Murder With Peacocks (41 page)

  "I wasn't anywhere near here when Jane was  murdered," Jake said, smugly. "So how could  I possibly have done it?"

  "The storage bin," I said. "That's how you  did it. And where you did it."

  Jake froze.

  "She was accusing you of selling her sister's  possessions or giving them to Mother," I went on.  "I overheard you telling her that the jewelry was in  the safety deposit box and the furniture and paintings were safe in your storage bin.  She didn't want to wait, did she? The bank  wasn't open on the weekend, but you promised her  that you'd take her to the storage bin as soon as the  party was over. And you did. But she never came  back. Not alive, anyway."

  "This is ridiculous," Jake said. But his  voice was shaky.

  "Did you drug her coffee with her sleeping  medication? Or did you hold a gun on her and  force her to take it? Either way, you knocked her  out, drove her out to your storage bin, tied her  up, and left her there. Then the next day, in between  a couple of errands, you asked Mother if she'd mind  if you dropped by your storage bin for a minute.  What was it you said you wanted?"

  "His golf clubs," Mother said, frowning  slightly. "He wanted to take them with us on the  honeymoon."

  "And of course Mother didn't want to go inside  your stuffy old storage bin. Right? I bet she  stayed in the car reading a bridal magazine while  you bashed Mrs. Grover's head in with a blunt  object--I'm guessing one of the golf clubs--and stowed her in the trunk of Mother's car."

  "In my car?" Mother said, faintly. "We were  riding around with a dead body in my car?" I saw  gleams in the eyes of the two cousins who sold  cars.

  "He couldn't use his, Mother," I said.  "It's a hatchback. And then that night, after we  all went to bed, you snuck back and put her on  the beach. You figured it didn't matter that the  autopsy would show she'd been moved from wherever  she'd been killed, because everyone would know you weren't  anywhere nearby to have killed her. The fact that the  body wasn't found for another whole day made it  even harder to prove anything."

  "That's all very interesting, Meg," the sheriff  began. "But I think you're letting your imagination  run away with you."

  "Check his storage bin," I said, turning to the  sheriff. "The U-Stor-It on Route  Seventeen, bin number forty-three. Check his  golf clubs for traces of blood. I bet  you'll also find a lot of other interesting things in his  bin, things he didn't plant in Samantha's  room, like traces of foxglove plants and  leftover stuff from that bomb he planted in  Barry's jack-in-the box and a brand-new gorilla suit and--"

  Suddenly I felt an arm grab me around the  neck and a cold, metal circle pressed against  the middle of my back.

  "Everyone stay away! I have a gun!" Jake  shouted, dragging me with him as he backed slowly  away from the sheriff.

  "Now, Mr. Wendell," the sheriff said, in his  most soothing tone. "You don't want to make  things any worse for yourself."

  "Any worse! I like that! You're going to put  me away for murder, and it's all his fault,"  Jake shrieked, pointing at Dad with the gun for a  moment before sticking it in my back again. Everyone  looked at Dad in bewilderment. "When we got  home from the damned party, Jane told me that she  knew how I'd done it," Jake said. "It was  Langslow and his damned garden that tipped her off.  He was going on about common household  poisonings. She recognized Emma's  symptoms."

  "And she threatened to turn you in?" the sheriff  asked. Good. Get him interested in talking and  maybe he'll wave the gun again. I was too  surprised to make a break the first time, but if it  happened again, I'd be ready.

  "She said she'd tell if I didn't pay  her off," Jake said.

  "She tried to blackmail you?"

  "She said if I didn't pay her  five-hundred-thousand dollars, she'd give  Emma's ashes to the sheriff. She seemed to think  you'd still be able to tell she'd been poisoned."

  "So Dr. Langslow inadvertently enlightened  Mrs. Grover on how you killed her sister, your  late wife, and you killed Mrs. Grover  to prevent her from blackmailing you?"

  "You can't give in to blackmailers," Jake  said, very earnestly. "They're like crabgrass; you  never get rid of them. And I already had one on  my back. It was going to be hard enough to get rid of  her."

  "Someone else was blackmailing you?" Dad  asked.

  "Of course," Jake shouted, jerking his head in  Mother's direction. "She was!" There were  murmurs of astonishment from the crowd, Jake  seemed to be enjoying himself now. It was nice that  someone was. The crowd was hanging on his every word, and  in case they missed anything the first time around, Aunt Esme was repeating everything he  said at the top of her voice into Great-Aunt  Matilda's good ear. I hoped the sheriff and his  deputies weren't getting so interested that they'd  forget to rescue me if the opportunity came  up.

  "Well, I never!" Mother said, in her  chilliest manner. "I can't imagine what would  ever have given you that idea."

  "She kept at me," Jake continued. "She  kept telling me that she knew exactly what I  had done, and it was all for the best. She even told  me she knew all about the rice pudding." Everyone    looked at Mother.

  "Well, I did," Mother said, perplexed.  "I knew how much Emma liked it, and you were so  good to learn how to make it for her. So few men would  go to that much bother. I don't see what rice  pudding has to do with it, anyway."

  "That was what I fed her the poison in,"  Jake shouted. Please, Mother, I thought; don't  get him any more excited. "I thought you knew  that! And I almost had a heart attack when I  found out you expected me to marry you to keep you  quiet!"

  "I can't imagine what could possibly have  given you that idea," Mother said stiffly.

  "You kept going on about married couples  keeping each other's little secrets."

  "I'm sure you were asking something highly  personal about Dr. Langslow."

  "I was asking if he knew what you knew." 

  "Knew what?" Mother asked.

  "About Emma!" Jake shouted.

  "You needn't shout, Jake," Mother reproved.  "If he did, he certainly didn't tell  me, or I would never have accepted your  proposal."

  "Are you suggesting," Pam asked, "that although  Mother knew you had killed your first wife, she was so  eager to marry you that she was willing to blackmail you  into doing it?" Put like that, it seemed so  implausible that even Jake was taken aback.

  "Well," he waffled, "it seemed so at the  time."

  "And then Mrs. Grover tried to blackmail  you, and you killed her," Dad picked up the  tale. "But you realized that you'd never feel safe  as long as I was around asking difficult questions about  Mrs. Grover's death. So you decided to shut me up by getting rid of me. And Meg,  once you decided she was a threat."

  "No you don't," Jake said, suddenly,  dragging me with him as he whirled about to look behind  him. Some of the deputies had edged their way around  there. I assume they were trying to surprise him.

  "Get out of my way," Jake snarled, and  dragged me with him until he had his back to the  garage. "Someone bring my car around. We're  leaving."

  Great. From maid of honor to hostage. I  suddenly realized that I was still holding my bouquet  in the hand that wasn't clutching at the arm that was  choking me.

  "Jake, you don't have to do this," Mother said in her  most soothing tones, and started to walk toward us as  she talked. "I'm sure Dr. Langslow knows  a psychiatrist who could help get you off. Why  don't you just turn Meg loose and we'll sit  down and talk to him--"

  "You stay away from me," Jake wailed.  "Stand back or I'll shoot her! I swear I  will!"

  Everybody stood back. Stalemate. What  did Jake have in mind--fleeing the country with me  as his hostage?

  Suddenly we heard the usual unearthly  peacock shrieks coming from directly overhead.  Two peacocks were fluttering down from the roof  toward us. Jake dodged to one side to avoid  them, dragging me with him, and I could feel that the  barrel of the gun was no longer pointed at my  back. The peacocks were followed almost immediately  by Michael, who landed with a thud where Jake would have  been if he hadn't dodged. But the diversionary  tactic worked--Jake loosened his grip on me  and started to point the gun at Michael.

  Here was my chance! I jerked Jake's arm  skyward, the gun started firing, guests began  screaming and dropping to the ground.

  Luckily my ironwork had given me a great  deal more upper body strength than most women have.  A lot more than Jake, too. I could keep the  gun pointed harmlessly in the air until it was    empty. Then I shoved Jake away from me and  watched as he was tackled, first by Mother, then  by Michael, and then, belatedly, by the sheriff and  most of the deputies and ersatz cousins. The  lawmen began fighting over who got to handcuff  him, their efforts hampered by Mother, who had one knee on Jake's neck and was beating  him over the head with her wedding bouquet.

  "Of all the nasty, mean things!" Mother said,  punctuating her remarks with blows. "I hope  they put you under the jail!"

  "Now, Margaret," Dad said. "I think the  sheriff can take care of him. Come and have some  champagne."

  Mother allowed Dad to help her up and, after they  were sure I was unharmed, they waltzed off toward  the refreshment tent. A few guests stayed  to gawk as Jake was led away to the car by six of the  deputies, or to shake my hand or pat me on  the shoulder soothingly. Most of the herd wandered off  behind Mother and Dad and started in on the champagne  and the buffet. I shooed away the well-wishers,  sat down in one of the folding chairs, and put my  head in my hands.

  "Here, have some champagne," Michael said,  waving a glass of it under my nose. "Or I  could get some water if you're feeling faint."

  "I'm not feeling faint," I said, glancing  up. He looked worried.

  "Sorry I ran away with your rescue  attempt," I said.

  "Once again, you didn't need much rescuing,"  he said, with a grin. "I don't know why I bother  with these useless acts of chivalry."

  "It gave me the chance I was looking for," I  said. "And now I know what was bothering me last  night. Leaving Mother in the car while I went in  to fetch the cake, and then seeing Dad hiding in the  tool shed. It was staring us all in the face. I  should have realized then how Jake got away with it.  He was miles away from here when Mrs. Grover  was killed--but so was she. He knew exactly how  to manipulate Mother to give himself that cast-iron  alibi."

  "Well, he didn't get away with it,  thanks to you. If you hadn't figured it out, the  rest of us would still be wondering. Cheer up!"

  "Yes; after all, no one will ever ask me to be  their maid of honor again. After Samantha's  wedding and now this, I will be considered a complete and  total jinx. People will pay me to stay out of town for  their weddings." I took the glass of champagne  and drained it.

  "Oh it's not that bad," Michael said  soothingly. "I'm sure it will all blow over."

  "I don't want it to blow over. I never, ever want to be involved in a wedding  again."

  "At least not as a maid of honor." 

  "Not in any capacity. Ever."

  "What about your own?" he asked. "Assuming,  of course, you're interested in having one?"

  "I'm not. If I ever get married, I shall  elope. That has now become my prime  requirement in a husband. Willingness to elope."

  "Sounds perfectly sensible to me," he said,  surveying the chaos around us. "Which reminds me, for  some strange reason, and apropos of nothing in  particular except that I've been trying to drag  the conversation around to the subject for what seems like  half the summer, do you think there's any  possibility that you might--"

  "What on earth is Dad doing?" I  interrupted.

  "What an odd coincidence," Michael  remarked. "He seems to be proposing to your  mother." Dad was down on one knee at Mother's  feet, and as we watched, she said something to him that  provoked applause and raised glasses from the  surrounding relatives.

  "Hardly coincidental at all. I'm sure  he's been planning this for days."

  "Weeks," Michael replied. "Possibly  months. I always found it slightly odd that he was  going to so much trouble to make your mother's remarriage  a success. Of course, you realize this  probably means another wedding."

  "No, I think not," I said. "All they have  to do is drag the guests back in and take it from the  top."

  "Without a marriage license?"

  "I imagine they'll manage. The man shaking  Dad's hand right now is Judge Hollingworth--Mother's cousin Stanley. Dad is probably  arranging some sort of special license."

  "I do like your family's style," Michael  remarked.

  "That's because you're not related to them. You'd  feel different if they were your crazy  relatives."

  "We'll see," he said, cryptically.  The sheriff and his remaining deputies used their  bullhorns to reassemble the guests. After a  pause while Dad gathered an impressive  new bouquet to replace the one Mother had  destroyed on Jake's head, the revised wedding went forward. I made my  absolutely, positively final appearance as  a maid of honor.

  After the ceremony, the sheriff and the deputies  drove off with their prisoner, and the rest of the friends and  family settled down to celebrate in earnest.

  Rob, I was glad to see, had already found  someone to console him for the loss of Samantha. A  tall, slightly gawky young woman with bright  orange hair.

  "Meg, this is Red," he said, in a tone that  would have been quite appropriate for presenting the  Queen of England.

  "How do you do," Red said, pushing her  spectacles up off the end of her nose.  "Nice bit of deduction, that."

  "Too bad I didn't deduce it till the  last minute," I said.

  "Better late than never," she said, shrugging.  "Are you really a blacksmith?"

  "More or less."

  "Cool!" Red looked impressed. I  decided I could get to like her.

  "Red's going to help me turn Lawyers from  Hell into a computer game," Rob said. They  went off discussing RAM and mice and  object-oriented programming and other things that I  had no idea Rob knew anything about. Well,  he was happy, anyway.