“Careful,” a voice suddenly sounded from the door. “That’s worth a small fortune.”
Alec carefully replaced the trinket and looked up. Their host had arrived, looking as dapper as Chase had imagined, after hearing Marge describe her ex-boyfriend.
“Hey, there, Jock,” said the Chief, grasping the man’s hand and pressing it firmly.
“Alec. So nice to see you again, though the circumstances are not exactly ideal.”
“This is my deputy Chase Kingsley,” said Alec, introducing his friend and colleague.
“I’ve heard great things about you, Detective Kingsley,” said Jock smoothly. “You’re Odelia Poole’s fiancé, aren’t you? Marge Poole’s future son-in-law?”
“I am, yes,” said Chase, “though we haven’t picked a date yet.”
“They’re in no hurry to get married,” said Alec. “Young people. They think they have all the time in the world.”
Jock smiled good-naturedly. “Well, that’s the curse of being young. It’s when you get to our age that you realize time is a scarce and valuable commodity. I assume you want to talk about Grace? You think she actually was the victim of foul play?”
“Yes, we do,” said the Chief, turning serious. “We checked the cottage where this Fabio Shakespeare guy was staying, and we found both your wife’s phone, tucked beneath the mattress, and these two items.” He produced a little plastic evidence baggie with a pair of earrings. “I assume they belong to Grace?”
Jock studied them for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, these are my wife’s, all right. Where did you say you found them?”
“Near the cottage window. They must have fallen off when she was taken.”
“Taken… It’s so hard to believe. I told Odelia this morning that my wife often goes off on these sudden excursions and sometimes doesn’t get in touch with me for weeks.”
“The cottage has clearly been the scene of a struggle,” said Chase. “And if your wife had gone off on one of these excursions, wouldn’t she have taken her phone?”
Jock nodded. “Of course. That all does sound very suspicious. I’m so sorry, gentlemen. I just assumed that she and Fabio…” He grimaced when he mentioned the name.
“I’m sorry to have to ask you this, Jock,” said Chief Alec, “but are you sure your wife was having an affair with this painter guy?”
“Yes, I’m sure, and you don’t have to apologize, Alec. I know you’ll handle this as discreetly as possible. Grace has a tendency to fall for these bohemian types, and Fabio came along at a very difficult time in her life. When Grace turned forty a couple of years ago she became very insecure. Worried about her looks—getting older and losing her beauty and youth. And now that she’s closing in on the big five-oh it’s gotten even worse. So when Fabio started showering her with his charm, paying her compliments, naturally she was susceptible. I’m afraid I haven’t shown her the love and affection she deserves. In fact we’ve more or less been leading separate lives these last few years.”
“Separate bedrooms?” asked Alec.
“Separate wings of the house, even. The only reason we’ve stayed together is Alicia, who still lives at home. Our son Larry left the nest five years ago and lives in New York. I’d sincerely hoped he’d take over the family business but he doesn’t seem interested.”
“You have created quite an empire for yourself,” said Chase admiringly.
Jock grimaced. “Actually my father created the empire, I am merely its custodian, and try to manage it to the best of my abilities.”
“Don’t be so modest, Jock,” said Chief Alec. “You’ve expanded the business a lot.”
“Well, one does try to outdo one’s ancestors,” said Jock modestly. “So what happens now? Are you going to launch a full-blown search for my wife?”
“Yeah, we’ll put out an alert, and we’re going through that cottage with a fine-tooth comb. Hopefully something will turn up—some clue as to what happened there.”
“When was the last time you saw your wife, Mr. Farnsworth?” asked Chase.
“Um… the day before yesterday, at breakfast. We always try to have breakfast as a family, so Alicia was there as well. And then after breakfast Grace went off to the cottage, to sit for her portrait, and I went down to the chicken houses to check on things.”
“Your chicken farm is located nearby?” asked Chase.
“Yes, just down the road. I can actually cross through the grounds and be there in five minutes. Though we’re getting a little cramped lately. I’ve been trying to get an expansion approved by the town council but it’s a long and drawn-out process.”
“You’re expanding the farm?”
“Yeah, we’re expanding to the north, building another three chicken houses, and a fourth one if we can. A business either expands or contracts, Detective. It never stays stagnant. That is, unfortunately, the nature of the beast, and we have to roll with it.”
Chase nodded. He didn’t know the first thing about running a business, but obviously Jock did, or else he wouldn’t be as successful as he was.
“Well, I sure think you’re a credit to this community, Jock,” said the Chief now. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, your chicken wings have helped put this town on the map, and I hope that expansion plan of yours is approved quickly.”
“Thanks, Alec. I hope so, too.”
“Of course! Who doesn’t like chicken wings?” He slapped his belly. “I sure do!”
Jock laughed, but then turned serious once more. “Anything you need from me, anything at all, you only have to ask. I want Grace back safe and sound. We may be going through a rough patch right now, but she’s still my wife, and the mother of my children, and Alicia, for one, is suffering tremendously—the poor girl is going through hell.”
“Don’t you worry about a thing, Jock,” said Chief Alec, as he shook the chicken king’s hand warmly. “We’ll find her for you.”
Chapter 19
“It’s an important mission, father,” said Gran. “A mission from God, so to speak.”
On Harriet and Shanille’s instigation, Gran had overcome her animosity towards Father Reilly, and had set out in search of the priest. She was now trying to overcome the man’s sales resistance and recruit him to the cause. Seated across from the holy man in his sacristy, which was also his office, she thought not for the first time that it was a gloomy place, and chilly, too, and wondered why he didn’t turn up the heating. Then again, to heat up a place as big as a church probably cost the poor guy a lot of money.
“I’m not convinced, Vesta,” said the priest as he glanced at her over his half-moon glasses. Father Reilly was a ruddy-faced man with a kindly demeanor and a small tuft of white hair on top of his head. Contrary to what she’d expected he wasn’t dressed in a chasuble but in a crisp white shirt, black slacks and a colorful knit reindeer sweater which was so hideous it actually hurt Vesta’s eyes to look at it.
“You don’t think it’s important that we keep our streets clean of this horrible crap? Do you realize that when people step in dog poo they drag that stuff into your church?”
“Oh, I do realize the importance of getting rid of dog poo littering our streets and pavements,” said the priest, “but I don’t think the way to accomplish this is by going door to door convincing dog owners to buy a litter box. It’s very hard to convince people to adopt a policy that will set them back hundreds of dollars per annum. They can hardly spare a dime for the collection plate, much less spend their hard-earned cash on litter. Do you have any idea how much that stuff costs?”
“Nine ninety-nine for the box, one bag of litter included,” she intoned automatically, now well versed in her sales pitch, after having delivered it several times.
He smiled indulgently. “Look, I certainly appreciate what you’re trying to accomplish, Vesta, but don’t you think you should be talking to the Mayor instead? I’m sure punitive measures are a better way to accomplish your goals than affecting a change that is frankly a hard swallow for a lot of my parishioners and your fellow Hampton Covians.”