A Flock and a Fluke (Clucks and Clues Cozy Mysteries)

by Hillary Avis

  “We know what happened there,” Jam said to me, frowning.

  “So what? Why should you give up on your dream because of someone else’s tragedy?” I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair. “That place is perfect. It’s better than perfect. I know, because I live there.”

  “Sammy-wammy.” Jelly put her hand on Jam’s arm. “This really could be something.”

  Jam put his hand on top of hers, and I knew it was all over. “Is this what you want? Really?”

  She beamed up at him, nodding. “Really really.”

  “Well, then I’ll call Ruth! We’ll put in an offer tonight!” Jam reached for his phone. I stood and moved toward the stairs to give them some privacy while they made the call. Ruth didn’t answer, of course—she was in the middle of driving over here right now—but Jam left her a voicemail that I knew she’d be obligated to answer. It was her fiduciary duty to her client.

  Well, that was that. I took a deep cleansing breath, as Ruth might say. My chickens would have to go. But the silver lining was that I’d be able to sell my apples to the winery next door. I said goodbye to the Californians, but before I could even descend the porch steps, Ruth tore up the street, squealing to a stop in front of the B&B.

  Jam blinked. “That was fast.”

  “She’s as excited as we are!” Jelly bounced on the balls of her feet and grinned at him.

  Ruth didn’t look excited when she got out of the car. She bore down on me with the expression a tornado might have when it faced down a trailer park. She intended to destroy me.

  “They’re ready to make an offer!” I said brightly when she neared, backing up slightly to avoid the bulk of her wrath.

  She pulled up short. “You didn’t!”

  “I sure did!”

  Ruth took in the two beaming faces behind me and pasted on a grudging smile. “Great,” she said between her teeth. “Perfect. Leona, help me get the paperwork from the car?”

  “I don’t think you need—” I began, but she grabbed my wrist and hauled me down the steps to where she’d parked before I could finish the thought.

  “I can’t believe you,” she said furiously under her breath as she rummaged through her trunk. “You don’t really want these lunatics as neighbors, do you?”

  “They have some good ideas. And you need the cash. This deal will pay your mortgage for a year. You can’t afford to ruin it.”

  Ruth snorted. “They’ll put you out of business. You can’t afford that, either.”

  “I’m already out of the egg business, in case you haven’t noticed,” I snapped. “I need to pivot, like Jam said. This helps us both, Ruth. Really. Trust me.”

  “Sorry. I don’t buy it.” She pulled a fat expandable file out of the trunk, checked the contents, then jammed it into her purple purse and stormed back toward the B&B porch with me tagging on her heels. At the bottom of the steps, she stopped so short that I bumped into her bag. “Go home, Leona! You’ve done enough.”

  “I want to make sure you don’t need help with the paperwork,” I said. Innocent eyelash flutter.

  Ruth didn’t fall for it, though. She just glared at me. Maybe the flutter only worked on men. “I’ve got it under control. You can go home now.”

  I smiled sweetly at her. “Don’t forget, you have to present the offer to your client. It’s the law.”

  Chapter 24

  Saturday, Day 8

  Alarm Clock’s crow woke me the next morning. My favorite sound. Unfortunately, it was also a glaring reminder of what I’d set in motion—the end of my egg farm dreams. I groaned and rolled over in bed, pressing my face into the warm pillow.

  Don’t be negative, I chastised myself. I flipped over and stared at the cracks in the ceiling with the sheets still pulled up to my chin. This was the end of one dream, sure, but maybe the beginning of another. Selling eggs, selling apples, what was the difference, when it came down to it? Apple trees ate a lot less than chickens did, so my overhead would be lower.

  Plus, I’d have so much more free time now that I didn’t have any friends.

  I forced myself to get out of bed and let Boots out of the downstairs bathroom. Then, with her clucking contentedly around my ankles, I made breakfast (scrambled eggs, of course) and coffee.

  When I sat down at the table, Boots jumped up in my lap. At least I still had my house chicken. I could keep her, even if I had to get rid of the rest of them.

  Outside, Alarm Clock’s crow pealed again, and my throat tightened. I was going to miss that kid. Well, I was sure he’d find a good home at the livestock auction. The handful of young cockerels I’d gotten as “packing peanuts” in my hatchery order might find their way to a stewpot, but a beautiful, good-tempered rooster like Alarm Clock would likely find a good home, especially if I grouped him with some laying hens. I just needed to do a health check on each bird and then figure out a way to transport them all to the auction house in Roseburg.

  “Guess I have my work cut out for me!” I said brightly to Boots, stroking her smooth feathers under the table. She muttered contentedly. “Will you be very sad to be an only chicken?”

  She would, I realized. When she was a baby with crooked toes and splayed legs, she’d toddled joyfully after her nestmates, though she couldn’t quite keep up. Even now that she was a house chicken and slept inside, she enjoyed roaming with the rest of the flock during the day. I hated to take that away from her.

  “We’ll keep a few friends,” I assured her. Surely Jam and Jelly wouldn’t mind if I had a small flock for my own personal eggs. I could build a smaller coop on the other side of the house so it wasn’t visible from their place.

  Boots clucked indignantly when I evicted her from my lap, swigged the rest of my coffee, and went out to do chores. The chickens milled around me as I topped off their feeder, scrubbed out and refilled their waterer, and distributed treats around the run for them to find later when they were scratching around.

  How was I going to choose between them? I had to keep Boots, of course, and probably Dr. Speckle, the feisty hen I’d inherited when I bought the place. I didn’t know her age or how long she’d keep laying, so it didn’t feel right passing her on if she was just going to end up as Sunday night dinner. I searched for her and picked her up for a cuddle.

  Dr. Speckle tolerated my fawning for a few minutes and then stretched her neck enviously toward the ground where Alarm Clock was making a big show over some treats so the girls would come over and eat them. I released her with a sigh, and she hightailed it over to join the Magdas, the three hens I was keeping for a friend until she returned from helping her family through a health crisis. They blended right into my flock now that my pullets were full-grown, but I’d put hot-pink zip ties on their left legs so I could tell them apart from the others.

  Obviously, I’d be keeping those three, although not permanently. Who else? I scanned the chicken run, my eyes blurring with tears until the chickens became one vaguely orange mass. Well, I didn’t have to choose right this minute. I stumbled out, doing my best not to step on any bird toes and leaving the door open so they could wander the yard for a bit. As I watched from the porch, they spread out under the apple trees, scratching and hunting bugs, oblivious to the fact that their lives were about to be turned upside down.

  Some would go to other farms like mine. Some to backyards in town. Some to a lifetime in a cage. Some to a certain death.

  Their fates were unknown. A roll of the dice.

  I felt like such a failure. I’d never have taken on all of these birds if I thought for a moment that I wouldn’t care for them for their whole lives. The whole point of buying this farm was to live my authentic life, and here I was bailing on it after less than a year!

  Boots clucked sympathetically beside me and jumped up onto my lap. As she nestled down, fluffing her feathers as though she was taking a dust bath on my admittedly dirty jeans, I realized I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let them all go. Their fates weren’t unknown, because I knew for a fa
ct that they’d never have a better life anywhere else.

  I pulled Boots to my chest and hugged her gently. “Hen of my heart, I have to do what’s right. And what’s right is keeping our not-so-little flock together.” Boots wheezed slightly in response, and I realized I might be snuggling the little bird a bit too hard. I released her right away and she shot me a dirty look before she hopped down and rejoined the flock.

  Now I just had to figure out how to break the news to Jam and Jelly that I wasn’t going to liquidate my egg business and tear down my chicken palace.

  But did I say I would? I implied it, but I didn’t promise anything. I just said I was on board with their ideas. That could mean anything. Their assumptions were on them.

  But...

  Was it right to let them buy the property thinking that I meant one thing, when I planned to do another? Was I living my authentic life if I let them invest while believing in a misunderstanding?

  I groaned.

  This dilemma called for another cup of coffee—and definitely not decaf. I went inside and made a second cup of pour-over, relishing the warmth that seeped through the mug to my fingertips. When something feels right, it feels right.

  My body stilled at the same time that my heart sped up.

  That was the answer. I knew what was right and wrong in my heart. It was right to keep my flock. It was right to protect Ruth’s livelihood.

  And I knew what was wrong, too.

  It was wrong of Jam and Jelly to ask me to give up my dream—and so many lives, even if they were bird lives—when they didn’t even know whether it would affect their winery plans. We’d work together once they closed on the place and began their operation. I could plant trees behind the coop to shield their view, if need be. We’d figure it out.

  That felt right.

  But as I sipped my coffee, I realized something else felt wrong. Something else was off.

  Amelia’s death.

  It was a simple cup of coffee like this one, a warm drink designed to defuse an ugly argument, that had poisoned her. I knew in my heart that it wasn’t an accident the poison ended up in her cup. Someone intended for her to die. And, I realized suddenly, I also knew who had done it.

  I didn’t know how to prove it, but I had an obligation to try.

  I fished the golden prize egg out of the cookie jar on the kitchen windowsill and tucked it safely into my pocket so it wouldn’t get lost while I wrangled the chickens back into their run. They weren’t going to be happy about their free-range time being cut short today, but I needed to get into town.

  I had evidence to turn in to the sheriff’s office.

  A handful of treats persuaded most of the flock to return to the coop. Boots flew up onto the porch post to escape the stampede. Once most of them were back in the run, I ran around like a crazy person, bent at the waist to avoid smacking my head on the bottom branches of the apple trees, rounding up the few who couldn’t be bribed—including Dr. Speckle and a couple of the young cockerels.

  When they were finally locked up safely and Boots had her treats in the bathroom, I took a few minutes to put on a clean shirt and twist my frizzed hair into ringlets, mimicking what Ruth had done for me earlier in the week. I wasn’t trying to look good for Eli; I was just trying to look less crazy, so when I presented my crazy theory to him along with the egg, he didn’t totally write me off.

  “So the coffee made me realize...” I started, practicing my speech to my reflection in the mirror. No, that sounded too crazy.

  I started again. “So the chickens made me realize...” No, that was even crazier. Well, I’d figure it out on the drive into town. I always did my best thinking in the car, anyway.

  Chapter 25

  As I blew down the Flats, I saw that the “sale pending” tag had been added to the for-sale sign in front of the blueberry farm. Ruth’s seller must have accepted Jam and Jelly’s offer last night. I was worried their bid might come in too low, but I guess it was impossible to resist cash in a rural market like this.

  I hope it meant a big fat commission check for Ruth, too. I felt comforted, thinking that she was set up for a while. The sale meant I was in for some tough negotiations with those two, but I was ready. I could handle it.

  Who I wasn’t sure I could handle was Eli. I parked, rolling the golden egg around in my palm as I walked from my car to his office. I half-hoped he wasn’t working so I could just drop the egg through the mail slot and run away. But he was probably there, even if he had the day off. That’s just who he was.

  I was right. He was so absorbed in filling out yet more paperwork that he didn’t look up until I set the golden egg down on the desk in front of him and braced myself for a scolding.

  He reached for it, eyebrows raised. “I thought you weren’t turning this in.”

  “I changed my mind.” I plopped down in the chair across the desk from him. “I don’t want the money.”

  He rolled the egg on the desk in front of him, catching it with his other hand, then held it up. “You sure?”

  I nodded and took a deep breath. “I’m sure. One condition, though...”

  “Uh oh.” Eli leaned back in his chair. “I’m a little afraid, now.”

  “Two conditions, actually. One, you accept my apology for calling you a stupid idiot.” I smiled hopefully at him.

  He snorted. “I would, but you haven’t apologized yet.”

  He was really going to make me work for it. I guess he had every right to a full and sincere apology, and I did feel bad about it, so it wouldn’t kill me. “You’re right. I’m sorry for yelling at you. Really. I don’t think you’re stupid or an idiot. You’re very smart and thoughtful.” I flushed, barely able to look him in the eye.

  “Go on.” He made an encouraging motion, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Tell me more about how wonderful I am.”

  I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t that sorry. “Condition two, you have to hear me out about Amelia’s murder.” He started to protest, but I held up my hand. “Really. Please. Just listen to me. You don’t have to do anything about it, but I have to tell you who killed her and why. The same person poisoned Margie with peanuts, I’m sure of it. I can’t just stand by without saying something, or it’ll never feel right in my heart. That’s why I brought you the prize egg as evidence today, because I know the poisonings weren’t accidental. I may not be able to arrest someone like you can, but at the very least, I can say something.”

  Eli’s face grew solemn and his hands, which had been rolling the egg back and forth as I talked, stilled as he leaned toward me over the desk. “OK, I’m listening.”

  He sat quietly as I laid out all the details as I understood them, attentive to every word, nodding as I explained each step on the path of my logic.

  “But I can’t prove any of it,” I finished.

  “Hm.” He licked his lower lip as he processed what I’d told him. “You’re right—there’s no concrete evidence.”

  My heart sank. I guess some part of me was hoping he had some magic sheriff tricks that would somehow transform my theory into a plan of action.

  “But I have to say...it makes perfect sense. It’s the only explanation that fits,” he continued. He plucked an evidence bag from a desk drawer and slid the golden egg inside.

  “You believe me!”

  “One hundred percent.” But the pained look on his face told me everything I needed to know.

  “I get it. That’s not enough,” I said simply.

  “At this point, the only way I can arrest him is if he confesses. And I don’t see him doing that. Not now that he’s so close to what he wants. But I’ll put this egg into evidence, and who knows. Maybe some other piece of evidence will appear that will allow us to open the case again. And in the meantime, I’ll keep a close eye on our friendly neighborhood murderer.”

  “That could take years.” I sighed. The election was less than two weeks away. The bad guy was probably relaxing now that I wasn’t standing there in the church, les
s worried that he’d be exposed, much like a predator after a kill.

  I remembered one night when I was a little girl. An animal had been terrorizing my dad’s coop. He set a trap baited with a mother hen and her chicks and then sat there in the dark, waiting, until the predator, a raccoon, came back for more. When the raccoon realized it was trapped and unable to reach the chickens, it erupted into a snarling tornado of fur and teeth. I hoped Amelia’s killer would do the same.

  “You know, when a predator kills your chickens, the best way to catch it is to bait the trap with chickens.”

  “What are you saying?” Eli rubbed his stubbled jaw, one eyebrow raised skeptically.

  “I’m saying...give the killer what he wants, and he might let down his guard. Then at the last moment, we yank that prize away. He’s more likely to crack if he thinks he’s not going to get what he wants right at the moment that it’s finally within his reach.”

  “I’ve seen crazier ideas work. Do you have a plan?”

  I laid out my idea for him. “But it’s risky,” I finished worriedly. “What if he doesn’t take the bait?”

  “Then I’ll just keep on his tail until he slips up,” Eli said doggedly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go see Mayor Doc about the security for a certain upcoming city event.”

  I smiled. “And I’ll go visit the church to plant some seeds. We’ll see what blooms on election night. But before that, there’s someone else I need to go see.” My eyes slid past Eli to the window, where Ruth’s salon was visible across the street.

  “I’ll walk you over and say ‘hi,’” Eli said, offering his arm. I looped my elbow in his. I wasn’t surprised that he wanted to come, too. If Eli flirted with Ruth as much as he flirted with me, it was no wonder they’d gotten close lately. He added, “But don’t tell her about your plan, OK? The fewer people know about it, the better. At least until after the election.”

  I gave a quick nod as we crossed the street. I didn’t want to keep secrets from Ruth, but I also knew that the chances the plan would work at all were slim—and if word got out about what we had planned, Eli and I would both be tarred and feathered. “Agreed.”