The Case of the Ill-Gotten Goat by Claudia Bishop

pound of cheese; the ratio may differ with the type of cheese being made. I could have asked Neville, of course, but the man was in full spate.
    â€œThe cheeses are marketed all over the United States. And money comes in from the retail operation, of course. Have you ever been in it? Tre Sorelle cheeses aren’t a tenth of what sells in there. She carries Swinford wines and boatloads of that touristy crap like cheese plates and picnic baskets, whatever. You go in there on a Sunday afternoon like this one, and you can’t get near the register. And then there are the tours. Doucetta picked up some old draft horse at an auction and Marietta tools tourists around the hundred acres in a farm cart at fifteen dollars a head. It all adds up to quite a pile of money. Doucetta’s of the old school. The company’s privately held and the only other people who know what the profits really are, are God and her accountant. And I’m not too sure about the accountant.”
    â€œThis is a complex business to run. Does she have advisors?”
    Neville shook his head. “Just the firm that does the taxes. And I swear, Austin, she’s got a second set of books somewhere. The retail business brings in a lot of cash. She’s not real big on reporting the income, but she’s the kind of personality that needs to track every nickel. She came over from Italy when she was sixteen. Had an arranged marriage with the old man—Dominic, his name was, and he passed away when Luisa was just a kid. There were three daughters: Luisa’s the youngest by more than ten years; then there was Margarita, who died of a stroke a couple of years ago; and Caterina, the oldest. Caterina remembers the old man; he was quiet, she said. I got the impression that when Doucetta said “jump” the old man jumped and asked if it was high enough. Margarita had one daughter, Marietta. Her husband just up and disappeared a few years after Marietta was born. He died sometime after that—in Italy, I think.
    â€œMarietta herself went on to Vassar, got a good degree there, and went from that to an MBA at the Wharton School. She’s probably the best candidate as a successor to Doucetta, and the old lady dotes on her—as much as the old lady dotes on anybody.
    â€œCaterina married a guy named Frank Celestine. A real jerk, if you want to know the truth, and a lazy one at that. If you’re looking for suspects based on who deserves to be locked up on general principles, take a good hard look at Frank. Caterina herself isn’t as dumb as she makes out, and she’s certainly not as scatterbrained as she appears, but living with someone like Frank would suppress anybody’s natural personality, and hers wasn’t all that definite to begin with. The old lady dominates all of them. Which is why Caterina’s forced to put up with Frank. Doucetta doesn’t believe in divorce. As a mother—well, she’s terrorized all of them since they were kids, and I suppose Caterina doesn’t know anything else. You know how chickens will pick one poor bird out of the flock and peck it senseless? That’s how Doucetta and Frank treat Caterina.
    â€œAnyway, Frank and Caterina have two sons. Neither one of them was interested in the dairy. As a matter of fact, I think they both went to Italy to live ten or twelve years ago. There were some rumblings about drugs when they left. Maybe a felony or two. I don’t know the details.
    â€œAnd, as you know, Luisa and I didn’t have any children at all. It looks as if Marietta’s the only family member available to take over the dairy when Doucetta dies. Have you met her?”
    I shook my head.
    â€œBeautiful girl. Of course, all of Doucetta’s offspring are beautiful. She’s a stockbroker, or was. She came back from New York to help out a couple of years ago. She’s got the brains to take the dairy over, that’s for sure. Whether she has