Swine and Punishment (Bought-the-Farm Mystery 7)

by Ellen Riggs

  “I was out searching for your pig and ran into her jabbing Wilma with a stick. Trying to herd her, she said. As the head poop-scooper, I had a shovel and a broom with me, like always. So I used the first and then the second. I hid in the bush with the pig. She came willingly because I’d dropped food for her the day before.”

  “You released her?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “That was Eric. Becky sent him during the launch party. To throw you off your game.” He shook his head. “Pig could have died or harmed others, so I tried to help.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “It’s too bad things spiraled out of control.”

  “To the point where I was stuck in the bushes feeding crumbs to a pig while you’re in a pond. Then you found the glove and I had a bigger problem. When Becky dropped Byron’s leash, he came to me and we skedaddled. The old barn was a lucky find.”

  “It was perfect,” I said. “Wilma was happy there.”

  “I’d have gotten them into good homes before long, but you had to go poking around.”

  “It’s a weakness,” I said. “Everyone says so.”

  “Now, here we are.”

  “Here we were,” I said. “Because you’d better skedaddle.”

  “Knowing what you know, I can’t just leave now.”

  “Chess, you’ve got to leave now. Otherwise you’re forcing the dog you wanted to save to defend me against you. He doesn’t want to do that. Both animals like you. Don’t make them choose.”

  “They won’t choose you. I saved them.”

  “They will.” The confidence in my voice came from a deep knowing. “We’re already a team. A family. Listen to me, Chess. Hear me.”

  He didn’t listen. Instead, he swung the pig poker. Luckily I had experience with that particular weapon. I dropped to my knees and it zoomed right over my head, throwing him off balance.

  Wilma did the rest. She ran hard into his shins and he crumbled like old timber. I heard a terrible crunch—a broken bone, perhaps—and she came around for a second charge.

  “Wilma, no! Keats!”

  I remembered he was outside the pen. And yet, there he was circling around me to have what appeared to be a meeting of minds with Byron.

  The dogs split off. Keats cut in front of Wilma and herded her into the corner. Byron stood over Chess, fluffy paws on the man’s chest. His fangs showed in a terrible snarl, but at the same time, he whined.

  “Look what you’ve done,” I said. “You’ve broken this dog’s heart.”

  “Well, your pig’s broken my leg, so it’s even.”

  “It’s not even. But it is over.”

  “Not yet,” he said, groaning as he reached into his coat and pulled out a pistol. “But soon.”

  The roar of the ATV cut out as Edna pulled up close to the fence and then jumped inside. She let out a war cry that got his attention and raised her crossbow. “Let me do the honors.”

  “Or me,” Poppy called from the open gate, where she stood with the ax from the woodpile. “Time to cut down a bad guy.”

  “He’s not a bad guy,” I said. “He just wants to kill me.”

  There was no need to fight over the opportunity anymore, because Chess’ gun dropped from his hand as he passed out.

  I wasn’t far behind but Byron left the unconscious man and offered me his broad back as support. Keats still had his paws full with Wilma, who seemed determined to finish Chess off. Mercy was a foreign concept to this pig.

  “Breathe,” Poppy said. “In for six, out for six. Just like Jilly says.”

  “Get her out of here,” Edna said. “I’m going to cuff this guy.”

  The sirens were close now. Edna dropped her crossbow, flipped the unconscious man and snapped cuffs onto his wrists.

  “Byron, go deal with Wilma,” I said, and snapped my fingers for Keats. The bigger dog did exactly that, swiftly backing Wilma into her shelter and blocking the doorway. He could move plenty fast when necessary.

  Kellan paused in the doorway of the barn, took everything in, and let his men surge around us. I walked out and into his arms while Asher—in his civvies and obviously fresh off his date—pulled Edna out of the pen.

  “Don’t make me carry you again, Miss Evans,” he said. “Because I will do it. And my fellow officers will film it and post it online.”

  “Viral sensation,” one of the other cops called. I had no doubt he was a survivor of Edna’s vaccination program, too.

  Edna dropped her resistance and followed Asher into the barn.

  “Is that a crossbow?” Kellan asked as she passed. “An illegal weapon we agreed I’d never see?”

  She dropped it into the empty pig stall and offered empty hands. “How is that any worse than Poppy wielding an ax?”

  “It’s worse,” Kellan said. “I’ll count the ways for you later.”

  “You do that, Chief,” she said. “And all the while I’ll picture the stoic little boy I—”

  “Edna,” I said. “Cease and desist. You could be using that energy to help me open the scotch bottle.”

  “Well. Since you put it that way.” She followed me away and Poppy pulled up the rear as we headed for the house.

  “I could use a drink,” Poppy said. “Deciding whether or not to let Keats back in nearly killed me. If he’d been hurt…”

  “He wasn’t. You made the right call, Pops.” I smiled at my sister and forgave her for what happened with Ray.

  Edna winced over the sisterly emotion and changed the station. “I bought a snowmobile,” she said. “I like the sleek lower profile.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” I said, turning to call Keats.

  The dog paused in the barn doorway with pleading eyes, both blue and brown.

  “Okay,” I said. “Stay and help Kellan. But don’t be too long, okay? I need you.”

  He mumbled something sweet back and Edna shook her head. “You two are sickening.”

  “Can I drive your snowmobile?” I asked.

  “Maybe,” she said. “How good is the scotch?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Jilly made whiskey sours. She said she needed to do something constructive with her hands, and when I told her about my mental image of a slot machine lining up clues like lemons, it gave her the idea to start squeezing.

  I unzipped the snowsuit, rolled it down to my waist and sat at the kitchen table. All the juice had drained out of me, but it would come back. It was a constantly renewable resource, like manure.

  “It’s always been your favorite cocktail,” Jilly said. “So we need to rescue it from the memory of that dinner party with the camera crew and make positive associations.”

  Poppy had been pacing over the kitchen tiles, but now she dropped into a chair next to me. “Pearl onions,” she said. “How are you going to salvage those?”

  “How about a blind date?” Jilly asked. “We’ve got a few connections, now.”

  “You’re in luck, Poppy,” Mom said, from the doorway. “I’ve just set up at date for you.”

  She’d gotten back from her date a few minutes after the police took Chess away, which meant we were spared additional theatrics.

  “No,” Poppy said. “I can live without pearl onions.”

  “Pearls are a girl’s best friend,” Mom said. “So I’ve set up half a dozen dates for you. It’s critical to have at least six good men in a rotation to avoid overinvesting in any of them. And because math was never your forte, I’ll add that it takes about three or four times that many dates to get six solid matches. It’s truly a numbers game, Poppy.”

  “Mom, she wouldn’t have energy for my farm work if she went on that many dates,” I said. “It sounds exhausting.”

  “Do I look exhausted?” She swept a hand from her red lips to her red suede boots. “I had two dates back to back because I’m down to five in my regular stable. The key is that they must all be equally amazing. Then if one fizzles, you just fill up the calendar again. It’s hard work at first but you train for it. It’
s so fun getting to know new people.”

  Poppy and I both laughed. Mom had never been a worker bee but in midlife had found the twin passions that motivated her—dating and barbering. Now she set a great example for those that came after, even if it bypassed our generation.

  “I need to take a little ‘me time’ and recover first,” Poppy said. “Maybe spend some time on Ivy’s manure pile.”

  “Absolutely, darling,” Mom said. “Take all day tomorrow. Your first date isn’t till the evening. We’re meeting one of my favorite gentlemen and his son at The Tipsy Grape. If all goes well, you could have something lined up for Valentine’s Day.”

  Poppy looked at Edna. “Is your crossbow still in the pig pen?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Edna said. “I went down and collected it while Kellan was busy with the perp. He confiscated my last one and they are not cheap.”

  “Do you mind if I target practice on Mom?” Poppy asked.

  Edna studied my Mom, who studied her back. “Nah. Dahlia has her challenges, but she produced good candidates for my army. After the uprising.”

  Mom crossed her arms. “I’ll be in that army, Edna Evans.”

  “Not if your only talent is running in heels,” Edna said. “There are no heels in a bunker.”

  “I’m very good with a straight edge,” Mom said. “Very good indeed. How many others can say that?”

  “Few,” Edna admitted. “All right, your space is secure, Dahlia.”

  Mom looked inordinately pleased, and I realized that like me, she was probably chosen last for every team. Her small size meant she’d be more of a liability than an asset. But on Edna’s team she’d be prized.

  Jilly and I looked at each other and shook our heads. Sometimes it was hard to know whether to laugh or cry in this kitchen, on this farm. She brought over a highball glass clinking with ice and raised hers in a salute to me.

  “Ah…” I said, smacking my lips. “Lemons for the win.”

  “Congratulations, darling,” Mom said. “For taking down another dirtbag.”

  My mother had never used that term to my knowledge and I peered at her over my glass. “You know, Mom, it’s complicated. I wish all criminals were completely despicable but there’s a lot of nuance. I try to understand them, even if their actions were wrong.”

  “That’s where our HR and recruitment training comes in so handy,” Jilly said. “We see the nuance.”

  “And that’s where an apocalypse comes in so handy,” Edna said. “Things go back to good versus evil. No energy wasted trying to see both sides.”

  “A zombie is a zombie is a zombie,” I said. “Refreshingly simple.”

  Edna sat down and raised her drink to mine. “You’ll need to learn to shoot while riding a snowmobile and ATV.”

  “What about skydiving?” Poppy said. “I’ve done that a few times. And cliff jumping. Ziplining. Kiteboarding. For starters.”

  Edna glanced at her quickly and with new respect. “Poppy, I thought you were the least ambitious Galloway Girl, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

  Mom’s hands went to her hips. “Poppy Galloway, are you crazy? You could have been killed.”

  “Any number of times,” Poppy said. “Which is why I never mentioned tombstoning, which is what we called it in my adventure club. Now I see my experience could be an asset in some situations.”

  “Someone else in the family inherited the daredevil gene,” I said, smiling. “It surfaces late for some of us.”

  “The environment in Clover Grove is just right for it,” Edna said. “There’s something in the water.”

  Mom joined us at the table and we all clinked highball glasses again.

  Percy selected Mom’s lap because the fabric of her red dress was lovely and soft. And when Keats came in with Asher, I scooped the dog up onto mine.

  He mumbled an excited version of events down at the barn, and after Asher stooped to kiss Jilly’s cheek, he said, “The dog’s not wrong. It was lively. That Stan guy with the beret? Screaming so loud you could hear him clear across the country.”

  “Tell me it’s over,” I said. “That the network is truly closing down Faraway Farm.”

  “Done. Gone. All you got is the livestock,” he said. “I unloaded the horse and the sheep for you, by the way.”

  “Wilma and Byron?” I asked.

  “Sound asleep in their cabin.” He held out his phone so that I could inspect the photos.

  I waved it away. “I need to go down to the barn anyway. Bad memories stain more if you don’t rinse them out immediately.”

  “I’ll join you,” Jilly said, dropping Asher’s hand and getting up.

  “Thank you, my friend,” I said, squirming into the snowsuit again.

  “Can I come?” Asher said.

  We shook our heads in unison.

  “Girls’ night,” Jilly said. “Pops, pour the man a drink. We’ll be back soon.”

  “Officer Galloway,” Edna said, as we went out the back door. “What skills do you bring to a zombie apocalypse?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “I’m shocked you’d let me bring you here,” Kellan said, pulling me closer. “You’re not the girl I thought you were, Ivy Galloway.”

  “That’s just it,” I said. “It’s Valentine’s Day, so I turned into a real girl for one night.”

  “You most certainly did.”

  There was no mistaking the admiration in his voice and while the color rose from my rather low neckline to my face, I held my ground and smiled up at him.

  Directly behind his head was a mirror ball and the flashing facets made it somewhat dizzying. For a second I thought they might trigger one of my migraines, but Kellan spun me around just in time. He threatened to dip me and I squealed a protest. It brought back visions of my mom in her ballroom dance craze.

  That’s exactly why we were here at the Palais Royale, however. Jilly’s notion of cleansing bad memories and attaching new associations was a good one—and necessary at the rate we were going. Clover Grove wasn’t that big a town and we needed to get out sometimes without being reminded of past traumas.

  Jilly certainly didn’t look traumatized as she whirled around and around the dance floor with my brother. He was a surprisingly good dancer for a former football star, but Kellan was even better. I wanted to ask where he’d learned the steps but zipped my lips. Some things were better left as a mystery.

  “Half the town is here,” I said. “From teenagers to long-married couples.” Edna, Hazel Bingham and Martha Kinkaid sat on the sidelines, taking a turn on the floor when someone asked, and plenty did. “I love the community spirit. This is what we need more of, not TV shows.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir,” he said. “That production brought nothing but trouble and I couldn’t be happier we’ve lost the spotlight.”

  “And yet my highlights reel lives on forever,” I said. “It’s nice that it starts and stops with a close-up of my butt.”

  “This dress is far more flattering. I don’t want to share it, though, so please don’t bend over. If you drop your handkerchief, I’ll pick it up.”

  “Deal. I wore it for you and you get to call the shots.”

  He laughed. “Perfect. Then how about I take Hazel and Martha out for another spin and we call it a night?”

  “What about Edna?”

  “Ivy, I can’t,” he said. “Ask me anything except that. Cleansing those childhood memories is going to take more than a waltz under a mirror ball.”

  “Understood. I’ll go say goodbye to the others and get our coats.”

  While Kellan danced with Martha, I wove through the crowd, enjoying the laughter and music.

  Suddenly I hit a pocket of what felt like frosty air. Keats wasn’t here to confirm my intuition but I knew instinctively that someone was up to no good. Looking around, I saw Beverly Roxton sitting with the Langman sisters.

  “Good evening, ladies,” I said, stopping at their table. “Enjoying the dance?”


  “Not particularly,” Heddy said. “Your mom has commandeered all the men, which leaves some of us idle.”

  I gave them an innocent smile. “Would you like me to ask Kellan or Asher to do the honors?”

  “No thank you,” Heddy and Kaye said together.

  Kellan and Asher might be the most handsome men in the room but they were also too close to the law for the Langmans’ comfort.

  “Well, goodnight then,” I said, heading on my way. I stopped to chat to half a dozen others who were far more receptive to my overtures. One by one, I’d rehabilitate this town, till we were functioning like a well-managed rescue farm. All it took was listening—and truly hearing—what people had to say.

  Well, that wasn’t all, but it was a good place to start. If it worked on Wilma it would work on most critters.

  A middle-aged man in a nice suit stepped out from behind a pillar and grabbed my elbow. “We need to talk,” he said.

  “Do I know you?”

  “Not yet, but you will,” he said. “You need to help me so that I can help you.”

  “Oh?” His nails were digging into my bare flesh and I wished my sheepdog were here to back the man off. “Perhaps a Valentine’s gala isn’t the time for business.”

  “It’s always time for this business,” he said.

  “I’m just on my way out, I’m sorry.”

  My philosophy about listening and hearing didn’t extend to strange men grabbing my arm. It was time to drop my metaphorical handkerchief.

  Kellan was on the dance floor with Martha, but when he saw my look he passed her to my brother and joined me quickly.

  By that time, the man was already gone. Kellan’s reputation clearly preceded him.

  “What was that about?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. But I have the feeling I’m going to find out.”

  “Do you want me to follow him?” Kellan asked.

  I shook my head and smiled. “No way am I letting this dress go to waste. Let’s take it home and have another dance there. I enjoyed the evening but I’d like to be alone with my Valentine. Or at least as alone as we can ever be at the farm.”