Swan for the Money: A Meg Langslow Mystery

room.
    “Mr. Langslow,” he said, into the microphone. “Should anyone purporting to be one of Mrs. Winkleson’s nephews seek entry, please refrain from admitting them.”
    A short silence.
    “Purporting?” Rob said. “You mean, someone’s been pretending to be her nephew? Should I ask for ID?”
    Marston winced, and looked at me.
    “They’re not pretending to be nephews,” he said, softly. “But Mrs. Winkleson doesn’t want them on the premises. They are . . . estranged.”
    “So I’ve heard,” I said. “Hang on.”
    I snagged the microphone again.
    “You ask for ID on anyone you don’t know personally, and if any of them turn out to be Mrs. Winkleson’s nephews, keep them out. Their names are . . .”
    I looked at Marston.
    “Theobald and Reginald Winkleson,” the butler said into the microphone.
    “Okay,” Rob said. “No more Winklesons. Mrs. Winkleson herself is quite enough. I can relate to that.”
    “Should they become importunate,” Marston said, “please notify me and I will deal with them.”
    Rob frowned, and I could see him silently repeating the word “importunate.”
    “He means if they won’t go on your say-so, call him and he’ll kick them out.”
    “Okay,” Rob said. “That works.”
    I stepped out of the closet and Marston shut the door.
    “Nephews by marriage, I assume,” I said.
    “You assume correctly,” Marston said. “And since under the terms of the late Mr. Winkleson’s will, they will inherit upon their aunt’s demise, their presence tends to agitate her. It really will be best for all concerned if they can be excluded from the property as much as possible.”
    Not new information, but at least I now knew what I’d heard from the town grapevine was accurate.
    “The rose show tomorrow’s open to the public,” I pointed out.
    “If they show up on the morrow, we will admit them along with any other members of the general public, and allow them only so much access as the general public is permitted.”
    More potential headaches for tomorrow. But if their presence would annoy Mrs. Winkleson, then perhaps I didn’t care if Rob failed to identify and exclude the nephews.
    “Sounds reasonable,” I said aloud. “Anyway, thanks for your help in getting the gate open.”
    “Thank you, madam,” he said. “The constant trips to the console were beginning to interfere with the staff’s routine.”
    “By the way,” I said, “was that Mrs. Emberly talking to Mrs. Winkleson just now? Because if it was, I’d really love to catch up with her. I need to talk with her about the show.”
    “I’m sorry, madam,” Marston said. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”
    “Sorry,” I said. “I guess that was the kind of nosy question you’re not supposed to answer.”
    Marston’s lips twitched slightly, as if suppressing a smile.
    “As it happens, I don’t actually know who was talking with Mrs. Winkleson just now,” he said. “They must have come in through the garden entrance.”
    Garden entrance. Much more elegant than back door. Perhaps Michael and I should adopt the phrase.
    “Ah, well,” I said. “Thanks anyway.”
    “If I see Mrs. Emberly, I’ll tell her you were looking for her,” he said, as he ushered me outside.
    “That would be super,” I said. Also astonishing, since I’d made up the name Emberly on the spot.
    Outside on the terrace, I scanned the surrounding landscape. No sign of Mrs. Winkleson. The black swan had abandoned my car, so theoretically I could drive it down to the barns. But it wasn’t in the way here, and if I drove back, I’d have no chance to snoop.
    I stood for a moment scanning the landscape. The two officers had finished with the field they’d been searching and moved on to the field containing the lake. Dr. Blake and Caroline were standing in the gazebo overlooking the lake, talking with someone. Someone Spike didn’t particularly like. He was barking furiously.
    The third person left the gazebo and I recognized her, or at least her clothing. One of the maids. She was scurrying back to the house.
    Dr. Blake and Caroline headed in the other direction. I made a mental note to send someone to check on them. Spike was behaving badly, almost pulling my grandfather’s arm out of the socket. And I should have noticed that Caroline’s oversized purse was unsuited for a long walk around the farm. She was visibly canting to one side under its weight.
    Well, the sooner I got back to the barns, the sooner I could deal