Swan for the Money: A Meg Langslow Mystery
through both barns. They looked ready for tomorrow. In the show barn, row after row of tables covered with spotless white tablecloths stood ready to receive the entries. The little black and white plastic category tags were all in place along the front edges of the tables. At the far end ofthe room was the table where the winners would be displayed. A few of the trophies were already on display there, mainly ones that had no great material value. The rest of the trophies, including all the silver cups, gold medals, Waterford bowls, and other objects that a thief might find of interest, were still locked up at my house. I checked my notebook to make sure “load trophies” was on my action list for the morning.
In the other barn the tables were covered with white plastic tablecloths, and each already held a dozen large and half a dozen small glass vases. At the far end, several tables held more regimented rows of vases, along with a supply of tags, black pens, and other paraphernalia that the exhibitors might need while prepping their roses.
In one corner was a table that I hoped wouldn’t still be there in the morning. At it, the three volunteers sat, laboriously blotting out the offending extra R from Mrs. Winkleson’s name. I paused by their table.
They had one program— possibly the one on which I’d demonstrated the ink blot technique— propped up in front of them and were referring to it constantly. How hard can it be to fake an ink blot? But I suppose they wanted to make sure the ink blots were sufficiently identical to be plausible. It looked as if they’d completed about thirty programs, and a nearby trash-can contained the crumpled or torn up remains of at least that many. At this rate, they’d be here all night.
“When you’re ready to leave, could you call Mr. Darby to lock up behind you?” I said. I pulled a piece of torn-up program out of the trash can and wrote his cell phone number on it.
“Of course,” one of them said. “In fact, we were going toknock off very soon, put in a token appearance at the party, and take the rest of these home to finish to night.”
“Great,” I said. I think I even managed to sound as if I meant it. Someone had abducted a harmless animal, someone— possibly the same someone— had killed an equally harmless woman, and they were worried about a silly typo.
Time for me to go home and collapse. Or time for me to spruce up a bit and make my own token appearance at the party. I was leaning toward the former. But maybe I’d feel better by the time I drove up to the house. And then—
My cell phone rang.
“Meg?” It was Horace. “Um . . . we could use some help over here.”
Chapter 24
“What kind of help?” I asked. And where are you.”
“We’re in the goat pa— I mean at the crime scene,” Horace said. “It’s kind of hard to explain.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Didn’t Mr. Darby remove the goats?”
“Yes, thanks. But you know those giant mutant black swans Mrs. Winkleson has on her pond?”
“They’re not giant mutant swans. That’s the size swans usually are,” I said. “Just keep your distance from them.”
“That’s what I told Dr. Smoot,” Horace said. “But one of them just showed up here at our crime scene and he tried to shoo it away.”
“Bad idea.”
“Yeah, we noticed. Is there something we can do to make them go away?”
“Is Mr. Darby still around?”
“No, he left with the goats.”
Just then I saw Mr. Darby stumble by the open door of the barn.
“Hang on,” I said. “Mr. Darby!”
He waved, and strolled inside. I put my phone on speaker.
“I took care of the goats,” he said. “I’m heading back to—”
“We have another small problem,” I said. “Now it’s the swans menacing the crime scene. How can we make them go away?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never tried. Evil monsters, those swans. The only thing to do is wait until they go away on their own. I told you that when one of them was sitting on your car, remember?”
“Did you get that, Horace?” I asked.
“Yes, but we can’t just wait for it to leave. It knocked Dr. Smoot down, and it’s still standing on top of him. He thinks his arm is broken. Dr. Smoot, that is.”
I looked back at Mr. Darby, who shook his head hopelessly.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Meg?”
“Snopes.com will love hearing about this,” I said, as I opened my eyes. “I understand
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