Page 33 of Mother Clucker

“That’s not very nice. If this project doesn’t get picked up it’s going to reflect badly on me and Lucy since it was our idea.”

“And if it does get picked up it’s going to reflect badly on me and Strickland,” he said.

“How?”

He let out a snort. “Talk to your producer person over there.” David tipped his chin toward Erin then scowled. “I gotta go.”

“Go where?” I asked as he walked away from me.

“Anywhere but here,” he answered, not turning around.

David Strickland was a lot of things—obnoxious, dense, misguided, self centered—but ill tempered was not one of them. At least not until now. Something had set him off.

As he got into his truck and peeled out of the driveway, I decided to find out what.

Erin was lining up a shot of Drew on what looked like an outdoor version of the confessional they used on Cold Feet, where the cast could go and speak their mind directly to the camera.

“Tell us how you got into the chicken farming business,” she asked.

Seated, his jean covered thighs wide in a typical man-spread, Drew said, “How did I get into chicken farming? Well, that’s an interesting question. Actually, it all started with my buddy David Strickland. We met freshman year at Texas A&M. Both taking business classes, but he was double majoring in animal husbandry too. Me a California boy who grew up surfing, and him a real life Texas rancher who could ride before he could walk—we somehow ended up being best friends.”

I stood listening, fascinated at this glimpse into David’s past as seen through his friend’s eyes.

“It was spring break and when everyone else was heading to the beach I decided to go home with him to his family’s place in Texas. The moment I stepped foot out of his truck I was hooked. Until then I’d been killing time at school, not knowing what I wanted to do when I got out. But after that trip I knew. The next semester I started the classes he’d already taken. So of course I kicked ass—oh, sorry, can I say that?”

Erin indicated he should keep talking.

“Anyway, he helped me with the studying. And then when I graduated I started looking for property for sale. I found this place. It was a mess, but that didn’t scare me. I like to work with my hands. And it was dirt cheap because of the condition. My parents loaned me the money for the down payment. David helped me get set up with a small flock of chickens. I started small, slowly built it up. Investing any profits from the sale of the last flock to buy a bigger one.”

“So it was a slow build?” Erin asked.

“Yes, and no. Slow until January of this year, when uh, orders really picked up. I had to throw up a couple of new buildings to house the stock to keep up with the demand.”

“And what increased the demand so dramatically last January?” she asked.

“Strickland Feed,” he answered.

“After the scandal,” Erin prompted.

Scandal? The word resonated through my brain. What scandal?

Drew shifted uncomfortably on the bench. “I wouldn’t call it that. There was a corporate policy change. They decided to only use US suppliers and manufacturing. It’s admirable, really. Keeping the product completely US produced.”

“And this corporate policy change was brought on by the deaths caused by the imported Chinese pet food,” Erin said and waited for Drew to respond.

He let out a breath, his gaze cutting from Erin to the camera to me. “Can we take a break?”

Without waiting for Erin to say yes or no, he stood and headed to the food service table to grab a can of sparkling water.

But I didn’t need him to respond to Erin’s question. I had my answer. This had to be what had pissed David off.

Meanwhile, the only word I kept hearing play over and over in my mind was deaths.

I turned and headed for my car but didn’t start the engine. Instead I opened the windows so I wouldn’t suffocate and sat in the driver’s seat with my phone out, searching Strickland Feed pet deaths.

What came up filled my screen . . . and my stomach turned.

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