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

by Ellen Riggs

  “Robbi convinced me that good hair was half the battle,” she said.

  “That salon’s a theater of war,” I said, slicing into the oat bar with my fork. “I’m impressed you went in.”

  “Oh, I didn’t. Her regulars terrify me. Gertrude and Morag in particular.”

  “I hear you. They’re still at the inn, and less susceptible to baked goods than most guests.”

  She laughed. “I know. I’m glad they don’t come in here often.”

  “Were any of them here the day before Edna’s death?” I was a little surprised at how easily that lie tripped off my tongue. I’d been a master of evasion in HR but outright lying was a newer skill.

  Mandy leaned back and crossed her thin arms. If she consumed any of her baked goods, she burned off the calories with nervous energy. “All of them, actually. Gertrude, Morag, Joan and Annamae came for coffee in the morning. They stayed for a good hour and it sounded like they were having a strategy session.”

  “Strategy? What kind of strategy?”

  “Bridge strategy. It was all about cards and tricks and terminology I didn’t know. They stopped talking when I came around with refills.” She frowned. “That’s when they took a few jabs at my hair. I’d had it done the day before and it had gone flat, I guess. They always find something, don’t they?”

  “They make fun of me, too,” I assured her. “Do you mind if I ask about the status of the crème brûlée at that point? Did any of them have access to it?”

  “Probably. Like I already told Chief Harper, it was a busy day. When I’m at the cash register, anyone could slip into the kitchen. No one wants to work for me so I’m on my own right now.”

  “And you baked the custard that morning?”

  She shook her head. “At home, the night before. Crème brûlée is best chilled overnight.”

  Sipping my coffee, I pondered. “Well, I’m no further ahead. All of those women had access.”

  “Edna, too. She was in that afternoon and ate two slices of chocolate cake. Normally she’s too frugal for that.”

  “Nervous, probably,” I said. “This was after her perm?”

  Mandy’s fine eyebrows rose. “If she’d had a perm it didn’t take too well. It was a windy day and when she took off her wool hat the static did a number on it. I remember thinking the Bridge Buddies would razz her for that, like they did mine. But I passed her outside Robbi’s later so she probably fixed it for her. I hope it looks nice for the funeral,” she finished, looking a little guilty.

  “Poor Edna. The Bridge Buddies really had it out for her.” I tried to wash down the oat bar with too much coffee and choked a little.

  “There were so many secrets,” Mandy said. “My grand—I mean Myrtle—used to tell me about their scandals. I suppose it caused tension that Edna had dirt on them from her job.” She pushed back the chair and rose. “Chief Harper has his work cut out for him, that’s for sure.”

  I gave up on the square and rubbed my face with both hands. “It feels like this will never get solved and my inn will never be cleared.”

  Mandy looked down at me and color filled her pale cheeks. “I bet it felt that way with Lloyd Boyce at one point, too.”

  “Yeah,” I said. I found myself smiling and it wasn’t even forced. “You’re right about that.”

  After collecting the box of desserts for the inn, I walked out to the truck with Keats. “Comfort comes from the strangest places sometimes, buddy. It really pays to keep an open mind.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “What should we do now?” I asked Keats as I turned the key in the ignition. “Try Merle’s granddaughter, maybe? Or Morag’s daughter?” I glanced at him. “That would be a touchy one. And I’m steering far clear of the Bridge Buddy men. My nosiness only goes so far.”

  Keats normally had his tail up, ready for the next quest, but now he sat down, wrapping the white tuft neatly around white paws. He stared at me with his blue eye, and I sensed I was barking up the wrong tree.

  “Okay, your tail says wrong trail. Would you care to be more explicit before I start driving? Should I go into town and poke around?”

  He stayed as he was, a black-and-white statue with an eerie eye. Then he tilted his head and mumbled something that was more than a suggestion.

  “You want to go home? Already? Are you okay?”

  His mouth fell open in an easy smile. He was fine. He put his paws on the dash to confirm it.

  “Is something wrong on the farm?” I pressed. “You never pass up the opportunity to nose around for clues.”

  He mumbled something else and I gave in. “Fine. Have it your way. I suppose I’m just trying to avoid my own home, anyway. I cannot stand those women.” I pulled out of Mandy’s parking lot and headed toward home. Keats looked relieved, but his tail didn’t come up as I’d expected. Something was definitely off with him today. Maybe leaving the cats unsupervised was worrying him. I could hardly blame him for that. They were an unpredictable lot.

  “I’m missing something, Keats,” I said, gearing up with a couple of significant bunny hops. “I sense it. Can you?”

  Without turning, he offered three quick pants: yes-yes-yes.

  “If you know what, it wouldn’t hurt to drop a clue.” He mumbled something that sounded like, “I already have, stupid.”

  Laughing, I turned into the long lane and drove slowly under the “Runaway Farm” sign with its permanently missing “m.” I’d runaway far from Clover Grove and then run back here to stay. I loved that constant reminder of my journey. Especially when I wanted to run again.

  Fleecy, the white cat, was sitting in the middle of the lane just as it opened to the parking area. She turned and dashed off toward the henhouse, making Keats growl.

  “Was that cat standing guard?” I said. “They’re up to something, I know it.”

  Keats grumbled an affirmative, and he didn’t wait politely to be released from the truck. Instead, he charged right over me as I opened the door, and raced after Fleecy.

  “Thanks,” I said, rubbing my legs. Now I was going to have to break up a fight. I hoped no one lost an eye, including me.

  A cacophony started up with loud barking and even louder yowling from the cats. What was it about cat wailing that made it so spooky, even in broad daylight? The hair on my arms and the back of my neck rose.

  “Honestly,” I said, going behind the barn. “Is this drama really necessary? Time to work it out, kids.”

  But when I saw what was really going on, I screamed, too. “Get off there right now!”

  The three cats had completely shredded the screen on the window over the door where Edna had broken in the other day. Panther was literally clinging with one paw and clawing away at it with the other. As I watched, he hoisted himself easily over the edge and disappeared inside. Fleecy went next but Big Red sat on the roof, waiting for me to do something.

  Keats stood on his hind legs like a circus dog, barking his throat raw. There was nothing he could do, and he wasn’t used to being helpless when his charges were under attack. I felt his frustration in my chest and that soon turned to fury. How dare they take advantage of my kindness like that? They were well fed and had no reason at all to pick easy marks like my hens. Cats would be cats, but there were plenty of challenges with the rodents inside the barn.

  I ran around to Wilma’s pen to get the pig poker. I didn’t want to hurt them but I wouldn’t hesitate to take a few jabs if they were mangling my chickens. I took a quick look into the chicken yard as I passed and saw their little door was still open, meaning some of them could be inside. Trapped.

  My hands trembled as I fumbled for the right key to unlock the door. I tripped on the doorstep and almost fell as I entered. Flipping on the light, I looked around. There were only four hens inside and all of them were sitting, quite calmly, on nest boxes. One of them was Sookie. That broody hen was trying to force out a second egg. She was determined to be a mom.

  “Where are you?” I demanded. “S
how yourselves, cats.”

  Keats, of course, pointed them out for me. All three had positioned themselves on the shelf directly above Sookie. The hen looked around with bright eyes. I couldn’t tell if she sensed the threat, but she wasn’t making a move to leave.

  Brandishing the pig poker, I said, “Back away slowly and go out the way you came in. No one needs to get hurt.”

  The cats didn’t move. I mean, they literally didn’t flick a whisker. They could have been taxidermies, except for the fact that blood trickled off the shelf in front of Panther and splashed Sookie’s box on the way down. He’d broken a claw or two during the break-in.

  “I’m sorry you’re hurt, but that serves you right,” I said, staring at him. He stared back, unblinking. Never had I seen such a defiant animal, and that included an irascible sow.

  I gave the shelf they were sitting on a good thwack. It was enough to rattle my teeth, but it didn’t make the cats flinch. Sookie, however, got flustered. She flapped her wings and let out a squawk.

  The cats now stood as one and I had to make a tough decision. Swipe at them with the poker or put it down and grab the bird? I’d need both hands for the latter.

  “Get the other three hens outside,” I said to Keats, and he turned quickly. They were on the lowest shelf and easily prodded out of their boxes and through the side door.

  Meanwhile, I rested the poker in the corner without turning my back for a second, and then reached slowly for Sookie. If she took flight, the cats would be on her in a second.

  I heaved a sigh of relief when I got the hen in my hands and pressed her gently to my chest. The poor sweet bird Edna loved had nearly become a clucking canapé for the woman’s own cats. If this was how they thanked their patron, they were unwelcome at Runaway Farm. Charlie had some live traps and I would get them set up today and export these ingrates to Cori or Bridget. Let the feisty felines try their luck in Dog Town.

  When Keats came back in, I released Sookie into the yard and shut the little escape hatch. We’d have to repair the window today and figure out a way to secure it while still providing the ventilation the birds needed.

  I turned back, expecting the cats to be gone. Instead, they’d come down from the shelf. Panther had squished himself onto the nest box and stared at me now from close range. If I hadn’t seen with my own eyes that there was no egg, I’d swear he was trying to hatch one. Red and Fleecy flanked him, fixing their big eyes on me.

  “What is with you guys?” I said.

  Panther’s paw hung over the side of the box and blood dribbled down and into the cracks of Sookie’s designer digs.

  The anger drained out of me instantly as I realized they hadn’t been trying to kill Sookie after all. They were more interested in her roost.

  “Okay, off,” I said more gently. “Let me take a look at this and see what’s worth clawing yourself bloody over.”

  Panther immediately vacated, and I examined the nest box closely. It was different from the others, taller and deeper, because Edna had insisted Sookie would only lay if she had the height advantage over the other hens. I wasn’t familiar enough with chickens to say one way or the other, but Sookie laid reliably so I figured Edna knew her hen best. Now I wondered if there was more to the story than that.

  Prying the nest box loose, I turned it over. Ah! A false bottom. I pulled away the small, sliding board and found a metal lockbox.

  “What the heck? Is that why Agatha was creeping around here that morning? Did she know Edna had stashed something in here?”

  I glanced up at the cats and three sets of eyes blinked what felt like an affirmative.

  “How do I… Oh! The key from the doll’s head,” I said. Keats, who’d pretty much stayed silent till now, mumbled encouragement. It was his find, after all.

  Pulling my key ring out of my front pocket, I flipped through them before I found the tiny one buried by the others. Sure enough, it fit neatly into the lock. Setting the metal box on the shelf below Sookie’s spot, I turned on my phone light and lifted the lid.

  Inside was a ring box, among other jewels, and all sat atop a small stack of yellowed letters. Now I knew why Edna had said this was personal. There was no doubt in my mind that this box represented the broken heart she’d shut down and stowed away.

  I felt terrible opening the ring box, but I needed to confirm my suspicions. Sure enough, when I flipped the lid there was a ring with a diamond larger than I’d ever seen. It sat in a vintage style platinum setting and glinted gorgeously under my flashlight.

  “Wowza! No wonder Merle’s family wants that back.”

  I couldn’t resist trying it on my left ring finger and angling it to see the different facets. Rainbows bounced off the homely henhouse walls.

  Glancing from Keats to the cats, I said, “What? A woman can dream, right?”

  Aiming the light into the metal box, I inspected the rest of the contents. There was a sapphire-encrusted broach, an emerald pendant and another ring with a smaller diamond. These, I assumed, were Edna’s family jewels.

  “Okay, cat army, you can stand down,” I said. “We’ll lock these back up and take them someplace safe.”

  I expected a mumble of endorsement from Keats. Instead, there was a chilling growl in his throat. His ruff had come up and his tail stood out stiff and straight, as it only did in times of terrible trouble. Unfortunately, I had reason to know.

  The cats arched, one-two-three, and their hissing almost drowned out the voice softly calling my name.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I knew that voice. It was familiar but completely out of context and I couldn’t place it.

  Regardless, my companions were quite clear that it was time to take evasive maneuvers. First I latched the door from the inside as gently and quietly as I could. Then I closed the lid of the metal box and shoved it behind a sack of wood shavings.

  “Who’s there?” I called, pulling out my phone and texting Jilly quickly: Henhouse 911.

  There was a gentle knock at the door. “Just me.”

  It still wasn’t enough for me to place her. I signaled Keats to be quiet and the cats followed the order, too.

  “I’m in the middle of something,” I called. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s a surprise.” The woman’s voice was soft. Beguiling. Utterly false. If I had real hackles, they’d knock my head off.

  “Can’t,” I called. “I’m cleaning the coop. Give me 10 minutes and we’ll meet on the porch.”

  “Okay.”

  Again the voice was sweet and calm. I heaved a sigh. Ten minutes was plenty of time for Jilly to do something. I texted Kellan for good measure.

  I blocked the door as well as I could with the pig poker, thinking hard. The voice hadn’t belonged to one of the Bridge Buddies, I was quite sure of that. Could it be Kimberly or Stacy, their game partners? I hadn’t spent enough time chatting with them to be sure.

  But I’d definitely heard this voice before and Keats thought so, too.

  As I added a shovel and rake to the barricade, my unconscious mind worked overtime. One by one pieces started to drop into place. Finally, I remembered what I had seen and overlooked at Edna’s. I connected it with threads of conversations I’d heard from the Bridge Buddies and what I heard from Mandy that morning.

  Now I knew who it was. And obviously I knew what she wanted: Edna’s magic bird box. But even with the big ring glinting off my left hand, I didn’t see how this was worth killing for.

  If I hadn’t been rattling tools around and mulling, I probably would have heeded Keats’ repeated whines and looked up. I may have had time to arm myself before the intruder poked her head into the upper window.

  Gorgeous highlighted hair draped over the ledge for just a second as she climbed in swiftly and jumped.

  She took me down hard enough to knock the breath right out of me and then knelt on my chest to make sure it didn’t come back.

  “You really need to stop sticking your head into dangerous holes, Ivy,
” Robbi Ford said. “It’s a total waste of a beautiful haircut.”

  I tried to squirm out from under her but she had 30 pounds on me, and the upper hand. Then I considered my signature head butt, the one that worked on Lloyd’s attacker, but she seemed to anticipate that and leaned just far enough back.

  Where was Keats? Why wasn’t he doing his thing?

  It wasn’t long—but it felt like hours—before it became clear that the cats and dog had devised a plan. Or at least different plans that dovetailed perfectly. The cats flitted to the top shelf and their butts waggled as they waited for the perfect moment to pounce. Meanwhile there was crazed squawking outside, which quickly changed to crazed squawking inside. Keats had brought 40 birds back in to flutter and flap in seeming pandemonium. Robbi let go of me to swat them away from her head, and that’s when the cats launched in unison. Big Red was in the middle like a bolt of feline lightning. He landed on Robbi’s head and spun like a dervish, clawing her scalp until her hair flew off in clumps. I screamed in horror, too, before realizing it was actually hair extensions. Those gorgeous locks were as fake as she was.

  She rolled off me and curled up on the floor, shielding her head with her arms. Keats circled her, growling as I’d never heard him before. He was looking for a way in, to seize and lacerate her ear, but she offered no purchase.

  Meanwhile I turned swiftly and grabbed the pig poker. It had stood me in good stead many times, but it would be tricky to use it with so many animals stalking, leaping, and fluttering. In small confines, it was complete chaos.

  In the end I settled for pressing the hook against her midriff. It wouldn’t do as much damage but it would slow her down enough that Keats could get at her if she unfurled. The security squad seemed to understand I had the matter in hand and settled down.

  “Why, Robbi?” I asked. Simple. Easy. Terribly complex.

  “It was supposed to be Edna,” she said. “Aggie and I had it all arranged. We’d kill her together and split the proceeds. But Aggie kept dragging her heels. She couldn’t or wouldn’t get the job done. So I told her to stand down and let me take care of it.”