C. and M. Marsh, Girl Detectives

By Dawn Vogel

Chrysanthemum and Marigold Marsh live in a mechanical garden with their family. But when strange things happen, these two girl detectives are on the case! Follow them through their adventures with rose thieves, a misbehaving monkey, and someone sneaking around the garden at night!

• Language: English
• Publisher: DefCon One Publishing
• Release date: May 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005840198

Dawn Vogel

Dawn Vogel has been published as a short fiction author and an editor of both fiction and non-fiction. Her academic background is in history, so it’s not surprising that much of her fiction is set in earlier times. By day, she edits reports for historians and archaeologists. In her alleged spare time, she runs a craft business, helps edit Mad Scientist Journal, and tries to find time for writing. She lives in Seattle with her awesome husband (and fellow author), Jeremy Zimmerman, and their herd of cats.

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C. and M. Marsh, Girl Detectives

A collection of Marsh Sisters Adventures

by Dawn Vogel

For more adventures with Chrysanthemum and Marigold, visit http://historythatneverwas.com/marsh-sisters

Copyright 2022 Dawn Vogel

The Recondite Riddle of the Rose Rogue is copyright 2010.

The Marvelous Matter of the Mechanical Monkey is copyright 2018.

The Wearisome Worry of the Wily Waif is copyright 2022.

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Table of Contents

The Recondite Riddle of the Rose Rogue

The Magnificent Matter of the Mischievous Monkey

The Wearisome Worry of the Wily Waif

About the Author

The Recondite Riddle of the Rose Rogue

Chrysanthemum was the first to notice, as she often was. Some might have accused her of being a busybody, but she preferred to think of herself as observant. As the youngest daughter, at age eight, her job was to make minor repairs on the flowers, and to mark any flowers in need of major repairs for Mother to take care of later. So Chrysanthemum had become familiar with most of the flowers, and spent a considerable part of her day walking down paths, looking for anything that needed to be fixed.

As she passed through the rose garden at the heart of the greenhouse, she marveled that she had not seen any of Father's clockwork bees buzzing past her, heading for the prize of the collection, the jeweled roses. Dripping with gemstones that glittered like dewdrops, these exquisite flowers fetched an enormous price at the market. They were also very rare. The first five jeweled roses that Chrysanthemum's maternal grandfather, Leopold Brecht, had lovingly crafted and named after his five daughters, produced but a few new blooms each year. The baby roses could be sold, but the mothers remained protected in the mechanical garden.

The first rose had been crafted from scrap iron and yellow sapphires, the edges of the metal ground until they lost their jagged edges, and then the whole piece polished until it shone. It was the largest of the five, the prototype design from which Brecht had been able to gradually make the roses smaller and more refined. The second rose was all steel and rubies, the third rose of caesium with emeralds, the fourth rose made from bronze and garnets, and the fifth and most delicate rose of copper and amber.

But now, Chrysanthemum saw only four of the large jeweled roses. Counting again, she identified the missing rose, the smallest of the mothers. Immediately, she reached for her notebook and pocket watch. 9:37 a.m. Jeweled rose Leona is not in the rose garden, she wrote in a flowing cursive. She tucked away her notebook and brought her pinky fingers to her mouth, preparing to whistle for her older sister, Marigold (who was twelve and was nearly as clever as Chrysanthemum, or so the younger girl believed), when suddenly she gasped.

Near the edge of one the paths away from the center of the greenhouse, a bit of loose soil marred the tidy walkway. All of the family members who tended the garden were fastidious about keeping the paths pristine. This confirmed her suspicion immediately.

Breaking into a run toward the cottage, she shouted, "Mother, Father, Leona has been