Swan for the Money: A Meg Langslow Mystery

stuck my hand through the loop, so I could still hold my clipboard and wield the pen if necessary.
    I flipped over to my schedule for the day. The rest of the volunteers were supposed to arrive at noon to begin arranging all the stuff that would occupy the tables Horace and Sammy were setting up. All I had to do for now—
    “Ms. Langslow.”
    I looked up to see Mrs. Winkleson. Frowning.

Chapter 9
     
     
     
     
    “Hello!” I said, stepping between her and the truck. “As you see, everything’s going well.”
    “Yes, yes,” she said. She didn’t seem to be looking at the tables being unloaded or at those unloading them. She was staring down at Spike.
    “How interesting,” she said. “Where did you get it?”
    She appeared to be pointing at the new harness we’d bought for the Small Evil One. It was rather an elegant harness, in black leather and shiny chrome, totally in keeping with the farm’s décor. More to the purpose it did a reasonably good job of keeping Spike from choking himself whenever he saw a squirrel and his killing instincts went on overdrive. Maybe Mimi, in spite of her winsome name, was as much of a terror on squirrels as Spike and needed the same firm restraint. Probably a good thing that Mrs. Winkleson was thinking positively and focusing on Mimi’s return.
    “At Giving Paws,” I said. “You know, the pet shop on Main Street in Caerphilly.”
    “I didn’t know they sold dogs there,” she said.
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought you meant the harness. The dog we got from Michael’s mother.”
    “Hmm,” she said. She walked around to inspect Spike from another angle. Following some form of obscure, contrary canine logic, Spike reacted to her attention by sitting down, lifting one leg, and vigorously grooming his bottom.
    “Very interesting,” Mrs. Winkleson said. To each her own; I usually tried to look away when Spike did that. “What kind is it?”
    “No idea,” I said. “He’s a pound puppy. Probably a mix.”
    “How much will you take for it?” she said.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “I want to buy it,” she said. “How much?”
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “He’s not for sale.”
    I never thought I’d hear those words coming out of my mouth. Although adopting Spike had never been my idea or Michael’s, I was still hoping that some soft-hearted relative, like my brother or Rose Noire, would decide to adopt him.
    But surrendering him to the care of a besotted animal-lover was one thing, and allowing him to be used as a fashion accessory quite another.
    “Nonsense,” Mrs. Winkleson said. “Everything has a price. And money’s no object.”
    “He’s a member of the family,” I said. “Do you really think I’d sell you a member of my family?”
    “If the price was right—”
    “Spike’s not for sale,” I said. “Though come to think of it, if you’re interested, I could give you a really good deal on my brother. Or a brace of cousins. Or even—”
    “ Design in America is coming over Sunday to do a feature on the rose show and a spread on my house,” she said. “I need adog to add a touch of warmth. And as you know, mine’s gone.”
    Gone? Was she giving up on her dog that easily? And as for adding a touch of warmth, she could bring in the entire population of the local animal shelter and it wouldn’t be enough to overcome the chilly perfection of her house. But that was probably not something I should say. At least not until the rose show was over.
    “Well, then you don’t need a dog permanently,” I said. “Especially not a dog like Spike, who’s so fond of chewing up furniture and peeing on rugs. But if the chief doesn’t find your dog by Sunday, perhaps we could arrange for you to borrow Spike for the photo shoot. I’ll ask my husband if he approves.”
    “You do that,” she said, and strode off. We watched in silence as she slid open the door to the horse barn, slipped inside, and closed it behind her.
    “Don’t let her have him,” Caroline said.
    “Have him, no,” I said. “If she wants to rent him, that’s another matter. I’ll set a high fee. We can use the money. Why doesn’t she just go down to the animal shelter and adopt a dog?”
    “I don’t think she’d have much luck,” Caroline said. “They’ve heard about her down there.”
    “Heard about her? What’s she done?”
    She and Dr. Blake looked at each other.
    Something I’d barely noticed earlier suddenly clicked.
    “Come on, spill,” I said.