Swan for the Money

by Donna Andrews

  “So any number of people would have known that was likely to be Mrs. Winkleson’s glass?” the chief asked.

  “Everyone in the garden club,” I said. “And all of her staff. And I should think her family, too.”

  “And we warned the caterers,” Mother said. “I’m sorry,” she added, seeing the chief’s crestfallen face. “Not a very useful bit of evidence, is it?”

  “It is what it is,” the chief said. “If you don’t mind.”

  The chief indicated the way to his interrogation room and followed Mother out.

  I fished Horace’s truck keys out of my bag and handed them to Dad.

  “Here,” I said. “Could you give these to Horace? Tell him I’m sorry about the windshield wipers?”

  He nodded, pocketed the keys, sat down on one of the couches, and closed his eyes.

  “I’ll give you a ride down to your car if you like,” Rob said.

  “I like,” I said. “It should be pretty safe outside, with the whole county police force here, and ordinarily I’d welcome the exercise, but to night I’m so tired I’d probably fall asleep on the way, in midstride.”

  Rob dropped me off, waited until I was safely in my car, and then waved good-bye and pulled out.

  I dumped my tote in the passenger seat and was about to start my car when I saw a slight flicker of motion out of the corner of my eye and stopped to peer into the darkness beyond the horse barn. What had moved? Then again, what did it matter? Silly to be so on edge at the slightest movement on a farm filled with birds and animals, not to mention police officers. It was probably just one of the vampire horses, being permitted to enjoy the night air in spite of the rain. Or perhaps an insomniac goat. Unlikely to be a marauding black swan at this time of night. whatever it was, certainly not my problem.

  Except that it might be prowling near the barns where I had, at last, gotten everything set up perfectly for tomorrow’s show, or possibly in the pasture where Mrs. Sechrest had been killed. That was Chief Burke’s problem, not mine, but maybe he’d want to hear about it if someone was sneaking around his crime scene. For that matter, there was still the mystery of the disappearing farm animals. Still, not my problem.

  Then a vision popped into my brain of a small dog, soaking wet and hungry, wandering about in the dark. What if I’d spotted Mimi?

  I reached under the car seat for the big flashlight I kept there. I didn’t turn it on— yet. I wasn’t quite sure whether I wanted to use it for light when I located the source of the movement, or as a weapon. I shoved my purse under the seat and made sure my cell phone was in my pocket, in case I needed to call for help or report anything to the police. Then I set out to track down the source of the motion.

  No one lurking behind the barn. Only a few huddled shapes at the far end of the goat pasture, where I remembered there being a sort of open shed the goats could use if they wanted shade or shelter from the rain.

  Then I spotted something again— this time a brief flash of light from beyond the woods. Was that what I’d seen before? Maybe. I realized that what I’d seen looked like what you’d see if a car passed by on the highway, so fast that its headlights flashed by for a few seconds before disappearing in the distance. But there was no highway for miles and miles in that direction, only the rolling acres and dirt roads of Mrs. Winkleson’s farm, and no legitimate reason I could think of for anyone to be driving those dirt roads in the middle of the night. Any additional searching the police did would be done by daylight, so they could be sure of not stepping on evidence.

  So I’m nosy. I patted my trusty cell phone, then climbed over the fence and slogged across the muddy ground toward the source of the light.

  I didn’t encounter any goats, or if I did, I was moving too slowly to arouse their faint or flight reaction. At the other end of the pasture, I climbed the fence again. I spotted what I thought was the bulk of Mrs. Winkleson’s rose compound to my left and paused for a few minutes to see if I could detect anything out of the ordinary there. I could see a number of small, luminous white spots where the white roses were blooming, but no sign of movement. I turned back toward the direction the light had come from and trudged through the woods.

  Apparently this was only a thin fringe of woods between two pastures, but it was spooky enough, with vine-laden trees looming above and small rivulets of water showering down whenever I shook the leaves overhead. I paused to listen when I got to the point where the woods gave way to open field.

  At first, nothing. Then I heard a low moo to my left. I crept forward a foot or two and peered through the drizzle.

  A little farther along the treeline I spotted a large, rectangular shape with a small, more rounded shape stuck to one side. After a few moments I realized I was looking at a large truck.

  Another moo, and I spotted a cow moving up a ramp into the truck, its white belted middle gleaming faintly.

  I doubted Mrs. Winkleson or Mr. Darby had arranged for the Belties to take any midnight outings. More probably, some enterprising cattle rustlers were hoping to take advantage of the confusion following the murder and attempted murder. I felt sure I was getting closer to learning what had happened to the missing farm animals.

  “Any more?” a voice said, from somewhere near the truck.

  Another voice answered, but too softly for me to make out the words. If I crept closer, perhaps I could recognize the speakers, or at least get a good look at them. Even get the truck’s license plate number. Then I could slip back into the woods and call Chief Burke to—

  Brrrring!

  My cell phone.

  Chapter 35

  “What’s that?” the voice from the truck said.

  Cursing silently, I retreated into the woods, fumbling at my pocket to get the cell phone out, dropping the flashlight in the process.

  “Leave that and let’s get out of here!” the voice said.

  The cell phone rang again as I was finally pulling it out. I heard several metal slamming noises— no doubt the ramp being slid back into its slot and the truck’s doors slamming closed. A great rumbling motor started up, drowning out the final half-ring my phone made before I punched the off button.

  The truck began lurching away. I fumbled around for my flashlight, found it, then thought better of using it. No doubt the truck was already too far away for me to read the license number. I decided to put some distance between myself and where I’d been the last time my cell phone rang, since I didn’t know how many people were with the truck or, more important, whether they’d all left with it or whether anyone had stayed behind to silence an inconvenient witness. I dodged through the underbrush for a few yards, then took shelter under the drooping branches of a large cedar tree.

  The sound of the truck faded into the distance, and all was quiet. Nothing appeared to be moving, except for the cedar tree, which dropped large dollops of cold water on various parts of my body at random intervals.

  After a few minutes, I turned my phone back on and changed the ring to vibrate. I glanced at the little screen. I’d missed a call from Michael. Not surprising. Despite my reputation as a night owl, most people would hesitate to call me after midnight unless it was an emergency. He had probably forgotten how early I had to be up and called to give me a postmortem on Millard! The Musical!

  I’d call him back as soon as I could. For now, I needed to call the chief. I figured if he wasn’t still up at the house he couldn’t have gone far. I dialed his cell phone.

  “Something wrong?”

  Not the most gracious way to answer the phone, but no doubt he’d seen my name on the caller ID and knew this wasn’t a social call. I wasted no time on amenities either.

  “I think someone’s stealing Mrs. Winkleson’s Belties,” I said. “I’m up in—”

  “Her what?”

  “Her cows. The black and white cows. Belted Galloways, or Belties for short. I thought I saw someone out behind the barns, so I looked around, and I stumbled across someone— two someones, actually— loadin
g cows into a big truck. They fled when they heard my cell phone ring and realized someone was spying on them.”

  A brief silence.

  “You normally leave your cell phone on while you’re spying on people?”

  “I was about to call you to report them,” I said. It was only a slight exaggeration. “And who expects to get a call after midnight, for heaven’s sake?”

  “Where are you?” he asked,

  “In a pasture somewhere,” I said. “Go across the goat pasture, take a right at the rose compound, walk into the woods, and when you come out of the woods, that’s where I am. And where the truck was.”

  I heard him repeating my instructions, and then I heard Sammy say, “Yes, sir!”

  “Stay where you are,” the chief said to me. “Sammy’s coming to find you. And keep this line open. If you see anything threatening, speak up.”

  “Right.”

  “Could they have been heading for the back entrance?”

  “Since I have no idea where I am or where the back entrance is, your guess is as good as mine,” I said. “They were heading away from the house and barns— that’s all I know.”

  I heard the chief giving orders— probably on his police radio, from the occasional snippets I caught of static-laden replies.

  Suddenly I saw something moving toward me. I yelped slightly in surprise before I realized that it was two cows approaching me.

  “What’s wrong?” the chief snapped.

  “The cows,” I said.

  “What about the cows? What’s happening?”

  I didn’t answer because I wasn’t quite sure what the cows were up to. Were Belties territorial, like the black swans? Mischievous like goats? Or merely curious? I wasn’t sure whether to run or stand my ground, and settled for bracing my back against a tree and staying put. The two Belties stopped about two feet away and stood as if expecting me to do something.

  I reached out and scratched one behind the ear. She grunted contentedly. The other cow butted my shoulder gently.

  “Meg! What’s wrong?”

  “The cows were just lonely,” I said. “I’m fine.”

  Though I wasn’t sure how fine I would be if I stopped petting the cows. After all, however meek they were, they outweighed me by a ton. And they were beef cows, not dairy. Did that make them more fierce? I figured out a way to hold my cell phone and still keep a few fingers free for scratching. At least it wasn’t actually raining, although I had the feeling it was going to start raining again any minute, and hoped someone would show up before it did. I was still petting both cows when Sammy appeared after what was probably only a few minutes but felt like years.

  “Meg! Are you okay?’

  “I’ll be fine if you can convince these cows that the petting zoo is closed for the night.”

  Sammy, who was raised on a farm, seemed to have no trouble shooing the over-friendly Belties away.

  The chief and Horace showed up shortly afterward. The three of them spent quite a while inspecting the part of the pasture where I’d seen the truck loading. At least I hoped I’d pointed to the right part of the pasture. They milled around for fifteen minutes or so, pointing their flashlights this way and that way. I saw multiple flashes of light from Horace’s digital camera. Eventually, Horace came back my way.

  “Rain’s working for us this time,” he said. “Enough hoof prints for us to tell that they got away with several other cows, and I should be able to get some very clear tire impressions.”

  I couldn’t see his face, but from his voice I suspected he was smiling ear to ear. He trudged off into the rain as the chief and Sammy strolled up.

  “Where’s Horace going?” I asked.

  “To get the stuff he needs to make some castings of the tire impressions.” The chief opened his trunk, pulled out a folded tarp, and handed it to Sammy. “Cover them up good,” he said. “In case the heavens open again before Horace gets back.”

  “Right, chief.”

  “So,” the chief said, turning to me. “You just happened to be wandering around near the back entrance to Mrs. Winkleson’s farm in the middle of the night.”

  “Are we near the back entrance?” I said. “I’ve never seen it.”

  “Then what are you doing out here?”

  “I was down at the barns, getting into my car, and I just happened to see a light over here,” I said. “I think they had the headlights on when they drove up and then realized it was a bad idea.”

  I gave him chapter and verse on what I’d been doing since I left the party. Midway through, the rain started up again, and we moved into his car. Horace arrived soon thereafter, leaning out the window of his truck to make up for his missing windshield wipers. As I answered questions, I watched him rig up a makeshift tent over his chosen tire tracks.

  Another police car pulled up and another officer stepped out and squelched over to where Horace was working.

  “I’ll leave them to it for the time being and take you back to your vehicle,” the chief said, turning on the ignition. “Just one more thing. Does this have anything to do with what your grandfather and Caroline Willner have been up to this afternoon?”

  “I have no idea,” I said. “What have they been up to?”

  “Good question,” he said. But he didn’t answer it.

  “I was wondering myself if this had anything to do with the dognapping,” I said. “And if either the dognapping or the cattle rustling had anything to do with the attempts on Mrs. Winkleson’s life.”

  “Also good questions,” he said, again without answering.

  The whole way back to my car, he carried on a conversation with Debbie Ann, the dispatcher, about where on his desk to find some paperwork he wanted faxed to the State Bureau of Investigation ASAP. He dropped me beside my car and wished me a polite, if curt, good night.

  Once I was safely in my car, I dug in the backseat and found one of the cans of Diet Coke I’d thrown in in case I needed a caffeine boost during the day.

  I started at a tap on my window. The chief. I rolled the window down.

  “Trouble starting your car?” he asked.

  I held up the can.

  “Trouble starting me,” I said. “A little caffeine to get me home.”

  I popped the top, took a deep swig, and tucked the can in the cup holder. The chief waited until I’d fastened my seat belt, and started the engine before he drove off. Back to the new crime scene, I assumed.

  This might have nothing at all to do with the day’s first crime scene, I thought, as I turned my car around to head for the gate. Maybe the cattle rustlers just happened to pick to night for their raid even before the events of today. Maybe they’d picked it for the weather. Even when it wasn’t raining, the cloud cover made visibility even lower than at the dark of the moon. Maybe they’d heard about the murder and the poisoning and decided to take advantage of the resulting confusion.

  Or did the stolen cows have anything to do with why someone kept trying to kill Mrs. Winkleson?

  I’d interrogate my grandfather and Caroline tomorrow. And maybe—

  My hip vibrated. I stopped to fumble in my pocket for the cell phone. Michael, of course.

  “I didn’t wake you, did I?” he said, not even bothering with hello. “I completely forgot how late it was.” Behind him I could hear the cheerful babble of voices.

  “I was up,” I said. “Are you in a bar?”

  “Restaurant. We’ve been celebrating the death of Millard! The Musical! On the whole, our protégé is taking it philosophically. Of course, you’d be philosophical too if you’d had six martinis with only a single slice of pizza as ballast. Where are you?”

  “In my car, about to head home,” I said.

  “You haven’t been working all this time on that silly rose show!”

  “No, I’ve been up because someone tried to poison Mrs. Winkleson at the cocktail party, and then I stumbled on thieves attempting to steal her Belties.”

  “Belties? Is that some kind
of geriatric unmentionable?”

  “Belties, Belted Galloways. Those black-and-white cows.”

  “Seriously? You foiled some cattle rustlers?”

  “Not really,” I said. “They got at least one cow. Maybe more. I have no idea if the police will be able to follow them. But I did rescue two cows.”

  “Awesome!”

  Clearly Michael had been celebrating with a few martinis of his own and was in the mood to talk. Normally I don’t drive while on the cell phone, but I decided to make an exception. I put the phone on speaker, used a piece of duct tape from my tote to strap it to the dashboard, and drove slowly home, sipping my soda while I filled Michael in on the events of the past six or seven hours.

  In spite of the caffeine and Michael’s conversation, I was half asleep by the time I reached the house. Still, before dragging myself upstairs, I went through the kitchen to make sure Spike was safely asleep in his crate. He must have had a lively day. He didn’t even wake up when I shoved a dog biscuit through the mesh in the door.

  “I hope Mimi—” I began, and then stopped myself. What did I hope for Mimi? I had been about to say “comes home safe and sound as soon as possible.” But was Mrs. Winkleson’s chilly, forbidding house much of a home for a little dog? Maybe the best thing for Mimi would be to escape her dognappers and find her way to someone who wouldn’t know a pedigreed Maltese from a pound puppy. Someone who would take her in and treat her with the kindness and affection that might have been sadly absent from her life so far.

  “I hope it turns out okay for Mimi,” I said finally. With that vague wish running through my mind, I stumbled upstairs, fell into bed, and slept as if drugged.

  Chapter 36

  I wasn’t fond of five a.m. on normal days, and I liked it even less on the morning of the rose show. Since I hadn’t remembered to set my alarm the night before, I wouldn’t have seen it at all if Rose Noire hadn’t taken her life into her hands by shaking me awake. Later, when I’d ingested enough caffeine to return to civility, I’d apologize for the rude, though heartfelt things I’d said to her.