Murder With Peacocks(116)

Dad, on the other hand, was wandering about looking forlorn, with periodic intervals during which he had obviously told himself to keep his chin up. I found myself siding with Dad. If one of the weddings had to misfire, couldn't it have been this one? I really didn't want this one to come off.

And so, of course, before you knew it we were marching down the aisle--Pam and I, followed by Mother on Rob's arm. At the last minute, Mother had decided to have Rob give her away.

"To take his mind off everything, poor dear," she said.

I'd have thought that the best thing to take his mind off the everything in question was to have nothing whatsoever to do with weddings. I hoped he was really as cheerful as he seemed. I hoped Dad wouldn't be too depressed. I hoped Mother really knew what she was doing. If she didn't, it was a little late to do anything; the wedding was underway.

"If anyone here can show just cause why this man and woman should not be joined in holy matrimony," Cousin Frank intoned, "Let him speak now or forever hold his peace."

Seemingly expecting no reply, he was drawing breath to continue when Dad spoke up.

"Actually, I have one small objection," he said. The wedding party turned around to look at him, and in the back of the crowd you could see people craning for a better view and shushing each other. After a suitably suspenseful pause, Dad continued.

"You see, I have a pretty good idea that old Jake here bumped off his first wife, and I really don't want to see him do the same to my Margaret."

A hush fell over the entire crowd. I looked at Dad, who was beaming seraphically at us. At Mother, who was gazing from him to Jake with rapt attention. At Jake, who had turned deathly pale. At the miles of Spanish moss festooning every tree in the yard. At the masses of out-of-season flowers, the regiment of caterers gamboling over the lawn, at the bloody $1200 circus tent on top of which, despite all our diversionary tactics, the least decorative of the newly acquired Langslow family peacock flock was now roosting.

"Honestly, Dad," I said, "couldn't you have brought this up a bit sooner?"

Smothered titters began spreading through the audience, and Dad brought down the house by replying, "But Meg, I've always wanted to see someone do that in real life."

"I have no idea what he's talking about," Jake said. "The man must be crazy."

"I think an analysis of your late wife's ashes might prove very interesting, don't you?" Dad said. Had the chemists finally found something, I wondered.

"If you could analyze them," Jake countered. "You'd have a hard time doing it; I scattered them, just as she wanted."

"No," I said. "You scattered Mother's great-aunt Sophy. Dad has your wife."

Jake looked a little shaken.

"Well, if someone did poison Emma, I'd like to know about it. But it wasn't me."

"You can prove he did it, can't you?" the sheriff said to Dad.

"Moreover, I believe you're really responsible for Mrs. Grover's death," Dad went on. More oohs and ahhs from the crowd. Jake looked pale. I cringed inwardly. If Dad had proof that Jake had murdered his first wife, he'd have produced it. He was changing the subject. He was bluffing.

"That's impossible," Jake said. "You know very well I was nowhere near here when she was killed."

"Yes, but I suspect an analysis of your financial records will show you hired someone to do it."

"Nonsense," Jake said, much more confidently.

Bad guess, Dad. "Look all you want."

Dad looked crestfallen. No doubt he was expecting Jake to jump up and confess when accused, the way people do in the movies. People don't do that, Dad, I wanted to say. The crowd was shuffling around, looking embarrassed, and I imagined that any minute now, Cousin Frank would call things to order and suggest they get on with the ceremony. Do something, Dad! But he was simply staring at Jake, obviously waiting for something. Jake stared back, unruffled. He wasn't going to make a slip.

Or had he already? Something that had been tugging at the back of mind suddenly clicked into place. Don't worry, Dad, I think we've got him.

"That was an interesting slip of the tongue, Mr. Wendell," I said. Jake whirled to face me. Dad's face brightened.

"You said that you'd like to know if anyone poisoned your wife," I continued. "Dad didn't say anything about poisoning. He just said he thought you killed her. I think "bumped off" was the exact phrase he used."

"Well ... I assumed ... from the ashes ..." Jake spluttered. The sheriff looked interested, but unconvinced.

"But you're right, it's a long time ago," I went on. "It would be very hard to prove he did it anyway. So, Sheriff, why not just arrest him for murdering Mrs. Grover?"