Swan for the Money: A Meg Langslow Mystery

myself firmly behind the Matilda rose. “If you want to shoot me, you’ll just have to take a few of your roses with me. In fact, why should I wait till you shoot? I’ll take out a few right now.”
    I reached over to the rose bush next to Matilda. It was a Black Magic, from the tag, and therefore replaceable, as long as the tag wasn’t a cover up for another theft.
    “And I thought Sandy was stupid,” she said. “Confronting me with her stupid accusations and demanding that I give some of my prize rose bushes to your father. But at least she had no idea how effectively I could deal with her interference. You should have known better. Now move!”
    That sounded to me as if she was confessing to murder, even bragging about it. Did she really think that would make me more willing to release my leafy hostage?
    I gave the bush an experimental tug. I’d have to get a better grip, and I couldn’t tell without peering closely at it whether it was one of the varieties with pitiful little thorns or one of the ones that would rip your hand open.
    “You wouldn’t dare,” Mrs. Winkleson said.
    The complacent sound of her voice was what pushed me over the edge. I braced myself, took a firm hold, encountering only one puny thorn, and gave it a stronger tug. I almost fell down, it came out so easily.
    “Stop that this instant!” Mrs. Winkleson bellowed. “Put that back.”
    I grabbed another bush. Not Matilda. I was still hoping to save that for Dad.
    “Unhand that rose or I’ll— eeeeeee! ”
    Mrs. Winkleson shrieked and leaped into the air, and as she did, the shotgun went off with a roar. I flattened myself and peered through the rosebush to see what she was doing.
    After a second or two, I could hear a sort of rustling, pattering sound as something hit the rose leaves. I assumed it was the pellets from the shotgun. One of them landed on me, but fortunately not on my bare skin, so it didn’t sting too much.
    “Take that you wretch!” she shrieked. I flinched, but she wasn’t talking to me. Apparently her sudden leap hadn’t been voluntary— Algie, the belligerent goat, had snuck up behind her and butted her hard. She was flailing at him with the now unloaded shotgun, and he was backing away warily.
    Time to move. I leaped to my feet and sprinted for the part of the fence where I’d made my entrance. The horse blanket was still draped over the razor wire. I didn’t know how fast Mrs. Winkleson could load a shotgun, but even if she was some kind of champion at it, she had to fend off Algie before she tried, and he now appeared to be circling her and looking for an opening to butt again.
    “Stop that! Don’t you dare!” Mrs. Winkleson shrieked. I wasn’t sure whether she was objecting to Algie’s actions or my escape attempt. I didn’t stop to ask. Motivation really is everything— it was amazing how much faster I made it over the chain link fence on the way out.
    Mrs. Winkleson was using the shotgun as a stick to heaveherself up, which would have been a lot easier if she didn’t have to keep turning to keep her eyes on Algie.
    I heard a harsh cry from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw one of the black swans approaching, wings outstretched in a menacing fashion. I ducked aside and it ignored me and headed for Mrs. Winkleson. She waved the shotgun at it. The swan stopped, but didn’t retreat.
    “Give up,” I said. “People are bound to have heard that shot. Someone will be here any minute and—”
    She made the mistake of paying too much attention to the swan. Algie charged, knocking her over again. The swan, not to be outdone, waded into the fray, and I dived in to grapple for the shotgun.
    Algie got in a few good butts before retreating from the superior ferocity of the swan. When the dust settled, the swan was sitting on Mrs. Winkleson and I had the shotgun in my hands.
    When Mrs. Winkleson saw me holding her weapon, she began scrabbling at her pocket. I realized she was reaching for that small revolver she’d mentioned earlier. Unfortunately, the swan didn’t seem to notice— it just stood there flapping its wings in triumph. My first instinct was to put some distance and a whole lot of trees between us, but then I realized that if I wasn’t around, she’d be free to turn the revolver on the swan, or even on Algie, who was lurking nearby, hoping for another shot at revenge. I couldn’t let that happen to either of my rescuers, even if they’d been motivated by spite