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wearing it out. Instead of a cheerful squeak it seemed to be emitting an unfortunate noise, halfway between a mournful wail and an asthmatic wheeze.
    “That must be the dog’s name,” Caroline said. “Mimi. Such a pretty name.”
    I nodded. I was scanning the surrounding landscape for something small, white, and furry.
    We came to a fork in the road, and I turned left, toward the house. We were holding the rose show down in the barns, which were a considerable distance from the house, the better to insulate Mrs. Winkleson from the less decorative aspects of her menagerie. But I had to talk to Mrs. Winkleson first.
    The road to the house ran around the edge of the lake, and the two swans sailed along, keeping pace with the car, as if escorting us.
    “Nice farm,” my grandfather said.
    “Estate,” I said. “At least if you happen to say anything to Mrs. Winkleson about it.”
    He snorted.
    “Lovely,” Caroline said. “But a little bland and monochromatic for my taste.”
    “Apparently not monochromatic enough for Mrs. Winkle-son,” I said. “Too much green. She grudgingly acknowledges the necessity for some leaves to produce the white flowers, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it.”
    “What a dingbat,” Dr. Blake pronounced.
    “Yes, and isn’t it lovely how nature conspires to ruin Mrs. Winkleson’s color scheme?” Caroline said, smiling as she gazed out the window. “The lush green grass, the glorious blue sky.”
    “Blue?” my grandfather said. “Looks gray to me.”
    “Today, maybe,” Caroline said. “But other days it must be blue enough to annoy her. The grass, the sky, the— oh, look at those peculiar cows.” She was pointing to the pasture on our right.
    Yes, the cows were unusual. They were uniformly a deep brownish black, except for the wide white band around their middles, which made them look more than a little like walking Oreo cookies.
    “Another reason Mrs. Winkleson’s nephews are peeved, from what I’ve heard,” I said. “She’s spending thousands of what could eventually be their dollars buying designer livestock. The cattle are called Belted Galloways— Belties for short.”
    “Old Scottish breed,” my grandfather said. “Excellent for grazing on rough land— they can thrive on coarse vegetation that other breeds won’t even eat. High quality beef.”
    “I think they’re charming,” Caroline said.
    “Lot of people do these days,” my grandfather said. “What do you bet these are just for show instead of for food?”
    “What a lot of calves she’s got,” Caroline said. “They almost outnumber the cows.”
    “Actually,” Dr. Blake said, frowning, “those don’t appear to be calves.”
    “You’re right,” Caroline said. “She’s acquired matching goats. This is a new development.”

Chapter 6
     
     
     
     
    “What do you mean, a new development?” I asked. “The innocent tourist act wasn’t very believable to start with. Why not drop it and tell me what you’re really up to?”
    Caroline and Dr. Blake exchanged a look and then Caroline sighed.
    “As I suppose you guessed, we’re actually not here out of idle curiosity,” she said. “Clarence Rutledge is concerned about whether she’s treating her animals properly.”
    “So, this is actually a covert animal welfare mission,” I said, with a sigh. “And you’re using me as cover to help you infiltrate enemy territory.”
    “Precisely,” my grandfather said.
    “Does this have anything to do with the missing dog?” I asked.
    “Missing dog?” my grandfather said.
    “Missing as in stolen, you old fool. The dognapping Meg told us about. Not specifically,” Caroline added to me. “We’re not ignoring her safety, of course, but the chief is on that case, and there’s the welfare of all the other animals to think about.”
    I would have liked to ask what reason Clarence had to worry about Mrs. Winkleson’s animals, but we were approaching the front of the house. Mrs. Winkleson