“Can you show me where this happened?” she asked.
“Of course.” I turned to lead the way back into camp, and she fell into step beside me.
She wasn’t what I expected. From Miss Annabel’s account, I’d expected more bluster and bombast. A stereotypical backwoods bungler. A rare female beneficiary of the old boy network. But the first impression Chief Heedles made on me was one of calm and quiet competence. She said nothing as we walked, only looked and nodded as I pointed out the emu pen and a few other salient features of the camp.
“Seems like a nice setup,” she said, when we had reached the mess tent. “Any reason why that PI feller’s staying out here with you? He a bird lover, too?”
Her tone was perfectly neutral, but just the fact that she asked the question made me suspect she wasn’t thrilled by Stanley’s presence.
“Stanley Denton? Grandfather hired him,” I said. “He’s a local PI—local to where we live, that is, in Caerphilly County. Frankly, hiring him’s all part of the price of placating Miss Annabel.”
“Hiring him to prove I’m covering up a murder?” Her voice didn’t seem to hold any rancor, but I’d already figured out she didn’t show much emotion.
“To investigate her cousin’s death,” I said. “And give her an honest report on the investigation.”
“I’ve known Theo Weaver all my life,” the chief said. “Friend of my late father. Cranky old geezer, but I can’t see him as a killer. Still—if your PI finds anything suspicious, I’d appreciate it if he’d share with me.”
“How odd,” I said. “That’s exactly the polite way our police chief at home phrases it when he wants to warn people about not withholding evidence from the proper authorities.”
That earned a brief smile from Heedles. For all I knew, it might have been her version of a broad grin. She didn’t seem like the kind of person who would be a lot of fun at parties.
Then again, she was on duty. And she seemed pretty calm about the idea of having Stanley working on a case in her jurisdiction.
She turned and went into the mess tent. A good third of it—the area where Fred had collapsed, and a broad buffer zone around it—was fenced in with yellow crime-scene tape and guarded by a Riverton police officer. The rest of the tent was filled with volunteers, pretending to be still eating, but quite obviously just gawking.
I snagged a cup of chili. Then I spotted Stanley and went over to have a word with him while I ate.
“So the guy really was poisoned?” he asked.
“Dad thinks so,” I said. “And evidently the local police are taking it seriously.” I brought him up to speed on what I’d learned, and the bits of evidence I’d turned over to Chief Heedles.
The chief had finished talking to her officer. She looked around, spotted me, and strode over.
“I understand your grandfather is in charge here?”
“Let me introduce you,” I said. “By the way, this is Stanley Denton, the PI.”
They shook hands and exchanged a few pleasantries. I knew Stanley’s promise to share any important evidence he found was sincere, though I noticed he didn’t promise to do so immediately. Time would tell whether the chief’s offer to provide any assistance Stanley needed was genuine or just for show.
Then I led the chief over to Grandfather, who was sitting at the other end of the mess tent, doing a better job than most of pretending he was just finishing up his meal.
“Pleased to meet you,” he boomed. I’d been hoping against hope that he’d refrain from his usual bone-crushing handshake. No such luck. Though Chief Heedles looked as if she could give him a taste of his own medicine if she wanted to. “What a charming area this is!” he went on. “Such beautiful countryside!”
“Glad you like it,” she said. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted to poison one of your volunteers?”
I had to suppress a chuckle at that. She didn’t waste time. Of course Grandfather liked that, and beamed at her.
“Not a regular feature of our expeditions,” he said. “Are we sure he was poisoned?”
“Dad thinks so,” I put in.
“Well, he should know,” Grandfather said. “Quite a specialty of his, poisons.”
“Detecting and treating them,” I added for the chief’s benefit.
“Precisely,” Grandfather said. “If he thinks it might be poison, you should definitely look into it. Any clues yet?”
“Fortunately, Ms. Langslow had the forethought to secure the victim’s mug and a garment on which he spilled some of his coffee,” Chief Heedles said. “I’ll be sending those down to the crime lab in Richmond as soon as possible, along with any other evidence my officers gather here.”