Murder With Peacocks (30 page)

  "Help me with Rob," I hissed, glancing  back at the door of the study. Sure enough, the  vamp was standing in the door, looking daggers at me  and trying to stuff herself back into the bodice of the  dress. Michael took in the situation and immediately  propped up Rob from the other side.

  "We need to get him downstairs and back  home," I said.

  "Maybe you'd better zip his fly up before we  take him back out in public. I'll hold him  steady while you do." I did, made a few more  futile efforts to make him look presentable, and  then we more or less carried him down the stairs.  Fortunately there were only a few people to stare as we  lugged him out the front door.

  Our luck held at first; the fresh air  seemed to revive Rob a little, so he wasn't a  dead weight on the walk home. But getting up  the porch steps took a lot out of him, and he  passed out in the front hall.

  "Allow me," Michael said, and he heaved  Rob up in a fireman's carry and hauled him  up to his room, with me running ahead to show the  way. Michael deposited his burden on the bed.  After I pulled off Rob's shoes and loosened his  tie, I decided to call it quits.

  "Thanks," I told Michael. "Once  again, I don't know what we'd have done without you.  You seem to be making a career out of hauling  incapacitated Langslows home."

  "You're welcome. I only wish we could  get some aspirin in him. I learned in my  misspent youth that a couple of aspirin the night before does more than a dozen the morning  after. But I don't think he'd thank us for waking  him up to feed them to him."

  "He should thank us for getting him out of there. I  don't know what I would have done if you hadn't  happened to come along."

  "I didn't just happen to come along. I saw  you go upstairs, and I remembered that you'd seemed  to be trying to lose that Doug character, and I thought  I'd tag along in case he followed you."

  "And what if I'd been heading for a rendezvous  with him?" I teased.

  "I would have been frightfully embarrassed. But  somehow I can't see you slipping upstairs for a  rendezvous with Dougie."

  "No, actually he was waiting for me in the  gazebo."

  I'd never actually seen anyone do a double  take in real life.

  "He was what?"

  "Waiting for me in the gazebo." 

  "You agreed to meet him in the gazebo?"

  "No, but about the seventeenth time he asked me  if we could go somewhere more private, I told him  to be in the gazebo in fifteen minutes. If he  chose to believe I was planning on showing up there,  that's his problem."

  "Why not just tell him to get lost?" Michael  asked.

  "I did. Several dozen times. The man just  won't take drop dead for an answer."

  "I'm relieved," Michael said. "I  didn't think he was your type. In fact, I was  wondering--"

  Just then Rob stirred, rolled over on his  back, smiled seraphically, and spoke.

  "Kill the lawyers," he said. "Kill all  the lawyers." Then he began snoring loudly.  Michael and I tiptoed out of the room.

  "Did he say what I thought he said?"  Michael asked.

  "Yes. Kill All the Lawyers," I said.  "It's a role-playing game. Also known as  Lawyers from Hell."

  "I've never heard of it."

  "That's because Rob and a friend have been inventing it this  summer."

  "That's great!"

  "While they should have been studying for the bar  exam."

  "Oh," Michael said. "How do you  think Samantha will like that?"

  "Not at all, but then after tonight, it may be  irrelevant. If anyone tells her what  Rob's been up to."

  "True. Let me know as soon as you know what  happens. Not that I'm trying to be nosy--"

  "But if Samantha cancels another wedding you'd  like to know immediately. Before the Brewsters stick your  mom with another set of unused dresses. I  understand."

  He chuckled and went off. I went to bed  wondering how Samantha would react if she found  out about Rob. And how he would feel about it. If  she threw his behavior in his face, should I bring  up her clandestine expedition of the other night?

  No. Stay out of it. It's his life; let him  ruin it himself. Then again, he'd been awfully  subdued recently. Maybe this was more than just  prenuptial jitters. I'd never been able  to figure out what he saw in Samantha. And they  weren't billing and cooing much anymore. Maybe,  subconsciously, he wanted out.

          Monday, July 18

  Among her many failings, Samantha was not  only a morning person but an intolerant and  inconsiderate one. At least Eileen saved  most of her crises for the afternoon. And she would never have  awakened me at dawn the morning after a party.  All right, it was eight o'clock, but I'd been up  until well past one, looking after Rob. And  Mother--the traitor--let her in and insisted I  get up and talk to her. I found the two brides  calmly sipping tea when I stumbled downstairs  to the kitchen.

  "Meg," Samantha said. "See if you can  locate Michael Waterston. We need  to schedule a fitting for Ashley. Today if  possible, and if not, first thing tomorrow."

  "Ashley?" I said groggily. "I didn't  know we had an Ashley." Samantha looked at  me as if I were feebleminded. I counted them off  on my fingers: "Jennifer, Jennifer,  Jennifer, Kimberly, Tiffany, Heather,  Melissa, and Blair. I'm right; we don't  have an Ashley." I nodded triumphantly, turned to the refrigerator, and began  rooting around for a diet soda to wash down my  aspirin. It was already too hot for coffee.

  "Heather will be unable to participate,"  Samantha said, in a brittle tone. "Ashley  has very graciously agreed to take her place."

  "That's rather inconsiderate of her," I  grumbled. "Heather, I mean, not Ashley.  Dropping out at the last minute like this. What  happened? She was at the party last night,  wasn't she?"

  "Yes, I think so," Samantha said,  tight-lipped. Suddenly, memory returned.  Heather. Of course. The she-beast in the red  dress.

  "I'm sure she was," I said. "Wearing that  rather tacky strapless red dress."

  "Yes," Samantha said, with a thin, satisfied  smile. "It was rather tacky, wasn't it?" And I  very much doubt if she meant the dress. Ah,  well; I hadn't really expected Rob's little  encounter with the Lady in Red to go unnoticed.

  "Do you think Ashley's approximately the  same size as Heather?"

  "Oh, yes," Samantha said, very  businesslike. "Heather and Tiffany are  exactly the same size, and Ashley was  Tiffany's roommate in school and they always  used to share all their clothes. So the dress should  only need minor alterations."

  I was impressed. Not eight hours after the  event and Samantha had already rounded up not only  a replacement bridesmaid but one in a convenient  size. And I bet Ashley was a blonde,  too.

  "Leave it to me," I said.

  Samantha gave me Ashley's number and  promised me that Ashley could be down at  Be-Stitched on half an hour's notice. I  strode out of the kitchen, leaving the two of them  chatting away. When I was out of sight, I  grabbed a lawn chair and Dad's wide-brimmed    gardening hat and went down to the end of the driveway,  where I plunked myself down in the lawn chair with the  hat over my face and fell asleep.

  Actually, I only intended to sit and think  until Michael and Spike came along on their  usual morning walk, but the next thing I knew  my shoulder was being shaken and I heard Michael's  voice. "Meg! Are you all right?"

  "Morning," I said, "I thought you'd be coming  along soon."

  "And you were lying in wait for me. I am  immensely flattered. And if you'll only tell  me it has absolutely nothing to do with nuptial  attire, my happiness will be complete."

  "Sink back into the depths of despair, then,"  I said, getting up and falling into step beside them.  "We need to schedule a fitting for a new  bridesmaid. Samantha has decided to dispose  of her predecessor."

  "Not another suspicious death," he said,  only half joking.

  "No, just a summary dismissal. I suppose  it was too much to hope for that Samantha wouldn't  hear about last night's escapade."

  "At least it's the bridesmaid who's  dismissed, not Rob. She wouldn't be casting another  bridesmaid if she intended calling off the  wedding."

  "I'm not sure that would be a tragedy," I  muttered. "And anyway, I hope he's not too  hungover to do some heavy groveling today."

  "Wonder what she said to Heather?"

  "I'm impressed; you actually remembered her  name. I have a hard time telling them all apart  sober, and last night after a couple of drinks  I'll be damned if I could remember which one she  was."

  "I have reason to," Michael said, "I had  a run-in with her myself. She's as subtle as a  pit bull, and about as appealing. As a matter of  fact, it was because of Heather that--oh, damn!"

  Spike had slipped his leash again and was running  merrily toward the peacock flock in the side  yard. We chased him for a while, but it was too  hot.

  "I give up," Michael said, as we  collapsed, panting, on the lawn. "He's too  small to do them any real damage; he'll come  home when he's tired of chasing them."

  It was a long day, and I was dead tired when I  got home. Replacing one indistinguishable  blond bimbo with another shouldn't be this  difficult, should it? Of course, I'd also had  to play wise older sister to a depressed,  guilt-ridden and very hungover Rob. And deal with  Samantha, who was treating me with a watered-down version of the same icy, condescending calm  she was using with Rob. Had everyone forgotten, by the  way, that Rob was going to be taking his first day of  bar exams tomorrow? It would be a miracle if he  passed after all this.

  A thoroughly rotten day. I stopped to rest  for a moment on the porch steps.

  The peacocks were crossing the lawn. Actually,  I suppose I should say the peafowl, since we  had three peacocks and six peahens. I watched  with satisfaction. Many things had gone wrong this  summer, and many more probably would. I was sure  to be blamed for most of them, and some of them would  actually be my fault. But the peafowl situation was  shaping up nicely. They had settled in. We  had found that we could lead them from one yard to another  with a small trail of food and more or less keep  them in place by putting a supply out.  Establishing them in the Brewsters' yard for  Samantha's wedding and then reestablishing them in  our yard for Mother's would not be a problem. I leaned  against the railing and smiled contentedly. Then my  contentment was shattered by a voice from the porch.

  "I don't suppose you could find some different  peacocks," Mother said.

  "Different peacocks? I had a hard enough time  finding these. What's wrong with them?"

  "Only three of them have tails," Mother pointed  out.

  "That's because only three of them are peacocks,  Mother. The rest are peahens."

  "Well what do we need them for?" Mother  asked. "They don't add anything to the  impression. They're not very attractive."

  "Maybe not to you, but apparently they are to the  peacocks. If we didn't have them around, the  peacocks would sulk and wouldn't spread their  tails. You know how men are."

  Mother digested that in silence.  "Besides, one of them's shedding," she said.

  "Shedding?"

  She pointed. One of the peacocks--the smallest--was beginning to look a little bedraggled.

  "I think it's called molting. Either that or he  lost a fight with one of the bigger peacocks." Or  perhaps Spike had been chewing on him.

  "It's not very attractive," Mother said. "What  if they all do that?"

  "Then we call Mr. Dibbit and get our  money back. If you don't like them, we can take them back after Samantha's wedding."

  Mother pondered.

  "We'll see how they look by then," she said  finally, and swept off.

  I looked at the peafowl again. were the other two  peacocks showing signs of molting? Would they start  shrieking during the ceremony? It would probably  be a good idea to keep them out of the Brewsters'  yard until the day before the ceremony. To minimize  the number of droppings on the lawn. That way the  guests would only be stepping in fresh peacock  droppings. I saw a slight movement in the  shrubbery. A small, furry white face  peeked out. The kitten was stalking the peafowl. Should  I go out and rescue him? Or was it the peafowl who  needed rescuing?

  The kitten attacked. The peafowl scattered in  all directions, shrieking. Mother slammed the  front door closed. I sighed. So much for things  going right.

          Tuesday, July 19

  Eric woke me up shortly after dawn  to remind me that we were going to the amusement park and  ask me if I thought it would rain. I restrained  the impulse to throttle him and sent him down  to watch the Weather Channel. The weather, alas,  was clear, and the other small boys would arrive at  seven. So much for sleeping late.

  By the time Michael strolled up, looking  disgustingly alert for a professed night person,  I was inventorying the stuff I'd packed--snacks and games to keep the small monsters  happy while getting there, sunblock, dry  clothes for everyone in case we went on any  water rides too close to closing time, the  inhaler A.j.'s mother had provided in case his  asthma acted up, a large assortment of  Band-Aids, aspirin for the headache I  suspected I'd have by the end of the day, and several  dozen other critical items.

  Hannibal crossed the Alps with less  baggage.

  "Dad should be by any minute with his car," I  said.

  "How big is his car?" Michael asked,  eyeing our charges.

  "It's a great big Buick battleship; we  can stuff them all in the backseat."

    Eric and his friends were running about shooting  each other with imaginary guns and competing to see who  could achieve the noisiest and most prolonged  demise, and I was watching them with satisfaction.

  "Rather a lively bunch, aren't they," Michael  said, continuing to watch them.

  Aha, I thought. Second thoughts already.  Well, he wasn't drafted.

  "I egged them on. The more energy we bleed off  now, the less hellish the drive will be."

  "Good plan. You did bring the stun gun, I  hope?"