The Silence of the Llamas (3 page)

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 wrapped 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.”

Maggie’s quiet words caught Lucy’s interest. But Maggie didn’t elaborate. Now that Maggie mentioned it, Lucy did remember Sweet Meadow hand-spun products in the shop, but she hadn’t noticed when the yarns had disappeared.

“She’s a sharp cookie. Or thinks she is. Never mind that Mother Earth act,” Ellie added. “I think there’s plenty of room in the basket for everyone’s boutique yarns. But Angelica is very competitive. She seems to think only one of us can survive and thrive.”

“A little advice, if you don’t mind,” Maggie replied. “Don’t get caught up in that game. Focus on your own business and the rest will take care of itself.”

“My mother always told me, ‘Just hoe your own row.’ That seems to apply double since you’re on a farm,” Suzanne added.

“Maggie’s right. Don’t engage,” Dana advised. “She’ll eventually lose interest. I can almost guarantee that.”

Lucy didn’t have any wise words to offer. She did know that Maggie’s advice came from her own experience. She’d had a fierce rival in town at one time and had let the emotions of the situation get the best of her. Unfortunately, when the rival store owner was found dead, the police looked at Maggie as the prime suspect.

“Thanks for the advice and for listening. I’ll keep it all in mind.” Ellie glanced at her watch. “I think it’s time for your demonstration, Maggie. Do you need any help setting up?”

“Phoebe and I prepared everything a while ago. I just need my stool. It’s behind the back table somewhere.”

Maggie left to fetch her stool while Lucy and her friends stepped over to the spinning wheel for prime viewing spots.

Ellie stepped out into the path and called out to those passing by, “Spinning demonstration at the Black Sheep tent, starting in two minutes. Come and see some expert spinning. Maggie Messina, the owner of the Black Sheep Knitting Shop, is about to begin her demonstration in a just a few minutes . . .”

The fiddlers had stopped for a while but now started up again. Ellie had to shout to be heard over the noise but managed to pull in a large audience.

Maggie set her stool down and took her place at the back of the wheel. She briefly showed the group a handful of fur, clipped from one of Ellie’s llamas, known as roving. Then she showed how the fibers were combed out and set on the spindle.

She put her feet on the pedals, explaining each step of the process, and began to work the delicate thread of fiber that slipped from the wheel.

Lucy and her friends stepped aside to give others a better view. Maggie had been right. They had all seen this performance in the shop many times before, though Lucy still found it fascinating to watch the wad of animal fur spun into a thin strand of yarn.