“Home? I thought they were down at the hospital.”
“They insisted on coming back to the fair,” she said. “Against your father’s orders. He’s still trying to talk them into going back to the hospital for more tests. But they have one chicken left, and they don’t trust anyone else to guard it. I gather it was sick with something last night, and Mrs. Bell—Mrs. Bonneville was nursing it back to health in their trailer, or it probably would have been stolen with the others. So unfortunately they’re back, at least until after their chicken competes.”
“Unfortunately?” Was it just my imagination, or did I detect a distinct note of hostility in her voice. What was going on here? A severe case of “blame the victim” or something else?
“Sorry,” she said. “I know I don’t sound very sympathetic. It’s just that—well, see for yourself.”
She led me down the aisles and then stopped, looked around rather furtively, and then indicated something to our right.
In the middle of the bank of wire cages were two cages decorated with giant black bows at least a yard wide, with trailing ends that drooped onto the sawdust floor. Between the two decorated cages, and almost hidden by the bows, was a third cage, in which a small black-and-brown hen was sitting. I recognized the bird Mrs. Bonneville had been holding so tightly this morning.
“Good grief,” I muttered.
“Excessive grief if you ask me,” the volunteer said. “I know they love their chickens—I love mine. But if I went around the bend every time a fox got one—that’d be crazy.”
“Besides, we don’t know that they’re dead,” I said. “Or gone for good. I think the police are seriously pursuing the theory that someone stole them to build up his own flock of Orloffs. Which means the thief would take good care of them, and there’s a good chance the chief will catch him and the Bell—the Bonnevilles will get their Orloffs back.”
“Yeah, but in the meantime they’re determined to make everyone else feel their pain,” she said. “If you think the cages are over the top, get a load of that—”
I turned to see what she was pointing at, and saw the diminutive figures of the Bonnevilles walking slowly down the aisle. He was wearing a dark gray suit with a black armband on his right sleeve and was leaning heavily on a cane. She was dressed all in black, complete with a veiled black hat, and was leaning on his arm in a way that seemed ill-advised unless the cane was purely for effect.
“Did they bring those funeral outfits with them, I wonder?”
“Apparently they stopped off to pick up a few things in town,” she said. “If you talk to them—”
“I don’t plan to if I can help it,” I said.
“Don’t ask them whether their birds were microchipped.” She rolled her eyes again. “No idea why, but the question totally freaks them.”
“I saw what happened when Vern Shiffley asked them about that,” I said. “I have no intention of causing an encore.”
“Did he really have a heart attack?”
“Not according to Dad. Possible cardiac arrhythmia. Or maybe just a panic attack.”
“Not the way he tells it.” She shook her head. “And before you ask, I have no idea why the idea of microchipping would bring on a coronary. Or a panic attack. Heck, I’ve been wondering if you’re allowed to do it to children. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“I’m waiting till they get a GPS feature, so you can always tell where they are,” I said. “Maybe the Bonnevilles decided not to microchip the birds and are mad at themselves.”
“Could be,” the volunteer said. “Or maybe if their birds are microchipped, they’re afraid the thief will find out and destroy them if he thinks he’s about to get caught with them. Either way, if you value your sanity, don’t bring up microchipping.”
“Got it,” I said. “I need to run.”
“Wish I could,” the volunteer grumbled.
I wasn’t actually fleeing the tent to avoid the Bonne-villes. An idea had struck me. I hurried over to the fair office, made sure it was empty, and pulled out my cell phone.
Chapter 14
I called Stanley Denton, a private investigator who’d recently relocated to Caerphilly.
“I know, I know,” he said, as he answered his phone.
“You know what?” I asked.
“I assume you’re nagging me because I haven’t shown up yet to support the fair. I promise, I’ll be there with bells on soon. Maybe tomorrow, certainly by Saturday. I’ve been stuck up in Culpeper on a case, but it’s all over now but the paperwork.”