Swan for the Money: A Meg Langslow Mystery

sympathy. Instead . . .
    “Look at her, acting as if she can hardly lift a finger,” Molly Weston said, looking up as I walked by her table.
    “Well, it might not be an act,” I said. “I don’t know exactly what they do these days to treat cyanide poisoning, but I’m sure it’s no picnic.”
    “She really was poisoned?” Molly asked. “I thought that was just a wild rumor. Or a fit of hypochondria on her part.”
    “No, she really was poisoned,” I said. “Dad took her to the hospital.”
    “Well, that’s different. Poor thing, even she doesn’t deserve that.”
    “But we all reap what we sow, don’t we?” I said.
    “We surely do,” Molly said, and returned to the rose she was grooming.
    Just then Chief Burke appeared in the doorway of the barn. I glanced over to where Minerva, his wife, was working on her roses. The chief looked her way, too, but only briefly before striding down the aisle between the tables and stopping beside Mrs. Winkleson.
    “Madam, I need to—”
    “I can’t be bothered now!” Mrs. Winkleson said. “I have less than an hour to finish my roses!”
    “Fine,” the chief said. “I’ll just let my murder suspect go. No problem to have him running around on the loose until you can be bothered to answer a few questions. He probably won’t kill too many people in the meantime. Of course, since you seem to be the main one he’s trying to kill— well, never mind.”
    If he really meant that, he’d have stormed off instead of folding his arms and standing by her table, glowering.
    “Suspect?” Mrs. Winkleson repeated.
    I’d have expected her to look at least a little bit happy at the thought. But she kept looking at her roses and then back at the chief, as if torn. I could tell the chief’s temper was near the exploding point.
    “As official organizer of the rose show,” I said, “I will grant Mrs. Winkleson— and anyone else you need to question— an extension on their preparation time equal to the number of minutes they would otherwise lose by cooperating with your investigation.”
    “Thank you,” the chief said. “Now, madam, if we could go somewhere more quiet?” He gestured toward the barn door.
    “Watch the roses,” she said to her butler. “And you’d better be counting from when he first interrupted me,” she added, turning to me.
    “That’s fair,” I said.
    Of course, to be really fair, I should probably give a five- or ten-minute extension to everyone. Not much rose grooming had happened since the chief entered, and I suspected it would be a while before the others put the interruption far enough out of their minds to concentrate on the roses again.
    I didn’t think there was any way I could concentrate myself.

Chapter 38
     
     
     
     
    “Keep an eye on things,” I told Rose Noire. She was at a table nearby, working on Sandy Sechrest’s miniature roses under the intense scrutiny of Mother, and for that matter, just about every other rose grower in the room. Apparently Rose Noire’s idea of posthumously entering Mrs. Sechrest’s roses in the show had so won the hearts of the other members of the Caerphilly Rose Society they’d all put their heads together and donated the equipment Rose Noire would need for her grooming.
    But since Rose Noire had no experience whatsoever with grooming roses, I thought it would be a more touching tribute if they’d all pitch in and groom a few. Apparently there were limits to what even the most altruistic of the exhibitors would do when there were trophies at stake and they already had more roses than they could possibly groom by the 10 a.m. deadline— though I’d just extended it to 10:10. I hoped the judges were okay with that.
    I looked around outside. Deputy Sammy and Horace were standing outside the horse barn, so I deduced that’s where the chief had taken Mrs. Winkleson for their private chat. I strolled over.
    “You can’t go inside,” Sammy said, stepping in front of the door.
    “Wasn’t planning to,” I said. “Just wondering if you had any idea how long the chief’s going to be with Mrs. Winkleson?”
    “No idea,” Sammy said. “Do you need her for something?”
    “I could live without her indefinitely, but the rose show can’t,” I said. “I have to give her a full forty-five more minutes to finish her roses before the judges can start. While I realize arresting a murder suspect is more important than judging the rose show, I have a whole barn full of people back