Swan for the Money: A Meg Langslow Mystery

Acknowledgments
     
    Swan for the Money would never have been written if I hadn’t arrived early for a signing at a bookstore and decided to pass the time by browsing in the gardening section, in the hope of finding some new techniques for repelling the deer and Japanese beetles from my roses. I stumbled across Aurelia Scott’s Otherwise Normal People: Inside the Thorny World of Competitive Rose Gardening , and after half a chapter I knew that Meg’s future had to include a rose show. I recommend Scott’s book not only to readers who would like to learn more about rose shows, but to anyone who enjoys a nonfiction story told with grace, intelligence, and humor.
    I also owe special thanks to Kathy Harig of Mystery Loves Company, who first introduced me to fainting goats.
    Thanks to all the folks at St. Martins/Minotaur: Andrew Martin, Pete Wolverton, Hector DeJean, Lauren Manzella, Toni Plummer, and especially my editor, Ruth Cavin.
    I’m grateful to my agent, Ellen Geiger, and the staff of The Frances Goldin Literary Agency, who take care of the business side of things so I can focus on the writing, and to the staff at Curtis-Brown, especially Dave Barbor, who helps make Meg international.
    Thanks to the members of my writing groups: Carla Couple,Ellen Crosby, Laura Durham, Peggy Hansen, Valerie Patterson, Noreen Wald, and Sandi Wilson of the Rector Lane Irregulars, and Erin Hooper Bush, Meriah Crawford, M. Sindy Felin, Barb Goffman, and C. Ellet Logan of the Hellebore Writers. And to the other friends who read drafts, listen to me brainstorm, and generally provide moral support: Chris Cowan, Kathy Deligianis, Suzanne Frisbee, David Niemi, Dina Willner, and all the Teabuds.
    The members of the Potomac Rose Society patiently put up with my questions and lurking at one of their rose shows. To the extent that the rogue, non-ARS-affiliated, rose show in this book bears any resemblance to a real rose show, they are responsible, but any ghastly errors are mine alone.
    A special thank you to my family, who put up with the cranky me when the book is going slowly and are always ready to celebrate when it’s going well. They are, as my nephews Liam and Aidan are so fond of saying, “Awesome!”

 
     
     
     
     
    Swan for
the Money

Chapter 1
     
     
     
     
    “Dreadful news!” Dad said.
    He collapsed into a chair at the foot of the breakfast table, as if no longer able to bear the weight of his dire tidings, and wiped his balding head with a pocket handkerchief. The head, the handkerchief, the hand holding it, and nearly every stitch of his clothing were so encrusted with mud and garden dirt that Mother would probably have ordered him off to take a shower immediately if she weren’t so visibly curious to hear his news.
    “Yes?” she said, one hand clutching her throat in a gesture that would have looked artificial and old-fashioned on anyone else. On her it merely looked elegant.
    “We’ve lost Matilda,” Dad said.
    “Oh, no!” she exclaimed. From her expression, I could tell that she found this news genuinely heartbreaking.
    Faint murmurs of sympathy arose from the dozen assorted friends and relatives seated around the table, but I could tell from their uniformly puzzled faces that they were all mentally asking the same question I was: who the heck was Matilda?
    We used to have a Matilda in the clan, my Great Aunt Matilda. But she’d been dead for years, and I couldn’t recall anyone else gracing a recent arrival to the family with such an unusual name.Nor could I remember any friends or neighbors named Matilda. There was a time when I would have assumed Matilda was one of Dad’s patients, but he was semi-retired now, and his medical practice consisted mostly of those same family, friends, and neighbors, whose names I would recognize. Not a Matilda in the bunch.
    “And what’s more,” Dad went on, sitting up and frowning fiercely, “it was foul play. No question. I only suspected it with Adelaide, but I’m sure of it now.”
    “It’s the Pruitts,” Mother said. “I’ve suspected them all along.” Not surprising. The Pruitts were an old local family who used to own most of Caerphilly County and often behaved as if they still did. Most locals were quick to blame the Pruitts whenever anything sneaky or underhanded took place. Mother and Dad only spent weekends here in Caerphilly, in the old farm house they’d dubbed their summer cottage, but they were quickly picking up many local