Ruffled Feathers

STRICTLY SPEAKING, BODYGUARDING'S NOT MY LINE, BUT IN PIGEON FORK, KENTUCKY, A DETECTIVE'S GOT TO BE A TAD FLEXIBLE...
Back in high school, Priscilla Vandeventer once decked a guy for calling her "Skinny." Well Priss wasn't skinny anymore--she was downright curvy--but she was as hot-tempered as ever. She made it perfectly clear she didn't want a bodyguard--not even me, Haskell Blevins, Pigeon Fork's one and only private eye. Her father, old Jacob Vandeventer--the poultry millionaire--had hired me after receiving a note demanding $100,000 in return for Priscilla's safety. Trouble was, no one had actually kidnapped Priss--yet. Matter of fact, I was beginning to think Priss herself had sent the note to make Jacob sit up and take notice. It was plain to see that Priss was overworked and under-appreciated at Vandeventer Poultry, all on account of being a woman. Then someone bashed Jacob in the head with his prized bronze chicken statue, and stuck a knife in his chest, and I didn't know whether Priss was my client or my number one suspect....