Dark Side of the Moo (Bought-the-Farm Mystery 2)

by Ellen Riggs

  I spun around at the door. “Right. Like, ‘your boss died and my inn died with him.’ No way will I ever get another guest when it leaks that my cows killed someone.”

  She sank her nails into my shoulder and shook me. “Stop that. There are a dozen witnesses to say Wilf was plastered. What were you supposed to do? Chain him to his bed?”

  The Flordale women came around the side of the barn carrying their baskets. Keri and Paulette looked blissfully happy. In fact, their expressions were exactly what I’d hoped to see on marketing material for Runaway Farm. The big city stress—and even the stress from the corporate politics at dinner—had washed away. Even Nellie looked less cynical. If one visit to the henhouse could do that, what could we accomplish in several days?

  Without the murder, of course.

  A murder would definitely steal the bliss from those smiles.

  “Everything okay?” Keri asked. “You look worried, Ivy.”

  “Cow trouble,” I said, forcing a smile. “It’s always something on a farm.”

  Jilly slipped in front of me. “Let’s leave Ivy to sort out the cows and go up to the house. We’re going to sit out on the back deck and have mimosas with drunken pineapple spears. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds like the perfect vacation to me,” Paulette said. “This place is so lovely. I am going to remember this vacation forever.”

  “You are, Paulette,” I said, heading into the barn. “You really are.”

  Chapter Six

  Kellan Harper’s serious expression probably struck fear in everyone’s heart, not just mine. Clover Grove’s police chief could melt the bones in your body with one glance—not in a good way, although he could do that, too. I knew about the good way from our relationship in senior year, which ended with as much class as Wilf’s red Corvette crashing into my truck. Watching Kellan direct a team of eight cops around like a crime scene conductor, I briefly wondered how many other women in town knew about his magical bone-melting powers. It certainly wasn’t the right time for such thoughts, but the human brain works in mysterious ways.

  One of the men he was ordering around was my brother, Asher, who had dirty blond hair, bright blue eyes and an almost-permanent smile. Growing up as Mom’s literal and figurative golden boy had left him with a sunny outlook that police work hadn’t managed to shake. Even a small town like Clover Grove had its share of unsavory stories. I groaned inwardly, knowing that my homecoming had already contributed two of them. The town grapevine had practically short-circuited when Lloyd Boyce died on my property, implicating not only me but my sister, Daisy, and a good selection of locals. Now here I was again offering up gossip on a silver platter.

  Asher loped over and gave me a quick hug. The Galloways weren’t a hugging family but I guess he could sense my defences were down. “You okay, sis?”

  “As okay as I can be when my old boss is dead in my cow stall,” I mumbled into his shoulder.

  “He sounded like a jerk, anyway. If the cows took him out, maybe it’s karma.” He stepped back and gave me his impish grin. “Just kidding.”

  “Wilf was a jerk, no lie, but he didn’t deserve to go like this.” I twisted my hair into a ponytail and sighed when I realized I didn’t have a tie. “I half-expected someone to toss him out the window of his corner office in Boston. Instead he’s face down in manure here.”

  Asher closed his eyes for a second and I knew he wanted to laugh. He always wanted to laugh, which was one of his best qualities, if not always job-appropriate. Probably never job appropriate, which must have been tough for him. I hadn’t always understood that. As an HR executive, I had such complete emotional mastery that Asher called me Sister Robot to distinguish me from the rest. But after my concussion, however, I was sometimes as tactless and impulsive as my older brother. Giving up my sense of superiority over him was hard, especially when the more I blurted things out, the happier he got.

  “Kellan’s going to want to talk to you about office politics,” he said.

  “Oh, I know. I already had PTSD and now I get to relive it again. It feels like I’ll never escape Flordale.”

  “I’m sure this will be cut and dry. Drunk guy treats livestock like pet hamsters and gets rude awakening.”

  “Or permanent sleep,” I said.

  His lips twitched again. “Stop it. You’re trying to make me laugh and get me in trouble. Just like you did when we were kids.”

  “Like it ever worked. Mom wouldn’t hear a bad word about you.”

  The trace of a smile faded. “And now she’s back in town.” He rubbed one hand after another through his hair. “That was the most peaceful three weeks of my life.”

  Now I did laugh. “You’re the favorite. You must have missed her.”

  “It’s always something with Mom,” he said. “First she was hitting stop signs and I had to take her license away, which you know was total drama. Plus I’ve had to collect her off the premises of half a dozen jobs because she refused to leave after getting fired.”

  I flinched. “Oh no. I didn’t know about that, Ash. I’m sorry. It must be embarrassing for you with your colleagues.”

  He nodded. “The guys are pretty good about it. She drops by the precinct whenever she feels like it. Charms half the staff and alienates the other half, including the chief.”

  I closed my eyes briefly. “She paid one of those visits here last night during dinner. Total embarrassment in front of my first guests.”

  This time he rubbed his eyes—the only blue eyes in the family. “How’d we turn out so normal?” he asked.

  “Normal? Scratch the surface and we’re all eccentric, brother. Daisy did her best to shield us but it’s in our genes waiting to be activated. For me it happened when I rescued Keats.”

  “You have been, uh, different since you came home.”

  I nodded. “The weird unleashed.”

  He gave me a blazing grin. “I like it. Flaunt it, sis.” His eyes wandered to the house yet again. “Where’s Jilly?”

  “Entertaining my guests,” I said. “And don’t even think about distracting her. The Flordale crew doesn’t know what happened to Wilf yet.”

  “Ivy.” The voice came from inside the barn. Commanding. Bone-melting. “Can you get your dog out of here? He’s annoying me.”

  “Annoying you how?” I called.

  Kellan appeared in the doorway and stared at me with eyes several shades darker than my brother’s. “I think you’d call it herding. He’s circling me and taking little lunges. He nipped my pant leg.”

  Asher gave me a last grin and ran off to join his colleagues in the barn.

  “Keats,” I called. “Come.” The dog walked toward me. Ambled, really. He liked to be in the middle of things. Like all border collies, he was curious and persistent.

  “Tell him I’m not hiring,” Kellan said, following the dog across the gravel drive.

  “Tell him yourself.” I summoned something that would pass for a grin. Kellan and I had been awkward together during my first weeks back. That was partly old history and partly from my interfering with his investigation of Lloyd’s demise. In the end, the killer’s attack on me seemed to blow much of the tension away. We weren’t quite friends yet, but we were on the way. At least we had been, until someone else died on my land. Now, who knew?

  Kellan had already started the day by getting annoyed with me for releasing the livestock, including the cows. I knew better than to disturb the crime scene, but all of the animals were stirred up and that could lead to injury in closed spaces. On top of that, Heidi was getting increasingly agitated trapped in her relatively small stall with a body. I wanted to keep her calm for both the calf’s sake and Wilf’s remains. I may not have been fond of my former boss, but there was no need for further desecration.

  Kellan was even less knowledgeable about livestock than I was, and he wanted to keep it that way. He’d made no bones about disliking farm life, which was a definite strike against him in my books.

  Now h
e rolled his eyes at me and said, “The day I start making conversation with your dog—or anyone’s dog—is the day I surrender my badge. No one would trust a cop who chatted to dogs, let alone deputized one.”

  I rolled my eyes back at him. “There are tons of dogs in police work. It’s discrimination that border collies never get the job.”

  “Normally I’d say Keats doesn’t meet the size requirements,” Kellan said. “But I saw him in action and I know he’s quite capable of taking out bad guys. That ear maneuver is something else.”

  He finally smiled and my heart frisked a little, like the twin baby goats frolicking now in their pasture.

  “Right? It’s his signature move.” Keats had twice latched onto someone’s ear during a violent attack on me and disabled the villain. “But I hope he never has to use it again.”

  “Let’s make sure he doesn’t,” Kellan said. “You need to promise me you’ll stay well away from this investigation.”

  “What’s to investigate? Wilf got drunk and locked himself in with the cows. I assume he passed out and then… well, you saw what happened.”

  He crossed his arms and stared out at the cows grazing innocently in their pasture. “We don’t know the whole story. I wish you’d put up those security cameras like I suggested.”

  “Me too.” I sighed. “I thought trouble would give Runaway Farm a pass for a while.”

  Kellan turned to glance at the red Corvette and the gravel beneath our feet. “So he got behind the wheel in the middle of the night and did donuts?”

  “Looks like it. And there’s more.” I led him down the lane. “There’s a figure eight in the lane. He may have been planning to go somewhere and changed his mind.”

  “Where would he be going at that time of night?” Kellan asked.

  “Home, maybe? It’s possible he was ashamed of his behavior at dinner.” I watched as Keats sniffed every inch of the gravel. “But I’ve never known Wilf to be ashamed, and trust me, he has plenty of cause.”

  Kellan knelt and stared at the spot where the Corvette met the side of my truck. “I hope you have good insurance.”

  “I do. Thank goodness.”

  Keats shoved his head under Kellan’s arm and drew in the scent of dented metal. The police chief leaned back on his heels and shook his head at the dog. “I mean insurance on the farm, as well,” he said.

  “Definitely. Hannah Pemberton actually paid the premiums for the first five years. She said after all she’d been through on the farm it would cost me too much to operate the inn at the rate they charged.” I gazed around at the property I was so lucky to have. “She gives a new meaning to the word ‘generous.’”

  “Happy to hear that. Wilf isn’t around to sue you but his family might. Is he married? Kids?”

  I nodded. “Although things were tense at home. I heard more about that than I wanted.”

  “Okay.” His expression fell into professional lines. “Are you ready to give your statement? I wouldn’t say no to a coffee.”

  “Let me get you a cup and bring it down here, because…”

  There was no reason to finish my sentence. The front door opened and five women thundered down the front stairs, shrieking. “Wilf’s dead? Is it really true? What happened?”

  That was just what I could pick out from the overlapping voices as they ran toward us. Nellie tripped over something and fell. The Raptors leapt over her together and kept running. No one stopped to help Nellie up.

  Jilly’s mimosas had obviously been quite effective.

  I walked over to help Nellie get to her feet but the pack barred my path and swarmed me. “Ladies. Give me a second, please.”

  Nellie managed to stand. She was still wearing her spa gloves but they were grey with grit now. Staggering over, she said, “Is it true?” Only “it” came out as “ish.” She grabbed my hand and clutched it. “He’s really dead?”

  “I’m afraid so, Nellie. Ladies, please go back inside until the police finish investigating.”

  Jilly came through the front door, now in capris and T-shirt, and mouthed an apology. Asher miraculously sensed her presence from inside the barn and appeared in the wide doorway. As he jogged across the parking area, his crush was obvious to everyone… except my tipsy colleagues. They moved away from me to block Asher’s path before he could get anywhere near the porch.

  Kellan rolled his eyes again but couldn’t help smirking. Asher was so popular in town that women of all ages specifically asked for him when they called the station to report petty crimes. So many turned out to be nuisance calls that Kellan now deliberately assigned the oldest, most taciturn cop to every report requesting Asher. It was working… for now.

  Asher politely and persistently eased out of the Flordale clutches and ran up the stairs to see Jilly. The women turned their attention instead on Kellan. His expression effectively kept them from invading his personal space, but he had to raise his hands to stem the flow of questions.

  “Ladies, please. I’ll share all I can for the moment.” He waited till they simmered down to listen. “Wilfred Darby has indeed passed away. We’re not sure how or when it happened but the autopsy will tell us more. You’ll all need to stay at Runaway Farm until the investigation is done.”

  “They’re booked for three days,” I told Kellan.

  He tipped his head and shrugged. “Better get more groceries.”

  Chapter Seven

  I didn’t think anyone could melt Kellan Harper with a glance—in the bad way—but it turned out there was one person with sufficient power. And that person had delivered me into existence.

  Mom got out of the passenger seat of Poppy’s classic Volkswagen bug and swept toward me on red, faux alligator stilettos. No matter how many hard knocks Mom took, she never staggered on her high heels. She was a survivor. Of course, with six decent kids, she had a pretty good safety net.

  Iris clambered out of the small back seat and shrugged at me, whereas Poppy grinned as she leaned on the car to watch the show. Holding Mom back at times like this was impossible, at least without Daisy, our eldest sister. We all adored and respected Daisy, but she’d been avoiding the inn like the plague since being implicated, albeit briefly, in the dogcatcher’s death. The incident had forced her to reveal a long-held secret about her family to Kellan that left her feeling vulnerable. She’d gone from bossing me around during the setup of the inn to being the absentee sister. I hoped she’d get over it soon, because I missed her. In all the ways that counted, she was really the parent of the family, even to Mom.

  “Kellan Harper,” Mom said, pausing to stare up at him with the hazel eyes all of us had inherited except Asher. “We meet again.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Galloway,” he said, taking a step back. Even a murderer couldn’t make Kellan step back, but Mom managed it. “You look well.”

  “Ms. Galloway,” she corrected. “Mister Galloway left us to fend for ourselves thirty years ago. If I look well, it’s because I had a wonderful vacation. Unfortunately, I came home to discover you seized that opportunity to make advances on my Ivy again. Breaking her heart once wasn’t enough?”

  “Mom!” It was a chorus from all siblings present, with Asher’s voice being loudest of all. He’d left Jilly on the porch to run interference, but I beat him to the punch.

  “Please stop, Mom,” I said. “Kellan saved my life while you were away. Keats and I wouldn’t be here now if not for him.”

  She shrugged a silent “whatever” and said, “I’m sure you’d have managed. You’re a very resourceful girl, Ivy. Your boss—may he rest in peace—nicknamed you the ‘grim reaper’ for a reason. As inappropriate as it was.”

  “How about we be appropriate now?” I asked, gesturing toward the guests. “Wilf’s staff are all here and they’re in shock.”

  “Some are relieved, no doubt.” She nodded at Kellan. “I’m sure Chief Full-of-Himself will get it sorted out quickly.”

  “Mom!” Asher had never sounded more exasperated. “This is my boss
. Show the chief of police the respect he deserves.”

  She withered Asher with rare disapproval. “Darling, you’ve gotten so prickly since Kellan came back to Clover Grove last year. Policing our town doesn’t require a heavy hand, you know.”

  “It does when people are getting murdered,” Asher said.

  All my guests had moved closer, including Ben and Neal, who’d just arrived looking dishevelled from sleeping late. They were staring at my mom with evident fascination. She knew how to command a room, or in this case a large parking area outside the barn. Her red wool suit came from Round Two, a secondhand store in nearby Dorset Hills. Iris’ main role in the family was to shuttle Mom around to vintage stores throughout hill country so that Mom didn’t risk running into the previous owners of her wardrobe scores.

  Walking over, I took my mom by the arm and tugged her away from Kellan. “Leave the policing to the experts, please.”

  Kellan gave me a grateful smile that morphed into a grin. “What great advice. If only you’d follow it yourself.”

  “He’s right about that, Ivy,” Mom said. Her expression said the cost of agreeing with Kellan was high. “I’ve heard about the unnecessary risks you’ve taken since rescuing that mutt.” She stared down at Keats, now glued to my side. “I don’t trust that blue eye. It’s like he’s looking into my soul.”

  “Well, I’m sure he likes what he sees there,” I said. Strangely, it was true. Keats had a system of grading people apparent only to me. Tail up, ears forward, and sloppy smile all signalled approval. For all her idiosyncrasies, Mom got a five-star rating. My dog and I agreed on almost everything, except perhaps this. “Now, how about you, Poppy and Iris join Jilly for a light lunch? She’s making chickpea sloppy joes. A crowd pleaser.”

  Mom’s red lips puckered and she patted her smooth stomach. “Your former boss wasn’t right about much, but I share his views on chickpeas. Homesteader hippies have brought some strange passions into this farming community.”