The Case of the Ill-Gotten Goat (15 page)

Joe and Crawford brought a large stainless-steel tray in from the collection parlor and we hoisted the uterus onto that. They held it in place just below the heifer's hindquarters, while I engaged in the lengthy process of putting the organ back where it belonged, inch by slippery inch. I placed a few stitches in the peritoneum, and the three of us stepped back. Joe released the hitch. The cow put her foot down, switched her tail, and began to eat the hay in the manger in front of her. We breathed a sigh of relief. The pesky things can slip out again with inadvertent assistance from the cow.

“Good,” Crawford said briefly, when it appeared as though the uterus would stay where it belonged. “What do I owe you, Doc?”

As Joe totaled the bill, Crawford crossed his arms and put his back against the Bronco. “I hear there was some trouble up at Tre Sorelle.”

“There was,” I said. “Staples must have had your dairy on his inspection list. Did you run into him often?”

Crawford made a face. “Often enough. Once a month, the regs say, and he tended to poke his nose in more than that.”

“Nosy, was he?” This was delicate ground. A farmer's reputation is a precious thing. If Staples had been to the dairy because of a contaminant problem, Abel would not want that bruited about.

Crawford shrugged. “Nah.” His eyes narrowed. “At first I thought he might be sniffing around my Donna.” Given Staples's reputation, I presumed this was either a wife or daughter, and not a cow. “But it turns out he was scouting for a cheese consortium.”

“A cheese consortium?” I said.

“Yep. There's a lot of trouble west of here.” He waved his arm in the general direction of Schenectady. “They're running plain out of water. Not just because of these new drought conditions from global warming, but there's just too many people using too few resources.”

“By west of here, you mean California, Arizona, and Nevada,” I said, just to clarify things.

“That I do. Well, we have ninety-two percent of the freshwater in the world right up here in this corner of the country, and about the best growing season for hay that you can ask for, and what better place to grow milk, nowadays? So I guess there's some big companies out there, scouting for facilities.” He shrugged again. By the studied blankness of his expression, I could tell that the cheese consortium was serious business. Only the prospect of an actual profit-making activity can make a farmer poker up.

“Cow milk, only?” I said.

“Oh, no. They're after cow, sheep, goat. I'll tell you, Doc. I'm thinking seriously about converting the barns and milking goats.”

This switch in topic meant the end of any further inquiry about the cheese consortium. I made a mental note to follow up with Victor. He would know whom to call. Abel pulled his cap low over his brow. “Right now, the goat cheese people are running short of milk and you wouldn't believe the demand. You think I could convert my milking enterprize?”

We had a brief discussion on the advisability of retrofitting his equipment. Yes, it could be done, but it would be a tricky matter to readjust the head guards and the vacuum press pulsator rate. There would be a third problem as the goats jumped into the pit.

Joe finished the bill and presented it to me. I turned it over to Crawford who grunted, promised to send a check, and tucked it into the top pocket of his coveralls.

Joe began packing our equipment up and I risked a final question, “Did you actually meet anyone from the cheese consortium? Do you have an idea of what they were after?”

“What they want? They want to buy the farm, of course. They're looking for a couple of thousand acres and as many standing barns as they can find. They want to handle the whole operation, from soup to nuts, if you get my drift.”

“Did you get a name before Staples was killed?”

“It wasn't Staples that was going to introduce me to the cheese people. It was Brian Folk. And I'd sure like to get my hands on the yahoo that sent him to glory. I was looking at making a decent price off this place for the first time in my life.”

“Indeed? You would sell out a business that's been in your family for, how long is it?”

“A hundred and fifty years, give or take a decade.” He pushed his John Deere hat back and rubbed his forehead. “The days of the family farm are over, Doc. I can't push enough volume through here to make more than enough to pay my taxes and keep the family in groceries. I'm tired. I'm whipped. And I'm getting too damn old to work as hard as I have to get that dollar. You ask anyone farming in New York state, and they'll tell you the same thing. The only way out is to have some big agri-company waltz in and add you to their stable. That cheese company makes me the right kind of offer, I'm out of here in a flash.

“Tell you another thing, Doc. That Folk was real interested in getting those people in to see Doucetta Capretti.”

“
S
O
it is the evil real estate people after all!” Ally said with some excitement. “Hold still, Maddy. I can't get this clip fastened in your hair.”

“Cheese,” I said, “not real estate. And it is merely a lead.” I sat in my chair on the porch and sipped some of Victor's Scotch. Madeline and I were almost ready for our dinner at the Summersville Country Club with the Berglands. Madeline was splendid in a flowery caftan. Her auburn hair was swept off the back of her neck and onto her head in an attractive topknot. It is thick and heavy, and the clip that Allegra succeeded in snapping closed kept slipping free.

“There,” Ally said. “You look beautiful.”

“I just want to feel cool,” Madeline said, fanning herself with a copy of
Cows Today
. “It's so hot and still it must be coming on to storm.” We all looked over the porch railing to the horizon. Black clouds massed in the west. Madeline sat down, still fanning herself. “I made some pretty good progress myself on the case, guys. First off, Thelma found a good spot for her store.”

“On Main?” I asked.

“Oh, not here in Summersville. We drove into Hemlock Falls. You know what a tourist destination that's getting to be. She found a nice spot right next to the hardware store. A beautiful old cobblestone building. We're lookin' at it tomorrow. But
that's
not especially helpful to the case. You're going to like this, sweetie. The guy that's showin' it to us is the head of the accounting firm that handles the dairy business. And,” she added triumphantly, “you and I and Victor and Thelma have an appointment to see the store tomorrow afternoon!”

“Excellent work,” I said. “You must have been reading my mind, my dear. I had that very thought this afternoon, or something like it.”

“Now, I'll tell you what's even more interesting. Thelma went out and bought a bunch of office equipment. She's already kicked Victor out of his den and set up shop. I have to say, sweetie, I haven't seen her this good-tempered in all the time we've known her. Anyhow, she said we were goin' to ‘take the initial meeting with Mr. Raintree' over the phone. So we had a conference call, which just was me on one line and Thelma on the other but she wanted to be taken seriously, and I don't blame her. Anyhow, when Thelma told John Raintree that she was interested in maybe makin' her own cheese for the store he chuckled some.”

“Chuckled some?”

“He didn't come right out and say it, but he figured we'd be better off buying shares in the Brooklyn Bridge. He did ask if she was a person who liked to take risks.”

“Indeed.” This fit in with Crawford's impassioned diatribe about how hard it was to make a living in farming. As for Swinford, we had an old expression that covered his behavior during the interview: he was trying one on. In any event, I was beginning to wonder if Doucetta had another source of income to support the lifestyle of her family members. “What about the retail store?”

“I made Thelma describe the store she wanted to exactly fit the retail operation at Tre Sorelle. He wasn't quite so gloomy about that. He quieted up some when I made a comment about all the cash that lies around places like that and how maybe the government wouldn't care if some of it fell off the table and into our pockets. With a little nudging he let us see that it could be a pretty good sum. Maybe enough to buy half of a Mercedes. But he's an honest man, that's for sure.”

“Very useful information, my dear. Very useful. And the appointment with him tomorrow is a stroke of genius.”

Ally tucked a curl behind Madeline's ear. She smiled at both of us and said, “Thank you, Ally. How did you get on with Ashley today?”

An odd look passed over Allegra's pretty face. Madeline stopped fanning abruptly. “What is it, sweetie?”

“I got the job done. I'll make out a schedule of who was where in the dairy the day of each murder. Ashley's got a retentive memory, which helps a lot. Do you want me to go over it now?”

“Why don't we wait for Joe?” Madeline suggested. “We'll have a staff meeting after we get back from the country club. It shouldn't be much past nine o'clock. Is there something else bothering you?”

“It's just a feeling, really. Nothing Ashley actually said. But her father keeps pretty close tabs on her, or rather,” Ally corrected herself, “Ashley thinks he does. He got on her case about the milk inspector.” She frowned. “Ashley swears she didn't do more than go out and have a beer with him….”

“With Melvin Staples?” I said. “The man's a swine.”

“Ashley's only eighteen,” Madeline said rather worriedly.

“I know, I know.” Ally's dimples showed in a quick smile. “The drinking age in New York is twenty-one. But in other states, it's eighteen. Anyhow. Her dad pitched a fit. Insisted on dropping her off and picking her up from work when he was in town to make sure Mel wasn't hanging around. And he made her mother do it when he was off on a trip. Ashley was pretty fried about it all.”

I made a note in my case file. “Very interesting. Certainly a more comprehensible motive for Staples's murder than the nefarious cheese consortium. I am not a fan of conspiracy theories and find it hard to believe an entire business organization is dedicated to murder.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Ally said. “What about Murder, Incorporated? What about the Mafia? What about…”

I held up my hand. “We will pursue it further when we return tonight. The Hackney Sunny gets just twenty cc's of bute tonight, by the way. I left a note on the treatment sheet on the stall door. And let's schedule the farrier for a trim.”

Allegra headed off to the clinic rounds and Madeline and I headed out to dinner. And the storm she'd predicted rolled right in.

The wind came up. The rain began slowly, in pudgy drops that splattered against the windshield like overfed bugs. Thunder rolled, and lightning cracked the sky with violence. By the time we reached the club grounds, it was raining hard and the air had cooled considerably.

The Summersville Country Club has an attractive facility on a hundred acres just east of the village. The clubhouse sits over a man-made lake—created from swamp grounds when the building was erected—and is surrounded on three sides by golf greens. Golfers in electric carts were fleeing the rain as we came up the circular drive. I dropped Madeline off at the entrance and parked some way from the building. By the time I returned to escort her inside, my umbrella was drenched through.

Madeline smoothed the collar of my seersucker sports coat, and we went inside to find Victor and Thelma. They sat at a table in front of the long picture window that faced the lake. I had asked Victor to make sure the Celestines joined us for dinner, and so they had. The look Victor gave me as I seated Madeline was fulminating.

“You're late,” he snarled.

“We are not,” I responded.

“Hello, Dr. McKenzie!” Caterina said. She smiled hesitantly at Madeline. “I'm so glad you can join us. It's not often we have guests here at the club.”

Looking pleased with himself, Frank let out a long burp. “Bet you're surprised to see me here, Doc.”

“Not at all,” I said. “I assume that Simon released you on your own recognizance?”

“He released me 'cause I've got a good Jew lawyer.”

“That's it,” Victor said. “We're leaving.” He pushed himself away from the table.

I held up my hand. “A moment, Victor. If you'd accompany me to the bar so that I may get Madeline a drink, I'd appreciate it.”

Victor's lips were tight, but he said, “I'd be delighted. Madeline? What may I get for you?”

“Just a glass of wine, thank you.” She was looking at Celestine with a kind of horrified fascination.

“And we'll have another round,” Frank said. “Just ask old Jim for Frank's usual.”

Victor jerked me toward the bar. There were several patrons ahead of us, so we joined the queue. “Who
is
that guy?” Victor hissed furiously. “Thelma's about ready to slug him, and for once I don't blame her. I'd like to slug him myself.”

“I told you this afternoon when I requested your assistance. He figures in my current case.”

“Your curr—you mean that damn fool detective agency?” Victor snorted. “I thought you were talking about some clinical problem you're having with a patient.” He breathed heavily through his nose. “You're going to owe me big-time after this, McKenzie.” His face was red with suppressed annoyance.

“You already owe me big-time,” I retorted. “And if you don't calm down, you're going to give yourself a stroke.”

“I'll worry about my own arteries, thank you very much. And how do you figure I owe you the price of a piece of bubble gum, much less a couple of hours with the biggest turkey it's ever been my misfortune to meet? The man's totally put me off my feed.”

“You could stand to lose a few pounds,” I said somewhat unfeelingly. “As to your obligation—I have three words for you: Thelma. Inheritance. Cheese.”

Some of the high color left Victor's face. “You mean Madeline putting Thelma on to that retail business.”

“I do.”

He looked thoughtful. We placed our order at the bar. As we wended our way back to the tables, drinks in hand, he muttered, “Fine. But we're even now, right?”

“You were gone so long I thought you died and fell in!” Frank chortled.

We settled down to endure the meal. Between the shrimp starter and the salad, Frank boasted of cheating those customers befuddled enough to hire Celestine Builders for their building projects. Between the salad and the entrée, he told us Doucetta had an offer to buy the dairy from some big company out west, but that Doucetta had turned them down flat. In the course of noisily consuming the dessert, we learned that Doucetta refused to make a will, which was the only thing that kept him, Frank, from whacking the old lady upside the head. Madeline made valiant attempts to change the subject. Caterina was touchingly eloquent about the return of her sons, for example, but Frank kept dragging the conversation to his mother-in-law. The poor woman appeared to be his bête noire.

“The old bat's just a superstitious peasant,” he said. “'Fraid if she makes her will, it'll catch death's eye or some kind of crap like that. So who gets the Capretti millions? The wife, here, and her stuck-up sister. I know the law. I checked it all out. The old lady goes toes up intestate, that's what they call it, intestate, the money's split between Cater-eeen-ah and that bat-brained Anna Luisa. The way I figure it, I stick around long enough, some of it's bound to fall into my wallet.” He giggled and slurped the rest of his vodka.

“Frank,” Caterina said desperately, “maybe you'd like some coffee?”

“Shut up,” he said. He didn't look at her, but leered at
my
wife, who was looking especially beautiful in the candlelight. “I'd like some of what Madeline's having.”

Thelma and Victor stood it all the way through dessert. But as soon as the coffee had been served, they rose as one, flinging excuses at us with an air of throwing themselves from a sinking ship. Needless to say, Madeline remained gracious and smiling throughout.

“Okay, so it was worth it,” Madeline admitted as we made our way home. “Did you see the look Caterina gave him when he let it slip about the big offer for the dairy? But I swear I don't know why Caterina puts up with him. I mean, she's nice enough, but honestly, Austin, the man is just about intolerable.”

The torrent of rain had lessened to a drizzle. Somewhere in the distance, the fire alarms sounded; a consequence, I was sure, of the violent display of lightning from the storm. The roads were slick with rain, and I slowed to accommodate the poor conditions.

“I suppose Caterina's faith has something to do with it,” I observed. “But having dinner with them was a horrible experience. I apologize for putting you through it.”

“The worst.” Madeline glanced at me and put her hand over mine. “What are you looking so pleased about, sweetie?”

I covered her hand with my own. “The very beautiful Marietta seems to be in the clear.”

“My goodness,” Madeline said, “you suspected her?”

“No one is excluded until the truth is uncovered,” I said, rather grandly. “The odious Frank is right; New York state law mandates the estate of the deceased to the next of kin. Spouse, sons and daughters, brothers, sisters. The law of inheritance goes straight down, stopping at the first line of family, so to speak. With a living aunt and mother, Marietta wouldn't get a thing. If her motive was to shut the dairy down to force a sale and reap the benefit of the profits, we now know that it is a motive no longer.”

“So the list of suspects is narrowing,” Madeline said. “Thank goodness for that.”

We arrived home at about nine thirty, to find Joe and Allegra at the kitchen table, surrounded by sheets of paper and consumed with gloom.