In Farm's Way, page 7
We were still working on making him a proper farm dog. Though, I was beginning to have my doubts he would get there. Thousands of years ago in China, pugs had been bred to be companion dog to the wealthy. The plan had never been for them to herd chickens or ride on a tractor.
After one more snuffly sigh, Huckleberry hopped out of the truck. He landed on his boots and shook out his legs in turn.
“We’ll see if we can get you some new boots that are a bit more comfortable.”
He snorted. In pug, that was a happy sound.
Fishermen and spectators were gathering to hear the end of the day announcements. I snapped on Huckleberry’s leash. “Stay close,” I told the pug. “I don’t want you to get stepped on.”
He shook out his left rear leg.
I led Huckleberry to the lakeshore. My boot slipped on the ice, but I kept my balance. Walking on ice was a skill that was taking me a little while to regain. I remembered coming to the lake as a teenager to ice-skate or just slide across the glassy surface on sleds or baking sheets. It had been so carefree until someone got hurt—and someone always did.
“What an amazing day we’ve had out on the ice!” a man standing on a crate and holding a microphone at the edge of the fishing area announced. “And this is just the first day. We hope that all of you anglers will be back tomorrow for the second day of the derby. The number of fish we are pulling in is outstanding. Let’s announce our leaders in each division. Starting with the Silver Class, we have Sullivan Bellamy with nine pikes. Let’s all clap for Sully!”
I clapped and cheered for my father. I spotted Dad standing with Hazel across the ice. The young girl jumped up and down. Dad waved to the crowd and gave Hazel a side hug next to his walker. I felt a twist in my heart. He hadn’t celebrated with me. Grandma Bellamy had done that.
When my father emerged from his black hole after my mother’s death, it had been too late. I was already a teenager and was closer to my grandmother than I ever would be with my father. He probably knew that, so, for better or worse, he didn’t press trying to get close to me.
Hours of therapy in LA had told me I had father issues. Most women did, I supposed. There was something about a father-daughter bond that was different, special. My issues stemmed from not having a bond. I realized now—months after returning to Cherry Glen—that I’d come back here not just to save the farm, but also to have a chance at a relationship with my father before it was too late. There had been glimmers of hope since I’d returned, but no moments like those he so naturally shared with Hazel.
My LA therapist had worked with me a lot about accepting people for who they are. I’d tried to do that when it came to my relationship with my father, but it wasn’t easy. It was especially hard whenever I was reminded how things could have been.
The leaders in the rest of the classes were announced. Hazel spotted me and Huckleberry across the ice and came running.
“Whoa!” I caught her just as she slid by on her boots. “This ice is slippery. You have to take it slow.”
“Did you hear that Sully is in first place?” she asked excitedly. “He’s going to crush it tomorrow and bring home the W.”
“I don’t doubt it for a second,” I said as we walked over to where Dad and Quinn stood.
“Tomorrow morning, we’re going to have to get here earlier,” Dad said. “If I want to clinch this win, I need my lines in the water by six. I can’t just be setting up.”
“Dad, I wasn’t planning to come out tomorrow. Kristy doesn’t need me for the booth.” At least, as far as I knew she didn’t need me. That might have changed since the death of Wallace Fields. I hadn’t heard from her since she ran home to see Kent. I hoped that wasn’t a bad sign.
“I have to be here at five, not a second later.”
I held a breath. Tomorrow was Sunday. It really was the only day of the week I allowed myself to sleep in. And by sleep in, I meant wake up at seven. I let out a silent breath of air. I knew how important this competition was to my father, and he was very likely to win. I wanted to be there to see it. I just didn’t necessarily want to spend another full day at the ice fishing derby. In any case, there was no way I could say no.
Just as I was going to agree to bring him back to the lake at five, Quinn spoke up. “I can give you a lift out here Sully.”
“I’m coming too,” Hazel said. “I want to be here when you win.”
Dad grinned. “That’s the spirit.”
“If you guys are sure,” I said.
“Of course, we’ll just swing by your farm around four thirty and pick up Sully.”
While Hazel and Dad spoke excitedly about all the fish they had caught that day, I pulled Quinn aside. “Are you sure that you can pick up my dad? I hate for you to have to get up any earlier just for that reason.”
He laughed. “Hazel has been so excited about this derby; if I wake up earlier it will because she can’t sleep. I think it will be even worse tonight because she is so pumped that Sully is leading his age division.”
I let out a breath. “Okay.”
He put a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, it will give you time to get your farm chores done without your dad looking over your shoulder, and you can come later to see how we are all doing.”
I smiled up at him. “It sounds like a plan.”
“We’re good at making plans together, Shi.” He walked away to join Dad and Hazel.
I really wished he would stop saying things like that. I was confused enough about how I felt about him as it was.
I rejoined our little group. “Are you ready to go home, Dad?” I asked.
“Sure am. I have everything packed up in the shanty.”
“Why don’t we put all your gear in my truck?” Quinn said. “That will give us less to do in the early morning.”
“That’s a fine idea,” Dad said.
Dad, Huckleberry, and I were finally on the road home a little while later.
Dad leaned back in this seat with Huckleberry on his lap. “It’s been quite a day. I didn’t know I still had it in me to sit that long and fish. I’ll be sitting on my heating pad when I get home and finishing the day with a hot toddy.”
I glanced at him. “I’m glad it went so well for you.”
“I heard it was an interesting day for you. You found another dead man. I never thought my daughter would find such things, but I suppose we must consider it some sort of habit for now.”
“It’s not a habit I want,” I said.
“Many habits are unwanted, but that doesn’t make them any less real.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I agreed.
When we arrived back at the farm, I got Dad settled in the house with his heating pad, some chicken soup, and fresh bread. I gave some of the soup to Huckleberry too. While the pair of them enjoyed their dinner, I went outside and checked on the chickens and barn cats for the night. Esmeralda, Hazel’s rescued Siamese mix, was usually lording over the barn cats if Huckleberry and I weren’t around, but she wasn’t in the barn with the other four cats.
I called her name, but she didn’t come out from wherever she was hiding. Even though she was a diva, Esmeralda usually came running when she was called, probably because it was usually for dinner. That little cat didn’t like to miss a meal.
I called again, but still, nothing. There was no sign of her.
I bit my lip. I didn’t like any of the chickens or cats out at night, especially in winter. There were bobcats, coyotes, and other predators in the area that would see Esmeralda as a possible meal. And it was a bigger risk in the winter with prey more difficult to find.
I walked out of the barn, calling her name. The more she didn’t come, the more I started to panic. First and foremost, I didn’t want anything to happen to Esmeralda because I cared about the cat. Second, Hazel would never get over it.
Esmeralda was the queen of the farm. She hadn’t grown up on the farm like the tabbies had. She’d led a sheltered life until she came to Bellamy Farm. At first, I hadn’t known how this pampered cat would do around the chickens and other cats, but she had quickly fit right in. Basically, she’d strutted in and let them know she was the boss.
The sun was sinking low in the sky. The light would be completely gone in a few minutes.
“Esmeralda!” I cried as loud as I could.
Nothing.
I called her name again, and I heard a faint meow coming from the front of the house. I ran in that direction and found the little cat sitting on the step leading up to the front porch. Or more accurately, she was standing on the step that was leading up to what had been the front porch.
The farmhouse was in disrepair. More disrepair than I was able to financially contend with at the moment. It had been made all the more apparent when, just before Christmas, the front porch had fallen under the weight of a heavy snow.
As of yet, I hadn’t been able to deal with the aftermath. Dad and I came and went from the back of the house; that door faced the barn and chicken coop anyway.
“Esmeralda, you scared me! You know I don’t want you alone outside at night.”
She meowed and pawed at the snow covering what was left of the porch.
I walked over and picked her up. I unzipped my coat and tucked her inside to warm her up. She snuggled against my chest. The little cat could snuggle when she wanted to, but it only happened on her own terms. In fact, when it came to Esmeralda, everything had to happen on her terms.
I started to walk back to the rear of the house when Esmeralda wriggled out of my grasp and jumped into the snow at my feet. She then leaped back onto the porch step.
“What are you doing? It’s time for you to go in for the night. It’s for your own good. You had a lot of wandering time around the farm today while Huckleberry and I were at the ice fishing derby.”
I had always had conversations with my animals. As of yet, they’d never answered me back in English. When they started doing that was when I would get worried.
She pawed at a shingle that had once been on the porch roof.
“I know, I know, it’s a mess. I’ll get to it in the spring. It’s too much work to dig it all out of the snow.”
She hissed.
“Sheesh, you seem to have a very strong opinion on this.”
I picked her up a second time and took her into the house.
Chapter Ten
It had been a long and exhausting day, but I knew I needed to take the materials from the Cherry Glen booth to Kristy so she could give them to tomorrow’s volunteers. I was worried about her too. Even though I’d texted and called several times to ask how she was throughout the day, I hadn’t heard a peep from her in reply.
That was unusual. Kristy was a serial texter. I typically received dozens of texts from her on any given day. I used to feel obligated to reply to each one—even if my reply was just an emoji—but finally gave up. I knew if something was really important, she would call me. Many times, I didn’t catch up on her text messages until I lay down for the night.
When Huckleberry and I rolled up to Kristy and Kent’s cozy little ranch-style home thirty minutes later, I had a sinking feeling in my chest. There was an Antrim sheriff’s department SUV in their driveway. A sheriff’s vehicle in Kristy’s driveway would always be alarming, but Cherry Glen was in Grand Traverse County, not Antrim. There was only one reason the sheriff from Antrim County would be there, and it had to do with Wallace Fields.
I hopped out of my father’s truck and told Huckleberry to stay put. Just as I did, the front door opened, and Kent came outside, followed by a sheriff’s deputy.
Kent spotted me and lowered his head. My heart sank. Why wouldn’t he even look at me? Was he feeling guilty? Guilty of what? What had happened to Wallace? I felt like my stomach was being pulled in on itself with a dozen sharp fishing hooks.
Sheriff Penbrook came out the door next with Kristy close on his heels. Tears streamed down her face. I ran through the snowy yard to reach her. She didn’t say anything, just threw herself into my arms and buried her head in my chest.
“What’s going on?” I directed the question to the sheriff.
“Ms. Bellamy, I wish I could say I am surprised to find you here, but I’m not.”
I ignored his comment. “Why are you here? Where are you taking Kent?”
“We’re just taking Mr. Brown in for some questioning. At this point, he was the last person to see Wallace Fields alive, so we need to know every detail of those moments.”
“Why can’t you talk to him here?”
“We tried.” He glanced at Kristy. “However, I believe it would be better to have a discussion without interruption.”
I bit my lip. I believed he was telling me that Kristy had been trying to answer the questions for her husband instead of letting Kent speak. She was certainly the more talkative of the pair.
I cleared my throat. “Sheriff, Kent Brown is just the sweetest, hardest-working man on the planet.”
“It’s just questioning,” Sheriff Penbrook said.
It may be “just questioning,” but anything could happen in that situation. Kent could say something to make himself look worse, or he could appear like he was hiding information from Sheriff Penbrook, which could be just as bad.
The sheriff’s face softened when he looked at Kristy. “We’ll have him home as soon as we can.”
Inside of the house, one of the babies began to cry, and Kristy took one last look at her husband—who was being helped into the back seat of the sheriff’s SUV—before she went inside.
Sheriff Penbrook pressed his lips together and sighed. “I hate this part of my job.” He then started toward his car.
I followed him. “Sheriff, you can’t think Kent would kill another person. That would be like…like…accusing a koala of murder!”
He turned to look at me. “I’ve read koalas are actually very mean.”
“Okay, then I chose the wrong species. You know what I meant. He’s not the type to hurt someone.”
“I never said he hurt anyone. Chief Randy has graciously offered his conference room in the municipal building here in Cherry Glen. Mr. Brown won’t be gone that long. We will bring him back home as soon as we can.” He nodded toward the house. “Go inside and see after your friend. Mrs. Brown has already told me how close the two of you are. She needs a friend like you right now.” He patted my arm and walked to his vehicle where Kent and the deputy were waiting.
After they drove away, I collected Huckleberry and went into Kristy’s house.
The moment you walked into Kristy’s home, you knew little children lived there. A car seat was propped by the door, with an industrial-sized package of diapers next to it. All exits to the living-room-turned-playroom were blocked by mesh baby gates, and the middle of the floor was peppered with toys.
At the moment, the twins were happily sitting together on the floor playing with stuffed animals.
One of the girls chucked her teddy bear at her sister, and the other girl squealed. I couldn’t tell if the squeal was of frustration or delight. To be honest, my interaction with babies was limited to the past few months around the twins. And even with all the time I spent with them, I couldn’t tell them apart until I knew who was wearing which outfit that day.
Kristy sat on the couch looking at the girls. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. “Shi, this is bad. It’s so much worse than I feared.”
“The sheriff told me he’s just taking him in for an interview. Kent will be back soon. He didn’t do anything.”
“That’s the problem. He didn’t do anything. If he had, Wallace Fields would still be alive.”
“What do you mean?” I sat next to her on the couch. In the process, I sat on a pacifier, which I moved and set on the arm of the sofa.
She rubbed her face. “I don’t want the girls to see me crying like this.” She grabbed a baby wipe from the diaper bag on the floor and cleaned her face. “That’s better.”
“Now you smell like baby powder.”
“Trust me, I could smell a whole lot worse having nine-month-old twins.”
I’d have to take her word for that.
“Kent heard something that might have been related to the murder.”
“What did he hear?”
“Hooting.”
“Come again?”
“Hooting like an owl, but he thought it was a person pretending to be an owl. In any case, it was so late, and dark, and cold, that it freaked Kent out. He didn’t wait for Wallace.”
“Wallace wasn’t there yet when he heard the hooting?”
“Not as far as he knew. He texted Wallace to say he’d found the spot where the brewery should have its booth and left.”
“Did Wallace text him back?” I asked.
“Kent said he just wrote ‘okay.’ He took that to mean he could leave. It was the last text message Wallace received or sent. It’s very possible my husband could have been the last person to communicate with him. The texts are how the police knew to come looking for Kent.”
“They found Wallace’s phone? I would’ve thought it’d be in bad condition if it went in the water with him.”
“They haven’t found his phone yet, but all of Wallace’s text messages and voicemails were stored in the cloud.”
I wondered how much information about myself was floating around in the cloud that I would rather not have people see if I were to die. I couldn’t think of anything that’d get me in trouble, but I was certain there were some really bad photos of me up there somewhere.
“What was the time stamp on the text messages?” I asked.
“Kent’s was 12:36, and Wallace replied at 12:41.”
“It’s possible Wallace wasn’t even there yet. He could have still been on the way to the lake.”
She shook her head. “Kent saw his truck in the parking lot. There was no one inside. He said it looked like it might have been there a little while longer than his because there was snow collected on the windshield. He said he was at the lake all of ten minutes before he heard the owl hooting and wanted to leave.”
