by Ellen Riggs
“I’m surprised Mabel and Teri set up their sessions so quickly,” I said. “And on the same night, too.”
“Competition. These nights can bring in business and the season of giving is fast upon us.”
“All’s fair in love and art, I guess.” I was surprised and pleased I had to park blocks away because Main Street was packed with cars. “We’re off to a good start.”
At Mabel’s Mutts, we walked through the store and joined a group of about 20 in the back room. Three people were sitting at potter’s wheels while Mabel perched at another, explaining how to throw a clay pot. One of the potters-in-training was none other than Edna Evans, who was wearing coveralls instead of her usual camouflage.
I bent over and whispered, “What are you doing here?”
“Playing with clay. What does it look like?” Edna was using both hands to shape a mound of clay as the wheel spun. “If you won’t include me in your investigations, I’ll do my own.”
“I’m just trying to—”
“No explanation necessary.” She lifted a clay-covered hand. “I can see you find Dahlia’s company preferable to mine. But I question your taste and your common sense. Do you think she’s going to save you when the chips are down?”
Edna’s pot collapsed suddenly and she watched the gray lump go round and around.
“She might try,” I said, trying to keep a straight face.
“If your mother found you under attack on a manure pile, she’d excuse herself for a quick facial and hope for the best.”
“You’re missing the point, here, Edna. I’m trying to keep Mom out of trouble, not the other way around. When the chips are down, I know you have my back and I appreciate it.”
Sighing, she dampened her hands and tried shaping the pot again. “Can you tell me what we’re looking for tonight? Because you know I’m neither crafty nor a joiner.”
“Me either,” I said. “How about we make a quick pit stop at Teri’s and then hit the hobby farm session at Grub? Now that’s something we can get behind.”
Edna relinquished her wheel to the next eager participant. While she cleaned up, I took Jilly out to the front of the store to show her the ceramic version of Clover Grove at Christmas.
She gasped in childlike delight when she saw the little farm, and said, “Oh Ivy, we really must have it.”
“It’s not for sale.” The voice behind us belonged to Alf Halliday, Mabel’s husband. “Not till after Boxing Day.”
“Oh, what a shame, but I understand completely,” Jilly said, ever the diplomat. “You want to maintain the town’s integrity.”
“Someone has to,” he muttered. “I remember when it wasn’t so hard to do.”
“Alf,” Mabel said, coming through the curtain. “Let Ivy buy the farm if she wants to.”
Jilly and I looked at each other and giggled at her choice of words.
“I’m happy to wait till Boxing Day, Mabel,” I said. “Especially since I already have my miniature Keats. I noticed there’s a little hook on the back so I can hang him from my very first Christmas tree. Maybe you could find time to squeeze in a miniature Percy as well.”
“That I can do,” she said. “I take special orders for special friends.”
“Next year I’ll enjoy the farm all the more. This is the kind of thing you bring out every year and treasure.”
She beamed at me before turning to her husband. “Honey, we really could use the money.”
His thin lips pressed together. “Yes, we could. Thanks to you. But we need to invest your time wisely.”
Mabel glared at him but her smile returned quickly. “He’d prefer me to put the time into making new product rather than offering classes. My thinking is that people will see my work tonight and remember it when it comes time to buy gifts.”
“They will,” I said. “That’s the double win with the culture project. We get to learn and have fun, and local businesses and organizations can benefit, too.”
“You two will bring this community together in spite of itself,” Mabel said. “No one else has been able to do that.”
Her husband gave a little snort. “Murders aren’t exactly the glue that binds.”
I glanced down and saw Keats’ ruff was rising and his tail didn’t have a nice thing to say about Alf Halliday, either.
“Alf, could you go check on our guests?” Mabel said. “That clay can make a terrible mess if we’re not careful.”
When he was out of earshot, she apologized. “He’s really not been himself lately.”
“Come out to the farm when all this blows over,” I said. “It’ll inspire you to new heights.”
“Join us for Thanksgiving dinner,” Jilly said. “I’m cooking for a crowd.”
“You are?” I said. “First I’ve heard of it.”
“Just decided this moment. Seeing Mabel’s pretty little farm put me in the festive spirit.”
“Then my work here is done,” Mabel said, laughing as Edna joined us.
“Thank you for a useful experiment, Mabel,” Edna said. “It’s never a bad idea for a survivalist to know how to make crockery.”
Teri Mason was wearing a caftan that looked like a rainbow when we slipped into Hill Country Designs.
Another 20 people—all women—were sitting around folding tables, heads bent as they created jewelry from metal, stone and pretty bits and bobs Teri had made herself. Moments of intense focus were followed by excited chatter as participants shared their work with each other.
Edna circled the room and everyone fell silent. She’d probably vaccinated all of these women at one time. There was a clatter as some beads hit the floor.
Keats raised his paw and pointed at Kevin Breen, Teri’s boyfriend, who was sitting behind the counter playing with his phone. Teri knelt beside him and the dog’s ears flicked back and forth in a move I hadn’t seen before. It was nice he still had surprises for me, but I didn’t know what he was saying.
Perhaps that was because he wasn’t saying it to me. Teri seemed to know exactly what he meant because she sighed. “Yeah, buddy. Gotcha. It’s curtain time.”
Keats panted yes-yes-yes, and gently touched his nose to her cheek.
“That’s rare,” I told Teri. “The nose knows.”
“Very rare,” Jilly echoed. “Keats wants the very best for his family friends.”
Teri gave his chatty ears a stroke and then stood up. “Well, this family friend is going to listen to the dog and do what’s needed.” She gestured around the room. “But not tonight. Tonight’s about meeting new people and sharing my craft. I’ve sold quite a few pieces and already have sign-ups for the next class.”
Jilly smiled and nodded, well satisfied with our project so far. “I wish we could stay and play, but Ivy’s determined to hit the session at Grub.”
“Simon promised to talk about exotic birds,” I said. “I can’t miss it.”
“Teri,” Kevin called. “The wifi’s down. Can you run upstairs and reboot?”
“Oh, I can boot and reboot,” Teri whispered. “There are worse things than being single.”
“Talk to the owners of your one-of-a-kind key fobs,” I said. “Plenty of broken hearts over those hearts.”
Her shudder said it all. She hated that her art had been sullied in a shameless scam. “Have you found all the owners? Any closer to answers?”
“Not close enough,” I said. “But Kellan might be. He’s not as free with his information as I am with mine.”
Jilly gave a snort. “Yeah, you’re all about full disclosure.”
“I totally am! I just pick my timing.” I grinned at her. “Saying too much too soon has a way of getting me sidelined.”
“And keeping you on the right side of the manure,” Teri suggested.
“I have Keats, Jilly and Percy for that.”
“And Edna. She’s the real powerhouse,” Jilly said.
The powerhouse was leaning on the end of the counter staring at Teri’s boyfriend. “Young man,” s
he said. “Have I ever vaccinated you?”
“Uh, no,” he said.
“Well, how about you run upstairs yourself to reboot the wifi and let Teri work? Or I’ll give you a tetanus shot right now. I always keep a hypodermic in my bag. You never know when you might fall on a rusty earring.”
Kevin slid out from behind the counter, keeping his back to Edna, and then bolted upstairs.
Teri covered her mouth and then laughed, as Edna joined us. “Oh my gosh, you just saved me a lot of trouble, Edna. I bet he’s collecting his things now.”
“Life’s too short to put up with that,” Edna said. “Ivy can tell you that my standards for men have always been very high. All I had to do was ask myself, ‘Could you stand being stuck in a bunker with this man after the apocalypse?’ It weeded men out very quickly.”
“I’d love to be stuck in a bunker with Kellan after the zombie apocalypse,” I said.
Edna frowned. “Zombies aren’t real, Ivy, but plenty of monsters are. Shall we keep looking for the one at large?”
She flicked her fingers at Keats and he led the way to the door without hesitation. Since he didn’t take directions from just anyone, that was the moment I accepted Edna truly was part of the squad.
I left Keats and Percy curled up in a pile of fleecy blankets when we parked outside Grub. We couldn’t stay as long as we might like with them waiting, but I didn’t trust Gregor not to take a bead on Keats, let alone Percy.
The crowd inside was bigger than the other two combined. That was mainly because both genders were equally represented. The other sessions had been almost entirely women.
Simon had moved quite a few pallets to make room for the guests and set up a table in front of the cash register. He and Anne sat on it now, holding hands and swinging their legs. The two volleyed questions back and forth according to their expertise. Anne knew hens inside and out, as well as most small animals including the rare ones. Simon, on the other hand, could talk about cows and other livestock until, well, the cows came home.
“Ivy Galloway,” he called as we walked in. “Let’s give her a hand, folks. This woman is raising the profile of the hobby farm in Clover Grove. Hannah Pemberton picked up the flag but Ivy is the one running with it. Every time Town Council turns a blind eye to your exotic animals, keep in mind that Ivy’s blazing the trail.”
A smattering of people clapped, but Simon wasn’t satisfied. “Folks, I insist. As you well know, I’ve seen hundreds of people come and go in this community and I’ve rarely seen someone so committed to animal welfare. So if you can’t clap for Ivy… well, I’m calling out Gregor.”
A laugh broke the tension and more people clapped. Simon let go of his wife’s hand and clapped louder than anyone. Anne followed suit, beaming at me.
“Those two would survive the zombie apocalypse,” I whispered to Edna.
She nodded. “Survivors. Both of them. Takes one to know one.”
People asked so many questions that I couldn’t get a word in edgewise about the new emu before it was time to head back to Keats and Percy.
Simon saw me buttoning up my coat and waved me over. “Sorry, Ivy, it’s a hot crowd,” he said. “We’ll have to catch up on emus another day.”
“No problem,” I said. “I’m so happy about the turnout.”
Anne squeezed my arm. “Honey, the rest of your order is under the counter. Grab it on your way out.”
I circled around them and poked into a couple of bags until I found the new water heater for the henhouse and a coat for Keats that was likely to go over like a lead balloon. There was also an automatic feeder for the barn cats, who still refused to come inside. I knew they were warm and dry, but it still bothered me. The least I could do was offer them free food 24/7. They’d earned it by ridding the barn of rodents in record time.
“Got it?” Simon asked, leaning over the counter.
“Yeah.” I stared around. “There’s still something missing, but my mind’s gone blank.”
“I’ll double check tomorrow and swing by if there is,” he said. “Then we can talk emus without interruption. Just know it’s a hardy bird and can handle the cold.”
I heaved a sigh of relief. “This critter’s got me a little worried, I must admit.”
Anne joined us. “If anyone can handle it, you can, Ivy. Simon was right about you setting the gold standard for hobby farms in our region.”
She grabbed my hand in her right and her husband’s in her left and I felt a sudden infusion of energy where my confidence had been ebbing. It wasn’t like a shot of Keats, but I’d take what I could get.
“That circle of love was a bit much,” Edna said, as we walked out to the car. “Verging on tie-dye hippie love-ins, which incidentally, I’m old enough to remember.”
“I think they’re adorable,” Jilly said. “I hope that—”
I waited for her to say something sweet about my brother but Edna wasn’t as patient.
“In the case of an apocalypse, zombie or otherwise, there would be precious little time for love-ins. Or procreation for that matter. People of your generation don’t seem to understand the basics of survivalism.”
“Luckily we have you to teach us,” I said, as she waited for me to unlock the passenger door. It was assumed, by both Edna and Jilly, that the latter would take a back seat on team outings.
“Let’s start by throwing some pots together,” Jilly said from the back seat. “You really seemed to nail that, Edna.”
“Very funny, Jillian,” Edna said. “You’re going to need that sense of humor when you’re stuck in a bunker with Asher Galloway.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Palais Royale in Dorset Hills was the closest thing to a ballroom in all of hill country. It had once been part of a resort hotel that had long since been turned into condos in Dog Town’s climb to the top of the tourist map. Even the ruthless former mayor couldn’t find backing to destroy the old dancehall, however, and an investor had renovated the place for private events. That investor was rumored to be James Pemberton, Hannah’s equally generous brother, who owned a fair bit of property along the lakefront in Dorset Hills. Remi Malone, a founding member of the Rescue Mafia and a fundraiser for the hospital foundation, managed the space and threw regular events to benefit animal charities.
Tonight’s gala for pet rescue was an old-time formal dance, which coincided nicely with my guests’ desperate need to leave the inn. Kellan agreed, so long as they were well chaperoned, and Asher raised his hand as Jilly’s date. Edna, Iris and Violet also volunteered, which left me free to leave early. Kellan wasn’t available and I wasn’t in the least interested. Besides, with all the chaperones at the ball, someone needed to be at home to play Cinderella.
Still, I caved to Jilly’s pressure to make an appearance for the Mafia’s sake. I felt like I’d already contributed to their cause this week by opening my doors to a very large bird. That’s why I felt justified in boycotting fancy dress. Instead I wore the only suit I’d saved from my corporate days and paired it with my dressier work boots.
I expected Edna Evans to back me in the formalwear boycott. Instead she was in a deep purple dress with more than a few sequins, a lovely, long scarf, and patent leather Mary Janes. Her hair was freshly colored and permed.
“What happens if the zombie uprising takes place tonight?” I said. “You’ll be caught in a frock.”
“Far from it,” she said. “That’s why I rode with Jilly in Buttercup and gave up the chance to mock your driving in the truck. It was a sacrifice, but it allowed me to stash my go-kit in the trunk. I need to know I can be in fatigues and a helmet in minutes if necessary.” She glanced down. “There’s a time and place for work boots, Ivy, and it isn’t at the Palais Royale.”
I refused to feel either ashamed or embarrassed. Mom had already tried and if she failed, Edna had no hope. “I’m not staying long. There’s no one guarding the farm and I couldn’t bring Keats. Strike one and strike two.”
“Strike
three is that Kellan is working, I suppose,” Edna said. “You make an effort for him.”
“We make an effort for each other… between murders.” I sat down beside her at one of the big round tables. “I can’t even think about dancing while the killer is still out there.” I shivered, although I was still wearing my coat. “Or in here, for that matter. Still, it’s a relief to know my guests can finally enjoy themselves. Making people happy is harder than I expected.”
Edna laughed. “It’s something I never had to worry about. Life is too short to cater to the whims of adults who want to dress like ice skaters indoors.”
“Right? It’s enough trouble catering to the whims of my eccentric animals.”
A waiter delivered a grapefruit martini to Edna. It was one of her few luxuries, and she sipped it slowly. “Do you regret leaving human resources?” she asked.
“Never.” The answer came out with enough force to satisfy Edna. “But after being miserable in HR, maybe it should have occurred to me that I don’t like people that much. Hence hospitality is a stretch.”
She stared at me over her glasses. “If you’re looking for a hug, you’ve come to the wrong place, Ivy. Most days you know full well you’ve found your calling.” Smoothing her sequins, she added, “It’s not like you to be so self-indulgent.”
“Sure it is. Keats just takes my edge off.” I chugged half my soda and gave a little burp. “I’m frustrated that I haven’t figured out who killed Joe Barker. Maybe I just got lucky before.”
“Four times?” Edna asked. “Possibly. Or maybe you’re getting lazy. I bet you know all you need to know right now. Time to put it together.”
Collin came over and offered Edna his hand with a little bow. I expected her to burn him with caustic words, but she got up straight away. “Why thank you, young man. I’m a bit rusty, but I’ll take a spin.” As she followed him onto the dance floor, she called back, “Lazy people aren’t welcome in my bunker, Ivy.”