A Dog with Two Tales (A Bought-the-Farm Mystery Book 0)

by Ellen Riggs

  “Jason, a starving, neglected dog is not ‘well enough,’” I said. “I just can’t leave that alone.”

  “You’ve tried Animal Services?”

  I nodded. “Useless. And if I keep coming and feeding the dog, Skint will catch me anyway. Maybe he’ll move the dog inside so I can’t help.”

  Jason ran one hand over his shaved scalp. “Something tells me I’m going to regret this, but how about I get Skint to talk about his dog and then offer to take it off his hands? I can tell him that my dog needs a friend. If it worked, you could have him.”

  I reached out and grabbed his hand. “Thank you. Thank you.”

  Jilly took his other hand. “You are a true gentleman.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, ladies. It’s a long shot. But maybe I can figure out why he wants this dog so badly, at least.”

  I made a move to hug him and he fended me off. “You’re amazing,” I said. “I don’t understand why you’re working—”

  “In a place like this?” he interrupted, grinning. “I’m in college and it pays better than a coffee shop.”

  “When you’re ready for a new job, we can help,” Jilly said, slipping her card into his hand.

  “Jason!” There was a shout behind him and I took a step back as I recognized the voice. “Who are you hiding there, big buddy? I see blonde hair.”

  “Go,” Jason said, opening the door and pushing us out. Before it closed behind us, we heard him shout, “It’s just two gals looking for a cheating boyfriend. I covered for you, Skint.”

  As we walked through the parking lot, I said, “I totally want to slash his tires.” I peered into the red Chevy. “Look at that. A baseball bat in plain view. As if anyone would believe he’s an athlete.”

  “Come on, slugger,” Jilly said. “We need to give Jason time to work his charms. He’s the best chance you’ve got.”

  My shoulders slumped as I followed her. “I hate leaving my fate—or Keats’ fate—in someone else’s hands. If this doesn’t work, I have a plan B.”

  On the sidewalk, I raised my hand and a cab zoomed by.

  “Yeah, what’s that?” Jilly raised her hand, and a cab screeched to a stop in seconds, like always.

  “I grab the dog and move out of my condo the same day. Take him home to Clover Grove. Skint would never find me there.”

  She opened the door and gestured for me to slide inside. “You said you’d die before moving back home.”

  I twisted my hair into a ponytail and smiled. “Times have changed. You can headhunt me a job in the feed store.”

  Closing the door, she gave the driver the address of Earthy Pleasures, our favourite vegan café and one of the few restaurants that lived up to Jilly’s exacting standards. She watched the streets whiz by, before saying, “I hadn’t realized how dull our lives had become.”

  “You’re right. Everything feels different now. Goodbye routine.”

  “Hello, danger,” Jilly said, bracing herself as the cab took a turn too fast. “Let’s hope we survive the change.”

  Chapter Four

  I didn’t know Jilly even owned old jeans but she’d dug out a pair, along with a dark chambray shirt and sneakers for our stakeout the next afternoon. Her bright hair was under a black baseball cap. Turned out you could disguise a sunflower, after all. Today she was no more than an average daisy, of which there were many in Skint’s yard, too, along with tiger lilies.

  “You wouldn’t expect Skint to be interested in gardening, would you?” I asked, accepting a paper cup of coffee she poured from a thermos. Sitting cross-legged on cardboard that protected us from the damp earth in the rundown garage, we waited for Skint to leave so we could feed Keats and spend a bit of time with him. I’d managed to find a vet to dispense flea and tick medications and was eager to get the pup treated so he’d stop scratching his skin raw.

  “I’m sure Skint didn’t plant those flowers,” she said, smoothing her jeans. “My guess is he’s renting anyway.”

  Jason, the bouncer, had texted Jilly the night before saying Skint had shot down the dog conversation, but he’d keep trying. He said he’d have plenty of chances because Skint was a regular at the Booby Trap, normally arriving on weekends by three, and weekdays by six. That gave us an idea of when the coast would be clear to care for Keats. My anxiety reduced by half just hearing that. At least I could get the dog healthy while I figured out how to free him.

  “I’ll have to leave work early to see him,” I said. “Even at this time of year the alley is dark and creepy in the evening.”

  She gave me a sharp glance. “You say that as if you know it for fact.”

  “Well, I popped by last night, if you must know.”

  “Actually, yeah, I must know what you’re doing in a dangerous alley at night, Ivy. Just like we text each other when we’re on dates to be safe.”

  “You mean you text me when you’re on dates. I haven’t been on a date in recent memory.”

  “That’s because you left your heart in Clover Grove.” She continued to direct her intense green stare at me. “Maybe that’s why you want to go home all of a sudden? To see that high school sweetheart you won’t talk about. Although we supposedly tell each other everything.”

  “You know almost everything worth telling about my boring youth.” I broke off a piece of the scone she’d baked that morning. “Some ghosts are better left at rest.”

  “Okay, fine, but I hope you realize that the more time we spend on stakeout, the more I’ll probe these dark corners of your memory.” She took a bite of the scone, chewed, and then examined the chunk in her hand with evident disgust. “Sawdust. This confirms I’m a cook, not a baker.”

  “Tastes delicious to me. You underestimate your talent.”

  She shook her head. “I have talent for cooking, not baking. Bakers are rule-followers and I prefer freestyle. Give me some chicken, tomato, basil and cheese, and I can build you a dream. But today we needed something highly portable. Stakeout grub.”

  I wolfed down another chunk and mumbled, “Thank you. For everything, Jilly. You’re the best friend ever.”

  “True.” Her smile couldn’t be dimmed even with camouflage and dingy surroundings. “Just to hit rewind for a second, I’m pretty sure you mentioned going to work. Does that mean you’re not quitting Flordale?”

  I heaved a sigh that blew scone crumbs around. The raccoons would be glad to collect them later. “It means I’ve calmed down enough to listen to you. Since I’m not sure what I want to do next, it makes sense to keep my options open. Drama never helped anyone. So, I’ll go in and suck up to Wilf tomorrow.”

  “Wise decision, my friend.” Her relief was palpable. “I’ll work my database to start generating leads.”

  Plucking blueberries out of the scone, I ate them one by one. “My dream job probably isn’t in your database. I think I’m done with HR. I just need to figure out my next life.”

  “Patience. It sounds like you’re having a midlife crisis at thirty-three.”

  “Maybe.” I peered out of the garage and then jerked back. Skint was standing across the yard by the gate. Keats had stretched to the end of his chain to press against the wire fence closest to us. I’d have to discourage that, as it would give away our hiding spot.

  Jilly grabbed my hand and we held our breath, waiting. Finally we released it as we heard the car door close, and then the roar of the red Chevy. After the racket faded away, we got up. Both of us had stiffened and shook our legs to loosen up.

  When I walked to the fence, Keats went a little crazy from joy, offering an array of tricks I knew Skint had never taught him. He stood on his hind legs, spun in a pirouette, rolled over, offered a paw and then spontaneously leapt into the air like a breaching whale.

  “Wow,” Jilly said. “That was a full circus performance in less than a minute.”

  “He’s a genius,” I said. “Now, boost me over.”

  “Boost you…?” Her jaw dropped open. “Excuse me. You must be thinking of ano
ther friend. Like Jason the bouncer, perhaps. Jilly Blackwood doesn’t do manual labor.”

  “Fine.” I stuck my sneaker through the wire. “If I break my leg, you get to deal with Skint.”

  “You grew up in farm country. I’m sure climbing comes naturally to you.”

  “I grew up in a small bungalow where we were stacked on top of each other. Five girls in one room, and when I finally got the top bunk, I fell out a lot. Asher, my brother, got his own room.”

  “Still bitter?” she asked.

  “Kind of, yeah. I still can’t believe he’s a cop in Clover Grove, since he was a rather skilled shoplifter as a kid. He kept us from scurvy since fruit was his speciality.”

  Jilly laughed as I leapt from the top of the fence. “Something tells me you got up to some shady business yourself, Ivy.”

  I grinned at her as I fought Keats off. “I drove getaway. On a bike.”

  Picking up the dog, I hugged him. As if by magic, my heartbeat and breathing slowed. The cuddle didn’t last long, however. Like all border collies—even malnourished ones—Keats had energy to spare.

  “It’s okay, buddy,” I said, setting him down. “I know you’re pent up. Chaining a herding dog is tantamount to torture.”

  “Snuggling isn’t a great idea until the meds have a chance to work, anyway,” Jilly said. “He’s covered in fleas. The yard must be hopping with them.”

  I took my bag of supplies from her and gave him the medications. Then I poured a large serving of high-end vet food into the bowls we’d collected from the alley. The kibble disappeared in a flash, and then he drank from the other bowl.

  Examining the dog’s collar, I gasped. “Skint’s put a tiny lock on the dog’s collar and tightened it so that it can’t slip over his head. It’s practically cutting into his skin.”

  Jilly gasped, too. “That’s new?”

  I nodded sadly. “You were right. Keats is paying the price for my behavior.”

  “I didn’t want to be right.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “We’ll need bolt cutters to free him.”

  “I’d like to cut Skint’s bolts.” Standing, I looked around. “Do you think he’s hiding something back here? Remember how he circled the yard and lingered by the garden?”

  “I think you need to get out right now. Because if he catches you inside his yard, we may not have such easy access to Keats. The dog is better off where we can at least feed him.”

  It was all I could do to stop myself from exploring, but I didn’t want Keats to suffer more because of my curiosity.

  After handing the bag back to Jilly, I bent to kiss Keats on the top of his head. Despite the conditions, he smelled oddly sweet, like grass and clover. “See you tomorrow, buddy.”

  Keats picked up one of the bowls and offered it to me. When I took it, he picked up the other. I handed them both to Jilly. “He really is smart,” she said.

  One of my sneakers was in the fence when I heard the roar of the Chevy in the distance. My heart zoomed into overdrive. “Uh-oh.”

  “He’s coming,” Jilly said. “Hurry hurry hurry.”

  My limbs seemed to lose all coordination. My arms felt like jelly and my legs didn’t get the message to climb. I managed to pull myself to the top of the fence but then I lost my balance and fell backwards into the yard. Keats climbed onto my chest as if to disguise me.

  “Hide,” I told Jilly. “Garage. Now.”

  She did as she was told, protesting all the way.

  Meanwhile the Chevy pulled into the driveway and the door creaked open and then slammed shut. There was a long pause during which I played dead and prayed. But finally the gate to the yard rattled and Skint shouted, “I see you, Suit. Get out from under my dog right now.”

  I shoved Keats off gently and got up. “Oh, hi, Mr. Roxton. How are you today?”

  “Skip the small talk. I told you to stay away from my dog. And now you’re in my yard with my dog. I could shoot you, you know.”

  My blood seemed to chill in my veins at the thought of a gun. But if there was one thing I’d learned in HR, it was to mask my feelings. I’d forgotten how on Friday but my skills seemed to be functioning more normally today.

  “Is it legal to own a firearm in Boston?” I asked.

  “It’s always legal to shoot someone trying to burglarize your property.”

  “Feeding your dog isn’t burglary, is it?” I reached into my pocket for my phone. “Let’s call the cops and get a second opinion.”

  He crossed the yard in a few bounds and grabbed my wrist. “I wouldn’t do that, babe. I really wouldn’t.”

  “And I wouldn’t lay a hand on a woman, Mr. Roxton, I really wouldn’t.” He let go of my arm. “Look, if the cops want me to leave, I’ll have them see me out.”

  His eyes were darting around the yard and they kept going back to the sunflowers. “No cops,” he said. “Or else.”

  “Or else?”

  He shrugged simply. “The dog suffers. You want that?”

  That was the exact opposite of what I wanted. “What I want is to take the dog and leave your yard forever. It seems like a win-win.”

  He shook his head and gave me a gap-toothed leer. “I already win, babe. You’re trespassing and I don’t need a gun to make you leave. There are quieter weapons that don’t need a licence.”

  Like the baseball bat I’d seen in his car.

  “Understood,” I said. “As a matter of fact, I was just leaving. Would you mind if I used the gate?”

  He stepped back to let me pass. I straightened my shoulders and walked as steadily as I could, considering my legs still weren’t cooperating. I gave Keats a look that warned him to stay quiet.

  “Don’t even look at my dog,” he said.

  I stared at the garden instead. “What gorgeous sunflowers, and they’ve bloomed so early. You have a real green thumb, Mr. Roxton. What do you use for fertilizer?”

  Turning, I saw he’d grown pale. A trickle of sweat ran down his brow. “Like I give a crap about flowers. They were there when I got here. Now shut up and get out.”

  I walked out of the gate and turned. “It was nice chatting with you again. Would you mind if I sent a horticulturalist over to check out your sunflowers? I’ve haven’t seen this variety since I was a kid. I think it’s an ancient strain and those seeds are like gold today. I bet you could command a good price for them.”

  “If you send anyone over you know what happens to the dog.” He slammed the gate shut behind me. “Got it?”

  I rested my arms on the top of the fence and gave him a fake smile. “Got it. I won’t even think about sending a horticulturist over as long as I can see the dog is happy and thriving. Every single day. Sound good?”

  He flipped me the bird, but the rivulets of sweat had multiplied, telling me I’d hit the bullseye. He was hiding something in the garden and was desperate enough to protect it that he’d strike a deal with me.

  “You can look at my dog from outside my fence,” he said. “I’ll be installing security to make sure you stay out.”

  I gave him my blandest HR smile. “Deal. I’m glad we had this meeting of minds, today, Mr. Roxton. You’re a reasonable man.”

  “And you’re a Suit who needs a reality check. I look forward to giving it to you.”

  Chapter Five

  Wilf Darby carried himself like a guy who’d been a high school hottie 40 years ago. Time had claimed most of his heat but in his own mind he still had a full head of hair, an angular jawline and a six-pack. It seemed like he expected people to feel grateful for a moment of his attention.

  None of this would have bothered me one bit if he’d been a good leader, but our department had dwindled during his reign. The staff that once made up my work family had left for other challenges. Most had given up on Flordale and found greener pastures. Jilly was behind quite a few of those departures. I didn’t blame them—or her—but I missed my pals. For the last three years, my former passion had become no more than a job that was sucking the soul
out of me.

  On Monday morning, I noticed the curious stares as I walked into the office. I’d chosen my best suit—black, lightweight wool cut just right—to shield me from all the eyes. Some were genuinely sympathetic, and those were the eyes I avoided most. Sympathy would only make me feel more vulnerable. I needed to keep up the front and get this day behind me. Tonight I could visit Keats again, and plot our retreat to border collie country.

  The message arrived with a ping before I’d even hooked up my laptop at my workstation. Wilf had issued his summons. I put my purse in my bottom drawer and walked to his glass-walled corner office with the spectacular view. Shoulders back, shields up, fake smile firmly in place. There was a dribble of sweat between my shoulder blades but no one could see that.

  “Morning, Killer,” he said, when I walked in and perched in the chair opposite his desk. He took his time finishing up whatever he was doing on the computer.

  “Morning, boss.”

  I hated it when he called me Killer. It diminished the impact our work had on people—real people who frequently left their final meeting with me in tears. The men were more likely to cry than woman, I’d found, perhaps because their identity was so tied up in their professional lives. They knew how hard it was to find a new job when the downsizing stain appeared on their records. I referred many of them to Jilly, whose small but mighty company had the highest success rate of any headhunter in the city. Seeing them thrive in a new role was good for her, good for the client and balm for my beleaguered soul. I kept a record of those I’d downsized, and what happened afterwards. Jilly told me I got too attached; now I saw the toll that had taken.

  When Wilf finally turned, I said, “How was your weekend?”

  “Good.” He cracked his knuckles and then folded his beefy hands across his belly. His smile was as fake as mine. With glass walls, he needed to keep things clean. “How ya feeling? You looked green around the gills when you left our meeting on Friday. And you didn’t answer calls or emails... That’s not like you.”