Read Online The Hen of the Baskervilles by Donna Andrews - Free Book Online Page B

“Stapleton?”
    He didn’t correct me. He glanced furtively in several directions, and then took a step closer.
    â€œIt’s about Genette,” he said, in a voice calculated not to carry very far. “You need to keep an eye on her. She’s sneaky.”
    â€œI will,” I said. “Both eyes, and both ears. But don’t worry. I think if she turns on the stereo again, someone will notice, and we’ll have grounds to confiscate it. And maybe even kick her out.”
    â€œI don’t mean the stereo.” He waved one hand dismissively. “Though I have to admit, even if I were a Glass fan, that would be annoying.”
    â€œGlass fan?”
    â€œPhilip Glass,” he said. “The composer of that music she was trying to destroy your eardrums with. Not my favorite of his compositions, actually. The wife and I have been known to blast that piece out the window on Halloween, to set the mood. No, I mean the pranks.”
    â€œPranks?”
    â€œThe chicken thefts. The pumpkin. The quilt. She’s behind it all.”
    â€œIf you have evidence of this—” I began.
    â€œI don’t have any evidence, but it stands to reason. She was after the chickens.”
    â€œSeems to me she could afford to buy a few chickens,” I pointed out.
    â€œShe could afford to buy anything she wants,” he said. “But what if someone won’t sell to her? What if she doubles the price a couple of times and an animal’s owner just keeps saying no? It happened to me.”
    â€œShe stole your chickens?”
    â€œLemon Millefleur Sablepoots,” he said. “Very rare bantam breed. I had a dozen—I was trying to build up a flock. One day she came over to the vineyard for a visit—God knows why; we’re not friends. And she tried to buy the Sablepoots. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. I finally told her that as soon as I got my flock established, I’d sell her some chicks. Didn’t make her happy. She’s into instant gratification. Then a week later, someone stole half of my flock. Including the rooster. Bye-bye future chicks.”
    â€œAnd you think she has them?”
    â€œCouple months later, she held a big party, and one of the things she was showing off was a pen full of Sablepoots.”
    â€œYours?”
    â€œNo, chicks. A dozen of them, young enough to have hatched from eggs since mine had been stolen. She claimed she bought them somewhere. Real secretive about where, though, and I can’t find any reputable breeder who recalls selling to her. I’m almost positive she has another farm somewhere with my Sablepoots stashed on it. And who knows what else. But I can’t find it—it’s probably out of state. So she’s building up a prize-winning flock of Sablepoots with stock she stole from me, and I’m still on the waiting list till another breeder has some chicks. A long list.”
    â€œSounds … suspicious,” I said. “If she does have another farm where she stashes stolen animals, wouldn’t that be a job for law enforcement?”
    â€œYeah,” he said. “And our sheriff back home agrees with me, or at least he doesn’t think I’m crazy. But he needs more than just me saying I think she did it. She’s rich, and she’s got political connections. If he tried to do a search on her assets, it would set off red flags. And if he goes after her and doesn’t find anything—well, he likes his job.”
    â€œSo you think she’s expanding to Russian Orloffs?”
    â€œCould be. She had some Dutch Belteds and Red Polls at her winery spread last time I heard. Cows,” he added, correctly guessing from my expression that I had no idea what species he was talking about. “And then they disappeared. Did she sell them, or move them somewhere else? Someone should look.”
    â€œI wouldn’t have taken her for an animal fancier,”