by Ellen Riggs
Main Street looked picture perfect as we passed through town. Every day it became more and more like Dorset Hills, our more popular neighbor. Better known as Dog Town, Dorset Hills had pitch perfect branding that attracted tourists from across the country. Clover Grove had once been the larger community, known for its culture as much as its agriculture. In recent decades, our town had lost its luster and half its population. Then the homesteaders jumped on low housing prices and a new sun rose. We had the chance to create something unique, but Town Council preferred to copy Dog Town’s model. Perhaps in time we’d see knockoffs of Dorset Hills’ signature dog statues, too. In our case, that would be huge bronze chickens since backyard coops were all the rage here. A snort of laughter escaped me at the thought and Keats turned to join in with his wide-mouthed pant.
Mandy’s Country Store was nearly halfway back to Runaway Farm, but I sensed we should kick off there. Nearly everyone passed through Mandy’s at some point in the week and they confided in her far more than they ever had in her grandmother, the previous owner. She was painfully shy and quiet, which made her a natural confidante. On top of that, she was a master baker and sweet treats loosened lips. I wasn’t immune to the influence of sugar myself, and if I was going to stay abreast of the gossip all day, I needed more fuel than coffee.
We parked Buttercup beside the antique style sign and went inside. Mandy McCain waved from behind the cash register as I took a stool at the counter that ran the length of the front window. Normally the stools were full, but today it was just me. I couldn’t help but wonder if that had something to do with what had happened at my farm.
Mandy and I had clashed when the dogcatcher was murdered and she lied about things that could have saved me a world of pain. But I knew better than most how people behaved when terrified and hurt. Human resources had taught me that before there was murder in the mix. So I’d decided to let bygones be bygones and continue to commission Mandy to provide baked goods for the inn. In a town this small, it was too much trouble to hold a grudge. That didn’t stop other people. Town Hall probably had a ledger to record who hated whom about what. It was quite literally political. You couldn’t get a thing done if you didn’t navigate the interpersonal land mines, some of which dated as far back as our farming roots.
Keats took up his position beside my stool and mumbled a question. “Not sure where to begin, buddy,” I said. “All I know is that today is going to feel a lot like log rolling. We’re going to jump from one person to the next without stopping, and without thinking too much about it. The key is to capitalize on uncertainty, just like in HR. You get in fast and ask the right questions while things are still in flux. By tomorrow, people will have their stories firmed up. So get ready for a long, hard day.”
The dog yipped with excitement. He lived for long, hard days.
I was perking up, too. It felt good to be doing something rather than hanging around the farm feeling like a victim.
Mandy came over and I asked about the daily lunch special, although it was just after 10 a.m. The main course was mushroom quiche, which I happened to love, and the dessert pumpkin pie, which I loved even more. As she left to collect my brunch, I grinned at Keats.
“Pie, pie and preparation. The trifecta of successful sleuthing.”
Mandy circled back with a cup of coffee I hadn’t ordered. I’d already had enough caffeine, and clanging nerves never helped the diligent sleuth. Worse, in the many stops I planned to make, there may not be restrooms.
I drank it anyway. There’d been precious little sleep the night before and I needed to be sharp, too. Observation was the diligent sleuth’s superpower.
“How about we start with the people from the recital?” I asked Keats. “Everyone’s going to be throwing shade on each other. We’ll head into town and you check out the vibes.”
Keats mumbled a promise to do his best. As if there were any doubt.
“You two are having quite a conversation,” Mandy said, sliding a double sized slice of quiche in front of me. The upside of surviving our quarrel was that my servings were larger than anyone else’s. I made a point of finishing every bite she offered, both to prove that my beefs were behind me, and to make sure the food kept coming. Between her baking and Jilly’s magic in the kitchen, the eating had never been so good. Farm work and stress burned it all off.
“There’s plenty to talk about,” I said, not in the least embarrassed she’d caught me chatting with my dog. Mandy had plenty of quirks, too. “I’m sure you heard what happened at the farm.”
She nodded. “Such a shame about José. He was utterly charming and was always trying to enlist me for his classes. Of course there’s no one in town less likely to merengue than me.”
“Just as well,” I said, around a mouthful of delicious quiche. There were hints of tarragon and thyme, just right for this time of year. Maybe what I’d been through just made everything more savory. “José may not have been as charming as he seemed.”
“Really?” The crease in her brow told me news about the scamming hadn’t circulated widely yet. That would certainly help my quest. “He seemed genuine and very fond of your mother. They came in often and he was so solicitous.”
I held back a shudder. “You know my mom. I’m sure she’s here with other dates, too.”
Mandy smiled and the crease disappeared. “I’d love to know her secret. It’s hard to find good men in Clover Grove.”
“Well, you’re in the right place to meet them,” I said. “Everyone comes through here, and once they taste your baking, they’re hooked. Like me.”
She pushed her flyaway blonde hair behind one ear and smiled even more. The shy girl I knew in school was transforming into a confident woman.
“How’s your mom holding up?” she asked. “I sensed there was something special between them. Maybe I was wrong.”
“José was at the top of her dating rotation, and she had hoped to help boost the culture movement in town with him. But she’ll bounce back quickly. Too quickly, probably. All it will take is the next single man who comes into the salon for a classic barbershop shave.”
Mandy laughed. “I wonder if everyone else will recover so easily. José had a bit of a cult following, from what I could tell.”
“I noticed that too. At the recital, women were, well…” My voice trailed off as I chewed another mouthful of exquisite quiche.
“Falling all over him?” Mandy offered.
“Exactly. There seemed to be some competition.”
She nodded. “I didn’t want to say so out of respect for your mom, but he had a different lady in here every day. Sometimes twice a day.”
My eyebrows shot up and the quiche lodged in my throat till I coughed. “Seriously? That popular? Who were the frontrunners, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Pressing her lips together, she paused. Her business relied on keeping things quiet. But she owed me, and she knew it. All the quiche in the world couldn’t make up for my almost getting killed because she withheld the truth from me—and the police.
“Tish Ramsey,” she said, starting to count off on one hand. “Mabel Halliday. Teri Mason.”
“Teri? I can’t believe she’d fall for his so-called charms.”
“I’m just saying they met here a few times and seemed pally.”
I shook my head. “Who else?”
“Some of the former Bridge Club buddies.”
So Joe Barker bilked senior citizens, too. I suppose that was no surprise. There was no love lost between me and the Bridge Buddies after their atrocious behavior when they stayed at the inn. But still, scamming seniors was just the lowest of the low.
“Anyone else?” I asked, trying again with the quiche.
“Nadine Boyce. Margie Hodgson. And Dina Macintosh from the Hound and Furry.” It looked like she wouldn’t have enough fingers for all the ladies Joe had wooed. “Come to think of it, he brought me a lot of business.”
“He’ll bring you business for weeks to come as pe
ople gather and share stories about what happened.”
“True. The one I feel worst about is Laurene Pedal. She’s new in town and so nice. I sense she fell pretty hard for José and I’m afraid this will put her off Clover Grove entirely.”
“I’ve heard the name but can’t place her.” I pushed away my empty plate and pulled over the massive slab of pumpkin pie with whipped cream.
“She’s just launched the new café-bookstore called Pages and Pastries. I go in all the time, even though technically, she’s my competition.”
I closed my eyes blissfully over the explosion of fall flavours in the pie. “There is no competition, Mandy.”
“Not with the pie, perhaps, but the book curation is top notch. Go in and see.”
“We will.” I glanced down at Keats, whose tail twitched an affirmative. “Are you saying Laurene was a regular, like my mom?”
“Very much so, yes.” She paused for a second, and then shrugged. “I think she was taking private lessons, too. One night when I was driving home I could see into the studio windows. It was after nine and they were whirling around like they hadn’t a care in the world.”
I sighed as I plowed through the pie, already five bites past full. “Looks like we’re going to be busy, Keats.”
Mandy got up and returned with a bowl of water and a pepperoni stick. Keats wasn’t a mooch, but he eagerly worked through his repertoire of tricks and brought the smiles back to our faces.
“You know I’ll have to feed all of this information to Kellan when he shows up, which he always does,” Mandy said, as Keats downed his treat in two bites.
I spun on the stool and hopped off. “Understood. For the moment, he’s got his hands full with a frisky troupe of dancers at the farm. Including my mom.”
“Drop back when you can,” Mandy called as we hurried to the door. “I’ll do my best to feed you first, Ivy.”
I flashed her a smile that was no doubt speckled with various herbs and spices. “Thanks, Mandy. We can run all day on what you served this morning.”
Chapter Eleven
I parked on the outskirts of town, partly because we had a few stores to hit on either side of Main Street, but mainly because Buttercup’s unique model and color announced my whereabouts. There had been enough mayhem at the farm since I moved home that people would eventually expect me to flit about asking questions. My goal was to be the early bird with the worms of gossip.
“What do you think?” I asked Keats, who trotted briskly at my side. He didn’t need to be leashed but I hooked him up in town anyway to avoid critical commentary. There was so little gossip I could control, I was willing to endure his disappointed glance. “Should we head straight to Teri’s or stop at this new bookstore-café first?”
Keats didn’t offer an opinion straight away. He waited till we got to Pages and Pastries and then applied both his blue eye and his nose to the door. His tail waved an affirmative.
I pushed open the door and what struck me first was the smell. I’d expected a waft of coffee and baked goods, or maybe a stuffy gust of old books, since Laurene sold used as well as new. Instead, the store smelled—well, stunk really—of cheese. The previous owner had tried long and hard to sell the store and now I knew why it lingered on a hot market. There was no business like cheese business.
“Hello! Welcome!” someone called from the double aisle of bookstacks. A woman came out to greet me and I recognized her instantly as the brunette who’d run past Kellan and me in tears the night of the recital. I was reasonably sure she hadn’t noticed us then and now I was quite sure of it.
Whatever had bothered her then was a thing of the past, because she was smiling and her warm brown eyes had a twinkle instead of tears. She was attractive and looked to be in her early fifties, with a stylish tousled bob. I marvelled again at how many attractive middle-aged women we had in town. If it was that hard for younger women to find soulmates, it was no wonder midlifers fell for a charming man who danced like an angel. Mom imported most of her dates from beyond Clover Grove, no doubt using the laptop I’d bought her. I never asked, though. Her rotation was her business unless it impinged on my business. Technically that happened when she started dating Charlie, my farm manager, but he’d been totally professional about it. Now I had no choice but to pay attention.
“Are you Laurene?” I asked. “I’m Ivy and I’ve heard good things about your new café.”
Nodding, she gestured to a couple of welcoming brown leather chairs at the window. “Ivy Galloway? I’ve heard about you, too.”
I noticed she didn’t say “good things.” At least she didn’t bother to lie.
“This is my dog, Keats. I hope it’s okay that he joins me. I don’t like to leave him outside unless I have to. Dogs have been stolen, or worse, set loose as a prank.”
“That’s terrible,” Laurene said. “It’s okay with me unless someone complains.” She waved around the empty café. “There’s no one to notice, I’m afraid.”
“Slow start up?” I asked, sinking into a chair.
“I’m afraid so. People come in but they don’t stay long.” She sat down opposite me. “How long do you think the stench of cheese lingers?”
I shook my head and smiled. “Wrong person to ask. I spend time every day turning my manure pile. Cheese is a big improvement over that.”
She laughed. “I thought it would clear out pretty fast what with the coffee I brew all day. I offer a bottomless cup just to hold onto customers but it hasn’t worked. Could I get you a cup?”
“Sure,” I said, although the last thing I needed was more coffee.
I stared around while she went to collect it. The décor was pretty much perfect for a place like this, with a couple of bistro tables and hoop backed chairs, antique lace curtains in the wide front windows and big bouquets of fresh cut flowers. On the leather ottoman in front of me sat a few magazines that catered to homesteaders.
“Looking for new recipes for the inn?” Laurene asked, eyeing the magazine in my hand as she passed me a mug. “I hear you have a master chef.”
“My best friend, Jilly Blackwood,” I said. “I got lucky there. Not so lucky elsewhere.”
“I heard about the dogcatcher. And uh… the others.” She looked down at Keats, and added, “What a beautiful dog.”
“He is, isn’t he?” I watched closely as she reached out to pat him. He didn’t like strangers taking liberties, and today he deliberately ducked to avoid her hand. His tail was at half-mast, but I didn’t know if that was because he disliked Laurene or her gesture. He slipped away into the book stacks, which showed he wasn’t worried about leaving me alone. “Sorry, Laurene. Keats is a working dog. Cafés aren’t normally his thing. But I must say you’ve done a wonderful job transforming the place. It takes time to attract business in Clover Grove. People like the same faces in the same places.”
She nodded. “So I’m discovering. You grew up here, I take it?”
“I did and I swore I’d never come back. But the town sinks its teeth into you and doesn’t let go. You’ll see.”
“I underestimated how hard it would be to work my way into the community. I’ve tried joining clubs but unless you’re canning or raising chickens, there isn’t much available.”
“There will be very soon,” I said. “Some of us are working on a Clover Grove Culture Revival Project. Would you be interested in leading a book club?”
She brightened. “I’d love that, but no one would stick around here long enough to have a proper discussion.”
“Jilly and I will host it at the inn until the smell wears off.” Over her shoulder, I saw Keats come out of the book stacks and go behind the counter. He was certainly being thorough. “Mind you, we have challenges of our own right now that might put people off.”
“I heard,” Laurene said, picking up a magazine and ruffling the pages. “What a terrible shame about Mr. Batista. People said he was a lovely man.”
Aha! She was hiding something.
�
��I thought you knew José,” I said. Keats picked up on the shift in the atmosphere and returned to my side. “My mom said you danced with him, too.”
Laurene’s eyes dropped and her face flushed. Clearly she hadn’t built her personal narrative—the one that made her look innocent and someone else look guilty. “I had the honor once or twice, but I didn’t know him well at all. He was certainly a wonderful dancer.”
“Some said it was like being in the arms of an angel,” I said.
“Yes!” The word escaped before she could stop it. “He was so elegant.”
“It’s hard for someone like me to imagine.” I stuck out my foot. “I have two left boots.”
Some of the tension left her pinched face. “It was like being swept away from all the worries of life for a time. I’d never had the nerve to try ballroom dancing before but he came in here and convinced me it would change my life.”
“And did it?” I rested my fingers on Keats’ ears. “Change your life? I’d love to sweep all my worries away, too.”
Her jaw clenched, then released, as if emotions battled for precedence. “In a way, yes. It showed me what was possible. You had to experience it to know. I’m sorry you won’t have a chance, Ivy. He was quite a man and Clover Grove won’t be the same without him.”
She batted her brown eyes and I reached into my bag for tissues. Pulling one out of the packet, she thanked me.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Laurene. Were you and José dating?”
“Oh no.” She dabbed at her eyes. “I won’t say it didn’t cross my mind after dancing with him, but I realized quite quickly I wasn’t that special.” Gesturing around the shop, she added, “I have my hands full here. It’s not my time to get swept away.”
She got up and walked to the counter, carrying the mug of coffee I’d barely touched. I was being dismissed.
“Maybe that time will come when your book club begins,” I said, following her. “I’m sure some men will join, although they probably won’t be dancers. José said he had a heck of a time attracting male students in any of the studios he’d opened. Maybe that’s why he moved so often.”