Swan for the Money Read Online Free PDF Page B

so I could anticipate what sort of trouble my two geriatric delinquents might be planning to get into. But I knew I’d get a chance sooner or later, so I just concentrated on not letting the steady rhythm of my windshield wipers put me to sleep.
    I kept turning over in my brain the two difficult tasks Mother and Dad had assigned to me. Find out who had used the doe urine on Matilda. Find Mother’s missing secateurs. Three difficult tasks if you included bringing about a speedy end to Mother and Dad’s quarrel. And then there was the dognapping. I had no desire to meddle in Chief Burke’s investigation, but I probably couldn’t say the same for Dad, who devoured mystery books by the hundreds and reveled at the idea of getting involved in a real investigation. And if the dognapping threatened to derail the rose show, it could suddenly become problem number one.
    I let Caroline’s and Dr. Blake’s animal talk flow over me as I puzzled over all these problems, making plans and then discarding them as useless.
    We were within sight of Mrs. Winkleson’s gate when my grandfather finally changed the topic.
    “So, how much farther are we going?” he asked.
    “Funny you should ask,” I said. “There’s the entrance now.”
    I pointed to where two large pillars of white-painted brick loomed up, flanking an asphalt driveway in considerably better repair than the road that led to it. The black wrought-iron gate was shut and probably locked.
    Since the farm was surrounded not by an impenetrable wall topped with razor wire but a neatly painted white board fence, I couldn’t see the logic of the locked gate. Any burglar— or dognapper— with half a brain could just hop over the fence. All the gate did was inconvenience people like me who had legitimate business with Mrs. Winkleson.
    The pillar on the left bore a small black-and-white sign that read “No solicitors.” Dr. Blake snorted aloud as he read the larger black-and-white sign on the other pillar.
    “Raven Hill?” he said. “I suppose she might have ravens on the grounds. Of course, they usually prefer a more wooded area to nest. But hill? Flat as a pancake as far as I can see.”
    He was exaggerating a little. The land around us was gently rolling, but certainly none of the slight elevations deserved to be called hills.
    “There are plenty of woods on the farm,” I said, as I pulled up to the intercom box. “And Raven Flats wouldn’t sound nearly as elegant. Besides, I don’t think the raven part is really about the birds. It’s about the color. She has adopted a monochromatic color scheme. Everything on the farm is black or white or gray.”
    I rolled down my window and pushed the call button.
    “Sounds pretentious to me,” Dr. Blake boomed.
    “Shhh!” I said, putting my hand over the intercom grille in what was probably a fruitless attempt to mute his voice.
    “Well, it is,” he muttered.
    The intercom’s speaker crackled.
    “Yes?” said a tinny voice. The transmission was so bad I couldn’t tell if it was Mrs. Winkleson or one of her long-suffering staff.
    “Meg Langslow coming to help get ready for the rose show,” I shouted into the intercom. “And to see Mrs. Winkleson.”
    “Is she deaf as well as colorblind?” my grandfather asked loudly. If he’d been in the front seat beside me, I could at least have kicked his ankle. I settled for glaring.
    “Come on up to the house,” the voice said. I heard a buzzing noise, and the gate began to swing open.
    “Thanks,” I shouted back. I rolled up the window and grabbed a couple of tissues to mop at the now sopping wet left shoulder of my black shirt. Mistake; now I had a sopping wet shoulder with bits of pink tissue stuck to it. I sat tapping my fingers on the steering wheel as the gate inched open.
    “I’ll need to speak with her about leaving the damned gate open,” I said.
    “Odd, isn’t it, locking your gate in a place like this,” Caroline said. “I imagine plenty of people