“Could we speak to him about maybe ordering more favors?” Lucy inquired. “We’ll only need a few minutes of his time.”
Lady walked over to James and sniffed his shoes. Obviously deciding that he was not a threat to her or to Kyle, she stuck her wet nose against the palm of his hand and gazed up at him with a twinkle in her eyes. James rewarded her friendliness by stroking the soft fur on the back of her neck.
“I wouldn’t mind, ma’am, but Russ ain’t here.” Kyle looked sorry to disappoint them. “He needed to run on back home for a week or so.”
“He’s not from these parts, I take it,” James stated.
“No sir. He’s got one heck of a long ride back to Natchez.”
James did his best not to lean over and nudge Lucy. Natchez! This couldn’t be a coincidence. Wheezie, Paulette, and Milla had grown up in Natchez. Now this young man, Russ, who possessed both the physical hardiness to run a goat farm and the mental acuity to create an online business for his employer, had suddenly disappeared.
Lucy shot James the briefest glance, but in her eyes he saw a familiar, predatory glimmer. “Milla was so thrilled with the goat’s milk products she bought from your farm that I believe she’d like to stock your products in her new gift store, Quincy’s Whimsies.”
“That’d be just swell.” Kyle beamed, his weathered face crinkling in pleasure.
“She may also want to carry local food products, like homegrown eggs. Do you have chickens here too?”
Kyle seemed surprised by the question. “Funny you should mention that, ma’am. Russ wanted to experiment with raising some layin’ hens, so he built a coop and bought the birds and feed outta his own pocket.” The farmer ruffled the fur on Knight’s back as he spoke. “Guess it didn’t work so well, though. Them chickens all got sick and Russ scrapped the whole notion. Whole pen was gone ’fore I even got home. I don’t mind though,” he confessed. “Young man’s got a right to flex his muscles, but I’m relieved he’s back to focusin’ on the goats. He’s real good with them, and I’m not overly fond of chickens myself. Damn birds stink in the summertime.”
Acting as natural as possible, Lucy checked her watch. “Well, our lunch break is nearly done. We’d best be getting back to work. James, why don’t you take down contact information for Mr. Mills and his assistant, Russ…?” She turned to Kyle. “What is the young man’s last name?”
“DuPont,” the farmer answered. “Russ DuPont.”
James pulled out Dr. Ruth’s business card from his wallet, flipped it over, and wrote down the phone number for the Cornflower Goat Farm . Handing the farmer one of his own cards, he shook the calloused hand once again. “Please call as soon as Russ has returned, and we’ll talk about placing regular orders for the shop.”
“Will do.” Kyle whistled softly out of the side of his mouth and Lady sprang from James’s side and crashed against Knight in excitement. “Walk up!” he commanded, and the shepherds bounded away toward a fenced pasture behind the barn.
As James and Lucy headed back to the Jeep, Lucy paused to gaze around the farm. James followed her lead, assuming she was looking for where Russ lived. There was a sprawling pasture behind the barn, but the area surrounding the main house was embraced by trees.
“Maybe he stayed in their guest room,” James suggested. Squinting, he thought he saw a break in the trees. “Is that a path?” He pointed to the right of the house.
Shielding her eyes from the winter sunlight, Lucy nodded. “Come on. We’ve got to check this out while we’re here.”
Because Kyle Mills was headed in the opposite direction with both dogs, James agreed. “But let’s hurry. We don’t need to make Mr. Mills suspicious, or we might never hear from him again.”
He and Lucy trotted over the rough path, which wound through the pines and sloped gently downhill. Irritated at how quickly he became winded as he jogged behind Lucy’s fleeter form, James vowed to be more disciplined about hitting the gym after work.
Now that Bennett’s done with his studying, we can work out together again, he thought and decided to e-mail his friend as soon as he got back to the library so that they could schedule some cardio and weightlifting sessions.
“Look!” Lucy stopped abruptly as a small cabin came into view. “This has got to be where Russ stayed.” With a burst of speed, she ran down the remainder of the path. By the time James joined her, she had knocked on the front door, tried the knob, and peered in all four windows.
“I can’t see a thing!” She sighed in frustration. “Dark curtains, a locked door. Damnation! I don’t dare force my way in. I’ll have to do things the right way and come back with a warrant to search this cabin.”
Relieved that Lucy was refraining from hurling a rock through the nearest window, James also tried to see inside, but the navy curtains were tightly closed, leaving no line of sight into the one-room cabin. He and Lucy walked around the perimeter once more, looking everywhere for clues. Aside from a stack of firewood, there was nothing of note near the cabin.
“It would have been nice to find a bloodied shovel right here.” Lucy frowned as she gestured at the wood pile.
James noticed an object resting on the top of a stack of kindling. “Turtle shell,” he said, passing the tawny hull to Lucy. “And here’s another one.”
Accepting the shells, Lucy inspected them carefully and then returned them to the wood pile. Grabbing James by the elbow, she said, “We’re done here, but we’re not leaving empty handed. We’ve got a lead, James! A lead! I need to get back to my computer right away!” She winked at James, her face flushed with excitement and hope. “Good work, my friend. I’m going to run to the Jeep now. See if you can keep up.”
Back at the library, James had trouble focusing on his regular tasks. As he assisted patrons in finding books or directed students to helpful periodicals and Internet sites so they might effectively research their latest school project, part of his mind kept trying to conjure an image of Russ DuPont.
What did this mysterious young man look like? Did he have a bulky, muscular body and an angry face with a pair of black, hate-filled eyes? Was he quiet to the point of brooding while he spent hours plotting acts of violence as he went about his tasks on the Cornflower Goat Farm? How did he tie into the murders? He couldn’t have known Paulette when she was a child in Natchez. He wouldn’t even have been born by the time she left the town for good, destined for Paris and a future of fame and wealth.
Yet he tried to raise laying hens, James thought.
During a lull in activity shortly after four in the afternoon, James settled down at one of the computers in the Tech Corner and began to search for articles on salmonella. Several of the resources he found concentrated on how to avoid being exposed to the harmful bacteria, while others described the physical symptoms one experienced once one was infected.
“Ugh,” James grimaced as he read. “What a messy illness. You’re going to experience vomiting, diarrhea, cramps, or all three if you ingest that nasty bug. You’d better come down with salmonella in the privacy of your own home.”
“Excuse me, Professor,” Scott interrupted apologetically as he peered over his boss’s shoulder. “I’ve gotta know what you’re investigating over here. You’re making all sorts of funny faces and you’re talking to yourself.”
Tapping the computer screen, James replied, “I’m wondering how eggs get tainted by salmonella. I know that the bacteria can be found in eggs and poultry, meat products, unprocessed milk, and even in water, but why are some eggs more susceptible than others?”