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Murder With Peacocks(108)



"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."

"Every home should have a few peacocks."

"If you really feel that way, I could write your name on a couple of the eggs."

"Eggs?"

"Of course, I've only seen one so far, and I have no idea how many they hatch at one time. But if you keep your eyes open, you'll notice you don't see most of the hens. They're off ... somewhere. Incubating, we think. Dad and Eric have put in a special order at the bookstore for books on peafowl and general poultry care, so within a week or two the entire family will be walking experts on peacock husbandry."

"I can hardly wait," Michael said.

"I can."

"I think you need to get away from your family for a little while."

"That's what I'm doing right now," I explained.

"Out here in full view, where anyone who wants to find you can just walk right up and find you?"

"Well, what do you suggest?"

"Let's go to dinner someplace," he said. "Someplace that is not run by any of your mother's family or anyone who even knows you and will come up and start babbling about the weddings."

"I wish I could," I said. "But I shouldn't. Not until after the wedding. Things are too crazy. I shouldn't be sitting here doing nothing now."

Still, I was considering changing my mind and taking him up on it when Dad and Pam came running out of the house.

"Meg! Michael! You'll never guess what's happened?" Pam called.

"They've tracked Samantha down in Rio de Janeiro and are trying to get her extradited for Mrs. Grover's murder," I said.

"Rats! Who told you?" Pam said crossly. "But you're wrong about Rio; it was the Caymans."

"Are you serious?" Michael asked.

"Yes! I suppose the sheriff told you," Pam said.

"I actually thought I was kidding," I said.

"Perhaps you knew it, subconsciously," she said. "After all, the sheriff said it was your idea."

"It was?"

"Yes. After she and Ian ran off. Don't you remember? You said to search her room for evidence," Pam said. "The sheriff took you seriously and went to Uncle Stanley to get a search warrant. And do you know what they found?"

"Two years' worth of back issues of Bride's magazine?"

"Evidence!" Pam chortled. "Books about poisons! Samples of some of the poisons she's used this summer! Books about car maintenance and electrical wiring. And stuff that she probably used to rig the fuse box and the lawn mower and Dad's car!"

"Books? Doesn't sound like Samantha's style," I mused.

"And some papers that the sheriff thinks may prove that she and Ian really did steal the money her first fianc`e was supposed to have embezzled. Ian was an old college friend of his, you know."