Free Swan for the Money by Donna Andrews

“No way a single dog could have sired that litter.”
    “It’s unlikely, but possible,” Caroline said. “If—”
    “Why don’t the two of you have your genetics discussion later?” I said. “Get back to Mrs. Winkleson. She’s clueless about canine behavior, but how does that automatically make her a bad person?”
    “Not a single one of the puppies was entirely black, white, or gray,” Dr. Blake said. “So when they were three days old, she put them all in a box and dumped them on the receptionist’s desk at Clarence Rutledge’s veterinary office. Said to put them all to sleep and send her the bill.”
    “What a— witch,” I said.
    “You can go ahead and use the b-word as far as I’m concerned, dearie,” Caroline said. “Though if you ask me, it’s an insult to female dogs. Clarence, of course, was horrified. Tried to talk her out of it, but she was adamant. He fed the puppies with an eyedropper until he could find a mother dog with enough milk to foster them. All doing quite well so far.”
    “But she’s clearly not someone who can be trusted with the welfare of helpless animals,” Dr. Blake said.
    “Or even animals like Spike, who are quite capable of defending themselves under normal circumstances,” I said. “Not that I was even thinking of taking her up on her offer, of course.”
    “Nonsense,” my grandfather said. “Of course you were thinking of it. Cranky little beast like that, I can’t blame you. If a real animal lover were asking to take him on, I’d be the first to say do it. But that woman’s trouble.”
    “That’s why we wanted you to get us entrée to her farm,” Caroline explained.
    “To check on whether she was treating Mimi properly,” my grandfather put in. “And to investigate the welfare of the rest of her animals.”
    “While there’s nothing we can do about Mimi right now,” Caroline said, “we’re more worried than ever about the rest.”
    “Makes you wonder if this is really a dognapping,” I said.
    My grandfather frowned.
    “What are you suggesting?” he asked. “That she did away with her own dog?”
    “Somehow I don’t see her destroying valuable property,” I said. “After all, the puppies were mongrels, but Mimi’s pedigreed. Mrs. Winkleson could sell her.”
    “Could be an insurance scam,” Caroline said. “If, God forbid, something happened to the poor dog, I could see Mrs. Winkleson concocting the ransom note as a means to recoup her losses.”
    “Or maybe this is connected to the mysterious way her animals have been disappearing,” Dr. Blake said.
    I waited to hear the details, but he just stood with his eye flashing and his leonine head thrown back, as if posing for a photo opportunity.
    “Okay, I’ll bite,” I said finally. “How have the animals been disappearing? Sucked into hovering UFOs while the alien cattle rustlers sculpt crop circles in the pasture? Fading away like the Cheshire cat till there’s nothing visible but the cud? Or do you suspect that they’ve fallen victims to wolves imported by some mad zoologist who shares your dream of reintroducing large predators to the Virginia countryside?”
    “Nothing that picturesque,” Caroline said. “But Clarence says that he can’t account for all the animals born on the farm. He keeps records, you know. And he says that the unwanted ones— the ones that aren’t pure black and white or have imperfect markings— just disappear.”
    “Does he think she’s euthanizing them?”
    “Not really,” Caroline said. “Unlike mixed breed dogs, farm animals have a certain monetary value, even if she doesn’t want them. He suspects she’s selling them as soon as they’re weaned. But where, and to whom? Mrs. Winkleson says she has her farm manager deal with unwanted animals, the manager is evasive and claims Mrs. Winkleson doesn’t involve him in the sales, and Clarence can’t track down any actual buyers.”
    Caroline and my grandfather both shook their heads grimly.