Murder With Peacocks (37 page)

  "Why shouldn't they?" I asked. "I mean,  what did you expect?"

  "I don't know. His friends at one end of the yard  reviling her, her friends at the other darkly hinting  that he drove her to it, the minister darting back and  forth striving in vain to prevent bloodshed, people  storming off in outrage. Everyone seems rather ...  I don't know. Cheerful?"

  "I expect they are, really. I mean, for one  thing, half the people here have known both of them all their  lives, so the friends of the bride versus friends of the  groom thing is out. The main debate is between the people  who are saying "I told you so" and the ones saying  "Well, I never!" And no one's going  to leave now; they might miss the next disaster.  Samantha surprised us all, she really did  throw the event of the season, although not quite in the sense  we expected. Cheerful is an understatement;  they're having the time of their lives."

  A cheer went up from the side yard. Somebody  had dragged the nets off Dad's strawberry beds  and trapped one of the peacocks. Unfortunately,  two guests had gotten entangled as well, and the  peacock, somewhat the worse for wear, escaped before  the guests did.

  "If they deduct for damages, you're going  to lose your deposit on those peacocks," he  remarked.

  "Not my deposit," I replied. "The  Brewsters are footing the bill for the livestock."

  "Aha! The first crack in the facade of  interfamily solidarity. But somehow I expect  you'll still be the one who has to cope with their owner."

  "Probably," I replied. Perhaps I  hadn't had enough punch after all. Then again, maybe  my suspicions were right and Mr. Dibbit didn't really want them back.

  Just then Rob burst back into the yard. He was  disheveled and slightly bloody, attempting  to shake Uncle Lou and Cousin Mark from the death  grip they seemed to have on his arms. And trailed  by several deputies.

  "Now what?" I moaned.

  Just then one of the peacocks gave a particularly  ghastly shriek. Both deputies drew their  weapons and swung into a defensive formation in an  impressively calm and efficient manner.  Michael and I crouched behind a dormer until that  misunderstanding had been settled and then climbed  back down the ladder to catch the next act.

  Samantha and Ian had apparently gone to the  airport and taken a commuter flight to Miami.  Uncle Lou and Cousin Mark had restrained  Rob from taking the next flight and had escorted  him back home. They were still standing guard over him.  Presumably, so were the deputies. Silly,  if you asked me. Did they think he would rush out  onto the runway at Miami International  to challenge Ian to armed combat, with Samantha  going to the victor? An aunt who owned the local  travel agency was on the phone using her  connections to find out if they'd booked a continuing  flight.

  "They don't need to book one," I pointed  out. "They've got the honeymoon tickets."

  "Surely she didn't give Ian Rob's  ticket," Mother said incredulously.

  "She ran away with him," I countered. "Why  shouldn't she give him Rob's ticket?"

  "She didn't even wait to see if I  passed the bar exam," Rob kept saying, in an  indignant tone.

  "Rob," I said, when I could get his  attention, "where's my car?"

  "Car?"

  "You were driving my car," I said. "Where is  it?"

  "Oh, God, I left it at the airport." 

  "At the airport? You drove away and left  my car parked in the airport parking lot?"

  He winced.

  "Well, in the loading zone, actually." 

  "Good heavens, Rob," Uncle Lou said.  "Why didn't you tell us that? They'll have towed it  by now."

  "Was that Meg's car?" Cousin Mark asked. "I saw them towing away a little blue  car when we drove off."

  "You left my car to be towed?" I said. Rob  hung his head.

  "Don't scold your brother, dear," Mother  said. "Think what a trying day he's had."

  "What do you mean a trying day?" I said.  "Trying day? He's just had one of the luckiest  escapes in history. What the hell is trying  about--"

  "Meg," Michael said, grabbing my arm with one  hand and steering me toward the house, "let's go  call the airport."

  "Trying!" I shrieked back over my shoulder  as Michael dragged me away.

  "We can find out where they've towed your car--" 

  "Talk about trying! How about someone trying  to find out if Samantha and Ian happen to be  carrying a suitcase full of embezzled cash!"

  "I'll give you a ride," Michael went  on relentlessly.

  "How about trying to find out if she knows anything  about digitalis--"

  Michael managed to drag me away from the  reception, though not before I'd made a fool of  myself shrieking several more wild accusations about  Samantha. We collected his convertible and sped  out to the airport to find where they'd towed my car.  And then across the county to the towing company's lot.  Which was run by one of Mother's more feckless cousins.  And was closed tight when we arrived, with a sign  on the gate: Back Soon.

  "I wonder how soon is soon," Michael  said.

  "Great," I said. "He hauls my car out here  in the middle of nowhere and then dashes off looking for  another victim."

  "Well, relax. Look at the bright side:  it's probably a great time not to be around your  neighborhood."

  "I'm sorry to drag you out like this." 

  "The fun was just about over at the house," he  said. "And I wanted the chance to talk to you."

  "I'm not very good company right now." 

  "Understandable," he replied.

  "Do you think she did it?" I demanded.

  "Who?"

  "Samantha."

  "Run away? I'm sure she did it."

  "I didn't mean that; I meant the murders."

  Michael shrugged again. "You've got me. Forget about the murders for  now. And Samantha."

  "Easier said than done," I muttered. I was  getting sleepy--I had gotten up at  five-thirty, after all. I leaned back in my  very comfortable seat. I closed my eyes.

  "Meg," Michael said, in a firm tone. 

  "Mmm?" There was a pause. Whatever  Michael wanted to talk to me about, he was in no  hurry. Neither was I. It was very peaceful out here in  the middle of nowhere, with just the frogs and  crickets. Much more peaceful than it would be back  home. The tow truck driver could take his time.

  Suddenly I felt my shoulder being shaken.  "All right," I growled. "I'm not going  to sleep."

  "You did already," Michael said. "You've been  asleep for hours. The tow truck driver is  finally here. Are you awake enough to drive home?"

  I was. And fortunately, by the time I got  home, things were fairly quiet around the  neighborhood.

          Sunday, July 24

  Sunday was a busy day. Also an awkward  one.

  "Should we go over to help the Brewsters with the  cleanup?" Pam wondered.

  "They've already got a cleaning service coming"  I said. "They can afford to pay for it and still bail out  Samantha, I'm sure."

  "We don't want to look as if we're  avoiding them," Pam countered.

  "Why? Aren't we?"

  "You can't exactly blame them for what  Samantha did," she protested.

  "Why not? They raised her. Besides, if you were the  Brewsters, wouldn't we be the last people you wanted  to see right now?"

  "Hmm," she said.

  "Don't you think you should go over to start sending  back the presents?" Mother asked.

  "Surely the Brewsters can do that." 

  "One does want to make sure it's done  right," Mother said. Translation: make sure all  the family members who sent valuable or antique gifts got their stuff back  safely.

  "I think we should wait a day or so, Mother,"  I said. "I can get a head start making up some  labels; I've got the index cards with the  record of who sent what." Translation: the  Brewsters won't be able to put anything over on  us and abscond with any valuable presents.

  "I imagine they've got a lot of food that  they don't feel like eating just going to waste,"  Dad said. "Do you suppose I should go over and  offer to help them with it?"

  "No, Dad."

  The Brewsters weren't picking up the phone or  answering the door, anyway; I'd tried the one  and Mrs. Fenniman the other. I left a  polite message on their machine apologizing for  intruding when they had so much on their minds and asking  them to let me know if there was anything that needed to be  done.

  "I think they're packing," Mrs. Fenniman  reported with glee.

  The only person in the house behaving normally  was Rob. Which was a little abnormal, considering that  he'd more or less just been deserted at the altar.  Granted, he couldn't officially start the  annulment process until Monday morning, but  still, you'd think he'd be spending a little time  reflecting on the whole disaster. But he came  down at ten, ate a hearty breakfast, and spent  the day curled up in his hammock with his books and  papers. Working on Lawyers from Hell, I  realized.

  "I thought he'd already taken the bar exam,"  Mrs. Fenniman commented.

  "He's working on a ... related project,"  I said.

  "He's taking this so bravely," Mother said.  Dad and I looked at each other.

  "You could say that," Dad said.

  "If you ask me, he's relieved," I  muttered to Dad.

  "I agree," Dad said. "But don't upset  your Mother. She likes fussing over him."

  The sheriff dropped by to tell us that there had,  indeed, been digitalis in the caviar at the  rehearsal dinner. And that it would probably be ten  to fourteen days before they released the reverend's  body, which was a relief. Callous as it may  sound, we had enough on our hands with the cleanup from Rob and Samantha's ill-fated wedding  and preparations for Mother's event; we didn't need  a funeral on top of everything else.

          Monday, July 25

  Monday morning, while the family legal  minds dragged Rob off to begin the annulment  proceedings, Mother hauled me into Be-Stitched and  insisted that I be blindfolded while I tried on  my bridesmaid's dress for her wedding.

  "This is totally ridiculous," I said. 

  "Humor me, Meg dear," she said.

  "Don't I always?"

  All I could tell about the dress was that the  material was some kind of butter-soft silk that  made you want to stroke it, and that it didn't have  either hoops or an excessively low-cut  front. Mother was ecstatic with its appearance, which  didn't reassure me in the slightest, and  Mrs. Tranh and the ladies seemed pleased, which  did reassure me, but only a little.

  "How does it look, really?" I asked  Michael, who came back to the house to have lunch  with us.

  "Fantastic," he said. "Really, you're going  to like it."

  "I damn well better."

  "You really don't like giving up control of  things, do you?" Michael asked.

  "No, I don't," I said. "That sounds like  Dad's capsule analysis of my character flaws.  What else has he been telling you?"

  "He thinks you intimidate most men--he's not  sure whether it's deliberate or not--and on those  rare occasions when you meet someone who's not  intimidated by you, you run for cover."

  "Really."

  "He's decided that the best thing for you would be  to meet the right guy under circumstances that would allow  you to get to know each other as friends before the  possibility of anything else comes up."

  "Please tell me he's not about to start playing  matchmaker," I said, wincing.

  "I ... think he's perfectly happy  to leave things alone for the moment. Until all the  weddings are all over."

  "That's fine; after the weddings are all over, I  can escape."

  "We'll see," Michael said.

  I wondered if he was planning on  helping Dad. Just great. Dad and Michael, sitting around discussing the sorry state of my  love life and trying to do something about it. The idea  depressed me. And seeing Jake at one end of the  family dinner table--timid, bland,  ferret-faced Jake--was enough to complete the  depression. Mother may have good taste in  bridesmaid's dresses--the jury was still out on  that--but her taste in bridegrooms had certainly  gone downhill.

  "I'm going to sit outside and be idle," I  announced as lunch ended. "I'm going to lounge in  one of the folding lawn chairs, sip lemonade,  and leaf through whatever magazines I can find that I  can feel reasonably sure have no pictures of  brides in them."

  "I'll join you, if you don't mind,"  Michael said, following me out the door.

  "They won't miss you at the shop?" I  asked.

  "They're at a point on this set of dresses  where they can manage without me right now. As a  matter of fact, they're at a point where I would  be very much underfoot."

  "Then you can amuse me with witty conversation,"  I said.

  "I don't know how witty it will be. But I  have been meaning to talk to you about something. Now that things  are settling down a little."

  We gathered up the lemonade and lawn chairs  and found a nice shady spot under the largest oak  tree on the lawn. But just as we were setting up  our chairs, a peacock leaped out of the tree and  began strutting up and down the lawn with his tail  spread. We looked around and saw a peahen behind  us.

  "I think we're in his way," I remarked.  "He has my heartfelt sympathy,"  Michael said. "Let's give them a little  privacy. God knows that can be hard enough to find around  here."

  We picked up our lawn chairs and moved  down the lawn to an almost-as-shady spot. The  peacock followed and resumed his mating display in  front of us.

  "He seems to be a little confused," Michael  observed.

  "We could split up and see which one of us he's  really interested in," I suggested.

    "I'm not sure I want to know,"  Michael said. "I thought they were just rented for  Samantha's wedding. Did you decide to keep  them around for your mother's after all?"

  "We decided to keep them around permanently."  I sighed. "The grandchildren put up such a fuss this  morning when Mr. Dibbit came to pick them up  that Dad talked him into selling them. I think  Eric has them confused with turkeys. He's  walking around bragging about having rescued them from  somebody's dinner table."