by Ellen Riggs
“Ivy’s raved about your tuna salad,” Jilly said, joining us. “Maybe you could show me your secrets.”
Her tone was respectful, even deferential—something Mom craved and didn’t often get from her own kids. Jilly sensed that and delivered. Her people skills were stellar.
“All right, then,” Mom said, heels crunching as she followed Jilly to the front stairs. “A tea would be nice, too, but I don’t want to leave Ivy too long in the clutches of the so-called chief. You do know how he practically jilted her at the altar?”
“Oh my god, Mom.” Heat surged up from my toes to my hairline. Her statement was not only ridiculous but the opposite of what Kellan believed. We’d broken up during our first year at different colleges because he’d been told I was two-timing him. It wasn’t true, but pride, distance and immaturity had kept us from sorting it out.
I couldn’t look at him, so I checked on my guests and found they’d closed in a rather tight circle around me. Keats didn’t like that at all. His left ear, over the honey-sweet brown eye, had drooped and his tail hung like a flag on a windless day. It seemed like the oxygen had grown scarce as my guests sucked up more than their share.
“Folks, I have a great idea,” I said. “How about a trail walk in the meadows? I think we could all use a dose of hill country fresh air.”
I heard more crunching of boots on gravel behind me as the police retreated to the barn. Perhaps the gruesome death scene was a welcome break from my mother’s theatrics.
Keri clutched my arm. “I don’t want to go far till we know more about what happened to Wilf. It feels…”
“Dangerous,” Nellie interrupted. “If a cow could stomp Wilf to death under our noses, what could happen in the open fields?”
“Heidi didn’t stomp Wilf to death,” I said. Now that the initial shock was over, I’d changed my tune about that and I would defend my girl until told otherwise.
“No?” Nellie said. “Then what really happened?”
“Well, it’s pure speculation on my part, but I’m guessing Wilf came out here on some crazy, intoxicated mission. He got behind the wheel and thank goodness he hit my truck instead of heading to town and risking other lives on the highway.”
“But why was he in the barn?” Keri chimed in. “He hated animals. You know that.”
“He was dead set on milking the cows yesterday. Oops.” I covered my mouth. “Excuse me. Wrong word. He was determined to milk the cows and I forbade it. What happened when you told Wilf not to do something?”
They all looked at each other and finally Keri spoke up. “No one ever told Wilf what to do and got away with it.”
“It was a recipe for the opposite to happen,” I said. “At least, that’s what I found as his second in command. I had to use reverse psychology to get anything done. So, yesterday I should have encouraged him to try milking on the spot. He probably would have decided against it instead of coming out here in the middle of the night to give it a whirl.”
“And get attacked by a cow,” Neal said.
I shook my head. “I really don’t believe it was deliberate. These heifers are young and frisky but they’ve always been friendly with me.”
“I’m sure they wouldn’t be as friendly with Wilf,” Keri said. “Can’t animals smell someone who hates them?”
“I don’t know enough about cows yet to comment,” I said, sighing. “But dogs certainly know.”
Keats was staring up at me with a knowing blue eye. He’d signalled his contempt for Wilf the day before by fully tucking his tail and flattening his ears. It had seemed to take sheer grit for him to stand between Wilf and me. No doubt our old professional grudges created shock waves.
There was a murmur among the guests and I raised my hand. “Folks, again, it’s just a guess but I’m thinking Wilf collapsed in the cow stall. Maybe he passed out from liquor. Maybe he had a heart attack. We all know about his unhealthy lifestyle. Or maybe he simply decided to enjoy a nap in the hay. But it’s pitch black out in the barn at night, and the cows wouldn’t be able to see him. So if—and I’m saying if—trampling turns out to be the cause of death, I really don’t think we can blame Heidi and Clara for Wilf’s poor decisions.”
Once again there was a crunch of gravel and I knew from the expressions of my former colleagues that the boots belonged to Kellan.
“Interesting theories, Ivy,” he said. “And thanks for sharing your thoughts so generously when I asked you to stay out of police work.”
His tone took me aback. I thought we’d moved past the animosity. But when I turned, he actually looked more hurt than angry. My mother’s words must have struck right in the old heartbreak. She had a talent for finding someone’s vulnerability and taking strategic pokes. It helped her keep the upper hand in relationships when she probably didn’t feel she’d ever had it in life—at least not since her husband left. I didn’t really think of the man as my father, since I had no memories of him at all.
“Sorry, Chief Harper,” I said. “I suppose I feel a little defensive of my heifers. I’m sure you can understand that.”
He shook his head. “I can understand your being defensive about the dog, I guess. Cows are just—”
“Steak,” Neal said, following that up with a nasty laugh.
I turned on him. “These are dairy cattle, Neal. They’ll never grace a plate.”
He gave a shrug. “I’m vegan, remember? Bring on the chickpea sloppy joes.”
Keri gestured for Kellan’s attention. “Excuse me, Chief. If Ivy’s theories are wrong, what are yours?”
Pressing his lips together, Kellan hesitated. I wondered if he simply didn’t want to agree that I was right. But when he spoke, I could tell that he’d chosen his words with professional precision.
“So much depends on the autopsy,” he said. “But my forensics expert suspects Mr. Darby was already dead before the cow kicked him.”
“See?” I said, triumphantly. “My girls are innocent.”
Kellan forged on. “There’s a contusion on Mr. Darby’s head that seems inconsistent with a cloven hoof.”
Everyone gasped and it took a second before Keri continued. “Are you saying someone hit Wilf before the cow got to him?”
“It’s impossible to know just yet. I’d ask you to be patient. Rest assured that answers will come.”
“Do you think this contusion took place inside the barn?” I asked. “Maybe Wilf hit his head when he smacked the car and then staggered in there confused and collapsed. Naturally the cows would be distressed by the arrival of a body in their midst.” I threw a defiant look around. “Heidi and Clara were unfairly accused. Even by me.”
“Not necessarily,” Kellan said. “They still stomped Mr. Darby, but he may have been unconscious first.”
“Did he fall unconscious inside or outside the stall?” I asked again.
“I won’t speculate further.” He pressed his lips together again to end the conversation and started to turn.
“Chief Harper?” For the first time, Paulette spoke up. “I’m just reading between the lines. That’s something I need to do a lot in my job as an admin assistant. But are you saying Wilf may have been hit in the head by someone deliberately?”
“It’s far too soon to say,” Kellan said.
It was far too soon for Kellan to say, but my brother was a different story. He came out of the barn and the truth was written all over his boyishly handsome face. At least, I could read it. Hopefully it was less obvious to my colleagues.
Nellie stepped into the breach and voiced what everyone was wondering. “Did someone club Wilf to death?”
Her bluntness shocked me, but I knew she still had plenty of mimosas in her system.
“Nellie!” Paulette turned on the younger woman and shook her finger. “Show some respect.”
“Come on, Paulette,” she said. “I’m just asking what we all want to know. Did the real grim reaper finally catch up with Wilf?”
“Ma’am,” Kellan said. “It woul
d be best to leave this conversation for a more appropriate time.”
“When you’re not drunk, for example,” Neal said. “All you ladies reek of booze.”
I stared at Kellan but his face—even more handsome than my brother’s but in a manly sort of way—gave nothing away. So I turned back to my brother and I knew the answer.
“Oh no,” I said. “Not again.”
“Just relax, Ivy,” Kellan said. “There’s no need for worry until the autopsy report comes back.”
“What do you mean, ‘not again’?” Keri asked, her brown eyes full of worry.
“Someone was murdered in Ivy’s barn just a few weeks ago,” Neal said. “I googled it last night after her mother was blabbering about the attacks.”
“You didn’t tell us that, Ivy.” Keri’s voice was heavy with accusation. “If I’d known we weren’t safe here, I’d never have booked your inn for our retreat.”
“That was an isolated incident that had nothing to do with me,” I said. “Someone just picked my farm as a convenient place to do away with the dogcatcher.”
“She’s right,” Asher said, joining us. “It had nothing to do with Ivy.”
“Chief?” Keri said, following normal corporate protocol and going up the line.
“The dogcatcher’s murder had nothing to do with Ivy,” he confirmed. “The subsequent attack on Ivy herself had everything to do with her poking around in an investigation.”
“Attack? By a murderer?” Keri said, her eyes wide.
“Someone who’s now safely behind bars, partly because of me,” I said. “And Keats. Anyway, it was a local issue, Keri, and there’s no reason to believe someone from Clover Grove would attack Wilf.”
“True,” Neal said. “It was more likely to be one of us, right?”
“Neal!” Paulette turned on him now with her wagging finger. “Don’t even joke about that.”
“Well, who else would want Wilf gone… permanently?” he asked.
Now they all stared at each other with a new expression. Wary. It was dawning on them that one of their own could have perpetrated the crime. Perhaps they even wondered if another attack could follow.
We turned at the clack of heels on wood. My mother was descending my front stairs like an old-time debutante. “Asher! Did someone say murder?”
“Ms. Galloway,” Kellan said. “We’re all going to stay calm. There’s no reason to be otherwise.”
She picked her way across the driveway. “Chief Harper. Don’t you dare tell me not to worry about my children. If there’s been another murder at Ivy’s farm, I honestly don’t know what I’ll do.”
“Mom.” Asher’s voice was pleading. “Leave it.”
“Well, really, Asher,” Mom said. “This Wilf was obnoxious, as I saw for myself, but who’d have a reason to—” She pulled the decorative handkerchief out of her breast pocket and shook out the fabric with a single sharp flick. “Dispatch him?”
All eyes were on my mother and no one seemed bemused anymore.
Neal, who’d seemingly elected himself team spokesperson, stood a little taller. “Ms. Galloway, you threatened Wilf last night. For treating Ivy like dirt and causing her to go nuts.”
The handkerchief came down from her nose and her eyes grew fiery. “My daughter is not ‘nuts,’ young man.”
She seemed to have missed his indirect accusation, but Asher and I didn’t. We stepped forward together and each of us grabbed one of Mom’s arms. Her heels dragged on the gravel and then clunked on the stairs as we literally carried her back into the house.
Keats followed along, tail held high, as if this were a new and enjoyable game. Kellan wasn’t going to take the dog’s word for my mom’s innocence, but I certainly did.
“Don’t be silly, you two,” Mom said, flapping and squawking like an angry hen as we crossed the porch. “How could I possibly kill that big oaf? It would have taken a sledgehammer. Not that I wouldn’t have liked to—”
Asher’s big hand cut off her last words
Chapter Eight
Senna York’s dirty tan Ranger Rover looked like it had spent hard time chasing livestock in muddy fields when it pulled up on my lawn. The life of the agrarian vet wasn’t for the faint of heart, but I guessed the problem I was about to present to her was a new one. At least she didn’t need to absorb it all with my mother fluttering around. Jilly still had everyone trapped inside, perhaps with a lunch cocktail or five.
Senna stared around at the police vehicles with a puzzled expression but got straight to business. “Everything okay with Archie?”
Keats circled her boots and herded her toward me. She smiled and let him, having owned sheepdogs herself in the past. Nothing he did surprised her.
“I think so,” I said, leading them to the cow pasture. “Heidi seems entranced with him.”
The calf was wandering around the enclosure, his spindly legs steadier today, and Heidi was a few paces behind, letting out what sounded like worried huffing.
Senna’s grin spread. “Isn’t that something? You’ve got a lucky horseshoe hanging over you, Ivy Galloway.”
“Sometimes it comes crashing down on my head,” I said. “Like today.”
I shared the story in a rapid, hushed whisper. No one was close enough to hear, but Kellan and his team were still in the barn. Yellow hazard tape stretched across the back doorway and the open area outside.
When I finished, Senna’s grin had vanished. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry this happened.” She squeezed my arm hard. “But I don’t believe your cows are to blame.”
“I don’t believe it, either. At first I did, I’ll be honest, but they’re not dangerous bulls.”
Still pinching my arm, her eyes narrowed as she stared into the pasture. “I mean, even if they were to blame, they weren’t to blame. Their overnight stall isn’t huge and that idiot had no right being inside with them.” She blew out a sigh. “And with a new mother, yet. I assume you explained to your guests that these are real animals, not plush toys.”
I nodded. “In exhausting detail as they signed the waivers. I have a handout with the rules that everyone has to initial.”
“Thank goodness you covered your butt. I’m sure this will get chalked up to his drunken foolishness.” She glanced over at Wilf’s car. “I knew he was trouble when he roared up in the ’vette. Midlife crisis waiting to happen.”
“From what I can tell that started when he turned thirty and realized his high school hero days were behind him and he couldn’t coast anymore.”
“It’s a shame he brought this on Runaway Farm, though. You’ve had a rocky ride already.”
We were only a few feet from the gate but she chose to climb the fence and leap lightly into the pasture. I could have followed suit but my limbs still felt as wobbly as Archie’s from the shock. No need to add another pratfall, with my tailbone still aching from yesterday’s. I handed over Senna’s heavy rectangular kit and then opened the gate to join her with Keats.
She tied off Heidi first, and then knelt beside her. Running one hand down the cow’s rear leg, she lifted a hoof. Then she moved to the other side and did the same. She signalled for me to bring her the kit and flipped it open. Pulling out a plastic bottle, she used a sterile swab to scrape the cow’s hoof and then labelled it. She worked in silence, collecting samples from all three cattle, even little Archie.
I tried to be patient, but Keats poked in with his long muzzle half a dozen times and she just nudged him aside gently.
“Keats, leave it,” I said. “Senna’s got it covered.”
After she closed her kits and stood, I asked, “Well? Did you see any blood?”
Senna nodded. “I’m afraid so. Just Heidi, as far as I can tell. But remember, that doesn’t mean she’s responsible for what happened. A body in the stall at night would have made the cows agitated. I’m surprised it wasn’t worse, actually. And I’m surprised Archie is still welcome.”
Opening the gate, I let her out and we walked back to her
car, where she set down her kit.
There was a crunch of wheels down the lane and I turned to see a big white cube van coming toward us. “Oh no,” I said. “That’s the County Animal Services truck, isn’t it?”
“Sure is. They’ve replaced Lloyd Boyce and I hear this one’s just as bad.”
The driver’s door opened and a tall, big-boned woman jumped down. Was it a coincidence that Lloyd’s replacement was also a redhead? Did Animal Services have a “type”?
She loped toward us and extended her hand to me. “Tess Blade,” she said. “I’m the new field officer for Animal Services.”
I let her pump my hand in a crushing grip. “Ivy Galloway, owner of Runaway Farm. This is Senna York, Clover Grove’s new and amazing veterinarian.”
Their eyes met for a long second as they took each other’s measure. I felt a chill settle over my shoulders. The fall day was warming up nicely, but not here, outside the cow pasture. I glanced at Keats and saw his ears were back and his tail down. He wasn’t impressed with Tess either.
She turned to the trio of cows. “So, which one’s the killer? Or don’t you know yet?”
“Excuse me? The police haven’t confirmed my cows are to blame for this unfortunate incident. I’d appreciate it if the County didn’t slander my cattle.”
She walked along the fence and we all followed. “What I heard was that your cows stomped a man to death last night.” She tipped her head toward Heidi. “Not that surprising when we have a new mom.”
“Whoever told you that jumped the gun,” I said.
“Yeah? Well, we can’t be too careful. As you probably know, the County has the power to seize dangerous livestock and send them for slaughter.”
Senna pinched my arm again. “It’s okay, Ivy. Having the power doesn’t mean the County will use it. I’m sure they’ll wait for the lab reports on my tests. Won’t you, Tess?”
“Field Officer Blade,” she said. “Or just Officer.”
I wanted to laugh but looked down at Keats instead. His ruff was up and his ears slightly back. Field Officer Blade’s character got a big fat fail from my dog. Somehow that didn’t surprise me.