Bought the Farm Mysteries Books 1-3 Read online

  Bought the Farm Mysteries

  Books 1-3

  Ellen Riggs

  FREE PREQUEL

  Rescuing this pup could bring Ivy a whole new life… if it doesn't kill her first.

  Discover how big city executive Ivy meets Keats, her crime-solving sheepdog, in A Dog with Two Tales. Join Ellen Riggs' author newsletter to get this FREE prequel to the Bought-the-Farm mystery series at EllenRiggs.com

  Bought the Farm Mysteries - Books 1 -3

  Copyright © 2021 Ellen Riggs

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-1-989303-72-6 eBook

  ISBN 978-1-989303-71-9 Book

  ASIN TBD Kindle

  ASIN TBD Paperback

  Publisher: Ellen Riggs

  www.ellenriggs.com

  Cover designer: Lou Harper

  Editor: Serena Clarke

  2103241301

  Contents

  Free Fun Story

  Dogcatcher In the Rye

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Recipes

  Dark Side of the Moo

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Recipe

  A Streak of Bad Cluck

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  What’s Next

  Fun Newsletter Signup

  More Fun

  Dogcatcher In the Rye

  Ellen Riggs

  Chapter One

  Keats ran to the front window and stood on his hind legs to look out at the driveway. He didn’t even lean on the wall, just stood upright like a circus dog. I’d taught him plenty of tricks, but that one he knew before we met a few months ago. He could turn a full circle in a few quick hops and never lost his balance. The slim, shaggy black-and-white dog with one blue eye and one brown was living proof of why border collies top the list on the canine intelligence scale.

  “Who is it, buddy?” I asked. “Tell me it’s not another casserole delivery.”

  He directed his blue eye at me, and I could have sworn it rolled. Keats had the most expressive face I’d ever seen on a dog. I was getting better at figuring out what he was thinking. And he was always thinking. Some days I was convinced he was smarter than me, if only because my brain hadn’t fully recovered since the incident that had brought us together.

  “Help me keep this short, okay?” I said, smoothing my hair. I wished I’d put on makeup earlier. When I lived in the city, there was no way I’d even think of opening the door without mascara, eyeliner and earrings. “Create a diversion if you need to. We’ve got a ton of errands in town.”

  Keats’ tail wagged once, twice, then drifted down. It didn’t look promising. With all the visitors we’d had since moving to the farm a week earlier, I’d barely been able to get anything done. The old tradition of stopping by with a warm welcome was alive and well in Clover Grove. It was sweet, but time consuming. Keats had no patience for it at all. He was a dog who liked to be doing, not sitting around making small talk.

  No one arrived empty handed. The cupboards that had been pretty much bare now held jam in five flavors and preserves both sweet and sour. The fridge and freezer were full of pies, cakes and heartier dishes. Mostly, there were eggs—dozens of them in shapes, sizes and colors I never knew existed. Meanwhile, there were about 40 generous hens in my own coop, producing more eggs than I could use, at least until my inn opened next month. Hopefully my guests would love omelets.

  When I left Clover Grove for college 15 years ago, the town had been moving away from its agricultural roots. The homesteading trend was bringing people back to the land in droves. I had mocked that trend once, but now I was basically doing the same. Things had a way of biting you in the butt in farm country.

  I opened the door at the precise moment someone gave a firm knock. It startled me and maybe that’s why I gasped even before I saw Lloyd Boyce standing on the porch in a uniform. I hadn’t seen Lloyd since high school, and I hoped time had been kinder to me than it had been to him. His ginger hair had not so much silvered as faded to a dull tan and his freckled face was lined and haggard. Still, his eyes were a striking blue and he held himself as if he knew how to use his charm if he felt like it.

  “Well, hello Lloyd,” I said. “How nice to see you. You haven’t changed a bit.”

  It was the kind of polite lie you learned to tell early in Clover Grove and I’d never outgrown the habit. My former colleagues had teased me about it, but it hadn’t slowed my climb up the corporate ranks.

  “Hi Ivy,” Lloyd said. “You look great, too.”

  I could tell from the slight twitch of his lips that he probably meant it. In high school, he’d run in the same circles as Asher, my older brother. Lloyd had always given me the creeps but I must have hidden it well because he invited me to his senior prom. Ash was outraged—the invitation defied “bro code”—but I’d declined anyway. My tenth grade social life wasn’t exactly thriving but there was no way I was dating Lloyd Boyce.

  Maybe Lloyd remembered that old rejection, too, because his eyes dropped to his black work boots, which looked freshly polished. His black uniform with the town crest was crisp and fit well. The belt around his waist had a holster over his left hip that held what appeared to be a can of pepper spray. A short baton balanced that out on his right hip,
and another device hung further back. The weapons made me even more uneasy.

  “What can I do for you, today, Lloyd? I don’t see a pie or preserves, so I’m assuming it’s not a housewarming visit.”

  “Right. I’m here on business.” Lloyd pressed his thin lips together and peered over my shoulder. “There’s been a complaint.”

  “A complaint? Already? I’ve only been here a week. I haven’t had time to get into trouble.” I had a good poker face after more than a decade of work in human resources and I was grateful for it now. “I mean, other than eating too much pie. Could I interest you in a slice? I’ve got apple, blueberry and pecan. You really can’t go wrong with any of them.”

  “I don’t eat pie on duty,” Lloyd said, rising on the toes of his boots to look over my other shoulder.

  “Let me get you a glass of water then. Or a cup of coffee.” I scanned the gravel driveway, expecting to see cars arriving with nosy neighbors. It wouldn’t be long till the Clover Grove rumor mill started churning about Lloyd’s visit. If it wasn’t already.

  His eyes came back to land on me. “Where is he?”

  “Where is who? I’m on my own here till my first paying guests arrive.”

  That caught his attention. “Guests?”

  “Clients. Customers. Maybe you’ve heard that I’m opening a small inn. Coming from Boston, I know how eager people are to enjoy the farm experience.”

  “This isn’t a farm.” He shook his head in apparent disgust. “It’s a petting zoo.”

  “Hobby farm, then. Would you like to come down to the barn and meet the alpaca? It’s a beautiful day for a stroll.”

  September was my favorite month in Clover Grove. The worst of the heat had lifted, but it was still balmy. My goal was to open before the fall colors came in. The surrounding hills had some of the best views in the country.

  “I get enough walking in my job,” Lloyd said. “And I don’t have any interest in your misfits.”

  “Misfits! That’s a terrible thing to say. The rescued animals here are all very sweet.” Except for the pig, who was intent on killing me, but no need to mention that. As an Animal Services field agent, Lloyd might take issue.

  “The County doesn’t endorse this farm, Ivy. I hope you know that. It’s been nothing but trouble, especially after that heiress took over and started her stupid online show. It attracted swarms of idiots.”

  “I have full confidence that the County will enjoy the tourist dollars my guests bring. I think my inn’s going to be a big hit. People will love frolicking with the goats, milking the cows and seeing lambs being born. They’ll eat five-star meals and go home feeling restored.”

  “Sounds like a commercial,” he said, taking a step back.

  I pressed my lips together to stop more words from tumbling out. My nerves were showing. Initially, I’d been on the fence about coming home to Clover Grove, but the former owner, Hannah Pemberton, had tracked me down in Boston and asked me to buy Runaway Farm. Insisted, actually. It was the strangest thing I’d ever experienced, other than the incident that prompted the offer—an incident I was desperate to forget. I couldn’t help but think the universe was pulling me home. Now that I was back here, I had moments of wishing the universe had sent me someplace else. When forces like that align, however, who are we to argue?

  “What happened with Hannah isn’t my business,” I said. The online show he despised, The Princess and the Pig, was hilarious and provocative. I was watching old episodes to educate myself about Runaway Farm and its makeover into an inn. “But I assure you I’m serious about this inn and the community. I have to be.”

  Lloyd shook his head and frowned. “City slickers.”

  I wasn’t sure whether he was insulting me or my future guests, so I let it slide. “Eventually all chickens come home to roost, I guess.”

  His eyes lit up and I mentally cursed myself for giving him the opening he wanted.

  “Speaking of chickens,” he said. “Edna Evans called Animal Services today saying your dog attacked her hens.”

  Keats chose that exact moment to stick his head between my knees and stare up at Lloyd. Then he gave a sharp woof. The dog had told me off often enough that I knew it was a reproof.

  “Those chickens were on my property,” I said. “Keats simply rounded them up and took them home. Not a single feather was ruffled.”

  “Edna said they came rushing onto her porch clucking like the devil himself was after them.”

  Keats had been a trifle overeager. He had more experience herding sheep and the hens’ vertical moves added complexity to the maneuver. Still, all the hens had arrived safely.

  “That’s quite an exaggeration, Lloyd. Keats is a herding dog. I’ve been working with him for months.”

  “Herding? In the city?” He gave me a skeptical look.

  “All over the state, actually. Would you like to see his certificates? He’s a prizewinner.”

  Keats gave a high-pitched whine, as if my bragging were beneath him. It was beneath both of us, since we’d only passed beginner level. He was a natural, but we were just getting started.

  Lloyd shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Your dog was chasing livestock and that’s not tolerated here. The consequences start with a fine and end with—”

  I tensed, squeezing my shins together. Keats made a strangled sound and pulled back. “I hope you’re not threatening my dog, Lloyd. Keats is the best dog on earth. I moved back here to give him a better life.”

  “You moved back because some heiress gave you a sweet deal on this place. How’d you manage that, anyway?”

  I glanced around, feeling almost embarrassed at my good fortune. The big old red brick farmhouse had been renovated beautifully, keeping the best features of the original and adding luxurious finishes. There was a new wing at the back with spacious bedrooms and spa-like bathrooms for the guests. I still felt like I was living in a boutique hotel, but it would become home soon enough. My sister, Daisy, was helping me add the final touches.

  “Just lucky, I guess,” I said. “Hannah saw an article about me saving Keats from a dangerous criminal, and thought I needed a break.”

  “I save dogs every day and no one gives me breaks like that.”

  His face twitched into a frown and for a second I felt sorry for him. “You’ve done well for yourself, Lloyd, at least from what Ash tells me.”

  “What’d your brother say?” Now he sounded worried.

  I bit my lower lip. Asher was an officer with Wolff County’s police department. Sometimes he shared confidential things because I was out of town and couldn’t get him in trouble with gossip. Now that I lived here, I’d have to be more careful, especially since my memory wasn’t always my friend these days.

  “Something about a girl…?” I began. “You got married?”

  “I got divorced,” he said. “Well, almost.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry, Lloyd. That must have been hard.”

  He waved away my pity. “I’ve found someone new. You probably remember Mandy McCain.”

  “The baker, of course. Her grandmother runs Clover Grove Country Store. I’ve loved that place forever.”

  “The store’s outdated now, but the land’s worth a bomb with the way the town’s developing. Mandy should sell while she can and get out.” His frown lines deepened. “This place isn’t what you remember, Ivy.”

  “I bet Clover Grove still has a big heart, just like when we were growing up.”

  He gave a little smirk as he pulled a device from his equipment belt. “I’ll show some heart today by letting you off with the minimum fine. As a homecoming present.”

  I gasped. “A fine! Lloyd, you can’t fine me for escorting someone’s hens from my property to their own home. That’s ridiculous.”

  “You’re not in Boston anymore, Ivy. We take animal welfare seriously here.”

  Heat whooshed up from my belly and blew out my diplomacy circuits. “You’re a dogcatcher. You round up strays so the County can euthani
ze them. How is that taking animal welfare seriously?”

  Color rose under Lloyd’s tan, swamping his freckles. “I’m just following the rules. Your dog was chasing livestock. End of story.”

  “Oh, it’s not the end of this story. I’m going to contest this fine. What are my rights?”

  Lloyd shrugged. “You have the right to pay the fine now or pay double if you’re late.”

  Keats whined, as if to warn me, and I took a deep breath. I didn’t lose my temper often, but when I did… well, the last time landed me on the news, in the hospital, and ultimately out of a job. Losing it again now certainly wouldn’t help my farm-themed inn. I didn’t want a blot on my record with Animal Services.