Case of the Shady Shamrock by Jeffrey Poole

Author:Jeffrey Poole
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cozy mystery, small town mysteries, irish mystery, mysteries with humor, mysteries with dogs, animal sleuths, cozy murder mystery series
Publisher: Columbine Publishing Group, LLC

EIGHT

“We haven’t done this in a while, have we? Granted, the last time we were in this thing, we kinda found a dead person, so all I ask is that you two keep your noses in the cab, all right?”

As expected, both corgis ignored me. They were too busy creating what every dog owner on the planet was familiar with, namely, numerous streaks on windows affectionately labeled nose art. In this case, we were in the cab of the winery’s John Deere tractor, and were headed back to the north fields. Yes, that was where the remains of a certain someone had been found, but this time, thankfully, I wasn’t going to use my tractor to break up any rocks. There was a large, dead tree near the northwestern border of the property, and I was determined to get rid of that eyesore once and for all. The problem was, it was about a fifteen minute drive for me to get this beast all the way out there.

If you haven’t guessed it by now, it was the following day. Jillian still had possession of the chest, and she assured me she had the perfect hiding place for it. In case the Forces of STUPID, as I’ve started calling them in my head, had somehow managed to bug our phones, I forbade Jillian from mentioning its location. The less I knew, the better.

So, discovering I had some free time on my hands, since my latest book was in the hands of my editor, and I hadn’t decided which of my dozen or so writing projects would be next, I decided to make myself useful. I could claim that I meant to say, something useful for the winery, but let’s face it. Everyone who knows me will know how much I love playing with the biggest toy I own. Therefore, it didn’t take very long for me to snatch the keys off the peg in the winery and head for my tractor. All in all, it took a solid twenty minutes of driving to make it from the storage shed all the way out to the extreme northwestern corner of my property.

“You two stay here,” I ordered, as I grabbed my gloves and a set of chains I kept under the buddy seat. “We’re going to rip this sucker apart. What do you say?”

I was ignored again. You’d think I would be used to it by now.

Two hours later, there was nothing left of Ol’ Nasty—a term of endearment by yours truly—but a jagged, scarred stump. Deciding the tractor probably wasn’t strong enough to rip the blasted thing out of the ground using nothing but the chains, I set to work clearing and breaking as many roots as I could find. Also, since I couldn’t very well dig down to expose the northern roots of the tree without ripping into the road itself, I had to settle on digging as much as I could from the southern side, all without destabilizing the hillside.

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