by Ellen Riggs
“She’s a performer at heart,” I chimed in. “Maybe she’s finally found her stage.”
Tish flashed her braces in a sly smile. “Some of the ladies are a little jealous, that’s all.” She glanced at her boyfriend. “Not me, of course.”
A flicker of annoyance crossed Ryan’s normally placid face as he stared across the room at José. “I don’t get it. It’s all ‘José this and José that’ when ladies come into the store these days. He doesn’t look that great, but what do I know?”
“It’s the way he moves,” Tish said. Her eyes lost focus for a second and her voice had a dreamy lilt. “He makes a woman feel like she’s safe in the arms of an angel.”
Ryan’s shoulders slumped. The big man probably couldn’t dance like an angel but according to Jilly, he was a celestial when it came to sourcing rare mushrooms. I couldn’t help thinking he deserved better than Tish Ramsey rubbing her infatuation in his face, and in public no less.
I glanced down at Keats to see if he agreed. Sure enough, his muzzle swivelled between them, taking their measure with his eerie blue eye. His tail was wrapped neatly around his paws but I had no doubt his white tuft would judge Tish harshly. We’d both become more judgemental since moving here, thanks to meddling with murderers. Showing that side wouldn’t win me new clients, however, so I summoned my best innkeeper smile. Ryan was well connected with people who cared about and could afford saffron and stilton—the exact demographic of potential guests.
“I haven’t met José,” I said. “But he seems to have built a following fast. Honestly, I wouldn’t have expected ballroom dance to take off here. It gives me hope for our Clover Grove Culture Revival Project.”
“Ballroom dancing is culture?” Ryan asked, raising heavy eyebrows.
“Of course it is, silly,” Tish said. “Maybe you should try it sometime.”
The eyebrows came down fast. “I’d rather be tackled hard right before the goal line,” he said.
“Oh, Ryan,” I said. “I feel you, I really do, but maybe we should open our minds and give ballroom dancing a chance.”
“Darling!” The voice in the general region of my armpit was melodious. “You have no idea how delighted I am to hear you say that.”
Dahlia Galloway never used to sound melodious. I remembered her as shrill and harsh in my childhood. Maybe she’d taken voice lessons on the sly, along with ballroom dancing.
“I was joking, Mom,” I said quickly. “I’d rather be spit on by a vicious llama than—”
Jilly gave my arm a sharp pinch as José joined us. He was as short and slight as he’d appeared from a distance and in close proximity to Ryan, looked as delicate as a doll. If there was such a thing as ballroom dancing man dolls, which I doubted.
“What Ivy meant to say is that we’re excited about any new cultural pursuit in this town,” Jilly said, releasing me and offering her hand to José. “We’re opening the doors of the inn to host information sessions.”
Mom’s face lit up and she clapped her hands. “Oh, how wonderful. Because José has the opportunity of a lifetime for you.”
Chapter Four
I folded my arms over the fence of the camelid pasture, refusing to look at Mom. “I fail to see how this is the opportunity of a lifetime for me.”
“Oh darling, where’s your sense of adventure?” There was no melody in her voice for me this afternoon. In her words, I’d been a “stick in the mud” and “joy thief” since she talked me into this. Or more specifically, talked Jilly into it, since it was my friend who’d twisted my arm to say yes. “Life is so much more fun when you stop judging and start dancing.”
“Tomorrow I’ll stop judging,” I said. “Today I’m telling you this is stupid.”
“Don’t you dare call José stupid.” Her tone was harsh, just like the old days. Maybe this man was dancing his way to the top of her rotation. “He’s a brilliant, talented man and this is a fabulous idea.”
I turned my back on the spectacle taking shape to our left and stared at her. She was barely five feet tall and I had to step back to look that far down. “I wasn’t calling José stupid. I only just met the man. But the idea is stupid. I’m entitled to my opinion, especially when it affects my livestock.”
“Open your mind,” Mom said. “You used to be the visionary among my children. What happened?”
“You know what I’ve been through. No need to relive it.”
“Don’t let your experience make you bitter, darling. It’s not attractive. Chief Harper needs a lighthearted woman to distract him from the ugliness of life.”
I glared at her. “Chief Harper needs someone who sees both sides—the ugliness and the beauty. Because that’s what he sees every day. Regardless, I’m missing how this performance makes sense.”
“Not everything needs to make sense. Sometimes it’s enough to bring light and love into the world.”
My glare turned into a stunned stare. “Who are you and what have you done with Dahlia Galloway? There is no way my cynical mother would burble about bringing light and love into the world. My Dahlia got burned by love, remember? She keeps her distance from the flame now.”
She gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m leaving the past in the past where it belongs, and you should too. I’m healing, Ivy.”
“And José is the miracle cure?”
“Dancing is the miracle cure.” Finally she smiled. “José is just a man—no better or worse than many in my rotation. But he’s brought dance into my life. And in case you didn’t notice… I’m good at it. You know how long it’s taken to discover my talents, Ivy. I thought you’d want me to enjoy them.”
That took me down a notch. When I refreshed Mom’s résumé time after time, I always queried her on her interests and passions. The only one she ever acknowledged was redesigning clothing from secondhand stores. It was truly a gift and had allowed her to create a signature style on a shoestring budget. The cherry red dress she was wearing had a stretchy bodice from one dress and a full satin skirt from another. It was a departure from her usual look, but I knew a lot of skill had gone into creating her newest ice dancing costume.
“I do want you to enjoy your new passions,” I said. “I’ve proven that by investing in your salon. But I don’t have to like it when your passions stress out my animals.”
She cast her eye over at the two llamas huddled in the corner with their donkey bodyguards. “Those llamas are grumps. They should try dancing like the alpaca. Alvina adores José. Look at her flirting.”
“Alvina is flirting with Asher. He keeps her calm and centered, which is why I insisted he be here for your little stunt.”
“You mean, this major marketing endeavor that will bring worldwide attention to your farm.”
“Big promises. I’m not holding my breath.”
I turned as a lime green van pulled into the parking area. It belonged to Bridget Linsmore, who was part of a Dorset Hills dog rescue group known as the Rescue Mafia. They’d all been close friends with Hannah Pemberton but rarely appeared on Runaway Farm now because of the frequent police presence. In fact, they only agreed to come today because I promised Kellan wouldn’t be here. Asher was far less likely to throw their lawbreaking past in their faces. He was incapable of holding onto negativity for long.
“How nice that your vigilante friends could come,” Mom said, brightening. “I’ve been so anxious to meet them. They sound like strong, interesting women.”
My hackles settled slightly. Despite being a flirt and a gadabout, Mom truly did admire strong, interesting women like Jilly, and I daresay, me. But she’d never meet another crew quite like the one spilling out of the green van now. Cori Hogan, the co-leader of the Mafia alongside Bridget, was already stage directing everyone with her trademark black gloves with orange middle fingers.
“They are strong. And fearless,” I said. “That’s why I wanted them here to protect my animals.” I pointed to a pretty woman with curly red hair whose hands were as busy directing as Cori’s. �
��Evie Springdale filmed here all the time in Hannah’s day and Alvina is comfortable with her.”
I’d only agreed to let José shoot his promotional video after he agreed to my conditions: that he use my crew, follow my rules and close the event to his groupies.
“You pamper these creatures like they’re delicate divas,” Mom said. “They’re animals, Ivy.”
“They’re family,” I corrected. “Just like Keats and Percy and Jilly.”
She turned away from the Mafia to glare at me. “I’m family. Your sisters and brother are family.”
“Hmmm.” I turned back to make sure José wasn’t getting too close to Alvina. Asher had taken a lieu day to play human shield, further cementing his hold on the position of Mom’s favorite.
“Don’t you ‘hmmm’ me, young lady. We’re higher on the pecking order than your menagerie. Besides, you’re benefiting from this event, and don’t forget it.”
I sighed. As much as I wanted to dispute that claim, I’d fallen for the perfect bribe. José had promised that if I allowed him to make a video dancing with Alvina, he’d bring his former dance troupe to stay at the inn for two days. He needed backup, they needed accommodation, and I needed business. Jilly was inside now making sure we were ready to receive our guests.
“Let’s just get this over with,” I said, reaching for Keats’ ears and finding empty space. He rarely left my side but with all the commotion, he was worried about the livestock. Still, he took a moment from his rounds to greet Cori Hogan with a play pose. When the master trainer was around, he always paid his respects.
“Turn that notion around, darling,” Mom said. “Let’s savor every moment of this gorgeous day. What a rare and exciting opportunity. I bet HR was never like this.”
It was a gorgeous day, with the bright blue skies of fall and a deceptive hint of warmth in the air. Most of the brilliant leaves had fallen but from a distance there was still color in the hills. It would make a pretty backdrop to the video, however incongruous it seemed to me.
Another van pulled up and a group of people plugged the doorway, all trying to be first to get out. I shook my head and laughed. “Actually, HR was often like this, Mom. Strong personalities competing for attention.”
She shrugged and pulled a cherry red pashmina out of the bag at her feet. Everything matched perfectly, from her lipstick to her fingernails to her satin pumps.
“Ivy, just for one second can you suspend your disbelief and have fun? You’re my brightest star in so many ways but you were never fun.”
There was a good reason for that. As the last of six in a family that struggled for every meal, my role was to be the good girl—the one who kept her head down and won a full ride to college. Like Keats, I’d never really learned to play. That was changing now, but our idea of fun would never align with Mom’s.
“Ivy, help please.” I turned to see José striking a dramatic pose on the makeshift stage outside the camelid pasture. “I can’t get your llama to dance.”
“Try calling her an alpaca, José,” I called, as Alvina literally turned her back on him. “See where that gets you.”
“Ivy, go help,” Mom said. “Before the crowd arrives.”
“What crowd?” My eyebrows shot up. “I specifically said no crowds. You and José promised.”
“It’s hardly a crowd,” she said as vehicles started streaming up the lane toward us. “Just a few devoted fans. You can’t have a video without fans.”
Tish Ramsey, Mabel Halliday and Teri Mason soon gathered beside the makeshift stage along with many women I’d seen around town but didn’t know. Somehow they’d managed to bribe or coerce their husbands and partners to come along, and the guys gathered over by the big red tractor, no doubt to replenish their testosterone.
“I can’t believe you got roped into this,” I said to Simon as he strolled past holding hands with Anne.
He gave me an impish grin. “It’s called networking, Ivy. Everyone here has animals to feed, right?”
“We could learn a thing or two from him,” Jilly said, joining me. She craned around at the crowd. “Where’s Edna? It’s not like her to miss something like this.”
Our nosy neighbor would normally be the first to arrive and last to leave. “Prepper convention in Brenton,” I said. Edna’s mission in life now was to be ready for disaster, and that took precedence over more trivial pursuits, no matter how entertaining they might be.
“What a shame,” Jilly whispered. “I know she’d enjoy mocking our guests.” She stared at the dancers and shook her head. “And there’s so much material. Or rather, so little.”
The women’s outfits were very skimpy indeed for November, but the show must go on.
“Ivy!” The shout came from Asher this time so I hurried over.
Cori was advancing on José, orange fingers flashing. “Don’t ever—ever!—slap an animal again,” she said. “Here on this farm or anywhere else. If you do, I will know.” The orange fingers moved to her eyes. “I have eyes everywhere.”
“I was just trying to make her go,” José said. “She’s supposed to be lively. Fun. I need that for my video.”
Maybe it was my imagination but it seemed like his Spanish accent disappeared entirely when confronted by Cori Hogan’s rage.
“Let’s get this straight,” Cori said. “I’m Alvina’s agent. You speak to her through me. Got it? Otherwise, I’m throwing you to the thugs over there.” She gestured to the two llamas and three donkeys. “How do you think that’ll go?”
“Yes, Miss Hogan,” José said. “We’ll shoot on your cue.”
She nodded. “That’s better. As for you, Officer Smiley…” She turned on my brother. “Less teeth and more action. Alvina needs movement to activate. Flap those arms. Pump those legs. Sing if necessary.”
“Sing?” Asher sounded nervous now.
“She likes Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons,” Cori said. “Greatest Hits always do the trick.”
“He can’t sing during my performance,” José said.
“I can’t sing at all,” Asher said. “It’s not my forte.”
Cori’s gesticulating gloves showed her exasperation. “Like I said, I’m Alvina’s agent. I know what she likes. I suggest you stop talking and start singing.” She gestured for Keats to herd José to the dance floor. “Stay ten feet away from my client, Sir Dancealot. For your own safety. Because that’s how far she can spit her regurgitated stomach juice.”
The crowd promptly backed away from the fence and I sighed in relief that the production was now in Cori’s capable gloves.
“Good,” she said. “Get that music thumping because it puts my client in the right mood. Oh, and by the way…? She spits on command and her aim is impeccable.”
“Is all that true?” Mom asked, as I pushed her toward the dance floor.
“Hey, Mama Galloway,” Cori called. “It’s showtime. Let’s see some hustle.”
“I don’t think I like her,” Mom muttered, clinging to my side.
“No free passes for relatives,” Cori called. “Alvina’s an equal opportunity spitter. Chop chop, Mama G.”
“Hurry,” I said, grinning. “You were right, Mama G. This really is fun, and exactly what I needed.”
She threw her shoulders back and strutted over, no doubt glad her heels gave her about an inch on Cori.
“Officer Smiley,” Cori called. “Hit it.”
Asher’s face flamed brighter than the last of the fall leaves as he started singing. “Sherry,” he quavered. “Sherry baby.” Alvina stepped up to the fence, ears forward. The sign of her trust in him under pressure was enough to make my brother forget about the men by the tractor and launch into a falsetto that instantly made Alvina’s toes tap.
Cori offered a rare smile, clapped her gloves, and then gestured for José to get moving. When he stalled, she took a little sheepdog lunge that made him hop onto the stage with a dramatic flourish of arms and legs, and the performance truly began.
Chapter Five
It was all over in about three hours, but it felt like more. Alvina never did agree to dance with José, but with Asher dancing and singing as hard as he could, the alpaca performed beautifully. No one got hit with fetid green slime, so I considered that a huge win.
Evie showed her director chops by finding a setup that allowed Asher to be out of camera range while keeping José, Mom and his dance troupe front and center. Using a second camera, Bridget shot from different angles that could be edited in to create a seamless piece later.
It was impossible for me to like José knowing he’d slapped sweet Alvina, but I couldn’t deny he’d adapted like a pro and performed well in unique circumstances. Two large speakers blasted the same music we’d heard at the studio three nights ago, drowning out Asher’s singing. José took my mother out for the first spin on the small stage and she did very well, looking as radiant as I’d ever seen her. I couldn’t help thinking about Tish Ramsey saying that it felt like being in the arms of an angel. After their last elaborate dip, he led her off the dance floor and offered his hand to a lady about Mom’s age and equally well preserved. Indeed, all the women from his troupe were slim, fit and dressed like figure skaters. Skin-toned netting kept their skimpy dresses in place, whereas my parka was zipped to the chin. They weren’t just a dance troupe but soldiers in service of their art.
Mom wrapped herself in her pashmina and didn’t resist when Jilly draped a puffy down coat around her shoulders. I knew then that Mom was demoralized by the proficiency of the other women. With every number, she seemed to shrink until she looked like a toddler in a snowsuit.
There was a reason José had elected to dance with Mom first. If she’d gone last, all of her confidence would have leaked into the cold, hard earth.
“Mom,” I said. “These people are pros. They’ve obviously been dancing for years.”
The hand she waved curved into a claw. “Don’t pity me, Ivy. You know I hate that.”