I SLEPT IN SUNDAY MORNING AND THEN FLED BEFORE MOTHER AND her court arrived for the midday dinner. I didn’t want to face what the assembled multitudes had to say about either the murder or the Langslow family’s latest eccentricities. Instead, I went over to Eileen’s house to read her the riot act about staying in town until the gown business was finished. We arranged to go down to Be-Stitched bright and early Monday morning. She promised repeatedly that of course she wouldn’t think of leaving town before the gown was settled. Cynic that I am, I took more comfort in the thought of her distributor cap safely stowed in a shoebox at the very back of my closet.
As I was walking down her driveway, Eileen came back out and called to me.
“Oh, by the way, Meg,” she called, “Barry’s coming in tonight. He called to say he’s dropping by on his way home from the show and can stay around for a few days.”
“How nice for him. I’ll pick you up at five of nine tomorrow.”
I rejoined Mother, Dad, and Pam on the porch of our house. Dad had several dozen medical texts scattered about. He kept reading bits in one, then switching to another, all the while nodding and muttering multisyllabic words to himself. I hated to interrupt him, but—
“Dad,” I asked. “Do you have any heavy yard work that needs doing?”
“I need to saw up that fallen tree, but I don’t think you’d want to do it.”
“Besides, dear, don’t you have enough to do with the invitations?” Mother hinted. “All this excitement over Mrs. Grover seems to have taken such a lot of your time.”
“I wasn’t volunteering for yard work,” I said. “But Eileen says Barry is dropping by on his way back from the craft fair to spend a few days.”
“How nice of him,” Mother purred.
“Good grief,” Pam said.
Dad snorted.
“And I see no reason why he should be loitering around underfoot, getting in everyone’s way,” I continued. “He could make himself useful. He’s a cabinetmaker; he should feel right at home with a saw. Have him cut up the tree.”
“He could come with me up to the farm,” Dad said. “They’ve promised me a load of manure if I help haul off a few more truckloads of rocks. Barry’s a big lad; he should be able to handle the rocks.”
“What a good idea,” I said. “Barry spends a lot of time at the
farm with Steven and Eileen. I’m sure he’d love one of your manure trips.” Perhaps we could also take Barry on all the little expeditions we’d dreamed up to help run poor Mrs. Grover out of town. Waste not, want not.
“By the way, Dad,” I added, “remind them about the peacocks.”