Who Moved My Goat Cheese?

by Lynn Cahoon

  Angie rubbed her eyes willing the tiredness to go away. “You don’t have to, I’m awake now.”

  “No, I shouldn’t have called so early. I’m an early bird these days and I guess I expect everyone else to have the same hours that I keep.” Mrs. Potter laughed at herself. “Erica will be home by noon and we’re going into the buffet for lunch. I might miss out on church today, but I’ll be able to get all the gossip at lunch.”

  “I can come over and visit in a few minutes.” Angie crossed the worn wooden floor to the window and looked out on the morning.

  “Don’t bother, I’m actually a little sleepy so I’m laying back down. Now that I know you’re all right, I think I can get a couple more hours in before Erica comes back.”

  Glad you can. But instead of verbalizing her actual thought, Angie found the energy to be positive and wished her neighbor a good day. Then she plopped back down on the bed, her phone still in her hand.

  Considering her options, she groaned and pulled herself back up and headed for a shower. Now that she didn’t have Ian coming for lunch, she could take a nap. Or, she mused, she could take lunch to him. What a great way to get access to Moss Farm and look for clues along with pumping Ian for answers to her many questions.

  By eleven, Nona’s fried chicken was packed in her picnic basket along with red potato salad and a jar of iced tea. She threw in a checked table cloth. If she remembered correctly, there was a picnic table set near the edge of the yard at Moss Farm. She tucked a bag of cookies into basket and then put Dom into the back seat.

  As she backed up to turn around in the driveway, she saw Dom staring at her. “This is definitely not a date. So stop looking at me that way.”

  She turned up the music and started singing along. Life was good. Even when she was stressed about opening night and the little matter of the murder down the road, she felt more comfortable in her own skin than she had in a long time. This must be what being home feels like, she thought.

  When she got to the farm, Ian’s car and a black Suburban sat near the barn. Staying in the car after she parked, she dialed his number.

  “Good afternoon. Sorry I woke you so early this morning.” Ian’s voice sounded muffled.

  “No problem. Hey, I promised you lunch, so I brought it over.” Now Angie was second guessing her plan. This felt like a date even to her. “But if you’re too busy, I can just leave.”

  “You brought me lunch?”

  “Nona’s fried chicken, potato salad, and some cookies for dessert. If your friend wants to join us, I brought more than enough.” She felt like she was rambling. “Or like I said, I can just leave.”

  “No. Don’t leave. That sounds wonderful. All I’ve had all day was two of those donuts I brought you, and man does not live by donut alone. No matter what kind of sweet tooth they have.” He paused and Angie could hear someone talking in the background. “Go get set up on the picnic table and we’ll be out in five to ten minutes. We’re just finishing up the production house inventory.”

  “Sure thing. Oh, and I brought Dom. Just so you won’t be surprised.”

  Ian laughed. “I would have been surprised if you’d brought that bloody goat. Dom, I expect to see with you most of the time. We’ll be right out.”

  Angie tucked her phone into her back pocket and let Dom out. Then she grabbed the tablecloth and the basket. She’d just finished setting up the table for three when Dom barked behind her. Turning, Angie expected to see Ian and the court-appointed person coming toward them. Instead, the area between the barn and the table was empty.

  “What are you looking at?” She bent down to Dom’s level, letting her gaze follow his. She tightened her grip on his collar when she saw movement. But instead of the coyote she feared she’d see out this way, she saw a woman running toward the back of the property. Where the trail she’d been on last week must intersect with Moss Farm.

  The woman turned and glanced over her shoulder and Angie recognized her. Mildred had been in the house and was now running away. She moved toward the table, keeping hold of Dom. Things were getting weird. Why would Mildred be out here, especially since she claimed Gerald Moss hadn’t been part of the cheese commission? And if she was part of the court group doing inventory, why was she trying to be sneaky about leaving?

  When Ian and a young man came out of the barn, Dom wagged his tail furiously. Ian hurried over and introduced his helper. “Angie Turner, this is Will Bergin. He’s clerking for one of the district judges this year and is working part time this summer as a court representative for the probate department.”

  “Nice to meet you, Will.” Angie held out a hand and the young man dressed in a white shirt and tie shook it vigorously.

  “Thanks for bringing us food. I’m on per diem, but it rarely covers more than one meal. The court division is pretty cheap with their temp staff.” He sniffed the air. “That chicken smells amazing. I haven’t had good chicken since I left Alabama and Mama sent me off with my last Sunday dinner for a while.”

  “Well, I hope I come close to your mother’s cooking.” Angie glanced toward the barn. “Just the two of you? Who else is here?”

  “No one. The milkers left at seven and since then, it’s just been the two of us.” Ian sat down at the table and poured iced tea for all of them. “Well, us and the goats. But they’re all out on the pasture by now.”

  Angie unpacked the basket and handed Will the chicken. Obviously, they hadn’t known Mildred was sneaking around the house. What had she been looking for? “Are you done with the house then?”

  “Haven’t even started. I think this is going to be a two-day job.” Will took a leg and a wing and sat it on his plate, handing the rest to Ian. “The guy had a lot of junk to go through.”

  Ian took the chicken and then Angie unpacked the salad. “Well, I can’t promise to bring lunch tomorrow, but I could leave the leftovers if you want to keep them in Mr. Moss’s kitchen.”

  “Well, isn’t that a great idea. Nothing better than leftovers.” Ian smiled at her. “What a lovely thought.”

  Angie felt a stab of guilt since the only reason she’d suggested it was so she would have a reason to get into the house.

  This investigating was hard work. And she had to be a little deceitful to get what she needed. But it wasn’t quite lying, now, was it?

  CHAPTER 13

  “I’ve got to call my girlfriend.” Will rubbed his stomach. “Thank you so much for the eats ma’am. Ian, I’ll be in the barn in twenty minutes to start back up, will that work?”

  “I’ll help Angie pack this up and be there as soon as I’m done.” Ian watched as Will took off for the ridge, as he pulled out a cell phone. “That girl has him on a short leash. He’s called her four times this morning alone. I hate to see what’s going to happen when he’s actually in court for hours and can’t touch base.”

  “Young love. They’ll get to the point they don’t want to talk to each other. It’s sweet that he misses her so much.” She opened the Tupperware with the cookies. “Shortbread?”

  “My favorite. Of course, any homemade cookie is my weakness. When I moved into town, the church ladies took turns visiting me with their creations.” He took a bite. “But I have to say, yours are better.”

  “I’m a professional. Like buying from a store, but not prepared in a factory.” She took a cookie and leaned back in her chair. “So why do you do this?”

  “What?” He filled her tea glass and then his own before grabbing another cookie.

  “Help people. You can’t be making much from running the farmers’ market. And this, this is just above and beyond.” She watched him as he considered his answer.

  “Probably the same reason you came back to this little town. I like helping people. Gerald Moss was a pain in the rear. But he made great goat cheese. He cared for his animals like they were family. And he didn’t deserve to lose his life
this way.” He smiled at her. “He would have liked you. I mean, I think he did already, but if he knew how you were taking care of Precious, he would have loved you.”

  “You turned off the baby monitor.” She didn’t frame it as a question, just a statement.

  “Yes, I did. I was impressed with your ingenuity. Can I ask what you’re worried about?”

  Angie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Dom was growling at something when we were out feeding late on Friday. I remembered what you said about coyotes, and well, I was concerned.”

  “I don’t think there’s a pack that far from the river. Are you sure it wasn’t a two-legged intruder? You’re pretty far from town.” He glanced toward the ridge and shrugged. “Although you aren’t that far from the canyon. Gerald was always complaining that the coyotes were getting too brazen out here. He said it was a good thing he’d never sell for those fancy condos because the damn dogs would carry off a baby before the clueless parents would know it was gone.”

  Angie pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. “I think he was thinking about the dingoes in Australia.”

  “He seemed to think a dog is a dog.” He pointed toward Dom. “Your dog could carry off a small woman with no issue.”

  She rubbed Dom’s head as he leaned against her leg. “When he’s full grown, maybe. Right now, he’d be pushed to carry Mabel anywhere.”

  “Mabel, is that your neighbor?” Ian closed his eyes, looking like he needed to clock a few more hours of sleep in his schedule. “I haven’t met her yet.”

  She laughed in spite of herself. The way this conversation was going, she’d never get any dirt on Gerald Moss or the reasons he was killed. “Mabel’s my hen. Actually, she was my Nona’s hen. She rules the place, and is kind enough to let me live there as long as I keep feeding her.”

  “Oh. You Americans choose such interesting names for your animals. Where I grew up, dogs were called Spot and chickens didn’t even have names.” He shook his head like he could will away the fatigue and took another cookie. “Why are you so interested in Gerald?”

  The bluntness of his question shocked her. “Why do you say that?”

  He watched a hawk soar over the canyon ridge, playing with the wind gusts. “I hear things. Allen isn’t an idiot. He doesn’t need help solving the murder, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m not thinking that. But sometimes I worry that my friend Felicia and I are the newcomers in the area and everyone knows I came up here on Sunday to talk to Gerald.”

  “Or Saturday.”

  “What?” Now it was her turn to be confused.

  “Some rumors say you were here on Saturday.”

  “You mean Reana. She says I was here on Saturday. Which you know better because the first time I met Gerald Moss was on Saturday at the farmers’ market.”

  “But that’s not true, is it?”

  Angie sat forward, feeling the fire in her veins. “I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.”

  He watched her for a while. “Angie, you came out here with your grandmother when you were a little girl. Before you lost your parents. He told me how pretty and happy you were back then. That your eyes sparkled with joy when you saw the goats. And that the loss of your parents made that light drop out of your eyes.”

  “I didn’t come here. I would have remembered.” Would she really have remembered? She’d taken a lot of the memories from before the crash and locked them away. Why couldn’t this be one of them? She took a deep breath. “I didn’t remember him at all. How insensitive could I be?”

  “If you don’t remember, you can’t be held responsible. He remembered. And it gave him joy that the little girl who’d had so much pain in the past had found her true path. Her calling. That’s all any of us can wish for our children. That they find their path.” He reached out and grabbed her hand. “He knew and that’s all that mattered.”

  “Maybe that’s why I can’t get his murder out of my head. Why I feel like it’s up to me to find out who killed him and why. I knew him.” Angie blew out a long breath. “So do you believe me that I was here Sunday?”

  “I do. But I have no clue why Reana would be so adamant it was Saturday.” He looked at her. “Do you?”

  “She told me he was going to sell the property. That she was getting an exclusive agency to sell the entire farm. She wanted to keep it under wraps until she had his John Hancock on the paperwork.” Angie shrugged. “I don’t understand real estate contracts and why it would matter.”

  “Especially now that Gerald is dead. Keeping it a secret doesn’t make any sense at all.” Ian rubbed his chin, playing with the little bit of beard shadow that was coming on his face. “I can see keeping him under wraps so someone didn’t come by and steal the listing. Now that he’s dead, there has to be another reason she doesn’t want to admit she was here on Sunday.”

  “Exactly.” Angie looked around the empty yard. She spotted Will down the fence, out of earshot. “So I want to look around the house and see if I can find any clues.”

  “And that’s why you’re leaving tomorrow’s lunch in Gerald’s fridge? You realize he was a bachelor and that thing might have a few science experiments growing in the back.”

  “I’ll clean it out and throw away any gross stuff. I’m thinking it’s more likely it will be empty or filled with cheese or Ding Dongs.” She focused on Ian’s face. “Are you going to tell me not to go snooping?”

  “I have no right to tell you to do anything. Besides, I was kidding about the fridge.” Ian’s eyes sparkled. “I will tell you that our besotted Will doesn’t miss much, so I wouldn’t take too long in there. The boy has a keen eye for details.”

  “Thanks.” She glanced over to where Will had completed his call and was walking back toward them. “I’ll call you later tonight and I’ll tell you if I found anything.”

  “Now I’m part of the investigating team too? Don’t I feel like your Nancy Drew.”

  Angie smiled. “I think I’m Nancy Drew. You’re Ned or better yet, Frank Hardy. He was the cute one, right?”

  “Again, you realize I didn’t grow up in the states and I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Ian stood and stretched. “Anyway, today, I’m too tired to think of a British equivalent for your teenage sleuthing models.”

  “So you do know who I’m talking about.”

  He gave her a grin as he walked away. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

  As he met up with Will and led the young man away to the barn, Angie packed up the basket, setting the food on top so she could easily transfer the containers into the refrigerator. There was no crime scene tape on the front door. As she entered, she hoped Sheriff Brown had already had investigators go through the house. She didn’t have gloves but at least she’d be able to explain away any prints they might find in the kitchen. Now, if she left some in the guy’s bedroom, those would be harder to explain.

  Giggling at the look she imagined Sheriff Brown would give her as they talked, she headed to the kitchen to drop off the basket, then she’d quickly go through the house and see what she could find. It shouldn’t take her long since she had no idea what she was looking for or if she’d know it when she found it.

  The kitchen was surprisingly clean. She set the basket down by the fridge and peeked inside. It was completely empty, except for the half-gone loaf of focaccia bread she’d given to Mr. Moss. She brushed it with her fingers, feeling the man’s loss and her own of not being able to get to know him. Nona had liked the guy, he had to have some redeeming qualities.

  Angie decided that Ian must have come and cleaned out the perishables. The man seemed to think of anything, including all the details of life. She smiled, thinking of the way he’d turned off her baby monitor in the barn so that he wouldn’t disturb her as he took care of Precious.

  Leaving the kitchen, she headed into the living room. S
helves of bookcases lined the three walls that weren’t taken up with a large rock fireplace. An old leather couch and a recliner faced the fireplace. And peeking out from under the couch was a spot of pink. Angie bent over and pulled out a floral scarf. She blinked, trying to remember where she’d seen one just like it. Then it came to her: Mildred’s office. She’d been wearing this same scarf. She picked it up and put it in her pocket. Focusing back on the room, she didn’t see a television. Had the guy been that far off the grid? She picked up the book on the table next to the chair. It was a well-read copy of Treasure Island. The surprises just kept coming.

  She sat the book back down and headed to the end of the room where an old roll-top desk sat with a desktop computer on the top. No television, but a computer. She powered it up but didn’t get farther than the sign on screen. Gerald Moss had password protected his documents. She glanced around for a small notebook, the ones you keep important facts you don’t want to forget, like passwords, but came up empty handed. Nona had gotten a computer a few years before her death and she kept all her passwords close by. She’d joked with Angie that if she didn’t, she’d be locked out of her games forever. He had to have kept his somewhere.

  She turned off the computer after searching through the desk drawers and finding nothing except tax records and receipts for the dairy. She couldn’t waste too much time here, or Will would be suspicious. She left the living room and headed into the hallway. The tiny house had two bedrooms. One looked like a storage closet, filled with boxes. She opened up one of the boxes and found women’s clothing. From the look of them, they were decades old and well worn. “These must be from his wife.” A wave of sadness came over her as she looked at the boxes from his marriage. Memories locked away, but he was unable to part with the items, even years after she passed on. She shut the door and went into the other bedroom. This room was neat and tidy too. The bed had a worn but clean quilt on top, probably from his marriage. Again, there was one book on the bedside table, Michael Crichton’s Pirate Latitudes. The man had had a serious affection for pirate books.