn’t “fit for driving” because I had fallen asleep at the breakfast table. Whatever.

  “Not sure what’s wrong yet,” Carla said. She’d given me the basics when she’d taken the phone from Zach. Basically, the Greggs’ calf was foaming at the mouth and rolling its eyes. Not exactly what you want to see in a barn full of animals. “We’ve got the barn roped off until we figure it out. Hey! Get away from there! Stupid parents. Gotta go, Stella. Get here as soon as you can.” She hung up.

  “Can’t you drive any faster?” I said to Miranda.

  “Not around potholes, according to you.”

  It wasn’t my fault the fair didn’t have a paved driveway. Or that Miranda drove like an old lady. Or a blind person.

  “Hold on,” I said. “I’ll walk from here.” Before she’d entirely stopped I climbed out of the car.

  She lurched across the seat. “Where are you going? What am I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know. Park. Get something to eat. Look at stuff.”

  “But—”

  I slammed the door. She waited a second, then shot away, enveloping me in dust. Gotta love her.

  I made my way to the exhibitors’ entrance, and from there to the calf barn. I had to make a detour around the cordoned-off manure trailer—there was now a different one parked across the lot—and was stopped at the door to the barn.

  “No visitors,” the security guard said, semi-blocking the door with his pole-like frame.

  “I’m not a visitor.”

  He looked me up and down, peering out from under his bangs. “Don’t see a badge.”

  “Oh, for…How old are you? Do they hire teenagers as security now?”

  “I’m twenty-one.”

  “Whatever.” I yanked out my phone and called Carla. “Justin Bieber won’t let me in.”

  “One sec.”

  I tried to see around the guard while I waited, but he shifted position as I did, trying to block my view. Good luck with that, spider legs.

  Carla hustled up. “Let her in.”

  “But—”

  I ducked under his arms and through the door, and Carla swept me away. I refrained from sticking my tongue out.

  We headed toward the Greggs’ calf pen, but were stopped halfway there by Zach and Randy.

  Zach grabbed my arm. “What’s wrong with the calf? Is it contagious?”

  “Haven’t seen it yet.”

  “But what about Barnabas? Should we take him home?”

  I put my hand over his, and he relaxed his death grip. “Hey, it will be all right.” I knew he was terrified of losing another calf; his experience from the summer before was still fresh in his mind. “Carla’s got it under control.” I glanced at her. “Right?”

  She put her arm around Zach. “Absolutely. We’ll know more soon. Give us a few minutes and we’ll tell you everything.”

  I patted Zach’s hand, and he let go.

  “Come on, man,” Randy said. “I think I saw Taylor over by your box.”

  Zach blinked. “Taylor’s here?”

  I looked where Randy was pointing and saw the girl hanging out at Zach’s stall. Or Austin’s, maybe. Austin was taking advantage of Zach’s absence to make time with Taylor, letting her pet his calf. Neither Austin nor Taylor seemed especially animated, but I wasn’t sure if that was because the chemistry wasn’t there, or because of the night’s tragic events. Taylor was smiling, and seemed friendly and all, but it didn’t have the same blinding effect as the day before. I also wondered how it was she’d gotten admission to the barn, when I’d been kept out, like a criminal. But then I remembered the gender and age of the security guard and figured that answered the question. I wouldn’t consider what that meant about me.

  Randy jerked his chin toward Austin and Taylor, and Zach’s expression changed from just worried, to worried and a little bit jealous. He took off without waiting for Randy.

  “Thanks, Bud,” I said.

  Randy nodded and left.

  “So, Carla, what do we have?”

  Carla shook her head. “I really don’t think it’s serious, but I wanted to get your opinion before I made the call.”

  “Mine? Why? Aren’t there any other vets around?”

  She snorted. “Too many, but none who are here officially, and all who are waiting for me to fall flat on my face in a cow plop. They want this to be the next plague, or at least Mad Cow Disease, and are already imagining their names on the bylines in The Veterinary Journal. But I think what’s happening is something a lot simpler.”

  “What?”

  “Nope. I want you to view it fresh.”

  We were ten feet away from the gaggle of vets and worried 4-H’ers when Gregg saw me. Instead of his tacky clean farmer clothes he was wearing a suit. Maybe even the same one he’d had on the night before at the concert. His eyes were bloodshot and whiskers shaded his chin. The red tie was gone altogether. I guess that’s what happens when a girl dies soon after you assault her. I took a moment to consider whether assaulting was all he’d done. And just what his relationship was to the dead singer.

  He met my eyes briefly before throwing a tantrum. “What is she doing here? Where’s security?”

  Gregg’s youngest daughter, the one who was supposedly the owner of the calf, stood off to the side, more concerned in picking something off her shoe.

  Carla intercepted Gregg before he got close enough I could slug him. “I asked her here.”

  “You? How dare—”

  Carla held up a finger. Not the finger I would have chosen, but it worked to shut him up. While she kept him silent, she looked at me. “Now, please.”

  I walked up to the pen while the others watched. Gregg wasn’t the only one muttering. The other vets weren’t exactly thrilled with my presence. Their problem, not mine.

  The calf looked fine to me. Bright-eyed, steady on his feet, backed up against the far wall, like any normal calf would do with a million people staring at him. No more of the eye-rolling Carla had mentioned, but that could have been because he wasn’t as freaked out as he had been. The only unusual thing I could see was wetness around his mouth, like he’d just taken a really long drink. I leaned toward him, then glanced up at Mrs. Gregg, who stood to the side, hands clenched into fists, which she had pressed against her thighs. “May I go in?”

  Gregg sputtered. “No, she can’t—”

  Mrs. Gregg nodded. Ignoring Mr. Gregg, I slipped through the gate and slowly approached the calf, until I knelt beside him. It wasn’t water around his mouth. It was saliva. A lot of it. And it smelled funny. Like…lemons.

  I rooted through the calf’s feed bin, but there wasn’t much there. Not enough to hide what I expected to be the culprit.

  I stood up and held out my hand. “Shovel.”

  Someone placed a shovel in my hands, and I scraped around in the wood chips below the feed bin until I found what I was looking for. I picked it up and held it out.

  “What is it?” Gregg grumped.

  “Lemon peel.”

  Carla’s eyes sparkled. “Thought so.”

  The other vets all slumped as one entity. There went their Pulitzers,
or whatever vets get for writing articles no one else can understand. They drifted away, as did the other 4-H’ers and their parents. They understood what had happened, and realized whatever danger they’d imagined was completely overstated.