Swan with the Wind (Bought-the-Farm Mystery Book 9)

by Ellen Riggs

“House in Wyldwood Springs?” Jilly interrupted. “My best summers were spent there with you, Gran, but I haven’t shared the tall tales, yet.”

  “Why on earth not, Jillian? You two have been friends since college. And with all that’s happened since rescuing that dog, it’s clear Ivy can handle herself.”

  “I roll with what comes,” I said. “How about you fill me in on what’s happening here while we go meet the swan, Bridie?”

  “All right, then,” she said as we reached the road. Her smile was back but the fact that she set off in bedroom slippers told me she was more flustered than she let on.

  “Gran.” Jilly gestured toward the slippers.

  “Oh my goodness,” she said. “The Mighties would have a field day with that.”

  “The Mighties?” Jilly asked, as Bridie went back up the drive and slipped her feet into a pair of sandals sitting on a rack by the door. They had floppy white leather daisies on top, which sealed the deal on the hippy look.

  “The High-and-Mighties. Mighties for short,” Bridie said, joining us again. “The clique that can demolish your reputation in three seconds flat.”

  “Sounds like Clover Grove,” I said. “Or any small town, I suppose.”

  “The Briars is a small town, for good and for ill,” she said, leading us down the road. “It’s barely six a.m., yet I guarantee people are already talking about your overalls, Ivy.”

  I laughed. “I’m used to gossip.”

  A frown battled with her smile and won. “You’ve never experienced gossip till you’ve gotten on the wrong side of the Mighties. The impact can be… catastrophic.”

  “Are you on their wrong side, Gran?” Jilly asked.

  “Today, yes. I ride the line with wobbles either way. If you manage to vanquish the swan, it might push me back over.” Now she grinned for the first time and it made her look years younger. “No pressure.”

  “We’re good under pressure,” I said. “All of us.”

  Up ahead a woman took her time collecting the newspaper from the end of her driveway.

  “Mighty?” Jilly asked.

  “One of the Mightiest,” Bridie said, lifting her hand in a merry wave. “That’s Cherise Heatherington, and greeting you first will be a badge of honor for her.”

  Cherise was wearing a fuchsia jumpsuit with a long zipper. It was an ambitious choice for someone who was well over 80 and nowhere near as robust as our apocalyptic octogenarians back home. Her flyaway hair and sloppy makeup suggested speedy preparation. Opalescent pink lipstick was colored way outside the lines.

  Bridie made the introductions while Cherise blatantly appraised us through oversized glasses with green sparkly frames.

  “Hello, girls,” she said. “Jillian, you’re the spitting image of your grandmother, I must say. Roland always says Bridie could stop a clock.”

  It was light enough now to see color rising in Bridie’s cheeks. “Roland is Cherise’s husband,” she said. “He’s kind to all the ladies.”

  “Some more than others,” Cherise said. “All more than me, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, Cherise,” Bridie said. “Rollie is devoted to you. But the ratio of women to men here would turn anyone’s head.”

  “It’s at least ten to one,” Cherise said. “Our dance nights are interesting, girls.”

  “Dance nights?” Jilly asked. “Sounds like fun.”

  “We have a full calendar, thanks to our volunteer social convenor, Charlotte Greenwich,” Bridie said. “She never stops.”

  “Never stops talking, you mean,” Cherise said. “Honestly, I don’t know how Lottie gets anything done with all her poking around.”

  “Yet she accomplishes so much for us. There’s never a day without an activity.” Bridie turned and gave Jilly and me an exaggerated smile. “Busy seniors are happy seniors.”

  “Apparently,” Cherise said. Her eyes dropped to stare at Keats, who stared right back. His tail and ears had drooped. “What a strange dog. You do know we have a no-pets policy here, girls?”

  “A rule with exceptions,” Bridie said. “It would be cruel to part people from the pets they owned before coming. The rule really applies to new pets, Cherise.”

  “Informally. On the books, it’s still the law of the Briars. And this one”—she gestured at Keats—“makes me uncomfortable.”

  “We won’t be here long, Mrs. Heatherington,” I said. “Keats and Percy, my cat, are a big help in dealing with disruptive animals, so I’m hoping we can sort out this cranky swan problem together.”

  “Good luck with that.” Cherise let her glasses slide down her nose. “That flapping monster chased my Rollie and knocked him over yesterday.”

  “Throwing rocks wasn’t Rollie’s best idea,” Bridie said. “I guess he didn’t realize how fast swans can move.”

  Cherise gave a grunt. “He learned that lesson with the alligator. Sometimes men like to push their limits.”

  “Alligator?” Jilly’s voice was a little raspy. “There are alligators here?”

  “It’s sub-tropical and similar to the everglades,” Cherise said. “All kinds of creatures lie in wait.”

  Tugging each of us by the sleeve, Bridie said, “We’ll speak again soon, Cherise. Looks like we have a few stops on our way to the pond.”

  Indeed, half a dozen women were already outside, moving at a snail’s pace to gather their newspapers. That probably had less to do with age than meeting us as we passed.

  Bridie kept up a brisk clip, calling out greetings while trying to keep our little parade moving. One woman hurried down the driveway leaning on an ornately carved wooden cane.

  “Stop right there, Bridie Brighton,” she called, waving the cane. “I want to meet this granddaughter of yours and her swan whisperer friend.”

  “I’m hardly an expert,” I said, after Bridie introduced us to Elsie Cornwall. The woman’s hair was so decidedly mauve that it had to be a choice, rather than an accident. She was wearing a floral caftan that was as roomy and garish as my artist friend Teri Mason’s collection back home. “I hope I can help.”

  “Oh, you can, sweetheart,” Elsie said. “It’s in the cards.”

  “The cards?” I asked.

  “I do tarot readings. I’m sure Bridie’s already told you. My accuracy rate is considered the best in the Briars. Give me an hour and I’ll prove it to you.”

  Bridie pinched my arm in the way Jilly often did and spoke for me. “Ivy doesn’t believe in such things, Elsie. She’s a simple farmer.”

  “I’m always curious, Mrs. Cornwall,” I said. “I’ll take you up on that offer another time.”

  “Wonderful,” she said. “A sensible girl, not a simple girl.”

  “Not simple at all,” Jilly said, and it was nice to see one of her brilliant smiles. They’d been in short supply, and I relied on them like sunshine. Vitamin Jilly offered a constant infusion of optimism.

  “I’m sure I can provide you girls with sufficient insight,” Bridie said. “There have been messages from beyond.”

  “Gran,” Jilly said. “It’s not a competition.”

  “Sweetheart,” Elsie said, “it’s always a competition around here. Everyone thinks she has some sort of insider knowledge about the future or the past. Tea leaves, trances, crystal balls, you name it.”

  “There’s precious little to predict around here,” Bridie said. “One day looks pretty much like the next. Except for the swan, and no one predicted that.”

  “Don’t forget I saw a bird in a dream last month,” Elsie said. “I mistook it for a raptor, I’m afraid. Visions get a little muddled sometimes.”

  I looked down at Keats, who tipped his head this way and that, taking everything in and standing down on judgment for the moment. His ears were twitching and his tail moderately high. Percy’s posture was also relaxed. They’d slept enough on the drive to make a good showing. Still, Keats was swiveling constantly, checking all sides.

  “What about the men?” I asked. “Don’t they have these abiliti
es?”

  Elsie’s caftaned shoulders rose and fell. “Some probably do, but not my Carlisle. He’d rather mock us, I’m afraid. Men are allergic to woo-woo.”

  Bridie towed us out of earshot. “If Rollie Heatherington had any foresight, he wouldn’t have been mowed down by the swan. His toupee fell off and Charlotte Greenwich got a picture for her next newsletter. Cherise was beside herself.”

  She kept us moving after that, despite many attempts to stop us. One equally fit woman trotted after us down the street.

  “I’m Alice Cheevers,” she said, puffing slightly. “One of Bridie’s best friends, although you wouldn’t know it today.”

  Alice was petite and the only woman we’d seen so far with brown hair. There was a salon on site that probably got steady business.

  “No offence, Alice,” Bridie said. “The girls have been driving all night. I want to give them a quick look at the troublemaker and get them home for a rest. There will be time to socialize later. I bet they’ll join us for bingo tonight.”

  “Absolutely,” Jilly said. “I look forward to chatting with you, Mrs. Cheevers.”

  “Miss,” Alice said as she trotted along. “Never met the right fellow, unfortunately. But you’ll make a beautiful bride, Jilly. I predict it before the year’s out. And fair-haired babies in your arms after that.”

  Jilly’s face practically exploded in flames. “I’m not engaged, Miss Cheevers.”

  “That’s coming very soon.” She pushed back tendrils of dark hair. “I was the first to call this one and my record on romance is stellar. All I had to do was hold a photo of you, although normally I do palms.” She turned thick bifocals on me. “As for you, Ivy, you’re about to be distracted by a handsome ginger.”

  I gestured to Percy. “This one?”

  She laughed. “The one bearing arms, not claws.”

  “No armed gingers for me, thank you. I’ll show you my palm later and I bet you’ll see someone else.”

  Falling back suddenly, Alice let her hands drop and then wrung them. “One more thing,” she called after us. “Ivy, listen to the donkey.”

  “The donkey?” My brow furrowed. “I have several of them back home.”

  Bridie gave a sudden jerk, turning left onto a short dead-end street. “Never mind Alice. I love her dearly but she’s overconfident in her predictions.”

  “So Jilly won’t be marrying soon and having a blond brood?” I asked, grinning.

  “I do hope so,” Bridie said. “There’s rough water to cross first, and we’re almost there.”

  The interruptions weren’t over yet, however. A man of about our age came down a driveway and waved. This time Bridie stopped and smiled. “Well, good morning, Casey. Please meet my granddaughter, Jilly Blackwood, and her friend, Ivy Galloway. Girls, Casey is the owner and property manager for the Briar Estates. Our big boss, as it were.”

  Casey was handsome, with plenty of dark hair and a pleasant smile. “Ladies, I’m just a pawn,” he said. “First to my father, the real owner, and then to the board. I can’t decide what to have for breakfast without extensive consultation.” He looked down at my pets. “No one asked me about these two, for example. I hope they’re well behaved.”

  “Very,” Jilly said, offering him her brightest smile. Casey melted a little under its heat, like most men and any objections he may have had seemed to fade.

  “Were you consulting with Saundra Milby about cereal?” Bridie said, proving herself as nosy as everyone else.

  “Her sprinkler system went haywire overnight. I pulled the darn thing apart before giving up and calling a plumber.” He flexed his hands and rubbed one wrist. “I hate losing, but the cold got to me.” He smiled again. “What brings you ladies out so early?”

  “The girls wanted to see the pond,” Bridie said. “It’s our main attraction, especially since the goldfish arrived. They’re like flashes of fire.”

  “Someone freed them instead of flushing,” Casey said. “And they spread like… well, wildfire. Expect the unexpected at the Briars, you two, and enjoy your stay.”

  “Thanks, and see you soon,” Jilly called, as Bridie pressed forward again.

  “Don’t encourage Casey, dear,” Bridie said. “He’s not in the cards for you. I support Alice’s prediction of blond grandchildren.”

  Tossing Jilly a grin, I let Bridie hurry me along till we reached the end of the road and stepped over a curb onto a well-worn trail. I expected Keats and Percy to frolic ahead as we made our way down the path to the water, but neither one left our sides.

  “Uh-oh.” I pointed at my puffy dog. “Someone’s not thrilled about meeting the swan.”

  The pond looked quite pretty with dawn’s flattering light. Reeds and tall rushes surrounded the oval body of water that was about a quarter of a mile long and half as wide. An old wooden pier that was more picturesque than practical sat off to our right.

  “That dock looks like a deathtrap,” I said. “I’m surprised they keep it around.”

  “It’s quaint,” Bridie said. “At least according to people who like that sort of thing. We put it to a vote at a board meeting, and it stays. There’s a hazard sign, now, at least. You’d think people would avoid it on their own, but some are more capable than others.”

  Keats ran back and forth in front of us and nearly tripped Bridie.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, grabbing her elbow for a change. “He’s trying to keep us safe.”

  “I don’t even see the swan,” Bridie said, scanning the water. Then she spun right around. “It’s snuck up on dry land before and attacked.” She led us closer to the pond. “Dee-Dee Trask took quite a tumble off her walker. Nearly broke a hip. But then, she’s been sanctioned for leaving out poisoned bait for raccoons so who knows what she was doing.”

  “The plot thickens,” I said, slipping past Keats and signaling him to hold the others back. “We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  I squinted at the gleaming water in search of our white, winged adversary. Keats gave a sharp yap of warning just as my right boot started sinking. Water gushed in around the laces and then right overtop as it sank into the silty muck bordering the pond. In seconds I was in over my knees with both feet.

  Keats let out a wail, as if I were about to drop to oblivion.

  “Buddy, I’ve stepped into worse,” I called out.

  Staring around, I saw that might not actually be true.

  Less than two yards away, a body was lodged in weeds.

  Chapter Seven

  I’m not sure if I screamed or not. My throat felt raw as Bridie and Jilly closed in to pull me out of the sludge. Likely Keats had herded them forward to help. They were too focused on their footwork to notice the floating woman.

  “What’s wrong?” Jilly said. “I’ve never seen you get so worked up over mud before.”

  I managed to hoist my arm and point.

  “Oh my gosh!” Jilly said. “Gran, don’t look.”

  Then she hauled both of us back so fast that Bridie lost a sandal, and I tripped and landed on my backside. The ground was mushy in a few spots even yards away from the water. It was like the marshes that dotted our county back home. Sneaky.

  Craning to get a better look, Bridie sucked in so much air that she had a coughing fit. “Girls, do something,” she sputtered. “She needs help.”

  Percy stood well back from the water’s edge making elaborate sweeping gestures with one orange paw. After a few seconds, he switched paws. The classic double litter box maneuver told me this woman was past needing help. Jilly noticed too, and our eyes met.

  “It’s no use, Bridie,” I said, still seated in soggy grass. “She’s gone. And we should leave her exactly as she is till the police come.”

  Jilly fumbled for her phone. “Any idea who it is, Gran?”

  “It looks like Lottie,” Bridie said. “Charlotte Greenwich.” Her voice sounded strangled and she clutched her throat. “I’ve seen that dress before. It always reminded me of my mother’s bedroom
curtains. The swan must have hated the hibiscus print, too. So garish.”

  Jilly glared at her. “Gran, don’t say things like that. It’s no time for jokes.”

  “Oh, I know. I’m just…”

  “In shock,” Jilly said. “Strange things come out of the mouths of shocked people. So let us do the talking when the police arrive.”

  As Jilly spoke to the police on the phone, I looked up at Bridie’s pale face. “We’ve had some experience, unfortunately.”

  “They’ll shoot the swan,” Bridie said. “The board will accept nothing less.”

  That got me up on my feet. I walked over to the decrepit dock and said, “Where is this bird?”

  Almost on cue, a flash of white emerged from the screen of heavy vines on the other side of the pond and the swan swam toward us. Its wings were up and curved in what appeared to be a warrior pose. When the bird came closer, I saw it was a mute swan with its orange beak bordered in black. I’d done a little homework in advance and while they weren’t actually mute, this species tended to be quieter than other swans. Not to mention more aggressive. Special Constable Doug hadn’t been wrong about its impressive size. This bird could swat us like flies.

  “Keats, stay with Jilly and keep an eye on Percy,” I said. “We need to be careful.”

  After a second, I gave the bird a little bow. I don’t know why. It just seemed like the polite thing to do before such a magnificent beast.

  “Did you just curtsy to that bird?” Bridie asked.

  “I was aiming for a bow but my knees are wobbly,” I said. “The point was to show him—or her—that we mean no harm.”

  I looked around for goldfish but if they were there, they’d turned off their high beams.

  “You’d better come back,” Jilly said, dropping the phone in her pocket. “Keats is having a conniption.”

  “The poor dog,” Bridie said, as he skulked over to me when I left the dock. “He’s all busted up about Lottie.”

  Keats shuddered convulsively and I shook my head. “Actually, he’s more busted up about being this close to water. He’s the bravest dog in the world… except when it comes to the bathtub or anything larger. Good thing I packed a life jacket because we might be spending some time down here.”