Inside the barn, the chickens were in an uproar, hiding up in their roosts; white feathers floated down around her. The squawking was deafening.
Keira raised her arms as wayward chickens flapped past.
It took her a minute for her brain to absorb what she was seeing. That’s a funny place for a pitchfork, she thought, who’d leave it standing upright in the middle of the barn?
She cried out when she saw it, tines of the pitchfork impaled in a dead chicken; its neck bent sideways and white feathers spattered with blood.
Impossible. What could have done this?
She had to get rid of it before Tad could see it. Covering her mouth, Keira tried to slide out the pitchfork; it was stuck fast. Must have gone right through to the wooden barn floor.
Gagging, she wrenched...
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