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

by Ellen Riggs

  Tonight Jilly kept her speech short, explaining that we were forming an executive committee to oversee the Clover Grove Culture Revival Project. Our goal was to enlist people to share their expertise and introduce locals to new interests and hobbies. There was no pressure and no cost. If all went as planned, they’d learn something, have fun and make likeminded friends. When she called for volunteers a dozen hands flew up.

  Iris was the first to speak, offering sessions about hill country history and guided tours of the dozens of small museums in the region. People applauded and my sister, the shyest Galloway Girl, flushed bright red.

  Teri Mason was quick to offer both art appreciation tours at local galleries and craft classes at the store. Mabel Halliday followed with an offer to give free hands-on pottery and ceramics lessons. Her husband glowered behind her, probably to protest doing anything for free in the busiest season of the year.

  Jilly offered cooking classes at the inn and while there was a murmur of unrest, people couldn’t resist either their curiosity or the lure of her cuisine. The applause brought a smile to her face and an even bigger one to Asher’s. He followed by proposing self defense classes and while that didn’t necessarily qualify as “culture,” it was an excellent idea.

  And so it went, with offers from Laurene Pedal to run a book club, Kaye Langman to lead Antiques 101, and Mandy to offer baking basics. Someone I hadn’t met pledged to start a choir, someone else a string quartet and yet another a jazz band. Ryan Snopes volunteered to share advice on making the most of local produce and backyard bounty.

  Many of the sessions sounded fun to me, which was promising, since I’d normally rather shovel manure than socialize.

  Simon and Anne Rezek waited for the flurry to calm down before raising their hands at the same time. He grabbed hers, laughing, and then offered to host information nights at Grub for livestock hobbyists. Local homesteaders were quickly expanding beyond their backyard henhouses and needed advice, particularly with winter coming. Simon had downgraded a large farm operation in recent years and knew his topic well. Those were sessions I wouldn’t miss.

  Voices began to blur together and my head started pounding. I could only handle so much hubbub before my concussion reminded me it hadn’t fully healed. As if by magic, Keats appeared at my side and shoved his head under my fingertips.

  “Thanks, buddy,” I whispered. The dog had cleverly herded Mom to Asher, which left me free to grab some fresh air. I let Keats guide me, and eventually Percy, into the backyard. It was a clear night, with a billion pretty stars gleaming overhead and a breeze so cold it could collapse a lung. I shivered, less from the wintry gust than the chilling memory of what we’d discovered here weeks ago. Keats leaned against me in sympathy, but Percy scaled the lattice fence at the side of the porch. The cat’s tail puffed suddenly and caused me to freeze in a different way.

  “I told you I didn’t want to see you,” a man’s voice said, on the other side of the lattice. “Yet here you are.”

  “You told me to pay you back, and here I am.”

  It was Ryan and Tish, arguing again.

  “And I told you I could never buy back the trust of the community. I’ll have to do that with free classes for the rest of my life. Trust is the only way to survive in a town like this.”

  “It’s the only way to survive in a relationship too,” Tish said. “I’m trying to regain yours by serving punch to the people who don’t trust you.”

  There was a pause before he said, “You just don’t get it, Tish. This is my home, where I grew up, and where I was once—”

  “The high school football hero. I know. I get it.”

  “You don’t, though,” he said. “You don’t get what respect is all about.”

  “And you don’t get what compromise is all about. Do you think I want to serve punch? I’m a beautician. I broke a nail tonight.”

  “It’s time we took a break, Tish. Unless you can fix what you really broke.”

  “Me? You’re the one who broke everything, Ryan. It’s on you to fix it as much as me. We’re in this together.”

  I looked down at Keats and saw that his tail was stiff, his hackles up and his ears back. We weren’t safe, even with a crowd inside. I backed slowly to the door, desperately trying to catch Percy’s eye without making a sound. Finally the cat glanced back and his green eyes stared past me to the other side of the patio. Something crackled in the bushes there, and Keats let out a low growl.

  “Boys, inside,” I whispered, so low it was practically just a thought. Soon we were surrounded by people again but it was a long time before I stopped shivering.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Darling, what’s wrong?” Mom asked, while we drove down Hazel’s lane. “You’re acting like you saw a ghost.”

  “I feel like it,” I said. “I shouldn’t have gone outside. It reminded me of discovering those old bones.”

  “Best to bury old bones like bad memories,” Mom said. “I know that’s hard to do sometimes. We both have our work cut out for us.”

  I murmured agreement and Keats rested his muzzle on my shoulder, trying to infuse me with warmth. Percy slid through the impossibly narrow space on the other side of the passenger seat and wormed his way into Mom’s lap. Instead of evicting him she actually stroked him and a purr boomed out that rivaled Buttercup’s moody motor.

  “How come you didn’t offer sewing classes?” I asked. “You have a talent for design that should be shared.”

  “Redesign,” she corrected. “That’s not valued, I’m afraid. Even with the emphasis on recycling and refurbishing in this town, people prefer new clothes.” She shrugged and smiled. “That leaves the best finds to me.”

  “Well then, you could teach barbershop basics. That could attract some new clients to the salon. If not dates for your rotation.”

  “Perhaps, when all this blows over.” She waved her hand as if to dispel a smell. “Murder casts such a pall over everything, doesn’t it?”

  “It most certainly does. If it’s killed your desire to date, that’s monumental.”

  She let that slide for a moment or two before saying, “I wouldn’t say killed, necessarily. I’m just going to proceed with great caution. Michael and I are having dinner when I’m released from lockdown at the inn.”

  “Michael? As in Michael Bingham, Hazel’s nephew?”

  “Michael Bingham who refurbished that gorgeous table. Yes.”

  “Mom! He’s fresh out of a shattered marriage.”

  “Oh, darling.” She waved her hand again and this time I was the metaphorical stink. “It’s dinner, that’s all.”

  “Dating him is sheer madness, even for you.”

  She actually laughed—her good laugh, the melodious one. “Ivy, really. You’re overreacting. It’s one dinner. If he passes the audition into my rotation, we’ll worry about it then.”

  “There’s no way he’s ready to date. It’s been weeks since his trust was utterly destroyed. Not months. Not years. Weeks.”

  “Exactly. Michael is on the rebound, which makes him ideally suited to a rotation. He’s the epitome of emotionally unavailable. As I’ve told you before, men of my age tend to be clingy. They want someone to take care of them. Clearly, that’s not me.”

  “Because you’re emotionally unavailable.”

  She turned to stare at the side of my head. The impact was lost in the darkness but Keats gave her face a big slurp, a rare gift for a woman he loved. Plucking my hat from between the seats, she used it to pat her face gently.

  “Michael seems quite lovely,” she said. “And normal.”

  “How normal can he be after what he’s been through?”

  “How normal can you and I be after what we’ve been through?” she countered. “And yet we date. We have hope that better things await. It really is all about hope, isn’t it?”

  I wanted to argue but hope for better things was exactly what kept me going, especially with Kellan. I was far from normal and yet he gave
me a chance.

  “Well, please be kind to him, Mom. He’s a decent man and Hazel is a good friend to me. I don’t have that many.”

  “Like I said, it’s just dinner. And in accepting him, I decided to resume my full rotation. I think it’s the only way to heal my wounds after what happened with José. I mean, Joe.” Her hand stroked Percy from head to tail a few times before she continued. “The whole thing rattled me. How could I have been so terribly wrong about a man?”

  Her last word, “again,” was barely audible.

  “Mom, you weren’t alone. Many smart, sensible women fell for Joe’s ploy. You’ll hear more when Kellan is ready to share.” I eased my foot off the gas to slow our roll. “Some fell much harder than you did and paid a higher price for it.”

  “Really?” Her voice brightened. “I mean, I don’t like knowing other women were swindled, but I want to believe I gained something from the lessons your father taught me. This incident made me doubt.”

  “Did he—my father—swindle you?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer for a while and I slowed the car even more to give her time. “I never wanted to badmouth him to you kids,” she said at last. “He was still your father, and I wasn’t sure if he’d reappear in your lives someday. He had problems, Ivy. A difficult childhood. Dreadful parents. Trouble in school.” She reached over her shoulder for Keats and stroked his head with her left hand and Percy with her right. “None of that excuses leaving us virtually penniless and living in shame in a small community. And yes, he drained what savings we had to get a fresh start.” After another long pause, she added, “With a new woman. One of the younger ones.”

  I knew some of this, albeit vaguely. I was a small child when he left and people only talked about it when they thought I couldn’t hear. So I allowed myself to not know, at least officially.

  “I’m sorry that happened to you,” I said.

  “And I’m sorry it happened to you. And that I couldn’t stop it.”

  I thought about asking more but decided that was about all I could handle hearing right now, and probably all she could handle sharing. We’d just been through another trauma and needed time to recover. If the story had waited this long, it could wait some more.

  We were almost at the turnoff to Runaway Farm when Mom said, “Keats? Should I tell her?”

  He mumbled a quick and decided affirmative.

  “Maybe not,” I said. “We’re almost home. I’m not sure I want to know more about my deadbeat father.”

  “It’s not about that. I just wanted to mention I have a key to José’s dance studio.”

  I hit the brakes so hard Buttercup almost bucked us into the ditch at the side of the road. Mom used one hand to brace herself on the dash and the other to hold Percy.

  “Did you tell Kellan?” I asked.

  “Not yet. My policy in these matters is to answer what’s asked and only what’s asked. He didn’t ask.”

  I steered Buttercup back onto the road. “And why are you telling me now?”

  “Because we’re not home yet. You could turn my sweet girl around and head into town.”

  Keats panted in my ear: yes-yes-yes.

  “It’s a crime scene, or at least part of a criminal investigation.”

  “I imagine Kellan’s team has already picked it over with a fine-tooth comb. Isn’t this where you normally go in to do the pet sweep?”

  I actually laughed. She wasn’t wrong. “What do you think my pets might find there?”

  “Probably nothing. But what if the money is there? Believe it or not, I’d like to repay you.”

  “It’s a bad idea,” I said. “The kind of thing that drives Kellan nuts.”

  “I know, and I agree with him entirely.” She gestured ahead with her index finger. “You can make a U-turn right there, darling.”

  Fifteen minutes later I tucked Buttercup into the bushes on a side street and we started walking toward Main Street.

  “This might be the first time in my life I’ve regretted heels,” Mom said, trying to keep up the pace Keats and Percy set. “If we have to run for it, just leave me to die and keep going.”

  “Do not make me laugh, Mom. This is serious business.”

  “I just want you to know I’m willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for you, my favorite child.”

  “Buttercup is your favorite child. You said so earlier.”

  “You’re my favorite human child.” Keats and Percy turned in unison and she told them, “You’re my favorite grandchildren. Honestly, those boys of Daisy’s… The first twins aren’t so bad but the second ones, well, I’ve wondered if she drank too much during pregnancy. There was a time when Daisy got off track, you know.”

  “Mom. Golden rules of a break and enter? Stay alert. Stay focused. Stay quiet.”

  “It’s not breaking and entering when you have a key,” she said.

  “I’ve tried that line on Kellan and apparently it is. It’s most certainly trespassing.”

  “It’s not trespassing when you have an open invitation to use said key. José wanted me to drop by after hours, but I never did. I only took a couple of private lessons, thank goodness, and in broad daylight.”

  “Okay, here’s how this is going to go,” I said. “We’ll head up the fire escape and try the key there, first. You stick close behind me and do as I do. More importantly, you do as Keats says.”

  “What if I don’t understand him?”

  “Body language. You know the signs. If he gives a warning, we’re out of there.”

  “What about Percy?” She held the back of my coat as I started up the stairs. “I don’t understand him at all.”

  “Eyes and ears on Keats and you can’t go wrong. Let me do the investigating.”

  “I do know the studio, Ivy.”

  “You don’t know it like Keats knows it. You’ll see.”

  I was worried about Mom’s heels but she scaled the open, slatted metal stairs like a professional secret agent. When we got to the top, I reached behind me. “Key.”

  “Key,” she said, putting it in my hand. I felt the cold metal of the key… and something else. “Oh no,” I said. A flick of the flashlight showed me a hard plastic key fob with a fuchsia heart in the middle that featured a gold letter D. It wasn’t part of the original set Teri showed me. It looked like a knockoff, in fact. Or maybe a prototype that had inspired José.

  “What?” Mom asked.

  “Nothing. Nothing.” I tried the key in the lock and it turned easily. “Quiet now. Keep away from the windows. If I turn on the flashlight anyone on the street could see us.”

  There was enough light from the big studio windows to explore the place. It had been cleared and dusted down thoroughly by the police.

  Keats and Percy separated, each walking close to a wall until they met at the front window. Walking back through the center, Keats dropped his tail a bit to let me know it was a bust.

  “There’s still the foyer,” Mom said, moving quickly on strangely silent heels. For someone who could thunder in stilettos she could move like a panther as well.

  “Mom. Rules.”

  She dropped back to let Keats and Percy take the lead and fell in step behind me. Once we were in the foyer, the white tuft of Keats’ tail shot up, followed only a second later by Percy’s orange flag.

  “There’s something here,” Mom said. “The boys say so.”

  “Let them find it. Faster that way.” I turned on my phone light since there were no windows here. “Go, boys.”

  They circled the front desk where I had once spied on the yoga instructor’s security feed. There was little left here beyond a few scraps of paper. The police had truly cleared the place. Keats sniffed the desk and sniffed some more, finally standing on his hind legs. Percy jumped on top of the polished wood and pried at the drawer with his claws. I used a gloved finger to help.

  “There’s nothing,” Mom said, peering under my arm.

  “There’s something,” I said, as Percy cli
mbed right into the drawer. He did that twisty thing cats do and squeezed himself into the size of a paper clip so he could fit in a space far too small. “Percy, let me,” I said, easing the drawer off its runners. That gave him more room to scrabble, and then came a clatter on hardwood. Keats darted under the desk and grabbed something. There was a moment of triumph as Percy emerged, and both tails rose. But then there was a simultaneous hiss and growl.

  “Oh no,” Mom whispered. “That means trouble.”

  “Which way?” I asked Keats. One white paw came up in a point. “The back door.”

  “Take the front then,” Mom whispered. “Lights out, darling.”

  She seemed to fly down the stairs ahead of me, barely making a sound, and reached the bottom at the same time as the boys.

  I unlatched the front door, poked my head out, and said, “Clear.”

  All four of us tried to leave at once and the Laurel and Hardy moment would have been comical had I not been scared out of my wits.

  My hand shook as I locked the door and signaled them to start running. Mom went around the corner with Percy, but Keats waited. He mumbled something that sounded like, “Hoof it!”

  Soon we were all racing down the side street, and by the time we reached Buttercup, Mom was in the lead. She pulled out another key, unlocked the passenger door and let the pets inside.

  “Get in,” she said, sliding the key over the roof. “Drive.”

  I did as she said, and once we’d circled enough of the back streets and alleys of Clover Grove to convince me we weren’t being tailed, I pulled over and held up my palm.

  “Spit it out, Keats.”

  He leaned between the seats and dropped another key fob into my hand. Navy blue, this time with a gold letter B.

  “Oh, for goodness sake,” Mom said. “That’s it? Did Joe get a deal on these or what?”