I'd worked with Russell since he was a chick (he'd just hatched that last spring). He had feathered out and was starting to look like a rooster, and had recently begun practicing his crow, but he was still young. Although he would eventually be big enough, and feisty enough, to scare off small predators, he'd been kind and gentle with the girls and with us so far; I hoped it lasted.
He came over to greet us, along with Bready, who doing her hunkering maneuver. As Tobias cooed to Russell, I reached down and lifted her gently, admiring her red-gold feathers, which were beautiful in the waning sun. I gave her a few pets as Tobias and Russell Crow looked on, then released her to join the rooster and the rest of the flock. As dedicated as I was to eating meat that came from traditionally farm-raised animals, I hadn't yet made enough of a transition from city girl to country girl to start dispatching my beloved livestock.
Once Russell and the girls were settled for the night, we went into the farmhouse, where I began processing the milk as we talked about all the goings-on at Oktoberfest.
"I was telling Quinn that I think the Gustafsons might have been in trouble at the brewery," I told him as I poured the milk into a big pot and turned on the stove.
"What do you mean?"
"I saw a notice from the mortgage company when we walked over to the farmhouse," I said. "It's past due."
"If they're behind, it would explain why Simon was so interested in expanding the business," Tobias said, coming to the same conclusion I had earlier.
"By the way, I found out a little bit more about the woman was he was talking to," he added.
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I knew she was with Brewlific, so I looked the company up; evidently they're a very big co-op distributor."
"And?"
"If you sign with them, your beers are made in breweries all over the country," he said.
"No wonder Felix didn't like that."
"But I can see why Simon did... it massively expands your reach."
"And your profits," I said, giving the milk a stir and reaching into the fridge to grab each of us a Bluff lager. "They put a lot of money into that place; if it meant more money coming in, I can see why Simon would want to sign up."
Tobias leaned back in his chair, considering me from blue eyes that were the color of cornflowers and made my heart accelerate a few beats. "So do you think he got Felix out of the way so that he could?" he asked.
"I'm not sure about that yet," I replied as I sat down at the table next to him. "It seems like the obvious choice, but did you see the look on his face when he saw his brother? He looked shaken to the core."
"Good actor?" Tobias suggested, reaching out to play with my hair and brushing my neck with his fingers.
"Maybe," I said, leaning into his touch. "But there are a lot of other players involved who might have had it in for the brothers. And Simon would never have tampered with the brewery's beer right as they were about to do a reveal. Bad for business."
"True," Tobias said. "Max Pfeiffer was about to sue over the use of the Bluff name," he said, turning the beer bottle around in his hand and looking at the label.
"I was surprised to see him there today, honestly. And then there's the Adriana Janacek thing."
"The failed barley crop," Tobias said. "If it bankrupted her, I can see why she'd be angry and upset. That farm's been in the family for generations."
"Small business is risky, isn't it?" I asked, feeling a twinge of nervousness. "Thank goodness I'm diversifying. Although I've had a few setbacks myself."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, first there's the melon worm problem. Then there's the Ulrich house, which almost fell down on Nick today."
"You mentioned that," he said. "And Ed thinks someone sabotaged it?"
"He does," I said. "Which makes me worry. If it had fallen down..." I shivered.
"I can imagine," he said. "Anything else gone wrong lately? Any signs of someone tampering with things?"
"No, not that I've noticed," I told him. "But I'm going to be a lot more mindful." I got up to check on the milk. "I'm going to try experimenting a bit, I think," I said as I gave the pot a stir.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
"I've always done fresh goat cheese, but never experimented with aged goat cheese." I glanced at him. "Diversification, after all."
"Right," he said, grinning. "Well, if you need a test subject, I'm always willing to take one for the team."
"You're too kind," I said. As I spoke, there was a crowing sound from outside. "Is that Russell?"
"Sounds like it," Tobias said, springing to his feet as the rooster crowed again. "And sounds like there might be trouble."
We hurried to the kitchen door; as I opened it, I could hear the chickens clucking loudly, and Russell let out another, anxious-sounding crow. Tobias followed me to the coop. As we got there, a raccoon slunk out a hole in the roof of the coop, then scampered across the roof ridge and leapt into a nearby oak tree.
"Russell's doing his job already," Tobias said approvingly. "But when did that hole in your coop roof get there?"
"It's the first I've seen of it," I told him. Near the roofline, the corner of the corrugated metal roof had been pried up.
"Looks like the raccoon may have pulled it up," Tobias said. "Got a ladder?"
"In the barn," I said. "I'll fetch it, along with some nails and a hammer."
With Tobias spotting me, I pushed the metal back down and nailed it back in place—he'd offered to do it for me, but I'd insisted on taking care of it myself—and then, when the flock was safe, we returned the ladder to the barn and headed back to the house.
As I opened the door to the kitchen, the sound of a smoke detector blared, and the smell of burnt milk billowed out.
I'd forgotten about the milk on the stove.
I ran over to turn off the burner, but I was far too late; the milk had spilled all over the stove and down onto the floor, where Chuck was lapping at it. I said a few choice words and inspected the stovetop, which was covered in cooked-on milk.
"Is it ruined?" Tobias asked as he grabbed a roll of paper towels and tackled the part of the floor Chuck hadn't already cleaned up. He'd taken care of the smoke detector while I turned off the stove.
"The stove, or the milk?"
He tore off several sheets of paper towel and wiped the front of the oven. "Both."
I sighed. "The stove will survive, although it's going to be hard to get the milk out of all those crevices, but I'm pretty sure the milk itself is toast. I'm guessing it burned to the bottom of the pot, and now the whole thing tastes off."
"If you had pigs, they'd love it," Tobias said.
"No pigs," I said. We spent the next twenty minutes cleaning up. By the time we'd tossed the last of the paper towels into the compost bin, the milk was cool enough to taste.
"What do you think?" I asked.
"You know what? It tastes a little like flan."
I took a taste. "You're right," I said. "It's a little bit caramelized, isn't it?"
"Maybe you should sell flan at the Oktoberfest market," he suggested.
"But it's goat's milk."
"Cajeta is made with goat's milk."
"What's that?" I asked.
"Mexican caramel sauce," he said. "Let's try a batch. I know you have eggs, right?"
"I do," I said. "I just need a flan recipe."
"Give me thirty seconds," he said, pulling out his phone. A moment later, he turned the phone to show me. "Goat milk crème caramel," he said. "A flan by any other name..."
I laughed. "What do we need? Eggs, milk, vanilla..."
"And sugar," he said, turning the phone back around and reading the ingredients list. "That's it. Do you have ramekins you can use?"
"I actually bought a bunch of foil ones just last week," I said. "If they work, we can sell them in the ramekins."
"Let's do a practice run. If it works, we'll make more."
"You're brilliant," I said.
"
If only my calculus professor agreed with you," he said.
I grinned. "Not your favorite class?"
"I almost quit being pre-vet after the mid-term exam," he said. "I still have nightmares."
"Poor you," I said. "Glad you were persistent, though. And I know Chuck is, too."
As Tobias gathered sugar and vanilla from the pantry, I reviewed the recipe on Tobias's phone, then retrieved the metal ramekins from the bedroom I used for crafting and pulled a roasting pan from the drawer under the oven. "I have to make caramel, don't I?"
"Yup," Tobias agreed.
I sighed. I didn't usually have good luck with caramel. "If you'll do the rest of the recipe, I'll attempt caramel."
"Sounds like a division of labor that works for me." I greased the ramekins, then measured out the sugar and poured it into a small saucepan. "I'm not supposed to stir it, apparently," I said, looking at the recipe. "Maybe that's what I've been doing wrong."
"We'll find out," Tobias said as he cracked an egg into a bowl.
* * *
It took four tries, but I finally managed to get a batch of caramel that didn't granulate or burn in the saucepan. "Here goes nothing," I said as I slid the roasting pan loaded with ramekins into the oven, then used the kettle to add hot water to the pan, making a hot water bath for the custards. I set the timer as Tobias rinsed the bowl out. Then we retreated to the couch in the living room, Chuck happily snuggled up between us.
"Well," he said. "We've taken care of your chores, fixed the roof, and made a trial batch of flan. I think we've been very productive."
"And don't forget looked after the Froehlichs' cattle," I said. "What do you think's going on there, anyway?"
"I don't know yet," he said, "but I've had a few calls this week. I'll have to do a little more research, see if they're isolated incidents or if there's a common thread."
"Mine are okay, though, right?"
"They sure look okay to me," he said, putting an arm around me. "You take good care of your animals. With the possible exception of Chuck's diet, that is."
I rolled my eyes. "I really think he's just big-boned."
"Uh huh," he said. "I saw you slip him that leftover bratwurst when we got home."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, blushing. As I spoke, there was a scratching sound from the fireplace. Chuck's ears perked up, and he growled. "What's that?" I asked.
"Hopefully not another raccoon," he said.
"Man, I hope not, either," I said, getting up and walking over to the fireplace. There was another scratching sound, and Chuck leapt off the couch and ran to the fireplace, barking.
"Easy, boy," Tobias said.
"Could be a bird?" I suggested.
"Could be," he said. As he spoke, though, another sound came from the chimney. And it was entirely unbirdlike.
8
"Is that what I think it was?" I asked Tobias.
He squatted down and stuck his head into the chimney. "Do you have a flashlight?"
"I'll grab one from the kitchen," I said, and hurried to retrieve one as Tobias peered up into the dark chimney and Chuck stood on the hearth, barking.
I jogged back into the living room and handed Tobias the flashlight. "Is the flue open?" he asked.
"Probably not," I said. "It hasn't been cold enough for a fire since February."
He reached up in and gently pulled on the flue handle. The scratchy meowing intensified. A moment later, a little black-and-gray ball tumbled down; Tobias caught it just in time.
"Is it okay?" I asked, anxious. Chuck had stopped barking, and was now sniffing curiously at the tuft of fur Tobias was holding.
Tobias cradled the little body in his hands and probed it gently. "Nothing obviously broken," he said in a soft voice, "but I'm guessing she's a little dehydrated. It's hard to tell, but I think this is a girl. I wonder if she's got any siblings up there?"
"I'll look," I said, retrieving the flashlight from the hearth where he'd set it. As Tobias gently examined the little gray kitten, I craned my neck and looked up the chimney. "Nobody else that I can see," I announced.
"She must have come from somewhere," Tobias said. "Any of your neighbors have kittens?"
"Not that I know of. I'll ask around, though. How old is she?"
"Four or five weeks, I'd guess," he said.
"How did she get up there?" I asked.
"I have no idea," he said. "I'm surprised she's so far from her mother, though."
"I've seen a cat around on and off over the last few months," I said. "I think I told you about her; she's a gray tabby, and I think she's feral."
"I remember," he said, stroking the kitten's dirty head. It gave a tiny little meow and then began to purr, a raspy, rumbling sound that vibrated her whole body. "You borrowed the Have-A-Heart trap to see if you could catch her to get her spayed."
"I did," I said, stroking the kitten's soft head. "But all I got was a raccoon."
"Who evidently is still hanging around the place, if the chicken coop incident is any indication," he said. "Have you seen the cat recently?"
I shook my head. "Last time was a few weeks ago, I think," I said.
"I'm guessing she holed up somewhere safe and had kittens," Tobias said. "Maybe we should go look for them; but first, let's get this one some food and then get her cleaned up."
"How do we do that?" I asked.
"Fortunately, I'm an experienced kitten washer," he said with a grin. "Plus, if you'll hold her, I've got some kitten chow and milk in the truck."
"What?"
"Spring and summer is kitten season," he said. "I always keep some in my kit, just in case."
"You're amazing," I said. A few minutes later, Tobias fed the tiny cat with a syringe. I was relieved to see her lapping it up with her little pink tongue; aside from the soot all over her bedraggled coat, she seemed to be doing fairly well.
The timer beeped on the oven as we worked; I took out the flans, which had browned to a beautiful creamy gold and didn't look at all as if they'd curdled or separated, and arranged them on a rack to cool. Once the oven was turned off, together, using soft cloths and lukewarm water, we gently cleaned the kitten in the kitchen sink as she mewed in protest. She was covered in soot, making the water run almost black, and I found myself wondering if she would change colors as we cleaned her.
Most of her stayed gray, but as we cleaned her, a white streak on her nose and the left side of her face and a white patch on her stomach and chest appeared, along with four cute white socks. Her whiskers, once clean, were snow white, a striking contrast to her charcoal-colored fur, and her eyes were a striking green. "She looks like a gray tuxedo cat," Tobias said. The kitten let out a scratchy meow.
"She's beautiful," I said. "What should we call her?"
Tobias cocked an eyebrow at me. "Are we keeping her?"
I shrugged. "I could use a mouser," I said.
"She is pretty cute." He touched the white streak on her nose, and she let out another one of those rumbly purrs. "She seems to be in pretty good shape, thankfully; she must not have been in there too long. Let's get her settled someplace warm and see if we can find any others," he suggested.
I tucked the kitten into a box with a fluffy towel and tucked the box away in my bedroom before closing the door so that Chuck, who was extremely curious, wouldn't bother her.
"We should probably take Chuck with us," Tobias suggested, "but on a leash. He might help us find any others, but if he does, I'd rather be able to keep them apart."
"Makes sense," I said. Together, we headed out in to the dark, Chuck not quite sure what to do with a leash on him—we'd kind of abandoned it since moving to Buttercup from Houston.
"Can you find more kittens?" I asked Chuck, as if he could understand English.
He seemed to get the idea. Nose to the ground, my scruffy apricot poodle sniffed around the base of the house until he got to the bottom of the oak tree whose branches scraped the roof near the chimney. I'd been meaning to
trim it back, but had never quite gotten there.
"Anyone up there?" I asked.
"Hard to see through the leaves," Tobias responded, shining his flashlight up into the branches. "I don't hear anything, though."
"And Chuck's not barking."
"True, but Chuck didn't start barking at the kitten in the chimney until it started meowing," Tobias pointed out. I couldn't argue with him. Chuck had many redeeming qualities, but his skill as a hunter was not one of them.
We stood at the base of the tree for some time, but Chuck seemed mainly interested in the patch of licorice-scented fennel I'd planted under the living room window; if there were any felines in the tree, he paid them no notice. I certainly didn't see or hear anything. After a few minutes we walked around the tool shed and the little building that my grandmother used to use to smoke bacon in; these days, I used it to dry onions and potatoes. Chuck got a little more interested as we got closer, his floppy ears pricking up a few millimeters and his nose almost glued to the ground. I opened the door just in time to see something slip out a hole in the back. Chuck barked and growled menacingly, but stuck close to me.
"That looked like it might have been mama," I said to Tobias.
"Maybe she had her kittens in here, then," he said. He shone the flashlight around. In the corner, there was a little round of hay that looked as if it had been slept in by something the size of a cat. "This is probably it," he said.
"No more kittens, though."
"No. At least not in here," he said. "I wonder if the raccoon got to them."
"That's a horrible thought!"
"It happens sometimes," he said grimly. He shone the flashlight all around the shed, but there was no sign of any more kittens. We walked around outside; as he shone his flashlight down toward the pasture, we got a flash of eyeshine.
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