Swan for the Money(6)

Then there was the outpouring of sympathy we’d received when word got out that no, there was no pregnancy, just a false alarm. We’d only been married a little over a year, so I thought it was early for people to start feeling pessimistic about our chances of having a family, but in the weeks since the false alarm, I’d heard about every couple who had ever experienced fertility problems not only in my family but also in the whole of Caerphilly County. I wasn’t eager to start all that again. And much as I loved my brother, I knew better than to trust his discretion.

But what could I pretend to want Michael to bring me from New York? My imagination didn’t usually wake up this early, even after a good breakfast. And I’d been too anxious to eat much.

Breakfast.

“Bagels,” I said. “Bring back a bag of bagels.”

“Bagels?” Michael echoed. He sounded puzzled.

“You can’t get really good bagels here,” I said.

“Yeah, but I don’t think anyone knew you were such a big bagel eater,” Rob said.

“I’m not, mainly because you can’t get decent ones here,” I said. “I’ve been thinking how much I’d like to have some bagels. Authentic ones.”

“Bagels it is,” Michael said.

“Not a bad idea,” Rob said. “Bring me some, too. And maybe some lox and cream cheese and—”

“I don’t think the lox and cream cheese would survive the trip all that well,” Michael said. “But I’ll bring back authentic New York bagels for everybody.”

I’d find a moment later in the day to call him and tell him my real request. For now, I settled for kissing him good-bye, handing him his umbrella, and waving as his convertible jounced slowly away on my parents’ muddy unpaved driveway.

“Lucky dog,” Rob muttered.

“You think the tragedy of Milliard Fillmore is preferable to the rose show?” I asked.

He tilted his head as if thinking.

“Well, no,” he said finally. “But he did say there was a good chance the play would die before they got there, and I can’t think of anything that could derail the rose show.”

“I can,” I said, with a sigh. “A lot of things. And it’s my job to see that none of them happen.”





Chapter 3





As I turned to go back into the house, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my notebook-that-tells-me-when-to-breathe, as I called my trusty spiral-bound to-do list. I briefly considered adding an exciting new action item that would read “resign post as rose show coordinator.” Tempting, but again, Mother would never forgive me. Instead, I jotted down a more practical item, to be done when the show was over: “brainstorm list of potential victims/volunteers to chair next year’s rose show.”

I’d agreed to organize this year’s show before I knew what a big deal it would be, back when I’d thought roses were a sweet, harmless hobby. But I was determined not to get roped into next year’s event. Even if I had to—

“Hey, Meg,”

The voice seemed to come from directly above me. I leaned out into the rain and looked up to see the familiar figure of Randall Shiffley, one of our neighbors, standing on the porch roof, leaning against the side of the main house, a crossbow in his hand. The weapon wasn’t pointed at me, but it still gave me the willies. One of Randall’s many cousins was perched on the chimney, peering down into the front yard and he, too, appeared to be holding a crossbow. They were both wearing blaze orange rain ponchos over blaze orange overalls. That might have made them hard for the deer to spot, since supposedly the deer don’t see orange as well as we do, but they stood out quite distinctly as festive splashes of color against the house’s freshly painted white wood siding— the one bright spot in a drab, rain-smeared landscape.

“Hey, Randall.” I waved back as nonchalantly as possible.

“Any more news about Mrs. Winkleson’s missing dog?” Randall asked.

“I didn’t even know she had a dog,” I said. “Much less that she was missing one. Though if I were Mrs. Winkleson’s dog, I’d try to be missing as much as possible.”

“Missing as in dognapped, according to my cousin Epp,” Randall said. Since Epp was a Caerphilly County deputy, odds were Randall was passing along real information, not a wild rumor. “She had the cops out there about 4 a.m. this morning when one of the maids found the ransom note.”

“How did the maid know it was a ransom note?” I asked. “I’ve been out there a dozen times in the last few months, and I haven’t met a single maid who speaks English.”