Murder With Peacocks(113)

"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."