Murder With Peacocks(66)

"The question is, who tampered with the salsa after Pam finished with it?"

"And why? Was it aimed at you, or Meg, or just at causing maximum death and injury?" Michael put in.

"Dad, you've got to be careful," I said. "We all do."

"Right. No nibbling." Michael said.

"Yes, we should all be very careful indeed," Dad said. And with that, he patted my hand and trotted away, no doubt to confer with the sheriff and the ME.

"Why the hell hasn't your sheriff done something?" Michael asked, with irritation. "Called in the FBI or something."

"Well, up until the bomb, I don't think anyone was that worried," I said. "The sheriff still seemed to think the fuse box incident and Mrs. Grover's death could have been accidents. And after all, when it comes to homicides, Dad has rather a history of crying wolf."

"I wasn't sure I believed him myself, before," Michael said. "But after this weekend, I'm sold. Whatever you and your dad have been doing with your detecting, you've definitely scared somebody. And that somebody's after you."

I closed my eyes briefly and shuddered at the idea of a cold-blooded killer stalking my occasionally demented but thoroughly lovable Dad. I didn't want to believe it. And I hadn't even begun to sort out how I felt about joining Dad on the killer's most wanted list. Why me? Had I found out something vital? If I had, it was news to me.

"I really don't need this," I said. "I have enough on my mind without this. These damned weddings are enough to worry about, without having a homicidal maniac on the loose."

"Yes, life in Yorktown is getting very complicated," Michael said. "Don't walk on the bluffs, don't play with fuse boxes, don't open any packages, and don't eat the salsa. Anyway, you look tired; I'll let you sleep. I think I'll go home and start harassing some law enforcement agencies to take action."

"Good idea."

"Anything I can do for you on my way out?"

"Yes," I said, handing him a bag. "Take this herb tea and ask Dad to take a look at it to see if it's safe to drink."

"You think someone is trying to poison you again?" he asked, holding the bag as if it contained another ticking bomb.

"Not deliberately, but I've learned to distrust Eileen's home remedies. And take these damned lilies of the valley away, too. Give them to Mrs. Tranh and the ladies if you like."

"Are they poisonous too?" he joked.

"Actually, yes. Highly toxic. Warn them not to eat them. Even the water they've been soaking in could kill you."

"I can see why you don't want them around." "I don't want them around because they're from Barry," I said, rather peevishly. "I thought he was safely off at a craft fair with Steven and Eileen for the weekend, but he showed up here instead. I'd be tempted to feed him the damn flowers and be done with him if I thought there was any chance they could decide on a new best man in time. But come July Sixteenth, Barry had better watch out."

"Until they catch whoever spiked the salsa, all of us better watch out," Michael said gravely. "Be careful."





Thursday, July 7



Fortunately for my peace of mind, it wasn't until Thursday afternoon that I was reminded of what was in store for me over the weekend. Undeterred by the dramatic events at the shower, the Brewsters were going full steam ahead with plans for a weekend house party for a number of Samantha's and Rob's friends. Actually, mostly Samantha's friends. Rob was being firmly but gently detached from any of his circle of friends of whom Samantha did not approve. Which generally meant the interesting ones, as far as I could see.

The house party had seemed like such a good idea when Mrs. Brewster first suggested it. I'm not, as a rule, a keen party goer, and spending the evening in a roomful of Samantha's friends was on a par with visiting one of the lower circles of hell. But I had been having difficulty getting some members of the wedding party to come in for final fittings. It occurred to me as soon as the party was suggested that it would be just the thing to lure any holdouts into town where they could be fitted and, if necessary, read the riot act while I had them in my clutches. So Samantha and her mother had planned a fun-filled weekend of parties and picnics, and I had suggested that they pay overtime to have Michael's ladies on standby all weekend.

But I'd completely forgotten about the whole wretched thing until Mother glided into my room early Thursday morning. Considerably earlier than I had been intending to wake up.

"I think you should plan on getting up today," she said. "You need to start getting your strength back." She was probably right. I sighed.