Page 6 of Dead Clucked
5
Jude
Hen in Black
It wasn’t his best moment, but somehow Jude had managed to keep the chicken calendar a secret from Cope. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his husband with the information, but because he still wasn’t sure about the project himself. He’d let Ronan and Fitz go ahead of him at the photoshoot and if their pics came out good, then Jude would join in.
He sat quietly in the backseat of Fitzgibbon’s SUV as Ronan navigated through the streets of Beverly. Fifteen minutes later, the large, red silo of Battenburg Farm came into view. “Here we are,” Fitz said, parking near the matching red barn.
Ronan got out of the car and promptly gagged. “What the hell is that smell?” He pinched his nose shut like a kid about to jump into the pool.
“Nature’s fertilizer,” Jude said, fighting the urge to gag along with Ronan. He was glad the weather had turned colder, because if the cow shit smelled this bad in October, he couldn’t imagine how much worse it would be in July with the cow patties baking in the hot sun. “What are we supposed to do now that we’re here?”
“Our contact, Manfred Grimes, is supposed to meet us near the barn.” As Fitzgibbon spoke a tall, dark-haired man, dressed all in denim came out of the farm house.
“Captain Fitzgibbon?” the denim-clad man asked.
“That’s me,” Fitz said. “These are my detectives, Ronan O’Mara and Jude Byrne.”
Jude offered a wave. “You’re Mr. Grimes?”
“I am, but please, call me Manny.”
“Pardon my bluntness,” Jude began, “but you don’t look much like a photographer.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Ronan muttered under his breath.
“That’s because I’m not. I’m a fourth generation farmer. My great-grandfather bought this farm when he returned home from France in 1945. At first it was just a family farm, but over the years we’ve branched out. Each spring, we offer baby chickens for sale to craft farmers, we’ve got ten milking cows and several goats, and dozens of bee hives. Take a walk through our farm store before you leave. We’ve got the best goat’s milk cheese in Massachusetts. Not to mention farm-fresh eggs and free-range chicken.”
Jude’s mouth dropped open. “Youeatthe chickens?”
Manny shot Jude a confused look. “Surely you know where chicken comes from?”
Jude grimaced. “Yeah, the grocery store, where dinner doesn’t have a name and a chicken family who loves it.”
Manny barked a quick laugh and wrapped an arm around Jude. “I can see you’re going to get along with my girls just fine. You got any kids?”
Jude nodded. “My son Wolf is six and my daughter Lizbet is two.”
“They’re gonna love having a chicken around the house. Follow me.” Manny waved the detectives toward the barn, holding the door open for them.
Jude was about to ask Manny what the hell he meant about having a chicken in the house, but the smell of the barn gagged him. He was afraid if he opened his mouth, he’d throw up. The entire barn was filled with chickens of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Roosting and brooding boxes were built into the side walls. Some of the chickens were laying hens, while others were raising future generations of chicken nuggets and Buffalo wings. The smell was overwhelming. So was the noise. Chickens were clucking, peeping, and squawking so loudly that he couldn’t hold a thought. He couldn’t help thinking what a disaster this barn would be for Aurora and her sensory issues.
Manny pointed toward the far end of the barn where several pens were set up. “Let me show you our girls.”
It was harder than it looked to follow Manny across the barn. Chickens were constantly under foot and Jude nearly fell twice, when he had to leap over chickens who blindly ran toward him. He wondered if the chickens thought he was their savior. A chicken superhero. Capt-hen America. Jude snorted and started to laugh.
“Are you okay?” Ronan asked, his voice squeaky.
When Jude turned to look at him, he could see Ronan still had his nose pinched shut. “Just making up my own chicken puns.” If there were ever a sure sign that Jude was losing his mind,thiswas it.
“Here, we are, guys,” Manny shouted, over the din of the chickens. “According to my daughter, these are our most beautiful hens.”
Jude peered into the pens and saw the craziest looking chickens he’d ever seen in his life. Their heads were tufted with feathers to the point that he couldn’t see their eyes.
“Are these Polish chickens?” Ronan asked, sounding excited.
“They are!” Manny agreed. “The hen with rusty colored feathers edged in black with the bluish head feathers, is Hennifer Lopez. The black and white bird is Hen Solo and the last of my beautiful girls is Fricassee, my son thought the name was hilarious.”
