More children streamed after them, leading, following, or carrying still more dogs. Most of the kids were also accompanied by parents, who could break up any fights that occurred—more often between overeager handlers than the dogs themselves—and deal with any other little crises, like kids suddenly getting stage fright and sitting down in the middle of the ring to cry.
Some of the dogs were wearing costumes. Quite a few four-legged Santas, reindeer, and Easter bunnies scampered by, but also dogs sporting more elaborate outfits, like the small black terrier with four extra furry legs attached to his harness, so he looked like an overlarge and very lively tarantula. The science-fiction community was well represented by a dog with a silvery gray coat and tin foil antennae and a surprising number of dogs in Star Fleet uniforms. Quite a few dogs wore jerseys proclaiming their owners’ favorite sports and teams, local or national. A few small dogs wore obviously hand-knitted sweaters, and a few of the larger animals were fitted out with saddles with dolls or stuffed animals as riders.
A good thing I wasn’t a judge, because midway through the procession one of the entries distracted me—a bloodhound, dragging behind him a tiny boy dressed as Sherlock Holmes, complete with Inverness cape, deerstalker hat, and pipe. I found myself wondering if we could use bloodhounds to track down the missing chickens. Would they be able to follow the scent of an individual chicken, as they could with humans? Or would they simply lead us to the nearest collection of chickens? I had no idea, but I jotted down the name of the bloodhound’s owner, and was busily strategizing how to suggest the idea to the chief in a way he’d find helpful rather than annoying when the sight of Michael and the boys stepping back into the ring jolted me back to the here and now, just in time to begin applauding the first of the winners.
I didn’t envy the judges’ their job, but in the end, they came up with awards for all 143 dogs, and with the exception of a few children too young or too tired and cranky to care, most of the handlers went away beaming.
Tinkerbell had won the Most Enormous Dog ribbon hands down, and Spike’s Fiercest Guard Dog award was certainly well deserved. We were celebrating back at the sheep barn with a round of chocolate ice creams and liver treats when my phone rang.
“Hey, Meg.” It was Randall. “The boys have got Ms. Sedgewick’s stuff all packed up. We know she’s supposed to be over at the Caerphilly Inn, but she’s not answering her cell phone and we’re not quite sure what to do next.”
“If you want to ship the stuff, you can look up her address in the exhibitor database,” I said. “No, Jamie, don’t eat the liver treat. It’s yucky.”
“Well, yes,” Randall said.
“Not yucky,” Jamie said.
“Whether or not it’s yucky, it belongs to Spike. Sorry,” I said to Randall. “Want me to come over and look it up for you?”
“Actually we’re not sure we should do anything more until we have a signed contract,” Randall said. “Preferably with a substantial deposit. The boys have been hearing a few things about Ms. Sedgewick. Not popular with her creditors, it seems.”
“Interesting,” I said.
But did it have anything to do with the murder? Probably not. Wasn’t it usually the people who borrowed money killing off their creditors to avoid paying? And whether or not she owed money elsewhere, I was pretty sure Brett didn’t have any to lend her.
“You think maybe she’s not as rich as she lets on?” I asked aloud.
“Could be. More likely she’s just one of those rich people who’s careless with other people’s money. The ones who say, ‘What’s the problem? You know I’m good for it,’ and never think that other people might need the money to make their rent and car payments.”
“So you want some of your money up front,” I said. “That makes sense. What’s the problem? Go over to the inn and let her know that her stuff’s not going anywhere without a deposit.”
“We were wondering if you could tackle her,” Randall said. “Worked pretty well before.”
“If she’s not answering her phone for you, what makes you think she will for me?”
“But she’s just over at the Caerphilly Inn. It’s only a couple of miles down the road. You could pop over there, get the contract signed, and be back in a flash.”
“Have you actually met Genette?” I asked. “Do you really think—”
“Okay, okay,” Randall said. “It’ll be a major pain, but you’re the one person I can think of who might be able to pull it off, and it’ll help the fair as well as the Shiffley Moving Company, and we’ll all owe you. Big time.”