No Nest for the Wicket(43)

“Do you remember what happened to you?” I asked Dad.

“Of course I remember,” Dad said. “The sheep kicked me.”

“One of those sheep?” asked Mother. I glanced up and saw that she had put her hands on her hips and was glaring at the sheep. The sheep, as if sensing the presence of danger, suddenly left off grazing and scampered in the direction of their pasture.

“See? It’s all in the eyes,” Horace said.

“Meg, do something,” Mother ordered.

“I am doing something,” I said. “I’m doing the same thing Dad usually does when someone gets hit in the head. He’s not unconscious, and he doesn’t appear to have any short-term amnesia, and his pupils and pulse seem normal, so he probably doesn’t have a serious concussion.”

“She’s right,” Dad said, “That’s exactly what I’d say.”

“But it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you took him in to the ER to make sure,” I added.

“I’ll drive,” Horace said.

“Let’s take my truck,” Randall Shiffley suggested. “That way, he can lie down till we get there.”

“No, no,” Dad said. “It’s only a flesh wound. I’ll be fine. I’ll just sit here quietly for a while. No sense going to the ER on a Saturday night.”

The Shiffleys kept trying to convince Dad to go, but my family knew better. Horace and Randall eased him into an Adirondack chair at the edge of the lawn and Horace bandaged the wound.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Horace announced.

“You see?” Dad said. “What do we need the ER for?”

Well, Horace did have a certain amount of medical knowledge. Most of it gleaned from examining dead bodies at crime scenes, but as long as Dad was happy.

I was relieved to see that in all the fuss over Dad, Rob hadn’t been completely forgotten. Michael was checking on him.

“Your brother’s all right,” Michael said.

“That’s a matter of opinion,” I said.

“Ha, ha,” Rob murmured.

Michael returned to what he’d been doing—tending one of the many grills that dotted the yard. Possibly one abandoned by the Shiffleys, who were still hovering, offering rides to the ER.

“Burger?” he asked.

While I was eating, I glanced around the yard and fretted.

“A penny for them,” Michael said.

“Mrs. Pruitt is looking guiltier and guiltier,” I said.

“Wouldn’t ‘more and more guilty’ sound better?” he asked.

“I like guiltier,” I said.

“So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that for now, she’s on the side of the angels, fighting Mr. Briggs’s outlet mall.”

“So you’d rather Briggs turned out to be the killer.”

“I’d love it if they turned out to be accomplices, but fat chance of that,” I said. “Still, we shouldn’t overlook Briggs.”

I noticed then that Mr. Briggs was strolling about near the edge of the yard.

“I think I’ll have a chat with him,” I said.

“A chat about what?” Michael asked.

“His plans for the neighborhood. His whereabouts Friday afternoon. Stuff like that.”

“Meg—”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll be tactful and subtle.”

“Meg, wait,” Michael called. Evidently, he didn’t have much confidence in my tact and subtlety.





Chapter Twenty-two

I caught up with Evan Briggs near the edge of the yard, where the ground dropped off rapidly. He was gazing over the landscape, turning his head slowly. I could tell he noticed my arrival, but he didn’t speak.

“Nice view,” I said.

He nodded.

“Beautiful,” I continued. “Unspoiled.”

He didn’t say anything, but I noticed he was watching me out of the corner of his eye, a small frown on his face. It was much the way people watched Spike, once they’d come to know him.

Subtlety wasn’t working, and it wasn’t my forte anyway.

“So do you really want to build the world’s largest outlet mall there?” I asked. “Or is that just a nasty rumor?”

“I’m afraid I can’t talk about our corporate plans,” he said.

“True, then,” I said.

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, but if it was false, you’d say so, to get me off your back. If you had any guts, you’d just come out and say it was true. But no, you just say you can’t talk about it. Do you really think everyone who wants to stop you is going to wait around until you’re ready to announce it?”

I was trying to keep my voice calm and civil. He was better at it. Not surprising. I’d seen him at the county board meetings during the squabble over his town house development. People had hurled insults at him and made wild, improbable threats, all of which he’d ignored, as if he hadn’t heard a thing.