Solving Llamageddon and the Alpacalypse

By Erin McCarthy and Kathy Love

Missing: One 350lb llama. White, loves peppermint candies and answers to the name Jack Kerouac.

When Sophie LaFleur left Hollywood and her acting career for the quaint, coastal town of Friendship Harbor, Maine, she expected ocean breezes, friendly neighbors and a relaxing way of life. What she didn’t expect was the theft of her beloved, pet llama--but then again, she never expected quite so much murder either. And L.A. was supposed to be dangerous.

Fortunately, her llama is found alive and well–stolen by a competitive 4-H Club mom, who wants her daughter to win a blue ribbon in the local fair’s animal competitions. But Sophie soon discovers its a world with a dark underbelly, full of stolen farm animals, pay offs and even murder.

And when she stumbles upon a body, the victim apparently killed in the pursuit of a coveted college scholarship, she realizes she is up to her neck in more than manure. She’s got a murderer on the loose.

And they say acting is competitive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Dec 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781094438429

Erin McCarthy

USA Today and New York Times Bestselling author Erin McCarthy sold her first book in 2002 and has since written over seventy-five novels and novellas in the romance and mystery genres. Erin has a special weakness for high-heeled boots, martinis, and Frank Sinatra. She lives with her renovation-addicted husband (he built her a bar, so it’s all good!) and their blended family of kids

Book preview

One

Growing up in Los Angeles, California, I’d pretty much seen it all. Then add a career, albeit short-lived, in acting and yep, I’d definitely seen some interesting things. But I can honestly say I’d never witnessed a pet abduction. So I would have never even considered the possibility that someone would stroll into my backyard and steal my llama. Who does something like that?

And it didn’t even happen in L.A. It happened in my new hometown of Friendship Harbor, Maine. The home of the annual Blueberry Festival, the Friendship Harbor Fair, and weekly trivia nights at my very own pub, Steamy’s.

And now, also the home of a lousy llama thief.

We need to form a search party or something, I muttered, pushing away my plate of untouched fried clams. Normally, I adored Cook Jimmy’s fried clams. But how could I eat, knowing my llama was out there somewhere. Missing. Isn’t that what townsfolk do? Form search parties?

Brandy, one of my pub employees and best friend there, took a sip of water, but I didn’t miss her amused smile before she hid it behind the rim of her cup. To her credit, she looked appropriately concerned by the time she lowered the glass. Which was good, because I found nothing amusing about my helpless llama alone in the cold, dark world. Not to be dramatic.

How do you know he just didn’t get loose again? He did once before, she pointed out.

It had crossed my mind, but evidence was to the contrary. Hannah said that the pen was locked. Jack is smart, but he can’t close a gate and lock it behind him. Hannah was the teenage girl who mucked out Jack’s stall for me because I can’t clean up poop. I am my mother’s daughter in that regard.

Brandy made a noncommittal sound. Sheriff Pelletier is making inquiries. I’m sure he’ll find out something soon, she said. I mean, it’s not like someone didn’t notice a person with a large llama in tow.

That was true. Someone must have seen something.

And I’m sure he’s fine. It was probably a stupid prank. Maybe some of the students stole him as a back-to-school prank. Or a team prank. It is football season. Time to steal a mascot and all that.

That made sense. High school kids did do stuff like that. Although I was pretty sure it usually involved stealing the opposing team's mascot, but still...maybe. Maine was quirky. Maybe stealing large pets was some kind of local scavenger hunt item.

Brandy pushed my plate back in front of me. But one thing is certain, starving yourself isn’t going to get him back any sooner.

I sighed, but obediently popped a clam in my mouth. They were a little cold, but still tasted good. I guess I hadn’t been eating.

What is Friendship Harbor High’s mascot anyway? I asked, hoping that would help Brandy’s explanation make sense.

The Friendship Harbor Fish Eaters, Dave, another of my waitstaff, said as he appeared out of the kitchen with a tray of food for someone down at the end of the bar.

Go Fish Eaters! Roscoe Philbrick, one of the pub’s regulars, cheered from his spot farther down the bar.

Fish Eaters? Okay, that might be one of the worst high school mascots that I’d ever heard of.

Brandy shrugged, clearly agreeing with me. Well, fishing is our main industry here. So I guess it makes sense.

She didn’t look any more convinced than I was. I don’t even understand what that means. What does the mascot look like? Was it a human with a plate of fish and chips? A fried trout basket in his hands? Or was it a fish?

It’s a giant fish.

Huh. Fish Eaters. That was just terrible. I hoped the team was good at least.

I dunked another clam in Jimmy’s homemade tartar sauce. I’m not sure what a llama would have to do with fish eating. Llamas don’t eat seafood. The Daring Dandelions or the Crimson Clover, then maybe, but the Fish Eaters?

Dean, my bar manager, appeared from the stockroom with a case of beer to refill the coolers. I guess you should just be thankful they aren’t called the Friendship Harbor Llama Eaters.

The clam I’d just bitten into turned to paste in my mouth. I never really considered that Jack could be in actual danger. What’s that supposed to mean? I demanded.

Brandy nudged Dean with an elbow as he passed her.

Hey, he mumbled, but didn’t look exactly repentant for putting that awful image in my head. I was kidding, relax.

Jack is fine, Brandy reassured me.

I pushed my plate away again. Brandy shot Dean an irritated look as if to say, Nice job, jerk.

Dean set down the box of beer and walked back over to us. Honestly, Soph, I’m sure he’s fine too. And you posted flyers of him all over town. Someone is going to report something.

I had put up flyers of Jack everywhere. Missing: a white, three-hundred-and-fifty pound llama answering to the name Jack Kerouac. Loves peppermints, dandelions, and having his neck scratched. Sometimes spits.

I probably shouldn’t have added that last bit, but I was sure Jack was probably scared and he could be a little ornery when nervous.

I still think we need a search party, I said, hating just sitting around, waiting for news. He’d been gone for nearly two days. Weren’t the first forty-eight hours the most important? Okay, maybe I was watching a bit too much ID channel. But seriously, where could he be? If he was just loose, someone would have spotted him, which led me to believe that he was being held captive.

My palms started to sweat. They better be taking care of him or the mystery thief was going to have to answer to me. I’d been given karate lessons when I was playing Jennifer on the TV show Murder, She Texted, so I was confident I could hold my own.

He’s going to be fine, Dean said again, his voice calm and deep. Reassuring.

I met his eyes, which were this fascinating color somewhere between green and gold. He smiled and reached out to squeeze my hand. He had strong, callused fingers. He was more good looking than any man deserved to be, and for a moment, I did feel better.

I mean what are the chances there is an underground, smuggling ring for llamas, he added. I suppose it could happen, but it seems unlikely.

I frowned. And there he went harshing my mellow. More often than not, Dean’s mouth ruined his good looks.

Brandy rolled her eyes. Don’t you have beer to restock?

He gave her a confused look, but then released my hand and went back to work.

Don’t listen to him. He’s just talking without thinking. It’s a male thing, Brandy whispered. But I noticed Dean shot her a grimace, clearly hearing her hushed comment. Not that I think that Brandy cared if he overheard.

I sighed, then picked up my phone. The screen lit up, revealing no calls or texts. Of course, I would have heard my phone chime if I’d gotten any messages. It was just something to do. A way to focus my nervous energy.

I’m going to call Justin. I’d already called Sheriff Pelletier three times today, but I couldn’t stand just sitting here.

I’ll call him, Dean said as he walked past us. He pulled his phone out of the back pocket of his faded jeans. I’m pretty sure he won’t answer if he sees it’s you again.

Dean had a point. And I appreciated that he was trying to help. Maybe he did realize his offhand remarks had only managed to cause me more agitation.

He tapped his phone, scrolling through his numbers. I was actually kind of surprised that Dean had Justin’s number. Although both men always acted respectful to each other, I got the distinct feeling there was some sort of history between Dean and the sheriff that went beyond Dean having a criminal past. They definitely didn’t have a let’s call and chat type of relationship.

But then again, Dean had just discovered a skeleton in his, or rather my guesthouse wall--Dean lives in my guesthouse out behind the pub--just a few weeks ago. So that could explain why he’d want Sheriff Pelletier’s number in his phone.

He tapped his phone again, then held the cell to his ear.

I heard ringing. That was weird. Was he actually calling me by mistake? Then I realized the ringing was coming from behind me. I turned on my barstool to see Sheriff Pelletier--Justin--walking into the pub.

The ringing stopped.

I was just calling you, Dean said, putting his phone back into his pocket.

Justin held his phone up. I know. I figured it was just easier if I talked to you in person.

I stood. Do you have any news? Is he alive? Did someone take him across the border? Hey, we weren’t too far from Canada. It could happen.

Justin frowned at me as if I were possibly losing my mind. Then he shook his head, but smiled. No.

Normally no wasn’t a positive response, so I was confused. No what?

Justin strolled over to me. No, he isn’t over the border.

I released my pent-up breath. I should have realized Canadians were too nice to have a llama trafficking ring. And I didn’t think Justin would be smiling if Jack had met an untimely demise. How do you know that for sure?

I found him.

I let out a small cry of relief and flung myself into Justin’s arms. He hugged me tight, and I couldn’t help but notice for a little longer than necessary. I would have felt badly, since I knew the sheriff had a bit of a crush on me, but right now I was just relieved that Jack was okay. And found.

I pulled away, looking up at our town’s sheriff, who was a bit of a hunk. I was probably totally stupid for not encouraging his interest more. Especially since he was the hero who found my llama. Where is he? How did you find him?

Someone called from your flyers, Justin said. Jack is in Millbrook.

Millbrook? That was a town about twenty miles away from Friendship Harbor on the way to Bangor.

Yeah. I haven’t gone to where he was supposedly being kept, but I feel pretty confident it’s him. It’s not like we have a whole lot of llamas around here. So I’ll go check it out and get back to you.

I was shaking my head before he could even finish his last sentence. I’m going with you.

Sophie, Justin started.

No, I said, pointing at him. I’m going.

I picked up my cell phone. I didn’t have my purse with me, but I didn’t think I’d need it. Let’s go.

Since my grandmother, Sunny, his former owner, had passed away, I was all Jack had.

Jack was counting on me.

Holy smokes, I said as Justin pulled his sheriff’s car off the main road onto a long drive that led up to a mansion. Like a legit mansion. And I thought the Victorian that I inherited from my deceased grandmother was big. This place was more than big--it was well, a mansion. Manicured, expansive, and clearly expensive. More Bel Air than Maine.

Why would these people need to steal a llama? I murmured half to myself and half to Justin. The huge Georgian-style building was surrounded by fenced-in pastures. And there was a sign on the fence with Harrington Estate carved and painted in white and green with gold accents. Several horses grazed in the huge fields, and although I knew very little about horses, they looked like beautiful and expensive animals. I did know enough to understand keeping horses is not a financial bargain. As we drove closer to the house, I could see a long, freshly painted stable to the left of the house. About fifteen of the little barn where Jack lived could have fit into this huge building.

Someone stole Jack and brought him to Club Med, I said, gaping at the palatial estate. Or Club Camelidae.

Justin either didn’t appreciate my species pun or he was just going to ignore it.

Don’t worry, he said. If Jack is here, I’m sure he’s going to be happy to see you.

I appreciated his reassurance. If I was a llama, I wasn’t sure I’d want to leave. I felt like I needed to invest in better hay after seeing this place.

Justin parked the police car in the circular driveway in front of the house, and before he could even reach for the handle to open his door, I was out of the car.

Sophie, he called. Can you let me handle this?

I glanced up at the columned mansion. I wanted to march up the steps and demand my llama back, but I probably should let Justin do the talking. Whoever owned this place was more likely to take the sheriff seriously than a crazy woman who missed her pet llama.

I nodded and waited for him to join me.

To my surprise, he didn’t say anything about me waiting at the car as I started up the brick steps to the front door. He probably figured I wouldn’t listen. He would probably be right.

He pressed the doorbell. I could hear a sound like a gong from the other side of the large, oak double doors. We waited. I fully expected a tuxedo-wearing butler or maid in a black and white uniform to greet us, but there was no one. No answer at all.

Justin tried again. Another gong, which was met with silence.

I waited a second longer and turned to head back down the steps.

Where are you going?

I glanced back at him. Jack has to be in those stables. I’m going to look.

Justin jogged down after me. We can’t do that.

You are sure this is where the person said Jack was, right?

I think so, it was an anonymous caller, but he seemed to know a lot of details. Still we can’t just wander around on someone’s property. We will have to try--

I raised my hand to stop him, sure I heard something. We both listened. Again, I heard something. Voices. Definitely voices.

I waved for Justin to follow as I moved around the side of the huge house. To my surprise, Justin moved quietly behind me instead of stopping me. We paused at the edge of the house, peeking around a large lilac bush, which must have looked glorious in the spring. Now it just acted as a green, leafy camouflage for us to peer through. And there they were, two people, a male and female, who appeared to be in their teens.

Brandon, what are we going to do? The girl looked around as if nervous. I ducked out of sight, my back hitting against Justin’s as he also leaned forward to get a look at the two people talking. We are never going to get away with this.

I carefully leaned forward