Swan for the Money: A Meg Langslow Mystery

either of them knew a tea rose from a floribunda, or cared. When the two of them joined forces, they were usually planning to tackle some egregious case of animal abuse or defend an endangered species. If they wanted to go to the rose show, I suspected an ulterior motive, but I couldn’t for the life of me think what it was. As far as I knew, there were no wild animals on Mrs. Winkleson’s estate, where we were holding the rose show. The farm animals seemed so sleek and glossy that I couldn’t imagine their welfare was in question. Could this have something to do with the dognapping? It seemed unlikely, since Dr. Blake disapproved of the existence of very small dogs, calling them overbred yuppie toys. And if he was investigating the dognapping, I could see infinite possibilities for conflict with Chief Burke, the head of law enforcement in Caerphilly town and county.
    But I had embarked on a program of trying to build a better relationship with my eccentric and irascible grandfather. For that matter, building any kind of relationship with him. He’d only appeared in our lives a year ago, when spotting a picture of me in the newspaper had led him to suspect— correctly, according tothe DNA tests— that Dad was his long-lost son. Integrating him into our family life hadn’t been easy for anyone. So if he wanted to see the rose show or use it as cover for some project of his own, maybe I should cooperate.
    “You’re welcome to come along, but I’m going to be swamped with show preparations, and might not be able to drop everything to bring you back when you’re finished,” I said.
    “Don’t worry,” Dr. Blake said. “Clarence said he’d be glad to come out and get us whenever we want.” Clarence Rutledge, the local veterinarian, was another of their animal-welfare allies. Yes, definitely a plot of some sort.
    “That’s fine,” I said. “As soon as—”
    Mother strode into the room with a dripping, half-furled umbrella in her hand. She looked upset. Very upset— what new disaster threatened the rose show?

Chapter 4
     
     
     
     
    “Meg, dear,” Mother said. “We’ll be having the garden club fete at your house this evening.”
    “Our house?” I exclaimed. “No way! What’s wrong with here?”
    “It is presently unsuitable,” my mother said. The last time she’d called anything unsuitable with that same icy precision, she’d been talking about a distant cousin’s arrest for indecent exposure.
    “What’s so unsuitable about it?” I asked, looking around in bewilderment. Everything was neat as a pin and shining with cleanliness— well, except for the spot where Mother’s umbrella had dripped rain, and that was an easy cleanup. If I were hosting a party, I wouldn’t hesitate to hold it here— well, as long as I could explain that all the ruffled gingham in the kitchen was Mother’s taste, not mine.
    “You must have a head cold, dear,” Mother said. “Otherwise you couldn’t possibly miss that ghastly odor.”
    I sniffed the air several times. Lavender potpourri. The bacon, eggs, and coffee we’d had for breakfast. And from outside, a faint whiff of manure.
    Uh-oh. After over a year of living in close proximity to several farms, and half a year of llama ownership, I’d grown quiteaccustomed to the pungent smell of manure. Mother, on the other hand . . .
    If it smelled this much right now, after hours of heavy rain, what would it be like by party time if the weatherman was right and the rain gave way this afternoon to partly cloudy and unseasonably warm for May?
    Dad popped back in. His expression was a curious mix of apprehension and stubbornness.
    “Apparently your father got up in the middle of the night, went off to fetch a truckload of . . . organic fertilizer, and spread it all over our flower beds.”
    “You’d be thankful for that manure if you really cared about how our rose bushes were doing,” Dad said. “How do you think I’ve managed to produce such spectacular blooms for you to show? Regular applications of manure, that’s how.”
    “I have no problem with regular applications of manure,” Mother said. “I understand the necessity. I do my best to endure the unappealing side effects. But why did you have to do your latest application now? Why couldn’t you have waited till after the show?”
    “And more important, after the party she’s giving this evening,” I added.
    “But the party’s for the garden club and the other competitors,” Dad