Page 7 of Gerard

Her lips twitched.

Gerard sighed. “Let me guess...you’re Bernie Bellamy.”

She nodded and held out her hand. “Bernadette Bellamy. I go by Bernie.”

Gerard shook her hand and gave her a twisted grin. “Gerard Guidry. Pleasure to meet you.” His frown returned. “My apologies if my asking for Mr. Bellamy was upsetting. My condolences. How long has your father been gone?”

“Not my father. My husband.” She stared down at their joined hands. “He’s been gone three years.”

Gerard quickly released his grip on her long, slender fingers. “I’m sorry... I assumed... Hell. You look too young to be a widow.”

A shadow crossed over her gray eyes. Bernie shrugged. “We don’t always get a choice of when we die.” She walked past him to her work truck. “If Remy sent you, I assume it’s to help me figure out who killed Gertrude.” She leaned over the tailgate and nodded to the contents contained in the bed. “I found her this morning on my front porch. Her neck had been broken.”

Gerard stared at the white goose covered in mud. “Any footprints leading up to the porch?”

Bernie shook her head, her long blond ponytail swinging softly behind her. The woman wasn’t exactly beautiful, but she wasn’t hard to look at. Taller than most women, she could look him in the eye without having to tilt her head back too much. She had a wholesome, girl-next-door appeal some men would find attractive.

Not Gerard. He went for seasoned women who didn’t expect commitment.

She walked back to stand below the porch. “I found Gertie here.” She patted the porch while inspecting the ground below. “It was raining so hard last night that any footprints would’ve been washed away.”

“Were any other animals harmed?” he asked. “Any missing?”

“I checked all the animals around the barn and at the stock pond where Gertrude normally spends the night. Gandolf was there, floating around like nothing was amiss.”

“Gandolf?”

“Gertrude’s mate.” She glanced over his shoulder at the road leading into the farm. “I can show you where she usually stayed. I’ve walked all around the pond and found no feathers indicating a struggle.”

“I’d like to check it out,” Gerard said.

Bernie nodded and tipped her chin toward the road. “I’m expecting a truckload of farm workers soon to help pick watermelons and other produce. We can look around until they arrive, then I’ll have to cut loose to help with the harvest. Anything you can do to find out who might’ve been on the farm last night will help.”

Gerard followed Bernie to the barn, wondering how a Marine Force Recon operative who’d never been around animals other than observing Military Working Dogs from a distance could help find a goose killer. This being his first solo assignment with Bayou Brotherhood Protectors, he couldn’t fail the team. No matter how ridiculous the task seemed.

Bernie waved toward the pond, where a lone white goose floated across the surface, seemingly unfazed by his missing mate. “My geese are good at guarding the property. It could be that she attacked an intruder, whether it was four-legged or two-legged, and got killed for her effort. I need to know what happened so I can protect the other animals. Plus, I need to know why who or whatever killed it left it on my porch—for my peace of mind.”

Gerard held up his hands. “I’ll do what I can, but I’ve never investigated the murder of a farm animal.”

She gave him a crooked smile. “Sometimes, a fresh set of eyes helps. Maybe just your presence will keep the intruder from striking again and give us time to identify him.”

She was willing to give the city boy a chance. The least he could do was give it his best effort, starting with learning more about his client and her life at Bellamy Acres. “Have you always been a farmer?” Gerard asked.

Bernie stopped in front of a wooden fence and leaned on the top rail, staring out at the odd collection of animals. “This small farm has been in my husband’s family for over two hundred years. It once was over two hundred acres. Over the years, prior generations sold off portions until now it’s only fifty acres. When I married Ray, I didn’t have any experience farming or raising animals. But I learned. We worked the farm together until he couldn’t work the farm anymore, and then he died. He was the last of his family line.”

“No children?” Gerard studied her, imagining she’d make a good mother as much as she cared about the animals on her place.

Bernie shook her head. “No.”

“What happened to your husband?” Gerard asked, curious about this relatively young woman who was the sole owner of a working farm, managing its operation single-handedly.

Bernie stared out at the animals. “He was thirty-one when he got sick. It took the doctors several months to diagnose his condition. When they did, they gave him two to five years to live.”

“Cancer?” Gerard guessed.

She snorted. “If only. So many cancers can be beaten or at least pushed into remission. No, Ray was diagnosed with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease.”

Gerard’s chest tightened. “ALS.” As far as he knew, there was no cure for the disease. “I’m sorry.”