Swan for the Money(53)

“Bad idea,” I said. “Any other suggestions?”

“Flap the windshield wipers,” Horace suggested. “Give him a little hint.”

“Good idea,” Mr. Darby said.

I turned the wipers on at the lowest speed. The swan reacted with instant fury, ripping the driver’s side wiper off instantly. I flipped the wipers off again.

“Also a bad idea,” I called back. “Sorry.”

The swan scrabbled at the passenger side wiper for a bit until he figured how to remove that one and fling it aside as well. Then he sat down on the hood and looked from side to side as we lurched along.

“He looks calmer,” Mr. Darby said.

Calm wasn’t the word I’d have used. To me, he looked as if he’d found slaying the windshield wipers highly therapeutic, and was patiently awaiting the opportunity to wreak more havoc on any other target that presented itself. I didn’t fancy being a target.

I continued cruising slowly backwards around the pasture and had almost reached the gate before another idea struck me.

“Let’s take your truck closer to the lake,” I said. “That’s where the swan belongs. Horace, why don’t you go on ahead and warn me if I’m about to hit anything.”

“Okay,” Horace said. He didn’t sound too happy.

“Mr. Darby,” I said. “Do you have any idea what sort of food would attract the swan?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really haven’t had much time to learn about the swans. She’s only had them a few years.”

A few years? I’d have bet anything that he would learn all about any new mammal arriving on the farm within a few days. Clearly birds weren’t quite his thing.

“That’s all right,” I said. “See if you can find Dr. Blake and Caroline. They should be able to help.”

“Right,” he said, striding off.

“And can you check to see that the volunteers have gone, and if they have, lock the barn doors?” I called after him.

“Right.”

With Horace marching in front 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—”