A Biscuit, a Casket (13 page)

“I don’t think anyone’s going to steal it,” Stan said.

“Oh, Kristan. Always such a wise mouth. I meant, will the cat lay on it?”

“Probably.”

“Oh.” Her mother looked like she didn’t quite know what to do with that.

“Mom, it will be fine.” Stan stood up impatiently. “Do you want to see the house?”

Patricia followed her to the kitchen. “The colors are very nice. Did you paint it
yourself?”

“Not this room. The previous owner had just redone the whole kitchen. I love it. Don’t
you?”

“It’s very bright. I like the wine rack up there.” Patricia pointed to the rack built
in over the refrigerator. “So tell me about the dog food. What do you make?”

Stan described some of the treats she made and the meals she was experimenting with
as she took her mother through the downstairs. They were almost having a nice conversation
when the doorbell rang again.

“Hold on, Mom. Today’s the day for unexpected guests.” Stan hurried to the front door,
and this time found Char holding a box.

“Hi! What have you got there?”

“A package for you that came yesterday. Janey, the UPS driver, knows we’re friends
and asked me to sign for you so you wouldn’t have to wait for her to come back. I
forgot to give it to you last night. How are you, honey?” Char squeezed her and stepped
back, handing the box over. “Oh, hello.”

Stan turned to find her mother trailing after her. Patricia looked at the flamboyant
red-haired woman in the doorway, her mouth pinched tightly shut in what Stan assumed
was shock. “Char, this is my mother. Patricia Connor, Char Mackey. She owns the B
and B down the street.”

“Hello.” Patricia offered her manicured hand.

“Well, how delightful it is to meet you!” Char ignored the hand, stepped forward and
squeezed her mother into a giant hug. Squished against Char’s ample bosom swathed
in an apple green tunic, her mother looked slightly horrified. Stan turned away so
she didn’t laugh out loud. “Stan, honey, you didn’t tell me your momma was coming
to visit!”

“I didn’t know. Come on in, Char. Oh, these are my new cookie cutters!” Stan squealed
in excitement as she read the return address on the box. “All my holiday designs.
Some new Halloween ones, and Thanksgiving and Christmas. Yay!”

Char finally let Patricia go, but held on to her hand. “How long are you in town for?”

“Well, I was going to stay a day or two, but I’m not sure.”

“Not sure? You changed your mind already?” Stan laughed, but she had to admit she
was hurt. She wasn’t entirely thrilled about an extended visit, but her mother clearly
had reconsidered. After barely an hour.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting the dogs. Truthfully, I’m a little nervous around them.”
Patricia clasped her hands together. “I’m sure I’m being silly, but—”

“You’re afraid of dogs?” Stan stared at her. She’d thought her mother just didn’t
like animals that much because they made messes and were loud. She’d had no idea fear
was a factor.

“Well, not afraid, but—”

“Oh, well, don’t you worry about that,” Char declared. “I have the perfect solution.
I have an extra room at the B and B this week. Why don’t you come stay with me?”

“Stay with you?” Patricia looked from Char to Stan and back.

“Yes! It is a B and B, after all. It’s a little ways down the street. That way, you
both can have your space but still have a nice time visiting. And the dogs won’t be
a problem. I have a Lab, but she’s outside with the alpacas most of the time. Never
with the guests, unless they ask for her.” She beamed and clapped her hands. “Problem
solved! What do you think?”

Stan and Patricia were both silent. Then Patricia smiled. “I think that’s a lovely
idea. Thank you for offering.”

Stan’s mouth dropped open. She coughed to hide it. What was up with her mother? She
normally would never set foot in a small-town inn. It was high end or nothing. Something
had to be going on that her mother wasn’t telling her. Had her house gone into foreclosure?
Had she fallen prey to some scam? Had the stock markets crashed and she hadn’t heard?
She better check her accounts.

“Excellent! I’m delighted.” Char enveloped her mother in another bear hug. “And I’m
going to run home right now and make sure your room is all set. Stan, will you bring
your mother over when she’s ready?”

“Sure,” Stan said.

“And I’ll make you both dinner. This is lovely. What a week this is going to be!”

Char was pleased. Patricia looked happy, too. Stan pulled out her old corporate standby
face, the one she would assume when the world was turning upside down around her and
she had to pretend she had everything under control, and beamed at them. “Yep,” she
said. “It’s gonna be quite a week, that’s for sure.”

After Stan got her mother settled into the B and B and left her happily eating butternut
squash soup with Char, she made her rounds in town to deliver her treat orders and
headed to the farm. A Jaguar was parked in the driveway next to a beat-up pickup truck.
She rang the bell at the house first. No answer. She went around into the yard and
headed toward the barn. The sides of the barn were raised, allowing the cows fresh
air. With everything open, she could hear voices—and they didn’t sound happy.

“We need someone here for twelve-hour shifts. The four-hour overlap is necessary,”
a voice she didn’t recognize argued.

“Well, those were bad staffing decisions on Hal’s part. We can’t be expected to staff
his empty slots because one of his illegal aliens was deported.” Another unfamiliar
voice.

Curious, Stan inched closer to the pens. She couldn’t see the speakers yet and wanted
them to continue their conversation.

The first guy’s tone had chilled to frosty. “Watch your tone. We have no illegals
working here, Peter. And no one’s been deported. Frankly, I’m worried about the kid.
He’s a good worker, and I don’t know why he hasn’t shown up. But I don’t believe we’ve
asked anything of you since this crisis began, and Ted, Asher, and even Leigh-Anne
have stepped up to assist because we’re all in this together—at least we thought so.
Leigh-Anne’s here right now trying to put a better schedule together. What are you
doing to help?”

“You don’t have any right to speak to me that way,” the other man began angrily, but
a shout interrupted them.

“Yo, Stan! There’s a new bull. Wanna come see him?” Danny noticed her as he came around
the corner. Two other men stepped into view behind him. One of them was the head herdsman,
Roger, who Em had pointed out on her first day. He was tall, lanky, and wore a cowboy
hat over a leathery, serious face.

The other man’s arrogance showed all over his face, especially in the arch of his
eyebrows. He had salt and pepper hair and looked more like an accountant than a farmer.
Peter, Roger had called him. As in Peter Michelli, the other co-op farmer. Stan had
met his wife, Mary, at Em’s the day after Hal’s murder but didn’t recall seeing Peter
before.

Stan waved back at Danny. “A bull?”

“Yeah.” He looked at her like she was really dumb. “A baby. You know, a boy?”

“Oh! Is that what they call baby boy cows? Sure, I’d love to.”

Stan felt herself blushing at Roger’s chuckle. Now they all thought she was clueless.
Which she was, actually, when it came to cows, male or female. She walked toward the
group. Roger tipped his hat at her. Peter didn’t acknowledge her existence.

“Hello,” Stan said anyway.

“Miss,” Roger said. “Anything I can do for you?”

“No, I was just looking for Em. But, Danny, I’d love to see the baby first.” She smiled
at the teenager, who was waiting impatiently for her answer.

“Well, good, then. I’ll be in the barn if you need me. Peter, let’s talk in there,”
Roger said.

But Peter turned away. “I don’t need to talk anymore. I’m leaving.”

Roger shook his head. “That’s your choice. But this business still needs to be run.
It’s your responsibility, too.”

“Well, once the collective group stops scratching its head and figures out who’s running
it, maybe we can talk,” Peter shot back, and walked away. Stan heard what she presumed
was the Jag roar to life and zoom out of the driveway a minute later.

Peter’s farm must be doing better than Hal’s, if he drives a Jag,
Stan mused. She looked at Roger. “He didn’t seem happy.”

Roger tilted his chin in acknowledgment. “Enjoy the visit with the bull,” he said.
“They’ll take him away soon enough.” He turned and walked toward the barn.

Stan watched him go, then turned to Danny. “What does that mean?”

“What?” Danny’s energy had long since stopped him from paying attention to adult conversation.
He leaned over the pen, stretching his fingers out to the baby bull.

“What Roger said. That they’ll take him away soon.”

Danny shrugged. “That’s what happens to boys. They take him to another farm.”

Stan tried to keep her feelings off her face as she observed the baby bull, huddled
in the corner. He was adorable. She had a sneaking suspicion what kind of farm he
meant. She wasn’t a meat eater, hadn’t been in years, and this was one more reason
why. She felt Nikki on her shoulder, disapproving, and didn’t blame her one bit.

Danny looked at her. “What?”

“So he doesn’t get to stay with his mom?”

“Nope. Not after she cleans him off. Then we have to do stuff with the babies. Like
feed them stuff so they don’t get sick. My dad used to let me do it.” His smile faltered,
then fell away. “I don’t know if Roger will let me.”

Stan felt bad for the boy. And for the baby bull. Nikki was right—helping out here
wasn’t such a good idea. “Maybe we should let him be, Danny, you think?”

“I guess.” That sullen, teenage tone had started to creep back in.

“Maybe you can ask Roger for a different chore,” Stan suggested, but Danny didn’t
want to hear it.

“I don’t want to ask Roger for another stupid chore!” he shouted, and turned and ran
for the house.

Now she’d done it. Stan sighed. Why was she involved in these people’s lives?

“The boy is having trouble. Don’t take it personal.” Roger appeared from behind a
row of cows, his face thoughtful.

“Oh, I know.” Embarrassed he had overheard, Stan brushed it off. “I just feel bad
for him. I had trouble losing my dad as an adult, never mind as a fifteen-year-old
kid.”

“It’s tough.” Roger nodded. “Hal and Danny were close. And Danny has some . . . other
problems, too. So you’re helping out for a while?”

“Yes, for the short term,” Stan said quickly. “While Em figures stuff out. It’s only
my second day.”

“That’s right neighborly of you. Did anyone show you around?”

“Around the farm? No. I’ve been in the barn with Em, that’s about it. And the office.”

“Well, why don’t I give you a tour. It might be helpful if you’re gonna be working
here.”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary,” Stan said. “I’m only going to be helping in the office
anyway.”

Roger’s expression didn’t change, but Stan got the sense that she’d insulted him.

“It’ll help you to get a sense of things. How will you know what’s important if you
don’t know how anything works?” he asked.

Stan didn’t have a good argument for that, so she relented. “You’re right. Absolutely.
Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Heck, no. I’m the official Happy Cow tour guide anyway.”

Stan couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. “You are?”

“’Course. When we open to the public, someone’s gotta be in charge. Mrs. H isn’t a
big people person, and Hal wasn’t around much. So I got the job. S’okay. I like it
fine.” Roger glanced at her feet, noted her sequined flats. “You gonna be okay in
those shoes? It’s muddy out back.”

Stan sighed. No one was going to lay off about the boot thing, apparently. “I’m fine,”
she said. “Let’s do it.”

Roger shrugged. “Okay.” He waved toward the pen where the baby bull sat. “That’s the
pen for the new babies. We’re expecting another, any day now. Someone experienced
on staff always has to oversee the birthing. I was here extra early today to be with
Momma. Since we’re down a guy.” He looked unhappy about that.

“Still no sign of Enrico? He just stopped showing up without a word?” Stan asked.

“Nope. Nothing. He worked Friday, worked Saturday. Had Sunday off, never showed up
Monday.”

Guilt over Hal’s death? Stan wondered. She didn’t ask Roger’s opinion on that. “So
where’s the momma cow?” Stan looked around at the pens.

“Right there.” Roger pointed at a cow by herself in another pen. “She’s fresh, so
she’ll be in there by herself for a bit.”

“Fresh? Like she’s mean to other cows?”

A glimmer of a smile appeared on Roger’s stern lips. “No, ma’am. Fresh meaning she
just gave birth.”

“Oh.” Stan felt the red creep up her neck. “That makes sense.”

Roger nodded. “Sure does. And then we divide the rest of the ladies based on their
lactation cycle.” He led her through the next gate into the larger penned areas. “Over
there’s our dry pen. Those are the cows that have run through their cycle. They won’t
give milk for about a hundred fifty days. They’re the ones we take out to the pasture
over there, let them have their alone time.” He pointed outside, to the vast green
area at the back of the farm. Where Stan’s dogs could look at the cows from her backyard.

“So the other cows don’t get to go for walks?” Stan glanced at the other side of the
enclosure. The cows’ lazily swinging tails indicated they hadn’t a care in the world,
but that pen seemed so confining.

Roger watched her, and Stan saw that ghost of a smile again. “These cows are treated
very well, miss. Trust me. They’re the Hoffmans’ livelihood. Not to mention, Hal loved
these creatures. You want to see his wrath, do something he didn’t like to the cows.
There were no second chances.”

Stan flushed again. She hadn’t meant to be so transparent, but Nikki would kill her
if she didn’t ask. And she liked cows. They were so gentle, and seemed so Zen. She
hated to think of them sad. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insinuate—” she began, but
Roger shook his head.

“No apologies necessary. It’s good to ask questions. Otherwise, how will you know
what to tell others when they ask you? Come on, now. Still more to see.” He led her
back out and around the cow enclosure to the other side. “Now, cows don’t like heat.
That’s why we have fans and sprinklers here in the barn. And speaking of heat, another
part of my job, along with having good cow sense, is the breeding part.”

“Breeding?”

“Yes’m. Watch for cows in heat, then breed them. Artificial insemination.” He winked.
“No boys allowed on this farm.”

Stan thought of the baby bull. “I guess not.”

“And this”—Roger pointed, walking around to the other side of the barn—“is an example
of how innovative we are here at Happy Cow. See that?”

Stan squinted at the metal blade, which looked almost like a spackle tool, running
along a track in the floor. The cows stepped over it lazily as it ran by, as if they
were used to it. “Yes. What is it?”

“An alley scraper.” Roger puffed his chest out proudly. “I presented the idea to Hal
after studying up on it. Saved him some money,” he said. “Eliminated a staff person,
along with a good stretch of time.”

Wow. Job eliminations happened at dairy farms, too.
Stan felt a moment of empathy for the poor immigrant kid who had lost his job because
of the nefarious alley scraper, remembering her own mortification at losing her job
earlier this year. She tuned back in to Roger, who was still talking.

“All the manure gets pushed into this tank here.” He pointed to the end of the track
where a large pipe waited. “It takes it down there to the manure separator where the
liquids are separated from the solids. Then we can use the solids to make beds for
the cows.”

“Beds? They sleep in . . . their own poo?” Maybe she should rethink the feeling that
these cows weren’t too miserable.

Roger chuckled. “It’s not what you’re picturing. It’s like peat moss. See? That brown
Swiss right there is sitting on one.” He pointed the cow out.

Stan surveyed it suspiciously. It certainly looked like peat moss, but still. Eww.
Roger was watching her with that amused look on his face. He was having a few laughs
at her expense.

“And then the liquids go there.” He pointed across the field at a circular structure
that looked like an above-ground swimming pool. “The manure tank.”

Stan glanced doubtfully at the structure. The walls were slightly higher than the
above-ground swimming pool her grandma had when she was a kid. There was no fence
around it. A steel ladder with about five steps on it was attached to the side, leading
up to a tiny steel platform. A large pipe ran down the side.

“Manure tank. That sounds lovely,” Stan said. “What do they do with it from there?”

“That there’s how we keep our grass growing.” Roger smiled. “It gets spread over the
farm. Emptied three to five times during the year. It’s a dirty job, but someone’s
gotta do it.” This time, he laughed out loud at his own joke. Stan could see why they
made him the tour guide.

“That’s wild. Has anyone ever mistaken it for a swimming pool?” Stan asked. “Like
new staff, late at night in the summer?” She was kidding, but it apparently wasn’t
a good joke, because Roger sobered immediately.

“Actually, that’s the number two dairy farming accident that kills folks,” he said.
“People fall in that thing and the gases kill ’em before too long.”

“My God. Really?”

“Yep. Happened to a farmer in Attawan, not far from here, year before last.” Roger
shook his head and made a sign of the cross.

Stan had no idea what to say to that. “So what’s the number one killer, then?”

“Augers in the equipment. Sharp blades,” he explained at her blank look. “Nasty job
they do on a human body, too. The manure tanks have those, too, so it’s a double whammy.”

“Ugh.” She blanched, pushing that visual out of her mind, and changed the subject.
“So what do the cows eat? Do they eat grass? Is it good for them?” She felt like a
schoolkid again, asking endless questions.

“They eat feed. We got a feed guy who mixes the grain, hay, and silage. His job’s
pretty important ’cause we don’t never want to run out of feed. Hungry cows aren’t
happy cows, and they’re not healthy cows either.”