Bought the Farm Mysteries Books 1-3

by Ellen Riggs

  “And the back copies are…?”

  “Oh, Ivy.” She gave me an exasperated look. “Everything is digitized now, even in this backwater town. I just keep my cards as backup in case it all comes crashing down. You’re welcome to use our computer.”

  Laughing, I headed over to one of the three workstations and began searching for every reference to Runaway Farm, and its former names, in the paper and the town archives. There were more references than I expected and it was hard to tear myself away. It was harder still to believe the place was truly mine. What a gift.

  Finally I got up and ambled to the door with Keats.

  Mrs. Bridges watched me over her glasses. “Find what you were looking for?”

  I shook my head. “It was a nice trip through the County’s past though. Thank you.”

  It wasn’t till I was turning into the lane at Runaway Farm that I pressed the brakes hard in sudden realization.

  “I should have erased my browser history, Keats,” I said. “Because I think I finally know who murdered Lloyd, and I hope Mrs. Bridges doesn’t get to them first.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I left the truck parked haphazardly in front of the house and ran inside to change. There was one place I’d never thought to look for evidence and I wasn’t going to do it in my street clothes. Squirming into my grubbiest overalls, I grabbed rubber gloves from the kitchen.

  “Good thing there’s a mask in the barn, buddy, because this could be gross. And I’m sorry to say I need your help.”

  Keats whined as he followed me down the path to the barn, as if to protest that there were no masks for border collies.

  Charlie was still working short days as he recovered, so I didn’t need to offer any explanations as I grabbed the only tattered mask I could see and went outside to climb onto the small tractor. It was one of my first investments, since the big old red tractor outside terrified me. I’d heard the stories of Hannah Pemberton riding around on it, but I was okay with letting her take the win.

  Keats loped along beside me through the fields. Normally his tongue would be lolling in excitement, but today he looked tense, like a dog on a mission.

  We drove out past the well, covered securely now that the investigation was complete. Then we passed the oldest orchard, where many of the apple trees were loaded with small, wormy fruit that kept the wildlife fat and cheerful.

  After that, the brush gradually thickened but I could see deep grooves in the long grass and kept going. Finally the overgrowth was so heavy that I had no choice but to park. Getting off the tractor, I collected the gear I’d stowed in the carrier and started walking. The deeper tracks continued for a while. Bushes to either side were crushed and branches broken.

  Someone wasn’t afraid of the big tractor.

  Keats found it first, of course: the old dump site. Technically, it wasn’t on this farm’s property anymore. It was part of land that had been severed and sold to a neighbor two decades ago.

  Even from a distance I could see generations of garbage that included car parts, bicycles and even an old stove. A curious mixture of scents collided in the air: rust and moss and rotting wood.

  We were searching for something fresher and more pungent. Keats quickly went into a point near two strategically arranged wooden doors. I walked around and looked down to find a large pile of manure. It looked to be at least a week’s worth, and my menagerie produced a lot of it. Someone had gone to the trouble of carting a large amount of manure out here, moving it over the last long stretch by hand.

  “Bingo,” I said. “Unless I’m much mistaken, this is where we’ll find our evidence. Good thing I brought the spade or we’d be here all night.”

  Keats offered up a stream-of-consciousness mumble that was quite intelligible to me. The longer we were together, the better I understood him. A few more months and I’d probably start mumbling and barking and whining back.

  Today, English would have to do. “Keep your ears peeled, buddy. Out here, no one will hear me scream.”

  He panted anxiously, circling my legs and trying to herd me away.

  “Sorry, no. But I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  Slipping the mask over my face, I started scraping away manure, layer after layer, like an archaeological excavation. If I were a killer, I’d want at least a week’s worth of crap on top of the evidence—enough to deter most amateur sleuths. I was invested enough to dig to the very bottom and pick each dropping apart if I had to.

  In the top layers, I could easily recognize the deposits of the various livestock—cows, goats, sheep, alpaca and so forth. But underneath, decay blended them into one big, putrid mess. The warm weather we’d enjoyed had sped decomposition.

  “I wish you could help,” I muttered to Keats through the mask. “But I think your sharp nose would overload. This one’s on me.”

  Mostly I was doing okay with the mask and mouth breathing, but when I spoke the stench crept in.

  “Pardon me if I stop talking for a bit. I just… can’t… breathe.”

  Keats kept watch, mostly repeating a semicircle. Every once in a while he’d go out and cover the whole dump area.

  The deeper I dug the more despairing I got. What if I was wrong?

  I couldn’t be wrong. Once I saw the photo in the Clover Grove Tattler, I knew exactly what had happened. Well, I knew exactly who had happened and how they’d covered it up. Literally. Few people in this town would know the terrain well enough to find this old dump. There was no reason whatsoever for fresh manure here unless it was to conceal something.

  Finally I shoved down the mask to pull in a long breath of so-called fresh air. Instantly I was enveloped in a toxic cloud that made me lightheaded. Leaning on the shovel, I bent over and hurled what was left of my lunch.

  “I’m okay,” I told Keats, who was circling my legs again in the hopes of herding me out. “Another half hour and I’ll be through it.”

  He looked up at me and it seemed like there was a mixture of sympathy and disgust in his eyes. Stepping carefully past me on white paws that turned greenish-brown in the liquefying goo, he picked a spot and started digging.

  “Thank you, buddy. I owe you one. I owe you a whole life of fun for this.”

  Snapping the mask back in place, I started digging again. After a while, everything seemed to swim in front of my eyes, and then suddenly, all went dark.

  The sky was turning pink overhead when I opened my eyes again. I had no idea what time it was, but the days were so much shorter now. Fall really was coming in.

  My mask was gone and I knew from the crusty feeling on my cheeks and forehead that I’d hit the muck face-down and either turned from my own primal urge to survive, or with a little help from Keats. Probably both. Charlie had warned me about the gases rotting manure threw off. They could even cause combustion. But I didn’t think they’d knock me right out.

  Keats’ face loomed over me now. He stood on my chest, blocking the sky and the fresh air. “Don’t,” I croaked. “Smothering.”

  My caked lids parted a little more and I noticed something dangling from his jaws: a rubber glove.

  I sat up so suddenly that I knocked him aside. He almost fell but of course adjusted on the fly, like always.

  “You did it! You found it! You’re a genius.”

  There was a neat little pile he’d gathered during my brief time out: another rubber glove, a trowel, and a baseball cap in a sad state. Reaching out, I scraped away a bit of crud from the emblem on the front to reveal a little black sheep. “Clover Grove Herding Club,” it said. Just like the caps I’d seen on the Herding Harpies earlier, not to mention sitting on the shelf behind Dottie Bridges’ desk at the library.

  That’s when I noticed the real find: a dog catchpole. The loop at the end of the long handle was made of wire and tightened like a noose. Lloyd had probably used it countless times to subdue or even strangle aggressive dogs. The tables had been turned on him.

  I gathered the smaller items and stu
ffed them into my overalls, then stuck the catchpole under my arm. Everything was so caked in compost that it would be a miracle if any DNA had survived to identify the killer. But it was better than nothing.

  Keats continued to herd me relentlessly as I got to my feet and trudged through the bush to the tractor. Normally he used posture, movement and glances to move animals from one place to another, but now he gave up on subtlety and poked me repeatedly with his nose.

  “Message received,” I said, climbing wearily on board. “The sun’s going down and we’ve gotta boot it.”

  Despite his persistence, I took a moment to text Kellan Harper. My right glove had fallen off, leaving my bare hand covered in goo, so I slipped my hand up my pant leg where the fabric was clean, and scraped off as much as I could. Then I tapped out a message with my index finger. For good measure, I sent him a photo of the goods.

  “Hit it, Keats,” I said, firing up the tractor. “Let’s see if we can outrun our stank.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I left the tractor behind the barn and circled to the front to see if Kellan had arrived. There was no sign of the squad car, and the house was dark. Obviously, Jilly was still enjoying the attractions of downtown Clover Grove.

  “Let’s see to the livestock,” I told Keats. As tired as I was, I had work to do. Such was the life of the hobby farmer. Luckily most of the critters were so hungry they came willingly to bed at night. All I had to do was leave the gates ajar and Keats did the rest.

  He rounded up the sheep first with restrained precision. They trotted briskly ahead of him into the barn and I followed, ready to close the door to their pen. He spun and went back for the goats. The cows would be last. We had a routine and I trusted him. What’s more, the animals trusted him. They waited their turn, sending up eager baas, bleats and moos. The alpaca, llamas and donkeys made a loud clamor, too. They stayed out all night but they still got their evening treats, which made everyone excited. Only Wilma was silent in her pen. She came last and her gate was locked until we were good and ready for her. As much as she wanted her evening repast, she wanted her freedom more. Keats and I had learned her sly swine ways. Even when she was locked inside, he circled back a few times to confirm.

  I flipped on the fluorescent lights to ready the pens and stalls. As I turned, a twinkle on the floor caught my eye. There was something small and bright almost buried under a small pile of hay in the corner. Leaning over, I saw the loop at the end of a silver chain. Pulling out the fragment with the tip of my rubber-gloved finger, I realized it looked like the one that had hung the white stone pendant around Nadine’s neck. I tried to pick it up but the chain was too fine, especially with all the crusty goop on my glove.

  I knelt to get a closer look and figure out how to collect it without sullying any evidence that might be hiding in its tiny links.

  So intent was I on the task that I barely noticed the sound of hoofbeats.

  And I didn’t notice the footsteps at all.

  Suddenly something circled my neck, tightened and jerked me backwards. I fell on my back and a boot came down on my face hard and shoved my head to one side, pinning my cheek to the dirty floor. Pain exploded in my head and I wondered if my nose was broken. I squirmed in an effort to relieve the pressure on my throat but my attacker pulled sideways, obviously familiar with the desperate moves of a trapped animal.

  My hands were free, so I reached up and clutched at the loop circling my neck.

  Wire. Likely from another dog catchpole.

  “Let me go,” I said, my voice raspy. “The police are coming.”

  “I doubt that. You’ve been set on running the show yourself. Why change now?”

  I managed to get my fingers under the wire and relieve just enough pressure to grab a couple of breaths.

  “I had to stop,” I said. “The chief threatened to take Keats if I didn’t stand down.”

  “Huh. Hit you right where you live. I didn’t think Kellan had it in him. He’s always been soft. Especially where you’re concerned.”

  I tried to turn and look her in the eye but she kept a steady traction, pushing on my hip with her boot and pulling on the catchpole.

  “I can’t lose my dog. Please, Myrtle.”

  “You’re going to lose a lot more than that,” she said. “But don’t worry. I’ll take Keats when you’re gone. I like border collies and he’s a smart one.”

  Rage rose like a tsunami and washed out much of my fear. “You’ll never get Keats.”

  “Like you’ll be able to stop me,” she said. “Anyway, you know I’d never hurt a dog, Ivy.”

  “But you’d kill Lloyd?”

  “And you. Sure.” She took her boot off my head, placed it on the small of my back and shoved till I rolled flat on my stomach. “People are dispensable.”

  “Where is Keats now?” I asked.

  “I snagged him with the catchpole and tossed him in with the llamas. The fence is high enough to hold him.” She gave the noose a little jerk. “I wish I’d discovered these earlier. Very handy device.”

  Pulling up on the noose, she kept her boot on the small of my back. I pried at the wire with my right hand and she said, “Ivy, relax. You’re making this harder for yourself. I always feel a little bad when it’s time to send a critter to the slaughterhouse. But at least they don’t know any better. They accept their fate, whatever it is. And your fate is to buy the farm today.”

  Somehow she managed to keep the noose tight while sliding a loop of rope over my left hand. She pulled on it and then knelt on my back and grabbed my other hand. In a second I was trussed up like a downed sheep, but at least the pressure came off my throat when she needed both hands to tie the rope.

  “Myrtle.” I gasped, pulling in all the air I could knowing it could be cut off again any second. “Stop, please. I understand why you killed Lloyd. I don’t blame you one bit.”

  Getting off my back, she rolled me over. Finally I could see her face, and she was almost unrecognizable. Her once-genial expression had transformed with rage. Her cheeks were almost puce, her blue eyes were mere slits and her teeth were exposed in a grimace. A Clover Grove Herding Club cap covered her gray hair and a red bandana circled her neck. She lifted the catchpole again, ready to choke me as needed.

  One gray eyebrow rose, too, giving me permission to speak. “You were saying?”

  “I know Lloyd was courting Mandy. That he turned her head a little. She’s such a shy, sweet person that she almost fell for it, too.”

  “He took advantage of her. Just like he did with your sister, Daisy.” Myrtle’s boot came down on my midriff. “He told me about her. He told me about a lot of things when he was in your position.”

  “He didn’t take advantage of Daisy. Not really,” I said. “Daisy made a mistake on the rebound after her husband left. But she didn’t blame Lloyd for anything.”

  “Even after he gave her those red-headed ruffians? Crabs would have been preferable.”

  In any other circumstance, I’d have laughed. “Eventually he figured it out about the boys and started pestering Daisy. That’s why she confronted him the day you… met up with him.”

  “Killed him. No point pussy-footing around, Ivy. Out here we’re practical when it’s time for a pest to go. And it was Lloyd’s time.” She pursed her lips. “I didn’t expect that earful from Daisy. I was waiting outside on the tractor to get the jump on him, and heard it all. It only convinced me more.”

  “But you were wrong,” I said, as she dropped the catchpole and turned to truss up my feet, swiftly and tight.

  “I wasn’t wrong about Lloyd Boyce, trust me,” she said. “He wanted to get my store. I overheard you telling Mandy.”

  “Yeah. I guess he was working Mandy over to get at it because he needed the money. He was in debt. He had expensive hobbies.”

  “Better off dead. And now he is.” She forced rope between the loops around my feet and then ran it up to my hands and tied them together. Giving it a yank, she pulled
me over onto one side and started dragging me across the barn floor. My time for talk was nearly over.

  “It’s Mandy you were wrong about,” I blurted. “You underestimated her. She liked the attention from Lloyd but she figured out his game even before you… attacked… him.”

  She gave a hollow laugh. “You thought you could just ride into Clover Grove on your high horse—or alpaca—and become one of us. Yet you can’t even use the word ‘kill.’”

  “Okay. So you killed Lloyd. Because you thought he’d exploited Mandy to drive you out of the store you’ve run for fifty years. That your dad and his dad owned before you.” She was dragging me across the open space toward the back door and I kept talking. “I get it. But I can’t go to the slaughterhouse with you thinking Mandy actually fell for it. She broke up with Lloyd the day you killed him.” She stopped pulling abruptly and turned to stare at me. “Okay, let’s go country: the day you murdered Lloyd.”

  “Go on.” She leaned over to adjust the noose on the catchpole. The handle had been banging along beside me while she pulled me by the rope.

  “Look over at the spot where you jumped me. There’s the chain from the pendant he gave Mandy. She broke it and threw it at him just hours before you lured him out here. She’d seen the same one on Nadine that day. Then I told her about what Lloyd said about selling the store. Whatever she’d felt before that, she realized right then and there what he was all about. She left the store and met up with him and ended it. I guess he had the broken pendant in his pocket. The stone fell out in my field when you dragged him off.”

  “I didn’t get far enough before I heard you stall the truck down the lane,” she said. “I had to drop Lloyd and get the tractor back before you missed it. I’d planned to get him out to the old dump and deal with him later.”

  “How’d you lure him here in the first place?”

  “I told him Keats was abusing your sheep and I’d meet him here to help. He brought an extra catchpole, which worked out well. That’s why Kellan didn’t realize it was missing from Lloyd’s truck.” She gave the one around my neck a tug. “Easy enough to buy another online. I’ll never be without one now. Snag and drag.”