Six Geese A-Slaying(83)

“Give me that,” he said, taking a step toward me.

“I don’t think so.” I stopped backing, put both hands on the gun, and aimed it at him.

He started backing away again. I felt relieved until I realized he was backing toward the feed room door. Did I dare shoot? If I missed would the bullets go through the wall where they could hit Dad, Dr. Blake, or Caroline?

“Stop or I’ll shoot!” I said.

He kept backing.

I pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

I tried again. The trigger clicked slightly.

Werzel looked puzzled.

“I could have sworn I had more bullets,” he said.

“You jerk,” I said. The idea that he’d held me at gunpoint for the last hour with an unloaded gun was the last straw. I switched my grip on the gun so I could use it as a club and took a step toward him.

Maybe not the smartest move. Werzel grabbed a nearby pitchfork and aimed it at me, the nasty smile returning to his green goo-stained face.

Just then the feed room door fell backward off its hinges into the feed room and Caroline Willner stepped out holding a club.

No, on closer inspection, I realized she was carrying a plaster replica of a cow’s hind leg. What the—

“Take that, you fiend!” she shouted, as she cracked Werzel over the head with the fake cow leg.

The weapon crumbled, but it did the trick. Werzel staggered and fell over, and Caroline and Dad both raced to sit on him.

“Quick!” Dad shouted. “Take the pitchfork away!”

“Get some rope!” Caroline ordered.

I wrested the pitchfork out of Werzel’s hand and was tying him up with a dog leash I found hanging on the wall when the door at the other end of the barn flew open.

“Hands up!”

Chief Burke and Sammy entered in a gust of snowflakes, guns drawn and pointing at us.

“About time,” Dr. Blake grumbled. “Thanks, Debbie Anne. The cavalry’s here.”

Debbie Anne? I realized he was holding the handset of a wall phone. He put the handset back on the phone. Then he hung Caroline’s sweater back over the phone and winked at me.

So that’s why they’d been talking so loudly—so Werzel wouldn’t hear them taking the pinions out of the door hinges and calling the police.

“These people attacked me!” Werzel shouted.

“Nonsense,” Caroline said. “Arrest him for animal endangerment.”

“And murder,” I said. “Let’s not forget murder.”

“I’m innocent!” Werzel wailed.

“Shut up,” Dr. Blake said, “or Caroline will smite you again.”

He handed Caroline another plaster cow’s leg. She scrambled off Werzel’s back and stood over him, holding the leg by the hoof and tapping it gently into her left hand, as if impatient to wield it. Dr. Blake picked up the pitchfork and went to stand on the other side of Werzel, scowling with plausible menace. Werzel glanced back and forth between them, hunched his shoulders, and shut up.

Dad emerged with Rob leaning heavily on his shoulder.

“You take over, Chief,” he said. “I’ve got to get Rob down to the hospital.”

“What the hell is going on here?” the chief asked.

Dad and Rob shambled out. The others—even Werzel—looked at me. I took a deep breath.

The door slammed open again and Michael ran in, brandishing the poker from Cousin Horace’s fireplace set. He’d probably picked it up in his office when he saw the signs of Rob’s scuffle with Werzel. Nice to know we had the same good taste in weapons.

“Where’s Meg?” he shouted. “And what happened to Rob? And what’s going on?”

“It’s a long story,” I said.





Chapter 33

The stables made surprisingly comfortable temporary quarters. Of course, the last few hours had been so exhausting I’d have found a concrete pavement comfortable. After we gave our statements to Chief Burke, Michael and I raced back to the drama department for the one-man show. Then we spent several hours fending off questions from family, friends, neighbors, and the press—though fortunately the only reporters still in town and not incarcerated in the county jail were the editor of the Caer-philly Clarion and a part-time stringer for the college radio station. It was nearly ten by the time we got back to Michael’s office, and people kept dropping by to see us, so in spite of the fact that both of us were tired enough to fall asleep in one of the two-foot snowdrifts the twin storms had left behind, we took advantage of a lull between visitors to pack up our essential gear, sneak out, and hike back to the stables.

“It’s the last place anyone would look for us tonight,” Michael said with satisfaction, once we’d put the feed room door back on its hinges and spread out our sleeping bags inside the room. We’d thrown a blanket over some of the hay bales just outside the feed room, and were lounging there, finishing our dinner.