Stork Raving Mad: A Meg Langslow Mystery (A Meg Lanslow Mystery)

duck-shaped lemon congealed salad came from one of Dad’s bird-watching comrades. The tarts strewn with rose petals had to be from a garden-club member.
    When I’d first moved to Caerphilly to be with Michael, I’d decided that one of its charms was that it was close enough to see my family whenever I wanted to, but far enough away that I didn’t have to see them all the time. Now, Rob and Rose Noire had moved to town, Mother and Dad had bought what they referred to as their vacation cottage nearby, and before long—
    “What’s wrong?” Michael said, appearing at my other elbow.
    “Nothing’s wrong,” I said. “I’m in awe. Look at all this food.”
    “Lovely spread,” he said. “Here, let me carry your plate.”
    I was about to protest that I could do it myself, but why should I? Having Michael hold my plate would be a lot easier, and after the kids were born, who knew how often he’d have the time or energy to be chivalrous?
    “I’ll get you some hot chocolate,” Rose Noire said, and flitted off.
    “I see Mother has won over Caerphilly, too,” I said as I speared a slice of Smithfield ham and deposited it on the plate.
    “Won it over how?” Michael pointed to a platter. “Don’t you want some corn bread?”
    “Yes,” I said. “I just don’t know if I have room for it. By won them over, I mean she’s got them all bringing her food.”
    “Bringing
us
food,” Michael said. “I admit that your mother probably got the word out that with our kitchen off-limits we could use a potluck dinner. But most of this came from our friends, not your family. Minerva Burke brought the corn bread.”
    “That settles it.” I added two chunks of corn bread to my platter. “If I don’t have room now, I’ll take it upstairs for later.”
    “And Randall’s mother sent over the venison stew,” Michael said, pointing. “The samosas from Professor Kumar disappeared a long time ago, but I saved you a few. Professor Ortiz brought some early Christmas tamales, and Abe’s wife sent chicken soup and—”
    “Meg, dear.” Mother appeared at my other side. “We could have brought you a plate.”
    “I’ll be fine.” I was eyeing another table, set at a distance from the others. “What’s over there?”
    “Nothing you’d be interested in,” Mother said. “Would you like some chicken soup?”
    “How do you know I wouldn’t be interested?” What were they trying to hide from me? I’d actually taken a few steps toward the mysterious table when Mother’s voice stopped me.
    “That’s where we put the seafood, dear. Since you seem to find it so . . . unsettling.”
    I blinked in surprise. For years, Mother had treated my seafood allergy as if it were merely an inconvenient personalidiosyncrasy. She never tired of plying me with dainty morsels of substances that I knew perfectly well would give me a rash if I were foolish enough to eat them. Was she now giving up the battle? Conceding that if I was old enough to be a mother, I was old enough to know what was and wasn’t good for my body?
    “Thank you,” I said, and surprised her with a brief but fierce hug.
    “You’re welcome, dear,” Mother said. “Now let’s find you a quiet, comfortable place to sit while you eat.”
    In a few minutes I was tucked up in an Adirondack chair with a blanket over my legs and a large box at my elbow to serve as a table.
    Suddenly music blared out—a lively cheerful tune played by what sounded like a variety of flutes and trumpets accompanied by a small drum. In the open space between the chairs and the buffet, Señor Mendoza was chivvying a dozen or so people into joining hands to form a circle.
    “What’s he up to?” I asked Michael.
    “Teaching them the sardana,” he said. “The Catalan national dance. He thinks Ramon should add it to the play.”
    When Mendoza stood in the center of the circle and demonstrated, the dance steps seemed a simple sequence of steps forward and back, left and right. Occasionally one foot would cross over the other.
    Of course, when Mendoza stepped back into the circle and set his troops in motion, the simple steps he demonstrated proved far more complex for them all to execute, in unison, in time to the music.
    Still, they persevered, and people began deserting the buffets and the rehearsal preparations to hover at the periphery, watching the dancers, trying out the steps themselves, and eventually joining in. A second circle was forming.
    “Go try it if you