The Silence of the Llamas Page 2

  Even though it was late September, some hardy perennials still bloomed in the large garden in front—black-eyed Susans, pink coneflowers, and shrub roses. The weather in Plum Harbor was mild for this time of year and the killing frost had not yet crept in, though Lucy knew that soon the cooler nights would wilt any surviving flowers and the ground would freeze hard as a rock until spring.

  “Wow, the place looks great. I haven’t been out here in a while. It needed a ton of work when they moved in,” Dana told her friends.

  “We call that ‘potential’ in the biz. Or ‘in need of tender loving care,’ ” Suzanne translated. “This place did need loads of TLC, as I recall from the listing. But it has a lot of extras, too. There’s an orchard back past the barn, and a sweet little cottage back there. See it?”

  Now that Suzanne pointed it out, Lucy did see the cottage, painted the same color as the farmhouse. The edges of lace curtains showed in the windows, and potted plants led up the steps to the front door.

  “Nothing wrong with having another stream of income while you’re getting a business started,” Suzanne said approvingly. “I can’t wait until the kids go to college so we can rent out some of our place.”

  Suzanne owned a large, rambling old house in a perpetual state of renovation, and Lucy could easily see it turned into a B-and-B . . . though she knew Suzanne was only joking.

  “They found the perfect tenant, too,” Dana continued. “Her name is Dot. She’s from Vermont and has lived on farms most of her life. They’ve hired her to take care of the orchard and help with the animals. Even though she’s a little older, Ellie says she’s a hard worker and an angel with the llamas. She helps on the farm part-time and has another job somewhere. As a home health aide, I think. They give her a break on the rent along with her pay, so it all works out.”

  Not far from the cottage, rows of leafy apple trees were also visible. Lucy wasn’t sure how far the orchard stretched back but guessed it to be a few acres. Before she could ask Suzanne, a parking attendant caught her attention, waving her toward a field filled with cars.

  Lucy turned, and they bumped along over the rutted ground until another attendant directed her into a space.

  Suzanne emerged slowly from the backseat, working her way through the piles of farm stand purchases. Dana and Lucy waited for her, eager to get into the festival. They could already hear music—old-time bluegrass banjo and fiddle tunes—as appetizing aromas beckoned them forward.

  They came out of the lot and stepped into the flow of fair-goers. There was a big turnout, Lucy thought, especially for this type of event, which tended to be much quieter and not quite as . . . splashy.

  “It must have cost a fortune to put this together. Look at those tents.” Suzanne gazed around. “Top dollar at the rent-all places.”

  The tents were very pretty, Lucy thought. Peaked on top, with bright blue and yellow stripes. They reminded Lucy of fairy tale illustrations, or movies about medieval knights jousting in tournaments.

  Beneath the striped covering, they stopped to visit with a cluster of fluffy-headed alpaca and, in the next pen, a group of llamas that were a bit larger and more camel-like in looks.

  Another tent held cages of huge angora rabbits. “Look at that guy,” Suzanne said. “He’s as big as a pillow.”

  “He is. Couldn’t you just imagine cuddling up with him?” It was the biggest rabbit Lucy had ever seen, its furry coat prized for softness.

  Just beyond the animals, there were several rows of smaller white tents—the many vendors who had come to sell their wares and publicize their shops and businesses, all related somehow to spinning, knitting, and other handcrafts.

  “I guess we should look for Maggie’s booth,” Dana said, looking around.

  “Right . . . before I lose control and start shopping again,” Suzanne warned them.

  Lucy found a map in the pile of flyers the parking attendant had handed them. While she stood puzzling over it, Phoebe suddenly appeared. She was dressed for the country outing in a green cargo jacket, skinny jeans, and black high-tops. The purple T-shirt under Phoebe’s jacket read, “Keep staring. I may do a trick.”

  Phoebe was just returning from a food run and her cardboard tray was heaped with items—a paper bowl of curly fries and a soft drink on one side and a yogurt, a green apple, and tea on the other. Her idea of a balanced diet—juggling her junk food with Maggie’s healthy choices.

  “Hey, guys. What took you so long? Did you get lost or something?”

  “We made a few stops. The farm stands were hard to resist . . . for some of us.” Dana glanced at Suzanne. “I hope we didn’t miss Maggie’s demonstration?”

  “She doesn’t go on for at least half an hour. We’ve already set up the wheel. The booth is right over here,” Phoebe added, leading the way.

  “I’d follow the smell of those curly fries anywhere,” Suzanne murmured. “Where’s the snack stand? I could go for a bite.”

  Lucy was tempted to remind Suzanne of the apple cider doughnuts gobbled down at the last farm stand, but she restrained herself.

  “Keep it moving. We’ll find some food later.” Lucy gently prodded Suzanne to keep her on track, though her friend kept slowing down as the colorful displays in different booths caught her eye. It all looked very tempting, Lucy thought. Suzanne wasn’t the only one eager to shop. There were handmade purses and pillows, woven rugs and fiber art, other booths with dresses and shawls, sweet-smelling soaps and lotions. Many booths offered knitting tools, unique yarns, and spinning supplies. Lucy kept reminding herself they would come back later and browse. Besides, there was only one booth where she would ever buy knitting supplies and it soon came into view.

  A large oval sign with the Black Sheep Knitting Shop logo marked Maggie’s spot, and Lucy pushed Suzanne a few more yards to their goal.

  Maggie’s booth was practically a mini version of her shop, with everything set up in an eye-catching way.

  Handmade sweaters and scarves stood on stands or hung from the tent’s ceiling. There were tables inside and out displaying large baskets of yarn, needles, and various knitting tools. Flyers about classes and special coupons filled other baskets near the flow of passing traffic.

  Lucy also noticed Maggie’s spinning wheel—a small one she used at home, not the large one she had in the shop—set up to one side of the booth, ready and waiting for its owner to make the magic happen.

  Lucy had never learned to spin, though watching someone else manage it never failed to fascinate her. Maggie claimed it wasn’t hard at all, but Lucy guessed it was one of those “not hard at all” activities that are only perfected with lots of time, interest, and practice, practice, practice—like playing the piano. She had never gotten very far with the instrument and felt the same fate would befall her if she invested in a spinning wheel.

  Maggie was at the back of the booth, showing some customers a beautiful fringed wrap composed of a variety of stitches in a soft butternut-squash-colored yarn—a sample for one of the classes Maggie was giving at the shop in the fall called It’s a Wrap!

  Maggie looked up and noticed that her friends had arrived. She quickly excused herself and walked toward them.

  “Sorry we’re late.” Dana had to practically shout to be heard above the music coming from a performance stage somewhere nearby. “You look so busy, I’ll bet you didn’t even miss us.”

  “I knew you were making a day of it. I’m sure you stopped to buy a few pumpkins and such.”

  “Pumpkins, yes. And a lot of ‘and such,’ ” Lucy said drily.

  “We’re here for your performance,” Suzanne said brightly.

  “Oh, that’s no big deal. You’ve seen my act before. Ellie asked a few of us to show how the wheel works. She’s looking for more students for her classes. She’s been giving free lessons on hand spinning all day and giving out these souvenir spindles. Cute, right?”

  Maggie picked up a wooden spindle from the table behind her. Strands of white fiber were wrap
ped on one end. The flat round disk on top was imprinted with the words “Laughing Llama Farm” and bracketed on either side by the black silhouette of a llama.

  Suzanne took the spindle and looked it over. “What a great idea. All I ever come up with for a giveaway is refrigerator magnets.”

  “I should order something like this for my shop. Very clever . . . and useful,” Maggie agreed.

  “Look, there’s Ellie.” Dana turned and waved. “I guess she has to visit all the vendors. Like a hostess at a big dinner party.”

  An odd way to put it, but it seemed to describe Ellie’s path through the booths very aptly. Lucy saw the festival hostess work her way down the line, stopping at each tent to chat with the proprietor. When she noticed Dana, she waved and headed straight in their direction.

  With her height, slim build, and glossy reddish-brown hair, Ellie would be easy to spot in any crowd. She wore a long vest knit of fuzzy putty-colored yarn and belted at the waist over jeans and high black riding-style boots. As she drew closer, Lucy recognized the vest. It was made of llama fiber from her own herd. Ellie had showed it to them once at a knitting group meeting while she was still working on it.

  The homespun vest, however, did not disqualify her from looking like a cover shot on a magazine—one about high-style country living. The past few months on the farm had not dulled a certain city air, Lucy thought. Not in a bad way, but Ellie did stand out today from most of the farm’s visitors.

  It might have been her sleek haircut, or just her confident manner. You couldn’t discount her manicure, either, Lucy noticed. Not quite the hands of a farm woman, that was for sure. But she was a talented entrepreneur. She greeted each of them with a wide smile and a warm hug.

  “Thanks for coming, everyone. Nice crowd, don’t you think? We’ve been so lucky with the weather. I knew we’d have a beautiful day. Ben was so nervous. He nearly drove me crazy.”

  Typically upbeat and talkative, Ellie was running in high gear. But she was the organizer, director, and hostess of the entire event. Anyone would be excited.

  “Your booth looks great, Maggie.” Ellie twirled around, taking in the displays. “Have you sold much today?”

  “Here and there. People are mostly browsing and asking questions. It’s all good publicity.”

  “Yes, it will be. You’re such a good sport.” Ellie patted Maggie’s arm, then glanced at her watch. “You’re not scheduled to spin for at least half an hour. The herding demonstration isn’t over yet.”

  “With the border collies? Did I miss that, too?” Phoebe sounded thoroughly disappointed. A fry hung limply from her fingertips.

  “I’m sorry, Phoebe. I did say you could see that, didn’t I?” Maggie sighed. “Why don’t you go right now? You can catch the rest of it.”

  “The end is the best part,” Suzanne consoled her. “When the dogs chase those silly sheep through the chutes.”

  Phoebe grabbed her soda and slurped noisily as she took off. “Catch you guys later. I’ll take some pictures for the shop.”

  “Great. . . . Can anyone take a few of me? That would be a nice touch for the bulletin board, too. In addition to the herding dogs, I mean.”

  “I’ll take some pictures of you.” Lucy smiled at Maggie’s subtle sarcasm. Maggie stepped over to a display table and posed.

  “The farm looks great, Ellie,” Dana said sincerely. “You’ve done so much with the place in such a short time.”

  “The festival gave us a good deadline. It’s amazing how far a little paint and elbow grease can go. There’s still a ton of repairs to make before the winter. Ben tries to do them himself, to save money. Between you and me, he’s not really that handy.” She lowered her voice a bit and laughed. “But we’ll get through it. Little by little.”

  “You have a good-sized crowd. I’ve been to a few of these by now. Some can be deadly boring,” Dana confessed.

  “Oh, yeah,” Suzanne agreed. “A few sleepy sheep and a table with some scented soap.”

  Ellie laughed. “I know what you mean. I didn’t want our debut to be anything like that. We’ll probably lose money when it’s all said and done. But it will be worth the publicity. There’s a reporter coming out from the Plum Harbor Times. I hope I can catch her and get a few nice quotes in the article.”

  Ellie peered into the crowd as she spoke. Lucy saw her expression suddenly sour as a woman nearby waved and walked toward them. Lucy had a feeling this was not the newspaper reporter Ellie had been looking for, but someone else she had not expected to see.

  In the blink of an eye, Ellie was smiling again, greeting the guest cheerfully—her professional training kicking in.

  “Angelica . . . what a nice surprise. Thanks for coming.” Angelica and Ellie air kissed. Then Ellie stepped back for introductions. “This is my neighbor Angelica Rossi, everyone. She owns Sweet Meadow Farm, just down the road.”

  Sweet Meadow? Lucy recalled passing a sign for that farm in their travels. Had they stopped there to buy something? Then she remembered. It was another organic fiber farm, one where alpaca were raised. Almost a direct competitor with Laughing Llama. What were the chances of two such enterprises opening up within five miles of each other?

  Angelica Rossi must have asked herself the same question when she heard about the Kruegers and their llama herd coming to town.

  Angelica, the polar opposite of Ellie in looks and style, carried a basket over her arm, partially hidden by the edge of her shawl. Lucy took a peek. She saw tiny bunches of yarn attached to business cards. Samples of Sweet Meadow Farm’s products, Lucy realized. Which would be fine except that Angelica apparently had not troubled herself to rent a booth at the fair.

  Ellie must have noticed, too. But generously . . . or wisely . . . or both . . . didn’t make a fuss about it.

  Lucy would have described Angelica as an “old hippie,” though she was not that old, maybe in her mid-forties. Her wavy brown hair, threaded with gray, was amazingly long, woven in a braid that hung halfway down her back. She wore a loose peasant-style blouse, a knitted shawl, and a long denim skirt, with black lace-up boots peeking out from below the hem. Hoop earrings and a few silver bangles completed her outfit. Not a drop of makeup. Not even lip balm. Not even lip balm made from pure beeswax, Lucy guessed.

  Some might have pegged Angelica as a perfect candidate for a makeover show, but the lady farmer seemed totally at ease, poised and confident. Lucy sensed that something about the owner of Sweet Meadow Farm made Ellie nervous.

  Ellie quickly introduced everyone, leaving Maggie for last. “And this is Maggie Messina, from the Black Sheep Knitting Shop—”

  “Oh, we know each other,” Maggie interrupted. “Hello, Angelica. Nice to see you.” Her tone was polite and cheerful. But Lucy could tell from a certain tension in Maggie’s smile that her friend did not have warm feelings for Angelica, either.

  “Your booth looks lovely. I’m not surprised, knowing your shop.” Angelica looked around at the displays. “What’s this? Are you giving these away?”

  Angelica picked up the spindle Maggie had left on the display table.

  “Ellie is. She’s giving them out as souvenirs from the fair. They have a little imprint, see?” Maggie pointed out the embellishment. “You can have that one, if you like.”

  “Thanks. It’s very clever,” she said, slipping it into her basket. “The festival is great,” she added, turning back to Ellie again. “I’d love to hold an event like this at Sweet Meadow. But I know it wouldn’t be half as nice.”

  “It’s a big job. But not rocket science. I’ll help if you want to try it. Let me know.”

  Angelica looked surprised by Ellie’s offer. Lucy was, too. She wondered if Ellie was sincere. Or if she knew that her rival would never take her up on it.

  An urgent beeping sound, like a cell phone, interrupted their conversation.

  “Excuse me, that must be Ben . . .” Ellie took a walkie-talkie out of her vest pocket. “Hi, honey, what’s up? Is Dot down there with
you? I was looking for her at the animal tents and she wasn’t around . . .”

  While Ellie spoke with her husband, Angelica said goodbye and slipped back into the crowd, her long braid and basket swinging from side to side as she strolled away.

  A few moments later, Lucy and her friends instinctively huddled around Ellie.

  “That Angelica . . . she’s too much,” Ellie said under her breath. “She has some nerve waltzing around here all afternoon. Did you see those samples she’s giving out? She should have paid for a booth, like everyone else. But I didn’t call her on it. Trying to take the high road, I guess. I’m sure she’s just here to spy on me, anyway. Like she’s been doing since we got here.”

  “You know what they say,” Maggie murmured. “Spying is the highest form of flattery.”

  “Imitation is the highest form,” Dana corrected her. “Spying is a little . . . obsessive. You were so cordial, Ellie. It was hard to tell that she isn’t a friendly competitor.”

  “We’re new here. We can’t afford to make enemies with our neighbors. I’d be happy to be on good terms with her. She raises alpaca, we raise llamas. There’s a world of difference between them. But she turns it into a rivalry. And for all her Sweet Meadow sweetness, she plays pretty dirty.” Ellie’s expression clouded. “Oh, we act perfectly nice to each other in public. But I know for a fact she talks down our farm and spreads rumors with the other landowners and all our mutual business contacts.”

  “Rumors? What kind of rumors?” Dana asked curiously.

  “For one thing, that alpaca fiber is superior to llamas’. Which is patently untrue. Both have their value and uses. But Angelica’s a real fiber snob. Aside from that, she tells everyone that we don’t know what we’re doing and our llamas are not good pedigree like her herd of blue-ribbon winners. And she tells vendors that we’re not spinning the pure fibers we claim, mixing in sheep’s wool and other extenders. Which isn’t true at all. I’ve never been able to catch her. But I know where all this trash talk is coming from.”

  “I used to carry Sweet Meadow yarn. But I don’t anymore.”