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

by Ellen Riggs

  “He,” she said. “Use masculine pronouns.” She sounded like a prim schoolmarm. “This is Zeus, and he’s very much a male.”

  “Zeus? Well, that’s a good fit.”

  “I can’t take credit for naming him,” she said.

  “Lottie chose the name?”

  She shook her head. “Lottie called him Swanny, which he didn’t appreciate. Undignified for a magnificent creature like him.”

  “Ah. So he told you himself.” By now I was just two yards away from her. I stopped and waited for permission to approach. “You have a kinship.”

  Eyeing me through glasses with round, gold-rimmed frames, she took her time before answering. “I’ve always understood animals. Based on what I’ve heard, you’re the same.”

  “Often I do,” I said. “Although they don’t tell me their names.” I glanced at Keats and Percy. “I hope these two don’t mind what I chose.”

  She flicked her right hand and the sun danced off a massive diamond set among even more diamonds. “You’d know. They simply wouldn’t respond.” Finally she turned and smiled at me. “Besides, who could be offended by being named after two great romantic poets?”

  I laughed. “Did they tell you their names, too?”

  “The rumor mill took care of that,” she said. “I don’t mix much around here, but I do read the newsletter. Lottie announced your impending arrival in the latest edition.” Sighing, she added, “The final edition, as it turns out. Poor Lottie. She wasn’t always likeable but I believe she had our best interests at heart.”

  The swan had picked up his pace, gliding about five yards and then turning to repeat. In fact, it was so precise it almost looked like a mechanical swan on a track. A carnival ride for small children. His head turned quickly and I felt his eyes upon me. Perhaps dignified Zeus didn’t appreciate being compared to a fun park character.

  “He’s a swan of strong opinions and I sense he’d like to share them with you,” she said. “He didn’t come out of the bushes until you arrived.”

  “Yesterday I told him I wanted to help, but I don’t really speak swan yet.” I gestured to my pets, who were still hanging back. “Sometimes these two play go-between but they don’t like water.”

  “No one should trust this water,” she said. “Our beautiful goldfish have died. I can’t imagine why he’d want to stay here, even though we feed him.”

  “All the goldfish died?”

  She nodded. “I believe so. The landscapers clear the pond often but I’ve seen no signs of life. Then the swan showed up.”

  “And he’s been unhappy from the start?” I asked.

  “Angry. Aggressive. Chases people he doesn’t like, particularly men. People used to row around the pond but no one dares now.” Patting the seat beside her, she added, “I’m Videa Dumasse, one of the few you didn’t meet at your potluck supper. Some of us either can’t or won’t mix. I prize my peace of mind over fitting in.”

  “Me too,” I said, joining her. “That wasn’t always the case. I got conked on the head rescuing this dog last year and woke up a rebel.”

  Videa laughed. “Then you were always a rebel inside. You just woke up.” She patted my arm and it felt like the big diamond pinged me with a jolt as strong as caffeine. “Most people never do, so congratulations.”

  “Life has been interesting since then.” I looked over my shoulder at Keats, who sat with his tail coiled around his white paws, muzzle swiveling at the same pace as the swan’s movements. “One adventure after another.”

  “That’s what happens when you accept your calling. Not all of us are lucky enough to fulfill our potential.”

  Her eyes blinked rapidly behind the round glasses and I wondered if she was fighting tears.

  “You don’t want to be here,” I said.

  “No one really wants to be here.” Her voice sounded far away. “Most of us came because we weren’t safe outside.”

  “I heard that from others. And that some of you have special abilities.”

  She shrugged. “Whether we do or not, if others think so we can become targets.”

  “Being different is dangerous,” I said.

  “Being safe is dangerous, too,” she said. “We’re physically safe here—at least we were, until what happened to Lottie—but our mental health suffers. We’re like birds in a cage.” Turning, she offered a twisted smile. “Sorry to sound so negative. That’s just my opinion.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “A few years. My son asked me to come after I got on the wrong side of someone in my hometown. He was worried for me.”

  “Was it… was it related to magic?” Just speaking the word aloud to a stranger made me uncomfortable. Not because I didn’t want to believe. I was willing to be convinced such a thing existed. But for the moment, my work boots were planted firmly on the ground and it seemed like I shouldn’t presume to say much about something I couldn’t understand.

  Her eyes were sharp behind the spectacles. “Whether or not magic is real, the threats around it can be. I would have taken on the risk myself but as a mother, you don’t have that luxury. So I made my son’s life easier by moving here.”

  “Maybe you can leave when things cool off,” I said.

  “Perhaps. People rarely do, though. Memories are long and grudges passed down through the generations. Mostly we live out our days in safety.” Her fingers rose in air quotes around the last word. “And whatever they pipe in here keeps us alive long past what’s sensible.” Percy climbed over the back of the bench and invited himself into her lap. He especially enjoyed being patted by a bejeweled hand. “There’s no point in living beyond a hundred just because you can. Yet many here do, and in good health.”

  “That’s so interesting. It can’t be that bad here if people live longer than average.”

  Her lips formed a little pucker and I wondered exactly how old she was. I would have guessed about 70 but now suspected a well-preserved 80. “Maybe I’m just feeling low over what happened to Lottie. Sometimes I’m lonely despite being crowded.”

  “I get that,” I said. “I’m the last of six kids and since moving back to my hometown the whole family is underfoot. I have more freedom, yet I sometimes feel trapped.”

  “By their expectations. By their opinions of who you are and should be.”

  “Thank goodness for my animals. And Jilly. And Kellan, my boyfriend.” Glancing at her big ring, I said, “You aren’t married?”

  She angled the big rock to the sun and one of the facets shot out a beam that almost blinded me. “Not anymore. My husband and I separated and he ran into some bad luck. Fatal luck. That was the last straw before I moved here.” Percy gave a purr-meow to prompt that ring to resume stroking. “I hoped we’d reconcile but it wasn’t to be.”

  We watched the swan in silence for a time, before I had another idea. “Jilly and I are spearheading a culture revival project in our town. Maybe we can think of events that would engage you more. Guest speakers on interesting subjects, for example.”

  “Guests are discouraged,” she said. “Bridie had to push hard to get you two past the board. What swayed them was your animal expertise.”

  That got me on my feet. “Then I guess I’d better deliver. If I can’t figure out what’s troubling Zeus, the board might close down to guests even more and you need fresh blood around here.” I looked over at the place I’d discovered Lottie and added, “Not literally.”

  The swan had expanded his route to include that spot. At each turn, he snapped around sharply with wings half-raised. He seemed more agitated than yesterday.

  Snapping my fingers, I summoned Percy, who left the big diamond reluctantly. Keats, on the other hand, swished his tail in relief over being released from the hypnotic spell of the swan’s movements.

  “Thanks for the chat,” I said. “See you both soon.”

  “Ivy,” she called after me. “Do be careful. It might be more dangerous for you now outside our walls, too.”

 
“Why do you say that?”

  “I just have a strange feeling that enemies are circling. There are worse threats than swans.”

  “Good thing I have my crew,” I said, gesturing to the pets now racing ahead. “I may not be able to tap into mystic frequencies, but they can.”

  “Oh, you can too.” Her smile transformed her into a beautiful woman. “I daresay you know that.”

  I shrugged as I turned. “This trip has made me question a lot of things.”

  “Question constantly, and then question some more. You won’t get clear answers, though, so don’t expect them.”

  “Like a crystal ball,” I said. “Or a Magic 8 ball, in my world.”

  “Or even a fortune cookie. Yours says ‘Destined for great things.’”

  I stepped into a mulchy spot that soaked over the laces of my boots, which had only just dried. “And also, ‘Beware of potholes.’”

  I left her laughing and considered that a victory.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I’m farmsick,” I told Keats, as the gates of the Briar Estates closed behind us. Percy couldn’t join us on the trip to the waterfowl sanctuary because he’d be a hard sell to the manager. It would be tough enough to get Keats inside, but at least the dog would demonstrate his obedience on command. Percy was more likely to do the opposite. Just because. Still, I felt a little bereft without him and Jilly.

  Bracing himself on the dash, Keats swished his tail quite merrily. The sheepdog Sherlock was enjoying this vacation far more than I was. Still, my spirits lifted as we put some miles between us and the Briars. It wasn’t the holiday resort I’d imagined. There wasn’t even a beach.

  “I know you’ll disagree with me, buddy, but I think a body of water is important for mental health. That’s why the Briars’ residents are so attached to their pond even though it’s become toxic. First the goldfish died, then a disgruntled swan arrived, and now someone has passed away. We need to cleanse it of bad juju.”

  Keats not only dropped his tail but let it curl under his body. He wasn’t going to volunteer to help change the vibe of a glorified swamp.

  “We should talk to the property manager about it. Casey probably doesn’t realize why it’s important. Otherwise, he’d pressure the board to rehabilitate it. I bet there are pond experts around and the Briars drops a pretty penny on landscaping everything else.”

  The dog turned away slowly to make sure I registered his negativity. There were few subjects Keats refused to weigh in on, but pond health appeared to be one of them.

  “I’m sorry, buddy, but I’m thinking of going forward with a pond project at home, too. It’s only a matter of time before Cori drops mallards on us and they won’t be happy in a kiddie pool.”

  Now Keats grumbled something.

  “Build it and they will come? Exactly.” He glared at me as I deliberately spun his comment in a positive way. “Don’t worry. The swan isn’t joining us. I wish he could, because a stint at Runaway Farm would do him good.”

  Keats turned back to the road and ended the conversation. After a mile or two, his tail rose and a weight lifted off both of us. We were both feeling trapped at the Briars and after a decade of corporate misery, my tolerance for confinement was low. That’s why I spent so much time in the pastures and meadows back home and wanted to expand the farm even more. Edna knew I had designs on her property one day. She could sell it to me, live rent-free, and use the money to build the premier bunker in North America.

  Keats mumbled a question.

  “No, I don’t have the money for that, but we live an abundant life, my friend. I have faith that it’s coming. That’s why I’m open to whatever Cori dumps on us. Each time she does, my world seems to expand. My ark doesn’t sink. In fact, it becomes more buoyant than ever.”

  His next mumble was non-committal. It was easy for me to say yes to all comers, but as canine farm manager, it kept his paws full. And while he liked being busy, he also wanted time to pursue the various mysteries scattered in our path. That was his recreation. In short, my dog was better at work-life balance than me.

  The thought prompted me to call Kellan, the one who suffered most when I got caught up in my projects.

  I didn’t need to tell him I was driving. He had a good ear for engines.

  “Careful with those shifts,” he said, as I put him on hands-free. We both worried that my previous abuse of the transmission would herald the truck’s early demise. It would be one death we didn’t need to investigate. “You’ve run away from the Briars, I take it.”

  “I had to submit to grilling to get a day pass,” I said. “It’s no wonder people feel trapped there. I’d implode in no time.”

  “Good,” he said. “That means you’ll come home soon.”

  Warmth filled me from the bottom up, starting with my swamp-soaked toes. “I can’t wait. This isn’t a fun girls’ getaway. Turns out murder doesn’t take a vacation. At least, not for me.”

  “Or me,” he said. “It’s a good thing we understand that about each other.”

  The warmth reached my face and my inner sun came out in a huge smile. It amazed me that our bond seemed to grow deeper with every phone call, every walk at the farm, every strange experience we tackled together.

  “I love you, too,” he said.

  I laughed. “You knew that’s what I was thinking? My dog’s obviously not the only psychic in my life.”

  “There’s such a thing as a pregnant pause,” he said.

  “Well, you certainly delivered,” I said. “And you’re right, absence has made this heart grow fonder. I miss you. I miss your police work. And with Jilly so distracted, my team needs more players.” Keats turned his blue eye on me, so I added, “No offence, buddy. It’s good to have backup, right?”

  I filled Kellan in on my visit to Lottie’s house and he didn’t even lecture me until I whined about Chief Gillock refusing to tell me what he found in the crawl space.

  “Gillock doesn’t owe you any information about what he found, Ivy. I’m way more flexible about that sort of thing than I should be. I only do it because I’ve seen the value of your unique gifts.” Keats stared at the phone now and Kellan added, “You too, Keats.”

  The dog gave a happy pant and resumed navigation.

  “If he shared what he knows it might speed things along. My primary mission is to deal with the swan but it overlaps with what happened to Lottie. I’m sure of it.”

  “You may be right, but he’s bound by a code and doesn’t realize you might be able to figure out what happened faster than he can. I did tell him, you know.”

  “Really? That’s so sweet.”

  He laughed. “Supporting your sleuthing and delivering goat babies scored me more points with you than anything else.”

  “True. Women who look for romance in flowers and chocolate are missing out.”

  A comfortable silence fell between us. This man made me feel seen and safe, even at a great distance. For him, I would try to be more cautious, because I very much wanted a future together.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “You need to ask? Where are your psychic powers now?”

  “Maybe I just want to hear it.”

  “Well, if you must know, I was picturing us paddling in a canoe.”

  “A canoe! That I didn’t expect.”

  “You know I’ve been thinking that we need a pond at the farm. One that’s full of rushes and frogs and waterfowl. It would be so soothing to paddle around in there.”

  “Sounds nice,” Kellan said. “Although I assume you’re getting a dirty look right now? I can’t picture Keats sitting in the middle of that canoe.”

  “He’s in a snit over the idea. I guess it’s something you and I can enjoy alone.”

  “I’m all for it, then,” he said. “When your dad’s treasure trove is liquidated, he might donate enough to get the work done.”

  My smile faded. “I don’t want that money. Even though he came by it honestly, it feel
s tainted by crime. I’d rather earn it myself somehow.”

  “I understand how you feel, but using the funds to help rescue animals might wash the dirt right off that gold. What’s more, it’s something your grandmother, Polly, would have endorsed fully when she left it for her descendants.”

  Keats turned and cocked his head. Kellan’s argument had merit.

  “I guess it’s something to consider if the offer comes my way,” I said. “For all we know, Calvin could take off to a desert island.”

  “Then he wouldn’t need money at all, would he?”

  That made me laugh. “You’ve got all the answers today, Chief. And I’m hoping you might dig up a few more.”

  “Uh-oh. I’m not big on asking Gillock for more.”

  “Actually, I don’t want him to know what I’m doing.”

  “Even worse,” Kellan said.

  “It’s about the Briars’ residents. I keep hearing they’ve been sent here by family, or had to escape trouble of a criminal kind in their old lives. It’s like a witness protection facility.”

  “Ivy, it’s a seniors community. Is it possible they’ve… well, forgotten the details? Or are dramatizing them?”

  “They’re not senile, if that’s what you mean. Everyone I’ve met is very sharp and they seem to be living long, healthy lives. Plus Jilly says the same thing, remember?”

  “Fine. Send me the names you’re curious about and I’ll do some checking,” he said. “Anything else?”

  “Doug Farrow, the community cop. I want to know his story. After the swan hunter incident, he’s at the top of my suspect list. I’m pretty sure he’s taking kickbacks, for starters.”

  “I’ll look into Doug, too. Is that all?”

  “You’ll swing by the farm and check on everything?”

  “Every night, like I promised. But I wouldn’t know a sick animal if I saw one.”

  “I’m more worried about the humans. With Mom, Gertie and Edna sharing space all day long, it’s bound to come to fisticuffs at some point.”

  “Asher sounds like a better man for that job,” Kellan said. “His charm is being wasted on the petty crimes we’ve been seeing lately. Without you around, things have gotten quiet.”