Murder With Peacocks(2)

"That will be splendid, Meg dear. Well, I'll let you get back to your work now. See you in a few days."

I added "Blue" to my list of things to do. I actually managed to put down my coffee and pick up my hammer before the phone rang a third time.

"Oh, Meg, he's impossible. This is just not going to work."

The voice belonged to my best friend and business partner, Eileen. She with the eye for colors. The he in question was Steven, since New Year's Eve her fiance, at least during the intervals between premarital spats. At the risk of repeating myself, I should add that I was, of course, also Eileen's maid of honor.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"He doesn't want to include the Native American herbal purification ceremony in the wedding."

"Well," I said, after a pause, "perhaps he feels a little self-conscious about it. Since neither of you is actually Native American."

"That's silly. It's a lovely tradition and makes such an important statement about our commitment to the environment."

I sighed.

"I'll talk to him," I said. "Just one thing... Eileen, what kind of herbs are we talking about here? I mean, we're not talking anything illegal, are we?"

"Oh, Meg." Eileen laughed. "Really! I have to go, my clay's ready." She hung up, still laughing merrily. I added "Call Steven re herbs" to my list.

I looked around the studio. My tools were there, ready and waiting for me to dive into the ironwork that is both my passion and my livelihood. I knew I really ought to get some work done today. In a few days, I would be back in my hometown for what I was sure would be a summer from hell. But I was already having a hard time concentrating on work. Maybe it was time to throw in the towel and head down to Yorktown.

The phone rang again. I glared at it, willing it to shut up. It ignored me and kept on ringing. I sighed, and picked it up.

Eileen again.

"Oh, Meg, before you go down to Yorktown, could you--"

"I won't have time to do anything else before I go down to Yorktown; I'm going down there tomorrow."

"Wonderful! Why don't you stop by on your way? We have some things to tell you."

On my way. Yorktown, where my parents and Eileen's father lived and where all the weddings were taking place, was three hours south of Washington, on the coast. Steven's farm, where Eileen was now living, was three hours west, in the mountains. I was opening my mouth to ask if she had any idea how inconvenient stopping by was when I suddenly realized: if I went to Steven and Eileen's, I could force them to make decisions, extract lists and signatures. I would have them in my clutches. This could be useful.

"I'll be there for supper tomorrow."

I spent the day putting my life on hold and turning over my studio to the struggling sculptor who'd sublet it for the summer. I went to bed feeling virtuous. I intended to spend the next several days really getting things done for the weddings.





Wednesday, May 25



I was hoping to get out of town by noon, but by the time I packed everything, fielded another half-dozen phone calls from each of the brides, and ran all the resulting last-minute errands, it was well into the evening rush hour. Needless to say I was late arriving at Steven and Eileen's. Eileen, bless her heart, didn't seem to mind. In fact she didn't even seem to notice.

"Guess who's here," Eileen said as she met me at the door wearing a dress of purple tie-dyed velvet, splattered here and there with flour. "Barry!"

"Really," I said, with considerably less enthusiasm. Ever since December, when I'd broken up with my boyfriend, Jeffrey, various friends and relatives had been trying to set me up with their idea of eligible men. Steven and Eileen's candidate was Steven's younger brother, Barry. Barry had taken to the idea immediately. I had not.

"The minute we told him you were coming, he came right up," Eileen burbled. "Isn't that sweet?"

"I really wish you hadn't done that."

"Why, Meg?" Eileen said, wide-eyed.

"Eileen, we've been over this half a dozen times already. You and Steven may think Barry and I are made for each other. I don't."

"He's crazy about you."

"So what? I don't happen to like him."

"I don't see why not," Eileen said. "He's so sensitive. And such a deep thinker, too."

"I'll have to take your word for it. I've never heard him put two consecutive sentences together."

"And so attractive," Eileen went on, while attempting, in vain, to tidy her flyaway mane and succeeding only in covering it with flour marks.

"Attractive? He's an overgrown ox," I said. I could see Eileen bristle. Oops. Not surprisingly, Barry bore a strong fraternal resemblance to Steven. "All right, he's not as attractive as Steven, but he's okay if you like his type." The hulking Neanderthal type. "But he just doesn't appeal to me."