Goodnight Moo Read online

  Books by Mollie Cox Bryan

  THE BUTTERMILK CREEK MYSTERY SERIES

  CHRISTMAS COW BELLS

  GOODNIGHT MOO

  The Cora Crafts Mystery series

  DEATH AMONG THE DOILIES

  NO CHARM INTENDED

  MACRAMÉ MURDER

  ASSAULT AND BEADERY

  The Cumberland Creek Mystery series

  SCRAPBOOK OF SECRETS

  SCRAPPED

  SCRAPPY SUMMER E-Novella

  DEATH OF AN IRISH DIVA

  A CRAFTY CHRISTMAS

  SCRAPPILY EVER AFTER E-Novella

  SCRAPBOOK OF THE DEAD

  Goodnight Moo

  Mollie Cox Bryan

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Cast of Characters

  Cast of Cows

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Acknowledgments

  Recipes

  Teaser chapter

  MACRAMÉ MURDER

  NO CHARM INTENDED

  DEATH AMONG THE DOILIES

  SCRAPBOOK OF SECRETS

  SCRAPPED

  DEATH OF AN IRISH DIVA

  SCRAPPY SUMMER

  SCRAPPILY EVER AFTER

  SCRAPBOOK OF THE DEAD

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2020 by Mollie Cox Bryan

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-2134-1

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2135-8 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-2135-7 (ebook)

  Cast of Characters

  Brynn MacAlister—cheesemaker, dairy farmer, sleuth

  Becky MacAlister—Brynn’s sister

  Nathaniel and Hannah Scors—Wes’s parents

  Wes and Max Scors—Nathaniel and Hannah’s sons and Nancy’s grandsons

  Josh O’Connor—honey farmer and president of the Shenandoah Springs CSA

  Chelsea O’Connor—Josh’s daughter

  The O’Reilly family (Miriam and David, and their children, Frank and Tillie)—owners of the local apple orchard

  Willow Rush—organic vegetable farmer

  Mike Rafferty—fire marshal

  Schuyler Rafferty—vet-acupuncturist

  David Reese—owner of the tractor shop

  Charlie—the IT expert

  Roy—student, hacker, friend of Wes

  Cast of Cows

  Buttercup—one of Brynn’s three Red Devon milking cows, docile and sweet

  Marigold—the shyest of the cows

  Petunia—vocal and stubborn, in mourning for her lost calf

  Jewel—shy, orphaned Scottish Highland cow

  Chapter 1

  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.”

  Chapter 2

  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 kn
ow 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.”