“Oh,” he said. “I wouldn’t know. The poor thing’s a show dog, not a farm dog. She never lets it out of the house. I’ve hardly ever seen it.”
All of which might be true, but I wasn’t quite sure I believed his blank reaction to the dog’s name. Had he somehow missed the police search party, still shouting “Mimi” at regular intervals as they combed the pastures?
“Ms. Winkleson’s pretty much the only one bothering the goats,” he said. “But she does it a lot. Before long she’s going to start telling me to send off the goats that don’t faint enough to suit her. They go to good homes and all but still, it doesn’t seem quite right somehow.”
How did he know the goats went to good homes if only Mrs. Winkleson knew where they went? I was liking this less and less.
“Well,” my grandfather said. “It’s not as if— hey!”
One of the goats had reached up and grabbed the notebook from Dr. Blake’s hand.
“Sorry about that,” Mr. Darby said. He hopped over the fence. Several of the goats, including the notebook thief, keeled over. But even though the goat with the notebook in his mouth was lying on his side with his legs held stiffly in front of him, his jaw was still working, and he did some damage to the notebook before Mr. Darby managed to retrieve it.
“Sorry,” he said again. “I should have warned you. Paper’s like caviar to them.”
“No real harm done,” my grandfather said. “Could have been worse. I could have been counting my money.”
“They’re darling,” Caroline cooed. She reached out a hand to pet one of the goats.
“Don’t touch their faces,” Mr. Darby warned.
“Oh, does that bother them?” Caroline paused with her hand hovering above the forehead of one of the smaller goats.
“Doesn’t bother them any, but you might not be so happy,” Mr. Darby said. “They just cleared out a big stand of poison ivy in the back of the pasture this morning, and they’ve probably got the sap all over their faces.”
Caroline recoiled from the goats.
“Doesn’t poison ivy affect them?” I asked.
“Doesn’t seem to,” he said. “One of the few things they like as much as paper. And you know what their third favorite food is?”
Dr. Blake and Caroline shook their heads, but I had a suspicion.
“Don’t tell me. Roses,” I said.
“Got it in one,” Mr. Darby said. He chuckled softly.
“Please tell me they don’t often get loose,” I said.
“Sometimes,” he said. “But Mrs. Winkleson has a good, tall fence around her roses, and we’ll be keeping a close eye on them tomorrow, what with all the extra roses coming in for the show. No! Naughty goat!”
We all jumped, and several goats fell over, including one who had been sneaking up with his head lowered, as if about to charge and butt Mr. Darby in the rear.
“Bad, bad goat,” Mr. Darby said, shaking his finger at the fallen goat. “He’s a terror, Algie. Always trying to butt people. One of these days he’ll do it to Mrs. Winkleson and get himself sent up to the back pasture.”
From the sound of it, he was looking forward to Algie’s probable fall from grace. Was Algie’s fondness for butting a natural trait or the result of training?
Mr. Darby reached down to scratch Algie’s ear fondly before scrambling to the safety of our side of the fence.
I glanced at my watch. Almost eleven.
“Speaking of the show, I should get back to the barns,” I said. “The volunteers will be arriving any time now. But if you two want to continue your tour—”
“We’ll come with you, dearie,” Caroline said. “We’re going to help out with the setup, remember? Thank you so much for the tour,” she added, turning back to Mr. Darby.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “Just let me know if you need anything.”
He nodded genially to each of us. I noticed he made a point of gripping the bucket tightly in both fists, perhaps for fear that Dr. Blake would attempt another potentially crippling handshake.
“Okay, so something probably needs investigating,” I said, when Mr. Darby was out of earshot. “Either he knows something he’s not telling, or he’s deliberately closing his eyes to avoid learning something he doesn’t want to know. And his reaction to Mimi’s name was suspicious, too.”
“Then you have no objection to our snooping?” Caroline asked.
“Snoop away.”
“As long as you’re not short of volunteers,” Caroline said. “I gather the garden club members will be doing most of the work.”