'Could you have mistaken Barry for Horace?' Dad asked.
'Doesn't seem likely,' I said. 'It was a new gorilla suit, but it still didn't seem that large a gorilla. Then again, I didn't get a really good look, and I assumed it was Horace.'
We were circling the bed, peering at the box from all sides. I finally reached out to take the card--
Lifting the card triggered some hidden mechanism. The lid flew open, and something leaped out like a jack-in-the-box. I didn't see what, at first; we all hit the floor. After a few seconds, when nothing happened, we peeked over the side of the bed. A large bouquet of silk flowers had popped out of the box and was still swaying slightly. A card that said Love, Barry was twined in the foliage.
'That's certainly very ingenious,' Dad said, peering at the box with interest.
'And rather romantic in a way, I suppose,' Michael remarked, frowning.
'Of all the idiotic things,' I began. My heart was still pounding at twice the usual rate. And then I noticed something about the box.
'Gangway,' I yelled, grabbing it and running. I scrambled through my window onto the flat porch roof outside, and hurled the box as far as I could toward the river. I have a good, strong throwing arm; it actually ended up in the bushes at the edge of the bluff.
'Meg, that was uncalled for,' Dad said, following me out onto the roof. 'I don't like Barry any more than you do, but--'
Whatever else he was saying was drowned out by the loud explosion at the edge of the bluff. Part of the bluff flew up into the air, disintegrating as it went, and began raining down in small chunks on the guests in the backyard. A small tree wobbled and disappeared over the edge.
'It was ticking,' I said. 'I see no reason for jack-in-the-boxes to tick. And someone had ripped open the lining and put something under it and sewed it back up, clumsily. Of course he could have decided at the last minute to put in a music box, and done it in a hurry, but I didn't think that was too likely, and I'm glad I didn't stop to find out. What kind of an idiot would leave something like that where anyone could find it, Mother or Eric or--'
'Sit down, Meg, you're babbling,' Dad said. I sat. 'Michael, fetch her a glass of water. And then--'
'Yes, I know,' Michael said. 'Find the sheriff.'
'And Barry,' Dad said. 'I think I see them there in the crowd.'
I looked up. People were swarming near the edge of the bluff. Much too near the edge. I leaped up.
'Get away from the bluff!' I shrieked. 'Everybody away from the bluff! Now!'
They paid attention. Clowns, hoboes, gypsies, and furry animals of all kinds scattered madly and dived for cover. No doubt they thought I'd finally lost it and was planning to lob more grenades.
'Good,' Dad said approvingly. 'We need to preserve these crime scenes better.'
'I'll fetch the sheriff now,' Michael said. He brought them right out onto the roof. The sheriff didn't mind; he could keep an eye on his deputies--several of whom conveniently, were also relatives and thus already here to begin the investigation.
'What is going on here?' the sheriff began.
'Barry,' I said. 'Did you leave me a present? Carved wooden box with a pop-up bouquet?'
'Yes,' Barry said, his face brightening. 'Did you like it? When you didn't say anything before I thought you didn't like it.'
'Before? I only just found it a few minutes ago.'
'But I left it on your porch last night.'
'And I only found it a few minutes ago, here on my bed.'
'But I left it on the porch,' Barry insisted. 'Last night.'
'I think it's obvious what happened,' Dad said. 'Someone found the box Barry left, took it away, and added their own little surprise.'
'Surprise?' Barry said.
'The explosion. Someone put a bomb in your box.'
Barry turned pale and gulped. He looked at me, opened his mouth, then closed it and sat down on the roof, his head in his hands.
'I'm sorry,' he moaned. 'It's all my fault.'
'Don't,' I said, patting his shoulder. 'It was a very beautiful box. It's not your fault.' Unless, of course, he had put the bomb in it.
'I'm so sorry,' he repeated. 'If I'd had any idea ...'
The party disintegrated, although many of the guests hung around watching long after the sheriff's merry men finished interrogating them. The sheriff decorated the house with a lot of cheerful yellow crime scene tape and kept us out until he could arrange for a special bomb detection squad to come down from Richmond to search the premises. The team turned out to be a laid-back state trooper with a hyperactive Doberman.
'Shutting the barn door after the whole herd of horses have been stolen,' I muttered.
'You'd feel differently if they'd found a second bomb,' Michael pointed out.
'I'm so sorry,' Barry said. Again. Clearly it would be hours before the police and firefighters left and we could get some peace and quiet. Or what passed for peace and quiet these days. Mother and Rob went off to Pam's. I thought someone from the family ought to be around, so I collapsed in the backyard hammock, out of the way but within call. I was too tired to keep my eyes open but too hyper to sleep. How had I managed to attract the attention of the killer? Had my sporadic attempts to help Dad with his detective work made the killer nervous? Or were Mrs. Grover's murder, the booby-trapped fuse box, and now the bomb the work of a lunatic who didn't care who he killed?
I was not in the mood for company. Well, I didn't mind having Michael around; he was making entertaining conversation on a variety of subjects that had nothing to do with homicide and he didn't mind if I just listened in silence. Barry, on the other hand ...
'It's all my fault,' he said--not for the first time--during a lull in the conversation.
'It's alright, Barry,' I said, mechanically.
'If only I had just given you the box.'
'You had no way of knowing,' I said, through gritted teeth.
'You could have been killed, and it would have been all my fault. Well, partly my fault.'
'Barry,' I said, 'if you put the bomb in the box, tell the sheriff. If you didn't, stop apologizing and go away.'
He opened his mouth and stared at me for a few moments, his mental gears almost audibly turning. Then he closed his mouth and went away rather quickly.
I settled back in my hammock. After a few minutes, I opened one eye. Michael was sitting, watching me with a worried look on his face.
'So?' I asked. 'You were telling me how you dealt with the soap opera queen who tried to upstage you.'
He grinned, and went on with his story. I closed my eyes. It was a funny story. I could feel myself relaxing. And if I managed to drift off before he got to the punchline, I could ask him to tell it again tomorrow. Michael was certainly good company; I was going to miss him when the summer was over.
Sunday, July 3
It was nearly three when I tottered up to bed, so I was hoping to sleep in the next morning. But the thought of all the mess left over from the party and the bomb wouldn't let me. About nine, I got up and went down to survey the cleanup ahead of us. Was hunting down a cleaning service that would work on Sunday less trouble than doing it ourselves? Perhaps we should relocate this afternoon's tea for the bridesmaids to Pam's house. Fortunately tomorrow's shower was at the Brewsters'.
First, coffee and the Sunday paper. I padded out to the front door and looked out to see if by chance the paperboy had hit our porch for a change, instead of the goldfish pond.
And saw a small box sitting on the porch with a tag on the top that said For Meg.
I ran back to the kitchen and called the sheriff. Then Dad. Luckily, the trooper and his bomb-sniffing
