The beast stiffened, fell sideways, and pitched off the porch,
“Oh, no!” Harper ran to the edge, sure the goat had suffered a deadly concussion in the fall. Instead, the goat was feet up inside of a pom-pom bush, twitching her last bit of life before going to her maker.
Harper put her hand on her hip. “Don’t go there, Harriet,” she snapped. “I know you’re faking.” As if the goat understood English. “Get. Up.”
Noah and Estelle hurried over. The latter leaned down for a closer look. “I think you killed her this time.”
“She isn’t dead.” Harper pointed. She wasn’t about to fall for that crap again. “She’s breathing.”
The goat opened one eye, then the other, then pulled the closest leaf into her mouth and masticated it into a pulp. Once she finished, she struggled out of the bush and ran around the porch and up the stairs.
Harper darted behind Noah. “Keep that thing away from me.”
It wasn’t that Harper didn’t like animals. She just liked the kind you could put on a leash and walk up and down on the sidewalk in a civilized manner. Or a cat that you tossed catnip toys to while sitting on a couch. Farm animals were not her thing.
“She likes you,” Estelle said with disgust in her voice. “I always thought that goat needed therapy.”
Noah managed to position himself between Harper and the jeans-eating goat. After a couple of minutes, the goat got bored and wandered off. The last they saw of her, she was chasing a squawking duck around the house.
Noah took the opportunity to re-focus the investigation. He reclaimed his seat. Estelle remained standing.
“Let’s put aside for a moment that Ms. Evans is the killer and talk about other suspects.” He pulled a small notebook and a pencil stub out of his shirt pocket. “The last time you saw Gerald, did he discuss any troubles he was having, or maybe threats against him? Did he have any enemies that were aggressive or potentially dangerous?”
Estelle’s face clouded. “Two thousand and ten.”
Both Harper and Noah stared. Then he said, “That’s how many enemies he had?”
Harper knew he wasn’t well liked, but even she wouldn’t think Gerald could tick that many people off. He must have started collecting enemies shortly after his birth.
“No,” Estelle said. “That’s the last time I saw him.”
Now that was a revelation. Despite sometimes being exasperated by her small and quirky family, she couldn’t go a week without talking or texting to one or more of them. To not talk to her brother or aunt for six years was mind-boggling.
For Gerald to blow off his family was disturbing, even if his grandmother was a dragon.
“That’s really sad,” Harper blurted out.
Estelle turned her direction. “His parents might not come back for the funeral, if that tells you anything.”
For the first time, Harper got a glimpse behind the façade that surrounded Gerald. She didn’t know if she should feel sorry for him, or his family. Yes, he was a scum bag, but it was hard to imagine not seeing your son buried after his murder.
What kind of parents where they?
Noah asked a couple of follow-up questions, but Estelle didn’t have anything current to share.
As the pair walked back to the car, Harper turned pensive. She vowed to never let a week go by without telling her family that she loved them.
* * * *
Noah sensed her downturn in mood as soon as she crawled into the car and snapped on her seatbelt. The vehicle whined as it rolled over. The car had who-knew-how-many-years-of a teen boy driver behind the wheel. He was impressed that it ran at all. That was the only thing about the wreck that impressed him.
Harper appeared defeated. He wasn’t sure if her mood came from the case or the fact that she had goat slobber on her jeans. She was hard to read.
He chose the former. “Hey. This is just our first interview. Sometimes investigations take months.”
“It isn’t the investigation that concerns me, although I don’t have months to flush out the killer.” She cupped her face with both hands. “Can you imagine dying and your family doesn’t care enough to return to Michigan and see you buried?”
So that was it. She’d seen a crack in the carefully crafted veneer that the bastard Gerald Covington had built around himself, and it humanized him to her. She clearly didn’t like knowing his family may have screwed him up.
“Didn’t you say Gerald was an awful person?”
“He was. Still. How could his parents not go to his funeral? He’s their son. Who does that?”
He reached and put his hands over hers. “HJ, I’ll make you a promise. If you croak, I’ll throw myself onto your casket and weep and wail. It’ll be one hell of a show.”
Her big brown eyes looked up at him. Gone was the moping face and impatience reined. “Not funny.”
He flashed a grin. “Then why are you smiling?”
“I’m not smiling.”
“You are.”
One corner of her mouth twitched. He’d always had the ability to make her laugh. Clearly that hadn’t changed.
Before she could answer, movement from the front of the car turned them both that way. Harriet the goat had her front hooves on the bumper and was staring through the windshield.
“Are you kidding?” Harper said. “That goat needs a tranquilizer dart.”
Noah chuckled. “She’s got a girl-crush on you.”
“And you need new material, funny guy.”
With that, she shifted the car into reverse and, careful not to hurt the goat, backed up. Goat hooves dropped off the bumper. Harper hit the gas and did an awkward turn around where the drive widened, then raced for the road.
Harriet took off after them.
Chapter 9
“Crap!”
Harper punched the gas and spun the tires on loose gravel as she fishtailed out onto the main road while Noah laughed at the pair. The goat did her best to catch up and Harper was just as determined to get the hell out of there without her new stalker.
Just as they were about to make the curve in the road to head south, Harriett skidded to a stop at the end of the driveway, baa’d piteously, then dropped onto her side.
When the car failed to return, she rolled onto her back and acted out a Shakespearian-esque death scene. When that also failed to slow Harper’s flight, she hopped to her feet and headed back up the driveway with a hang-dog, or rather, hang-goat expression on her black and white face.
Noah turned back around. “Poor thing. She thinks you don’t love her.” He received a death glare for his comment and added, “You have to admit that she is kind of cute.”
“I admit nothing.” She took the curve, slowing lest they launch off the narrow road and into a ditch. “There is nothing cute about that goat.”
Chuckling, he said, “If you say so.”
Once upon a time, Harper had loved any creature that walked, flew, or slithered. He suspected that hadn’t changed. When she’d thought she killed the goat, he’d seen mental trauma in her expression and probably shouldn’t have teased her.
And despite her words to the contrary, for a second when the goat got up, revived from her stupor, relief had released through Harper’s body in