“You’ll get no argument from me,” I said. Zelda poked her head out of the coop and let out a sharp squawk.
Eric laughed. “I’ll take that as a sign of approval,” he said. The other five hens strutted up the ladder. Zelda begrudgingly let them pass.
With the chickens properly fed, watered, and with their new bedding in place, they had nothing left to complain about. Eric reached into the crate and removed the heat plate we’d had running since we brought the babies home from the farm store four weeks ago.
“You sure it’s warm enough for them?” I asked. We’d done this before. It turned out I got easily attached to these fuzzy little dinosaur cousins.
“It’s staying above fifty degrees at night for the next week. They’ve got to acclimate. They’ll beokay.”
The littlest of the chicks hopped up and down and scratched her head with her foot. I’d secretly named her Bean.
We left the run, locked it back up and headed down the hill. A shower sounded good to me, too. I peeled off my overalls and hung them on a hook in the garage. Then I kicked off my muck boots and stacked them against the wall. Eric did the same.
Ten minutes later, he emerged freshly scrubbed from the shower. I followed him. Chicken mucking ended up being a good workout. My shoulders and quads burned as I watched bits of straw sluice off me and slide down the drain.
By the time I’d made it back downstairs, Eric was making breakfast. The bacon sizzled in the skillet. He deftly flipped it. My stomach growled. I grabbed some OJ from the fridge. Eric plated our meals and we sat side by side at the kitchen island.
“I talked to Joe,” he said. “He’s got some free time on Thursday afternoon. I should be back by then. We’ll get the dock in. I want to wait to put the boats back in. My luck it will start snowing again the day I do.”
I laughed. That happened almost every year. Whenever Eric and my brother, Joe, put the boat in, it would either rain or snow no matter how clear the forecast had been the day before. I was about to say just that when Eric’s cell phone rang. As he answered his call, I gathered our plates and headed for the sink.
I had just turned on the faucet when Eric frowned. Whoever was on the phone did most of the talking.
“You’re sure?” Eric broke in once. “Yeah. No. I get it.”
I turned and tried to draw his attention. “What’s going on?” I mouthed. Eric turned away from me. He slid off hisstool and headed for the French doors leading out to the patio. I slipped our plates into the dishwasher and dried my hands on a towel.
“Wow,” I heard Eric say. He had his back to me. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks for giving me a heads-up.”
He clicked off his call. I headed out to join him. When Eric turned around, his scowl deepened. He blew out a hard breath.
“Eric?” I called to him, my senses pricking. Whatever he’d heard was bad news.
He didn’t answer me right away. Instead, he walked in, sat on the nearest couch and rested his hands on his thighs.
“What is it?” I asked. He raised a brow as he eyed me.
“You better sit,” he said.
A stab of fear went through me. I did a quick mental checklist. Eric was here. Tori and my brother, Matt, were both supposed to be home with my nephews. My brother Joe and sister Vangie would both be at work. My niece, Emma, should be at the office with my manager, Miranda. Then Jeanie. She was supposed to be on a plane.
“Eric …”
“It’s Katy,” he said. For a split second, the name didn’t register as I was busy ticking off my closest friends and loved ones.
“Katy,” I repeated.
“Katy Leary,” he said. Katy was my brother Joe’s ex-wife. She was technically Katy Loomis now.
My phone rang in the kitchen. Eric’s eyes darted in that direction. I ignored the ringing.
“What, Eric?”
“Something’s happened,” he said. “That was Sheriff Lubell’s clerk on the phone. Tom Loomis is dead. Somebody slit his throat. Katy’s been brought in for questioning. It looks pretty bad, Cass.”
Eric’s words filtered through my brain. Dead. Throat slit. Katy brought in …
My phone started ringing again.
