A Streak of Bad Cluck (Bought-the-Farm Mystery Book 3)

by Ellen Riggs

  “I wish you’d turned on the inside lens, too,” I said. “I’d love to know what undead Edna was doing in there.”

  “Undead Edna,” Jilly repeated. Her shoulders started shaking and then she giggled.

  Suddenly we were all laughing. I felt a mixture of disbelief, relief, and a whole lot of confusion.

  Finally, I took the tablet back so that I could watch undead Edna perform a stunt many women half her age would find challenging. “I’m—I’m stunned.” It was all I could think of to say. “I don’t know what to make of it.”

  “Put Ivy out of her misery, Cori,” Bridget said. She was fighting a smile but her fingers were still on Beau’s head.

  “After we saw this today,” Cori said, “I visited an old friend, Clarence Dayton.”

  “From one of the founding families of Dorset Hills?”

  Cori raised delicate swallow eyebrows in surprise and approval. “Correct. I suspected he might know the Evans family, and sure enough, he did. He told me about the fire that decimated the family home when Edna was around fifteen. Her twin sister was killed in the fire. Or so he thought… until today.”

  My head hurt with the flood of new information, and I looked down at Keats to ground myself. His head tipped a little to offer me his brown eye—the eye of comfort and stability. It only took a moment till the tightness in my chest released and I could breathe more easily.

  “So the woman in the pig pool was Edna’s twin?”

  “Probably,” Cori said. “Her name was Agatha, according to Clarence Dayton.”

  “Probably?” I said.

  “Well, I suppose it’s possible that Agatha also has a perm and she’s the one climbing into your henhouse.”

  “I guess. But it seems more likely that Edna was visiting her hens. She’s very fond of a silky bantam named Sookie.” Looking at Keats again, I added, “Now that I think about it, Keats was oddly detached when we found the body. He loved going over to Edna’s and I would have expected more of a reaction to her passing.”

  “You never know how a dog is going to react to a death,” Cori said.

  “Unfortunately, I know how this dog reacts to a death,” I said. “I should have watched him more closely. He always gives me clues. Always.”

  Cori nodded. “He’s a pretty amazing dog, I’ll give you that. Next time, pay attention.”

  “There had better not be a next time,” I said.

  “Agreed,” Jilly said. “My big question is, why did Edna essentially fake her own death?”

  “My first guess was that she poisoned her sister and went on the lam,” Bridget said.

  “Or maybe someone else killed Agatha by accident, thinking it was Edna,” I suggested. “And now Edna’s afraid she’ll get framed for it. I would be.”

  “That’d be my guess,” Cori said. “If so, she’ll lie low till the real killer shows themselves.”

  “The truth always comes out,” Jilly said. “At least it has so far.”

  “It needs to come out sooner rather than later,” I said. “Because it seems like someone desperately wanted Edna gone. If they find out she’s still scaling buildings, they’ll likely strike again.”

  A shudder ran around the entire circle and Keats shook himself, his tags jangling. Beau followed suit, and then Leo did the same.

  “And that person may be staying under your roof right now,” Bridget said. “I’m sorry to say that but I worry about you. And the animals.”

  “I know, and I understand,” I said.

  “If you want my advice,” Cori said, “and who wouldn’t? I’d get that brilliant dog of yours working for his kibble. Do you hear me, Keats?”

  He ran over to her and gave her a mumble.

  “Huh,” I said. “He usually only talks to me.”

  “Oh, we understand each other,” Cori said. “And he’s telling me you need to get your butt in gear.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I sat shivering on our usual stone bench in Clover Grove Gardens, waiting for Kellan to arrive. At least it was our usual meeting place 15 years ago, and we’d used it again recently. I’d hoped our visits would become a regular thing again by now, but on this blustery late October day, it seemed more likely that wouldn’t happen till spring. Kellan and I might be closing the gap between us, but it was at approximately the same pace of the snail Keats was trying to herd across the stones toward the rusty orange chrysanthemums.

  “Everything worthwhile takes time, buddy,” I said, as he poked at the snail with his nose. “We need to remember it’s a long game. Patience is not our strong suit.”

  I sighed, realizing I was picking up terms the Bridge Buddies tossed around. At this point, I could only assume one of them had intended to kill Edna Evans but had ended Agatha’s life instead. And if Edna was going to sneak around in camo gear, it was only a matter of time before someone saw her and the stories started circulating. Then, either the killer would get to her, or the hill country winter would take her first. Edna might be as tough as a cockroach but she was still an octogenarian.

  Keats gave up on his herding and delicately picked up the snail. With his tail high, he carried it the last few feet and placed it in the flower bed. Then he gave a mumble of disgust to let me know his sacrifice had come at a cost to his taste buds.

  “Good for you,” I said. “You’re a hero to creatures great and small.”

  His prance of pride quickly transformed into a stiff stalk and he dropped to his belly. Before I could even turn, he charged across the garden and circled Kellan with unbridled joy.

  “Is that dog happy to see me, or just happy to have a victim?” he called. Walking briskly, he kept a wary eye on his black-and-white blur, who was dodging and weaving as he delivered Kellan to me.

  “You’re a big step up from the snail he was just herding,” I said, grinning. “I hope you’re flattered.”

  “Very much so. But if he punctures these cuffs, I’m cuffing him and holding him on assault charges.”

  “Keats,” I said, seriously for once. “Stand down on the chief. You know we can’t afford silly distractions today.”

  “No?” Kellan joined me on the bench. His smile wasn’t smouldering like the other day but it was almost better: friendly. Authentic. He was happy to see me. What a shame I had to ruin the mood with talk of murder. “If you’re telling Keats to behave, then it must be serious indeed.”

  “It is.” Taking a deep breath, I blurted, “I’ve just learned that Edna Evans isn’t dead, after all.”

  I expected shock. Consternation. Or at least the confusion I’d felt earlier. Either Kellan had a way better poker face than I did, or the revelation didn’t come as a huge surprise.

  “You know this for a fact?” he asked, simply.

  “Unless the zombie apocalypse has arrived in Clover Grove, I’m quite certain she was very much alive and well this morning as she climbed a ladder and broke into my henhouse.”

  That did surprise him. His blue eyes widened and his brows rose. “She went in through the window? That’s ambitious.”

  “Kellan Harper! You knew she wasn’t dead and didn’t tell me? That’s terrible!”

  “I didn’t know and I still don’t know for sure,” he said. “I only suspected. And a police chief doesn’t share suspicions till he has evidence.”

  I handed him my phone and he watched the video, shaking his head pretty much continuously. “Wow. That woman is something else,” he said, when it ended. “But we don’t know for sure it’s Edna Evans.”

  “Here’s what I know,” I said. “Edna had a perm the day before the event at my inn. So unless her doppelgänger has the same fresh perm, that’s Edna.”

  “The woman in the morgue doesn’t have a perm,” he said. “At least so far as I understand what that is.” He reversed the video. “Tight curls, right?”

  “Correct. Her hair was too drenched for me to notice at the time. So then we need to assume Edna’s twin sister, Agatha, is the one who ran into trouble at the pig poo
l.”

  “Not necessarily,” Kellan said, basically confirming he knew about Edna’s twin. “How do we know it wasn’t Agatha who got the perm? It’s quite common for twins to pass themselves off for one another, isn’t it?”

  “Not at eighty,” I said. “Youthful pranks, yes.”

  “I suppose few have the motivation or opportunity by the time they reach that age,” Kellan said. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen here.”

  “I spent many hours with the permed twin the day before the murder and I can say with confidence that it was the real Edna Evans. Perm twin was able to cite my history and flaws with ease.” I made a face. “Only someone who knows me well could be as mean and hurtful as she was that day.”

  “Or Agatha’s just a very good actor, who’s learned her lines and nailed her sister’s caustic style.”

  “Question my judgement if you like, but Keats would know the difference. For reasons that elude me, he actually likes Edna. She gives him a subtle kick or two every time he’s there but he’s decided it’s a game.”

  It was weird to be talking about Edna in the present tense again, but I had to adapt.

  “Everything’s a game to Keats,” he said. “But it’s only fun until someone breaks a hip.”

  “It’s her choice to kick my dog and climb into my henhouse,” I said. “I’d rather she come home and face the music. Because someone’s got it out for her and knocked off the wrong sister.”

  Finally his expression grew serious. “Probably true, although we’re still waiting on confirmation. It takes advanced testing to discern identical twins. We should know tomorrow.”

  I glared at him. “I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me. I’d like to point out that I called you immediately when I found out.”

  “Which is exactly what you need to do, as a civilian,” he said. “I don’t disclose information until the timing is right. And the timing definitely wasn’t right. We don’t have genetic proof one way or the other.”

  “We have a perm and a dog. That’s proof enough for me.”

  He laughed out loud, and while I loved that sound—especially in that garden—I wasn’t as receptive to it now.

  “Ivy, that kind of thinking is exactly why I didn’t tell you earlier. If you thought Edna was alive, you’d go looking for her. For reasons that elude me, you actually like her. Even though she gives you subtle kicks, just like Keats. And breaks into your henhouse.”

  “Very funny.” I stared around the garden, pouting. There was little left to look at, with the first frost looming. The last floral stragglers seemed to be wrapping thin arms around themselves, knowing it was hopeless.

  He patted my leg, and despite my annoyance, undeniable sparks lit up under the baggy denim. Traitorous leg.

  “Look, I would have told you tomorrow when the results came back,” he said. “I can’t have you—or anyone else—running off looking for this woman right now. For all we know, it could be Edna’s rather evil twin.”

  I turned quickly, losing the pout. “Is Agatha evil?”

  “Well, evil’s not a word I toss around lightly. But Agatha makes Edna look like a sweetheart.”

  I waited for him to say more, and when he didn’t, I prodded. “Where’s she been all this time? I heard she died in a house fire as a teen.”

  “That was the story, although police at the time didn’t have our resources to confirm the identity of remains. It turns out Agatha escaped and spent the better part of her life in Australia, running petty scams and living off the generosity of her sister. There are records of payments going from Edna to an Australian account for sixty years.”

  “Why was she footing the bill for Agatha?”

  He shrugged. “Unclear. Could have been hush money. Or maybe she just wanted Agatha to stay away. But people like Agatha are never satisfied. So she’s come back a few times over the years to extract larger sums. I assume she made the long trek again recently to do the same.”

  “No wonder Edna has to live so frugally,” I said. “She’s been funding a freeloader all these years.”

  “We’ll get the story from her—assuming it’s her—when she surfaces.”

  “Why did she run? Do you think she killed Agatha?”

  Again, he shrugged. “She’s had plenty of opportunity before and chose to pay her off instead.”

  “So you think someone else tried to kill Edna and got the wrong twin?”

  “It’s possible that finally worked in Edna’s favor. It’s also possible that someone was after Agatha. She has enemies in Australia, and perhaps here, too. Maybe Edna was afraid of being framed for the crime. And she was right to worry.”

  “Well, this is frustrating,” I said, getting up to pace, with Keats at my heels. “We need to find her and get some answers.”

  He got up, too. “You mean I need to find her and get some answers. You, on the other hand, need to attend to your guests and your livestock. Aren’t you always telling me your animals are your top priority? Now that you know an evil twin may be stalking your chickens, you should be keeping a close eye on them.”

  “That’s what the hen cam is for,” I said.

  He laughed again and this time I laughed with him.

  “You finally set up the security cameras I asked you to get,” he said.

  “Actually, this footage came from Hannah’s cameras.”

  His smile blew away in the chilly wind. “You got this from that band of lawbreakers, didn’t you?”

  “No comment. The cameras rightfully belong to me now. I’ve got eyes on all the animals, inside and out.”

  “Ivy, be careful with that crew. They seem to make their own rules in Dorset Hills, but I won’t have that here.” He rubbed a hand over his ruffled hair. “One rescue renegade wouldn’t be so bad, but there’s too many of them to keep track of.”

  “It is a big group,” I said, keeping it neutral. “Backed by their mayor.”

  “Who’s one of them,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Or at least, she was. She knows how to bend the law pretty far, too.”

  I wished Kellan hadn’t taken such a strong stance against the Mafia. While I hadn’t deliberately become affiliated with them, I admired their work and was rather pleased to have a spot in their minor league.

  “About Edna,” I said. “Will you at least let me know when you find her? I’m worried.”

  He nodded grudgingly. “I know you are. But please remember that she may have murdered her own sister. Or vice versa. Only the tests will tell, and even then there’s a margin of error with identical twins.”

  I had more faith in Keats, with his sharp nose and even sharper intuition. But I didn’t press the point. I was already disappointed that Kellan and I were ending our meeting on a rather sour note after such a promising start. Next time I wouldn’t sully our old meeting spot with business, since we often didn’t agree on it.

  “What about the Bridge Buddies?” I asked. “It seemed like there were scandals piled sky high among them.”

  “There always are in small towns. Maybe more than in big cities, actually.” He turned and started walking. “I have some leads but there’s no evidence that any of the scandals are current, or threatening to surface again. Any tensions simmering between these ‘buddies’ weren’t bubbling too hard.”

  “They use bridge to keep it all locked down,” I said.

  “There are worse addictions,” he said. “I’ve seen plenty.”

  I was quite sure he had, and again I wondered what had either lured or driven him back to Clover Grove. His work in Philadelphia had likely taken quite a toll on him. And now he was facing one crisis after another here. My annoyance ebbed a little. Obviously I wanted him to be happy, and more specifically, happy with me.

  As we headed back to the parking area, Keats tried running a big loop to bring us together but this time, neither one of us fell for his sly tricks.

  Gravel crunched under my boots as I offered one last observation. “Edna wouldn’t be visiting
Sookie if she were a murderer.”

  “And Sookie is…?”

  “Her silky bantam. A sweet little hen who loves to be held and stroked.”

  “Ah.” His brows managed to hoist themselves out of a glower to a normal position. “So you’re still of the mind that animal lovers don’t hurt people—despite firsthand experience it’s untrue.”

  I sighed. “I really want it to be true. But I acknowledge there are exceptions to the rule.”

  He opened the driver’s door to the pickup and managed to restrain himself from commenting on Buttercup’s absence. Instead he focused on the matter at hand.

  “My job is all about exceptions and rules, Ivy. If I didn’t keep my eye on which is which, there would very likely be chaos. My role is to prevent chaos in Clover Grove.”

  I let Keats jump into the truck and climbed in after him “I know. And I appreciate that.”

  His gaze was so intense I had to look away. “Trust me,” he said. “That’s all I ask.”

  “I do.” I rolled down the window as he closed the door. “Always have, always will.”

  A smile found its way back to his face. It was neither smouldering nor super friendly, but it was something and it would have to do.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I always felt a little guilty about exploiting my brother’s interest in Jilly, but when Kellan ordered Asher to spend the afternoon with us, it gave me a free pass. Whether Kellan was keeping a close eye on the Bridge Buddies or on me was unclear. Either way, Asher was much easier to dodge than the chief. He was crestfallen when Jilly told him she needed to run into town to replenish supplies but lit right back up when she said she’d bake him a blueberry buckle as soon as her kitchen was unpacked. I was pretty sure Asher had no clue what a buckle was—Mom had barely lifted a spatula in our youth—but he was ready, willing and able to enjoy anything Jilly prepared. Now that police had cleared her kitchen of any evidence of poison, and her culinary reputation had been restored, there were blue skies and bright smiles all around.

  “I don’t like pulling the wool over your brother’s eyes,” she said, as we headed down the lane in my truck. “How’s he ever going to trust me?”