Swan for the Money: A Meg Langslow Mystery

of me to clear the way, I made my way slowly down the road toward the house. Unfortunately, people were starting to arrive for the party, and they began stacking up behind me. Since we could only move at the pace Horace could manage, walking backwards in his gorilla suit, we were at the head of a considerable parade by the time we passed the bottom of the marble steps leading to the house. I drove on past the steps, followed the road down to the shore of the lake, and parked near the dock.
    “I’ll go up to the house and see what Dr. Blake suggests,” Horace said.
    “Thanks,” I called back. I settled down to wait. Maybe my grandfather would have some plan for coaxing the swan off the truck. Or maybe the swan would eventually get tired and go for a swim.
    I settled down to wait it out. At least I had a great excuse for skipping the cocktail party. I closed my eyes and was just dropping off to sleep when my cell phone rang.
    It was Michael.

Chapter 25
     
     
     
     
    “Hello, beautiful,” he said. “How are you? And how are the rose show preparations going?”
    “The preparations are done, at least what could be done today,” I said. “Which is a good thing, because right now I’m being held hostage by a swan.”
    A pause.
    “A real swan? Or is this one of your cousin Horace’s friends?”
    “A real swan. Dr. Smoot thinks it’s the murderer, but the rest of us aren’t buying it. It’s just mating season.”
    “The swan is holding you hostage because it’s mating season? I’m liking this less and less.”
    “Don’t worry, they’re not after me , they’re just defending their territory. And actually, this is the most peace and quiet I’ve had all afternoon.”
    I gave him the Cliff Notes version of my day. As we talked, the swan grew quiet. Maybe a little too quiet. The last thing I wanted was for the silly thing to go to sleep on the hood of Horace’s truck. And where was Horace with the rescue party anyway?
    “So how much longer are you going to sit around watching the swan?” Michael asked.
    “That depends on how much longer the swan stays,” I said. “I’m in no hurry. If I escape in time to get to the cocktail party, I’ll have to be polite to Mrs. Winkleson, and I’m not sure I can.”
    “You’d think the shock of having someone try to kill her would slow her down a bit,” he said. “On top of the shock of having her dog abducted.”
    “Not her. She seems more outraged than terrified by the attempted murder, and the dog hardly registers on her emotional barometer. I think I’m more upset about it than she is. Which reminds me. While you’re there could you bring me—”
    “What? Sorry,” Michael said. “I’ve got to sign off. Curtain’s going up.”
    “Now? It’s only six. I thought Broadway shows started at eight.”
    “Yeah, but this is way, way off Broadway, and apparently they have to start it this early to get us out by midnight. I’ll call you when it’s over.”
    With that, he hung up. I settled back into my seat and contemplated the swan. Even though it was still a couple of hours till sunset, the swan had tucked its head under its wing and appeared to be going to sleep.
    I watched it for another fifteen minutes. No movement.
    I pulled the keys out of the ignition and gently cracked open the door.
    No reaction from the swan.
    I eased the door open, slid down from the truck, and pushed the door almost closed. I figured actually closing it wasn’t essential. Even if the dozen or so police officers on the premisesdidn’t deter potential thieves, the swan would be standing sentry.
    I backed carefully away from the truck. In fact, I backed until I rounded a corner and was out of sight. Then I turned around and walked briskly the rest of the way to the house, looking over my shoulder anxiously every minute or two.
    I found myself wondering whether the swans’ aggressiveness could have anything to do with Mimi’s disappearance. If the dog had gotten loose and ventured into the swans’ territory . . .
    I decided not to think about that possibility. At least not until I could ask someone knowledgeable, like Dad, or Dr. Blake, whether swans had been known to attack small mammals.
    When I got to the marble steps, I saw Dr. Smoot’s vintage hearse parked there. Puzzling. Why not just take him to the hospital in that? And an ambulance had joined it. The back doors of the ambulance were open, and the two EMTs were sitting inside, nibbling hors d’oeuvres from