by Ellen Riggs
“I didn’t know you used that account for business, too. I thought it was for our future together.”
He gestured to the store. “Stores like this run close to the line, Tish. I’m always one mechanical breakdown away from going into the red. So yeah, I have to dip into my savings account. I didn’t think I had to make a list of rules. Doesn’t it go without saying that you let your fiancé know when you’re taking his money?”
“You were all about sharing when you proposed, weren’t you? Then it was all ‘what’s mine is yours,’ and ‘we’ll build a future together, sweetheart.’”
She used the sleeve of her coat to chafe at her eyes—a move she’d probably regret later. Gentle patting was the way to go. Mom had taught all her girls young to avoid premature aging by treating our skin like the finest porcelain. It had worked for Iris and Violet, but Poppy, Daisy and I had played fast and loose with the rules of facial care and now I wished I had listened.
Ryan’s brow had deep furrows that showed the tension any small business owner experienced, even without a murder problem. “Building a future together means we need honesty. So I need to know where my five grand went, Tish. And I need it back. Like, yesterday. Now I’m paying sky high interest on credit card debt. That won’t get us a wedding anytime soon.”
“If you want to call off the wedding over this, fine,” Tish said.
“I didn’t say that.” He took a step forward to close the distance between them. As a bystander—or kneeler—I could see it was a make or break moment. Ryan loved Tish and wanted to work things out. All she had to do was come clean and he’d forgive her. “I just want to know where the money went and when you can repay it. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”
“I’ll pay back every cent, Ryan, I promise. But it may take a little while. You know I don’t earn much working in day care. But I’ll take a second job. The Berry Good Café is looking for wait staff.”
Ryan’s shoulders slumped. “So the money is gone? Like, really gone?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure yet.” She angled away so that she didn’t have to meet his eyes. “It looks like I made a bad investment but I thought it was a sure thing.”
“What kind of investment?” His voice was lower now. Eerily calm.
“The kind that could have moved up our wedding date. I don’t want to wait two years to get married. I’m not getting any younger.”
Ryan wilted even more. “Then I’d better get the money back, hadn’t I? Just tell me where to look for it.”
“Just leave it to me. It’s my problem and I’m dealing with it.”
“It’s not your problem, it’s our problem. My problem, actually.”
Tish began to pace back and forth on skinny stilettos even Jilly would have trouble wrangling. “I’ll handle it. I’ll pay you back.”
Catching her hand, he gave her one last chance to earn back his trust. “Tell me. We can handle it together.”
“I made a mistake and trusted someone who let me down. That’s all. People get duped all the time.”
A shadow passed over Ryan’s face as he pieced things together. “Someone? Who, exactly?”
“A friend, or so I thought. Turns out I was wrong. You really can’t trust anyone, Ryan. The world is full of scammers preying on sweet, gullible people like me.”
Some of the confusion seemed to clear from his eyes and he stepped in front of her to stop the pacing. “I called you last night. Over and over. When I realized the money was gone.”
“I was sleeping. Never heard the phone.”
“That’s why I drove over, and your car wasn’t there.”
“I stayed at my sister’s place. You knew I was babysitting last night.”
“Only your car wasn’t there, either.”
“Of course it was. I parked around the back because wet leaves ruin the car’s finish. You told me that.” She tried to move out of his path. “Let’s talk more about this later. I just want to go home and freshen up before applying for work at the café. I’ll need to take evening shifts. We probably won’t see each other as much.”
If she hoped to play on his affection, the ploy failed.
“Fine,” he said. “The sooner you can repay me, the better. It’s a shame I can’t buy back my reputation as easily.”
Resting her hands on her hips, Tish said, “I really think you’re making too big a deal out of this. It’s only money. We still have each other, Ryan.”
“Right,” he said, stepping away and reaching for the door handle.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He turned and appraised her with what I could tell was a last look. “It just means we’re different, that’s all.”
After the door closed behind him, Tish started to follow and then changed direction, wobbling toward me. I decided to stay where I was till she passed. But of course she looked down and her bloodshot eyes widened.
“Ivy? What are you doing down there?”
“Hugging my dog. You look like you could use a hug, too.”
She shook her head. “Not from a stinky dog, thank you very much.”
“He’s not stinky,” I said, deliberately sniffing Keats. He smelled of manure, hay and a hint of Stilton. “Okay, he is stinky. And dirty, too. But a hug’s a hug on a bad day.”
“You’d know, I guess.” She chafed her eyes with her sleeve again. “I heard you found—found José. Trampled by your camels. I called the police about it and that’s all they would tell me.”
I was reasonably sure even Bunhead Betty wouldn’t tell a citizen anything about a murder investigation in progress. It was just the regular gossip newsfeed.
“José wasn’t trampled by my alpaca, llamas or donkeys,” I said. “I don’t know why he was in their pasture, but it’s unfortunate he died there.”
“He didn’t just die, did he?” Somehow, her bloodshot eyes managed to get very sharp.
I was curious about what people were saying. “What do you mean?”
“I mean people die at Runaway Farm all the time, and not from natural causes.”
“All the time is a bit strong, isn’t it, Tish? Anyway, it sounds like you know more than I do about what happened to José. Is that what you and Ryan were really fighting about?”
“How would I know anything?”
“Because you gave José money and you don’t want Ryan to know. He’d never understand that you were just helping a friend start up a business. You were trying to bring some culture to this town.”
“This town needs more culture,” she said. “But Ryan doesn’t see it that way. You heard him at the recital. With him, it’s all sports-sports-sports.”
“But you thought José would pay you back with interest. And now that can’t happen.”
She withered me with a puffy-eyed squint. “I know about you and your ways, Ivy. People say you’re a snake charmer.”
“A snake charmer? That’s a new one.”
“You lured Lloyd Boyce’s python right out of its cage to get to a treasure. By singing to it. That’s what I heard.”
I buried my face in Keats’ fur to muffle the laughter. “That’s not quite how it happened, Tish.”
“You talk to snakes and you talk to animals, Ivy. Everyone knows it. You’re not normal.”
I raised one hand. “Guilty. But what does that have to do with José’s passing?”
“José never asked me for money, Ivy. Maybe he asked your mom, though, and you wanted him out of her life. So you sang to your stupid camels till they…” Her voice trailed off. “He was a good man. You didn’t know him like I did.”
“All I really know is that he danced like an angel, Tish. You told me that.”
“Yeah.” She pulled in a breath and hiccupped. “And now he’s truly an angel. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand the power of dance. Look at your boots.”
She made a gesture and her purse slipped down her arm and clipped me in the head. Something sharp struck my cheek and I gasped.
Keats li
fted his lip a little and I felt the growl in his chest as I held him.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I said, rubbing my face. “Tish didn’t mean to smack me with her keys. Did she?”
It was rare for Keats to show teeth in any situation other than a murderous attack.
Tish gave a twisted smile that showed her braces. “My purse has a mind of its own sometimes. Just like your camels.”
As she pushed it back up to her shoulder her keys jangled. They were clipped to one of the metal rings securing the straps.
Hanging from the key ring was a green heart adorned with an ornate letter T, all encased in shiny fake glass.
Chapter Fourteen
I was so convinced Tish was José’s killer that I almost didn’t bother stopping by Mabel’s Mutts. But I had to pass her shop anyway to get the car, and Keats wanted to go in. His tail was up, so I suspected the visit was more about the ceramic canister on the counter in the shape of a beagle that just happened to be filled with liver treats. While not a mooch, he wasn’t stupid, either. With the life we led, timely meals were no guarantee.
Mabel was sitting at her worktable when we stepped inside. She looked up at me through magnifying goggles that made her blue eyes look huge. In one hand was a tiny figure of a dog and the other a slim paintbrush. Her creations were known for their exquisite attention to detail. Aside from the many she sold here, she supplied several stores in surrounding towns, especially Dorset Hills.
“Hi, Mabel,” I said. “How’s business?”
“Crazy,” she said. “Christmas is always my busiest time but this year it’s insane. I can’t keep up with demand from Dorset Hills and I’ve stopped trying. I can only do my best.”
I walked over to a table that held all of Clover Grove in miniature, surrounded by tiny twinkle lights. Leaning in carefully, I said, “Hey! Is that Runaway Farm?”
“You tell me,” she said.
A red barn that could fit in my palm sat on the outskirts of the ceramic town. There were several fenced, snowy pastures filled with sheep, goats, cows and… “Alvina! You made my alpaca!”
“I did. But it’s Alvina at rest, because molds for dancing alpacas were hard to come by.”
“That’s because she’s one of a kind,” I said. “You totally know I’m going to buy that farm, don’t you?”
“Maybe you should wait,” she said. “Someone might want to surprise you with it.”
Her husband, Alf, came out of the back room with Sparkles, their Yorkshire terrier. The dogs greeted each other with polite disdain. Sparkles was a bit yappy with other dogs, but Keats got a pass—probably because he considered himself a human.
Alf Halliday gave me a polite smile but then frowned when he saw the barn in my hand. “Mabel doesn’t have time to make another farm before Christmas,” he said. “And it’s an important part of our display.”
“Oh, Alf,” Mabel said. “We can’t stop Ivy from buying whatever she wants. Especially the farm I copied from her.”
“Well, at least wait a little,” he said. “It’s not even Thanksgiving.”
I put the barn back in its place. “Sorry, Alf.”
“Shoo,” Mabel said. “We don’t discourage customers here at Mabel’s Mutts.” Her voice had a subtle note of warning that sent Alf into the back room again. “I’m so sorry, Ivy,” she whispered. “Since he retired, he’s been helping in the store. And he is a help with orders and shipping. I just wish he’d leave the front office to me.”
Alf hadn’t actually retired. He’d recently been part of a significant downsizing at a dairy that served all of hill country. As both a perpetrator and victim of downsizing, I understood the impact and didn’t blame Mabel in the least for pretending that sharing the business was a choice. Now in his mid-fifties, Alf was unlikely to find another middle management position in a region where desk jobs were few and far between. I’d found men of his vintage took layoffs particularly hard, so I gave him full credit for feigning interest in miniature animals and villages. Mabel’s smile showed more strain than it had when we met a few months ago walking our dogs in the hills. She’d loved running her own show here, and managing her husband was likely the hardest part of her job now.
“It’s been quite a change and I know there’s a learning curve,” I said, as she used her paintbrush to point at the canister on the counter. “Kellan and I bump heads all the time and we’re not even officially working together.” I lifted the head off the ceramic beagle and grabbed a few liver treats. “Never will be, either. He says I can help when I graduate from the police academy.”
Mabel laughed and her face relaxed. “I’m sure you can pull that off around managing your inn and far more animals than I’ve depicted here.”
“Exactly.” I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the model of Runaway Farm. The inn itself was lit up from the inside. “I feel very honoured. But where’s miniature Keats?”
“Boxed and under the counter waiting,” she said. “It’s a gift.”
“What have I done to deserve such a wonderful gift?”
Mabel pushed the goggles up onto her highlighted hair and rubbed gently at the red rings they’d left around her eyes. She looked tired and Christmas was still a good way off.
“How about protecting the good people of Clover Grove from murderers?” she said. “I would think that earns a ceramic dog.” Looking down at Keats, she added, “And a model dog at that.” She wrinkled her nose. “Even if he does smell like… Well, I don’t really know what.”
“Stilton,” I said. “At least according to Teri Mason. To me it’s more like Gorgonzola. We visited Pages and Pastries earlier and ghosts of cheese shops past still linger.”
She laughed again. “Poor Laurene. She’s struggling to get things off the ground, so I pick up a coffee quite often. To go.”
“The town’s hard on newcomers. Even new-again people like me. I don’t know how José Batista got a free pass. It seemed like people threw down the welcome mat for him.”
“A red carpet, more like,” Mabel said, pulling her goggles back down. “I’ve never seen anything like it and I’ve lived here all my life.”
“Mom said he danced like an angel,” I said. The line made my skin crawl but it was coming in quite handy. “Was he really that light on his feet?”
The goggles bobbed an affirmative. “He was, truly. At least from the few classes I attended. I’m so busy here that it was hard to get away.” Now she gave me another big-eyed stare. “I heard about what happened, of course. You’re taking it well.”
“Better than the first time, I suppose, although it was certainly a shock.” I picked up the tiny alpaca and placed her on my palm for a closer look. “I had to get away from the farm, but it wasn’t really fair to abandon Jilly with the dance troupe and my mom.”
“How is Dahlia doing?” Mabel dipped her brush in a little bottle of paint. “They’d become quite close, it seemed.”
“Oh, you know Mom. She’s never at a loss for male company, although dancers are few and far between.” I set ceramic Alvina back in her pasture and picked up ceramic Drama Llama. “I think José was close to a lot of local ladies.”
“Really? Who said that?”
“I could see it at the recital. Women were all atwitter. And someone down at the Berry Good Café said he was in often for tea and scones and never alone.”
The goggles came up. “Are you sleuthing, Ivy? I heard José was trampled by the very llama in your hand.” I clenched my fist around the tiny llama and she shook her head. “Careful, now.”
“Sorry. Sorry. I break it, I buy it.” Setting the llama down, I shoved my hands in my pockets. Mabel’s store turned me into a kid again, and I’d never had toys like this. The fifth daughter got nothing but hand-me-downs. “There’s nothing to sleuth about yet. The autopsy report won’t be back until at least tomorrow. But Kellan doesn’t think my animals are to blame. Perhaps you could do me a favor and send that out on the grapevine.”
“That I can most certa
inly do.” Her smile was back. “The next customer will hear it and it won’t take long to circulate. But if not trampling… then what?”
I sighed. “I can only assume that after all the dancing and champagne, he made his way out to reenact the scene from the video. Maybe he had a stroke or heart attack. Kellan will get to the bottom of it. He’s questioning my guests today.”
She dipped the paintbrush again. “But you don’t think it was natural causes, I take it.”
“Well, he was a fit man.”
“And if he was, well… murdered?”
“Then I would want to reassure the grapevine that my mother had nothing to do with it. She was fast asleep on the couch with Poppy when I came down this morning.”
“I’ve known Dahlia my whole life and can’t imagine her hurting a fly. I’ve already said as much.”
“Ah! So the grapevine is torn between blaming Alvina and Mom.”
“Or both, working together.” She flashed her teeth. “Can you imagine?”
I rubbed my forehead with both hands. “Mom won’t get anywhere near the livestock even in daylight, which is wise, given her size. But the grapevine does like to feature her often. Easy target, I’m afraid.”
“José made no secret of favouring her in class. She has so much talent.” She shrugged and started painting again. “People get jealous. People get bored. Bad combination.”
“Maybe someone else will take over the studio,” I said. “It seems like there truly is an appetite for culture in Clover Grove.”
There was a snort behind us. Alf was back in the doorway, shaking his head. “Culture? Really? You can put lipstick on a pig but it’s still a pig.”
“Alf! This is still my hometown, and Ivy’s too. Respect, please.”
I picked up the pig from the farm display and smiled. “Let’s put some lipstick on Wilma and see if she classes the place up.”
He forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “We can’t afford to ruin perfectly good stock for a joke, Ivy.”
“Honey,” Mabel said. “Could you get me some number nine paint from the back? I’m going through white like you wouldn’t believe today.”