LITMIR.BIZ

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do if someone called in a shooting, stop to take orders for lunch?

      The sheriff reappeared. “That was the mayor. He’s calling me in for an emergency conference. You’re on your own, Deputy.”

      “Convenient,” Vaughn muttered.

      “You said you didn’t need a wrangler. Here’s your chance to prove it.” She turned to Clarissa. “Give him the keys to his cruiser. Mr. Katz’s address, too.”

      “Mr. Katz is at Ivy’s. The calendar, remember?” Clarissa bit her lip. “You sure you want to send the new guy out there alone?”

      “He can handle it.” Sheriff Tate eyed his borrowed shirt. “As long as his arms don’t go numb.”

      * * *

      VAUGHN SHOOK HIS head as he steered the patrol car out of the courthouse parking lot. This call had to be some kind of initiation. No way anyone on the force would treat the report of an assault so casually.

      The sheriff had it in for him. That much was clear.

      Wherever you are, JD, I hope to hell you’re back on the job tomorrow.

      Then again, maybe he wouldn’t be so damn touchy if he’d managed to sleep through the night. His foster cat and her brood had kept him up. Some of that insomnia was his fault, though, since he’d hauled his ass out of bed pretty much on the hour to check that everyone was still breathing.

      He followed the directions on his phone to the address Clarissa had provided. Twenty minutes after he started out, he pulled into a winding driveway marked by a sign that had him doing a double take. The Dairy in Millbrook Dairy Farm and Riding Stables had been crossed out and replaced with Marry, and in the corner someone had painted a long-lashed Holstein wearing a wedding veil.

      He shook his head and pressed on the accelerator.

      The right side of the driveway was crowded with cars parked perpendicular to a fence that bordered a small paddock. Behind the paddock stretched an endless expanse of green that hosted the occasional cluster of fawn-colored cows, their noses buried in the grass. Vaughn counted three large barns to the left of the driveway. Straight ahead loomed the house, an elegant A-frame with a sunroom jutting off the side. Beyond the house and barns shimmered a thin strip of blue that had to be the lake.

      Damn, it was pretty here.

      As Vaughn stepped out of the cruiser, a group of people spilled out of the barn nearest the house. When they caught sight of Vaughn, they started talking.

      “You seriously called the cops?”

      “About time they got here.”

      “You called 911? So help me, Larry, don’t you ever ask me to pick up your gout pills from the pharmacy again. You’re on your own, old man.”

      “Since when did we get a new deputy?”

      “Cute, isn’t he?”

      Four women, a man and a pair of dogs made their way toward him. Three of the women were elderly. Two of them he knew. The Catlett sisters. What the hell did they have to do with this?

      The man had to be in his nineties, and the fourth woman, a hot blonde leading the entire pack, looked to be around Vaughn’s age. She wore jeans and muck boots, and behind her trotted the two dogs, side by side, a chubby brown-and-black mix and a gray schnauzer. The dogs’ leashes trailed in the grass. Luckily neither dog seemed interested in taking a bite out of Vaughn.

      The Catlett sisters and their friend, he wasn’t so sure. Hazel and June offered him brash smiles while the other lady simply stared at his chest.

      When the tall blonde reached him, she held out a hand. “I’m Ivy Walker,” she said, voice friendly, expression curious. “Thank you for coming.”

      “Deputy Fulton.” Vaughn started to put his hands on his hips, but his sleeves damn near cut off his circulation, so he let his arms fall to his sides. He nodded at the Catletts. “Ladies. What seems to be the trouble here?”

      Ivy Walker’s eyes widened. “You know Hazel and June?”

      The lady with the gelled gray hair and plastic T-bones hanging from her ears tapped him on the shoulder. “No offense, dear, but do you need a few laundry pointers?”

      Vaughn blinked, and struggled to reconcile that baby-doll voice with its owner, whose shoulders were wider than his. Like Hazel and June, she looked to be in her seventies, but he bet she could kick some serious ass. He looked down at the material stretched across his chest and cleared his throat. “This is a loaner.”

      June quirked her lips, which were the color of an avocado. “You’d be better off not wearing a shirt at all.”

      Hazel raised a hand and waggled her purple-tipped fingers. “I’ll second that.”

      The old man shouldered his way forward, scowling. “You said this calendar would be family-friendly.”

      Hazel flapped a hand. “Considering the only photos we have of Mona are of her and Chance getting busy, that ship has sailed.”

      Vaughn barely resisted the urge to slap a hand to his face. What the hell was going on here?

      Ivy Walker sent him a pitying look and patted the old man’s shoulder. “He’s not here for the calendar, Mr. Katz. He’s here to help you.”

      When the old man did nothing but stare and no one else moved, Vaughn clenched his teeth. “Does someone want to tell me where I can find Mona?”

      The chorus started up again. Before Vaughn could holler for a time-out, Baby-doll Voice clapped her hands together. “Children, children,” she called out, and surprisingly everyone quieted.

      Mooooooo. As a unit, they turned to stare at a sleepy-eyed Holstein that had ambled up to the paddock fence to check them out. The model for the sign out front? When the ladies all waved at the cow, Vaughn rubbed his face.

      Shaking down gangbangers on the streets of Erie never looked so good.

      Ivy Walker took charge of the introductions. “That’s Priscilla Mae,” she said proudly, and it took Vaughn a moment to realize she meant the cow. “Deputy Fulton, this is Audrey Tweedy—” she pointed at Baby-doll Voice “—and Larry Katz. And apparently you know Hazel and June Catlett.”

      Larry Katz. He’d reported the assault. Vaughn pulled out his notebook. “Mr. Katz—”

      The old guy frowned. “Any relation to Emerson Fulton?”

      “He was my great-uncle.”

      “My condolences, Deputy. Your uncle was a good man.” Katz tucked his phone into the pocket of a plaid shirt that looked a lot like one Uncle Em used to wear. “And now I know where to find you if you don’t take care of my Mona.”

      Vaughn scratched his jaw. Did the old man realize his words constituted a threat? When Katz’s mouth adopted a Clint Eastwood curl, Vaughn had his answer. But at least they’d gotten around to discussing Mona. Who was she? Katz’s wife? His daughter?

      Hazel swatted Katz on the arm. “Lighten up, Larry. Mona’s a slut and you know it.”

      “Enough,” Vaughn barked. “I need to see Mona. Now.”

      Silence, until a hot breeze pushed past, and rattled Audrey Tweedy’s T-bone earrings. Wide-eyed, the five people facing him pointed.

      Downward.

      At the brown-and-black dog cozying up to the schnauzer.

      Vaughn drew in a breath, held it until it burned then let it go. “Tell me what happened, Mr. Katz.”

      “What always happens when Mona and Baby Blue get together. They try to—” Audrey Tweedy flushed a raw steak–red “—get together. You know.”

      Yeah. He knew. Vaughn snapped his notepad closed and jammed it into his shirt pocket. Mona was in distress

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