The Hen of the Baskervilles(51)

“We were up very late,” I said.

“But it’s okay,” Michael said. He got up and began taking the bags, which no doubt contained all the boys’ clothes, diapers, toys, and other gear.

“That’s right,” she said. “You were on patrol until midnight.”

“Till two,” I said. “And it wasn’t the patrol that did us in. It was the M-U-R-D-E-R.”

“Mur—” she began, and then clapped her hand over her mouth. Josh laughed and pointed at her.

“Little ears,” I said.

“Right.” She was trying not to look shocked. “Who was … er…”

“Brett Riordan,” I said. “And Molly’s been arrested for it.”

“She couldn’t possibly have done it.”

“I’m glad you think so,” I said. “Because she’s still down at the J-A-I-L, and can’t sell her cheeses, at least for the first part of today. Can you rearrange your booth to add in a cheese section and keep her sales going?”

“Of course. I’ll get Horace and Sammy to help me carry everything over.”

“Horace is doing forensics, and Deputy Sammy’s probably been up all night helping with the investigation,” I said. “I can send Rob over.”

“I’ll ask your mother to recruit some help,” Rose Noire said. “Not that Rob wouldn’t do his best, of course, but—”

“Understood,” I said.

“You’ll be busy,” Michael said. “Would you like me and the boys to drop by for lunch? I can bring I-C-E C-R-E-A-M.”

“Okay,” Rose Noire said. “And—”

“Want ice cream now!” Josh exclaimed.

We all stared at him. He finished the last bit of his mango and held out the pit for one of us to take.

“He’s not really learning to spell.” I took the mango pit and tucked it into the trash bag. “He just always wants ice cream.”

“Let’s hope so,” Michael said. “Because when they learn to spell, it’s really going to hamper adult conversations. More mango, Josh?”

“Mango ice cream,” Josh corrected.

“Mango ice cream later,” Michael said. “Just mangoes for breakfast.”

Josh frowned for a moment, then took the mango slice Rose Noire was holding out.

“Can I have it?” Jamie asked.

Rose Noire held out a second mango slice, but apparently Jamie was coveting sheep. He ignored the fruit. He was pressed against the side of the pen, hugging one of the sheep.

“Those are Mr. Early’s sheep,” I said.

“Want sheep!” Jamie sounded on the verge of tears. Josh regarded him with curiosity.

“No idea why he’s so gung ho for sheep all of a sudden,” I said. “It’s not as if he doesn’t see them all the time.”

“Don’t worry,” Michael told Jamie. “The sheep are coming home with us after the fair.” It was only a small lie. Either Seth Early’s fences were unusually porous or his sheep had taken lessons from Houdini. Some of them spent more time in our yard than in their own pasture.

“My sheep!” Jamie exclaimed.

“Come on, Bo Peep,” Michael said. “Let’s go get some breakfast, and then you can lead the llamas to their pen.”

Rose Noire scurried off. Michael grabbed a couple of the bags she’d been toting and led the boys off, still trailing bits of mango.

“Dog show at noon,” he called over his shoulder. “I know between the fair and the M-U-R et cetera you’ll be busy, but don’t miss that.”

“Roger,” I called back.

“Ms. Langslow?”

I looked over to see a gray-haired man in overalls and a work shirt standing just outside the pen.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

“You’re the fair’s deputy director, right?”

I nodded, and stood up, trying to look official, in spite of the mango bits.

“I just wanted to know what you were doing about all the chicken thefts.”

“All the chicken thefts?” I echoed. “We had one report yesterday that two Russian Orloff bantams were stolen during the previous night. I haven’t heard of any more chicken thefts—have you?”

“No,” he said. “But two stolen is two too many.”

“Absolutely,” I said. “I know how I’d feel if anyone even tried to steal our llamas.” I gestured to the pen where Groucho and the guys were happily watching our conversation. The farmer eyed them and moved a few inches farther away. Maybe he’d heard all the stories about llama spit.

“I heard there were other problems,” he said.