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to make a nice, straightforward, uncontestable will. One that spells out quite clearly what happens to the zoo and the animals.”
    Michael burst out laughing.
    “Patrick?” he said. “Organized? You really didn’t know him that well, did you?”
    “So much for that hope.”
    “Seriously, if he’d been at all organized, things would never have gotten so bad at the zoo to begin with, and we wouldn’t have all these animals underfoot.”
    He was looking rather resentfully at the camels. I thought the camels were getting a bum rap—after all, so far they hadn’t been any more trouble than the llamas. But I didn’t expect him to blame the llamas, who were humming gently and wearing expressions of warm sympathy and heartfelt regret.
    “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m sure Dad and the rest of the family can take care of the animals till we get back.”
    Michael frowned slightly. No doubt it was dawning on him that if Dad was capable of trying to stash a baker's dozen of penguins in our basement while we were still in residence, there was no telling what lunacy he might commit if we left the house undefended for two weeks while the denizens of the Caerphilly Zoo were still homeless.
    “I’ll talk to him,” he said.
    “And say what? ‘Please don’t tick Meg off just when she's finally agreed to marry me’ won’t work, obviously, unless you’ve given up all hope of keeping our planned elopement secret.”
    “I’ll think of something,” he said. “Meanwhile, I came over to let you know that your mother has arrived with lunch.”
    “Excellent.”
    “And Rose Noire wanted me to tell you to hurry up if you’re taking her class. She's starting right after lunch.”
    “Her class? What's she teaching this time—more aromatherapy?”
    “Massage and acupressure for animals.”

    “I’ll pass.”
    “Oh, come on. She claims it does wonders to calm and mellow animals. Think how useful that would be with Spike.” “I’d sooner massage one of the hyenas.”

Chapter 12
    As we strolled back to the house, I mused that I wouldn’t mind watching Rose Noire's class—at least if I could talk her into demonstrating on Spike. But since childhood, Rose Noire had always assumed that “I’d rather just watch” meant that you needed a little more coaxing. And I suspected she was planning to have her pupils practice on some of the sheep that had, as usual, wandered over from Seth Early's pasture across the street. So if the class was starting after lunch, I’d eat and run.
    We found Mother presiding over a buffet table, looking tall, cool, and elegant in one of her summer party dresses, not a single strand of improbably blond hair out of place. Mrs. Fenniman and the other family members who’d actually done the food preparation scurried back and forth from the kitchen with plates and bowls. Someone had moved one of our picnic tables to the far end of the lawn, apparently so Chief Burke and his officers could discuss the case privately while eating their lunches.
    At least two members of the investigation team were paying little attention to the discussion. Sammy and Horace kept glancing over at the part of the lawn where my cousin Rose Noire was whiling away the time until her planned class began by ministering to Dr. Smoot.
    The M.E. was still sprawled in one of our Adirondack chairs, looking picturesquely frail. He had a compress over his eyes anda steaming teacup in one hand, and Rose Noire appeared to be trying to light some sort of incense at his feet.
    “I see Rose Noire has found a new victim for her aromatherapy,” Michael said. “At least she's doing it outdoors.”
    “She knows I’d kill her if she tried it in the house again,” I said with a shudder. Several weeks before, in a well-meaning attempt to add a note of romance to Michael's and my harried life, Rose Noire had sneaked into the house on Friday afternoon and burned an excessive amount of what she claimed was aphrodisiac incense.