Swan for the Money: A Meg Langslow Mystery

with an iron hand, and even tried to impose her own color scheme on nature, for heaven’s sake. You think she’d sit still while Mrs. Sechrest ruined her plans for glory?”
    “I guess not,” he said. “But allow me to change my adjective. Silly’s not the word. It’s stupid. However lovely roses are, they’re a stupid reason for murder. Stupid, and maybe even crazy.”
    “Now that I won’t argue with,” I said. “And I doubt anyone else in this barn would either. Do you think—”
    “Hey, Meg, Michael, did you hear the good news?”
    It was Rob, being dragged along by the Small Evil One, with Dr. Blake and Caroline following more slowly.
    “If you mean the good news that Mrs. Winkleson did not manage to shoot me and is under arrest for murder, then yes, I have,” I said. “I can’t think of any good news that would top that.”
    “Mind if I have some,” Rob said, pointing at the deli spread. Michael indicated the litter of brown paper parcels with a sweeping gesture, and Rob wasted no time before making himself a supersized sandwich.
    “Actually, I meant the good news about Mr. Darby,” Rob said.
    “We’ve figured out what he’s been up to,” my grandfather said. “He wasn’t stealing cows and goats after all.”
    “Then who was?”
    “No one. You came across him and his cousin loading up cattle they’d purchased quite legitimately.”
    “So why were they loading them in the middle of the night?” Iasked. “And why did they run away like thieves when they heard me? Some boyish fondness for playing cowboys and rustlers?”
    “They were afraid you were Mrs. Winkleson,” Caroline put in. “She refused to sell to Mr. Darby.”
    “So he had a friend buy them at a fair market price,” Dr. Blake explained. “Then the friend turned around and sold them to Mr. Darby for the same price.”
    “But he still had the problem of getting them off the farm without Mrs. Winkleson realizing that he was the purchaser,” Caroline said. “She’d have stopped selling to the friend if she’d figured it out.”
    “The chief’s pretty provoked,” Rob said. “To hear him talk, you’d think Mr. Darby deliberately set out to complicate his murder investigation.”
    “Champagne?” It was Marston, accompanied by a tiny maid carrying a silver tray. On the tray were a dozen or so champagne flutes, already filled from the bottle of Dom Perignon that stood in the middle of the tray.
    “Did Mother arrange for this?” I asked. Even for Mother, it seemed a bit extravagant. I took a glass with the rest, and had a token sip. If my suspicions were correct, I wouldn’t be doing much drinking in the immediate future, but no use giving the gossipmongers anything to play with.
    “This is from Mrs. Winkleson’s cellars,” Marston said.
    “Aren’t you afraid she’ll fire you if she finds out?” I asked.
    “I suspect she won’t be the one doing the firing,” Marston said, with a shrug. “I doubt if her nephews will feel the need for a butler, and I understand that this weekend’s events have convinced the Warrenton police to reopen the file on the late Mr.Winkleson’s death several years ago. At the time, it was thought to be food poisoning, but his nephews have always been dubious. His symptoms much resembled those we observed when Mrs. Winkleson poisoned herself.”
    “And you’re not allowed to profit from murder,” I said.
    “So the nephews may get the farm sooner than they feared,” Rob said. “I hope Mr. Darby and his cousin can afford to buy a whole lot more animals, because I don’t think the nephews are keen on keeping the designer livestock.”
    “Speaking of the nephews, did the chief ever figure out what Theobald Winkleson was doing lurking about on Friday?” I asked. “Because that almost convinced me he was the killer.”
    “As it happens, the chief was well aware that both nephews were in the habit of lurking about,” Marston said. “I have no idea why. Their uncle’s death occurred at Mrs. Winkleson’s old home, in Warrenton, so it’s not as if they could hope to find evidence here. Nor was their presence apt to discourage Mrs. Winkleson from making what they considered frivolous purchases.”
    “Maybe they were just trying to annoy her,” Rob said. “That I can understand.”
    Marston smiled slightly as if he agreed.
    “Is there any news about Mrs. Winkleson’s missing dog?” Marston asked.
    Rob and I shook our heads.
    “They didn’t find her at Mr.