“The costumes are evidence.”
“We’ve got more costumes,” one of the geese said.
“More?” The chief turned to frown at the speaker. “Where?”
“Not here,” the goose said, backing off slightly. “But they’re over at Dr. Langslow’s farm. They don’t look the same. They’re left over from another event. We could send someone for them.”
“You mean the white duck costumes?” a second goose asked.
“They always looked more like geese than ducks anyway,” the first goose said. “They’re still better than anything the Boy Scouts could whip up on this short notice.”
“I’ve got a key to the farmhouse,” I said. “I’ll send someone to fetch six of the white goose costumes. If it’s okay with you.”
The chief frowned. He didn’t like the idea, but he also knew how important the parade was to most of the town.
“And you could have some officers march right behind them to make sure they get to town,” I suggested.
“My officers are rather busy.”
“You could deputize someone. How about asking some of the campus police? I’m sure they’d be happy to help out.”
The chief narrowed his eyes. The Camcops were probably already fuming with resentment that the crime had taken place so far off campus that there was no conceivable reason they could use for barging into the chief’s investigation. Though that didn’t mean they wouldn’t try.
“Oh, yes,” Ms. Ellie said. “Such a good idea for promoting interdepartmental cooperation. You know how important that is to the town council.”
“And the college administration,” I added.
The chief had to struggle not to scowl at that. He was all for interdepartmental cooperation as long as it took the form of the Camcops accepting that their role was to give out parking tickets on campus, ride herd on fraternity parties, and stay out of his department’s way when any real crime occurred. Unfortunately, the Camcops wanted to claim jurisdiction over any crime committed on campus or in which any of the victims, perpetrators, or witnesses were students, faculty, or employees of the college. Their notion of interdepartmental cooperation was that eventually they’d get around to telling the chief what they were up to.
“Of course, it’s a long march,” Ms. Ellie said. “Do you think the Camcops are up to it?”
A sudden smile lit the chief’s face.
“Yes, that’s an excellent idea,” he said. Clearly he liked the notion that by asking the Camcops to guard the geese, he was dooming them to a tedious, footsore day. “Sammy, see if you can arrange that.”
With that, he disappeared into my office, with Horace and Dad close behind him.
I handed Sammy my key to the farmhouse and he dispatched a deputy to fetch the spare goose suits.
“Now take off the costumes,” he ordered. “All of you.”
Some of the geese obeyed immediately, but others seemed strangely reluctant to shed their feathered suits. As Sammy and the other officers continued to chivvy them, the reason became clear. The suits were made of heavy polar fleece and covered with a thick layer of feathers. Despite the cold weather, the geese who emerged from their costumes were sweating profusely, and it quickly became evident that the recalcitrant geese were wearing little or nothing under their thick downy suits.
Someone should organize this, I thought. We could borrow a few garments temporarily from the bins where people had been leaving their donations for the clothing drive. Set up separate dressing rooms for the geese and ganders. Guard the exits so none of the geese would attempt to flee. Someone should—
Someone should mind her own business and get back to the parade she’s already organizing, I told myself.
But the least I could do was make my suggestions to the chief.
Chapter 12
I popped into the chief’s temporary office and found that he, Dad, and Dr. Smoot were studying the murder weapon that Horace had placed on my desk—on a piece of plastic, thank goodness.
Horace was frowning.
“I’ve seen sticks like that before,” he said.
“On Buffy the Vampire Slayer, they normally use something shorter and a bit more elegant,” Dr. Smoot said. “And in Dracula—”
“I mean I’ve seen sticks like that in real life,” Horace said. “Not being used as a stake, either,” he added, quickly, as if afraid Dr. Smoot might have real-life observations of vampire-slaying stakes to share.
“Holly’s a very common wood around here,” Dad said. “There must be hundreds and hundreds of small holly trees in those woods.” He waved his hand in a sweeping gesture at the window. The chief contemplated the woods with a frown, as if assessing an entirely new roster of suspects.