The Legend of Diamond Lil

  THE Legend

  OF

  DIAMOND LIL

  A J.J. Tully Mystery

  DOREEN CRONIN

  illustrated by

  KEVIN CORNELL

  Dedication

  For Christina & Amanda

  —D.C.

  To Mom and Dad, for their Moosh-like parenting

  —K.C.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1. Night Shift

  2. The Usual Suspects

  3. The Scent of Worm

  4. The Price Is Right

  5. Old Dog, Old Tricks

  6. Things That Go Bump in the Night

  7. Night Creatures

  8. The View from Down Under

  9. Halftime

  10. Follow the Leader

  11. Ghost Trails

  12. Once upon a Time…

  13. Up, Up, and Away

  14. Night Shift Part Two

  15. Let the Sun Shine

  16. I Hear You Knocking

  17. Slumber Party

  18. Strange Company

  19. Mama to Mama

  20. The Longest Minute

  21. Old News

  22. There’s No Place Like Home

  Epilogue

  About the Author and Illustrator

  Praise for The Trouble with Chickens

  Other Works

  Credits

  Copyright

  Back Ad

  About the Publisher

  1

  Night Shift

  A week ago, I woke up in a quiet country yard that smelled like fresh air and dog pee. It was a place where fluffy young chicks felt safe and a fellow like me could get a good night’s sleep—the kind of sleep that a retired search-and-rescue dog ought to have earned by now.

  But that was before the possum showed up.

  Skunks, possums, rats, and raccoons—the country is full of ’em—and every last one of them will do things to a chicken that no soft-boiled kid should ever see.

  She was three feet from the chicken coop. How she got past me in the first place, I couldn’t know—at the time.

  I was across the yard in less time than it takes for a burp to clear the space between my mouth and my nose. She twisted her body around and showed me her sharp, dangerous smile through a hiss.

  In that moment, I knew she was a problem.

  She wasn’t the first predator to take a chance in my yard.

  But she was the only one who had come back a second time.

  A couple years back—before I was here to make any kind of difference—Barb had lost a whole flock of chickens to a possum.

  We were out on a search-and-rescue drill and I could tell something was not right.

  I heard her tell one of the other handlers what she had found in her yard that morning.

  She had been shaken up by that loss. And it wasn’t going to happen again.

  Not as long as I was here.

  I pounced and the possum ran—straight up the fence and out of sight.

  If I had followed her, I would have found the real trouble that was lurking next door. Instead, it found me.

  2

  The Usual Suspects

  I came home from my morning walk to find a chicken blindfolded and tied to a piece of rawhide. Six months ago, I would have found this disturbing. That was before I met Dirt and Sugar, two popcorn-colored chicks who lived with their mom, Moosh, and a matching set of popcorn-colored chicks in the coop across the yard.

  There were two plastic cups on the floor.

  Neither of the cups smelled like anything I wanted near my food bowl.

  “Why?” I grunted.

  “Search-and-rescue practice,” answered Sugar.

  “Why can’t you do this at home?” I asked.

  “Mom doesn’t like the smell,” replied Sugar.

  “I don’t like the way you smell either,” I muttered.

  “The smell of the cups,” said Sugar with an eye roll.

  I was about to kick them out when something about the blindfold Dirt was wearing caught my eye.

  I expected a rag or maybe a sock, but it had stitching and an elastic band.

  Not the kind of thing a chicken would find lying around in the yard.

  I gave it a sniff.

  It smelled like baby powder.

  “Where did you get this?” I asked.

  “Get what?” said Dirt.

  “The blindfold.”

  “Why, I reckon I don’t know,” said Sugar.

  “We should skedaddle, ya hear?” said Dirt.

  Neither of them had ever been farther south than the compost heap.

  Dirt laughed so hard, she fell over.

  That made the giggling stop.

  So I knocked Sugar over, too.

  “Where did you get the blindfold?” I repeated.

  “I found it,” answered Sugar from the floor.

  “Where?” I asked.

  “She doesn’t remember,” interrupted Dirt. “Besides, it’s none of your—”

  I moved the blindfold down to her mouth.

  Silence at last.

  3

  The Scent of Worm

  Moosh keeps a very close eye on all four of her chicks. Be a lot easier if she didn’t have one eye on each side of her head.

  But you gotta use the eyes you were dealt.

  She ran in before my patience ran out.

  And she brought Poppy and Sweetie with her.

  I had Sugar under my paw, and Dirt was still tied to the rawhide.

  Moosh didn’t bat an eyelash.

  “Time to go,” she announced.

  “Rabbit pee and dead worm,” said Dirt.

  “That’s no way to talk to your mother,” I said.

  “In the cups,” she added with a heavy sigh.

  I took a sniff. She was right.

  “How did you get rabbit pee?” I asked Sugar.

  “There’s only one way,” she answered.

  Nothing this kid does surprises me anymore.

  “Tell me about the blindfold,” I repeated.

  “Lillian gave it to me,” Sugar said.

  “Who’s Lillian?” I asked.

  “My new friend,” answered Sugar.

  “The big white dog next door,” explained Dirt. “Where have you been?”

  I hadn’t been next door since Bobby, the kid who lived there, had left for college about a month ago.

  Bobby had a good arm and a ton of energy. I missed our daily games of fetch.

  “What’s Lillian’s story?” I asked.

  “She’s beautiful,” said Dirt.

  “She calls me Little Boo,” said Sugar.

  “That’s nauseating,” I said.

  “That happens to be my real name,” she reminded me.

  I hadn’t used any of their real names since … well, since the first time I heard them and they annoyed me.

  Moosh shot Sugar a look and led them all out.

  She left the dead worm and the rabbit pee behind.

  I got the better end of that deal.

  4

  The Price Is Right

  Moosh is one smart chicken.

  Even if Sugar didn’t have the sense to know that new friend and blindfold should never show up in the same sentence, her mother should have.

  It was clear that I needed more information.

  It was also clear that I wasn’t going to get it from anyone who didn’t have lips.

  There was only one place to go.

  Vince the Funnel.

  Vince was an inside dog with a mean streak and a plastic cone wrapped around his head. My water bowl spends more time outside than he does.


  Vince and I weren’t friends, but we had an understanding.

  We understood that we didn’t like each other.

  I knocked on the doggie door at the back of the house.

  It opened a sliver.

  “Yeah,” answered Vince.

  His voice was thick and oozy—like a jelly doughnut on a hot dashboard.

  “Lillian,” I whispered.

  “Never heard of her,” he said.

  He nudged the door open a tiny bit more with his nose.

  I tossed in one of Barb’s homemade dog biscuits.

  “Diamond Lil,” he said.

  “Keep going,” I said.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Name is Lillian—but they call her Diamond Lil on account of she’s so shiny. Moved in about a week ago when the folks got lonely without the kid around. Word is she keeps to herself.”

  He stopped talking, but he didn’t back away from the door.

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  “There might be…” he said.

  He stuck his nose out of the doggie door.

  “That was my last biscuit,” I said.

  The doggie door closed with a snap.

  I heard his funnel scraping along the wall.

  He was gone.

  5

  Old Dog, Old Tricks

  Diamond Lil.

  The words bounced around inside my brain.

  It was beginning to give me a headache when Poppy and Sweetie came by.

  They’re a little odd to begin with, but they were even stranger than usual today. This morning was the first time the chickens had understayed their welcome.

  I usually have to shove them out of my doghouse to get a some peace.

  Don’t get me wrong—they’re like family. Which is exactly why I can’t spend all my time with them.

  Poppy had a large rock on her head.

  She stopped in front of me.

  “Nice hat,” I said.

  “I’m working on my posture,” she announced.

  She began pacing back and forth.

  “Since when do you care about your posture?” I asked.

  “Good posture conveys power and confidence,” said Sweetie.

  “You should work on yours,” added Poppy.

  “Got all the confidence I need, thanks,” I answered.

  “I meant your posture,” she said. “You’re a little on the slouchy side.”

  “It makes you look old,” said Poppy.

  Hard to believe I was giving up sleep so these two sweethearts could insult me.

  “While you’re at it, your personality could use a little brushup, too,” I said.

  “Suit yourself, but it would really improve your image,” Sweetie added.

  I’m a search-and-rescue dog forced into retirement and walking the poultry beat in a country yard.

  I didn’t think I had an image.

  I watched them practice their balancing skills by walking along on top of the rocks that bordered the garden, then disappearing through a small hole at the bottom of the wooden fence.

  It reminded me of my training days.

  I couldn’t have been much bigger than Poppy is now.

  Actually, I was born bigger than Poppy is now, but you get the picture.

  I spent hundreds of hours on the obstacle course, jumping over barrels, crawling through pipes and under boards, and balancing on ladders and shaky bridges.

  All for a pat on the head and a liver treat for a job well done.

  I got down low to look through the hole at the bottom of the fence.

  I had been in that yard dozens of times tossing a stick with Bobby, but things look different when you’re using one eye at ground level.

  Then I saw her.

  She was the shiniest mutt I’d ever laid eyes on.

  Lillian was the size of a German shepherd, with a fluffy white coat and long full tail that curled along the ground, wrapping around her body.

  She hopped up and gave Poppy and Sweetie each a big lick when she saw them coming through the fence.

  I had licked Poppy exactly one time, when she fell into my food bowl.

  The sound of tires on gravel grabbed my attention.

  Someone was pulling into the driveway.

  By the time the car door slammed a few seconds later, Lillian was out of sight and the chicks were on their way home.

  I wasn’t sure what Lillian had to do with baby powder and blindfolds, but I knew one thing for sure.

  There’s only one way a big, white, shiny mutt stays off my radar for a week.

  On purpose.

  6

  Things That Go Bump in the Night

  I started my patrol as usual that night, shortly after the sun went down.

  After a quick head count, I circled around the chicken coop and then settled in around the front.

  Anything that wanted to get in was going to have to go through me.

  I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

  A bright light hit me square in the face.

  I jumped to my feet, ready for anything.

  She was standing in front of me.

  Lillian had set off the motion detector light in the yard, and her white coat was reflecting it—right into my face.

  If I’d been a pile of dry sticks, she could have set me on fire.

  “You’re J.J.,” she said.

  “How about you tell me something I don’t already know?” I grumbled.

  “I’m Lillian,” she said.

  “Keep trying,” I said.

  She sat down in front of me, curling her long tail around her.

  “Honey, where I was raised, when a new girl comes to town, we give her a proper welcome. Maybe even a home-baked pie.”

  I was all out of pie.

  “Where I come from, the only thing that comes knocking in the middle of the night is trouble,” I said. “Not that you knocked.”

  “Achoo!”

  It was a pretty tiny sneeze for a pretty big dog.

  “Achoo! Achoo!”

  Somebody inside the coop was sneezing.

  “Join me for a walk?” said Lillian suddenly. “It’s such a pretty night.”

  I didn’t go in for moonlight strolls.

  “Nights around here are for rats and possums,” I said.

  “Honey, I’m no possum,” she answered. “I’m a Samoyed—a purebred. I come from a long line of arctic guard dogs.”

  It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t answer it.

  “Why don’t you show me around?” she asked.

  “Why don’t you come back in the morning?” I answered.

  “There’s no starlight in the morning, darlin’.” She seemed to be looking everywhere but up at the stars.

  “Won’t they be worried about you?” I asked.

  “Who?” she answered.

  She looked over her shoulder.

  “Your owners,” I said. “You know, Bobby’s parents….”

  “Oh…” she said. “They fixed me up a beautiful bed in the kitchen. I just go out the doggie door whenever I please.”

  Barb’s upstairs light flipped on.

  I could see Vince’s silhouette in the window.

  Lillian was done talking and I was done listening.

  As she crossed the yard through the pool of light and then into the darkness, I couldn’t help but notice—she did have really good posture.

  7

  Night Creatures

  Moosh stuck her head through the door first thing in the morning. “I heard you had a visitor last night.” I didn’t have to look to know that she wasn’t alone.

  “Visitors bring cookies and small talk,” I said. “She was more like an intruder.”

  “She’s lovely. What are you talking about?” asked Moosh.

  “She’s fidgety,” I said. “And she’s wandering around in the middle of the night when she’s got a perfectly warm dog bed inside. Doesn’t make any sense.”

  “You’re so suspicious,”
said Sugar.

  “You could stand to be a little more suspicious yourself, Sugar,” I said. “In case you’ve forgotten, the last time you made a new friend, you got us all kidnapped by Vince the Funnel.”

  “He has a point,” said Dirt.

  “Let it go,” said Sugar.

  “What are you doing over there, anyway?” I asked.

  “Telling stories,” answered Poppy.

  Now I understood.

  Lillian must have heard about some of my search-and-rescue adventures from the chicks. She must have been a little shy to come around during the day.

  Poor kid was starstruck—I’d seen it before.

  “If she wants to know anything about me,” I chuckled, “she could have just asked.”

  “We’re not telling her your stories, J.J.,” said Moosh, cocking her head the way chickens do when they think you might have just embarrassed yourself.

  “We’re telling her our stories,” said Poppy.

  “You have stories?” I asked.

  “Everyone has a story, J.J.,” Moosh answered.

  I wanted to say something else.

  But I felt like a jerk.

  I heard them leave.

  They were short one set of feet.

  “She’s the new kid in town,” said Sugar. “You should know how that feels.”

  I didn’t turn around.

  If you’ve never heard the sound of a tiny chicken’s disappointed footsteps crunching through a thousand freshly fallen leaves scattered across a country yard while the light of the morning sun creeps its way across the sky—well, I hope you never do, pal.

  8

  The View from Down Under

  Sitting alone in my doghouse with no one but myself for company wasn’t nearly as much fun as I thought it was going to be.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m an interesting guy—but I’d heard all my own stories.

  I got to thinking about the first time I met Sugar. And how much she had annoyed me.

  In fact, I hadn’t liked any of them when I’d first met them.

  I was wrong about Moosh and the chicks, so I guess there’s a slight chance I could be wrong about the shiny new kid next door.