Till the Cows Come Home (6 page)

“Thanks. I’ll be back with the guys if you need help.”

Jermaine smiled. Like he would need help from me with this eensy-weensy machine.

I found the three Granger brothers out behind the garage. Jethro and Jordan were hunkered down beside the red Case International combine, their heads hidden underneath it, while Jude sat on a stack of tires, looking like his dog had died.

“Hey,” I said.

They all ignored me, but I decided to be gracious and put it down to extreme concentration. I moved behind Jethro and spoke into his ear. “Hey.”

Jethro jerked up and hit his head on a piece of metal that stuck out from the body of the combine. “Geez, Stella, nothing like sneaking up on folks.”

“Sorry. What’s going on?”

“Jude’s combine decided it was time to go out to pasture,” Jordan said, standing up and rubbing dirt off his knees.

Jordan is the third of the Granger eight, and the only brother—other than Abe—who’s not married. I’m sure there’s speculation about this, since Jordan is thirty-seven, but seeing who his brothers are, no one ever says anything so the Grangers would hear it.

“What’d it do?” I asked, eyeing the combine.

“Not sure,” Jethro said. “But from what Jude says, it sounds like the motor’s messed up bad. It was doing all this jerking and stalling yesterday, and he seemed to think if he ignored it, it would go away.” He looked like this was paramount to pushing the red button and launching a nuclear missile at Canada, but Jude was his brother, so he would never actually say how stupid he thought he was.

“Finally bit it today?” I asked.

“In a big show of dust and smoke. He was cutting hay on that big incline on the back corner of your west field, and the engine cut, the steering wheel locked, and he ran right into a tree. We had to pull him out with a front end loader.”

“How come nobody called me?”

“Why would we? Nothing you could do with your little baby Ford.”

I punched his shoulder. “So Jude’s pretty shook up, huh? Looks shell-shocked.”

“Fixing this is going to about put him under. Insurance won’t cover this kind of stuff.”

My stomach did a flip-flop. Jude’s whole life was farming—if he lost that, I didn’t know what he’d do. He didn’t have training for anything else. Besides, he loved his life as it was. Marianne would probably be overjoyed to move on to something different, but she’d have to endure some tight times first.

“Marianne know?” I asked.

Jethro looked away, seemingly embarrassed, but Jordan shrugged. “She’s off at some fertility clinic in Philly since early this morning. She won’t be home till this afternoon.”

“Fertility clinic?” Suddenly Marianne’s bad attitude about the calf and kittens made sense.

Jethro gave Jordan a look which I could only interpret as “shut up.” “She didn’t want anybody knowing about it,” Jethro said. “I only know ’cause Belle had to drive her a coupl’a times.”

“And Jordan?”

Jethro hemmed and hawed a bit before Jordan grinned. “Jethro needed to share.”

“Sure,” I said. “Now I know who to tell my secrets to if I want everyone to know them.”

“Naw,” Jordan said. “Jethro’s just tired of Marianne’s snottiness and doesn’t care who knows what about her.”

“Snottiness?”

“Anyhow,” Jethro said gruffly, “this combine is dead as a doornail, you ask me.”

“You want I should throw it in the Dumpster?” Jermaine said from the garage. We all looked at him, thinking he probably could if he put his mind to it.

“Your mower’s done, Stella,” he said.

I acknowledged him with a wave.

“What’d the doctor have to say about Zach?” I asked Jethro. I wanted to scold him for not calling me, but didn’t have the heart.

His face dropped. “Not enough. They don’t have no idea what’s going on. You’d think with all we pay ’em.…” He stopped talking and picked at a fingernail.

“So what’s the plan now?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Same as Mallory. Treat the symptoms. Call if it gets worse. Bunch of bullshit.”

I agreed, but didn’t want to fan the flame. “Well, tell Zach I fed Gus this morning and he’s doing great, but I’m sure he’ll be glad to see Zach when he can get there. And tell him I’ll check on the kittens, too.”

“Sure.”

I wanted to say something more, but wasn’t sure what it should be. In the end I let it go. Nothing I could say would help Zach get better any quicker.

“Good luck with this thing.” I gave the combine a thump and walked back toward the garage, stopping by Jude on my way. “You can use my tractor till you get this taken care of, if you want. I’ve got my dad’s old pull-type combine stashed away in the barn. It’s not what you’re used to, but I’m sure not using it.”

He looked up at me, glassy-eyed. I didn’t think what I said registered, so I just squeezed his shoulder and started to walk away.

“Thanks,” Jude said.

I turned, but he had already gone back into his own little coma.

Chapter Eight

The mower worked as good as new, even with the ugly scar across the top of it. You’d never have known it just got out of surgery. I was on the last section of lawn, having taken only one short break to check out Nick’s progress on the heifer barn, when Carla came walking up, looking serious.

“So what was it?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“What? You can’t tell?”

“Oh, I can tell. I just don’t believe it.”

“Believe what?”

She bit her lips together, then said, “Cleopatra was electrocuted.”

“
Electrocuted?”

“I saw a burn mark right away, traveled down her leg to the ground, skin and hair burned along the way.”

“But she was in the middle of the pasture.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Exactly. So I did the whole business, cut her open, checked her out. Her lungs are edematous—filled with fluid—and she’s got hemorrhages on her heart. It all fits.”

“But that means.…”

“Yes,” Carla said. “That means Cleopatra was murdered.”

***

“
Electrocuted?”
Howie said.

My head pounded. I shook it and took a few steps back and forth, flexing my fingers. “Zapped in the middle of a dry pasture. And we haven’t had any storms.”

Howie leaned on the scraper and peered at me over the top of it. “But, why?”

“Who the hell knows? Why would someone drain our manure lagoon? What have we ever done to anybody?” I smacked the scraper and my hand stung.

Howie pushed himself straight and scratched his head. “Electric guy said there were squirrels in the box. Think that was somebody’s doing, too?”

I stared at the ground, rage making my vision spotty. “But why? Why would someone be doing this?” I spun around and started for the house.

“Where you goin’?” Howie said.

“Where do you think? I’m going to tell the police to nail this creep’s scrawny ass to the barn wall.”

***

I was headed out the door, keys in hand, when the phone rang.

“Yeah?”

“One of these days you’re going to have to be a little more civil,” Abe said.

My mouth went dry, and an irrational spasm of guilt hit me as I remembered ogling Nick’s behind.

“What do you want?” I asked. “Is that civil enough?”

“Never mind. I, uh, have a favor to ask.”

“What?”

“Well.…”

“Spit it out, Abie, I’m in a hurry.”

He cleared his throat. “It’s, uh, actually a favor for Missy.”

“Oh, great. Little Miss White Collar needs some help from the stinky farmer?”

“Cut it out, Stella.”

“She did give me all the good-smelling stuff. Oh, sorry, you
both
gave me the good-smelling stuff.”

“Forget it. See you later.”

“Sorry,” I said. “Sorry. I just found out someone killed one of my cows. I’m on my way to the police station.”

“
What
?”

“I know, it’s crazy. So what’s the favor?”

“Never mind. I don’t want to bother you.”

“Come on Abe, what?”

“Well, Missy wondered…she wants to come help milk the cows.”

I rubbed my eyes.

“Stella?”

“When? When does she want to come?”

“I was going to ask about tonight, but it sounds like—”

“Fine. Tell her to come at five-thirty.”

“Really?”

“The cows have to be milked.” And Howie does the evenings.

“Great. Thanks, Stella.”

“You owe me.” Big.

On my way out to the truck I noticed Queenie’s food bowl was empty, so I made a quick detour to get a scoop of her dry food. I dumped it in and waited for her to come running. The sound of the food hitting the plastic is usually just as good as a whistle, but that time it didn’t work.

“Queenie!” I called. “Lunchtime!” I put two fingers in my mouth and whistled.

“Dog missing?” Nick strolled up to me, now in only one layer of normal work clothes.

I lifted a shoulder, trying not to show my anxiety. “Probably found something else for lunch.”

“Something like…?”

“I try not to think about it.”

He made a face. “Is everything else okay?”

“No, it’s not. I’ve got a dead cow.”

“Dead? From what?”

“She was electrocuted.”

Nick looked like he had more questions, but Howie was watching from across the barnyard. I waved at him and yelled, “I’m going, I’m going.” I started toward my truck.

“I’m heading out for the afternoon,” Nick called after me. “I’ll be back this evening.”

“Fine. See you then.”

I broke too many traffic laws on the way to the police station, but our town has about one cop on patrol at any given time, so I made it no problem. I stepped into the foyer and rang the bell.

A uniformed officer came barreling through a door to my left and ran smack into me, knocking me sideways. I caught my balance and rubbed my hip where his gun had whacked me. He squinted at me angrily, and I stared right back. It certainly wasn’t
my
fault the jerk wasn’t looking where he was going.

The receptionist came to the barred window and the rude guy slammed out the front door. After directing a frown toward the departing officer’s back, the woman smiled at me. “Can I help you?”

“Name’s Stella Crown. I need to report some sabotage on my farm.”

“No problem. The detective’s running late, so he’s still here. You’ll hear a buzz, and that door will unlock.”

I went and stood where she pointed, swinging the door open when I heard the sound. A man met me inside.

“Detective Willard,” he said, holding out his hand. “Please follow me.” I studied his back as we walked. He was in his forties, probably, taller than me, and stocky. A lumbering walk, like you expect from a cop. Or a biker.

In his office, he waved me to a chair and sat down behind a cluttered desk. I looked around at all of his books, papers, and certificates, and was glad my office had a little more order. And space.

“So what can I do for you, Ms. Crown?” he asked. He pulled out a notebook and held a pen over it.

Now we were face to face I saw that his skin was pale and blotchy, and dark circles underscored his eyes. I hoped he wasn’t coming down with the flu. Just what I needed.

“Someone murdered one of my cows.”

“Excuse me?” He stared at me, mouth hanging.

“I’ve got a murdered cow, a sabotaged manure lagoon, and someone messed with my electric. It’s got to stop.”

“I’d say so.” He recovered his composure and snapped his mouth shut. “Give me details.”

I told him everything I knew. It wasn’t much.

He brought up a new screen on his computer. “Tell me where you live and I’ll come out and take a look this afternoon.”

“Not much to look at. No fingerprints on the manure lagoon.”

“I’ll come all the same.”

I gave him my address. “Anything I can do to help get things ready?”

“No. Please. Just leave everything as it is.”

“You got it.”

“Now,” he said. “Any ideas who would do this to you? And why?”

I shook my head. “My first reaction was kids I’d turned down for jobs.” I stood and reached into my pocket to pull out a list of all the applicants’ names and addresses. “But this seems too mean for them.”

He took the paper. “You never know. Anybody else? Business enemies? Competitors?”

I thought about Marty Hoffman sneaking onto my farm to kill a cow and almost laughed at the outrageous idea. “Nobody like that.” Something flitted across my mind, and I caught it. “Of course. Hubert Purcell, that bastard.” I smacked my fist on the back of the chair.

Willard raised his eyebrows. “The developer?”

“The one and only. Goddammit. It has to be him. I’m gonna rip his lungs out.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Willard said. “Why don’t you have a seat and tell me why he’d do this.”

I considered the chair, but knew I couldn’t sit still. “He’s been after my farm forever. Probably thinks if I have enough troubles I’ll up and sell.”

“And would you?”

“Never. But Hubert would, so he figures I’ll break, too. Now, if that’s enough, I have a developer to lynch.”

Willard quickly stood. “Hold that thought and consider what I’m going to say.”

“But—”

“
Consider it
.”

I put my hands on my hips and stared at the floor. “Fine. What?”

“If you’re wrong—” I jerked my head up and he held out his hand to stop me from talking. “If you’re wrong, he’ll sue you to your last particle of grain. You know he will. And then he’ll win for sure.”

I gritted my teeth. “I can’t do
anything?”

“Not if you’re smart. Which I know you are.”

I sighed. “So what are you going to do?”

“Check him out. Discreetly. Along with all the kids on your list.” He pinned me with his eyes. “You understand what could happen if you take this on yourself?”

I met his gaze. “I understand.”

“Good.” He came around the desk, gesturing to the door. “I’ll be out to your place as soon as I can. I’ve got some patrolling to do, then, with luck, I’ll be free.”

He led me out of his office, but I stopped at the front door, wondering at his pasty complexion, ready to be pissed if he was knowingly subjecting others to the virus. “You know any more about this flu than what we’re hearing on the news?”

He dipped his chin to his chest, then looked up, his forehead wrinkling. “My son, Brady, has it. Pretty bad. He’s been at Grand View Hospital since Thursday.”

“Oh, crap. I’m sorry.” Should’ve kept my mouth shut.

He leaned across me and opened the door. “Thanks. I know I’m not the only one with worries. But it sure eats away at your insides.”

I didn’t know what else to say. So I left.

***

I was way too deep in thought when I got stopped at a green traffic light. A cop stood in the middle of the intersection, barring my way, and I luckily came out of my fog before smashing her flat. I looked around, wondering at the hold-up, and realized there were people lining the sidewalks on the crossroad. A parade. The usual mid-summer, county-fair’s-a-coming-soon parade.

Shit.

I put the truck in neutral and sat back, stepping on the emergency brake. So this was the patrolling the detective was late for. I rolled down both side windows to fend off heat suffocation, and let my eyes wander over the floats that came by. So help me God, if Hubert had a spot in the parade I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions.

There were only half the amount of by-standers as usual. Either the kids were sick, or the parents were afraid to bring them to such a child-attended event. I knew several kids in my own world who wouldn’t be attending. A fresh wave of worry washed over me and I tried to focus on the passing entertainment.

First came a marching band from the local high school. Most of the musicians were in step. Following them were a few cars with state representatives, a float with Girl Scouts, and a fire truck. I was really starting to get antsy when I saw a familiar face.

Pam Moyer sat in the back of an old yellow Mustang convertible, waving stiffly to the crowd. The Town Council President, Sonny Turner, sat beside her smiling and throwing charisma everywhere. I was surprised he wasn’t throwing actual cash, he had so much of it. Little future politicians ran alongside, tossing candy to outstretched hands. Pam soon turned toward my side of the street, and when her glance reached my truck, our eyes locked. She froze for a moment, then gave me my own special wave. I lifted my fingers off the steering wheel, too lazy to raise my hand for—in Hubert the Bastard’s words—our “very own Ivy Leaguer.” At least I supposed that’s why she was sitting there beside the prez. They probably wanted her to take over when Sonny retired. She’d do a good job.

I couldn’t help but wonder how her dad was faring since he found out the Bergeys sold the land he’d been farming. Or if he and Pam had gotten any sleep the night before.

Once Pam was gone I had to sit through a very un-synchronized baton troupe before a break became obvious and the police officer started moving to the middle of the intersection. I let off my emergency brake and put the truck in gear. The police officer frantically waved me on, and I got out of the town proper.

God, I needed a break. And I knew where I needed to take it.

The Biker Barn is a Harley-Davidson motorcycle repair and retail shop about ten miles from my place. It’s the official sponsor of my Harley Owners’ Group chapter, and it’s a home away from home. A haven of chrome and leather, Harley parts claim every available space, alongside gift items like mugs, playing cards, and watches. But even more than just for buying stuff, I go to see people who occupy a special corner of my life. I needed to see them now.

I pulled into the parking lot and checked out the lot. Early Sunday afternoons mustn’t be too busy, because the only bike there was an old Shovelhead that looked like it had been through both World Wars. I wished I was on my bike, too, but hadn’t wanted to take the time to get gussied up before going to the police.

I went into the store and the bell on the door chimed, surprising me, as always. I never expect a little ringing sound when entering a small, smoky building filled with metal and leather.

“Hey, Bart,” I said.

Bart Watts laid down his cigarette and leaned on the glass counter. “Well, well, if it ain’t the princess. Where you been?”

“Same as always—knee deep in cow crap.”

I sat on a tall stool in front of the cash register and glanced around the shop. Bart looked as usual—his hair in a single braid down his back, his beard trimmed short and even. The serpent tattoo that began on his right wrist disappeared into his T-shirt, only to escape again on his left arm, slithering down to his hand. He wore black jeans tight on his skinny legs, cowboy boots, and a thick gold chain around his neck.

“You look like hell,” he said.

“Gee, thanks.”

“I mean that only in the nicest way.”

I shifted on the seat. “Someone killed one of my cows.”

“No shit?”

“And Zach Granger is sick with the same illness that killed my neighbor boy.”

“Oh, man.” He straightened up and ran a hand down his beard. “I got two nieces with this flu. They’re holding their own, but who knows for how long?”