Swan for the Money by Donna Andrews Page A

wings. One of Mrs. Winkleson’s maids tried shooing one a couple of weeks ago and ended up in the hospital.”
    “Poor thing!” Caroline said.
    “Not to mention the fact that Mrs. Winkleson fired her for annoying the swan. She’s very protective of the swans. Which reminds me— there are two of them. The other isn’t sneaking up behind us, is it?”
    We all whirled about, looking in various directions until we spotted the other swan. After pausing and widening at the front steps, the driveway continued down toward the lake and a small dock where a black rowboat was tied up. The dock ended in an ornate gazebo made of intricate white wooden fretwork. The second swan was standing in the gazebo, staring out over the lake as if contemplating whether to swim or row across.
    “Ah, there’s the gazebo,” Dr. Blake said.
    “Yes,” I said. “Were you looking for the gazebo for some reason?”
    “No, but a place like this has to have a gazebo, doesn’t it? Silly, useless things.”
    “Let’s hope the other swan doesn’t agree with you,” Caroline said. “It’s safe enough down there.”
    But our agitation appeared to have annoyed the nearer swan. It stirred slightly, and half rose.
    “Damn,” I said. “It might be getting ready to attack. You two start walking that way as fast as you can. I’ll see if I can create a diversion.”
    “I can help with the diversion,” my grandfather said.
    “Someone has to protect Caroline,” I said.
    “Besides, you old fool, Meg might be able to outrun the creature,” Caroline said. “I know I can’t, and I doubt you can either.”
    Grumbling, he gave Caroline his arm and the two of them turned to walk down the long road to the barns.
    Just then a pickup came rattling up the drive.
    “Hang on,” I said. “Help has arrived!”
    The pickup pulled to a stop beside Dr. Blake and Caroline and the driver got out— a lanky figure in black jeans, a white shirt, and a gray tweed jacket. I strolled over to join them.
    “Morning, Mr. Darby,” I said. “Mr. Adam Darby is Mrs. Winkleson’s farm manager. This is Caroline Willner of the Willner Wildlife Sanctuary, and my grandfather, Dr. Montgomery Blake.”
    “Pleased to meet you,” my grandfather said, subjecting poor Mr. Darby to his punishingly firm handshake. “We’ve been admiring your setup here. Very impressive.”
    “Thank you,” Mr. Darby said. As usual, his long face wore an expression of anxiety and gloom, and his shoulders were hunched as if expecting bad news to arrive at any second. But he did brighten slightly at my grandfather’s words— though probably only someone who’d met him before could tell.
    “We seem to have a slight problem,” I said, indicating my swan-infested car.
    “Oh, dear. This isn’t good.” Mr. Darby looked even more lugubrious than usual. He just stood there staring blankly at the swan instead of picking up on my subtle plea for help. Perhaps subtlety wasn’t his forte.
    “What do you do when the swans are somewhere you don’t want them?” I asked.
    “We give them a wide berth,” he said. “No telling what it would do if you tried to chase it off. I’ll give you a ride down to the barns. You can rescue your car later when the swan’s gone.”
    “Thank you so much.”
    Mr. Darby managed to squeeze Caroline and Dr. Blake into the pickup, but I had to make do with the truck bed. He’d been hauling something dirty in it. The truck bed was half covered with mud. Still, better than walking down half a mile of equally muddy road.
    As we drove down, I saw the two police officers. They were still slowly and methodically combing the same field they’d been in when we arrived. At this rate, it was going to take them several days to search the whole farm.
    On impulse, I pulled out my cell phone and called Chief Burke.
    “It’s about the dognapping,” I said, after we’d exchanged hellos. “I see you only have two officers searching the fields—”
    “And that’s already