“She stole your chickens?”
“Lemon 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.”
“And you think she has them?”
“Couple months later, she held a big party, and one of the things she was showing off was a pen full of Sablepoots.”
“Yours?”
“No, 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.”
“Sounds … suspicious,” I said. “If she does have another farm where she stashes stolen animals, wouldn’t that be a job for law enforcement?”
“Yeah,” 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.”
“So you think she’s expanding to Russian Orloffs?”
“Could 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.”
“I wouldn’t have taken her for an animal fancier,” I said. “I can see her with a spoiled little purse dog, but cows and chickens?”
“Only rare ones. She likes to brag about how rare they are. And she hires people to do the actual work. Usually people who were perfectly happy working for someone else before she offered them double the salary to work for her. I guess it’s a hobby.”
“Raising animals or acquiring other people’s property?”
“Both,” he said, with a gruff chuckle. “Whiles away the time while she’s waiting for the grapes to grow. For us working vineyard owners, the days are too short, all year long, for all the work we need to get done, but for a hobby owner like her…”
He shrugged.
“I understand why you’d be worried,” I said. “But I’m not sure what we can do.”
“Ask those poor people who lost their Orloffs if she ever tried to buy them,” he said. “And that kid whose pumpkin was smashed—his father raises Gloucestershire Old Spots—that’s a rare breed of pigs. I haven’t heard she was into pigs, but you never know. Ask him. Ask whoever had her quilt stolen if she raises some kind of rare livestock. Or maybe Genette’s looking to expand and the quilt’s owner also owns some land that borders on hers.”
“Or maybe Genette tried to buy the quilt, in spite of the ‘not for sale’ sign on it?”
“Yeah. You’re catching on.”
I was also catching on to the idea that if someone did knock off Genette, I wouldn’t be the only one needing an alibi. The chief would need a scorecard to keep all the suspects straight.
And why did the idea of Genette being murdered keep popping into my head? Was it just my way of blowing off a little steam or was I having some kind of premonition?
“Thanks,” I said. “Although our chief of police is really the one who should hear about this.”
“Maybe you could pass it along,” he said. “And I’d be perfectly happy to talk to him myself, as long as we do it someplace where she won’t know about it. I don’t want to get on her bad side—I live too close for that.”
“Is yours one of the farms she’s trying to buy out?”
“Not yet,” he said. “Right now, there’s still two farms between me and her. But that could change. Used to be three farms. Here.”