Read Online Shunned and Dangerous (An Amish Mystery) by Laura Bradford - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laura Bradford
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as he, too, stepped from the car and sniffed, once, twice. “That, Claire, is the telltale smell of spoiled milk.”
She lowered her hand to her side, opting to breathe through her mouth rather than her nose. “I’ve smelled spoiled milk before,” she protested.
“From the confines of your refrigerator, perhaps. But that’s the smell of many, many gallons of spoiled milk.” Tightening his grip on the handle of his toolbox, he motioned for her to follow as he crossed the driveway and headed toward a large troughlike contraption with several dozen smaller containers inside. The closer they got, the more intense the smell became. “Yep, that’s spoiled milk, alright.”
“Why would he leave it out here in the first place?”
“The bigger dairy farms use bulk cooling tanks with agitators to keep the milk moving. Harley’s obviously wasn’t one of them.”
“And people drink that?” she said, pressing down on her nose once again in an unsuccessful attempt to blot out the smell.
“Farms that store milk in cans like these”—he swept his free hand toward the trough—“can’t sell for the same higher price as the ones with the bulk cooling tanks. Instead, the milk is classified as Grade B and used for cheese.”
“I’m not sure I ever want to eat another piece of cheese if this is where it comes from,” she murmured.
“The only reason it smells this bad is because the trough is dry. Normally, the Grade B producers store their milk cans in cold water—hence, the trough—as it waits to be picked up by whatever company they’re selling to.” Jakob ran his hand across two or three milk cans, shaking his head as he did. “Pickups never take place on Sunday for the Amish, but that doesn’t explain this smell or the fact these are still sitting here at all.”
“Harley’s dead now, Jakob.”
“True. But I doubt the company who picks up his milk is aware of that yet.” Jakob stepped back and eyed the rest of the cans with casual interest. “Then again, if Harley was in the habit of letting the trough go dry, I imagine the driver wouldn’t bother loading the cans into his truck if they even stop by at all, anymore.”
She removed her hand from her nose and mouth to speak but got a gulp of spoiled milk–laden air instead. Coughing, she pointed toward the fence in the distance and waited for him to take her cue.
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” He looped his free hand through her arm and led her as far from the assortment of milk cans as possible. When they’d reached a breathable distance, he stopped and looked from side to side. “Do you see any holes anywhere?”
With a deep, cleansing breath or two under her belt, Claire examined the fence that lined the farm, its shiny metal railing reflecting the late October sun with a brilliance that defied the morning’s autumn temperatures. “No, I don’t see any—wait!” She stepped to the right and then the left, bobbing her head from the path of the sun as she did. “Down there . . . The gate is open.”
“Ahhh. So Mary didn’t
escape
, she simply accepted an open invitation, eh?” Jakob fell into step beside Claire, his head shaking side to side. “I don’t care what kind of animal it is, if you leave a gate open, they’re going to wander off. Even the Amish ones.”
It felt good to laugh. And it felt good to do it with Jakob. “Maybe Mary didn’t know she was Amish.”
“Maybe . . .” When they reached the gate, Jakob pulled it shut and slipped the impressive latch into place. “There. Now, whoever takes over the herd will actually
get
a herd.”
At the sudden downward turn to Jakob’s voice, Claire’s smile disappeared. “You really liked him, didn’t you?”
“He not only understood my choice sixteen years ago; he respected it, too.” Jakob rocked back on his heels and looked up at the clear blue sky. “Since he was the only one able to do that, I guess you could say I kind of had a soft spot for Harley Zook.”
“He had
She lowered her hand to her side, opting to breathe through her mouth rather than her nose. “I’ve smelled spoiled milk before,” she protested.
“From the confines of your refrigerator, perhaps. But that’s the smell of many, many gallons of spoiled milk.” Tightening his grip on the handle of his toolbox, he motioned for her to follow as he crossed the driveway and headed toward a large troughlike contraption with several dozen smaller containers inside. The closer they got, the more intense the smell became. “Yep, that’s spoiled milk, alright.”
“Why would he leave it out here in the first place?”
“The bigger dairy farms use bulk cooling tanks with agitators to keep the milk moving. Harley’s obviously wasn’t one of them.”
“And people drink that?” she said, pressing down on her nose once again in an unsuccessful attempt to blot out the smell.
“Farms that store milk in cans like these”—he swept his free hand toward the trough—“can’t sell for the same higher price as the ones with the bulk cooling tanks. Instead, the milk is classified as Grade B and used for cheese.”
“I’m not sure I ever want to eat another piece of cheese if this is where it comes from,” she murmured.
“The only reason it smells this bad is because the trough is dry. Normally, the Grade B producers store their milk cans in cold water—hence, the trough—as it waits to be picked up by whatever company they’re selling to.” Jakob ran his hand across two or three milk cans, shaking his head as he did. “Pickups never take place on Sunday for the Amish, but that doesn’t explain this smell or the fact these are still sitting here at all.”
“Harley’s dead now, Jakob.”
“True. But I doubt the company who picks up his milk is aware of that yet.” Jakob stepped back and eyed the rest of the cans with casual interest. “Then again, if Harley was in the habit of letting the trough go dry, I imagine the driver wouldn’t bother loading the cans into his truck if they even stop by at all, anymore.”
She removed her hand from her nose and mouth to speak but got a gulp of spoiled milk–laden air instead. Coughing, she pointed toward the fence in the distance and waited for him to take her cue.
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” He looped his free hand through her arm and led her as far from the assortment of milk cans as possible. When they’d reached a breathable distance, he stopped and looked from side to side. “Do you see any holes anywhere?”
With a deep, cleansing breath or two under her belt, Claire examined the fence that lined the farm, its shiny metal railing reflecting the late October sun with a brilliance that defied the morning’s autumn temperatures. “No, I don’t see any—wait!” She stepped to the right and then the left, bobbing her head from the path of the sun as she did. “Down there . . . The gate is open.”
“Ahhh. So Mary didn’t
escape
, she simply accepted an open invitation, eh?” Jakob fell into step beside Claire, his head shaking side to side. “I don’t care what kind of animal it is, if you leave a gate open, they’re going to wander off. Even the Amish ones.”
It felt good to laugh. And it felt good to do it with Jakob. “Maybe Mary didn’t know she was Amish.”
“Maybe . . .” When they reached the gate, Jakob pulled it shut and slipped the impressive latch into place. “There. Now, whoever takes over the herd will actually
get
a herd.”
At the sudden downward turn to Jakob’s voice, Claire’s smile disappeared. “You really liked him, didn’t you?”
“He not only understood my choice sixteen years ago; he respected it, too.” Jakob rocked back on his heels and looked up at the clear blue sky. “Since he was the only one able to do that, I guess you could say I kind of had a soft spot for Harley Zook.”
“He had
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