Swan for the Money: A Meg Langslow Mystery

being a sort of open shed the goats could use if they wanted shade or shelter from the rain.
    Then I spotted something again— this time a brief flash of light from beyond the woods. Was that what I’d seen before? Maybe. I realized that what I’d seen looked like what you’d see if a car passed by on the highway, so fast that its headlights flashed by for a few seconds before disappearing in the distance. But there was no highway for miles and miles in that direction,only the rolling acres and dirt roads of Mrs. Winkleson’s farm, and no legitimate reason I could think of for anyone to be driving those dirt roads in the middle of the night. Any additional searching the police did would be done by daylight, so they could be sure of not stepping on evidence.
    So I’m nosy. I patted my trusty cell phone, then climbed over the fence and slogged across the muddy ground toward the source of the light.
    I didn’t encounter any goats, or if I did, I was moving too slowly to arouse their faint or flight reaction. At the other end of the pasture, I climbed the fence again. I spotted what I thought was the bulk of Mrs. Winkleson’s rose compound to my left and paused for a few minutes to see if I could detect anything out of the ordinary there. I could see a number of small, luminous white spots where the white roses were blooming, but no sign of movement. I turned back toward the direction the light had come from and trudged through the woods.
    Apparently this was only a thin fringe of woods between two pastures, but it was spooky enough, with vine-laden trees looming above and small rivulets of water showering down whenever I shook the leaves overhead. I paused to listen when I got to the point where the woods gave way to open field.
    At first, nothing. Then I heard a low moo to my left. I crept forward a foot or two and peered through the drizzle.
    A little farther along the treeline I spotted a large, rectangular shape with a small, more rounded shape stuck to one side. After a few moments I realized I was looking at a large truck.
    Another moo, and I spotted a cow moving up a ramp into the truck, its white belted middle gleaming faintly.
    I doubted Mrs. Winkleson or Mr. Darby had arranged for the Belties to take any midnight outings. More probably, some enterprising cattle rustlers were hoping to take advantage of the confusion following the murder and attempted murder. I felt sure I was getting closer to learning what had happened to the missing farm animals.
    “Any more?” a voice said, from somewhere near the truck.
    Another voice answered, but too softly for me to make out the words. If I crept closer, perhaps I could recognize the speakers, or at least get a good look at them. Even get the truck’s license plate number. Then I could slip back into the woods and call Chief Burke to—
    Brrrring!
    My cell phone.

Chapter 35
     
     
     
     
    “What’s that?” the voice from the truck said.
    Cursing silently, I retreated into the woods, fumbling at my pocket to get the cell phone out, dropping the flashlight in the process.
    “Leave that and let’s get out of here!” the voice said.
    The cell phone rang again as I was finally pulling it out. I heard several metal slamming noises— no doubt the ramp being slid back into its slot and the truck’s doors slamming closed. A great rumbling motor started up, drowning out the final half-ring my phone made before I punched the off button.
    The truck began lurching away. I fumbled around for my flashlight, found it, then thought better of using it. No doubt the truck was already too far away for me to read the license number. I decided to put some distance between myself and where I’d been the last time my cell phone rang, since I didn’t know how many people were with the truck or, more important, whether they’d all left with it or whether anyone had stayed behind to silence an inconvenient witness. I dodged through the underbrush for a few yards, then took shelter under the drooping branches of a large cedar tree.
    The sound of the truck faded into the distance, and all wasquiet. Nothing appeared to be moving, except for the cedar tree, which dropped large dollops of cold water on various parts of my body at random intervals.
    After a few minutes, I turned my phone back on and changed the ring to vibrate. I glanced at the little screen. I’d missed a call from Michael. Not surprising. Despite my reputation as a night owl, most people would hesitate to