Till the Cows Come Home (9 page)

Chapter Twelve

Nick’s taillights disappeared down the drive, and I went into the house to flip a switch by the side door. The yard and outbuildings flooded with light, almost as bright as day. I picked up the phone, noticing the answering machine was blinking. I punched Howie’s number.

“Good idea, Princess,” he said.

“Won’t keep you awake, will it?”

“Naw. My bedroom’s on the far side. Besides, it’s better to be careful.”

“All right. Just wanted to make sure.”

“You want I should sit up and watch?”

“I’ll take the first shift and get you when I’m ready to keel over. How’s the hand?”

“Ibuprofen’s keeping the throbbing down pretty good.”

“Great. See you in the morning.”

I hung up and hit the play button on the answering machine. The first message was Jethro, telling me to call ASAP. I hit speed dial, my heart pounding. He answered on the first ring.

“You hear, Stella? They made a breakthrough. I guess when they did little Toby’s autopsy they found something unusual.” I heard a paper crackling, like he was smoothing it out. “Something called aflatoxin.” He said it slowly, pronouncing each syllable carefully. “It’s some fungus they find on plants. Somehow people around here are eating stuff that’s laced with it.”

A chill crept up my back. “Laced on purpose? Like terrorists?”

“They ain’t saying that. They’re checking local produce. Corn, tomatoes, green beans. Everything. This’ll kill the farmers’ market.”

“Better than killing kids.”

“You said it.”

“So what do we do? Stop eating anything that’s not canned or boxed?”

“I suppose. Nothing fresh, that’s what I’m hearing. Unless you’ve grown it yourself.”

No more veggies for me.

“So what about Zach? And Mallory? What do you do for them?”

“Get them off any of that stuff. And they’re taking something called, oh good grief, I don’t know what it’s called, but Doc says they should be better within a day or two.”

“Super.” I tried to sound enthusiastic, but hadn’t the kids already been on the BRAT diet? They weren’t any better yet.

We said our good-byes, promising soberly to see each other at Toby’s funeral the next day.

The second message was from Detective Willard.

“Sorry to hear about that calf of yours,” he said. “I’ll be out tomorrow to check it out. I did get lucky on a couple alibis. One being Hubert Purcell. Looks like he’s not your man.”

My head started to hurt. If it wasn’t Hubert, I was back to square one.

“His alibi’s tight,” Willard continued. “And I didn’t even get it from him. Saturday, when your cow was electrocuted, he was with Pam Moyer most of the day.” Dammit, I’d forgotten that. “She says they even visited you in the morning. She was with him from breakfast on till after lunch. The night before, his neighbor says he was home all evening, grilling supper out on his patio. Didn’t go out any time that night, and believe me, this lady would know.

“Today he was in a meeting with county supervisors all afternoon till dinner. It sounds like he’s in the clear.” He paused. “That might be a relief to you, but it might also be frightening. All I can say is we’ll do our best to find the culprit. See you tomorrow.”

I breathed carefully through my nose, trying to squelch the fear tightening my chest. I had been banking on Hubert. The devil I knew.

I forced myself outside to fetch a lawn chair from the garage, then planted it in the side yard, where I’d be in full view of anyone coming to call. If I’d been a different kind of woman I could’ve used the time to knit a sweater or snap green beans. Instead, I found myself fidgeting, yearning for Queenie’s company, worrying over just who was messing with my farm. No one but Hubert had any motive. I wasn’t political. I wasn’t religious. Hell, I wasn’t much of anything except a farmer who made sure milk found its way to people’s refrigerators.

The news that they’d found the “flu” culprit should’ve been a huge relief, too, but a niggling doubt inside me said they were missing something. It seemed too easy. I’d have to ask Pam about it, seeing as how she was our new resident agricultural expert. Maybe I’d call her in the morning.

My chin dipped toward my chest, and I snapped back awake. Not even ten o’clock and I was drifting off. Some guard. I needed action.

I walked over to the garage and let the door up slowly, hoping I wouldn’t wake Howie, then wheeled my Harley over to the barn where I do my mechanical work. If I couldn’t sleep, I might as well use the time to do something productive. And fun.

I gathered up the new bike parts from my birthday party and the Biker Barn and spent the next couple of hours trying to lose myself in chrome. I couldn’t wait till the next time I went riding at night and saw those blue lights and the skull timing cover Lenny had slipped to me. I’d just have to make sure to ride where Bart wouldn’t see me.

By the time I’d mounted all the pieces, it was almost two o’clock. If I was going to get any sleep at all I knew I’d better wake Howie. I pushed the bike back to the garage and walked up his steps, feeling exposed in the brightness. I wondered if the cops had made any extra passes by the house like Officer Meadows had promised.

“My turn, Princess?” Howie’s face was creased with sleep.

“If you’re up to it.”

“I’ll manage.”

“You should know—it wasn’t Hubert. Willard left a message saying Hu couldn’t possibly have been here when the cows were killed. He’s got witnesses to prove it.”

“So that means—”

“Could be anybody.”

Howie sighed. “Okay. Go get some sleep.”

Back in my house, I de-greased with Fast Orange soap, dropped my dirty clothes in the washer, and fell into bed.

When my alarm went off I had a huge headache I decided to blame Nick for. I had plenty of other things to cause it, of course, but it was easiest to make him the scapegoat. I wasn’t used to practical strangers—or even close friends—delving into my deeply personal life.

I pushed myself out of bed, did my bathroom business, and pulled on my milking clothes, still half asleep. I turned on the “All News, All the Time” station on the radio and listened to a story about a businessman who had bought out a trucking company on the verge of bankruptcy, revamped it, and made it a commercial success.

It was only at the end of the segment I realized they were talking about Turner Enterprises. Seemed Sonny had done it again—he’d taken a floundering business and made millions on it. I wondered if he could do the same thing with my farm. Or Pam’s. Or at least our borough’s budget.

The newscaster went on to spout Accu-Weather’s forecast. Nothing new about what they were now calling the “Killer Fungus Illness.” I snapped the radio off.

My orange juice—not made from fresh local produce—and Cheerios didn’t have much taste, but I forced myself to eat them, and by the time I was done I felt a little more human.

I turned the floodlights off and opened the side door to listen, hoping to hear the patter of Queenie’s feet on the gravel drive. The morning was silent and still. No excited yelping or panting, no cold nose rooting in my palm. I walked down the steps and headed toward the garage, trying to have hope for my faithful collie, but worried as hell the madman plaguing my farm had gotten her.

I glanced up at Howie’s apartment and saw the reassuring light outside his door. He left it on every night, just in case I needed him. I had always told him I could handle anything on my own, but he was as hard-headed as I was, and during the past few years I’d done some growing up and wasn’t afraid to ask for help once in a while.

Underneath the light sat Howie, playing solitaire and whistling.

“Morning,” I said.

“Morning. Want help milking?”

“Nah. You go back to bed. Wouldn’t you know, the night we stay up nothing happens.”

“Maybe that’s why nothing happened.”

“Could be. See you in a few hours.”

The walk to the barn felt lonely without Queenie, so I tried to focus on my job and the things I needed to do. Unfortunately, Queenie always made herself a part of the morning chores, whether helping or getting in the way, and my ache for her grew stronger with every moment.

I stepped into the parlor and switched on the lights, half afraid I’d find a dead cow or some other catastrophe waiting for me. What greeted me was the sight of a few very alive cows lounging in stalls, so I breathed a sigh of relief and went back out and around the barn to get into the lower floor. I took one step into the room and stopped.

“Oh, man,” I said.

The entire floor was covered with water, and looking at the legs of the cows standing in it, I’d say there was a good six inches of it. Water was spraying out of one of the pipes that came down from the ceiling and led to the cows’ water fountain, filling up the barn floor and making a muddy, manurey mess.

“Oh,
man
.” I swept my eyes across the room, hoping I hadn’t forgotten and left a bag of feed or something on the floor, when I noticed the pile of straw bales on the other side, where Zach had shown off the new kittens just yesterday.

“Oh, no.” I waded quickly through the water, dreading what I would find. Zach would absolutely blacklist me if those kittens had drowned on my watch.

I reached the site where the cozy nest had been and peered into the hole. In the pale light it was hard to make anything out. I assumed I would at least be able to see the mother above the water, and there was nothing showing. I stuck my hand into the dark mess and let out my breath when I found no wet, furry creatures.

I straightened up and looked around, wondering where the cat could have taken her little family. I soon saw the smart mama on top of a stack of burlap sacks, her four dry and very squirmy offspring suckling at her belly.

“Good
girl
,” I said emphatically.

I splashed over to her and slowly offered my hand. She checked me out for a moment, shot visual daggers at me for allowing her home to be flooded, then deigned to let me pat her head. I should’ve known she’d have those babies out of there at the first sign of danger.

Satisfied the cats were safe and Zach wouldn’t want my head on a platter, I turned my attention back to the mess I had to deal with. I was thankful an Amishman I knew had come to take away Cleopatra’s remains the evening before so I didn’t have cow innards floating around, but there was still plenty to clean up. Howie wouldn’t get to sleep after all.

First off, though, I made my way across the room, found the spigot on the pipe which came from outside and led to the fountain, and turned off the water supply. The water continued to spray out for a few seconds, but soon slowed to a trickle, and then to just drips. I took a quick look to see if something had been tampered with, but couldn’t get a good enough vantage point. I’d come back in a minute.

I sloshed my way to the door, got onto relatively dry land, and trudged back up the hill to Howie’s place. His light was now off since the sun had started to rise, and he came to the door as soon as I knocked.

“What’d they do now?” he asked, fear in his voice.

“Don’t know if it’s Them or not.”

“What is it?”

“We’ve got the Shit Sea in the basement of the barn. Pipe burst on the water fountain.”

“For real?”

“I think so. I’ll check it out to be sure.”

“At least it’s something fixable.” He pulled on some boots. “Want me to get on the cleanup?”

“Actually, how ’bout we get the girls going in the parlor, then I’ll take care of the water while you take care of them.”

“I’ll do the water,” Howie said. “You’ve been doing all the crappy jobs the last couple days. And it’s your birthday and all.”

“It’s not my birthday anymore. And you’ve done the crap jobs all your life.”

He made a sound and I held up my hand. “I’m doing it. No arguments.”

“Fine.” He slammed the door in my face, and I trotted down his steps, smiling. Howie and I were very good at fighting.

I went back to the basement of the barn, and by the time Howie appeared I had shooed all the cows up the hill without landing face first in the muck.

“Over it?” I asked him.

He glared at me.

“Seen Queenie yet?” I asked.

His face changed. “Nope. God, Stella. You don’t think They got her, too?”

I shrugged and my chest constricted. I couldn’t think about it.

“You hear about the fungus?” I asked. A cow bumped into me and I pushed her toward an empty stall.

“Yeah. Isn’t aflatoxin something that attacks peanuts?”

“Don’t know. But we don’t have local of those, so it can’t be that. I think they test field corn for it sometimes.”

“Huh. I’m just glad they figured out something. If that’s really it.”

I looked at him sharply. “You’re having doubts, too?”

He put a hand on a nearby haunch and patted it while he talked. “It seems too easy. I mean, you can’t tell me all them kids are eating their vegetables.”

We stared at each other uneasily for a few moments before getting back to work. He was right. Normal kids just don’t eat fresh tomatoes and green beans. Corn on the cob, maybe.

We got the cows clipped in and pumping, and without saying anything more I went down to the watery mess. I took a look at it, sighed louder than necessary, straightened my shoulders, and went to work.

First, I waded over to the straw bales where the cats used to be housed. I took one of the already broken bales and started spreading it around. One bale doesn’t go a long way in that mess, so when I had that pile distributed I had to go upstairs and grab some more.

Eight bales and a lot of energy later, I stood beside the water fountain and tried to figure out what had happened. Pipes, unfortunately, don’t often get the attention they need or deserve, and they crack, corrode, and rust. They freeze and thaw in the winter, and sweat in the summer. These pipes looked like they’d been left alone for a little too long, and, from what I could see, I had only myself to blame. Well, I could’ve blamed Howie, but that wouldn’t have been fair.

The pipe in question had apparently rusted through, and as soon as a tiny fissure had appeared, it was all over. There are forty pounds of water pressure surging through the pipes at all times, and when it finds a leak, no matter how small, it’s like a little army breaking through an enemy’s wall. There are valves in the water fountain itself which close and open as the cows drink and the water level changes. They allow water to fill up the trough as need be, and keep it in the pipes when the fountain is full. They were no help at all with a hole like this.