by Ellen Riggs
This time my laugh escaped. “Why thank you, Miss Evans. That’s quite a compliment. I’ll be sure to pass it along to my mother.”
“You do that. I never had much respect for Dahlia, although she was a very pretty girl. She could have done so much better than the deadbeat she married. After churning out six kids, she hadn’t a particle of sense left in her head.”
“Now who’s being dramatic?” I said, although I couldn’t really argue the point. My father was a deadbeat whose departure left Mom permanently rattled. “We did just fine, in no small measure due to your excellent nursing care at school.”
She prepared to fire back, but her lips hung slack for a moment as she searched for the pill in the jam. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Ivy. Obviously you want something from me, so you’d best spit it out. My standing bridge game is in an hour.”
I moved to the edge of my chair, which wasn’t easy since the puffy cushions were like quicksand. “I do, actually. Since you keep such a sharp eye and ear on the community, I’d like to know if you noticed anything amiss on my property the night before last.”
The pucker loosened as she gave a sly grin. She knew something. Edna regularly spied on Runaway Farm with binoculars. That annoyed me, but it had also given me a valuable lead on the previous murder. The police told her to desist but I suspected she hadn’t. Why would she give up her fun?
“Possibly,” she said. “It’s hard to know what’s normal and what’s not at Runaway Farm. There’s always something going on.”
“It’s a busy place, yes. Especially with my first guests in residence.”
She crossed her fuzzy slippers and snorted. “I saw that chubby man—the one who died—trying to climb in with the alpaca. You flapped around so much I thought you’d lift off.”
“Wilfred Darby,” I said. “My old boss. I’m trying to figure out how he died, Miss Evans. The County’s pinned it on my cows.”
“Oh, the County. That bunch of fools.” She plucked at something on the arm of her recliner. “But I guess they’re aware you don’t know a cow from a sow, Ivy, and both have ravaged my garden to the point where I might well starve.”
“I am sorry about that. Charlie has new protocols in place and so far, so good.” I pushed out of the chair and stood with my arms crossed. “I sense you know something, Miss Evans.”
Giving a little shrug, she pushed the chair upright and stood, too. All the better to see my reaction, I suspected. “Well, I know Dahlia made rash threats and she’s first in the perp lineup.”
“The perp lineup?” I nearly laughed again. Giddiness was always lurking around the corner today, waiting to take me over. “You know my mom isn’t capable of killing Wilf Darby.”
“She would have needed help from someone with brains, I’ll grant you that. But you’re one sharp cookie, Ivy. Perhaps you worked together to make it happen.”
“To what end, Miss Evans? I love my farm and inn. How would killing off a guest help me?”
“I don’t know. Insurance scam, maybe? Or just the satisfaction of ridding the world of one nasty man.”
“He was that. But he didn’t deserve to die in my barn. So please tell me what you saw.”
“How could I see anything? It was the middle of the night and I need my beauty sleep, Ivy.”
“I’m sure you have information of value to me. It’s written all over your well-rested face.”
The little grin was back. “Oh? Well, first let’s chat about what you can do for me.”
She had some nerve asking me for anything after implicating my sister in Lloyd Boyce’s murder. No doubt she’d slandered us far and wide to divert attention from her own actions. But there was no denying she held the cards here. I had nothing at all to go on with this case.
“Tell me how I can help you, Miss Evans,” I said, offering my sweetest smile. It wasn’t that sweet, I knew, being rusty from disuse.
“That’s better, Ivy. As I’ve said before, you were the softest of the Galloway hooligans, and the brightest, too. I suspected you’d respond to reason.”
I drew on my well-honed negotiation skills from a decade in HR. Time to establish common ground. “Of course, Miss Evans. We both want the same thing: to feel safe in our homes.”
“Exactly. I haven’t had a moment’s peace since you took over Runaway Farm. Or Hannah Pemberton before you, for that matter. At my age, I don’t need stress like that.”
“How can I ease your stress and restore peace at the border?” I asked.
“For starters, you can take my chickens.”
“Chickens!” That was unexpected. But it was only her first demand.
“I don’t get enough sleep anymore and that blasted rooster never shuts up. And it’s too much upkeep at my age.” She crossed her arms. “You’ll collect them all and start dropping off fresh eggs. Don’t be stingy, now. My award-winning sponge cake requires a dozen yolks.”
“Done. I’ll send Charlie over to shut down your coop. Is that it?”
She shook her head. “I hear your chef is talented, and while I’ve always been a good cook myself, I’m too busy for anything fancy these days. So I’ll take delivery of gourmet meals on occasion. None of those new-fangled chickpea dishes, though. I can’t handle much fiber anymore.”
Again laughter threatened to explode and I had to hold my breath for a few seconds. Finally I said, “Gourmet to go. Done. You must have some very good information.”
“I think it might be of value to you, yes. And you’ll be the first to hear it, since the chief of police hasn’t bothered to pay me a visit.” She walked over to the big windows facing Runaway Farm. Her house was on a hill and she’d cleared trees to get an unobstructed view of my property. “I guess I’m just a nosy old woman to him.”
I joined her at the window. “Whereas to me you’re a vigilant neighbor who might help me protect the people and animals I love.”
“Don’t suck up,” she said, turning to give me a cold stare. “It’s unnecessary. We struck a deal.”
“Believe it or not, I’m being honest,” I said. “Now, spill it, Miss Evans. There’s a lovely chicken pot pie and apple cheesecake on the menu tonight.”
After milking the moment a little longer, she turned to a cedar chest in the corner and lifted the heavy lid. “No judgement, Ivy,” she warned, pulling out a pair of goggles.
“Are those night vision goggles?” I asked. “You’re sitting up all night spying on me now?”
“I said no judgement.”
“After we struck the deal. Sorry, but I’m totally judging. I deserve privacy, too.”
She put the goggles back in the chest and crossed her arms again. “You can’t have it both ways, so get off your high horse. With two murders on your property in a month, I have every right to look out for myself. You make Hannah Pemberton and her circus look like a Sunday church service.”
“Fine,” I said, mirroring her pose. “Tell me.”
“No guarantees, but I may have insight into what happened with your boss.”
“Former boss,” I corrected. “I left Flordale months ago.”
“You’ll go back.” She lifted her chin and sniffed. “You still smell like city under that stench of manure.”
I gritted my teeth. She was relentless in trying to get a rise out of me and if I didn’t move things along she’d be successful, too. “Miss Evans, how do you stay so chipper when you’re up all night spying?”
“I hydrate,” she said. “And I gave up indulgences years ago. You should try it, Ivy. You look older than Daisy now. How do you expect to land a handsome man like Chief Harper if you let yourself go?”
Jilly’s advice surfaced at the right time and I counted to seven as I drew in my next breath. “Let’s exchange beauty tips when I deliver your dinner. Right now, we’ll stick to the story. So… you were up that night at around two a.m., I assume? What woke you?”
She ended her game of cat and mouse. “I heard that loud sports car roaring and got up to take a loo
k. The car’s lights were on at first and I saw it doing circles in front of your barn.”
“Then what happened?”
“Someone jumped in front of the car waving their arms and the car stopped. The door opened and I saw your boss get out of the car. It was quite a production because he was clearly drunk and his bathrobe got stuck. The other man came over to help free him and they struggled for a bit.”
“You saw the other man?” I asked.
“Oh yes. The car lights went on and off and I had to switch back and forth between regular binoculars and night vision goggles. Either way, it was hard to miss the other man. He’s a veritable giant. I saw him with you in town yesterday. Six foot six by the looks of it.”
“Ben?” I couldn’t hide my shock. “He was with Wilf?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself, Ivy, or I’ll miss my bridge game.” She walked to the front hall and collected her jacket. “The giant got Wilf out of the car and probably saved lives for it, so I wouldn’t be too hard on him if he lied to you about it. Then he and the other man tried to get your boss back to the house. It was like a crazy dance, and pudgy as he was, your boss outmaneuvered them both and ran to the barn.”
“There were three men?”
“I can count, Ivy,” she said, pulling out a black patent leather purse that looked straight out of the 60s. “I still have my faculties.”
“No question there, Miss Evans,” I said. “What happened next?”
“The smaller of the two men threw up his hands and left the circle of light. I assume he went back to the house but I kept my eyes on the real action, which was the giant man grappling with your boss outside the barn. I’ve always enjoyed wrestling, you know, even though it’s mostly theater. There’s something about the costumes that—”
“Miss Evans?” I grabbed her sleeve. “What happened then?”
She stared at my hand until I released her sleeve, then continued. “Your boss slipped out of the giant’s grasp like a greased pig and literally rolled into the barn. His robe must have been a mess.”
“It was, actually. I saw that myself.”
Her eyes sharpened. “You found the body?”
“Keats did. But I saw enough.”
Settling a broadbrimmed hat on her gray curls, she kicked off her slippers and replaced them with sensible slip-on shoes. “I don’t know what happened in the barn, obviously. I watched for a long time and didn’t see them come out. Doesn’t mean they didn’t, of course. You have a back door, too, as I recall.”
She slipped the handles of her purse over her shoulder and reached for the doorknob. I stepped in front to block her. “Did you happen to hear anything?”
“Well, I could only hear things if I went outside, and that would be foolish, wouldn’t it?”
I stared at her. “A calculated risk. They were too caught up to sense you watching from afar.”
“True. Which is why I did stick my head out the back door. And to answer your question, I could hear yelling.”
“How many voices?”
“I have goggles, Ivy, not a microphone. There were two men for sure.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “Honestly, Ivy, you’ve brought some frightening people into our community. It’s almost enough to make me move.”
“But then you’d miss the gourmet meals,” I said, managing a smile.
“I haven’t tasted them yet. I’ll be the judge of whether it’s worth risking my life here.”
She gave me a sharp jab in the ribs and I stepped back. Keats moved into the small space between us. This time there was no question he was giving her a heavy dose of his blue eye.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I said.
Shaking her finger at the dog, she said, “You’ll have to do worse to scare me, sheepdog. Now, outside, both of you.”
“But—”
She shoved me out the door and onto the front porch, and shut the door behind her. “I can’t do all your work for you, Ivy. Go into town and figure out why your boss came to Clover Grove a day early in his mid-life crisis car. He didn’t seem to care who saw him.”
“He was here early? Where?” I asked, following her down the stairs.
“At the Summit Hotel, among other places,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ve never liked the owner, Chantelle. She acts like she’s special because her mom was French. The accent is fake and pathetic.”
“Miss Evans,” I called after her. “Let me drive you to town so we can talk a bit longer.”
She turned and then gave that cackle that still haunted me. “I’ve seen how you drive, Ivy. I’d rather take my chances on the bus or even hitchhiking.” She tapped her head. “I have a nice long hairpin if someone gets fresh.”
“But I—”
“Social interaction keeps people my age alive,” she called back. “And bridge waits for no woman.”
Only as she rounded a curve in the lane did I realize she’d put me out of her house without my boots.
Chapter Twelve
Edna had vanished by the time I drove to the end of her driveway. I had no idea if she’d truly hitched a ride on the highway, was hiding in the bushes to avoid surrendering my boots, or more likely still, had hopped onto a broom and flown into town.
Luckily, I didn’t have far to drive because the pedals felt strange under my socks and my gear-shifting deteriorated even more. I stalled twice in the relatively short expanse between her driveway and mine. It was particularly unnerving because there was a long curve in the road. If any of the town’s crazy teens came hurtling around too fast, they’d be flossing my fender out of their teeth.
“Seriously, Keats, I think that old witch cursed me,” I said, turning the key in the ignition yet again. “Did you see that creepy little grin? She knew full well she was evicting me bootless.”
He turned his blue eye on me as I started the truck again.
“Don’t give me that look. I was flustered, okay? I can handle most people and you know it. Edna gets under my skin. Maybe that’s because my actual skin is still scarred from the vaccines she gave me as a kid. If you saw her coming at you with a needle, you’d be traumatized, too.”
If border collies had shoulders, he’d have shrugged. Instead he mumbled something that sounded quite judgy.
“Oh, please. You’re not such a big guy at the vet’s, are you? You tried to claw your way off the table when the rabies shot came out.” I couldn’t help chuckling. “That reminds me of the time Edna hauled Asher out from under the gym bleachers by his feet and dragged him on his back down the hallway kicking like a feral cat. The woman is fearless—even about public opinion. Off she goes to play bridge when everyone knows she helped a murderer. Can you believe that?”
Keats’ grumble turned into a whine. It was louder than his usual commentary. He was trying to tell me something.
“I know, I know. I can’t stall again and risk injuring someone. Plus the truck is already a mess thanks to Wilf’s drunken joyride.”
Bracing one white paw on the dashboard, Keats turned to look behind us and whined again. This time there was a note of urgency.
“I’m going, I’m going.” I got the truck in gear, finally finding the right balance between gas and clutch with my socked feet. The truck moved along briskly for about 20 yards, during which Keats continued to mumble what sounded like a warning. He was still looking over his shoulder, so I glanced in the rearview mirror myself.
Flashing lights had swept around the bend and the police SUV was gaining on me steadily. The siren gave one bleep, telling me to pull over.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” I said. “Can I not catch a break today?”
My foot slipped off the gas and I stalled yet again. The police car braked behind me, lights still flashing. I took a deep breath, and then another and turned the key in the ignition. “I can do this. I can do this.”
Amazingly, I did do it. The truck took a telling and let me glide smoothly off the highway and onto the small gravel road that led to a farmer’s field. I m
anaged to put the truck in park and turn it off before it died on me. That gave me just enough dignity to roll down the window coolly. I’d hoped to see my brother in the side mirror—or any of the other 10 officers in the Clover Grove police department. But no. Of course not. It had to be Kellan Harper.
“Hello, Chief,” I said, with feigned nonchalance. I dug deep for my old HR blandness and slapped a businesslike smile on my face. “What can we do for you today?”
He peered into the truck at Keats. “Well, the dog can’t do a thing for me. But you could do me a huge favor and stay off the road till you learn to handle that vehicle. You stalled four times.”
“Three,” I said, realizing it was ridiculous to argue that embarrassing point. Keats offered a mumble of disgust, which I ignored. Acknowledging the dog’s contributions always rubbed Kellan the wrong way. Long ago when we were seeing each other, I was just a typical teenage girl. Or at least I was better able to hide my quirks. Now they were on display so frequently that it probably gave Kellan mental whiplash.
“It’s a safety hazard, Ivy. You could hurt someone—including Keats, who shouldn’t be riding shotgun by the way. Aren’t dogs supposed to be in crates, or at least wearing a seatbelt?”
“Probably. Not a bad idea, actually.” I glanced at Keats, who was staring at me full on. He gave a sharp yip of protest. “He wouldn’t like that very much.”
“Get out of the truck,” Kellan said. “I’ll drive you home and walk back here. We need to see about getting you a car with an automatic transmission, at least until you get the hang of this.”
I wondered who “we” meant. Kellan and me? Or Kellan and Asher? Or the County road safety committee? I sighed. With all that was going on, I shouldn’t be wasting time thinking about the “we” that used to be. At this point each of us had a full plate.
“I’ll just slide over,” I said. “Keats, get in the back, please.”
Kellan opened the door as the dog vacated the passenger seat. “Don’t climb over the gearshift. You could hurt yourself. Just walk around the truck, Ivy.”