Everyone seemed to think I was joking. I couldn't account for the bad mood I was in. The local serial killer was out of business. Rob had been saved from a truly disastrous marriage. Barry was probably out of my hair for good. In less than a week, all my wedding chores would be over. Well, okay, maybe two or three weeks if you count all the cleanup. So why was I alone in such a lousy mood?
Well, maybe not quite alone. Dad was moping. 'What's eating you, anyway?' I asked him.
'It's Emma Wendell,' Dad said.
'They've run any number of tests, but they haven't found anything.'
'Maybe that's because there isn't anything to be found.'
'I suppose,' Dad said. He sighed. 'It all seemed to fit together so nicely. This really has messed up all my theories.'
'I don't think you're going to be able to prove that Jake's a cold-blooded murderer,' I told him. 'You might have to find some other way of changing Mother's mind. If that's what you want.'
He wandered off, giving no sign of having heard me.
I went off to run last-minute errands and perform last-minute tasks. Everywhere I went, people congratulated me. They seemed to think that it was my suggestion that made the sheriff search Samantha's room. And that I was solely responsible for catching her.
'And how clever of you not to let on to anyone until you had the goods on her,' one aunt enthused.
I protested that if I'd known she was a murderer, I'd have told the sheriff about her before Saturday, and spared us all the trouble of the ceremony. And poor Rob all the bother of getting an annulment. No one listened. Everybody thought I was just being modest. I gave up trying.
But I couldn't help wondering if it wasn't all a little too convenient. Samantha disappears, and suddenly we discover that she's responsible for Yorktown's homemade crime wave. Somehow it didn't quite add up.
Something suddenly struck me: what if Mrs. Grover showed up early that morning to meet Dad for a bird- watching trip and saw a furtive figure lurking in the trees outside my room? What if she was the first to unmask Barry as a peeping Tom, and threatened to call the police or tried to blackmail him? What if Barry had taken drastic measures to avoid exposure?
What if we had the wrong murderer?
I began to wonder if letting Barry off with a warning was a good idea after all. I called and left a message on the sheriff's answering machine: 'call me--I'm having second thoughts about letting Barry go.'
Wednesday, July 27
But I didn't hear from the sheriff the next day, and he was nowhere to be found. Only more hordes of relatives bent on congratulating me. Rumor had it that the missing millions had been found with Samantha, and everyone who'd lost money was going to get it back. My popularity was reaching new heights.
'I'm really tired of being hailed as Yorktown's answer to Nancy Drew,' I told Michael when he dropped by during his morning walk with Spike.
'Well, you did have her pegged as one of the prime suspects,' he said.
'Yes, but I didn't find any evidence of anything. I was just mouthing off when I suggested searching her room. And I'm beginning to have serious doubts about whether--'
'Michael!' Dad exclaimed, popping round the corner of the house. 'Just the man I was looking for! My wedding present for Margaret should arrive tonight, and I was wondering if you could help me with it?'
'Sure,' Michael said. 'How?'
'Well, could we park the truck behind your house so she won't see it?'
'I don't see why not,' Michael said, shrugging.
'What kind of truck?' I asked, suspiciously.
'One of your cousin Leon's trucks,' Dad said.
'We're talking an eighteen wheeler, then,' I said, looking at Michael.
'As long as it doesn't block the driveway, I guess it's fine.'
'And if you'd like to help us put it up tomorrow, you're welcome,' Dad said. 'Mrs. Fenniman is going to go with Margaret to the beauty parlor and then take her to lunch, so as soon as they leave, everyone we can find will be coming over to put it up so it will be there when she comes back.'
'Sure,' Michael said. 'Just what will we be putting up?'
'You know how I've been trying to get the yard in shape so it will look really nice for the wedding?' Dad said. 'Well, I thought of one thing Margaret likes that would make it just perfect, so I called some cousins in South Carolina--'
'Oh, no,' I said.
'And they agreed to help, so I sent our cousin Leon down there with the truck--'
'Dad, do you have any idea how much you can fit into one of those trucks?'
'That's why I'm getting as many people as possible to put it up, Meg,' Dad said.
'Put what up?' Michael asked.
'Spanish moss.' Dad beamed.
'Spanish moss?' Michael said, incredulous.
'It's that gray, trailing stuff you see hanging from all the trees in the Deep South,' Dad explained.
'Yes, I know what it is,' Michael said. 'You're having a truckload of Spanish moss brought in as a wedding present?'
'Yes,' Dad said. 'Margaret loves it; she says it always makes her feel she's living at Tara. Whenever anyone in the family comes up here from further south, or if anyone goes down there to visit, they bring back a little of it.'
'I don't recall seeing any,' Michael said.
'It doesn't survive,' I said. 'What the cold doesn't kill in the winter the birds drag away in the spring to make nests.'
'But she thinks it's so pretty while it lasts,' Dad said. 'So I decided just once to drape every tree in the whole yard with the stuff. She'll love it. I'll give you a call when the coast is clear. Refreshments for everyone who helps out of course, and you're already coming to the party Friday, I assume? Oh, and if you have a ladder we could use, that would be splendid. We need all the ladders we can get.'
Dad trotted off happily.
'Unusual sort of wedding present,' Michael remarked.
'It's damned peculiar to be giving your ex-wife a wedding present to begin with,' I said.
'Do you think she'll like it?'
'Oh, she'll adore it. I hope it doesn't cause trouble with Jake. That is who she's supposed to be marrying, last time I heard.'
'Just one question,' Michael said. 'Why the hell is she marrying Jake?'
When Cousin Leon and the truck finally arrived, Dad came by and dragged me down to Michael's to inspect the Spanish moss.
'Isn't it wonderful!' he said. 'Now tomorrow, as soon as your mother takes off, we'll drive the truck over--'
'Er, I can't stay that long,' Cousin Leon said. 'I have to start back tonight. Can't we just go over and unload it now?'
'No, that would spoil the whole surprise,' Dad protested.
'No way round it,' Leon said, shrugging. 'You want us to put it somewhere else?'
Dad thought for a minute. 'Michael,' he began.
'Dad,' I warned.
'It's no problem,' Michael said. 'What can it hurt to have a few piles of Spanish moss in the yard for a few days?'
We all got pitchforks and began unloading the truck. It took three hours, working at top speed. Michael's mother's house was painted a cheerful pink and blue--perhaps with leftover paint from the shop? Anyway, by the time we'd finished, Michael's mother's house looked like an Easter egg in a bed of excelsior.
