Read Online The Case of the Ill-Gotten Goat by Claudia Bishop - Free Book Online

back to the couch in a distracted way. He ran his hands through his beard. “No, no. She called me at the office. Thought she’d find me here first, I guess. I took care of it. Just a…” He paused. “Flat tire.”
    The Caprettis were known for volatility, but I doubted a flat tire would have engendered that kind of response. Didn’t the woman have AAA? I waited with an expectant air, but Neville merely continued his aimless wandering about the room. There is nothing like a work-related problem to take a man’s mind off his personal woes, so I said:
    â€œWhat’s your take on the somatic cell count problem at the dairy?”
    I only half listened to Brandstetter’s response. I knew the gist anyway, and I was trying to read the heading on a pile of papers half covered by an abandoned salami sandwich. One can’t help being familiar with judicial actions in these litigious times, and it looked remarkably like a summons and complaint. The summoned was Neville; the plaintiff Anna Luisa Capretti Brandstetter and the cause of action was a divorce.
    â€œOh, dear,” I said.
    â€œIt is a bit of a mystery,” Neville said with some animation. “Doucetta runs a tight ship. And of course, goats are prone to higher somatic cell counts than other ruminants. It’s not a reliable indicator at all. A cell count of over a million in bovines is a sure sign of mastitis or worse.”
    â€œNot necessarily,” I said. It was, in fact, a gross calumny, but the man had not spent fifty years studying cows. “There can be a number of contributing factors.”
    â€œYes, well, you’re the cow man. Anyway, goat counts go up if the doe is at the end of lactation, or if she’s a big producer, or even if it’s spring.” The problem at hand had indeed served to distract him from whatever personal woe was bothering him. He leaned forward, interest in his eyes. “Leslie Chou’s right. There is quite a nice little problem here. Why are the counts so high? And why so consistently?”
    â€œStress?” I suggested. “Are the animals confined twenty-four hours a day?”
    â€œThe goats are pastured. This time of year, they only come in for milking. The less stress on the animal, the better a producer it’ll be. Doucetta learned that early on.”
    â€œThen a contaminant in the pasture?” Goats, like all farm animals, are vulnerable to toxic weeds and grasses.
    â€œOdd time of year for it. But it’s certainly possible. Yes, it’s quite a nice little problem.”
    â€œDo you think Doucetta herself has any ideas about the source?”
    â€œShe ought to—but good luck in getting it out of her. You know what she’s like. On the other hand, that dairy is her life. She’d probably set aside her temper if you were going to help her out of a jam,” Neville said as if trying to convince himself. “I know she thumped Abrahamson with that damn cane of hers when he went in to talk to her about the feta, but that was different. More personal. She takes a lot of pride in her cheese.”
    I’d forgotten about Abrahamson. “Broke his shin, didn’t she?”
    â€œWell, he had a pretty good bruise, that’s for sure. But I kind of admire the old girl. For heaven’s sake, Austin. She admits to ninety-four but I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s closer to a hundred. And she’s got all her marbles.” He gave me a genuine smile, which lightened the care lines in his face. “And some of mine.”
    â€œHm. So the key to getting along with her would be?”
    â€œGetting along?” Neville laughed. “With Doucetta? Nobody gets along with Doucetta. The trick is to avoid World War Three.” He shrugged. “Just agree with everything she says. That should do it.” His eyes slid toward the salami sandwich and the horrible document that lay beneath. “Luisa just