Purrfect Secret

Chapter 9

Chase rode his pickup to the farm where Geary Potbelly did his business. The rutted road led them to a farmhouse, long clapboard structures located right behind it, and huge silos where presumably Geary stored the food for the ducks or—and Odelia didn’t even want to contemplate this—the poop the animals produced.

“So… I don’t see no ducks,” she said as Chase parked the rig next to the farmhouse.

“They moved them all indoors a decade ago,” said Chase. “They used to roam free, but then environmental laws tightened and allowing the duck poop to drain into the ground and pollute the groundwater with nitrates became strictly prohibited. So now the ducks are all in those long white buildings over there, where they can poop through the mesh wire so it can be flushed into big holding tanks and then procured for processing.”

“What do they use it for?”

“It ends up on huge compost heaps, where it’s mixed with mulch and yard waste which binds the nitrogen in the manure and prevents it from leaking into the ground and leaching into the groundwater. Then it’s sold to garden centers and Home Depot and such.”

“How come you know so much about duck poop, Chase?”

He laughed. “Before you start thinking this is my latest hobby, let me assure you it’s not. No, I talked to Geary on the phone to figure out how his poop ended up killing Dickerson and he explained to me a little about the process they have out here.”

As they walked up to the house, the same guy in coveralls they met out at the Dickerson place, held up his hand in greeting. He was shoveling straw onto a wheelbarrow.

“Bert! Have you seen Geary around?” Chase yelled at him.

“Come on in!” Bert yelled back. “He’s inside.” He was pointing to the stable.

“I guess we’re going to meet some of those famous Long Island ducks up close and personal,” Chase quipped.

They strode into a large space, surprisingly light and airy, and immediately Odelia saw thousands upon thousands of ducks lounging around, buckets of feed attached to wooden poles, light fixtures dangling from the ceiling, and the ducks not in cages as she’d feared, but free to roam the large space, straw under their feet and happily quacking away.

“Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many ducks in one place,” she said.

“Me neither,” Chase chimed in.

A man dressed in blue coveralls was crouched down over what looked like feeding troughs, and they walked up to him, the ducks scuttling away as they did.

“Mr. Potbelly!” Chase said as they joined the duck farmer.

Contrary to the name, he was a tall, reedy man with a tan, weather-beaten face and a ball cap with the name ‘Potbelly Farm’ lodged firmly on his head.

“Hey there, Detective,” said Geary. “Nice to put a name to the face.”

“Likewise,” said Chase. “This is Odelia Poole. Odelia is a reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette, but she also frequently helps us out in our investigations.”

“Your daddy is Tex Poole, right?” asked Geary, nodding. “He’s my doctor.”

“I think my dad is pretty much everybody’s doctor,” said Odelia.

“He’s a good one, though. Got me some of those patches for my chest pains.” He slapped his chest. “Been feeling like a new man ever since. Real miracle cure, Miss Poole.”

“Odelia. And I’m glad my dad could help you out, Mr. Potbelly.”

“Geary,” he said with a grin that displayed two rows of nicotine-stained teeth. “So what can I do you for?”

“You can help us understand how a tanker full of your duck poop ended up all the way out at Dick Dickerson’s place.”

He scratched his scalp. “Well, sir, like I told you over the phone, one of our tankers got stolen last night, along with one of our tractors. So that might explain things.”

“Any idea who could have taken them?”

“Nope. Must have happened sometime after midnight, though, cause my youngest one just got back from checking on the ducklings in the hatchery and he says the tanker was still there when he did.”

“He’s sure about that?”

“Absolutely. That thing’s an eyesore, and he would have noticed if it was gone.”

“So walk us through this, Geary. Someone got onto your property and took off with a tractor and a tanker. How is that possible?”

“We sleep all the way out there,” said Geary, pointing to the west. “The entire family lives on the perimeter, in houses we built ourselves. Five generations of Potbellies have lived there and still do, so we don’t hear what goes on up here at night.”

“Don’t you have guard dogs? A fence? Security?”

“We have a fence, but they took out an entire section. Professional job, too. When my son told me I thought they’d come for the ducks. We were surprised they’d taken the tanker. Couldn’t imagine what they wanted with nine thousand gallons of duck poop.”

“Now we know,” said Chase grimly.

“We have a couple dogs, too, but I guess those sneak thieves must have managed to get past them.” He grunted. “At least they didn’t hurt them. Those dogs are like family.”

“So no cameras, huh?” asked Odelia.

“Potbelly Farm isn’t the Chase Manhattan or Tiffany’s, Odelia. We’ve had a few break-ins over the years but nothing major. The fence is more to keep the deer out and the ducks in than anything else. The rest is up to the dogs, and usually they’re enough of a deterrent. But the visitors we had last night were something else. Real pros, if you ask me.”