Read Online Swan for the Money by Donna Andrews - Free Book Online

We’ll be using that for the exhibitors to prepare their roses and relax while the judges are at work.”
    “What about the one in the middle?” Dr. Blake asked.
    “Horse barn, and apparently it’s all right to kick the cows, goats, and sheep out into the rain for a couple of days, but not the horses. So that’s off limits.”
    “Off limits, eh.” Dr. Blake’s eyes glinted, and I could tell he was busily crafting a clever way to sneak into the horse barn.
    “Off limits for rose show use,” I said. “I’m sure Mr. Darby will be happy to include it on your tour if you ask.”
    “Meg, shall I call your mother and tell her the news about the party?” Caroline asked.
    “Yes, thanks,” I said. I was rummaging through my tote bag, looking for my notebook-that-tells-me-when-to-breathe, and was happy not to have to add another task to it.
    Mother was, of course, delighted with our news, and promised to do what she could to enforce the dress code.
    “Ridiculous,” my grandfather pronounced. I noticed, though, that he waited until after Caroline had hung up and Mother couldn’t hear him. I began going over my to-do list for the day while the two of them strolled around examining the interior of the barn, every inch of it painted stark, glaring white.
    “Now, now,” Caroline said. “It takes all kinds, and if I ever need a donor to help sponsor my zebras, I know where I can look. But why a rose show, anyway? Why not a show that celebrates flowers in general?”
    “Why limit it to flowers?” my grandfather asked. “Plants with visible, showy flowers are a distinct minority in the plant kingdom. Why discriminate against all those useful or interesting plants that don’t happen to make pretty garden specimens?”
    “You’ll get no argument from me,” I said, looking up from my notebook. “The Caerphilly Garden Club’s planning a general garden show next month, if you’re interested, but even so, I don’t think the categories will be all that broad.”
    “Still the focus is on plants’ utility to humans, rather than their place in the ecosystem,” Dr. Blake said. He was lifting up the lids of feed bins and poking into their contents.
    “Yes, which means that they probably won’t even have a Most Vigorous Weed category, which Michael and I could win hands down with the crabgrass we’re growing in our lawn. And you can bet they won’t have a Noxious Fungi class for the mold that’s probably growing on the leftovers in the back of my refrigerator these last few weeks, when I’ve been too busy with the rose show to clean.”
    “Still, I imagine the general show will be much more interesting than the rose show,” Caroline said, as she methodically looked inside the doors of a long row of storage cabinets. “More varied. I might look into exhibiting myself. I have a few rather nice plants in my butterfly garden.”
    “Hmph,” Dr. Blake snorted.
    “If it makes you feel any better,” I added, “half the garden club are protesting the rose show.”
    “The half who don’t grow roses?” Caroline asked.
    “Right,” I said. “And they’re all particularly sore at me.”
    “For organizing the rose show?”
    “For not also organizing the garden show,” I said. “Two of the non-rose growers volunteered to handle it, and by all accounts, it’s a disaster. There’s some talk that they might have to cancel it.”
    “Gardeners are resourceful,” Caroline said. “I’m sure they’ll pull it off somehow.”
    “Probably by getting Meg to organize it,” my grandfather said. He had entered a stall and was scuffling through the hay. I felt reassured. He might dislike toy dogs, but he was doing his bit to search for poor Mimi.
    Just then we heard a vehicle outside. I strolled over to peer out the barn door.
    “Mr. Darby back already?” Caroline said.
    “Not yet.” Michael’s truck lurched into view, with Rob at the wheel. The truck bed was filled with plastic totes and tarp-covered boxes.