Swan for the Money: A Meg Langslow Mystery

Probably better not share my guesses, however accurate they were. No sense making him yet another accessory after the fact. “They’re off to rescue some other kind of animal. Just remember, in case they ask, we’re way too busy with the llamas to take on any more animals.”
    “Just the llamas?” Michael asked. “Or am I wrong in guessing that maybe we might be needing this?”
    He handed me the paper bag he’d been withholding. I peeked inside to see several home pregnancy tests.
    “You’re a mind-reader!” I exclaimed. “Exactly what I would have asked you to bring back if someone hadn’t been eavesdropping every single time we talked on the phone. Well, except for the middle of the night, when I wasn’t really thinking well.”
    “Oh, is that what was going on?” he asked. “I just thought you were having rampant food cravings and made an optimistic guess at why.”
    We both burst out laughing.
    “Meg, dear.” Mother, of course. “I’m so glad to see that you’ve recovered from your shock.”
    “I’m fine,” I said. “Any word from the judges?”
    “I think they’ll let you know directly when they’re finished,” Mother said. “After all, you’re the organizer. And an excellent organizer if I say so myself. In fact, everyone says so.”
    “Thank you,” I said. Then I braced myself. Mother so often used compliments to sweeten completely unreasonable requests.
    “You had to cope with so many unfortunate events, and still managed to pull off a wonderful show.”
    Translation: in spite of all obstacles, she was optimistic that she might win a satisfactory number of trophies.
    “Everyone’s so impressed,” she said. “The good job you’ve done is such a contrast to what’s happening with next month’s garden show.”
    Uh-oh.
    “I know it’s a lot to ask, dear,” Mother said. “But if you could see your way clear to taking over organizing the garden show—”
    “Sorry,” I said. “But no.”
    “We had an informal meeting of the board just now, and everyone thinks it’s a splendid idea, so as soon as we can convene an emergency meeting and take an official vote—”
    “No thanks,” I said.
    “And I’m sure we can get all the nice volunteers who helped with the rose show to pitch in.”
    “Except me,” I said. “No.”
    “But dear,” Mother said. “It would be such a help—”
    “No, Mother.”
    “Won’t you even think about it?”
    “No.”
    “But dear—”
    “No.”
    Mother and Michael were looking at me as if they’d never seen me before.
    “Sorry, but much as I’d love to organize the show. I can’t,” I said. “I have a few other things I need to be doing in the next month. But don’t worry. I know someone who would be a much better organizer.”
    “Who?” Mother said, sounding dubious.
    “Rose Noire,” I said. “She really enjoyed working on Mrs. Sechrest’s roses. I heard her say so. The one thing that has really hampered me in organizing the rose show was that I didn’t really know that much about roses. But here you have someone who’s already a keen gardener and very interested in expanding into roses. Who could be more perfect?”
    “She doesn’t have your organizational skills, dear,” Mother said. “Now all you have to do—”
    “That’s because she hasn’t had you guiding her,” I said. “But now she will. Go ahead. Ask her.”
    “But it would be so much easier if you’d do next month’s show,” Mother said. “Then you could start training Rose Noire if you think she has promise and—”
    “No,” I said. “Go ask Rose Noire.”
    To my relief— and, I admit, my surprise— Mother frowned slightly, and then sighed, and sailed away, presumably in search of Rose Noire.
    “Wow,” Michael said. “That was—”
    “Horribly rude,” I said. “You don’t have to tell me. But I just can’t deal with organizing something else so soon, and I don’t think anything short of rude would have gotten the point across.”
    “I was about to say amazing,” he said. “I don’t think you’ve ever stood up to your mother like that before. Well done!”
    “We’ll see,” I said. “I hope Rose Noire—”
    “Meg? Is your father in here?”
    Horace had appeared in the doorway behind us.
    “He’s over there, fretting with the rest of the exhibitors,” I said. “Why?”
    “I have something for him,” Horace said.
    I peered out the door. He and Sammy were standing on either side of a large plastic pot