Swan for the Money(90)

“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. Darby’s farm,” I said. “And now that we know Mrs. Winkleson was the murderer, it makes the dognapping more of a mystery than ever.”

“I’m sure Mimi’s fine,” Caroline said. “And if she isn’t found— well, isn’t it really for the best? I’m sure such a sweet, affectionate little creature will have no trouble finding a happy home wherever she is.”

“Yes,” Marston said. “All the staff are very fond of Mimi. We all wish her the best.”

He was looking at Caroline with a peculiar intensity.

“Don’t worry,” Caroline said.

I had the sinking feeling that Caroline wasn’t just trying to be reassuring— that she knew very well that Mimi was fine because she knew exactly where Mimi was.

She and Marston smiled at each other. The tiny maid was beaming with delight. I realized exactly what must have happened. Marston and the maids had rescued Mimi from her unhappy home with Mrs. Winkleson. Caroline and my grandfather had used me to get onto the property so they could smuggle Mimi out. I’d probably actually witnessed the handoff in the gazebo.

“Mimi’s not bad for a yappy little dog,” Dr. Blake said. “We were originally thinking maybe Spike could use a mate.”

“If and when they found Mimi,” Caroline said, giving him a sharp dig in the ribs.

“What? Oh, right,” my grandfather said. “If and when.”

“And then, no doubt, you remembered that Spike has been fixed, and wouldn’t be much of a mate for poor Mimi,” I said. “Not to mention the fact that Spike lives in Chief Burke’s jurisdiction. Somehow I doubt if the chief will give up on finding Mimi quite so easily. After all, dognapping’s a felony.”

Marston and Caroline looked at me as if I’d thrown a large toad into the center of an elegantly set table.

“Only so much time and money he can afford to spend on one missing dog,” my grandfather said. “Especially when the one person who wants the dog found will have a few other things on her mind.”

And especially since the chief, a dog lover himself, might be in sympathy with Mimi’s liberators. I just hoped the new home they were planning for Mimi was far enough away to be safe. And that someone who could easily afford it, like my grandfather, found some way of conveying to Mrs. Winkleson a sum of money that far exceeded even her most inflated notions of what Mimi was worth. I’d tackle him about it later, with no eavesdroppers.