Murder With Peacocks (39 page)

  "Yes, I know what it is," Michael said.  "You're having a truckload of Spanish moss  brought in as a wedding present?"

  "Yes," Dad said. "Margaret loves it;  she says it always makes her feel she's living  at Tara. Whenever anyone in the family comes up  here from further south, or if anyone goes down  there to visit, they bring back a little of it."

  "I don't recall seeing any," Michael  said.

  "It doesn't survive," I said. "What the  cold doesn't kill in the winter the birds  drag away in the spring to make nests."

  "But she thinks it's so pretty while it  lasts," Dad said. "So I decided just once  to drape every tree in the whole yard with the stuff.  She'll love it. I'll give you a call when  the coast is clear. Refreshments for everyone who  helps out of course, and you're already coming to the party  Friday, I assume? Oh, and if you have a  ladder we could use, that would be splendid. We  need all the ladders we can get."

  Dad trotted off happily.

  "Unusual sort of wedding present,"  Michael remarked.

  "It's damned peculiar to be giving your  ex-wife a wedding present to begin with," I said.

  "Do you think she'll like it?"

  "Oh, she'll adore it. I hope it  doesn't cause trouble with Jake. That is who  she's supposed to be marrying, last time I  heard."

  "Just one question," Michael said. "Why the hell  is she marrying Jake?"

  When Cousin Leon and the truck finally arrived,  Dad came by and dragged me down to Michael's  to inspect the Spanish moss.

  "Isn't it wonderful!" he said. "Now tomorrow,  as soon as your mother takes off, we'll drive the  truck over--"

  "Er, I can't stay that long," Cousin Leon  said. "I have to start back tonight. Can't we just go over and unload it now?"

  "No, that would spoil the whole surprise,"  Dad protested.

  "No way round it," Leon said, shrugging.  "You want us to put it somewhere else?"

  Dad thought for a minute.  "Michael," he began.

  "Dad," I warned.

  "It's no problem," Michael said. "What can  it hurt to have a few piles of Spanish moss in  the yard for a few days?"

  We all got pitchforks and began unloading the  truck. It took three hours, working at top  speed. Michael's mother's house was painted a  cheerful pink and blue--perhaps with leftover paint from  the shop? Anyway, by the time we'd finished,  Michael's mother's house looked like an Easter  egg in a bed of excelsior.

  "That truck holds a lot more than you'd  think," Dad said, as we waved good-bye to Cousin  Leon and stood surveying Mrs. Waterston's  backyard.

  "I'll say," Michael replied, no doubt  wondering whether we'd ever succeed in hauling all  of it down to our house and getting it hung up.

  "I'll go call the volunteers," Dad said.  "We'll all meet at Pam's house and come  down here as soon as Meg calls us to let us know  that her mother has gone to the beauty parlor."

  "It's going to take quite a while," I said.  "Maybe I should arrange with Jake to keep her  out all afternoon, too."

  I waited until Mother had settled in for a  nice long after-dinner gossip with Mrs.  Fenniman and several of the visiting aunts and then  snuck down to Jake's.

  I knocked on his door. He opened the door  a crack and peered out.

  "Yes?"

  "It's Meg."

  "Yes, I see." He didn't open the  door any wider. I could have told him that he  didn't have to worry, I'd already seen his  depleted possessions and his shoddy bachelor  housekeeping.

  "I was wondering if you could keep Mother away from  the house tomorrow afternoon while we hang some Spanish  moss in the backyard."

  It took quite a while to explain it to him, and at  the end, I still wasn't sure he believed me.

  What if Dad's idea of a wedding  present made him think we were too crazy to cope with? What if he called off the wedding?

  Well, I could always hope.

          Thursday, July 28

  I got up in time to see Mother and Mrs.  Fenniman getting ready to leave. Mother seemed a  little depressed. Or was she perhaps not feeling  well? She seemed preoccupied, anyway, which was  a good thing. Dad kept popping into the kitchen every  five minutes with an air of badly suppressed  excitement. He looked at his watch; he made  highly visible (though incomprehensible) hand  signals to me; he all but shouted, "Is she  gone yet?"

  "Go back to Pam's and wait," I hissed  at him. "I'll call you."

  That kept him out of our hair. For about ten  minutes.

  Finally, Mother and Mrs. Fenniman drove  off. I was lifting the phone to call Pam when I  saw four wheelbarrows dash into the yard,  propelled by four of Pam's kids. Three  ladders followed, carried by Dad, Michael,  Rob, and Pam's husband and sons. Neighbors  and relatives began arriving. More ladders  appeared. The wheelbarrows disgorged their loads and  were trundled off for a refill. Cousin  Horace's pickup pulled into the driveway,  laden with Spanish moss. I sighed, and went out  to grab a pitchfork and help them unload.

  Everyone had a lot of fun for the first hour or  two, chattering happily as they hauled or hung  moss. Things got a little quieter as it began  to dawn on everyone how very much moss there was to be  hung and how determined Dad was to get it all  hung. By noon, the less hardy souls were beginning  to sneak away. Not a disaster; the lower, easily  reachable limbs were almost too thoroughly covered, and  we were down to a dozen diehards on ladders,  trimming the middle and upper branches. And of  course the kids, who trundled doggedly back and  forth from the moss pile to the ladders, keeping the  hangers supplied. Mrs. Fenniman arrived  back, having turned over to Jake the duty of  keeping Mother away. In the middle of the afternoon, I  drove the pickup back for another load and  realized that there was a highly visible trail of moss leading from Michael's mother's house  to ours. One glance at that and Mother would know something was  up. I grabbed a few of the slackers who'd  snuck away and set them to work sweeping the street  and policing the neighborhood.

  Late in the day, Jake called to say they were  on the way home. We hadn't even finished the  backyard, so we decided to try to keep Mother from  looking out and drag her away from the house tomorrow as  well, so we could finish the rest of the yard  Friday. I did another spot inspection for  stray bits of moss and sent everyone off to shower and  change.

  I then corralled my nephews and got Mother  interested in rearranging the furniture again, which  kept all of them out of trouble till bedtime.

          Friday, July 29

  Jake claimed to have important errands  Friday morning. He positively put his  foot down and insisted that he couldn't haul Mother  around for another day. I was so pleased to detect  some sign that he had a backbone I almost  didn't resent inheriting the task of keeping her  distracted. As luck would have it, she made my  job easier by coming up with eight or ten  absolutely urgent errands that had to be done before  the wedding. Pam managed to keep her from wandering out  into the backyard until I was awake enough for us  to get on our way. I took the cellular phone  along so I could call home from time to time during the  day to check on the progress of the moss-hanging  effort.

  "Don't worry, we're getting along just  fine without you," Pam would say every time I called.  Translation: for heaven's sake, don't come  home yet; we're nowhere near finished.

  I saw Jake once, in passing, coming out of the  local branch bank and heading into the travel  agency. Well, at least he was presumably  doing something useful about the honeymoon. I had no  idea where they were going; Mother had assigned him the  job of arranging the honeymoon and surprising her.  Presumably she had dropped enough not-so-subtle  hints that it would be a welcome surprise.

  At about seven in the evening, I called from the  candy store and hinted that they'd better wrap things  up.

  "We're going to be finished soon," I said.

  "For heaven's sake, we still have a lot  of moss left; can't you stall her some more?"

  "No, we're not going to be much longer, don't  worry," I said.

  "Drat. Well, don't forget to pick up the  cake."

  "The what?"

  "The cake," Pam repeated.

  I glanced at Mother. She was absorbed in  selecting boxes of chocolates to send to various  relatives too ill or too far away to come  to the wedding; I put as much space between us as  possible.

  "What do you mean, the cake?" I hissed into the  phone. "We don't want the wedding cake till  tomorrow."

  "No, no; this is cake for the rehearsal party.  Didn't I tell you the last time you called?  Cousin Millie was going to deliver it, but her  van broke down."

  "Well how am I supposed to get it home?  I'm keeping Mother out of the way, remember?  Whither I goeth, she goeth, and she's not blind."

  "Well you've got to think of something! I can't  find anyone else who can get down there."

  I thought of something.

  "Have Cousin Millie take it to the garden  store. It's just two doors down from her shop.  I'll pick it up there. I'll tell Mother that  Dad wants me to pick something up. Some  manure; she won't want to come inside and help  with that."

  "Okay. Can you sneak it into the house when you  get home?"

  Can't anybody but me do anything?

  As I expected, Mother was irritated at  having to stop at the garden store.

  "Why can't your father run his own errands?" she  complained. "Whatever does he want now?"

  "Some manure," I said. "You know how he is    when he gets his heart set on putting down some  manure. And he can't pick it up because he's  mowing the lawn for your party tonight."

  "He's not going to put manure on the yard  today!" she gasped in horror.

  "No, it's for Pam's vegetable garden,  next week. But the sale ends today. I don't  suppose you want to help me carry it out?"

  I supposed right. Mother waited patiently in  the car, leafing through the latest issue of Modern Bride. She never saw me lugging  two sacks of manure and a remarkably large  sheet cake out to the trunk. I hoped the cake's  wrapping was air tight.

  Eventually both of us ran out of errands, and I  called home on the cellular phone. Pam  answered.

  "Hi," I told her. "I just thought I'd  let you know that we're finished and heading home.  Maybe you could have some tea and sandwiches ready?"

  "They're coming! They're coming," she bellowed.  Audibly, even to Mother. I cut the connection.  Mother seemed absorbed in playing with her  purchases. Perhaps she hadn't noticed.

  When we arrived back at our neighborhood,  I was astonished to find a large fallen tree  blocking the direct route home. It was getting  dark; I was lucky not to run into it.

  "Wherever do you suppose that came from?" Mother  asked.

  "Maybe they had a local thundershower here," I  said. "We'll have to go the long way round." I  dialed home on the cell phone.

  "Pam, hi, there's a tree down blocking our  way," I said.

  "Oh, really?" she said. "Imagine that!" I  glanced back at the street behind the log.  Despite the fading light, I could see a few  telltale shreds of pale Spanish moss  littering the pavement. A head popped out from behind the  Donleavys' fence and then back in again.

  "I'll have to go the long way, by your house, so  I'll stop by and put the manure in the shed. Have you  got that? I'm putting the manure in the shed."

  "Oh, what a great idea! Dad can come there and  get it!"

  "Yes, that's the idea."

  I turned around and took the long way home.  I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the  fallen tree crawling swiftly off the road  into the Donleavys' yard, on eight or ten  mismatched legs.

  When we got to Pam's yard, I backed up  to the garden shed.

  "I'll just be a minute," I said. I  blocked Mother's view by opening the trunk, threw  open the garden shed door--

  "Aaaaaaah!" I was so startled to find Dad  crouching in the corner of the tiny shed that I uttered a  small shriek.

  "Meg, dear? Is anything wrong?"  Mother called.

  Dad put his finger to his lips and shook his  head.

  "No, why?" I called back.

  "I heard a scream."

  "Must have been the peacocks," I called,  shoving the cake into Dad's hands. "I hardly  notice them anymore." Dad, attempting  to help with the deception, began giving remarkably  authentic peacock shrieks. I frowned him  into silence.

  I unloaded the two manure sacks, closed  the shed door--resisting the temptation to lock Dad  in and keep him out of mischief--slammed the  trunk down, and drove off.

  This time, when I glanced in the rearview  mirror, I saw Dad galloping across the  backyard toward our house with the cake in his arms.  I sighed.

  "Is anything wrong, dear?"

  "It's been a long day," I said,  truthfully. Mother patted my arm.

  "Well, you'll be able to rest this evening," she  said. "The rehearsal won't take long at  all."

  Sure.

  When I got to the end of the driveway, I was  startled. There were two very large iron lanterns with  burning candles in them posted on either side of the  entrance. I turned into a lane literally dripping  with Spanish moss and lit by dozens of strings of  twinkly lights.

  "Oh, my goodness!" Mother said. "It's  wonderful!"

  Even as tired as I was, I had to admit it  was impressive. We drove up to the house, which  was lit with candles on the inside and more strings of  lights on the outside. Several more lanterns  outlined a path to the backyard.

  Everyone yelled "Surprise!" when we got  there. Only about two hundred of our nearest and  dearest, which made it positively cozy compared with  what tomorrow would be like. Everyone was complimenting Dad  on his brilliant idea and each other on how  well it had turned out. Everyone had brought food  and drink, and they were all behaving themselves  beautifully. Even Cousin Horace had showed  up in coat and tie.

  I dragged a lawn chair and a Diet Coke to a quiet corner of the yard, put my  feet up on an empty beer keg, and  collapsed.