relaxed, but narrowed her eyes at me. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks.”
“Nick, you look terrible, too.”
“Terrible twos,” I snickered, then closed my eyes. I really was losing it.
“Have a seat,” Nick said. “We’ll tell you everything.”
I let Nick do the explaining this time. Who knew what would come out of my mouth if I kept talking? Besides, his voice was very soothing.
Some time later, I woke up with a jerk. Someone had placed a pillow under my head, so at least I wasn’t sleeping in my cereal bowl. Voices drifted in from the living room. I stumbled over to find the other three looking up at Miranda, who had just slammed the stairwell door, which, of course, had woken me up.
“What’s going on?” she said, far too loudly. “Why are all these people in here?”
I groaned, and dropped onto the sofa next to Nick, letting my head fall onto my hands.
Nick patted my back. “Shall I fill her in?” He launched into a quick explanation of the night’s events. The story was becoming stale. I’d heard it—and told it—too many times. Almost like it was a movie, instead of real life.
But maybe that was because my head was filled with fuzz.
Miranda’s face grew redder and redder as Nick talked, until I thought she was going to explode like a tomato thrown against a country mailbox. Not that I’ve ever seen that. Or done that.
“Seriously?” she shrieked, interrupting him. “ Seriously ?”
Nick frowned. “What? Are you a Rikki Raines fan? Or…” he looked closely at her. “Not one?”
“No, I’m…she…this summer…him…” She pointed at Willard.
“Me?” Willard said.
“Yes! Can Stella not go two months without a cop checking into her activities?”
“I’m not here as a cop. I’m here as a friend.”
“See?” I said to Nick. “Told you I had friends.”
“Augh!” Miranda spun around and marched into the kitchen.
Good riddance.
“So what does this mean for today?” Lucy said. “Do you have to go somewhere? Are you actually involved?”
“Not involved,” I said, “except for having found the body.”
“And annoyed the detective,” Nick said.
“And the press,” Willard added.
“So, no.” I held up my hands. “I have nothing to do with it.”
My kitchen phone rang, and Nick smirked. “What do you want to bet that phone call is going to make you a liar?”
I slugged him—gently—and went to answer the phone. “What?” I said into the receiver.
“Stella?” It was Zach, and his voice was about an octave higher than it should have been.
“What’s wrong?”
“Melody Gregg’s calf is sick, and they’re threatening to quarantine the entire barn.”
Chapter Sixteen
“What’s happening? Watch out for that pothole.” I was on the phone with Carla, and directing Miranda, who was driving. She glared at me. I was pretty sure she wanted to give me the finger, the way her hand twitched on the steering wheel, but she didn’t. Too bad. It certainly hadn’t been my choice to have a chauffeur, but Lucy was busy with a lame cow, Nick had a conference call, Willard was “working,” and apparently I wasn’t “fit for driving” because I had fallen asleep at the breakfast table. Whatever.
“Not sure what’s wrong yet,” Carla said. She’d given me the basics when she’d taken the phone from Zach. Basically, the Greggs’ calf was foaming at the mouth and rolling its eyes. Not exactly what you want to see in a barn full of animals. “We’ve got the barn roped off until we figure it out. Hey! Get away from there! Stupid parents. Gotta go, Stella. Get here as soon as you can.” She hung up.
“Can’t you drive any faster?” I said to Miranda.
“Not around potholes, according to you.”
It wasn’t my fault the fair didn’t have a paved driveway. Or that Miranda drove like an old lady. Or a blind person.
“Hold on,” I said. “I’ll walk from here.” Before she’d entirely stopped I climbed out of the car.
She lurched across the seat. “Where
“Thanks.”
“Nick, you look terrible, too.”
“Terrible twos,” I snickered, then closed my eyes. I really was losing it.
“Have a seat,” Nick said. “We’ll tell you everything.”
I let Nick do the explaining this time. Who knew what would come out of my mouth if I kept talking? Besides, his voice was very soothing.
Some time later, I woke up with a jerk. Someone had placed a pillow under my head, so at least I wasn’t sleeping in my cereal bowl. Voices drifted in from the living room. I stumbled over to find the other three looking up at Miranda, who had just slammed the stairwell door, which, of course, had woken me up.
“What’s going on?” she said, far too loudly. “Why are all these people in here?”
I groaned, and dropped onto the sofa next to Nick, letting my head fall onto my hands.
Nick patted my back. “Shall I fill her in?” He launched into a quick explanation of the night’s events. The story was becoming stale. I’d heard it—and told it—too many times. Almost like it was a movie, instead of real life.
But maybe that was because my head was filled with fuzz.
Miranda’s face grew redder and redder as Nick talked, until I thought she was going to explode like a tomato thrown against a country mailbox. Not that I’ve ever seen that. Or done that.
“Seriously?” she shrieked, interrupting him. “ Seriously ?”
Nick frowned. “What? Are you a Rikki Raines fan? Or…” he looked closely at her. “Not one?”
“No, I’m…she…this summer…him…” She pointed at Willard.
“Me?” Willard said.
“Yes! Can Stella not go two months without a cop checking into her activities?”
“I’m not here as a cop. I’m here as a friend.”
“See?” I said to Nick. “Told you I had friends.”
“Augh!” Miranda spun around and marched into the kitchen.
Good riddance.
“So what does this mean for today?” Lucy said. “Do you have to go somewhere? Are you actually involved?”
“Not involved,” I said, “except for having found the body.”
“And annoyed the detective,” Nick said.
“And the press,” Willard added.
“So, no.” I held up my hands. “I have nothing to do with it.”
My kitchen phone rang, and Nick smirked. “What do you want to bet that phone call is going to make you a liar?”
I slugged him—gently—and went to answer the phone. “What?” I said into the receiver.
“Stella?” It was Zach, and his voice was about an octave higher than it should have been.
“What’s wrong?”
“Melody Gregg’s calf is sick, and they’re threatening to quarantine the entire barn.”
Chapter Sixteen
“What’s happening? Watch out for that pothole.” I was on the phone with Carla, and directing Miranda, who was driving. She glared at me. I was pretty sure she wanted to give me the finger, the way her hand twitched on the steering wheel, but she didn’t. Too bad. It certainly hadn’t been my choice to have a chauffeur, but Lucy was busy with a lame cow, Nick had a conference call, Willard was “working,” and apparently I wasn’t “fit for driving” because I had fallen asleep at the breakfast table. Whatever.
“Not sure what’s wrong yet,” Carla said. She’d given me the basics when she’d taken the phone from Zach. Basically, the Greggs’ calf was foaming at the mouth and rolling its eyes. Not exactly what you want to see in a barn full of animals. “We’ve got the barn roped off until we figure it out. Hey! Get away from there! Stupid parents. Gotta go, Stella. Get here as soon as you can.” She hung up.
“Can’t you drive any faster?” I said to Miranda.
“Not around potholes, according to you.”
It wasn’t my fault the fair didn’t have a paved driveway. Or that Miranda drove like an old lady. Or a blind person.
“Hold on,” I said. “I’ll walk from here.” Before she’d entirely stopped I climbed out of the car.
She lurched across the seat. “Where
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