Free Eleven Little Piggies by Elizabeth Gunn Page B

computer. I got in my car then and drove straight to the farm.
    â€˜I learned as much as I could from Doris and her employees – it was just chaos out there, nobody really knew anything. So I came back to the office, thinking I’d call the Chief of Police and find out who was handling the investigation and . . . I found a message from your detective . . . Bailey, is that his name? Yes. I called him, he told me where he was working and I went there. The rest of the morning I guess you know.’
    â€˜Yes.’ So far, his story looked solid as a brick wall. ‘Now tell me about your relationship with the victim.’
    â€˜The victim.’ He made a face. ‘Do you have any idea how shocking it is to hear your own brother referred to that way?’
    â€˜I’m sorry. I know none of this is easy. I’ll just call him Owen from now on, OK? Was he older or younger than you?’
    â€˜Older. I’m the lucky second son. I was free to go to law school because the folks always knew, since we were boys, that Owen would stay and run the farm.’
    â€˜Somebody had to?’
    â€˜Well, the family’s had the place since great-grandfather’s time. It was always taken for granted – I mean, nobody’s ever talked about selling the home place.’
    â€˜Isn’t there another brother?’
    â€˜Yes. Matt is five years younger than me. But he wasn’t interested in farming – he liked to sing and ride horses.’ He shrugged, and Matt pretty much vanished off-screen.
    â€˜So Owen stayed on the farm and you went to law school. But you seem to have remained very interested in the farm.’
    â€˜Yes. I guess in a way I never left home either. Owen and I have both worked there since we were toddlers. Our dad insisted we do our chores, no matter what was going on in school – and I came home to work all vacations through college and law school. Now . . . I don’t do chores any more, of course’ – he settled the crease in his pants, looking briefly pleased with himself – ‘but as soon as I passed the Bar I took over the legal and financial work.’
    â€˜Are your parents still involved?’
    â€˜Oh, you bet. It’s a family corporation now. They’re on the board of directors and take part in all major decisions.’
    â€˜That would be Anna Carrie and, let’s see . . .?’
    â€˜Henry. They kept very close tabs on the place for the first couple of years after they moved to town. But lately they’re enjoying retirement more. They go south for a couple of months every winter, miss a few meetings. They stay in touch by phone, though. And God forbid,’ an ironic smile and eye roll here, ‘we forget to send the monthly statements and check. Also, we can count on them to question any big expenditures they haven’t agreed to.’
    â€˜Like buying more land?’
    â€˜Oh, we’d never do that without their approval. We grew slowly at first – a couple of nearby pastures that people didn’t need when they sold off herds. Then a whole adjoining farm, the one we call Halfway, about ten years ago. That’s when we began to buy pure-bred Holsteins – Owen’s idea and it’s finally paying off. And when I saw how lucrative the ethanol market was becoming, I pushed to buy River Farm three years ago, so we could grow our hay down there and put more of the Home Farm acreage into corn.’ He crossed his legs and sighed. ‘Growth isn’t easy, of course. We’ve been land-rich and cash-poor, like most farmers, for a lot of years.’
    â€˜But Doris has quite a successful riding stable too, doesn’t she?’
    He made a small, dismissive sound: ‘Hmmp.’ I watched him consider how to make his case without sounding mean-spirited. ‘Depends how you define success. She enjoys a wonderful reputation for producing