Swan for the Money: A Meg Langslow Mystery

of 1850: A Tragedy of American History . Now it’s Millard! The Musical! With two exclamation points no less.”
    “Actually, that sounds as if it could be an improvement.”
    “I doubt it. According to a review we read on the way up, the only halfway hummable tune in the whole show is a ballad about the Wilmot Proviso.”
    “Oh, dear.”
    “And since we’re all professors, and hate to admit ignorance of anything, even if it’s not in our field, now we’re all frantically trying to pretend we know what the Wilmot Proviso is and what it has to do with Fillmore. You don’t happen to know, do you?”
    “Actually, yes,” I said. “It was a law that was supposed to outlaw slavery in any territory the U.S. acquired from Mexico. Introduced several times in the 1840s but never passed. Often cited as one of the earliest signs of the split that eventually resulted in the Civil War. Not exactly what I’d call ballad fodder, but you never know.”
    “I should have called you when the subject first came up.”
    “I wouldn’t know the first thing about it if I hadn’t helped one of the nephews with a term paper last semester. Which reminds me: can you bring me—”
    “Ms. Langslow?”
    I looked up from the phone to find the chief looking expectantly at me. What now?

Chapter 19
     
     
     
     
    “I’ll be off the phone in just a moment,” I told the chief.
    He nodded, smiled, and assumed a visibly patient expression. He did not, however, move out of earshot.
    “Bring you what?” Michael asked.
    “Some cheesecake,” I said. “Remember that deli where we had such good cheesecake? You don’t get cheesecake like that down here.”
    “I don’t actually remember where that deli was.”
    “But there’s good cheesecake all over New York,” I said. “Maybe you can ask your student for a recommendation.”
    “Will do,” he said. “Talk to you later.”
    We said our good-byes, and I hung up
    “What can I do for you?” I asked the chief.
    “One of my officers found Mrs. Sechrest’s car behind some bushes along a lane that runs around the other side of the farm,” the chief said. “Pretty impossible to get good tracks after all this rain, but it looks as if she hid her car there, snuck in the back way, and was making her way toward the house when she was attacked.”
    “Why do you suppose she did that?” I said.
    He sighed.
    “I was hoping you could tell me,” he said. “Was she on your list of volunteers?”
    “No, but Mother was going to call around to guilt trip a few more people into helping. Maybe she talked Mrs. Sechrest into coming. You could ask her. Mother, I mean. Or Mrs. Sechrest if—when—she regains consciousness.”
    He nodded.
    “Only that’s not likely to happen, is it?” I blurted out. “We all keep correcting ourselves, saying ‘attacker’ instead of ‘killer’ and sticking attempted in front of murder, and using the present tense when we talk about Mrs. Sechrest, but we’re not really expecting her to pull through, are we?”
    The chief sighed slightly and tightened his lips.
    “Any of your other volunteers come in the back way?” he asked.
    Okay, I wasn’t really expecting an answer to my question. Or maybe I’d already gotten my answer.
    “Not that I know of,” I said aloud. “But I’m sure more of them would have if they’d known there was a back entrance. People were getting really tired of waiting for the front gate. It was supposed to have been left open for the volunteers, but Mrs. Winkleson forgot about that, or changed her mind after the dognapping, and at one time we had at least a dozen vehicles stacked up and waiting for up to half an hour.”
    “I know,” he said. “Remember, Minerva and I were trying to get in to help out.”
    “That’s right,” I said. “Anyway, maybe she knew the back way and decided to avoid the crowd.”
    “The back way into the farm, or into the house?”
    “Either.” I shrugged. “Both. Who knows?”
    He frowned and looked down at his notebook.
    “Sorry,” I said. “I wish I could be more help, but I don’t actually know everything about Mrs. Winkleson and her farm. Just what I’ve learned over the last couple of months while planning the rose show.”
    “You probably know more about her than anyone, actually,” the chief said. “At least anyone who’s willing to talk to me.”
    “What about her staff?”
    “Darby claims he doesn’t pay attention to anything but the animals,” the chief said.