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

by Ellen Riggs

  Grumbling, he retreated again and she mouthed an apology.

  “No worries,” I said. “Gotta run. You know full well I just came in to take the pulse on the gossip.”

  “I do,” she said, grinning for the first time. “Don’t forget Keats.”

  “Forget Keats?” I looked down at the dog and saw his tail and ears had collapsed. “How could I— Oh! You mean miniature Keats.”

  “Less magical than the real thing, but I flatter myself I got the eyes just right.”

  I went around the counter and bent down to collect a little box with Keats’ name on it.

  There was a safety deposit box right under the till with the key sticking out of it. From that key hung a pretty blue heart with a gold letter M.

  “I can’t believe Mabel Halliday fell for José. That is so disappointing,” I told Keats as we drove home. It was late afternoon and the sun was already low. “She seems so… sensible. Like Teri.”

  Keats mumbled a response without turning from the road. I might be tired from a long day of poking around, but he was still raring to go.

  “I probably won’t ever stop being disappointed by people. I know you smell them for what they are, but it still takes me by surprise. Working in HR gave me a cynical shield that seems to have cracked open here. It seems strange when people keep killing people. I could use that shield more than ever.”

  He mumbled something that sounded like a sly dig. “No, I haven’t gone soft because of Kellan, thank you very much. It’s the animals. How can I stay cynical in a barn full of goodness?”

  Now he sneezed, which I took as laughter and I had to join in on the joke.

  “Well, Archie is good. And Alvina is good. Some of the sheep are… well, sheep. At least none of the livestock are two-faced. That’s what I really mean. You know what you’re getting with animals. Drama doesn’t pretend to be anything other than nasty and we can work with that.”

  The next mumble was more like a grumble. There was no way he’d stand down on thinking the worst of Drama. Fair enough since he was on the front lines of dealing with him.

  “Let’s stop at Grub.” I still smiled every time I said the name out loud. So many store owners missed their chance to do something fun and interesting. They were too busy chasing Dog Town’s success to realize that most businesses there used tongue-in-cheek humor. Like Bone Appetit Bistro, where Bridget was the manager.

  Keats’ tail dropped instantly, and he whined. It didn’t take any magic at all for me to know he didn’t want to face Gregor, the mastiff.

  “It’s okay, you can guard Buttercup while I’m inside. I just need to pick up a few things. The vet left me a list and I might as well take care of it while I remember.” I took my hand off the wheel and held up my palm. “Never mind. If you’re going to point out that I don’t want to go home, I’ll just admit that straight out.” I turned up the heat, which really only worked well enough to keep the windows clear. “You have no idea how much I hate that I hate going home.”

  His mumble turned sympathetic. He did know that, and the brief touch of his nose on my cold hand sent a wave of warmth through me.

  “Thanks, buddy. You’re absolutely right. You’re my home. And luckily I can take you with me.”

  There was a little more mumbled encouragement.

  “Of course. Jilly, too. And Percy.”

  He squeaked a protest.

  “Yes, Percy. You love him, too. Don’t even try billing it as a warm body on a cold day.”

  There was no one in the parking lot when I pulled up outside Grub. Simon Rezek was shifting 80-pound bags of dog kibble from a wheelbarrow to a pallet when I went inside. There were no frills and fine displays at Grub, but in addition to bulk food for almost every type of animal, they carried nearly everything else homesteaders and small farmers like me needed.

  “Hey, Ivy. How ya doing?” Simon’s smile was as wide and welcoming as ever. Was it possible the story hadn’t reached them yet? Grub was located well outside of town, but it’s not like they didn’t have all the modern conveniences of gossip. He tossed another bag as if it were no heavier than a pillow, and it aligned perfectly with all the rest. I guess he’d been doing it long enough. Middle age hadn’t slowed him down.

  “Good,” I said. “Mostly.”

  In truth, I’d deflated a bit. Normally my game face was reliable but the day had pushed past its limits.

  Gregor trotted past me, all 110 pounds of him, and stood at the door. His hackles rose as he stared out, and I had no doubt that Keats’ hackles had done the same inside Buttercup.

  “I don’t know what’s with those two,” Simon said. “Gregor’s normally such a sweetheart.” My expression must have shown skepticism because he added, “I couldn’t have him loose in a feed store if he wasn’t now, could I?”

  “I guess not. Like you said at the recital, dogs will be dogs.”

  He blew out a breath and shook his head. “The recital. Yeah. I just want to forget that. I mean, except for the sandwiches. I’ll put up with a lot for peanut butter and banana pinwheels.” He walked around the counter and took the list from my hand. “It makes no sense but roll-ups just taste better.”

  “No argument there,” I said.

  Anne Rezek emerged from the cat supply section. Her arms rose as if she considered hugging me but then dropped again. Either she sensed I wasn’t a fan of casual hugging or the smell of Gorgonzola really carried.

  “I’m surprised you’re out and about, Ivy. It must be chaos at the inn today.”

  “It is. Or so I’ve heard.” I held up my cell. “Mom calls about every half hour to complain about something. Specifically, she feels like a prisoner instead of a guest. I guess Jilly’s too busy to wait on her hand and foot.”

  Simon and Anne exchanged looks, probably over the word prisoner. Maybe they’d been speculating about how Mom might end up a prisoner for real this time.

  Waving the list, Simon switched places with his wife. “Let me hunt this stuff down for you. Some things I have in stock and I’ll order the rest.”

  Gregor clicked off behind him, and once they were out of earshot, Anne pushed her gossamer hair behind one ear and leaned across the counter. “I’m so sorry about what happened, Ivy. I don’t believe a word about what people are saying. I’ve spent plenty of time around llamas and donkeys and they’re only nasty in self-defense.”

  “Exactly,” I said. That wasn’t true of Drama Llama, but he’d likely been abused in his former life, like most of my livestock.

  “So maybe José was baiting them. Like bullfighting or something. Were the animals okay?”

  I nodded. “Senna came by and checked them head to toe. Or hoof, according to species. She confirmed they weren’t harmed in any way. Nor did they show signs of harming anyone.”

  Anne studied me as if logging every word to report later. “That must be such a relief. But what really happened, then? People say it was foul play.” She looked over my shoulder for her husband and then whispered, “José was such a lovely man. I can’t imagine anyone wishing him ill.”

  “The autopsy isn’t back yet, so we don’t know anything more.” I leaned wearily against the counter. “But I do know that people get pushed past their breaking point sometimes without ever showing signs to the rest of us. That’s the real wonder. How do they hide the cracks so well?”

  She nodded and her hair caught the light. I could only hope my hair would look like that one day, but I doubted it. The women in my family got wiry strands in plain old gray, rather than sleek silver.

  “I have the feeling this is going to expose plenty of cracks in our community,” she said. “Maybe more than… than the others. José was revered, unlike Lloyd Boyce.”

  “Revered. That’s an interesting word. I wonder why. I mean, other than his heavenly dancing. I hear it was like being in the arms of an angel.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that, not being a dancer. But everyone says he could make a lady feel quite special.” She glanced
around at the tall stacks of feed. “It’s hard to feel special in Clover Grove, at least for women of a certain age.” She forced a smile. “Your mom seems to defy that.”

  “She works hard at making herself feel special these days,” I said, grinning. “But remember, it hasn’t always been that way.”

  “Well, I didn’t know her back then. I’m an import to Clover Grove, remember.”

  We both laughed. I knew Anne had moved here after meeting Simon at an agricultural fair more than two decades ago, yet the town still made her feel like an outsider sometimes.

  “What are you two giggling about?” Simon asked, coming back with a couple of plastic bags swinging from his hand.

  “Clover Grove politics,” Anne said, with a sweet smile for her husband. There was none of the tension between them that I’d felt earlier with Mabel and Alf. I supposed they’d worked together so long that they’d found their stride. “You know the rumor mill.”

  “Only what I hear from you, baby doll,” he said. “Thank goodness I never had an ear for languages like gossip.”

  I took the bags from his hand. “What do I owe you?”

  “I’ll add it to your tab,” he said. “We’re missing the cat feeder, the henhouse water heater, the trimmers and the dog coat. I’ll drop them by when they come in so Keats doesn’t need to be stressed out by Gregor.”

  “Meaning he wants to come by and try to understand the mysterious language of gossip,” Anne said, sliding an arm around her husband’s waist.

  He kissed her forehead and it gave me a sharp little pang in my chest. I missed Kellan, yet we’d seen each other only that morning. One day, I hoped we’d have the easy comfort the Rezeks shared. It took a bond like that to shield against the Joe Barkers of the world, and they were probably all the closer for not having kids.

  At the door I turned back to wave and saw Gregor had wedged himself between them. Anne and Simon each rested one hand on his cropped ears. The dog wasn’t much to look at, in my humble opinion, but there was a lot to be said for loyalty.

  And I’d been wrong, apparently. They most certainly had a kid.

  Chapter Fifteen

  By the time I turned into the lane to Runaway Farm, my breathing was steady enough to please even Jilly, the yoga devotee. Stopping at Grub had done wonders to restore my equilibrium. The Rezeks were as curious as anyone else about what happened to José, but I sensed that they truly wished me—and the entire farm—well. Sometimes it seemed like Clover Grove preferred gossip to genuine community.

  “It’s boredom,” I told Keats, as we drove under the sign that said “Runaway Far,” because the “m” had rusted out. “They need more positive distractions, like the culture revival project. Hazel says activities like that truly build connection and I’m going to take her word for it. This town could be great, you know?”

  Keats’ mumble sounded doubtful.

  “Oh, come on. There are lots of good people just trying to find their way among the nasties. Like daisies pushing their way through concrete. We need to give them something positive to come together and root for. And in the meantime, we’ll have fun.”

  His next mumble sounded like a “knock yourself out.”

  “Fine,” I said. “I don’t blame you for being a little skeptical after what’s happened to us. And I’m counting on you, and plenty of hard work, to keep me grounded. Bringing in the livestock and putting them to bed will get us back on track.”

  His tail waved harder the closer we got. As much as he enjoyed a good mission, he enjoyed coming home to do his real job. He wanted to get on track, too.

  Percy landed on the hood of the car before I turned off the motor. His mouth opened in what appeared to be an endless string of complaints about being left behind. The indignant parade of orange fluff in front of the windshield said it all.

  “Give him a little run tonight, will you?” I asked Keats, as I turned to reach for the bags in the back seat. “We’re a team and I have to keep everyone feeling happy and included.”

  His white front paws danced on the old leather seats. The cows, sheep and goats were still in their pastures. There was no time for indulging jealous cats.

  “Percy, my friend,” I said, getting out of the car. “Thank you so much for looking after everyone all day. Obviously you have plenty to tell me.”

  He meowed plaintively all the way into the barn and then out to the pasture, where I unlatched the gates for Keats. The dog could take it from there. All I had to do was open the doors to the various stalls inside. We’d have a very full house tonight, because the camelids and donkeys were already inside—and grumpy about it, judging by the grunts, groans and grumbles.

  Drama Llama was worse than grumpy. He was so irritable about the situation that he lunged at me when I passed. Just a few more inches and he could have caught my ponytail, which wouldn’t have ended well for me at all.

  “Stop that,” I said, glaring at him. “I don’t like this any more than you do. Poor Alvina, having to put up with a grouch like you.”

  The alpaca was standing in the corner, looking utterly miserable. Unlike her cellmates, she was highly sensitive. Senna had told me alpacas would pine away and die without companionship, particularly from other camelids, but it didn’t seem like this testy group was a great fit for Alvina.

  “Maybe I should get another alpaca,” I mused aloud.

  There was a laugh behind me. “Really? You need more animals?”

  I turned and saw Collin in the doorway. So much for a half hour of solitude before going inside.

  “Well, there’s always room for more in my heart, if not my barn,” I said. “How are you holding up, Collin?”

  He pushed back the hood of his parka and gave me a pleasant smile. “Pretty good, all things considered. Jilly is a wonderful host, and your mother… well, she keeps things lively.”

  “She certainly does. Your dance partners are quite lively, too.”

  His smile vanished. “So it seems. I had no idea that José had generated such…”

  “Competition?” I suggested.

  “Jealousy,” he said. “Women always gravitated to him, of course, but there was no shortage of dance partners for me. Second best was still pretty great.” His smile reappeared. “Most men don’t see what they’re missing with ballroom dance. It’s done wonders for my ego. And my fitness.”

  He followed me as I moved from stall to stall opening doors. I repeatedly ushered him to safety so he wouldn’t get caught up in the thundering hooves when Keats brought in the animals. There was one scary moment when the goats broke rank, but Collin had some footwork almost as fancy as Keats’ and it ended just fine.

  As I carried buckets of feed, Collin kept up a running monologue about the day. Meanwhile Percy carried on a monologue of his own. Finally the cat got so fed up with sharing the spotlight that he climbed onto a stall and prepared to launch at Collin.

  “Percy, don’t,” I said. “Collin, look sharp. There’s competition down here as well.”

  “What’s wrong with Alvina?” he asked. “She doesn’t look happy.”

  “She’s not.” I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text. “All the disruption unsettled her and she doesn’t like being trapped inside with Drama. I’ve just asked my brother to stop by and cheer her up.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” He flapped his arms in Alvina’s general direction. If she noticed, she didn’t show it.

  “This is a case for Asher, I’m afraid. Alvina develops strong monogamous attachments. She was depressed when I moved here because the former owner’s husband was her first true love. Asher persisted with her, and finally she came out of her funk.”

  “Is that normal? I mean, for an alpaca to fall for a human like that?”

  I shrugged. “What’s normal with rescues? I don’t have a single animal here without a sad, abnormal past. I wish that weren’t true, but I hope they’ll settle down eventually, knowing how loved they are.”

  Florence, the blind m
are, grabbed the fur trim on Collin’s parka and pulled. He let out a squawk and I bopped the horse’s muzzle till she let go.

  “There are land mines everywhere,” he said, reeling back and into range of Drama.

  Now Keats was on the job, however, and herded Collin out of harm’s reach. Unlike Kellan, Collin found the dog’s moves quite funny and turned it into a little game. Keats indulged him for a few minutes, and then cut away gracefully to chase Percy. His tail was high as they pelted out of the barn.

  “I love it here,” Collin said, as I walked around him to deliver hay to the cattle.

  “At Runaway Farm?” I asked, brightening. I couldn’t hear that often enough from guests. Kind words had been in shorter supply than murders, unfortunately.

  “Yes, and Clover Grove is charming, too. I’ll definitely come back after this… situation… is resolved.”

  “It can’t happen too soon,” I said. “You really heard nothing at all last night? No one going in or out?”

  He shook his head. “I was tired and a little tipsy, if you must know. Slept like the dead.” His eyes widened. “Sorry. Tactless.”

  “And you were the last to go up?” I wondered why he didn’t think to get out of my way. It just made a long day longer to walk around him.

  “Except for Dahlia and Poppy, yeah. The next thing I heard was your mom hollering. Her scream is like a spike in the ear.”

  “I’ve heard it,” I said, forcing a smile. It was taking all my energy to keep up the front now. The sleuth simply drained out of me watching Alvina try to make herself smaller and smaller in the stall. I had more than an inkling of how she felt. Why couldn’t things just be… easier?

  “Excuse me.” There was another voice that was less a spike in the ear than a heavy blunt instrument. Edna and her attitude managed to take up the entire doorway. “Young man, you are supposed to remain in the house at all times unless accompanied by a designated caregiver.”

  I smothered a laugh at her terminology. Collin had to be close to 50, but to Edna he was no different from all the kids she’d hunted down to vaccinate at school.