"Dad's driving up and down the bank, releasing flocks of numbered milk jugs at intervals. To test the speed and direction of the current and narrow down the sites where Mrs. Grover's body could have been dumped into the water."
"That'll take forever, won't it?" he asked. "After all, she was missing for several days before we found her."
"Yes, but she couldn't have been in the water for more than a few hours. Trust me on that. If you want to know why, ask Dad, although I advise not doing it just before dinner."
"I'll take your word for it. So you're out helping your Dad release bottles?"
"No, he and Rob are doing that, and keeping a log of exactly where each one was released. I'm out here to record my observations. Scientifically."
"And what have you observed, so far? Scientifically speaking."
"That there are getting to be a truly remarkable number of milk jugs bobbing around out here, but unless they start showing a great deal more enthusiasm, none of them are going to make it to the beach anytime this century. Most of them don't seem to be going anywhere at all. Except for the ones the sheriff is dropping into the current in the middle of the river. They're travelling rather briskly, but they're not coming anywhere near the beach."
"Oh, the sheriff's involved, too?"
"I don't know whether Dad's convincing him or he's humoring Dad, but yes, he's out in the powerboat releasing jugs. That's why I'm in the rowboat."
"Rather tedious for you," Michael sympathized.
"Oh, it's all right. It's peaceful out here, and it's also amazing how much you can get done even in the middle of the river with a cellular phone. And I brought the stationery so I can keep on with the addressing for Mother."
"Well, come in when you can. With or without Eileen."
"Roger."
I had a quiet day, but on the bright side, Barry took off to meet Steven and Eileen for a craft fair in Manassas. Good riddance.
Friday, June 10
I spent Friday in much the same way--bobbing about on the water watching Dad's latest crop of milk jugs. I found I couldn't write invitations after all; the sunscreen smeared them. I'd made all the phone calls possible.
All I could do was fret about the identity of the murderer, if there was a murderer. I resolved that once I was released from my observation post, I was going to go around to question some of my friends and family. With subtlety. The sheriff was about as subtle as a plowhorse.
Saturday, June 11
After two days of bobbing about on the river herding milk jugs, I devoted Saturday to helping Dad with the roundup--tracking down as many of the milk jugs as possible and recording where we'd found them. We even started getting calls from people down river, claiming the small reward we had offered for turning in the jugs that got past us. Most of these, as expected, were the ones the sheriff had dumped into the current. None of the jugs washed up anywhere near the beach where Mrs. Grover was found, which Dad and the sheriff concluded was convincing enough proof that her body had been dumped there rather than washing up there. I had to admit, I was convinced. Thanks to the vigilance of the Coast Guard and the contrariness of the currents, we now knew that Mrs. Grover must have arrived on the beach by land, not by sea.
But for the moment I'd decided to let Dad investigate alone. Wonder of wonders, Eileen had showed up Saturday afternoon, even more sunburnt than I was, but in one piece, and presumably available for measuring and gown selecting. If she didn't take off before Monday morning.
"Having trouble with your car?" Michael asked. He came across me peering under the hood of my car, owner's manual in hand, so I suppose that was the logical assumption.
"I'm trying to figure out where the distributor cap is, and how one removes it."
"You're having trouble with your distributor cap?" he asked.
"No, but I want Eileen to have car trouble if she tries to leave before I get her in to pick out her gown. In the movies, they're always removing the distributor cap to keep people from leaving the premises, but I can't even figure out where the darned thing is."
After much effort, we succeeded in locating something that we thought was the distributor cap; more important, we confirmed that, whatever it was, once it was removed the car wouldn't start. After considerably greater effort, not to mention some help from Samantha, who happened to be passing by, we managed to get it reinstalled and start my car again.
We then staged a daring midnight raid on Eileen's car.
Sunday, June 12
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."
Monday, June 13
"Eileen will be choosing a gown this week," I announced over breakfast to Mother and Mrs. Fenniman--who had dropped by shortly after dawn to borrow some sugar and had now been discussing redecorating schemes with Mother for several hours.
"That's nice, dear," Mother said. "Does she know that?"
"She will soon," I replied. "I am picking her up at five minutes to nine. We will drive in to Be-Stitched and stay there until she selects something. If she hasn't decided by lunchtime, I will go out for pizza. If she hasn't decided by closing time, we will do the same thing Tuesday if necessary, and Wednesday, and Thursday. If by noon Friday she hasn't picked anything, I will select whatever Michael tells me can be most easily completed between now and mid-July, and she will have to live with it."
"This I gotta see!" chortled Mrs. Fenniman.
"Eileen is so fortunate to have you taking care of things," Mother remarked. "Perhaps Mrs. Fenniman and I could help. We could try to gently infl
uence her toward some gowns that would be appropriate and flattering."
"With no hoops!" Mrs. Fenniman snorted.
I considered the offer. Logically speaking, one would assume that having more people involved would prolong rather than streamline things. But Mother could not only talk anyone into anything, she could probably make Eileen think it was her own idea. The trick was to get Mother properly motivated. I needed a mother determined to help Eileen reach a quick decision, not a bored mother finding entertainment by helping Eileen dither for the rest of the week.
"If you wouldn't mind, that would be a help. Perhaps the problem is that Eileen doesn't quite trust my advice on clothing, but of course with you two there that wouldn't be a problem. And it would save time in the long run. As soon as I've gotten a decision from Eileen, I can really concentrate on getting the rest of your invitations out and running all those errands you need for the redecorating."
I was afraid I'd been a little too obvious, but they fell for it. It only took me ten minutes to put on my shoes and find my car keys, but when I went outside they were standing impatiently by the car in their full summer shopping regalia (including hats), and had begun jotting down a list of criteria for Eileen's dress. I felt encouraged that the first item was "No hoops!"
"We've all come to help Eileen decide on her dress," I announced to Michael as the parade filed into the shop. Mother and Mrs. Fenniman settled on either side of Eileen on the sofa in the front window and dived efficiently into their task.
"I'm not holding my breath," Michael said, too quietly for the others to hear.
"Have faith," I muttered back. "The end is in sight. I've pretended to Mother that I'll have absolutely no time to work on her wedding till Eileen's gown is chosen. Five bucks says she has a decision by lunchtime."
"No bet," Michael said, laughing.
By eleven-thirty, I was beginning to be glad we hadn't wagered. I wouldn't exactly say Mother and Mrs. Fenniman had been unhelpful. They'd talked Eileen out of a number of truly horrible dresses, usually with graphic descriptions of how awful Eileen would look in them. But we didn't really seem any closer to a decision.
"Perhaps it's time to order in lunch," I said.
"Good idea," Michael said, and strolled over to the counter to pick up the phone book.
"They have lovely salads and pastries at the River Cafe," Mother said brightly. "It's just two blocks down."
"Do they do carryout?" I asked. "We're not leaving till Eileen makes a decision."
"I suppose they might, but you can't carry out a nice pot of tea. Why don't we just--"
"Tea?" Michael said. "I'll be happy to make some tea. Mom and the ladies have quite a selection. Earl Grey, jasmine, Lapsang souchong, gunpowder, chamomile, Constant Comment, plain old Lipton tea bags ..."
Deprived of the prospect of an elegant luncheon, Mother lapsed into decorative melancholy after I placed our sandwich order with the cafe. Even Mrs. Waterston's best jasmine tea in a delicate china cup produced little improvement.
"I can see why Eileen is having so much trouble." She sighed to Mrs. Fenniman. "They simply don't make gowns like they used to. I mean the styles, of course," she said quickly to Michael.
"I like to split a gut laughing the first time I saw a bride in a miniskirt," Mrs. Fenniman cackled. "And that Demerest girl last year--out to here!" she exclaimed, holding her hand an improbably three feet from her stomach. "It's a wonder she didn't go into labor right there in the church, and her in a white gown with a ten-foot train."
"I always thought the gowns Samantha had made for her other wedding were really sweet," Mother mused.
"Her other wedding?" Michael and I said in unison.
"Oh, dear," Mother said. "That's terribly bad luck, two people saying the same thing like that. You must link your little fingers together, and one of you has to say, "What goes up a chimney" and then the other has to say, "Smoke."" Michael was wearing the you've-got-to-be-kidding look that was becoming habitual these days. At least when my family was around.
"Just do it," I said, extending my little finger. "For the sake of all our sanity. What goes up a chimney?"
"Smoke."
"I hope that was in time," Mother said. "Well, you'll know next time; at least you will, Michael. Meg is so stubborn."
"I'll work on it," he said. "Tell us about Samantha's other wedding."
"You remember, Meg, it was supposed to be at Christmas, a year and a half ago. She was engaged to that nice young boy from Miami."
"Oh, yes, the stockbroker," I said. "I remember now. And how many millions of dollars was it he embezzled? Or perhaps I should say cruzeiros; he skipped to Brazil if I remember correctly."
"No, dear, that was his partner. They arrested Samantha's young man in Miami before he got on the plane. And he said his partner got away with all of the money. The partner claimed otherwise, of course, but they never found a penny of it."
"Poor thing! So Samantha dumped him and went after Rob," I said.
"That's so cynical, Meg," Eileen said, looking up from her catalog.
"That's me, town cynic," I said. "Anyway, I do think her first gowns were lovely," Mother continued. "Not that the new ones aren't lovely too. But these were rather unusual, too, and your mother's ladies did such lovely work on them."
"Mom made them?" Michael asked, surprised.
"Why, yes," Mother said. "They might still be here; I remember when we told her about Samantha and Rob's engagement she said something about hoping Samantha would finally take them off her hands, but of course Samantha didn't want anything to remind her of that ill-fated first engagement."
"I'm beginning to wonder if your mother breaking her leg just now was entirely an accident," I said to Michael.
"What do you mean?" he asked, with a start.
"Perhaps subconsciously she preferred to break it rather than stick around for Samantha's second wedding." He laughed.
"Why blame her subconscious? Seems like a rational decision to me."
"I thought it was her arm she broke," Mother said.
"No, I'm sure Michael said it was her leg," Mrs. Fenniman said. They both looked at Michael.
"Both, actually," he said, nervously. "They knew the leg was broken right away, and at first they only thought the arm was sprained, but then when they x-rayed they found the leg was a simple fracture and the arm was some sort of more serious kind of break so we were more worried about the arm and I might have forgotten to mention the leg at that point, but now we know they're both broken, but mending nicely." Only a trained actor could have gotten that out in one breath, I thought.
"Poor thing," Mother said. "How did she do it, anyway?" Michael looked nervous again and hesitated.
"To tell you the truth, I don't really know," he said finally. "She's told me several completely different stories, and I've decided she probably did it while doing something she thinks I would disapprove of or worry about. We may never know the whole truth." He walked over to the curtained doorway and called out something in-- Vietnamese? Whatever. Mrs. Tranh appeared and they talked rapidly for a few moments, then Mrs. Tranh disappeared behind the curtain.
"Mrs. Tranh says the gowns Samantha originally ordered are, indeed, here, and she's going to bring some of them down."
"Oh, how interesting," Mother said.
"If by some miracle they appeal to you, Eileen, we can probably give you a really good deal. At cost, even; they've been hanging around taking up space for nearly eighteen months now."
And tying up cash, no doubt; I felt sure that if Samantha's family had paid for them, they'd have the gowns in their possession. I wondered how they managed to weasel out of paying. I would have to consult the grapevine on that one. If it were my wedding I would never stoop to taking Samantha's castoffs, but I suppressed the thought. At this point, I'd like anything Eileen could be persuaded to choose. Mrs. Tranh and one of the other ladies appeared lugging garment bags taller than they were, and Samantha's rejects were pulled out and lovingly
displayed.
"Oooohhhh," Eileen said as the bridal gown emerged from the bag. I hurried over to see what we were in for.
Maybe it was seeing the actual garments instead of a lot of pictures. Maybe she'd had a brief attack of frugality and focused on the words "at cost." Probably it was because Eileen has always longed to live in another century--any other century--and these gowns were in a rather ethereal pseudomedieval style. The more Eileen looked at the bride's dress, the more infatuated with it she became, and she was just as enchanted with the bridesmaids' dresses. Mother and Mrs. Fenniman were also oohing and ahhing. The owner of the River Cafe, arriving with our lunch, was equally enthusiastic. Mrs. Tranh and the other lady were beaming and pointing out wonderful little details of the construction and decoration and I was the only one paying any attention to the practical side of things.
"Eileen," I said. "They're made of velvet. Your wedding is in July. Outside!" I was ignored.
"I'm so sorry," Michael said.
"Correct me if I'm wrong," I said, "but even at cost, those things aren't going to be cheap. All that velvet and lace, and the pearls and beads stitched on by hand." He winced and shook his head. "And they look as if they were made either for Samantha's current flock of bridesmaids or one similarly sized. I don't suppose you've noticed this, but Samantha's friends are all borderline anorexics and Eileen's friends tend more to be earth mother types, so they'll need alterations. Major alterations. You may even have to make some of them from scratch." He nodded.
"If I'd had any idea--" he began.
"Skip it," I said. "It's done." "Look on the bright side. She's made a decision."
"In front of plenty of witnesses," I added.
"And Mrs. Tranh and the other ladies will be so happy."
"True."
"And Mom won't have to take the Brewsters to small claims court as she's been threatening."
"Or hold Samantha's new gowns for ransom a couple of days before her wedding, which I hate to admit is what I'd be tempted to do if the Brewsters still owed me for the last set."
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