Swan for the Money: A Meg Langslow Mystery

one pays any attention when I say I spotted him outside the gateway before the murder,” Rob said.
    “Because they always like to check on testimony from someone who might have a grudge against the intended victim himself,” I said.
    “Oh, all right,” Rob mumbled.
    “Besides, they might want to check if he left Warrenton in time to have committed the dognapping,” I said. “Don’t forget the chief is still trying to solve that as well.”
    “Yes, Theobald did seem rather eager to take possession of the house when he thought she was dead,” Mother said. “No accounting for taste, is there?” She looked around and shuddered.
    “Hey, it’s not so bad,” Rob said. “A few gallons of paint, a few sofas that aren’t actually harder than the wood floor, and you’d be amazed how livable this place could be.”
    “It would take more than a few gallons of paint,” Mother said. “But you’re right. What a canvas for a competent decorator!”
    She meant, of course, what a canvas for her. She took off her glasses, stood up, and began slowly revolving with her hands on her hips and eyes narrowed.
    “The first thing I’d do—” she began.
    “Mrs. Langslow?”
    We all started slightly, and turned to see the chief standing in the archway. A tuxedo-clad waiter was standing at his side. Seeing the waiter, the caterer and the rest of her crew rose andbegan shuffling to the hallway. The waiter fell in step with them. Apparently they’d all come in the same vehicle and were stuck here until the last of them was interviewed.
    “Good news,” Dad said to Chief Burke. “Mrs. Winkleson will be fine.”
    “Great,” the chief said. “I’ll go down to the hospital tomorrow morning to interview her.”
    “You can interview her here, if you like,” Dad said. “She should be along any minute. Signed herself out. Sammy’s bringing her back.”
    “Splendid,” the chief said. He didn’t sound as if he thought it was splendid. He sounded dog tired. “Well, in the meantime, Mrs. Langslow? If I could talk to you next?”
    “Of course,” Mother said.
    “But why do you need to talk to her?” Dad asked.
    “We’re talking to everyone who—”
    “After all, she couldn’t possibly have poisoned Mrs. Winkle-son,” Dad went on.
    “Why not?” Mother whirled to glare at Dad. “Don’t you think I have the nerve? The cunning? The intelligence?”
    “Oh, good grief,” the chief murmured, closing his eyes. Dad’s mouth fell open and he was clearly floundering desperately for words.
    “Of course that’s not what he meant,” I said. “Dad of all people should know that you have the nerve, cunning, and intelligence to do anything you set your mind on. But he also knows you wouldn’t stoop to doing this.”
    Mother looked puzzled but slightly mollified,
    “What do you mean, wouldn’t stoop?” Rob put in. I glared athim. Didn’t he see I was winging it? Trying at all costs to defuse the quarrel between Mother and Dad? Now I was going to have to explain why poisoning Mrs. Winkleson amounted to stooping when at least half the party guests were in awe of whoever had managed it and probably eager to contribute to the poisoner’s defense fund.
    The party.
    “Do you really think Mother would poison anyone at a party where she was one of the hostesses?” I said. “That would fly in the face of every law of hospitality.”
    Mother, liking the sound of that, drew herself up even taller and changed her stern look to a slight smile.
    “Yeah, and poisoning someone with Dad around? Dumb idea,” Rob added. “Everybody knows he’s an expert on poisons.”
    Yes, everybody knew, but did Rob have to remind everybody? And more to the point, remind Chief Burke? Had he forgotten that Dad, too, could have a motive for wanting Mrs. Winkleson out of the rose show?
    “Besides,” I added, “Mother would never do something this unsubtle.”
    “I thought poisoning was a subtle crime,” Rob said.
    “Some poisonings,” I said. “But this? Poor Mrs. Winkleson puking all over her own living room within minutes of drinking the spiked drink? Mother’s a doctor’s wife. If she wanted to poison someone, she could certainly find something hard to detect. Something that wouldn’t kick in until long after Mother was gone, and for that matter, all the medical people Mother would know were attending the party.”
    “Thank you, dear,” Mother said. “Of course, there is one thing you didn’t think to mention.”
    We all