Murder With Peacocks(20)

"Mother," I said. "Scotty is thirty-five years old. If he hasn't figured out what he wants to do when he grows up by now, I would say the chances of his ever doing so are slim and getting slimmer by the minute."

"I'm sure he'll turn out all right," Mother said. "He just needs encouragement." She floated over to talk to some newly arriving cousins, graciously bestowing an encouraging word on Scotty in passing. He jumped guiltily away from the beer cooler at the sound of her voice and began combing his unwashed hair with his fingers. Then, when he realized she was gone, he furtively fished out another can.

"Actually, he doesn't usually need much encouragement at all," I said as Scotty had caught sight of me and hurried over. Scotty cherished the fond delusion that we were childhood buddies.

"Meg," he said, approaching with open arms.

"Hello, Scotty, have some potato salad," I said, shoving my plate into his hand to ward him off. He didn't seem to mind. Scotty was used to rejection.

"Isn't it great?" Scotty said. "We're going to be in a wedding together."

"Scotty's an usher in Samantha and Rob's wedding," I explained.

"His father is a partner in the firm," Samantha added, giving Scotty a withering look. He sidled off. I wondered, not for the first time, why Samantha had ever included Scotty as an usher. Granted he was rumored to be reasonably presentable when sober and washed, but other than that ... well, his father must be a great deal more important to Mr. Brewster's law firm than I'd previously thought. Samantha marched off haughtily in the opposite direction. Scotty looked as if he might return, but noticed that Dad was organizing an impromptu work detail to weed Professor Donleavy's flowerbeds. Scotty vanished around the side of the house. He was all too familiar with Dad's tendency to find work for idle hands. Barry, Eric, and one of Eric's classmates had already begun weeding.

"I see Dad's putting Barry to some good use," I said.

"They seem to be getting along pretty well," Michael remarked with a frown.

"Stuff and nonsense. I suspect Eileen has told Barry to get in good with Dad if he hopes to make a favorable impression on me, which is why he's been hovering over Dad even more than me since he got here."

"And getting in good with your Dad isn't important to making a favorable impression on you?" Michael asked. Dad saw us, waved, and began walking our way.

"It is, but I doubt if Barry has any chance of doing it," I replied.

"What a remarkably obtuse young man," Dad said, shaking his head as he joined us. Michael chuckled.

"I quite agree," I said. "Mother thinks he's very sweet."

"Really," Dad said.

"Of course, she has incredibly bad taste in men--present company excepted, of course."

"Of course," Dad said.

"She always liked Jeffrey, she's very taken with Barry, and she's even rather fond of Scotty the Sot," I said.

"Your mother strikes me as the sort of person who would be a sucker for stray animals, too," Michael remarked.

"Oh, she is." Dad beamed.

"But since we kids started going off to college and weren't around full time to feed them for her, she's gotten very good at getting other people to adopt them," I added.

I left Dad and Michael to entertain each other and strolled through the lawn, greeting friends and neighbors and adding to my napkin collection. One of Eileen's aunts gave me the new address for sending her invitation. A neighbor knew a calligrapher. Mrs. Fenniman knew a cheaper one. An aunt's new (third) husband was starting a catering business. By midafternoon I had to make a trip into the house to empty out my napkin collection.

When I came back out, I paused and looked over the lawn, bracing myself to dive back into the crowd. I noticed Samantha and Mrs. Grover standing a little apart at one end of the pool. From the looks of it, they weren't exchanging pleasantries.

I admit it, I'm nosy. I went over to join them.

"I'm sure you wouldn't want that to get out," Mrs. Grover was saying as I strolled into earshot.

"I have no idea what you could possibly be referring to," Samantha said in an icy tone.

"Well, we'll talk about it some other time, dear," Mrs. Grover said, so softly I could barely hear her. For a few seconds, she and Samantha appeared to be having a staring contest, and although neither appeared to take any notice of me, I knew perfectly well that both were acutely conscious of me and that my arrival had interrupted--what? As far as I knew, Samantha and Mrs. Grover had only just met. What could possibly be causing this undeniable antagonism between Samantha and her fiance's future stepfather's first wife's sister? What did Mrs. Grover know that Samantha wouldn't want to get out?