Swan for the Money: A Meg Langslow Mystery

horribly murdered,” Theobald said. “As soon as I heard, I came right away. I drove all the way from Warrenton.”
    “You’ll no doubt be relieved to know that your aunt is fine,” the chief said. “A little shaken up, to be sure, at having one of her guests murdered right here on the farm, but physically she’s fine. I’m sure she’ll be grateful that you rushed to be at her side in her time of trouble.”
    From the expression on Theobald’s face, I suspected he wasn’t expecting a warm and affectionate welcome from his aunt. Nor had he expressed relief at hearing she was still alive.
    “Perhaps Meg could let your aunt know that you’ve safely arrived,” the chief said. “I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes.”
    Theobald drew himself up and appeared to be trying to regain his composure.
    “Talk to me? Who the devil are you?” he asked.
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “This is Chief Burke, who’s investigating the unfortunate murder that took place here this afternoon.”
    Theobald turned pale. The chief gestured toward the little side parlor that I assumed he was using as his headquarters, and after a few moments of hesitation, Theobald obediently stumbled toward the door.
    “Don’t worry about telling Mrs. Winkleson her nephew’s here,” the chief said, as he turned to follow Theobald. “I’ll take care of that in due time.”
    “So you can see her reaction,” I said, nodding. “Roger.”
    He frowned, and closed the parlor door behind him.
    I was staring at the closed door, pondering this new arrival, when a voice at my shoulder startled me.
    “So who is that guy, anyway? And do you think he did it?”

Chapter 29
     
     
     
     
    Rob was standing in the doorway. Apparently he’d arrived at the house too late to hear who the newest arrival was, but in time to see the chief escorting him off for questioning.
    “Is someone else minding the gate?” I asked him, as he shed his raincoat.
    “One of the deputies,” he said. “Chief’s orders. Okay, if you’re not going to tell me who it is, I’ll make a guess. He’s a reporter, right?”
    “No, he’s Mrs. Winkleson’s nephew,” I said.
    “Probably tried to knock her off to inherit, then,” Rob said, nodding with satisfaction as he snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.
    “He’s hoping to inherit all right, but he only just got here,” I said. “Apparently as soon as he heard the news of the murder, he drove down here from Warrenton, no doubt salivating all the way. He took the news of her non-death hard.”
    “He didn’t just get here,” Rob said. “He was hanging about earlier.”
    “How much earlier?”
    Rob took a meditative sip of his drink before answering.
    “Just after I took over at the gate. Remember I told youabout this guy who cruised by, slowed down, and then drove on past?”
    “The stalker,” I said. “I remember.”
    “That’s why I thought he was a reporter, nosing around. I figured maybe he heard something on the police radio and showed up to snoop. I even called Sammy and Horace to warn them, like you said, in case the guy was just going to drive out of sight and sneak in over the fence.”
    “You’re positive it’s the same guy?”
    “Yeah,” he said. “Who could forget that nose?”
    “But you didn’t let him in?” I asked.
    “If I’d let him in, I’d know who he was, because I’d have asked him. The deputy must have let him in after— wait a minute. I just drove up from the gate. If he came to the gate after the chief replaced me, how’d he beat me here?”
    I strode over to the door of the chief’s interrogation room and knocked.
    After a few moments, the chief peeked out.
    “I’m busy,” he said.
    “I know,” I said, sticking my toe in the door so he couldn’t shut it. “But Rob just told me something you might like to hear as soon as possible.”
    The chief stepped out into the foyer and Rob began stammering out his story. I hoped the chief realized that the air of guilt Rob always wore when talking to law enforcement was a relic of his wayward past, and not a sign of present guilt.
    I heard a small commotion in the living room, so I left them to it and went to see what was happening.
    Everything was just as I’d left it, except that Mrs. Winklesonwas supervising as Marston and two black-clad male staff wheeled in a new tchotchke and were putting it up for display in a previously empty niche, complete with a pedestal and several spotlights. Or