True love is like ghosts, which everyone talks about and few have seen.
—FRANÇOIS DE LA ROCHEFOUCAULD
Mercy decided to leave Elvis with Annie. She knew the shepherd was not happy about it, because he wanted to be where the action was. And the action was outside.
Not to mention that he really loved the medical examiner and was eager to see her. Dr. Darling loved him right back. But Annie needed his steadying presence, and Elvis accepted his duty to stand by her with the same professionalism with which he approached every mission.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Mercy promised them both.
Outside, the Crime Scene Search Team had arrived and were preparing to process the area. Dr. Darling stood by her vehicle in her jumpsuit and booties, slipping on her gloves. She was a short, friendly woman whose cheerfulness in the face of her gruesome occupation never seemed to flag. Mercy often wondered how she did it.
“Mercy Carr.” Dr. Darling grinned at her. “I was surprised when they told me you were here. Shouldn’t you be up to your derriere in wedding fun about now?”
Mercy laughed. “Probably.”
The medical examiner studied her with eyes trained to see what everyone else missed. It was a talent she employed with the living as skillfully as she did with the dead. “And yet here you are. I must say, discovering a dead body to get out of your bridesmaid obligations is above and beyond. Even for you.”
“Just lucky, I guess.”
“Indeed. Where’s that wonderful dog of yours?”
“Elvis is in the creamery with Annie Amidon—this is her place. She’s a little shaken. He’s watching over her.”
“Poor woman. But she’s safe with Elvis.” Dr. Darling leaned toward her. “I understand the victim was stabbed with a pitchfork.”
Mercy nodded. “That’s right.”
“Dr. Darling.” Deputy Purdie strutted toward them. “Detective Harrington is on his way. He’ll want a full report when he gets here.”
The optics must be really good, Mercy thought, if Harrington was willing to tramp around a barn on a goat farm.
Dr. Darling rolled her eyes. “He knows better than that. It takes as long as it takes.”
The medical examiner was nothing if not thorough. And not given to conjecture. Mercy knew she would not be rushed. By the resigned look on Purdie’s face, so did he.
Dr. Darling raised a conciliatory gloved hand to the deputy. “But don’t worry, I’m going.” She turned to Mercy. “My first pitchfork murder.” The medical examiner grinned at her. “I’d better get to it. I assume you’ll be sticking around for all the gory details.” She twiddled her fingers at them as she walked toward the barn. “See you later.”
“You’re supposed to be with the cheesemaker,” the deputy said to Mercy.
“Elvis is with her.”
Purdie started to speak but gazed past her as a brand-new black Lincoln Navigator roared up the drive.
Detective Harrington in his latest vehicle, thought Mercy. The detective did like his little luxuries. But he didn’t like her. Or her dog.
She told herself she should go back inside with Annie and Elvis. Avoid the detective. Then she spotted Troy’s Ford F-150 following behind the Lincoln. The mere sight of his truck made her ridiculously happy. She told herself to calm down.
The Lincoln sped past her, screaming to a stop in a shower of gravel just short of the barn. Troy, on the other hand, slowed to a halt next to her. He rolled down the window, and Susie Bear pushed her huge head past him to bark a hello.
“Hi.” She patted the shaggy dog’s head and looked at Troy.
“Hi,” he said.
They smiled at each other long enough to make Mercy feel foolish. It was like she was fourteen years old again, back at the Northshire Center Pool, crushing on the handsome lifeguard she admired from afar. Troy Warner, cutest guy she’d ever seen. A senior way out of her league. She allowed herself the memory and then got down to business. “I need to show you something.” Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the detective talking to Purdie. “Before Harrington sees us.”
“Sure thing.” He opened the door and Susie Bear scrambled across his lap, leaping onto the ground next to her. Plumed tail wagging her pleasure at seeing Mercy, nose twitching in search of her pal Elvis.
Troy got out of the truck and slammed the door behind him. “Lead the way.”
She headed for the red door. She felt his strong hand at the small of her back as they made their way inside, and willed herself not to react.
Elvis and Annie were waiting for them just inside the door.
“He knew you were coming,” Annie said. “I just followed along.”
She still looked pale to Mercy, so she made the introductions quickly, the better to get on with it. “I want to fill Troy in before Deputy Purdie comes back to take our statements.”
“Harrington will be asking him about that,” said Troy.
“Exactly.”
Annie looked from Mercy to Troy with a knowing glance. “Are you two a thing?”
“No,” said Mercy.
“Yes,” said Troy.
Mercy felt herself blush and cursed her redhead complexion, which gave her away every time.
“You two are so a thing.” Annie laughed, and the effort cost her. She wobbled, and Troy caught her in his arms before she fell. Together he and Mercy ushered her to a seat at one of the farm tables.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Sit down.” She folded her hands on the table and waited as if expecting a formal presentation. Her color was returning, so Mercy thought it was safe to proceed. At least she hoped so.
She briefed Troy on the events of the past twenty-four hours and showed him the goat cam on Annie’s laptop.
“What do you think happened here?” he asked Annie.
“I don’t really know. It doesn’t make any sense to me. I know it looks bad for Bodhi, but I just can’t believe he had anything to do with that poor man’s murder.”
“What do you think, Mercy?”
“I’m not sure. How tall is Bodhi?” she asked Annie.
Annie looked at Troy. “About the same height as you.”
“So over six feet.”
“Yeah.”
“And the victim?” asked Troy.
Mercy shook her head. “Hard to say. He was lying down, and he was covered in hay. But if I had to guess, I’d say under six feet.”
“Agreed,” said Annie.
“It could be Bodhi in the video,” said Mercy. “He’s tall, and he wears baseball caps. At least we found some in his closet.”
Annie frowned. “That’s true. He wears toques in the winter and baseball caps in the summer.”
“We don’t know that it is Bodhi.” Mercy squeezed the woman’s shoulder gently. “We’re just thinking out loud.”
“We don’t know much of anything right now,” said Troy. “We don’t even know who the victim is.”
“We still need to find Bodhi.” Annie’s voice shook a little. “I’m sure he can explain everything.”
“We’ll find him,” said Troy. “It just takes time.”
Mercy and Troy exchanged a look. Annie was exhausted; her face was pale and drawn and her eyes were shadowed in grief.
“You need to get some rest,” said Mercy.
“The goats need milking. And the forensics people are still there in the barn, doing whatever it is they do. When will they leave?”
“Let’s get you upstairs to bed.”
“I can’t go to bed.”
“Just a short nap. Meanwhile, Troy and I will go find out what’s going on. And we’ll talk to Dr. Darling about getting your goats milked.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” Troy said.
She smiled weakly at Mercy. “I like him.”
Mercy smiled back. “Come on.” She and Elvis ushered the weary cheesemaker upstairs to her living quarters, a cozily cluttered space full of books and plants and faded floral chintz-covered furniture.
“The sofa is fine.” Annie pointed to the comfortable-looking couch in the corner, whose many homemade needlepoint throw pillows all featured goats. “I’ll crash there.”
“Nice pillows.” Mercy held one up as Annie stretched out on her sofa. “Is this Cookie?”
Annie grinned. “It is.”
“It’s fabulous.” She waved Elvis down and the dog circled the braided rag rug a couple of times before settling on the floor next to Annie.
“Maybe I’ll make you one.” Annie patted the shepherd’s back. “With this guy’s mug on it.”
Mercy laughed. “No making promises you won’t keep.”
Downstairs, Troy and Susie Bear were waiting for her.
“Purdie says Harrington wants to talk to you.”
“Okay.” She squared her shoulders. “Let’s get this over with.”
He pushed the red door open for her and out she went, Troy and Susie Bear in her wake. They headed straight up the drive to the barn, where Harrington was leaning against the bumper of his Lincoln Navigator, wearing his usual smirk.
“Well, if it isn’t the three musketeers,” said the head of the Major Crime Unit. “But you seem to be missing one.”
“Elvis is keeping Ms. Amidon company,” Mercy said.
Harrington crossed his arms over his chest, striking a pose straight out of GQ, with his bespoke light gray summer suit and pale blue silk shirt and white-on-white polka-dotted tie. He was long and lean and had the guarded look of a Doberman pinscher. Impressive and intimidating in a hide-your-daughters kind of way. “Shouldn’t you be at the Lady’s Slipper Inn?” He looked Mercy up and down. “In more suitable clothing?”
She nearly smiled. Of course Kai Harrington preferred women in skirts and high heels, dressed for cocktails, not for detective work. Men’s work, at least in his narrow mind.
“I dropped by to check on Bodhi St. George. He’s the director of spa and well-being there.”
“And found a corpse instead. Per usual.”
She ignored that. “When St. George didn’t turn up for work, my mother asked me to follow up.”
“What does your mother have to do with St. George?”
“It’s a destination wedding.” She felt silly even using that term. But it was what it was. “The wedding guests all receive a spa package as part of the weekend activities.”
“Of course.” Harrington smiled, a bright slash of teeth. “I don’t have to tell you that it’s a five-star venue.” He looked at Troy. “You’ll need a wardrobe upgrade, too.”
“Sir.”
The detective smoothed the silk handkerchief in his breast pocket, as if to emphasize his sartorial superiority. “I suppose Feinberg will be there.”
“I’m not in charge of the guest list,” Mercy said coyly. She knew the detective resented her friendship with the state’s only billionaire; the man ran on ambition and had yet to penetrate Daniel Feinberg’s inner circle. Not for lack of trying, which explained why he was here—any opportunity to ingratiate himself with Feinberg. He’d be angling her for an invite to the wedding next.
“Right.” Harrington waited for her to tell him more. She didn’t.
“I’m staying there as well,” the detective finally said. “Maybe we’ll run into each other.”
“Maybe. From what I understand, they’re going to keep us pretty busy.”
“Good.” Another slash of a smile. “Then neither you nor your dog will be interfering in our investigation any longer.” Harrington turned to Purdie. “Take their statements and send them on their way. Tell Dr. Darling to call me as soon as she’s finished.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We can’t leave until after the milking.” Mercy put her fists on her hips, ready to fight for Annie and her goats.
“Excuse me?”
“Annie has to milk her goats twice a day.”
“Or what? They burst?” Harrington smirked.
“A full udder can be very painful for the goats,” explained Deputy Purdie. “And you run the risk of mastitis.”
“More than I needed to know, Deputy.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That barn is a crime scene.”
“Those goats are Annie’s livelihood.” Mercy smiled sweetly at the detective. “I’m sure you’ve heard of her award-winning gourmet chèvre. We’ll be serving her cheese trays at the wedding.”
Harrington frowned. “The Crime Scene Search Team cannot be rushed.”
“I’m sure with Deputy Purdie’s help we can figure out how to handle the goats without disturbing the scene.” She kept on smiling. “I’d hate to see the department accused of destroying the commonwealth’s favorite creamery.” She knew she didn’t have to remind him that her parents were both lawyers.
“Purdie?”
“I grew up on a dairy farm up in the Northeast Kingdom, sir. Cows and goats.”
“Whatever.” The detective glowered at Mercy and Troy. “Purdie is in charge.”
“Of course.” Her upturned lips were beginning to twitch from all her ingratiating posturing.
Without another word, Harrington let himself into the Lincoln and revved the engine. Mercy and Troy stood there with Purdie and Susie Bear and watched as the gleaming black SUV tore down the drive toward Lovers’ Bridge.
“Thank you, Deputy Purdie,” said Mercy.
The deputy pulled his aviators from his pocket and slipped them on. “I’m not doing it for you, Carr, I’m doing it for the goats.”