Murder With Peacocks (17 page)

  "I've found that with Samantha nothing works like  snob appeal. Bet you five bucks that before the  week is out, Samantha will find at least half  a dozen occasions to remark, "But of course, the  Pughs have performed all the Hollingworth family  weddings for generations." Hooey."

  "You mean it's not true?"

  "Oh, it's true. For about two generations; before  that the Hollingworths were Methodists and considered the  Pughs carpetbaggers. But no need for her to know  that."

  "My lips are sealed," Michael said,  raising an eyebrow at me.

  "They'd better be. Anyway, I'm getting  nowhere trying to find a substitute, and I've got to find some way to convince her to put  up with Reverend Pugh. There seems to be a  puzzling shortage of clergy in this part of the country  at the moment; or perhaps not so puzzling if word has  leaked out about what Yorktown is like in the  summer."

  "Or word about what Samantha is like all year  round," Michael muttered through a fixed smile as  the bride in question sailed out of the dressing room.

  Thanks to my rapidly improving talents for  prevaricating and changing the subject, I  managed to get through the rest of the day without taking on  more than two small new jobs and without admitting  to Samantha exactly how slowly I was  progressing on some of her odder requests. When  I arrived home and found that Barry had shown up  and invited himself for dinner and I'd missed a call  from the calligrapher, I decided that I was  feeling poorly and retired to my room with a cold  plate and a hot new mystery. I fell asleep  over chapter two.

          Tuesday, June 21

  Thanks to all the time I'd had to waste oohing  and ahhing over Samantha's and the bridesmaid's  gowns, I'd managed to spend the better part of  Monday in Be-Stitched without getting anywhere  near the inside of a dressing room myself. After  making a quick return call to the calligrapher--who wasn't home again; I was going to have to find the  time to drop by her house in person--I headed down  Tuesday morning to see if I could squeeze in  a fitting before a series of appointments with  assorted caterers and florists.  Unfortunately, I let Eileen tag along.

  "How are the rest of my costumes going?" she  asked, before I could get a word out. I thought her  choice of words accurate; they were very beautiful, but  much more like costumes than normal wedding garb.

  "Splendidly!" Michael said. "They've  already done most of the priest's outfit. Would you like  to see it? I can try it on for you; your cousin and  I seem to be much the same size."

  Of course she wanted to see it. It was for her  wedding. Like Mother and Samantha, she would happily  spend hours contemplating a placecard holder for  her own wedding, while begrudging every second I  spent on anyone else's wedding, even something as  critical as finding out if I would fit into my dress. But I had to admit I was  curious about the priest's outfit, especially if  Michael was proposing to model it. Michael  disappeared into the dressing room. We heard a  few words in Vietnamese, muffled giggles,  and the jangle of a dropped hanger. Eileen  browsed in a few of the magazines--which made me  nervous; one of them had a rather spectacular  article on a wedding with a Roaring Twenties theme  that I was hoping would not catch her eye until after  her wedding. If ever.

  Suddenly, the curtain was thrown violently  aside, and out stepped Michael, in costume and very  much in character. The long, flowing vestments were all  black velvet, white linen, and gold lace, and  made him look even taller and leaner than  usual. He'd obviously decided to adopt the  persona of a powerful, sinister prelate--perhaps one  of the Borgias, or a grand inquisitor of some  sort. He stalked slowly across the floor toward  us, catlike, Machiavellian, almost  Mephistophelean, and I found myself imagining him  in a dark, paneled corridor in a Renaissance  palazzo, lit by candles and flaring torches--a  secret passage, perhaps--and he was striding  purposefully along to ... to do what? To foil  a devious plot, or arrange one? Counsel the  king, or betray him? Rescue a fair maiden,  or seduce one? And as he turned and looked  imperiously at us--

  "Oh, it's absolutely fabulous!" Eileen gushed, jarring me from my reverie.  Suddenly I became aware once more of the  mundane real world around me, the steady  mechanical humming of a sewing machine, a scrap  of incomprehensible conversation from behind the curtain,  and the heavy, oppressive heat of a Virginia  summer. Or perhaps it wasn't the heat I felt  so much as a blush, when I realized how  ridiculous I must look, staring at Michael with  my mouth hanging open. I really would have to see him  act sometime, I decided.

  "Think your cousin will like it?" he asked, reaching  to answer the phone. "Be-Stitched. Yes,  Mrs. Langslow, she's right here." He handed the  phone to me. "Your mother. Something about peacocks?"

  "Meg, dear," Mother trilled. "I have  splendid news! Your cousin has found us some  peacocks, but you'll have to go over there today to make the  arrangements."

  "Over where?" I said. "And why can't  we just call?"

  "He doesn't have a phone, apparently, or  it's not working. I'm not sure which. And he won't  take a reservation unless he has a cash  deposit, so you'll have to go there immediately to make  sure they're available. Think how terrible it would  be if after all this we finally found the peacocks and  someone else snapped them up just before you got there,  which I'm sure could happen if anyone else  finds out about them. There are two other weddings in  town the same weekend mine is, and--"

  "All right, Mother. I'll go and put a down  payment on the peacocks."

  I couldn't prevent Mother from giving me  directions, which I ignored because she was sure to have  gotten them mixed up. I called my cousin  to get real directions, rescheduled all the other  appointments on my list, and dashed off into the  wilds of the county. Even with directions, I got  lost half a dozen times. How can you turn right  at a millet field if you have no idea what  millet looks like? But I found the farm and only  stepped in one pile of manure while I was there.  The peacocks' owner agreed to bring them over a  week or so before Samantha's wedding, so they'd have  time to settle down, and leave them till a few  days after Mother's wedding. I managed not to yawn  during his lengthy stories about how he came to have a  flock of peacocks and the difficulties of breeding  them and how they were better than dogs for warning him  whenever strangers came to the farm. And I left a  deposit that would still have seemed excessive if the  damned peacocks were gold-plated. Considering the  cost involved, his lack of a telephone must have  been sheer cussedness rather than a sign of  economic hardship.

  I was feeling very pleased with myself until bedtime, when I realized I'd spent the entire day  running around in order to cross off just one item.  I tried to reach Mrs. Thornhill, the  calligrapher, so I could cross that off, but there  was no answer. Again. Ah, well. Tomorrow was  another day. I wondered, briefly, where Dad  had been for the past several days, and what he had  done or was doing with Great-Aunt Sophy.

Cool it, I told myself. Let Dad play  detective. You have enough to do.

  Wednesday, June 22

  I got an early start and had crammed a  truly awesome number of caterer and florist  inspections into the morning. Not to mention half a  dozen unsuccessful attempts to reach Mrs.  Thornhill, the feckless calligrapher. Although  still suspicious of what Dad was up to, I was just  as happy to have heard nothing about homicide for  several days. I was feeling optimistic about the  possibility of getting back on schedule when  Eileen showed up unexpectedly to have lunch with us.  I immediately wondered what she was up to.

  "Are you doing anything this afternoon?" Eileen said,  finally. Here comes the bombshell, I told myself.

  "I'm going in to Be-Stitched for a fitting.  My dress for Samantha's wedding."

  "I'll go in with you," Eileen said. "I have  something I want to ask Michael about."

  Doubtless another sign of rampant paranoia  on my part, but on the way, as Eileen chattered  happily about Renaissance music, I worried  about what she wanted to ask Michael. Doubtless  some new scheme that would make more work for me. I  would have interrogated her then and there, but thought it  might be more tactful to wait and see. Besides, I  felt sure Michael would help me out if she  pulled anything really outrageous.

  "Michael," she said, as we came in,  "I've had the most wonderful idea, and I  wanted to see if it was okay with you first."

  "What is it?" he asked, surprised and a little  wary. Not actually suspicious, but then he  didn't know Eileen as well as I did.

  "I'm going to have everyone in costume," she  announced happily. "I want to see if you can  make the costumes if necessary."

  "I thought we already were having everyone in  costume," Michael said. "Bride, groom,  maid of honor, best man, father of the bride, ring  bearer, flower girl, four ushers, and four  bridesmaids. And your cousin the priest. The  musicians, you said, would be providing their own  costumes. Who else is there?"

  "Eileen, not the guests," I said.

  "Yes!" She beamed. "Won't it be  splendid?"

  "Oh, God, no," I moaned.

  "How many people have you invited?" Michael asked.

  "Six hundred and seven," I said. "At last count."

  "Of course they won't all come," she said,  looking a little hurt and puzzled at our obvious  lack of enthusiasm. "And some of them already have  Renaissance costumes."

  "How many?" I asked. "A dozen or two?  That still leaves several hundred costumes, even  if half the guest list doesn't show up."

  "Well, yes," Eileen admitted.

  "Have you considered how much it would cost for guests  to buy, rent, or make their costumes? It could be  several hundred dollars apiece. I don't  think you can ask people to spend that much just to come to your  wedding. On top of what they'll already have to spend  in airfare and hotels. A lot of people would stay  away and feel hurt. Unless you're thinking of  sticking your father with the bill. I'm sure he'd like  that; feeding and clothing the multitudes."

  "Maybe we could rent a bunch of costumes from  a theater," Eileen said, looking hopefully at  Michael.

  "I suppose you might be able to," Michael  said, "But you certainly wouldn't want to."

  "Why not?"

  "Most theatrical costumes are designed  to look good from a distance," he said. "Up close,  the way guests would see each other, they don't  look so hot, even if they're brand new, and if  they've been used they could be more than a little ragged  around the edges. Also, up close, no matter how  well cleaned they were, you'd probably be able  to tell that people had been wearing them and sweating under  hot lights for hours on end. You'd smell more  than just the greasepaint." Bravo, Michael,  I thought.

  "Perhaps we could send them all patterns," she  suggested. "So they could make their own costumes."

  "I'm sure the few who know how and have the time have  other things they'd like to be sewing," I said.

  "I'm sure there must be some way we can  manage it," Eileen said, turning stubborn.

  "Tell you what: let's ask Mother," I said.  "She's the best one I know to tell us whether it's  suitable and if so, how to get it done. Michael,  why don't you let Eileen take a look at  how her dress is coming while I call to see if  Mother's home or at Mrs. Fenniman's."

  Eileen cheered up again at this, and obediently  followed Michael back to the sewing room while I phoned home to enlist Mother.

  "She's going to try the dress on while she's  here," Michael said, reappearing a few minutes  later.

  "Good," I said. "That will give Mother time to round  up Mrs. Fenniman and Pam and meet us back  at the house to talk Eileen out of it."

  "Are you sure they'll talk her out of it?"  Michael asked. "No offense, but it seems  to be just the sort of ... charmingly eccentric idea  your mother would encourage."

  "Charmingly eccentric," I said. "That's  tactful. Totally loony, you mean. Yes, it's  just the sort of circus Mother normally likes  to encourage, and normally she'd be the first one down  here trying to make sure her costume outshines  all the rest. But I have carefully explained to her  how much time this would take to coordinate. How much  of my time, which Mother would rather have me spending on her  wedding. She'll talk Eileen out of it, never  fear."

  "I see why you wanted to get your mother  involved," Michael said. "Brilliantly  Machiavellian."

  "If all else fails, I'll try  to convince Eileen that costumes would be more fun for  one of the prewedding parties. Last I heard she was  still planning several of those."

  "You know, some people pay other people good money for what  you're doing for these three weddings," Michael  remarked.

  "Not enough," I said, fervently. "They can't  possibly pay them enough."

  "I don't mean to be nosy," Michael said,  "but your mother does seem to have a lot of very  definite ideas about what she wants done, and you  always seem to be the one who ends up doing everything.  I was wondering ... uh ..."

  "Is she always like that, and why do I put up with  it?"

  "Well, yes, more or less."

  "She's not usually this bad," I said, with a  sigh. "I think it's sort of a loyalty test."

  "Loyalty test?"

  "She's making me pay for having taken  Dad's side in the divorce."

  "Did you really?" Michael asked. "Take  his side, I mean."

  "All three of us did," I said. "At  least, Mother wanted a divorce and Dad didn't, and neither did Pam or Rob  or I. If that counts as taking Dad's side, then yeah, I took his side. Still do. So it's  my theory that Mother's making us all jump through  hoops to pay for it."

  "If the question ever comes up, I am firmly on  her side in any and all disputes, no matter  how ridiculous," Michael said.

  "Good plan," I replied.

  "Unless, of course, you're on the other  side."

  "Foolhardy, but I appreciate the thought."  It did take most of the afternoon to squelch the  costume idea even with Mother, Mrs. Fenniman,  and Pam helping out. Somewhere along the way, Mother  promised Eileen that we would hold a costume  party sometime between now and her wedding. I left them  trying to settle on a date and retired to the  hammock to fall asleep over chapter three of  my mystery.