Swan for the Money: A Meg Langslow Mystery

promising them a tour of the farm. They were thanking him profusely as he helped them out of the cab.
    “We’ll just wait right here till you have the time to take us around,” Caroline said.
    “Thanks for the ride,” I said, as I scraped some of the mud off my jeans. At least I assumed it was only mud. Surely he didn’t take the horses or cows riding in the pickup.
    I must have glanced toward one of the barns at the thought.
    “You did get the word not to use the horse barn?” Mr. Darby asked me, suddenly looking anxious.
    “Don’t worry, Mr. Darby,” I said. “We only need the two barns. And I’m sorry if using those is inconveniencing you.”
    “No problem,” he said. “Just let me know if you need anything.” With that, he climbed back into the pickup and drove back toward the house.
    “Well, that went well,” Caroline said, as she waved goodbye. “He seems eager to show us around.”
    “You don’t think he might be a little too eager?” my grandfather asked. “As if perhaps there’s something he’s hoping we’ll find? Something he dares not report himself?”
    If he asked me, I’d have said Mr. Darby was not the overeager one.
    “Just don’t tick her off until after the show,” I said.
    “Even if we find an imminent danger to the animals!” My grandfather drew himself up to his full six foot whatever and his eyes flashed. I’d have been more startled if I hadn’t seen him do the same thing so often, on cue, in just about every episode of his “Animals at Risk” shows on the Animal Planet channel. I almost looked around to spot the hidden film crew.
    “If you find animals in danger, then of course you should do something,” I said. “I suggest anonymous phone calls to the police, the local branch of the Humane Society, and that investigative reporter at the college newspaper. Because remember, if she finds out you reported her and kicks me and the rose show out, you lose your easy access for snooping around.”
    “Good point, Monty,” Caroline said. “We’ll be discreet.”
    For some reason, I didn’t find that very reassuring.

Chapter 8
     
     
     
     
    The rain suddenly changed from drizzle to downpour, so I sprinted the rest of the way to the nearest barn, hauled the door open, and we all dashed in.
    “This is the cow barn,” I said. “Now also known as the show barn. It’s where we’ll be putting the roses once they’re ready to be judged. The barn directly across is for goats and sheep. We’ll be using that for the exhibitors to prepare their roses and relax while the judges are at work.”
    “What about the one in the middle?” Dr. Blake asked.
    “Horse barn, and apparently it’s all right to kick the cows, goats, and sheep out into the rain for a couple of days, but not the horses. So that’s off limits.”
    “Off limits, eh.” Dr. Blake’s eyes glinted, and I could tell he was busily crafting a clever way to sneak into the horse barn.
    “Off limits for rose show use,” I said. “I’m sure Mr. Darby will be happy to include it on your tour if you ask.”
    “Meg, shall I call your mother and tell her the news about the party?” Caroline asked.
    “Yes, thanks,” I said. I was rummaging through my tote bag, looking for my notebook-that-tells-me-when-to-breathe, and was happy not to have to add another task to it.
    Mother was, of course, delighted with our news, and promised to do what she could to enforce the dress code.
    “Ridiculous,” my grandfather pronounced. I noticed, though, that he waited until after Caroline had hung up and Mother couldn’t hear him. I began going over my to-do list for the day while the two of them strolled around examining the interior of the barn, every inch of it painted stark, glaring white.
    “Now, now,” Caroline said. “It takes all kinds, and if I ever need a donor to help sponsor my zebras, I know where I can look. But why a rose show, anyway? Why not a show that celebrates flowers in general?”
    “Why limit it to flowers?” my grandfather asked. “Plants with visible, showy flowers are a distinct minority in the plant kingdom. Why discriminate against all those useful or interesting plants that don’t happen to make pretty garden specimens?”
    “You’ll get no argument from me,” I said, looking up from my notebook. “The Caerphilly Garden Club’s planning a general garden show next month, if you’re interested, but even so, I don’t think the categories will be all that