'Nothing doing,' I said. 'I want heavy-duty chemicals, and I want them now. Give me a shot of whatever it was you gave Rob when he had hives.'
'Benadryl,' he said. 'But really, Meg, that isn't necessary.'
'If you won't give me something I'll find someone who will.'
'Now, Meg,' Dad began.
'Mother, explain it to him,' I said. 'If I don't have something to stop this itching, not only will I be too nasty and evil-tempered to live with but I will probably become very distracted and screw up some of the last- minute arrangements for one of the weddings.'
'She does have a lot on her hands,' Mother said.
'Several hundred blisters,' Mrs. Fenniman said, giggling.
I shot her an evil look.
'I'm sure someone else will come down with a case soon,' Mother said, soothingly. 'There will be so many extra people around for the weddings, and so many of them will be from the city and will have no idea what poison ivy looks like.'
Dad brightened visibly, and reluctantly agreed to prescribe some conventional medicine for me.
'Is it likely to spread?' Samantha asked, being careful to stay at least ten feet away from me, and upwind. Just my luck to have her drop by tonight; now I was sure she was calculating whether I was going to be presentable enough for her wedding.
'It will probably be all over my entire body by tomorrow,' I said. 'I'll look like a leper.'
'Don't be silly,' Mother said. 'It can't possibly spread much more by tomorrow. Luckily it's a long dress,' she said, glancing at my lotion-smeared legs.
'And no one will be able to see all the blisters on your arms once you have those elbow-length gloves on,' added Michael, who had stopped by on his way back from Spike's walk and was showing, in my opinion, just barely enough sympathy, considering how narrowly he had escaped sharing my affliction. He was lounging against the porch rail, cool and blister free, while Spike sniffed around the flower beds.
'Oh, that's a great comfort,' I said. 'And I suppose--ahhhh!' I jumped back as Spike suddenly lunged toward me. To my surprise, however, instead of taking a bite out of me, Spike began licking my shins, tail wagging in delight.
'Isn't he cute?' Mother said. 'He wants his aunt Meg to know how much he appreciates her saving him, doesn't he?'
'He probably just likes the smell of the ointment,' I said, trying to push Spike away. 'Maybe it's got bacon grease in it or something.'
'I've never, ever seen him do that before,' Michael said, as he tried to restrain the now-affectionate Spike.
'I must be going,' Samantha said, stepping around me on her way down the steps. When she got close to him, Spike suddenly put his tail between his legs and began whining and trying to hide behind me.
'Nasty little beast,' Samantha hissed, glowering at the cringing Spike.
'Spike's suddenly showing incredibly good taste,' Michael murmured to me as he gave the dog an encouraging pat.
Good taste or good sense, I thought. The only other time I'd ever seen Spike act scared was the previous night, when he was trapped on the ledge. What if Spike was acting the same way because he'd suddenly caught sight of the very person who'd tethered him by the booby trap? There wasn't a whole lot of time to worry about it.
The house was beginning to fill up with elderly relatives from out of town and Pam's husband and kids had arrived back from their trip to Australia. One of the few benefits of my poison ivy was that no one was particularly eager to bunk with me, so Mother sent the elderly aunt who had been destined to share my room off to sleep at Mrs. Fenniman's. Definitely a good thing; I was going to need peace and quiet and privacy to keep from losing my mind. And while the extra guests created a lot more work, that had the advantage of distracting me from my itching for whole minutes at a time.
But at the end of the day, despite a cool baking soda bath, the itching kept me awake for quite a while. I was finally drifting off to sleep when I heard an unearthly shriek.
I started upright in panic before realizing that it was the same damned unearthly shriek we'd been hearing repeatedly for the past several days.
'Damn those peacocks,' I muttered.
Several more of the birds joined in. I hoped the visiting relatives were all either too deaf to hear them or too tired from traveling to wake. The peacock chorus was definitely building to a crescendo.
'I thought they weren't supposed to be nocturnal,' I said to the kitten, who was standing with her back arched, spitting.
And then I suddenly remembered something Mr. Dibbit the peacock farmer had said. About not worrying about trespassers with the peacocks around.
I jumped out of bed, pulled on my clothes, and crept downstairs without turning on any lights. The peacock shrieks were coming from the back door. I would creep to the back door and turn on all the floodlights in the yard and then--
'Yourroowrrr!' I tripped over the kitten, who leaped out of the way with a surprisingly loud screech. I fell flat on my face on the kitchen floor, knocking the glass recycling bin into the aluminum can recycling bin.
I think I heard footsteps. Soft, quick footsteps disappearing down the driveway, and maybe an occasional crunch of gravel. But perhaps it was my imagination. It would have been hard to hear, anyway, over the clinking glass, clattering cans, and howling livestock. By the time I got the floodlights on, the yard was empty. I turned them out again so the peacocks would settle down.
'What on earth is going on?' Mother had appeared in the kitchen doorway.
'Something scared the peacocks,' I replied, as I began to gather up the spilled cans and bottles. 'I came to see what.'
'I really think we should send those creatures over to the Brewsters',' Mother said.
'I'd rather keep them here. I think what scared them was a prowler.'
Mother closed her eyes, and leaned against the doorway. She looked very unlike herself--almost haggard. And scared.
'What is going on here?' she asked, faintly. 'What on earth is going on here?'
'I wish I knew. I'm going to have some tea to calm down. Want some?'
'The caffeine will only keep us up,' she said, sitting down at the table.
'You can have Eileen's herbal muck if you prefer.'
'I'll have Earl Grey, thank you,' she said, more like her usual self.
We sat together, quietly sipping our tea. I was kicking myself for not having caught the prowler, desperately curious to find out what the prowler wanted, and generally distracted. I noticed that Mother, too, seemed preoccupied. I wondered what was bothering her--the possibility of a prowler, or something else?
You'll probably never know, I told myself. I could sometimes predict what Mother would do, but I'd given up trying to figure out what she was thinking. Unless, of course ...
'Mother,' I began, 'Can I ask you something?'
'Of course, dear? What did you want to know?'
What did I want to know? The answer to about a million questions. What do you think's happening around here? With all your sources of gossip and information, do you know anything that might help solve the murders? And why did you divorce Dad, anyway, and why are you marrying Jake? What do you see in him? What do you know about him? Do you really approve of Rob marrying Samantha? Do you trust her?
But she suddenly looked so vulnerable that I realized there was no way I could ask her any probing questions. Or any questions that would upset her.
'When are you going to let me see the dress I'm wearing in your wedding?'
She smiled.
'Not till the wedding day,' she said. 'I want it to be a lovely surprise.'
We squabbled amiably about this for a little while, which seemed to put her in a much more normal, cheerful mood. We went to bed well past midnight. I locked all the doors and windows. I felt almost guilty doing
