The Hen of the Baskervilles Read Online Free PDF Page B

vandalism at all in the exhibits.”
    â€œNo crime at all last year?”
    â€œWe arrested a few pickpockets and a few people on drunk and disorderly charges,” Randall said. “That’s about it for last year. And I’m optimistic that our police chief will be able to bring last night’s perpetrator to justice.”
    The reporter nodded. But he wasn’t writing down anything about last year’s stellar crime-free record. I tried not to glare at his motionless pen.
    â€œOf course you have a pretty small police force,” he said.
    â€œWe’re a pretty small county with a low crime rate,” Randall said. “But we’re partnering with Clay County on this fair, and can also call on their resources. And both our sheriff and our chief of police have very cordial relationships with all the nearby counties.”
    Just then the door opened, and Chief Burke peered in.
    â€œAh—speak of the devil!” Randall stood up to shake the chief’s hand. “Here’s Chief Burke now. Out of uniform, I see?”
    I admit, I was also surprised. The chief was normally a stickler for wearing his neatly pressed khaki uniform on duty. He looked almost strange in khakis and a blue polo shirt.
    â€œWhen I got the call, I was already on my way here,” the chief said. “Bringing my wife’s entries to the pickle and dried flower arranging contests.”
    â€œNot the pie contest?” I asked. “I thought Minerva’s pecan pie was a shoo-in.”
    â€œShe hasn’t baked it yet,” the chief said. “Still fussing over the pecans. Got our whole kitchen table covered with pecans, trying to pick out the best ones. And dried flowers all over the dining room table. I had to eat breakfast on the front stoop.”
    The reporter was tapping his pen on the desk, clearly impatient with these homey details.
    â€œWhat can you tell me about the incidents here at the fair?” he asked.
    â€œSo far, nothing.” The chief’s voice became all business. “I have my best people working on it. I’m here to supervise the investigation. And we’ll be doing everything we can to apprehend the perpetrator and recover what was stolen.”
    The reporter asked the same question again in a couple of different ways, and the chief gave him a couple of different variations on the same answer. Sensing he’d gotten as much as he could hope for, the reporter thanked us and left.
    â€œOff to look for someone who will give him a sensational quote,” I said.
    â€œAnd odds are he’ll find it,” Randall said.
    â€œBut not from me.” The chief frowned. “Or from any of my officers.”
    â€œAnd not from the Baskervilles,” Randall put in.
    â€œWho?” The chief looked puzzled.
    â€œThe chicken owners.”
    â€œThey’re named Bonneville,” I said. “And last I heard, they were down at the hospital. Mr. Bonneville clutched his chest and keeled over shortly after they discovered the theft.”
    â€œAny word on how he’s doing?”
    I pulled out my phone, called Dad, and hit the speaker button so I wouldn’t have to relay what he said.
    â€œHow’s your patient?” I asked. “Did he really have a heart attack?”
    â€œMr. Baskerville is going to be fine,” Dad said.
    â€œThat’s nice,” I said. “But the people whose chickens were stolen are actually named Bonneville. Please tell me that’s who you’re treating.”
    â€œAre you sure?” Dad asked. “They’ve been answering to Baskerville down here at the hospital.”
    â€œThat’s because one of them is having something that looks an awful lot like a heart attack and the other is worried out of her mind,” I said. “I have their entry form right here. Bonneville.”
    â€œIf you say so.” Dad still sounded unconvinced. “Here, let me put Mrs. Bask—er,