Swan for the Money: A Meg Langslow Mystery

approval. The county’s acting medical examiner had developed a taste for the supernatural, and had begun habitually wearing a black cloak with a red satin lining, looking like a refugee from an old-fashioned horror film.
    Then again, the last time I’d made assumptions about someonein a black cape I’d been dead wrong. I began strolling toward the figure.
    The chief caught up with me halfway and handed me my cell phone.
    “Thanks,” he said. “Did you call Smoot?”
    I shook my head.
    “Probably listening to his police radio again,” the chief grumbled. “Can’t seem to get it through his head that we’ll call him if we need him. Been showing up whenever there’s a 911 call, scaring people to death with that vampire getup and that old-timey hearse he’s taken to driving.”
    I noticed he kept his voice down so Smoot couldn’t hear him.
    Dr. Smoot turned to greet us as we neared the fence.
    “Now this is what I call a proper crime scene,” he announced. “Plenty of room to work in.”
    Chief Burke closed his eyes, as if counting quickly to ten. He knew, of course, that what Dr. Smoot really liked was the fact that the crime scene was outdoors. Dr. Smoot was a severe claustrophobe, and tended to have panic attacks when asked to examine a body in any indoor space smaller than a ballroom. He was gazing over the flat field toward the distant tree line with great satisfaction.
    “Yes, very nice,” the chief said. “Unfortunately, you’ve come all this way for nothing. We don’t have a body, at the moment. We just sent the victim off to the hospital. You’ll have to catch up with her there. More convenient anyway if you end up having to do a post mortem.”
    “Oh.” Dr. Smoot’s face fell. Clearly he wasn’t enamored ofthe idea of a visit to the county morgue. Of course, the one or two times I’d been there, I’d felt a little claustrophobic myself, but I’d have thought with Dr. Smoot’s keen appreciation of all things funereal and supernatural he’d find the morgue a congenial place, even if it did have four walls.
    “Well, they’ll do what they can for her at the hospital,” he said, finally. “No rush. As long as I’m here, I might as well see if I can help out in any way.”
    Chief Burke didn’t look overjoyed at the offer.
    “There’s still the search for the missing Maltese,” I said. “I imagine the chief will have to pull his officers off that to solve the attempted murder, so perhaps you could help out with that.”
    “Maybe I can take a look at her vampire horses,” Dr. Smoot added, with a gleam in his eye.

Chapter 21
     
     
     
     
    “Vampire horses?” the chief echoed. He stared at Dr. Smoot with dismay. More dismay than usual.
    “She has a bunch of horses that she doesn’t let out in the daytime,” I said. “Because she doesn’t want the sun to fade their perfect black coats.”
    “So she says,” Dr. Smoot intoned. “But has anyone tested this?”
    “Tested it?” the chief repeated.
    “What are you planning to do?” I asked. “Wave garlic at them? Sprinkle them with holy water?”
    “Just walk them outside in the sun,” Dr. Smoot said. “See what happens.”
    “Not much sun right now,” I said, glancing up at the clouds that looked ready to rain again at any moment. “Wouldn’t be much of a test.”
    “It’s daylight that does the trick, not actual sunshine,” Dr. Smoot said.
    “You should probably check with Mrs. Winkleson’s farm manager before you bother the horses,” I said.
    “Right, right. Where are they, anyway?”
    I shrugged. The chief stared impassively at him. Dr. Smoot sighed, pulled his cape around him, and strode off.
    The chief watched him go with a frown on his face.
    “Damn fool thing, showing up at my crime scenes in costume,” he muttered.
    “Chief?”
    We turned to see Horace, wearing his tatty gorilla suit and holding a pitchfork, standing nearby with a stricken look on his face. He looked like one half of a gorilla-themed parody of “American Gothic.”
    “Oh, not you, Horace,” the chief said. “It’s Smoot. Gets on my nerves.”
    “I don’t normally wear the suit when I’m on duty,” Horace said, “but—”
    “And since you’re a volunteer and were off-duty when we called on you, you can wear what you like,” the chief said. “I appreciate your helping out. Did you need me for something?”
    “I can go and change,” Horace said.
    “Horace,” the chief said. “I don’t have a problem with