Goodnight Moo

Book 2: Buttermilk Creek Mystery

by Mollie Cox Bryan

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Cozy Mystery; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

Welcome to Shenandoah Springs, Virginia, the bucolic small town where Brynn MacAlister keeps cows, churns cheeses—and is sharper than the ripest cheddar when it comes to solving mysteries . . . With a foster cow in her corral and a new calf on the way, Brynn MacAlister has a lot on her plate. Especially since her micro-dairy farm is hosting the first annual cheesemakers contest at this year’s summer fair. A relative newcomer, Brynn’s hoping the contest becomes a tradition, bonding her even more strongly to the community. But when a mysterious tractor accident looks suspiciously like murder, Brynn suspects someone is up to no-gouda . . . Some folks say the lead suspect was just defending his underage daughter from a suitor more mature than a vintage provolone, but Brynn isn’t buying it. Especially when another dead body turns up and Brynn’s top cheesemaker falls under suspicion. It’s enough to make a girl bluer than her best Stilton. But not enough to stop Brynn from getting to the bottom of things. What she discovers is the small town harbors some pretty unsavory characters. And the closer Brynn gets to the killer, the deeper she gets into danger . . . Praise for Mollie Cox Bryan’s mysteries “A playful charmer!” — Woman’s World on No Charm Intended “Scrapbookers and hobby cozy fans will enjoy this delightful holiday escape.” — Library Journal on A Crafty Christmas “A font of ingenuity . . . superb entertainment.” — Mystery Scene magazine on Scrapbook of Secrets Includes Udder-ly Delicious Recipes!

Release date: August 25, 2020

Publisher: Kensington

Print pages: 320

Sample

Brynn MacAlister preferred fall, but summer in the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia ran a close second. Spring wildflowers hung on throughout much of the season and Brynn and her cows enjoyed the honeysuckle, bluebells, and pink lady’s slipper in the fields. Brynn didn’t appreciate the humidity and heat, but she cherished the way the community gathered its resources for one of its biggest events of the year—the Shenandoah Springs annual fair. This year, Buttermilk Creek Farm was sponsoring for the first time a local cheesemakers’ shed and contest.

She had visited the fair last year as an outsider and it was part of the reason she fell in love with the place. Most of the locals were still family farmers and now they were micro-farmers, specializing in products like honey, Christmas trees and pumpkins, and organic vegetables. Shenandoah Springs was a haven for the organic, local farm movement. And the fair provided a perfect place to gather and show off their hard work.

She recalled the stalls of homemade food, such as pies and cakes, and canned goods, gleaming jars of tomato sauce, pickles, deep crimson pickled beets. The craft display building was her favorite, with the many quilts, afghans, and lace items—last year, a stunning intricate red lace tablecloth won best in the show.

But this year, she was a part of it—and couldn’t be happier. She sat at her kitchen table and gazed out the window at her small farm with her three cows and Freckles, the Saint Bernard–collie mix puppy, hanging out together.

“Do we have all the labels we’ll need?” Wes, her assistant, asked as he placed a plate of cucumber sandwiches in front of Brynn.

She slid a small box toward him. “Yes, I ordered more.”

He gazed out the kitchen window at the darkening sky. “It will let loose any moment.” He motioned to the seal-gray sky. The dark clouds had been gathering all day—it was a pattern over the past few weeks. The afternoon storm. Petunia, her most sensitive cow, always ran into the barn at the first crack of thunder.

“As of this morning, we have eight local amateur cheesemakers entering the contest,” he told her.

“That’s plenty for the first year. Don’t you think?”

He nodded. “Try the sandwich. The spread is new. Thoughts?”

Wes was a creative cook, baker, and, as it turned out, cheesemaker. Of all the things Brynn had done in her life, agreeing to allow him to move into the guest house was one of the best decisions she’d ever made. He helped her out, and in return, she taught him how to make cheese and other dairy products.

She bit into the thin sandwich and a light, refreshing flavor exploded in her mouth. “Mmmm.”

“Lemon and dill,” Wes said. “With my Greek-style yogurt as a base.”

Brynn swallowed her first bite. “I love it!”

“I’ve got a few more things to perfect, but we might consider adding this to our offerings.”

“It’s delicious and perfect now,” Brynn said, reaching for another tiny sandwich.

The first boom of thunder sounded and Petunia shot across the backyard field toward the barn. With all of her cow heft, she moved with grace, and her ever-loyal dog companion, Freckles, followed. The other two cows, Marigold and Buttercup, paid no attention to the thunder.

Brynn chuckled watching Petunia head for the barn. She turned her attention to the list in front of her on the table. Buttermilk Creek Farm was the sponsor of the cheesemaking shed and Brynn wanted to ensure this first year was fabulous. She had visions of it growing into a state competition. “Do we have everything?”

Wes glanced over her shoulder. “If by that you mean everything but the kitchen sink, yes, yes, you do.”

Brynn laughed, just as her phone buzzed. She picked up to uneven heavy breathing.

“Oh my God, Brynn, there’s been a terrible accident.” The voice on the other end was a scratchy, tense whisper, but she recognized it.

Brynn’s heart leaped in her chest. “Willow? Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“I’m on my way to the hospital. Accident . . . tractor. . . it’s horrible.”

“Willow? Who? Who was in the accident?”

Wes had been fussing with cucumbers on the counter and spun toward Brynn.

“Josh. Driving the tractor and I’m not sure . . . It was a hired guy. It’s bad.”

“Josh?” His face flashed in her mind. The honey farmer who had been in farming since he was a kid. A tractor accident? “That doesn’t sound right.”

“It’s strange.” Willow sobbed.

“Where are you, Willow? You aren’t driving, are you?”

“On my way to the hospital. My dad’s driving me.”

“Thank God for that. You’re too upset to drive.”

“I was there,” she said. “I saw the whole thing. It was a nightmare!”

A sudden urge to rush to her side prompted Brynn to stand. “I’ll come to the hospital.”

“No,” Willow said. “I need you to pick up the quilts for me today.”

“Quilts?”

“Yes, for the quilt display. There are about twenty. I’m e-mailing you the addresses now.”

“What am I supposed to do with them?”

“Put them in the hall and I’ll take care of the displays.”

Brynn’s first thought was to run to the hospital, but she was eager to help Willow out in any way she could. “I’m happy to do it,” Brynn said. “Please keep me informed and stop by when you can.”

“Will do. Thanks. I gotta go.” She clicked off.

Brynn’s mind raced. Tractor accident? She never liked tractors, but they were a necessary evil if farmers wanted to get things done with efficiency. She didn’t own a tractor but had rented one for the field where she planted special food for the cows.

Poor Willow, having seen the accident. What exact horror had she witnessed? Brynn shivered.

“What’s going on?” Wes sat at the table.

“There’s been a tractor accident. Josh hit someone.”

“What? That sounds weird. If anybody knows his way around a tractor . . .”

“Accidents happen.” Brynn recalled the fire that stole Nancy’s life. She had assumed Nancy’s death was an accident, but it turned out not to be. “Willow’s on the way to the hospital. She’s shaken. She saw everything.”

Willow had been one of the most friendly people to Brynn when she moved to Shenandoah Springs. She was the backbone of the Community Supported Agriculture program and showed Brynn the ropes, filled her in on the best places to eat and the local gossip. When Nancy died, they became even closer.

“Can you hold down the fort? I’ve got to pick up about twenty quilts.”

Wes cocked his eyebrow. “That’s not on your list.”

“It’s for Willow. She won’t be able to get to it today.”

“I can hold the fort down, but you may need help. Quilts are heavy and twenty of them will be very hefty. It will be much faster with two of us. We need to get back to our own list.”

Once again, Brynn remembered what a good move it was to partner up with Wes, Nancy’s grandson, whom she didn’t even know before her death. Their friendship had blossomed through their love of cheese and Nancy, even though Brynn would turn back the clock if she could have just one more nice hot cup of Earl Grey with her friend. Wes was the next best thing.

“Is Josh okay? I mean, what happened? Did he fall off the tractor? Tip it?”

“No, I don’t think so. He hit someone, one of the summer helpers. At least I think that’s what Willow said.”

“How awful!”

Brynn slid her laptop across the table, cracked open the lid, and pressed the switch. The e-mail from Willow was already there. She hit print. “Let’s get these quilts delivered so we can go to the hospital.”

Delivering twenty quilts to the fairground was not as easy as it had sounded. First, as Wes predicted, they were heavy. Second, a few of the quilt makers had such specific, painstaking instructions that Brynn tried not to roll her eyes. When she thought of everything her own quilts had been through—quilts were pieces of art, yes, but they were also sturdy, reliable ways to keep warm.

The fairground edged outside of Shenandoah Springs proper. The fields were coming alive with tents and buildings and carnival rides. As Brynn pulled up the car to unload, she noted a crew of men hanging lights around a small stage. She exited her car and Wes followed. They scooped the quilts up out of the back seat.

“We must make a few trips,” Wes said.

Even folded, the quilts were colorful and impressive, and as she carried them Brynn thought about the hours the quilters had put into them. Such patience.

She and Wes delivered the first batch to the craft hall and traveled back for more. She spotted Tom Andrews, another member of the CSA and a neighbor, talking with a younger man, dressed to the hilt. Tom looked up at her. “Hey, Brynn. Wes.”

“Hi.” Brynn stopped walking in front of a broad, tall man, probably in his forties. He wore his graying hair with bangs; Brynn tried not to stare at the bangs falling across his forehead.

“This is David Reese. He owns the tractor shop off Route 240,” Tom said.

Brynn extended her hand. He shook it. “Nice to meet you.” His eyes scanned the length of her, prompting Brynn to fold her arms. Wes stepped forward, offered his hand, and they shook.

“We’re in the middle of delivering these quilts, so we don’t mean to be rude, but we have to keep moving. I need to get to the hospital.”

“Hospital?” Tom asked. “Everything okay?”

“You haven’t heard? There was a tractor accident. Josh. I know nothing else. I’m sorry.”

Tom paled. David shifted his weight. “He bought a tractor from me. I best get over there and see what’s going on myself.”

“Let me help you with the rest of the quilts,” Tom said, following Brynn and Wes.

When Brynn first met Tom, she didn’t know what to make of him. First, he called her sweetie, which she didn’t like; second, he attempted to ruin one of her business connections. Attempted. But after she confronted him and they had a talk, they’d gotten along well. She understood she was an outsider and in a place like Shenandoah Springs that used to mean something. But the trend was clear—more and more people were coming to farm, craft, and enjoy a community of like-minded people. It was difficult for locals to see change.

“Thanks, Tom,” Brynn said as they dropped off the last quilts.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it. He nodded.

Brynn changed the subject. “How are the pies coming?” Tom’s wife, Elsie, was in charge of the pies for the fair—both the ones for selling and serving fair attendees and the ones for the pie contest—the crown jewel of every country fair.

“She’s busy. Some people take their pie very seriously.”

Brynn laughed.

“I know I do,” Wes said with a grin.

Tom cleared his throat, tucked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans. “I can’t imagine Josh having an accident. I mean, I know accidents happen, but . . .”

“He knows his tractors, doesn’t he?”

“He’s been driving them since before he should. I remember when he was a kid.” Tom looked off into the distance. “He always scored high with the tractor pull, too.”

“The what?” Wes asked, wide-eyed.

“It’s a contest. We hitch a trailer on the back and load it up with people on it and see who can pull the most. It’s a lot of fun.”

Brynn was not a mechanical, tractor person. But she conceded it sounded like fun.

“I’ll check it out this year, if I can. I’ll be so busy with the new cheese shed.”

“Can’t wait for that,” he said, grinning. Tom had become one of her biggest fans, which Brynn considered a victory of sorts.

After they said their good-byes, Brynn and Wes hopped into the car and headed for the hospital to see Willow and check on Josh.

“Tom’s turned out to be cool,” Wes said.

Brynn nodded. “Sometimes first impressions aren’t accurate.”

“Sometimes I imagine him and my gram in the same room together, though, and it makes me laugh.”

Wes was the grandson of Nancy, the woman killed in the church fire a few months ago. Nancy was Brynn’s closest neighbor. She’d planned on renovating the church and turning it into an upscale farm shop, but it burned and Nancy died. Brynn swallowed the grief creeping into her throat. She missed Nancy and their daily teas.

“She did have a problem with a few locals, but she never went into detail about which ones.” Brynn stopped at the stop sign, looked both ways, then lifted her foot from the brake.

“I wonder what she’d think of what they are doing to the church now.”

Brynn shrugged. “If she were here, it’d be a hopping farm shop.”

“She despised organized religion.”

“I remember.” Brynn turned into the hospital.

She drove around the crowded, zigzag parking lot and found a place to park.

When Brynn and Wes found Willow, a man had his arm wrapped around her. Her head was tucked in the crevice between his neck and shoulder. When he studied Brynn, it was almost as if she were gazing at a male version of Willow—same mocha skin, brown eyes, and high cheekbones. He must be her father.

Brynn lifted her chin to him. “I’m Brynn. How is she?”

Willow didn’t lift her head.

“She’s in shock.” Her father tucked a blanket closer to Willow. Her brown hair covered most of her face. “But she’s asleep now. So that’s good.”

His eyes skirted behind Brynn to Wes.

Hospitals were odd places to meet people for the first time. He looked askance at Wes and Brynn wondered why.

Brynn moved forward, keeping her voice down. “What can I do to help?”

Willow’s father looked up at Brynn. “It’ll take time for her to get over this. But in the meantime, pray for Josh.” He was a big, hulking man, and the word “pray” coming out of him only endeared him more to Brynn.

Brynn’s heart sped. She’d thought Josh was fine. “Is he okay?”

“Oh yes, he’s fine. But he may face murder charges.”

Brynn’s hand covered her mouth as she gasped.

“The young man he hit died.”

Murder? Did Brynn hear that right? She gazed across the room at a painting of a farm scene as if it held answers.

“It was an accident,” Wes said, after a few moments. “Surely not murder.”

Willow’s father’s eyes told another story. “I hope you’re right.”

“Josh wouldn’t hurt anybody,” Brynn said more to herself than anybody else.

Willow’s father frowned and tucked his daughter in closer to him.

Brynn sat down next to them. “Where’s Josh’s family?” Josh had a big, supportive family. Where were they? In another part of the hospital?

He shrugged and Willow stirred, sitting up. “Brynn. When did you get here?”

“A few moments ago.”

Wes sat on the other side of Brynn. The chair creaked with his weight.

“The quilts?” Willow asked.

“All delivered.” Brynn paused. “What else can I do for you?”

“Thank you. That’s a big relief.”

“Can I get you coffee or water?” Wes asked.

“Water please,” Willow said.

“Nothing for me,” her dad said.

Wes took his leave and the three of them sat in silence. A nurse passed. Another group of people entered the waiting area and sat huddled in a corner. Brynn’s eyes barely left Willow, pale and glassy-eyed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Brynn didn’t know what else to say.

Willow shuddered. “I can’t. Not yet.”

Brynn wished she’d brought along a jacket, as someone must have set the temperature to “frozen.” She eyed the waiting area, appointed with brass lamps, wood coffee tables, and glossy magazines. The hospital featured the works of local artists on its walls. One of the best things about it was the artwork, but if it was meant to distract from bad news, it didn’t work. It was pleasant, but not magic.

Josh was a good guy. He’d been in farming his whole life. But farming was a profession fraught with danger. Accidents happened, no matter how cautious you were. How did he hit another person with his tractor? That was the odd thing that Brynn couldn’t wrap her mind around.

Why was anyone even near a moving tractor? Who was this young man, anyway?

“Who got hit? Did you know him?” Wes asked as he brought the bottled waters to them.

“It was Evan,” Willow replied.

Wes’s eyebrows shot up. “Whoa! Does Roy know?”

Roy was a young man who’d been hanging around with Wes from time to time. He was a hired hand at the O’Reilly farm and a computer major at James Madison University. Brynn had only met him once. She gathered Roy and Evan were friends. Brynn also figured the whole group of summer help must have been socializing a great deal. She didn’t have time for it—but she was glad that Wes did. After all, he was young and should have a social life.

Willow opened her water and shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“Was Evan a hired guy?” Brynn asked.

“At first, yes. Then he dated Josh’s daughter,” Wes answered.

His words hung in the air and Brynn’s eyes shot over to Willow’s dad, who nodded at her. “Okay, that complicates things,” she muttered. “But Josh would hurt nobody. I know that. We all know that.”

Another pause in the conversation.

“He went crazy when he found out Chelsea was dating him,” Willow said. “She’s only sixteen. I’m not sure of his age. . . .”

“Too old for her,” Willow’s father finished. “That’s how old he was.”

A wave of respect washed over Brynn. Willow’s father was a good dad. Willow’s stories about him were heartwarming. He was involved in her life even though Willow’s parents split up years ago. Brynn was sorry she’d not met him earlier, but he was a busy guy and she was busy herself.

Wes shifted in his seat. “It’ll devastate Josh’s family.”

Willow’s hand covered her face, and she nodded, sniffed.

A nurse walked into the room. “Willow?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve informed his family. You’re free to go.” The nurse walked closer to her and crouched in front of her. “Go home and please take care of yourself.”

“I’ll see to that,” her father said. “Thank you.”

For Brynn, walking out of the hospital felt like leaving a battle scene. She couldn’t say why. She figured she’d gotten there at the tail end of the situation and didn’t want to pry. They had informed the young man’s parents of his death. Willow’s father was taking her in hand to make sure she’d be okay. There was nothing here for Brynn to do—unless Willow needed her.

“We’re parked over there,” Willow said. “Thanks for coming.”

Brynn opened her arms and Willow fell into them. “If you need anything, holler at me. I’m serious. I’ll be checking on you.”

Willow looked resolved. “We have a fair to put on.”

“I’ll take care of your part.”

“Me too,” Wes said.

“It might be good for me to keep busy.”

Her father wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Your mom texted me. She’s at the house, made chicken noodle soup for you.”

“Okay, well, let me know what you decide. I’m happy to fill in for you or not,” Brynn told Willow.

“Thanks, Brynn.”

She and her father walked off to another section of the parking lot.

“What did she witness?” Wes asked as they walked toward their car.

“The whole thing,” Brynn said. “But who knows what went down. I can’t imagine Josh hitting someone with a tractor.” She slid the key in the door, flipping the unlock button.

Wes opened the door and slipped in. “In some countries in the world, he’d be celebrated and justified for killing a man who’d been sleeping with his underage daughter.”

Brynn’s heart stopped. “What did you say? He’d been sleeping with Chelsea?”

“Oh yes.” He nodded. “It was not a healthy situation at all.”

She turned the ignition and flipped on the AC. Wes was more tuned in to the local gossip than Brynn. Especially with the younger people. Her stomach tightened. A father whose young daughter was sleeping with an ol. . .