Alpaca Lies (Bought-the-Farm Mystery Book 5)

by Ellen Riggs

  Alpaca Lies

  Ellen Riggs

  Alpaca Lies

  Copyright © 2020 Ellen Riggs

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-1-989303-61-0 eBook

  ISBN 978-1-989303-60-3 Book

  ASIN B088P4PS84 Kindle

  ASIN TBD Paperback

  Publisher: Ellen Riggs

  www.ellenriggs.com

  Cover designer: Lou Harper

  Editor: Serena Clarke

  2010090022

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  What's Next

  Secret Series

  Recipes

  Chapter One

  Alvina, the woolly brown alpaca, skipped joyfully along the fence inside her pasture. She did a double twirl, followed by a series of hops and then a buck. The sequence ended with a reverse spin and a double buck, after which she stood, head high and legs splayed, waiting for well-earned applause.

  Clapping hard, I turned to Jilly Blackwood, my best friend. “She’s outdone herself, hasn’t she? That’s an entirely new combination.”

  “Bravo,” Jilly called, clapping too. She was wearing a black knit dress topped by a cashmere coat and a long pale blue scarf, also cashmere. As a headhunter in Boston, she’d built a vast collection of cashmere that served her well here at Runaway Farm now that winter was breathing down our necks. Like me, however, she felt somewhat conflicted over wearing—or devouring—animal products. Farm life had thrown plenty of our city girl assumptions into question, but it also kept us too busy for much rumination.

  Alvina ignored Jilly and me. Instead, her beautiful big brown eyes were trained on my brother, the current love of her life. Asher didn’t take that honor for granted. On the contrary, he was puffing from the effort of proving himself worthy. Alvina only danced when motivated by a human partner, and while Asher’s moves looked more like a CrossFit workout, complete with lunges and burpees, I could see how each observed and inspired the other. It was an endearing cross-species partnership.

  Tall, fair and blue-eyed, Asher flashed his trademark grin at his camelid admirer. “Well done, sweetheart,” he called to Alvina. “You are so wasted here with these sad sacks.” He gestured to the pair of llamas huddled in the corner of the pasture with their trio of guard donkeys. Drama Llama, the tallest of the herd, gave my brother a baleful glance. As much as Alvina loved Asher for his flashy moves, Drama despised him. In fact, I’d barred Asher from entering the pasture after Drama escaped and took a bead on Keats, my brilliant sheepdog. That move had landed the feisty llama in the same category as Wilma the sly sow: hooved and dangerous. Well, technically llamas had toes, but it sounded better that way.

  Before moving to Runaway Farm in quaint Clover Grove a few months ago, I’d expected all the animals to be calm and cooperative. Those were city girl delusions, as it turned out. The livestock primarily consisted of rescues that had been neglected, abused or both. As a result, they were quirky and unpredictable. I still hoped to win them over eventually, but for now all I could do was try to avoid getting chomped, trampled or squished.

  “Hey. Galloway!” The shout made me jump. “That behavior is unbecoming of an officer of the law.”

  Kellan Harper, the chief of police and also my boyfriend, had arrived unnoticed during the Asher-Alvina show. He strolled across the gravel parking area to join us at the fence, looking even hotter in civvies than he did in uniform. My heart did a few crazy hops in greeting, similar to the moves of the pygmy goats in their pen nearby.

  “I’m off duty, Chief,” Asher called back, still puffing and grinning. “And don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

  Kellan kissed my cheek and then dusted his black wool coat with one hand. It was a losing battle. Within seconds of leaving his SUV his clothes were always covered in fur, fluff and feathers. He couldn’t do much about his uniforms but he’d have to rethink his casual wardrobe if he continued to date me. His dry cleaner was charging a premium to remove embedded fibers and darn the holes in pant cuffs left by Keats during his herding drills.

  The black-and-white dog had crouched behind Jilly to stage an ambush. His warm brown eye gleamed with fun, while the blue eye was coolly intent on his prey. As a complete animal novice, Kellan was the perfect target. Despite being a decorated detective and the youngest chief of police in the entire state, he couldn’t wrap his head around this ongoing siege from a sheepdog. Worse, Percy, my marmalade cat, had joined the game and was skulking along the top rung of the fence toward Kellan. The bright fluff was hard to miss, yet Kellan missed it. Percy launched first with his new signature move: a bounce off Kellan’s broad shoulders. As the cat landed lightly on the near-frozen ground, Keats moved in for a quick nip before the two animals darted away.

  Kellan jumped and uttered what might have been called a squeal in a lesser man.

  Jilly covered her mouth and turned away, but Asher doubled over with laughter. “Boss, you just screamed like a girl. I saw air under your feet.”

  “Never mind, Asher,” I said, hooking my arm through Kellan’s. “Keats, Percy, behave yourselves.”

  The dastardly duo had disappeared around the barn, so my rebuke was futile.

  “Honestly, Ivy,” Kellan said, disengaging his arm so that he could brush dusty paw prints off his shoulder. “Why can’t they pick on Asher?”

  “Golden boy,” I said, shrugging. “Always has been.”

  Mom said Asher was born smiling, and more than a decade of police work hadn’t wiped the grin off his face. After falling hard for Jilly, he had even more to beam over. It was no wonder Alvina favored my brother over me, no matter how many treats I offered. Asher had a lightness of spirit that attracted everyone.

  Of all of us, Asher was the least affected by the recent spate of murders on or near Runaway Farm. Like me, Jilly was thinner and paler than when she arrived to help me get the inn launched. But we hung in there. With every catastrophe, it seemed we became more committed to this place, to our friendship and to our expanding community of loved ones. Jilly was only marginally more interested in animals than Kellan but every day they grew on her a little.

  Especially Keats. My genius sheepdog now communicated with Jilly as well as me in his strange mumble talk. If her guard was down, she even answered him out loud. Afterward, she turned bright red, knowing we’d become a cast of oddballs. That didn’t bother me much anymore. Listening to Keats and studying his behavior and signals had saved my hide plenty of times. Percy brought
valuable insights, too, from a feline perspective.

  With the way people were dying around Clover Grove, I needed to keep an open mind. If it took learning the language of every creature here to stay ahead of the curve, I was up for the challenge. My brain wasn’t as sharp as it had been before the concussion I sustained rescuing Keats, yet every day it seemed like my neurons rewired in innovative ways that suited my new life. For a decade, I was a human resources exec known as the “grim reaper” for my talent in downsizing people and destroying their lives. Now I was a hobby farmer and innkeeper who talked aloud to her animals and helped solve murders when the need arose.

  The need kept arising, much to Kellan’s dismay. Maybe we were done now. How long could a string of bad luck go on?

  “Golden Boy,” Jilly called. “You’ll lose your luster if we don’t get to your mom’s recital on time.”

  “Do we have to?” Asher’s perma-smile contracted slightly. “Can’t we say something came up? Something always comes up here.”

  “True, but this is important to Dahlia,” Jilly said. “And you love dancing.”

  “I love dancing with you,” he said. “And Alvina, my other girlfriend.”

  Jilly flushed. They’d only squeezed in a dozen dates between getting the inn running and solving murders but she didn’t argue. Asher’s relentless optimism and sheer decency were steadily winning her over. Like me, she’d been jaded by her previous career, and the crimes we’d seen since our move hadn’t exactly restored her faith in humanity. It was hard for her to trust that Asher was the real deal but they’d get there. Some day soon, I predicted she’d make him her special Fall-in-Love Beef Stroganoff and the rest would be history.

  Kellan stopped brushing at his coat and grimaced. “Ballroom dancing isn’t really our thing, ladies. We’re cops, remember?”

  “You’re very light on your feet,” I said. “Elegant, actually. I’d bet you’d make a fine—”

  He directed his palm at me. “Ivy, don’t.”

  “That’s a direct hit to his masculinity,” Jilly said, wagging an index finger at me. “Have I taught you nothing?”

  “I don’t speak your language,” I said, laughing. “Try translating into canine and I might get it.”

  Turning, I snapped my fingers at Keats and Percy, who’d reappeared and begun stalking each other blatantly. It was a game of chicken to see who’d break first.

  “Keats,” Jilly called. “Herd everyone into Kellan’s car, please. We’re losing the light, and I, for one, am excited to see this performance. I’m even more excited for the reception, where we can hand out some business cards. Ivy, we’re selling, remember?”

  I sighed. When the farm and nearly-finished inn practically fell into my lap, thanks to heiress Hannah Pemberton, I hadn’t realized I’d need to promote all the time. That didn’t come easily to me, but guests didn’t come easily either. Hannah had expected the upscale “farm experience” to sell itself, and it probably would have… for her. No one had died on her watch.

  Asher reached over the fence to pat Alvina’s neck. He murmured sweet nothings and she hummed back in yet another form of interspecies communication. Then he turned and loped toward us. His eyes were on my pretty blonde friend, which is why he didn’t notice the big heap of manure in his path. Charlie had been exercising Florence, the mare, on a long line earlier and missed a flap.

  “Look sharp!” My warning came too late. Asher went down as if in slow motion. His arms pinwheeled and one leg kicked out theatrically. Inside the pasture, Alvina combined a leap and a spin in response.

  Jilly ran over to him and I marvelled as always at how well she maneuvered in heels on uneven ground. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah, yeah.” He waved her away. Asher didn’t flush often but having his lady love try to help him out of a nasty skid brought color to his cheeks.

  I could barely stop laughing long enough to echo her words. “Jilly, you’re emasculating him. Have I taught you nothing?”

  Keats joined them and took little lunges at Asher to get him moving.

  “Fine,” Jilly said. “But stink or no stink, we are going to that recital. Your mom is doing her part to bring a little culture back to this town and deserves our support.”

  Asher clambered to his feet and came toward me, crusty hands outstretched like a zombie. “Stop laughing, little sister, or I’ll eat your brain.”

  I ran toward the car, not doing nearly as well on heels as Jilly. My natural clumsiness had only gotten worse after the head injury.

  “Don’t you dare touch her, Asher Galloway,” Jilly called, gesturing for Keats to corral him and flicking her fingers toward the house. “Ivy and I have to sell the farm experience while you two stand around being impressive cops.”

  “Being impressive isn’t as easy as it looks,” Kellan said, smirking. “Especially when you stink.”

  Keats circled my brother and herded him inside. Alvina stood at the fence staring after Asher and bleating mournfully. Turning, I dodged Jilly and went back to the alpaca. I tried to comfort her with a pat but she moved out of reach. Running back, Keats wedged himself between us to ease me away. Forcing myself on Alvina or the llamas usually ended with my getting spit on. The semi-digested green goop smelled far worse than manure and stained terribly.

  “One day you’re going to love me, girl,” I said, allowing Keats to guide me away. He nudged my hand to reassure me that he saw my charms, even if the camelids did not.

  “They don’t all need to love you,” Kellan said, offering his arm with a smile that could melt the heels off a girl’s feet. “Keats and I got you covered.”

  Jilly opened the driver’s door and gestured. “Stop smoldering, Chief, and get inside. The tango awaits.”

  Chapter Two

  The yoga studio looked the same as it had when Jilly and I visited a couple of months ago to interview the previous owner. He’d gone out of business and left town after obstructing the investigation into dogcatcher Lloyd Boyce’s death, and now the attractive space hosted far different classes.

  We hung up our coats and lined up with everyone else against the wall, forced out front by our tardy arrival. The vast mirrors reflected my discomfort as dance instructor José Batista propelled Mom around the room. Their heels clicked sharply on the gleaming hardwood floors and Mom looked just as enthusiastic as Alvina had earlier. Then José swept her into a deep dip right in front of her six adult children, lined up in the front row.

  Nearly everyone in the audience of more than 30 people gasped as Mom’s backcombed bouffant dusted the floor. Some gasps sounded like horror and others like admiration. The noises coming from my siblings were harder to pinpoint.

  It took a lot for Mom to embarrass us now. We were used to her antics, and ballroom dancing was nothing compared to her propensity for running down stop signs in Buttercup, her old yellow sedan. Asher had been ordered by Kellan to confiscate her license after the pile of traffic violations threatened to bury our petite mother, if not other citizens.

  “Maybe he’ll drop her,” my sister Poppy whispered, louder than necessary. She considered herself the rebel of the family and showed it by dyeing the dark hair we Galloway Girls shared royal blue or purple. “One more spin and she’ll go flying.”

  Mom was tiny and fit, and it did seem like José was exploiting that in his demonstration. He raised her arm and sent her into a pirouette that made her red sequinned chiffon skirt flare. Mom had sworn never to wear chiffon, let alone sequins. Tonight she was one pair of skates short of the Ice Capades.

  I had to hand it to her, though. Unlike so many Clover Grove women of her generation, Dahlia Galloway embraced change. That had always been true, at least since my father had left her with six kids to raise on her own. She’d cycled through a series of low-paying jobs, getting fired for a variety of issues. As an HR exec, I had decided Mom was ill-suited to work of any kind. She was a gadabout, a social butterfly—a perpetually whirring ruby-throated hummingbird in her sign
ature red dresses. Nothing and no one held her interest for long, not even her own children.

  That’s why I feared for the future of Bloomers, the unisex salon she’d recently launched with my sister, Iris. There was no denying that Mom seemed to have found her calling as a barber, however. Men were flocking to the salon for her classic straightedge shave—even after she’d briefly been accused of murder by sharp object. It wasn’t the first time she’d been accused of murder, or even the second. Mom was quick with a quip and a sharp word that could be taken as a legitimate threat. Kellan and I had our work cut out for us in clearing her name, but maybe her twin passions for barbering and ballroom dance would finally soften her edges.

  “How long is this going to last?” Asher whispered. “It’s worse than the time I wrestled that alligator in a ditch and—”

  The last words never emerged, likely because Jilly pinched them off.

  “There are no ’gators in Clover Grove,” Poppy said. “Unless Ivy’s rescued one.”

  “There was,” Asher insisted. “An escaped exotic. Mom turned it into those shoes.”

  “Stop it, you two,” Jilly hissed. She glared at them and then shared it around to the rest of us. Perhaps she sensed the hysterical laughter bubbling up in my throat. For some reason, Jilly and Mom had really hit it off. Keats was fond of Mom, too, which said something because his inner circle of unstalkable people was quite small.