Murder With Peacocks (42 page)

  The party was definitely hitting its stride.  Aunt Catriona tried to convince Natalie  to play her bagpipes, but reason--or stage  fright--prevailed. Undeterred, Aunt  Catriona performed her justly notorious  highland fling unaccompanied. With her final  kick, she lost one of her spike heels, which  arched across the dance floor to lodge in  Great-Aunt Betty's bouffant hairdo.

  Despite the fact that their usual grounds were  occupied by at least four hundred people, the croquet  crowd were wandering about with their mallets in hand, trying  to set up wickets.

  I sat on the edge of the patio wall and gazed  over the lawn. These were my family. My kin.  My blood. I felt a strong, deeply  rooted desire to get the hell out of town before they  drove me completely over the edge.

  And I could now. The sculptor still had my  house till Labor Day, but there was no earthly  reason for me to stay here. I could go ... anywhere!

  I began to feel more cheerful.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mother standing  at the edge of the rock garden, preparing to launch  her bouquet. I gauged the distance, satisfied  myself that there was no way Mother's delicate arm could  possibly throw the bouquet anywhere near me, and  snagged a glass of champagne with a strawberry in  it from a passing waiter.

  "Aren't you going to try for it?" Michael said,  startling me by appearing at my elbow.

  "No. I've sworn them off. I've sworn  off everything connected with weddings; I told you that  already." I deliberately turned my back on  the charming tableau of Mother gracefully waving her  bouquet over the heads of a sea of laughing,  chattering women.

  "I don't care if she's had the damn thing  gold-plated," I said. I daintily raised  my champagne flute to take a sip--when  Mother's well-aimed bouquet bounced off my head  and landed in the hands of a startled Michael.

  "You touched it first," he said, quickly stuffing the  bouquet into my hand.

  Hordes of relatives swarmed over  to congratulate me on my detecting ability,  my wedding organizing ability, my  bouquet-catching ability. I smiled and  murmured thanks and sipped my champagne.

  "You're in a very good mood," Michael said. 

  "The damned weddings are over. I can finally  think about something else for a change."

  "I'll drink to that," Michael said. "Speaking  of which--"

  "I can't drink to it, I'm out of champagne." 

  "Your wish is my command," he said. "Back in  a jiffy."

  I glanced up at the sky. It was clouding  over. Maybe a short, sudden shower would slow  down the coming riot. I looked back over the sea  of relatives. Then again, maybe it would take a  deluge.

  The band was playing an Irish jig, and many of the  crowd were dancing, although most of them obviously had  no earthly idea what a jig was like. I  particularly liked Mrs. Tranh's  interpretation, though.

  "Charming," Michael said, coming up behind me so  suddenly that I nearly fell off the wall.

  "My God, you startled me," I said. 

  "Sorry," he said. "I need to talk to you."

  "So talk," I said, watching two of  my great-uncles, who were perched on the diving  board beginning some sort of arm-wrestling contest.

  "Not here. Come with me," Michael said, taking  me gently but firmly by the arm.

  "Where?" I asked.

  "This way," he said, dragging me around the other  side of the house to a point out of sight of the wedding  festivities.

  "Michael, I adore masterful men," I said  sarcastically, "but what on earth is this about?"

  "Sit here," he said, pointing to a picnic  bench that had somehow not been requisitioned for the  reception.

  "I can't see what's going on from here," I  protested.

  "We know what's going on," he said. "Your  family are eating and drinking and doing bizarre  things. This is important."

  "What if someone needs me?"

  "They can do without you for a few minutes. This is  important. I want to explain something to you."

  "So explain."

  "No, first you have to promise me something.  Promise me you'll hear me out."

  "Okay."

  "I mean it," he insisted. "No  interruptions. If one of the kids comes running up  with a broken arm you'll send him off to your father. If  your mother needs something, you'll let your sister take  care of it. If a dead body falls out of the  trees you'll ignore it until I finish."

  "Michael, whatever it is, you could probably  have explained it by now. I promise you, I'll  ignore an earthquake; get on with it."

  "Okay," he said. And sat there looking at  me.

  "Well?" I said, impatiently.

  "I'm suddenly speechless."

  "That must be a first," I said, starting to rise.  "Look, while you're collecting your thoughts--"

  "No, dammit, hold on a minute, let  me explain," he said, pulling me back down  to the picnic bench. And as I turned to protest,  he grabbed me by both shoulders, pulled me  close ...

  And kissed me.

  It was a thorough, expert, and fairly lengthy  kiss, and by the end of it I would have fallen off the  picnic bench if Michael hadn't put an arm around me.

  "I've been trying to explain to you all  summer," he began.

  "Yes, I think I'm getting the picture.  Explain it to me some more," I said, pulling his  head back down to mine.

  It was during the second kiss that the first of the  fireworks hit us. Quite literally; the grandchildren had  begun setting off an impressive array of  fireworks, and one badly aimed skyrocket went  whizzing by and sideswiped Michael's ear.

  "They're doing it again," he exclaimed,  jumping up.

  "Have the kids been shooting fireworks at you?  You should have told someone; that's strictly against the  rules."

  "No, I mean they're interrupting us," he  said. "They've been doing it all summer. The  whole town has, for that matter."

  "You can't really accuse everyone of interrupting  us," I said. "I don't suppose it ever  dawned on anyone there was an us to interrupt. It  certainly never dawned on me. Was there a  particular reason you decided to pretend to be gay  all summer? Research for a part or something?"

  "I didn't decide; it just happened," he  said. "I turned down some pretty disgustingly  blunt propositions from a couple of  Samantha's bridesmaids and then I found  they'd spread it all over town that I was gay."

  "You could have said something."

  "I didn't really give a damn at first.  I figured, who cares, and it would keep the  matchmaking aunts and predatory bridesmaids  at bay. But then you came along, and they convinced  you, and every time I tried to explain to you, someone would  come along and drag you away to do something for one of the  weddings, or something would explode, or a dead  body would turn up. It's been driving me  crazy."

  "That's my family for you," I said, nodding. 

  "Let's go someplace," he begged, pulling  me up from the bench. "Someplace where we can be  alone. Come on. There's no one at my mother's  house. Let's go there. We need to talk."

  Actually, I thought we'd done enough talking for the  moment, but I figured we'd work that out when we'd  ditched the rest of the wedding guests.

  As we rounded the corner of the house, watching  warily for anyone who might waylay us, a  spectacular flash of lightning and an  almost simultaneous burst of thunder dwarfed the  fireworks, and the heavens opened.

  We were ignored as everyone began running for  shelter, either in the tent or the house. But then, one  end of the tent sagged dramatically as part of the  bluff collapsed beneath it, sending buffet tables  ricocheting down the cliff. Guests and caterers  nearly trampled each other evacuating the tent as  larger and larger portions of the bank dropped off.  A sudden gust of wind caught the out-of-balance  tent and sent it flying out onto the water, while  with a final rumbling, one last, enormous chunk of  bluff subsided into the river, taking the shallow  end of the swimming pool with it. Several mad souls  cheered as the contents of the pool spilled over the  side of the bluff in a short-lived but dramatic  waterfall.

  As we watched, the tent drifted gently down  the river, with one lone, wet, bedraggled peahen  perched atop it, shrieking irritably until the  tent finally disappeared below the waves and she  flapped to the shore.

  "Oh, my God," I said.

  "Pay no attention," Michael said. 

  "We've got to do something."

  "No one's hurt, and there's a thousand other people  here to do something. Come on!"

  We dashed through the downpour down to Michael's  mother's house. Which now looked like an Easter egg  in a bed of very wet excelsior. With several  damp, irritable peacocks sitting on the peak  of the roof. We ignored their plaintive shrieks.

  "Alone at last!" Michael exclaimed,  slamming the door shut. We stood there, looking  at each other for a moment.

  Looking into Michael's eyes, I wondered  how I could ever have been so blind all summer, how  I could ever have been so mistaken about him, and whether  he'd ever let me hear the last of it.

  Time enough to worry about that later. He reached out  to pull me close and--

  "Michael? Is that you?" came a voice from  deeper within the house.

  Michael dropped his arms, leaned back against  the door, and closed his eyes.

  "Not now," he muttered. "Please, not now." 

  "Michael! What on earth have you done to the  dog? And why is there Spanish moss all over  the backyard? And where did all these peacocks come  from? What is going on around here?"

  Michael sighed.

  "Your turn," he said. "Come and meet my  mother."