Swan for the Money: A Meg Langslow Mystery

scampered along at Dr. Blake’s heels, being rather better behaved than usual. Perhaps he was just entranced by all the fascinating new smells the barn had to offer. I was about to warn Dr. Blake not to let Spike roll in any manure, but then I realized that unless Spike got into a stall immediately after one of the horses had produced some, he probably wasn’t going to havethe chance. The barn was cleaner than most of my house. Did Mr. Darby do it all, or did he have an army of stable boys hidden out of sight somewhere?
    In spite of the presence of the horses, the barn seemed more of a show place than a place where animals really lived and breathed. Maybe it was the absence of the usual clutter of bridles, combs, buckets, pitchforks, horse medicines, and other equine paraphernalia. All those things were probably here, hidden behind the pristine, glossy-black doors of the cabinets built into the walls at intervals, but I was too busy to grab one of the black wrought-iron cabinet handles and see. Luckily, Caroline was trailing behind, poking into all of them.
    “Domestic animals aren’t my specialty,” Dr. Blake said, as we were finishing up the last horse. “Is this business of keeping them indoors all day typical?”
    “Typical?” Mr. Darby said. “No. Silly, but not unheard of. She’s not the only horse own er who worries more about frivolities like color than essentials, like proper feed and medical care. But at least she doesn’t nickel and dime me on what they need. As long as the horses are still coal black and beautiful, she could care less what she spends on them. I can get the best feed, have Dr. Rutledge out as often as they need him. When we found some jimson weed in their pasture, she let me call a service in to clear it up. She’s peculiar as all get-out, but not stingy.”
    “That’s good,” my grandfather said. “And you certainly have a first-rate barn.”
    Mr. Darby nodded.
    “If I could just keep her away from the thermostat, I could rest easy about the horses,” he said.
    Just about the horses? Did that mean there were other animals he didn’t rest easy about? I could tell from the look on his face that my grandfather wanted to ask the same question.
    “So you have to work hard to keep the horses from getting pneumonia,” Dr. Blake said, finally. “Any worries about the other animals?”
    Mr. Darby scowled.
    “Tell you the truth, I wish to hell I could keep her away from the goats.”
    “Away from the goats?” I repeated. “What’s she doing to them?”
    Mr. Darby sighed.
    “Long story,” he said. “Easier if I show you.”
    He led the way back to the other end of the barn, retrieved his bucket, and went out into the courtyard again. Caroline strolled along beside him and was peppering him with questions about the horses. I reclaimed Spike from my grandfather and fell into step beside him. We seemed to be going the long way around. Why not just walk through the goat barn, instead of circumnavigating it? But perhaps he was trying to stay out of Horace and Sammy’s way. Or, for that matter, away from Mrs. Winkleson.
    As we walked, I gave Rob a quick call.
    “Everything okay out at the gate?” I asked.
    “Everything’s great,” he said. “Nothing out here but black sheep. I feel right at home. Oh, here comes the first car. Oops, false alarm. It’s just the stalker again.”
    “Stalker?”
    “Some guy who came by and slowed down as if he was going to turn in, and then when I stepped out to greet him, he spedup again and went on. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it if he didn’t just do the same thing on his way back.”
    “Maybe he’s one of my volunteers,” I said. “What’s he look like?”
    “Middle-aged white guy in a blue Lexus. Got a really long nose, like Pinocchio after he’s told a few whoppers.”
    That didn’t ring a bell, but I didn’t know all the rose growers that well, much less their vehicles.
    “Just make sure no one gets in unless they’re on the list or cleared with me,” I said. “And if the stalker comes by again, try to get the license plate. Remember, there’s been a dognapping and—”
    “I know, I know. I tried to read the license plate when he came by just now, but it was so caked with mud I couldn’t. But if you like, I’ll call the chief.”
    “Do that,” I said.
    “Roger.”
    I breathed a little easier.
    “This is the way to the goats?” Dr. Blake was asking Mr. Darby. He sounded a little