Tailed: Paranormal Penny Mysteries, #3

By Sarah Hualde

Fleeing to the country…

… leads her to a truth-bomb.

Death lingers around every bend in the road.

 

Penny Nicols attempts to hide from her backhanded gift on a goat farm. Recovering from her last face-to-face with the Raven, she sticks to the sidelines. It might be a lonely way to live, but at least no one else has to die.

 

When does alone time become deadly?

The morning she missed a murder right outside her door.

An unidentified corpse pops up in the crops.

 

Even her faithful friend T.C. thinks Penny's co-workers aren't as quaint as they appear. But when an "innocent" is marked for the crime, he supports Penny's quest to snuff out the villain.

 

With the support of her sassy cat, Spades, they sift through the musical mayhem.

If Penny can't decode the clues in time, someone else may be pushing up daisies.

 

You'll love book three in the Paranormal Penny Mystery series because Penny and Spades chase down clues until the cows come home.

Get it now!

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Indie Christian Writers
• Release date: Mar 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781736756607

Sarah Hualde

Sarah lives in California, in a home that brings her happiness and hay fever. She loves God, loves her family, and loves freshly brewed coffee. She has a husband who cooks, a son who stop animates, a daughter who loves animals, a dog that follows her everywhere, and a turtle who scowls at her condescendingly. Her mother raised her on Mary Higgins Clark, Dianne Mott Davidson, and Remington Steele. Her grandmother shared True Crime stories with her as they plotted how to get away with the perfect murder. It's no surprise that Sarah became an award-winning spinner of suspenseful tales brimming with quirky characters. Mysteries are in her blood. Not that she could survive one of her own stories. She confesses, "I'd be snuffed out by Chapter two." Join Sarah's Super Sleuth Squad and follow her on YouTube for behind-the-scenes insider info. Super Squad Newsletter ----> https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/g1k6r0 YouTube-----> https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCK9ywmqk_2k-mEssZMkEvBQ

Book preview

1

THAT SMELL! I HOOTED. My cat, Spades, licked his paws and swiped at his eyes. He must have agreed with me. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that smell.

I tugged on the newest edition to my small wardrobe, a pair of muck boots. They were much more comfortable than I’d first expected. Sky blue with brown and white goats decorating their waterproof skin, they wouldn’t have been my choice in footwear. Yet they were free and kept my sneakers clear of poo. I was thankful for them.

I’d hosed them off before entering Godzilla; my VW bus turned into a tiny house. The smell wasn’t wafting from them. Nope. It was coming from outside. Still, what did I expect? I was working on a farm inhabited by goats.

I slid open the back door of the van and hung my feet over the side. Spades shimmied up at me. He rubbed his spine along my wrist as he passed.

Last night’s chill was turning into a foggy, damp day. My snarky cat didn’t want my portable heat to leave him trapped inside my frigid van. If he’d been a dog, I would have dressed him in a sweater, but being a cat, he’d shredded my first attempt at bracing him against the cold.

I gave the scruff of his neck a long scratch before nudging him back into Godzilla. He meowed a question at me.

It’s wet, I answered. You’d be miserable following me around.

He snorted in agreement. Flicking his long black tail, Spades curled himself into a tight coil as he burrowed beneath my favorite blanket.

Outside, a tiny sliver of sun sliced through the gray morning. I stretched under its migrant heat.

Colleen Green waved at me from her back porch. Penny,she called to me. Breakfast.

I returned the wave and gave her a thumbs up. After another second of working the knots out of my morning muscles, I tugged my slicker around me and slogged on toward my newest employer.

Colleen Green was the relative of a friend. (Or a sort of friend.) After the Raven of Death ruined that relationship, I was sent on my way, but not without a recommendation and a new job. Things went like that for me.

Since I was six, death continued to bless me with sneak peeks into the near future via sightings or omens that I call glimpses. These glimpses could be of anything. However, they never led to anything good. Whoever the glimpses were designed for had twenty-four hours before disaster, or worse, landed in their lap.

The most horrid of these glimpses was the Raven. A Raven sighting always meant death and usually murder. After retaking flight, the Raven often left me alone with no explanation of what had happened and with no one dumb enough to keep me as a friend.

Three people stood by me. Mr. Joe, my old boss, kept in touch on a monthly basis. He held my mail and sometimes sent me his famous fudge. Then there was T.C. and Scrubb. They recorded a weekly podcast about the paranormal. I was their one paid guest.

Other than that, whenever my glimpses struck, I was asked or forced to leave town. My connections and friendships were left behind. I was on my own. Except for Spades, of course. Spades was my constant companion.

Colleen’s aunt had warned her of my strangeness before I headed to the farm. My new boss thought the whole thing was ridiculous and offered me a job, anyway. I was happy to have it, even if it was in the middle of a field of goat pellets.

Morning, Colleen smiled her greeting over a massive mug of coffee. She nodded her head toward her screen door. Oatmeal’s on the stove. Bread is by the toaster. Help yourself, she told me. She’d said the same thing in the same order for days.

Thank you, so much, I repeated, like all the other mornings.

Breakfast was part of my pay. Colleen wasn’t as hospitable or homey as her aunt had been, but she was fair and more than a little plucky.

I entered the large kitchen. An unbidden sigh slipped from my lips. It was intoxicatingly toasty in Colleen’s house. I wanted nothing more than to curl up in a chair and sleep. Instead, I scooped myself a bowl of oatmeal and tossed a piece of bread into the toaster.

Hiya, Madeline, Maddy for short, said as she walked into the kitchen.

Good morning, Maddy, I returned. Maddy was also hired as part-time help on Colleen’s farm.

The goat farm was on the smaller side as far as farms were concerned. Milk, cheese, and meat were its main wares. Colleen also made soap from her goat's milk. She handled that job on her own most of the time. However, a broken hip from an accident a few weeks back kept her from frolicking with her goats. Judging by the swagger in her speech, she’d soon be back to rocking the goat milk world on her terms.

For the time being, Maddy, Scarlett, and I were her primary helpers. Scarlett, Colleen’s regular helper, was the last to grace the cinnamon-scented kitchen.

She grumbled her way to the coffeepot and poured most of it into a jumbo thermos. It would get her through the day, even if it left the rest of us with less than a cup’s worth.

Maddy watched slack-jawed as Scarlett hoarded the coffee. Her fists clenched on her hips. I could tell she wanted to give Scarlett lip, but it wouldn’t do any good. Maddy and I were pit-stop employees. Our vote meant nothing, especially when we’re arguing over coffee and breakfast.

Maddy’s green eyes flashed to mine. I winked at her. My coffee was much better than Colleen’s. I’d make Maddy a fresh pot later in the afternoon. However, I’d send it with her in a to-go mug.

Because of my pesky Raven friend, hanging out with me could very well be a death sentence. Maddy was sweet. I didn’t want to put her in harm’s way. Not if I could help it.

Colleen limped into the kitchen just as I sat down and began eating. She tottered over toward the coffee machine and snorted when she spotted the empty carafe. Then, leaning against the counter, she started the morning meeting.

We’re moving the goats from the backfield to the front fields today. It shouldn’t take long. First, of course, the milking will need to be done. Most of the milk will go into the fridge at the dairy shed. We’ll need at least a quarter of it frozen in the ice trays. Tomorrow we’ll start the soaps.

Scarlett grinned as she sipped her coffee and nibbled on her toast. For which vendors?

Online orders, Colleen answered. Anything we have left, we’ll save for the mid-month market.

What’s the mid-month market? I whispered to Maddy, who’d worked with Colleen before.

It’s the local free-standing market on the center lawn of town, Maddy whispered back before adding a dollop of butter to her oatmeal.

Scarlett stared out of the back door and across the porch. Who the heck is that? she pointed, still cradling her stockpile of coffee.

Colleen lumbered nearer to Scarlett. She squinted out at her fields. That better not be... she started.

Maddy scooted her chair closer to mine. Colleen has a stalker.

Colleen? I asked.

Or Scarlett, she admitted. I’m not sure which. He pops up on the edge of a field or by a fence now and then. Leering with binoculars.

Have you seen him? I asked. I had chills, even as the warm oatmeal heated up my stomach.

Maddy shrugged. I thought I did, once. It was just Curry, the postal worker.

Colleen screamed obscenities from her porch and chucked her breakfast bowl across the dewy grass. I startled. If breakfast was any indicator, the day was going to be a strange one.

Maddy averted her eyes from Colleen’s outburst. I followed suit. We both hurried to finish our oatmeal and get the day’s work started far from the raging Colleen.

2

I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD ever know how to milk a goat. As a child, in foster homes, I’d loved the novel, Heidi. Often I dreamed I had a crotchety old grandfather who would rescue me from the grimy side of life.

I imagined bounding up flower-laced mountains as bell-wearing goats followed me. Every daydream ended in a marred mess. Even if I had a scruffy-looking but tenderhearted grandfather, I could never run away to live with him–not without my sister, Christie. Since I didn’t know, even then, where she was, I was trapped biding my time in foster home after foster home.

Now I’d made it into my goat-laden dreams. I opened the third gate to the backfield. Field was a generous name for the paddock. They might have had lots of room to move, but instead, they huddled around each other, fighting over who was highest on the small boulder in the center of the pen. These goats were waiting for next month to breed and were kept separate from the milking goats.

I hadn’t known goats could be bred more than once a year. Colleen reassured me she could make the most indignant of goats get in the mood. I took her word for it.

Scarlett explained the morning jobs in an overabundance of detail. She then took up residence on a wooden bench near the center of Colleen’s lot. She rotated between sipping on her coffee and glaring at Maddy and me.

Ignore her, I told Maddy, who fretted over the scrutiny.

She shook stress from her shoulders and sighed. I’m trying. She’s just so... attentive.

That’s her job, isn’t it?

Maddy pouted. Not before Colleen injured her hip.

I walked into the pen, calling