Swan with the Wind (Bought-the-Farm Mystery Book 9)

by Ellen Riggs

  “And is your gran, er, magical?” No way was I calling Jilly’s gran a witch, even in jest.

  “Gran claims to have second sight.”

  “As in, ESP?”

  “Clairvoyance, telepathy, a sixth sense… There are so many words for mind-reading.”

  “And does she? Read minds, I mean.”

  Jilly’s curls swished back and forth. “Not to my knowledge, and I’m sure she’d be poking around in my head if she could. Never have I seen one of her prophecies come true, other than that her daughters would fight many battles.” She laughed a little. “Even the mailman could predict that.”

  “If she doesn’t have a track record for prophecy, why would anyone bother coming after her?”

  “She may not be psychic, but she does have an encyclopedic mind about the past. It could be that, or it could be that her predictions used to be so off base she infuriated people. Powerful people who didn’t take kindly to having incorrect thoughts or actions attributed to them.”

  “I would guess not.” I digested the new information before adding, “Is this why your aunt sent her away?”

  Jilly nodded. “The Briar Estates is a gated community geared to eccentrics like Gran.”

  “Like witness protection.”

  “Sort of. That’s a nicer way of putting it than a modern, secure facility.”

  “Couldn’t they just sell the house and move?”

  “The old manor was built for us nearly two hundred years ago and we made a commitment not to sell it. Ever.”

  “A commitment to whom?”

  “Each other, I guess. I never got the full story because Mom didn’t want me to know. I was okay with that.”

  Okay in the way I was okay with my father leaving my mom to struggle with six kids, no doubt. I couldn’t get away from my family fast enough and that was the case for Jilly, too.

  “And why exactly were you given the boot, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Her fingers ran over Keats’ sleek side to draw on his strength and comfort. “Because I don’t have what our family calls ‘the gift.’ Gran, my mom and I don’t have it, whereas my aunt and Janelle do. Allegedly. It’s never been proven to my satisfaction but I didn’t stick around to find out.”

  “So your aunt’s a witch,” I said, grinning.

  Jilly laughed more easily, as if her throat had loosened. “Shelley’s a witch, all right. Janelle never was, even if she is. But if there’s any truth to the story, the responsibility for the house and its legacy rests on Shelley’s shoulders, so I can see it’s a lot of pressure. Especially with Janelle on the run.”

  “Literally on the run?”

  “Remember I said she got into some trouble? Shelley dealt with the issue, but it seemed wise for Janelle to put some distance on the past, too.”

  “It seems like your Gran is stuck between a rock and a hard place. Not magical, but still attractive to the wrong people.”

  “That’s how I see it. The myth is as dangerous as the real thing. It attracts a dubious element we’re not equipped to fend off. So the banishment is apparently for our own protection.”

  “It’s like the buried treasure,” I said. “They think you have answers and they’re prepared to fight hard for them.”

  “Exactly. And in gran’s case and mine, there’s no gold at all.” She shook her head. “At least I know it, unlike Gran.”

  “So this is why you kept a low profile in Boston?”

  “I didn’t buy into the whole thing, but crazy’s crazy, whether it’s magic or not.” She touched my arm again. “There’s never been a sign of trouble since. I wouldn’t knowingly put you or your family and animals in harm’s way.”

  I gave her a grin. “Whereas I’ve knowingly put you at risk plenty of times.”

  “That’s different. Those situations have been about regular sociopaths.”

  Now I laughed out loud. “Regular murderers versus witchy murderers?”

  “Exactly.” She laughed, too. “Although remember, we don’t use that word.”

  “Right. People used that word to punish people for all kinds of things for centuries.” I waited a few beats and asked the big question. “Jilly, do you think your gran is, well, crazy? For lack of a better word.”

  “Quirky and eccentric, most definitely. Deranged, no. She just has some strange ideas.”

  “Don’t we all?” I reached out to touch Keats’ ears and felt the usual tingle of energy flow into my fingertips. Who’s to say it wasn’t magic of sorts? I explained it away with my concussion, and his superior sheepdog senses and powers of observation. Some days I believed it was a profound bond with a phenomenal dog. Other days I believed it truly was magical. “Not everything can be easily explained.”

  “I know. But when my aunt cut my mom and me off, I decided to keep my feet on the ground. To stay practical and pragmatic.”

  “Hence the degrees in psychology and human resources,” I said. “I shared the same goal. To understand people better and keep my eyes wide open.”

  “But we can’t outrun our pasts forever. They’ve caught up with us both this year.”

  I shrugged. “That’s okay. Whatever your relatives have to throw at us, we’ll handle it, just like we’ve handled every murder investigation.”

  “It’s the magic I worry about, or more specifically the lack thereof. Gran’s really just a regular old lady who doesn’t even have Edna’s combat skills. A sitting duck.”

  “Let’s just go in with an open mind. Use the powers of observation we’ve honed over the past decade and just see what’s what.”

  “I don’t want to keep an open mind about this.”

  “Just like I didn’t want to keep an open mind about Calvin. But throwing logs on my fires of resentment held me back.”

  “And how do you feel now?” she asked. “Did the fire go out?”

  “Not completely, but it’s so much better. Basically it feels like I’ve faced the thing I dreaded most and survived. Calvin’s back and he’s just a man with issues.”

  “Lucky for you, Calvin doesn’t think he’s a warlock.”

  Now I truly laughed and Keats joined in for the first time with a happy pant. “No one says that word, do they? Can you imagine what my mom would think of all this? She would so love to be an official witch.”

  “I love Dahlia,” she said. “Eccentric in just the right ways.”

  “I bet your gran is, too. You might look at her differently now. We’ve seen plenty of things that can’t easily be explained away.”

  “I won’t.” Her jaw set stubbornly, but I knew my friend was more flexible than she seemed in this moment.

  “Jilly, think about it. The way we chat to Keats and Percy makes people speculate about us.”

  “Just our sanity,” Jilly said. “Not about our witchiness.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to say… that witchiness is a matter of perspective. This may stretch our horizons a little, that’s all.”

  She flung herself back in her seat in a sulk. “There was a good reason I ditched my family.”

  “The problem with family is they won’t stay ditched.” Once again I patted her arm encouragingly. Keats laid one white paw over my hand to add his vote of confidence. “Just remember… they’re not your real family. We are.”

  Percy added a plaintive meow from the back seat and Jilly nodded. “If we’re going to be knee-deep in crazy, there’s no one else I’d rather have behind me.”

  I glanced into the mirrors in what was becoming a compulsive ritual. “Let’s hope we’re the only ones behind you until the gates of the Briars lock behind all of us.”

  Chapter Six

  I had no idea what to expect from a deluxe gated community. Such things didn’t exist in Clover Grove, where most seniors either stayed home with their families or entered Sunny Acres Retirement Villa, which was neither high end nor high security. I was in and out of the villa regularly to visit seniors I’d befriended over the past few months.

/>   The Briar Estates was indeed gated and at least partially surrounded by high brick walls with elaborate ironwork on top featuring barbed briars.

  “It looks like a prison with a classier design,” I said, reaching out of the truck to press the security button. “Is it to keep people in or keep people out?”

  “Both,” Jilly said. “From what Gran tells me, there are day trips that are accompanied by a security detail.”

  My eyes widened as I turned to her. “A security detail?”

  “Bystanders probably see them as attendants or caregivers, but they’re apparently armed.”

  “Armed! Oh, my. Seems like a savage swan might be the least of their worries. I hope I can help with that, at least.”

  “I’m sure you will. With all the safety measures in place, only a rogue swan could get inside and scare people.”

  “Well, you leave the swan to Keats and me, while Percy helps you with your grandmother.” I turned to look at the cat, who’d demanded to be out of his carrier on the last leg of the journey. “Do your fur baby thing. It keeps Jilly calm.”

  Percy climbed over the headrest and down to perch right on top of Keats, which the dog hated. A skirmish started in Jilly’s lap and stopped just as suddenly as a voice came over the intercom demanding our names. When I answered there was another long pause before the double doors creaked open to allow us into the fortress.

  Inside, two men stood waiting in knockoff police uniforms. There were epaulets on the shoulders and pockets embroidered with green barbs.

  “Welcome to the Briars,” the taller man said. He had a warm smile and eyes that seemed to twinkle. “I’m Special Constable Larry Helms and this is my colleague, Special Constable Doug Farrows. Mrs. Brighton wasn’t expecting you until this evening. My call woke her up.”

  “We decided to drive straight through,” Jilly said, introducing herself, then me, and finally Keats and Percy. “It was easier on the pets.”

  “Didn’t Mrs. Brighton tell you about our no-pets policy?” Doug Farrows said. “If the board of directors made an exception, we didn’t hear about it.”

  “They’re very well behaved,” I said, summoning my best HR smile. “Mrs. Brighton asked us to help with your swan problem and we need our best team on the job.”

  “Ivy’s an animal whisperer,” Jilly said. Catching herself, she added, “I just mean she’s a hobby farmer with expert practical skills. The sheepdog is her magic weapon.” Now her fingers fluttered. “Not magic of course. Or a weapon. Although a sheepdog at work always looks like magic. Doesn’t it, Ivy?”

  Jilly was babbling, which was also completely unlike her.

  “It sure does,” I said. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, constables. We look forward to our vacation here. It’s a lovely place.”

  I couldn’t actually see much of it yet. Tall trees with broad canopies mostly blocked the sun’s early rays. The atmosphere didn’t feel welcoming, either. Hair prickled on my arms and the back of my neck. Looking down, I saw both pets had fluffed, too.

  “You’d be better leaving the swan problem to us, Ms. Galloway,” Doug said, chilling me with blue eyes that seemed as eerie as Keats’ in the weak light. “Unless you have specialized swan skills. This bird has a ten-foot wingspan and one heck of a temper.” He glanced at Keats and the collision of blue eyes sent the officer backward a step. “Swans have been known to drown dogs, you know. They’re ruthless.”

  I expected Keats to shudder at the prospect of an aquatic demise, but he kept staring at Doug until the man took another step backward.

  “We’ll figure something out,” I said. “In the meantime, we’d best get moving. Mrs. Brighton is waiting.”

  “Ladies, come back this afternoon for a full briefing on our operating rules,” said Constable Helms. “The security of our residents is paramount.”

  “Of course, Special Constable Helms,” Jilly said.

  “Call me Special Constable Larry,” he said. “Everyone does.”

  I wanted to laugh but pressed my lips together instead as we got back into the truck. If I hoped to flit around under the radar here, I’d need to respect the laws of the land.

  The men stood with arms crossed as we drove off and followed their directions to Mrs. Brighton’s house. The streets were wide, short, and lined with flowering trees that gave off a heavy, almost cloying fragrance. Nearly identical white bungalows with blue shingles sat side by side. Only a few subtle touches set them apart—a bird fountain here and a gnome or two there.

  “Do people own their homes?” I asked Jilly. “It looks like a regulated compound.”

  “They own the house but not the land,” she said. “Like a condo. There’s a board with elected officials to speak on behalf of owners. Overall things seem to run smoothly.”

  “They must pay an arm and a leg in fees. Everything is impeccable.”

  “That’s the upside. Residents barely need to lift a finger. But if you do want to plant anything other than regulation flowers, you need to petition the board.” She gave a nervous laugh. “It must be tough on someone like Gran, who has her own opinions. Unless she’s changed.”

  Ahead on the left, a woman with long silver hair stood at the end of a short driveway waiting for us. The sun had shoved itself higher on the horizon and made the woman’s curls gleam. She was wearing a flowing blue dress that almost touched her ankles and a navy shawl with white tassels. I didn’t see a hint of Jilly in her face or figure, but they both had gorgeous curls and when she smiled, the resemblance became clear. Jumping out of the truck, I saw that her eyes were also as green and sharp as my friend’s.

  Jilly came around the truck, arms crossed. She wasn’t planning on hugging her grandmother, but Keats had other ideas. He circled both women and tightened his sheepdog knot until Jilly relented. He didn’t release them for about eight seconds. It would be harder to hold a grudge against anyone after a hug that long.

  Squirming away at last, Jilly gestured to the rest of us. “Gran, I want you to meet my best friends. Ivy Galloway, Keats, the brilliant border collie, and Percy, the best cat in the world and my surrogate son.”

  “I’m Bridie Brighton,” she said, offering me a hug that felt normal and grandmotherly. She had a lovely, melodious voice. “I’ve never been a fan of pets, Ivy. I hope you won’t hold that against me.”

  “Not at all,” I said. “I love them enough for both of us, Mrs. Brighton.”

  “Call me Bridie. It’s really Birgitta, but no one’s ever called me that.”

  “I hope my pets won’t be a big imposition, Bridie. If so, I could look for a pet-friendly hotel nearby.”

  She gave a dismissive wave. There were plenty of rings on her fingers studded with stones I didn’t recognize, bangles on her wrist, and a blob of amber dangling from a long pendant around her neck. Her bohemian style certainly clashed with Jilly’s conservative polish. No wonder Bridie had handed over the classic pearl earrings.

  “Don’t be silly, dear,” she said. “You’re here to help our community. Jilly told me all about your mystical touch with animals.”

  Jilly scowled. “I never said ‘mystical.’”

  Bridie ignored that and continued. “I’d never relegate guests of any species to a hotel. Besides, the Strathmore Hotel and Resort is the only one in the vicinity and it’s quite swanky. I doubt animals are welcome there.”

  “Well, we’re definitely not swanky,” I said.

  “Your overalls gave me the first clue,” Bridie said, with a chuckle. “I suppose they were comfortable for a long drive.” She gave Jilly an appraising glance. “You both look a little worse for wear, though, girls.”

  “We drove straight through, remember,” Jilly said.

  “You didn’t need to do that. The swan is a problem but not life or death. At least, not yet. With a few residents over the century mark, it could come to that, though.”

  “We’ll get right on it,” I said. “In fact, let’s go meet this grumpy swan now.”

  “Y
ou need breakfast, a shower and a nap in that order,” Bridie said. “The swan can wait a little longer.”

  She tried to shepherd us to the house while our black-and-white shepherd did the opposite. I don’t think Bridie noticed the tide had turned to carry her down the driveway instead of up.

  “Why on earth would you drive all night, Jilly?” she said. “It wasn’t safe to push yourselves that hard.”

  “It wasn’t safe not to,” Jilly said. “We decided to keep moving after getting tailed.”

  “Tailed!” Bridie’s eyebrows shot up. “Tailed by whom?”

  “That’s the question,” Jilly said. “We thought we’d shaken them so we stopped at a motel. Then Ivy saw something odd there, and we got back on the road.”

  Bridie turned to me so fast that her chandelier earrings jangled. “What exactly did you see, Ivy?”

  I described the incident at the motel. Now that it was well behind us, it seemed less ominous. If it hadn’t been for the reaction of the animals at the time, I might have dismissed it completely. But Percy’s litterbox move had never been wrong yet.

  “It was the strangest thing,” I said, at the end of the story. “I wish I still had the photo, but I must have deleted it by accident.”

  Bridie’s green eyes pinned me and her brow creased. “You said this mysterious figure was wearing a uniform?”

  “It seemed so, yes. There was a crest on the chest pocket in yellow. At least I thought so. The image quality was poor, though.”

  She wrapped the fringed shawl around her shoulders and shivered. “Is there a chance trouble followed you from the farm, Ivy? I know you’ve had some dangerous run-ins.”

  “It’s possible,” I said. “Crime in Clover Grove runs a little deeper than I knew growing up.”

  “In all of hill country,” Bridie said. “The roots are twisted and impossible to uproot, I’m afraid. I’m sure Jilly’s told you about our—”