“What?” Jackaby scowled. “Honestly, woman, this hat is a priceless rarity! It was knit from—”
“Not really the time for that, sir,” I said. “Please, ma’am, we’re in the middle of an investigation. I’m afraid that’s why my employer—erm—inadvertently crossed your property line. He’s looking for something unusual.”
Mrs. Pendleton leaned toward me. “Has your employer looked in a mirror?” she said.
“There has been some criminal activity in the area,” Charlie said, cutting in before Jackaby could object. “Thefts of valuable property and some suspicious persons lurking about. We are only trying to protect the valley, Mrs. Pendleton—including you and your husband.”
“I look out for Abe, and Abe looks out for me.” Mrs. Pendleton patted the butt of her rifle. “And we look out for our own. I appreciate your concern, but I think we’ll be all right. You can have a peek out back if it makes you happy. Just don’t touch anything.”
Jackaby nodded eagerly. “Won’t be a moment, madam. Just looking for residual traces of paranormal malignance, something indicative of heinous moral grotesquery.”
“You’re weird. Watch out for duck poop.”
“I always do!”
Mrs. Pendleton turned her attention to me as Jackaby hurried around the corner, Toby bounding after him. “So, what’d they take?”
“A bone,” I said. “A very old bone.”
“What on earth would anyone want a bone for?” she asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” I said. “Maybe better, in fact. Is there anything people do with bones out here in the valley? Some local custom or something?”
“Nope,” she said with a shrug. “If they’re big enough, we might toss them to the dogs to gnaw on, same as anyone. Keeps Toby out from underfoot for a while.”
I nodded. “Thanks anyway.”
Jackaby conducted his inspection quickly, looking unimpressed as he rejoined us. We thanked Mrs. Pendleton kindly and made our way back to the road.
“Any luck?” I asked.
“The farmstead was as disappointing as that woman’s taste in fashion. My hat was the most interesting thing in the place.”
The next farm yielded nothing more of consequence, nor the next, nor the next after that. We covered seven farms and several miles of Gad’s Valley before we finally abandoned our efforts. The most interesting abnormalities we uncovered were a chicken that had flown the coop and a cow that had eaten a neighbor’s flower garden.
“This may be the most exceptionally unexceptional countryside in the history of countrysides,” Jackaby grumbled. “What about smells?”
“Sir?” I asked.
“Smells. Charlie’s as good a bloodhound as any police force could hope for. Have you picked up a scent?”
Charlie looked at me and then back at Jackaby. “I’m afraid I can’t, not without . . . changing.”
“Out of the question,” I said. “We’ll find our clues with good old-fashioned, normal detective work.”
“Ugh.” Jackaby tossed back his head. “That sounds awful.”
We plodded steadily back toward Brisbee’s. After a long morning of disappointments, I entertained the quiet fancy that Professor Lamb might have become amenable in our absence. It was almost within the realm of the imagination, if only level heads prevailed. “What do you suppose are the chances,” I mused aloud, “that tempers have died down and everyone’s gotten along since we’ve been gone?”