No Nest for the Wicket(17)

“Very nice,” Mrs. Pruitt said. She didn’t look as if she thought it nice at all. How remiss of me not to have sicced Dad on her sooner. Quite apart from the entertainment potential, it might have spared me her presence this weekend.

“Yes,” Dad said. “Early childhood influences are so important—I think that explains my passion for murder!”

“Only on paper,” I added quickly. Mrs. Pruitt didn’t look reassured.

“Look at the time!” she said, “I really must be going. Meg, dear, thank you so much for … everything.”

With that, she hurried out.

The various Shiffleys rose as if on cue. Four of them headed for the door, while the other two ambled over to me.

“Going to Cousin Fred’s for dinner,” one of them said. Randall, who seemed to be the foreman, or at least the one who liked giving orders. “Won’t be back too late.”

“Back?” I walked out onto the porch with them.

“Chief wanted us around, in case he had more questions,” Randall said. “We figured on sleeping here anyway, if work went late, so we brought the campers.”

“Maybe he’ll let us get on with it in the morning,” the other one said. “If not—”

“Lacie!” Mrs. Pruitt’s voice boomed from the end of the driveway. “We’re leaving now.”

The two Shiffleys glared in Mrs. Pruitt’s direction. No love lost there. If Jane turned out to be a Pruitt …

Lacie shot past, limping slightly, no doubt because she was wearing one shoe and carrying the other.

“Coming, Henrietta! Coming!” she called.

Halfway down the driveway, she finally stopped to put on her second shoe, though she shouldn’t have tried to do it standing up. And why didn’t she set down the bundles slung over both shoulders? Not just her own gear but also Mrs. Pruitt’s and Mrs. Wentworth’s croquet equipment, minus the mallets, which had gone to the crime lab in Richmond with the other confiscated mallets and the sledgehammers.

“They coming back tomorrow?” Randall asked, jerking his thumb at where Mrs. Pruitt and Mrs. Wentworth were stolidly watching Lacie’s efforts from their car.

“God, I hope not,” I muttered. And then, aloud, I said, “Depends on whether the chief lets us resume the tournament tomorrow.”

“Good,” Randall said, “Can’t wait to hear more ’bout the Battle of Pruitt’s Ridge. Night.”

“Night,” the other Shiffley said. The two of them set off down the lane with a long-legged gait that looked relaxed but covered ground with surprising speed. I could hear them chuckling until they reached their truck.

“What’s the joke?” Dad asked, joining me.

“Beats me,” I said. “Was Mrs. Pruitt telling you about the Battle of Pruitt’s Ridge?”

“Yes,” he said. “Fascinating story—that was when Colonel Jedidiah Pruitt won his medal from the Confederacy, you know. Must be wonderful to have ancestors like that.”

“I’m sure we do,” I said. “I can’t imagine that our ancestors would be … boring.”

The word normal almost slipped out, but I caught myself in time.

“Thanks,” he said. “But it’s not the same as knowing all about them, is it? Ah, here’s your mother,” he added as Mother stepped out onto the porch.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, dear,” Mother said, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I’m sure I’ll see everyone tomorrow,” I said. “Once word about the murder gets out. Police and FBI agents and reporters and everyone in town with nothing better to do.”

“I’ll come over early to help, dear,” Mother called over her shoulder as they strolled down the front walk. An oddly comforting offer. Mother didn’t cook or clean, like other people’s mothers—she rarely did anything like other people’s mothers—but if I could get her to tackle a task, she’d get it done. If I asked her to help get Mrs. Pruitt and Mrs. Wentworth out of my life …

More immediate comfort had arrived. Michael’s convertible sputtered into silence out on the road. I heard him exchange good nights with Mother and Dad, and a few seconds later, he strolled up the front walk.

“Is that a pizza box?” I asked. I suddenly realized I was starving.

“You notice the pizza box and not the brown paper bag from the Wine Cellar,” Michael said, shaking his head. “Sometimes I wonder about your priorities.”

“I was getting to the brown paper bag,” I said. “Not to give anyone a swelled head or anything, but the first thing I noticed was the hunk carrying the wine and pizza.”