All Chickens Must Die: A Benjamin Wade Mystery by Scott Dennis Parker Read Free Book Online Page A

me back to my accustomed self.
“I’ve been hired by one of your neighbors to look into the disturbance.”
    She frowned, but still looked beautiful. “What business is it of
theirs what goes on down here? We practically own the street.”
    I held my tongue, letting her stew a moment longer. “Were you
here last week when the burglar broke in?”
    “I’m afraid I can’t answer that.” She was playing with me now. “I
still don’t know why you landed on my doorstep.”
    I inhaled deeply and decided to be honest. “I’ve been hired by
one of your neighbors on the other side to look into the events of last week.”
    She screwed up her face in disgust. “One of them?” She seemed
genuinely appalled. “How in the world can they afford it?”
    I shrugged. “Be that as it may, my client raises chickens. A few
days after the police chased your burglary suspect through his farm and chicken
barnyard, he got an order that all his chickens have to be slaughtered. Now, we
know there was a large police presence here last week. It was on the police
band. It was going to be public knowledge in the newspaper before someone
pulled rank and killed the story. Sure, it was just a police beat little
write-up, but, still, it would have been in print. And now it’s not. So, tell
me, Mrs. Aldridge, what was stolen here last week?”
    She gazed at me, studying me, for what, I didn’t know. Maybe she
was trying to figure me out. It’s usually not that hard. I’m a pretty
straightforward guy. But she stared at me, and then through me, like I wasn’t
even there.
    “What did the police report say?”
    Gardner frowned. “What police report?”
    Sarah smiled. “Exactly. There is no police report, so there must
not have been a crime.”
    “But there were a half-dozen squad cars out here,” I said.
“Surely there was something going on.”
    Her shrug was a minimal gesture, like she didn’t even bother
mustering up the energy for an honest-to-goodness shrug. “That’s all there is
to it.”
    “That’s your story, then?” I said.
    “It is.”
    “Then, if you don’t mind, why don’t you tell me what you heard or
saw last week?”
    She fingered one of her brushes. I watched her hands. They were
model’s hands, the kind you’d see in a magazine ad. There were paint splotches
on them but not many. It was like the paint decided it wasn’t worth the effort
to blemish such unblemishable hands.
    “What night was it?” she asked.
    “Last Tuesday.”
    “Oh, I was out that night. Oliver took me to dinner and then out
dancing. It was quite a nice time. One of the big touring bands was in town.
They were magnificent. Count Basie, I think.”
    “So, you’re saying you weren’t even here when the police showed
up?”
    “Right. My husband and I were out on the town.
    “Then who called the police?”
    She paused a moment that barely registered. “Perhaps one of the
neighbors?”
    “What about Randolph? He looks like he’s smart enough to use a
phone.”
    The fire in her eyes all but scorched me. “You will leave my
butler or anyone else in my employ out of your so-called investigation. If you
have any questions, you will only speak to me or my husband.”
    Gardner said, “Your neighbors. Y’all ever get together and
gossip, talk about the other neighbors?”
    She cooled a bit and gave Gardner her eyes. “I play bridge with
three of the women on the street, but we had to postpone our game last Thursday
on account of sickness. One of the ladies caught a cold.”
    Convenient, I thought.
    Gardner said, “When y’all got back from your night on the town,
did you happen to notice all the police cars? Maybe even the flashing lights?”
    “There were no police cars in the area when we got home. It was
just as dark as it always is.”
    “Your husband. He at work?”
    “He is, and I bet he wouldn’t be too happy with your line of
questioning.”
    “Probably not,” I agreed, “but we have to ask.”
    “True, but I don’t