The Trouble with Turkeys (Zoe Donovan Mystery Book 2) (10 page)

“There’s more bread in the kitchen,” Zak offered.

“Thanks.” I pushed away my plate. “I think I’ll go and check on Maggie.”

By the time I made my way upstairs, Maggie was deep in labor. I called to Zak as the first black-and-white puppy, a male, made its way into the world. Puppy number two was a black-and-tan female, followed by another black-and-white male.

“Do you think she’s finished?” Zak asked.

It had been several hours and we all, including Maggie, were exhausted.

“It feels like she has one more,” I answered.

Poor Maggie could barely hold her head up. I worried about her ability to deliver the last pup unassisted. “Maybe we should call Scott,” I suggested.

“I’ll call him. You stay with Maggie,” Zak offered.

Zak called Scott, who was tied up with another house call but promised to be by as quickly as he could
. I listened as he discussed Maggie’s condition with Scott, while I softly encouraged my brave little mama to hang in just a little longer.

“Maybe we can help her out,” Zak suggested.

“Hold her head and I’ll see what I can do.”

I gently helped work the last puppy
, a tricolored female, from Maggie’s body as Zak sat at her head and tried to keep her calm. The puppy was small—much smaller than the others—but she was alive and breathing. Tears streamed down my face as I offered a silent prayer of thanks.

Poor Maggie was exhausted, so Zak and I cleaned up the pups, then fed them with the formula and bottles Scott had given me.

“Do you think she’s going to be okay?” I asked as Maggie slept with her head in my lap.

“I hope so.” Zak sat on the floor next to me. “She had a rough time and lost a lot of blood, but she seems to be breathing okay, and the pain seems to be gone. We should stay with her until she wakes up.”

Maggie started to whimper. I petted her gently as the puppies slept next to her.

“I’ll get her some fresh water.” Zak stood up.

It turned out to be a long night. Zak and I took turns sitting with Maggie, and we both pitched in to feed the puppies every few hours. But by the time the sun rose over the distant mountain, Maggie was awake and the danger had passed.

Zak stayed at the boathouse with Maggie and her babies while I made my way to work. I considered calling Jeremy and telling him that I couldn’t make it in, but the exhaustive routine we’d established really did require two bodies, and after downing a pot and a half of coffee, I felt awake enough to honor my commitment. When I pulled into the drive, I noticed that there was a sheriff’s vehicle in front of the house. After parking in my usual spot behind the barn, I set off in search of Jeremy, who, I hoped, would be able to fill me in.

Jeremy was in the office pouring over inventory sheets when I found him. “What’s going on?” I asked.

“The sheriff called a meeting of all of the heirs. I guess he finally decided it was time to tell them Charles was murdered. There are a couple of deputies here as well. They’re going to interview everyone even remotely involved.”

I realized that with the revelation of the murder the killer’s hand might be forced, which could cause him or her to act. I needed to keep an eye on everyone remaining on our suspect list. I hoped the killer would panic and show his or her hand, with me conveniently around to notice.

“I’m afraid there’s more,” Jeremy added. “Holly’s mother was found dead in the hills behind the farm. It looks like she’s been there for several days.”

“Oh my God. Poor Holly. Do they know what happened?”

“I overheard one of the deputies talking to Oliver. It appears that she, like Charles, was bludgeoned to death.”

“What was she doing in the hills behind the farm?” I wondered.

“I have no idea. All I know is that her body was found early this morning by a man on horseback, and that it looked like it had been there for a while.”

I knew Dolly had called Holly after Charles’s death but that she wasn’t at home when Holly arrived later that day and hadn’t been seen since. My guess was that she’d been murdered sometime between her phone call to Holly and Holly’s arrival in town. It wasn’t likely Dolly had been on the property when Charles was killed; Pike had reported that Charles was alone in the house when he found him on the kitchen floor. I suppose someone must have called Dolly, who had called Holly. I had to wonder if Dolly was murdered in the spot where she was found or if she had been bludgeoned elsewhere and then moved to this remote location.

Dolly’s murder added an interesting twist to the case.
It seemed that several of the visitors had a reason to kill Charles, but whom among them also had a motive to kill her?

I was dying to know what the sheriff and his men had discovered, but I doubted it was going to do me any good to simply go and ask. I decided my best bet was to call Zak and see what, if anything, he was able to find out. In the meantime, Jeremy and I went about the task of feeding, counting, and rotating the turkeys.

“By the way,” Jeremy informed me as we worked, “I talked to the vet this morning. The sick birds we discovered yesterday were suffering from milkweed poisoning.”

I frowned. “I haven’t noticed any milkweed on the property.”

“That’s because there isn’t any. Milkweed is extremely toxic. Charles would have been careful to ensure that there wasn’t any on the premises.”

“The feed?” I guessed.

“The vet says no. The feed tested clean.”

“So where did the birds come into contact with milkweed?”

“I have no idea,” Jeremy said. “Of the eight birds we identified yesterday as being ill, two have died and the other six seem to be doing better. If the birds are getting milkweed somehow, we need to keep our eyes out for new cases of poisoning. The vet says the symptoms include drowsiness, lack of coordination, convulsions, and, eventually, death.”

“That’s why they appeared drunk,” I realized.

“I noticed a few of the others acting tipsy. We’ll have to keep an eye out for new cases as we go through our routine.”

Jeremy and I worked side by side, feeding, inspecting, counting, and rotating the birds. By the end of the day, we’d found twelve more birds exhibiting the symptoms described. We isolated them, called the vet, and realized we were still dealing with a situation in which we came up with a different number every time we counted the birds. Today there were five fewer than yesterday, bringing the total to two less then we’d started with.

“Do you notice something strange about these birds?” I asked as we checked on the sick turkeys.

“Other than the fact that they’re stumbling around and running into the sides of the pen?”

“I’m no turkey expert, but don’t they look different to you? Smaller, for one thing.”

“Yeah, I guess. Maybe they’re younger than the others.”

I remembered that the restaurant owner had sued Charles because he’d paid for heritage turkeys but was delivered regular ones. “What if someone is switching the turkeys?” I suggested. “That could account for the fluctuating numbers, as well as the milkweed if whoever is switching the birds doesn’t know what they’re doing.”

“Switching?” Jeremy asked.

“Charles Tisdale raises a special breed of bird: heritage turkeys. His birds sell for five times what regular turkeys sell for. What if someone is slowly stealing the gourmet birds and replacing them with regular birds? There are a lot of turkeys on the property. It’d be hard to notice unless you were really a turkey expert, which we aren’t.”

“And the birds that are replacing the heritage ones are being poisoned before they even arrive,” Jeremy caught on.

“Exactly.”

“That could account for the strange numbers we’re getting. Maybe our thieves can’t count. They take birds and replace them with others but keep getting the numbers mixed up.”

“My guess is that this might have been going on for a while. It’s possible the switch could even have occurred at the time of butchering. At least while Charles, who would have noticed if there were strange birds on his property, was alive.”

“It’d have to be the farm manager, or possibly one of the part-time workers,” Jeremy deduced. “They could have switched them at the time of transport, or maybe the slaughterhouse is in on it.”

“It’s a brilliant scheme really,” I acknowledged. “Charles has customers who pay upward of a hundred dollars a pop for his special birds. Someone steals the special birds and replaces them with common livestock at the last minute. Chances are, the average consumer might not even notice, but a restaurant owner like Raymond Wells noticed right away. What if Charles was justified in firing his staff? I figured he was ripping them off, but what if he started snooping around after the fiasco of the lawsuit and found out what they were doing?”

“Your theory makes sense,” Jeremy acknowledged. “But how can we prove it?”

“We need to have someone who knows turkeys look at the sick birds,” I said.
I mentally reviewed the cast of characters in my mind. Oliver, Leroy, and Peggy would all have grown up on the farm, so I was willing to bet any of the three could tell the difference between a heritage and a regular bird. I knew that Brent spent a lot of time on the farm as well, although I didn’t know how much exposure he had to the birds. I could probably ask any of the four, but I’d wanted to have a chat with Leroy, and perhaps this was the perfect opportunity.

“Any idea where Leroy is?” I asked.

“At the house with the others, I suppose.”

“I’m going to see if I can find him. In the meantime, call the vet about the sick birds we’ve found, and see if our theory that they might have come into contact with milkweed prior to arriving at the farm holds up.”

As I walked toward the house, I couldn’t help but wonder how everything might be related: tipsy birds, fluctuating numbers, a dead farm owner, and his dead mistress. I guess there could be several explanations for the above set of variables, but for the life of me
, I couldn’t think of one.

I found Leroy in the living room, talking to Peggy and Margaret. The house had a somber feel, and the constant bickering that had been taking place between the heirs had been replaced by a fearful silence. It had most likely occurred to the group of leeches that they had a murderer in their midst. For those not guilty of the crimes, the possibility of another death must have been in the forefront of their minds.

“I was sorry to hear about Dolly,” I offered as I walked into the room.

Margaret smiled at me, while Peggy and Leroy simply glared.

“Leroy,” I began, “I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time. I have a question regarding the turkeys.”

“Talk to Oliver,” he snapped. “Our dearly departed father saw fit to make him estate executor. He might as well earn his pay.”

“Oliver isn’t available,” I tried. “Please, it will just take a moment.”

“Oh,
very well.” Leroy worked his girth into a standing position. “What can I help you with?”

“Something strange is going on with the birds,” I revealed.

“Strange how?”

“We thin
k someone might be switching your dad’s gourmet birds for common turkeys, a few at a time.”

“Why would someone be switching the birds?”

“I have no idea. I just know that something odd is going on and I’d like to get your opinion.”

“Okay, lead the way.”

“I overheard someone mention that you lived and worked on the farm until just a few years ago.” I tried for a light tone as I led Leroy toward the pen where the sick birds had been quarantined.

“I devoted my life to this place. Lot of good it did me,” Leroy grumbled.

“You decided on another career?” I fished.

“Let’s just say that my old man and I didn’t see eye to eye on a few things.”

“That’s too bad. It must be frustrating to devote your time and energy to something only to end up losing it in the end.”

“Damn right it’s frustrating.”

I put on my most sympathetic face.

“I gave this farm the best years of my life and in the end the old man was going to sell it out from under me.”

“He had plans to sell it before he died?” This was new information to me.

“He said he was too old for the daily grind. I tried to talk to him about selling it to me, but he said he had someone else in mind.”

“Wow, that’s awful. Do you know who?”

“He wouldn’t say. Guess whoever talked my father into selling won’t be getting it now. I hear there’s a new buyer in the mix.”

I realized he must be referring to Zak.

“So what do you think?” I asked Leroy as we arrived at
the barn and I showed him the sick birds.

“Yup,” he confirmed. “These are common fowl. You said they just showed up?”

“It seems that way.” I filled him in on the erratic numbers, the milkweed poisoning, and Raymond Wells’s lawsuit.

“My dad was an ass, but he was compulsive about his birds. If they were being traded out, it was after they left the farm. Dad personally checked the birds every day of his life. He would have noticed something like this right off.”