The Hen of the Baskervilles(89)

Mr. Bonneville picked up one of the trash cans, stuck his hand into it, and wiggled two fingers out of a couple of conveniently cut peepholes.

“Well?” Vern was looking at Genette.

Her mouth hung open for a few minutes.

“Well they weren’t the only ones who were suspicious,” she finally said. “The guy who owns these chickens—he had a quarrel with Brett. And I think he’s the one who killed him. So I came in to kidnap his chickens. I was going to hold them for ransom until he came forward and confessed.”

She smiled, crossed her arms, and looked very pleased with herself.

“Of all the—” Vern began.

“What in blue blazes is going on here?”

The chief had arrived, accompanied by another deputy.

“Chicken thief.” Vern knew how the chief appreciated brevity in his officer’s reports. “Caught red-handed by a reliable witness,” he added, indicating me.

“But I just told you—” Genette began.

“Yes, I heard your assertions,” the chief said. “Very interesting. I’d like to discuss them in more detail.”

Genette wilted slightly.

“Aida, you secure things here,” he said to the deputy at his side. “Take initial statements from Mr. and Mrs. Bonneville and then bring them over to the fair office in half an hour or so. Ms. Langslow, can you come along with us now?”

So Genette, Vern, the chief, and I trudged over to the fair office. I unlocked it, and we all took seats around my desk. Once we were all in the close quarters of the trailer I realized that Genette had been drinking again. Something with gin in it, by the smell.

“So, Ms. Sedgewick,” the chief began. “Would you like to tell me how you came to find yourself in the chicken tent at midnight?”

She looked back at him, frowning slightly, as if puzzled.

“Maybe I should talk to my attorney first,” she said.

“That’s your right.” The chief very deliberately put his notebook down on the table, placed his pen on the table beside it, and folded his hands atop the notebook. “If you’re refusing to talk without an attorney present, I can let you call now, and then we’ll take you down to the jail to await his or her arrival.”

“Jail? I’m not refusing to talk to you,” she said. “I just want to talk to him before I talk to you. Where’s my cell phone?”

She patted several pants and jacket pockets and then, when the cell phone didn’t appear, she unslung the chic little purse and began pawing through it and dumping the contents on my desk.

The chief watched her over his glasses with a tight-lipped expression. He was drumming his fingers on the table, ever so softly. He probably thought he was concealing his impatience pretty well. Maybe he was to someone who didn’t know him.

Then his expression changed.

“Ms. Sedgewick.” Something about his tone made her look up and freeze.

He reached out with his pen and snagged something from the litter of things that had landed on the desk.

“What is this?” He was holding a key ring on the end of the pen.

“My keys.” She sounded puzzled.

We all stared for a few moments at the small tangle of metal dangling from the chief’s pen. Half a dozen keys, and a miniature beer can.

The chief dropped the key ring back on the table.

“Then what is this?” He fished into the litter with the pen and picked up a second key ring.

“Also my keys,” Genette said. “The first one was Brett’s key chain. That’s mine.”

“Then why did you say they were your keys?”

“It was Brett’s key chain, but most of the keys were to my stuff,” she said. “My house, my boat house, my car, my truck.”

“Why is Mr. Riordan’s key ring in your purse?” the chief asked.

“I keep it there for Brett sometimes,” she said. “He loses things.”

“What make is your truck?” the chief asked.

She frowned slightly as if puzzled by the question.

“Ms. Sedgewick,” the chief began.

“A Ford,” she said. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“And your car?”

“A Mercedes.”

“This Mazda key would be for Mr. Riordan’s car, then?” He was holding up Brett’s key ring.

“I assume it is,” she said. “That’s his key ring.”

“And the Dodge key?”

“How should I know?” She rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation. “It’s his key ring.”

“A Dodge Caravan, maybe?” I asked.

Genette shrugged. Either she didn’t know that the murder weapon had been found in Molly’s Dodge Caravan or she was pretending not to.