Page 67 of Dairy and Deadly

“All signs point to it.”

“How do we stop them?” Her mind raced over the many creative ways the rogue XAX had been targeting small farmers. In Mr. Clark’s case, they’d made it look like a Black Widow operation. In Farmer Monty’s case, Martin had simply “borrowed” a little barn space until he could get his own place up and running.

“That’s the question of the century, babe.” Johnny drove out of the downtown area and set their course for the wide-open countryside.

“If all else fails, follow the money,” she muttered beneath her breath. It was an age-old strategy that law enforcement agencies had been using for centuries.

“A crime like that would definitely require funds.” His voice grew calculating.

“Which is why they’re running two crime operations alongside each other. On the surface, they look like two unrelated cases, but they’re not.” She was more convinced than ever that one was funding the other.

“I like the way you think.” Admiration tinged Johnny’s voice. It was a far cry from the dubiousness he’d exhibited the first time she’d broached the idea of one criminal operation paying for the other. “I like the way you do a lot of things.” They reached his farmhouse, but he continued down the gravel road leading to her cabin.

An unexpectedly cheerful sight met them on the front porch. An enormous bouquet of winter white roses was resting on the doormat. A single blue rose was tucked on one side, and a matching blue velvet ribbon was tied into a fat bow around the vase.

“Wow, Johnny!” Ignoring the pain of her whiplash, Ashley hurried up the porch steps to claim the gorgeous roses. Raising them to her nose, she gave the blooms an appreciative sniff.

“They’re not from me.” He unlocked the front door and pushed it open for her.

“Oh.”Foot in mouth. “I’ll, um, see if the sender included a card.” Though she adored flowers, she was disappointed they weren’t from him, and she was embarrassed that she’d assumed they were. When would he have found the time? He hadn’t left her side since the accident.

She set the tall, crystal-cut vase on the kitchen cabinet and rummaged around for a card. It was buried deep within the roses. She tore it open and scanned the message.

“I don’t get it,” she whispered. It was from Martin.

The fact that he’d send the flowers was puzzling. What he’d written to her was equally puzzling:

Sorry about the accident.

I’m going to make things right.

She sucked in a breath. “How in the world did my ex find out about my accident?” She held out the card to Johnny so he could read it.

He looked as disturbed as she was. “Are you sure it’s from him?”

It was a fair question, since the card wasn’t signed. After dating Martin for the better part of five years, though, she was very familiar with his scrawl. “It’s his handwriting. I’m sure of it.”

She didn’t want to think any worse of Martin than she already did, but she had to question everything at this point. “Do you think he had something to do with it?”

“I’m gonna find out,” he vowed in a rough voice. “Whether he had a hand in it or not, he knows something.”

She stared at the bouquet, utterly perplexed. “While I’m peppering the air with questions that have no answers, here’s another one. What’s the point of sending white roses?” White symbolized purity, innocence, and new beginnings. She definitely wasn’t looking to get anything started with him again.

Johnny shrugged. “White is clean. His idea of making things right, maybe?”

“Maybe. And what’s with the single blue rose?” She flicked it with her thumb and forefinger.

“According to some research I did on another case, blue can represent a mystery,” he mused, cocking his head to study the one flower that didn’t match the others.

“You think it’s a warning?” It felt like a warning to her.

“Or he’s just messing with your head, something he seems to take great pleasure in doing.” His voice was dry.

“You’re right. It’s probably that.” They’d wasted enough time on the subject already. She was more than ready to dispose of the strange bouquet. Snatching up the vase, she carried it to the kitchen sink to drain out the water. Then she held it over the trashcan, closing her eyes before she let go.

“Whoa!” Johnny lunged her way. “Let me help you with that.” His hands came around hers, and together they lowered the vase into the trashcan. It wasn’t as satisfying as dropping it and shattering it like she’d wanted to, but it was a thousand times more practical.

“I’ll carry it to the dumpster for you on my way out,” he informed her gently.

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