'Hmph,' Pam said. 'I'm not sure I approve of their marrying so soon.' She tossed off the rest of her drink, gave our repair work an approving nod, and stalked toward the bar.
'Do I sense that you and your siblings are not entirely happy about your mother's remarriage?' Michael asked.
'You could say that,' I said. 'I mean, we could never understand why Mother and Dad divorced. They never argued or anything.'
'Then what happened?'
'Who knows?' I said. 'All of a sudden one day it was Sorry, children, your father and I are getting a divorce. All very amiable; we all joked that Mother got the house and Dad got the garden, except for joint custody of the tomato patch.'
'And you still have no idea why?'
'Pam and I have always felt that it was all Mother's idea, and that she was doing it because of something he did, or didn't do. Or that she thought he'd done or not done. We thought eventually either he'd figure out what it was and set it straight, or she'd forgive him, or both of them would just get tired of the divorce and get back together. But now ... it's all looking rather permanent.'
'And you're not happy about it.'
'Well, Jake isn't anyone I would ever have thought of as a possible addition to the family.'
'No, I can see that,' Michael said. 'Compared to your family he seems a little ... well, bland.' He cast an involuntary glance at Uncle Horace.
'He certainly does,' I agreed. 'Of course, I can't say I've had much time to get to know him. Maybe he has hidden qualities I haven't seen yet.' I glanced again at Jake's rather mousy figure. 'Then again, maybe bland is what Mother's looking for. I mean he's not likely to startle the guests at a dinner party with graphic descriptions of the symptoms of ptomaine poisoning. Or put a whole truckload of fresh manure on the flower beds just before a garden party for one of her ladies' clubs. Or drag dead and possibly rabid animals into the house to show to the kids. All of which Dad has done, and more.'
'Quite a character, your dad.' Michael remarked. 'Sometimes a little too much so.'
'He does seem to be rather obsessed with poison, doesn't he?' Michael said.
'Ah, I see he's taken you on the garden tour.'
'Not exactly, but I overheard enough of what he was telling another guest earlier to get the idea,' Michael said. 'Pointing out every toxic item in the landscaping, which seemed to be just about every other plant.'
'You can never be too careful,' I said. 'If the buffet had been disappointing you might have been tempted to nibble on the shrubbery.'
'But now I know better. I see. Is it a hobby of his, trying to grow every poisonous plant known to man?'
'Well, when my brother Rob was little, he almost died from eating most of a poinsettia, and Dad got interested in the fact that so many common house and yard plants were poisonous. He's made a special study of it. After all, it combines two of his major obsessions: medicine and gardening. Three obsessions if you include mystery books; he's a rabid mystery reader. See, there he is at it again.'
'Enlightening one of the neighbors, I see.'
'Actually, that's Mrs. Grover, the sister-in-law,' I said. Dad was pointing at one of the shrubs and gesticulating enthusiastically. 'Hydrangea.' I said absentmindedly. 'Contains cyanide, mostly in the leaves and branches, although I wouldn't advise sampling the flowers, either.'
'Charming,' Michael said.
'That's mountain laurel next to it. I forget what it has in it, but if Socrates had been a Native American, that's what they would have fed him instead of hemlock. And then the oleander, which contains a drug similar to digitalis.'
'Is this a family obsession as well?' he asked.
'Not at all,' I said. 'But it's hard not to pick up a few tidbits over the years.'
'I won't need your dad's tour, then. You can do the honors.'
'Ah, but Dad would tell you the scientific names of each poison and describe the effects in vivid, clinical detail.'
'Sounds as if it takes a strong stomach,' Michael said, with one eyebrow raised.
'Yes. Mrs. Grover seems to be enjoying it more than most people do,' I said. She was asking rather a lot of questions and peering with those cold eyes at each plant as if committing it to memory. Perhaps some of her sister's shrubbery was missing as well.
'Could it be her way of flirting with your dad?' Michael asked.
'More likely she's planning on poisoning someone herself,' I replied. 'Seems in character.'
'Poisoning someone? Who?' Michael and I both turned in surprise to see a startled Jake behind us.
'No one's poisoning anyone, Mr. Wendell,' I said, gently. 'It was only a joke; we were both commenting on how patient your sister-in-law is being about listening to Dad's lecture on poisonous plants.'
'Ghastly,' Jake said, and edged away.
'Do I sense that he didn't enjoy his tour?' Michael said, chuckling. I frowned slightly at him; Dad was coming over with Mrs. Grover in tow. I braced myself.
'And this is my daughter Meg, who's down for the summer to help her mother with the wedding, and Michael Waterston, who's filling in this summer for his mother, who runs our local dress shop. How's your mother's leg?' he asked.
'Fine,' Michael said. 'Making good progress the doctor says. I'm hoping it won't quite be all summer before she comes back.'
'Well, tell her not to rush it,' Dad said. 'You'd be amazed how many people do themselves a permanent injury trying to do too much too soon.'
'Her sister is looking after her,' Michael said. 'Aunt Marigold won't let her get away with anything she shouldn't.'
'Marigold? Tell me, is your mother Dahlia Waterston?' Mrs. Grover asked.
'Yes,' Michael said, startled. 'Do you know her?'
'Yes,' Mrs. Grover said. 'I come from Fort Lauderdale, you know. I know your aunt Marigold, and as it happens, I saw your mother not very long ago.'
'Really,' Michael said, oddly nervous.
'It must have been just before her accident,' Mrs. Grover said. 'Her leg, was it?'
'Yes,' Michael said. 'Quite a bad fracture.'
'Really,' Mrs. Grover said. 'We must talk about her sometime.'
I found myself rather disliking her sly, insinuating manner. She seemed to say one thing and mean another, and I wondered what there could be in that short conversation to make Michael so uneasy. Perhaps he was afraid that Mrs. Grover had found out he was gay and would reveal it to his mother when she went home. Perhaps she'd found it out from his mother and he was afraid she would reveal it here, not knowing that it was already common knowledge. Or perhaps ... oh, but don't be silly, I told myself. She's just a woman with a rather unpleasant manner. Stop letting your imagination run wild.
'Speaking of Florida, we have some very interesting tropical plants over here,' Dad said, hauling the conversation by brute force back to his pet topic. He trotted over to another section of the yard with Mrs. Grover in tow. Michael and I both breathed sighs of relief.
'What an irritating woman,' Pam said, appearing at my elbow. 'If her sister was anything like her, perhaps even Mother would be an improvement.'
'Why, what's she done?' I asked.
'What hasn't she done?' Pam countered. 'One of the aunts leaves in tears after Mrs. Grover tells her how natural her wig looked--which it does, but you know how sensitive people are when they've lost their own hair, and Mrs. Grover goes and announces it in front of at least a dozen people who probably didn't realize it was a wig. She suggests that perhaps Mrs. Fenniman has had enough wine, which she has, but you know how contrary she is; she's off swilling it down now and will probably have to be carried home. And then--well, she said something very unkind about Natalie's looks, so I suppose you have to call me a biased witness. Oh, no, she's talking to Eric,' Pam said, cutting short her tirade. 'Excuse me while I rescue him; I don't fancy seeing her torture both kids on the same
