'Got homicide on the brain if you ask me,' someone at the back of the crowd muttered.
'Let's all clear out of here,' Dad said. 'The sooner we get things organized, the less chance we'll all end up staying here all night.' I failed to see what we were going to organize or how clearing the room would get us all home any earlier. Obviously Dad just wanted to get us all out from underfoot.
'We will all wait in the lounge while Mrs. Brewster and I see the manager immediately to arrange a change of rooms,' Mother announced firmly, taking Mrs. Brewster by the arm and guiding her out. The rest followed, sheeplike. Dad stopped me as I started out.
'The sheriff will want to talk to you and Michael about finding the body,' he said apologetically.
I found a window seat just outside the Magnolia Room and watched the comings and goings of the sheriff and his deputies for what seemed the millionth time. The various clean-cut pseudo-relatives were blowing their cover to join the investigation, and looking chagrined that another murder might have happened right under their noses.
Mother came back to tell me that they had decided to cancel the dinner after all, and the guests were going home. Michael went and fetched us both sandwiches. From outside the hotel.
'Thanks,' I said, through a full mouth. 'I didn't realize how hungry I was.'
'I think we're all a little in shock.' 'And I feel so guilty.'
Michael started.
'Guilty? Why?' he asked. 'You didn't have anything to do with his death.'
'No. But I keep thinking I ought to be feeling grief. Or empathizing with his family. Or concentrating on what the sheriff might need to know. And instead, all I can think about is getting this over with so we can start getting the wedding back on track. Do you have any idea how hard it is going to be to find a minister less than twenty-four hours before the ceremony?'
'Don't scratch your arms,' Michael advised. 'You'll only make your blisters worse.'
It was clear that by the time the sheriff was finished with all of us and we could go home, it would be late.
In fact, it was already too late to call anyone. So I collared Mother, Mrs. Brewster, and Mrs. Fenniman. We compiled a list of possible substitute ministers. Mother and Mrs. Fenniman thought of most of the names, of course. I coaxed Michael into helping me look up their addresses and numbers in the phone book. Mother and Mrs. Fenniman even had very definite--and I hoped accurate--ideas of how early we dared call each minister without offending. Since Mother and Mrs. Fenniman knew most of them, they ranked the names, divided up the calling list according to who was best acquainted with each potential victim, and agreed to meet at our house at 6:00 A.m.
Saturday, July 23.
Samantha's wedding day.
I dragged myself up at five-thirty to help with the minister search. We got Mother installed in her study and Mrs. Fenniman in the living room with the Brewsters' cellular phone. I transcribed their notes on to our master list, kept strong coffee flowing, and started cooking breakfast to keep from biting my nails.
Samantha and Mrs. Brewster came over about eight.
'The bad news is that they're nearly through the original list and haven't found anyone yet,' I reported, pouring coffee for them, although I wondered if I shouldn't have made it decaf, given the obvious state of their nerves. Or iced tea; apparently the weather gremlins wanted Samantha's wedding day to be at least as hot as Eileen's and were getting an early start. 'The good news is that the few ministers we've been able to reach have suggested another couple of dozen, and there are a few more in the phone book that we could just call blind.'
'We'll have to cancel the wedding,' Samantha said, tight-lipped. It was only about the hundredth time she'd said that since we found Reverend Pugh. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought she wanted to cancel the wedding.
'Oh, no, dear,' Mother said, coming in to refill her coffee cup and nibble on the fruit I had laid out. 'You could always have the wedding at home. If we run out of ministers, there's always Cousin Kate. She's a justice of the peace; she could perform the ceremony. And it would be no trouble, since she's coming to the wedding anyway.' I could see a look of panic cross Samantha's face. Cousin Kate is five feet tall and twice my weight. She has a hogcaller's voice, and what my mother tactfully refers to as an earthy sense of humor. She'd been known to boom out no-nonsense advice about the procreative side of matrimony in the middle of the ceremony. I could just see her officiating at Rob and Samantha's wedding, but I suppressed the grin that the thought provoked. Apparently Samantha had met Cousin Kate as well.
'Oh, I couldn't ask that. Not when she's been invited as a guest. It would be an imposition. Besides,' she said, warming to the topic, 'I'm sure she would perform a lovely ceremony, but it just wouldn't really feel like a wedding to me if it wasn't in church.'
'I understand, dear,' Mother said. 'I'm sure we'll find someone. I just wanted you to know that there's really no reason to worry. You'd better run along home before Rob comes down and sees you. I know you young folks think that's a silly superstition, but it never hurts to be careful.' She finished filling a plate with fruit--including all of the strawberries I'd set out--and drifted back to her study. Samantha, gauging more accurately than Mother the likelihood of Rob rising before ten, stayed around to eat a hearty breakfast--including the rest of the strawberries we had in the house.
Michael arrived about nine o'clock, walking Spike.
'I was just going to take off to pick up Mrs. Tranh and the ladies,' he said, peering through the screen door. 'I thought I should come by to make sure there hadn't been any changes in plan.'
'We don't have a minister yet if that's what you mean,' I said. 'But we have a justice of the peace on call, and if we reach the drop-dead point and have to relocate the ceremony to the Brewsters' lawn, we'll track you down either at the shop or at the parish hall as soon as we know.'
'Oh, my,' Mrs. Brewster muttered. 'I hope we don't have to do that. The place will be swarming with caterers from ten o'clock on.' She and Samantha were just getting up to leave when Mother and Mrs. Fenniman came in to share what they blithely assumed was good news.
'I've found a minister,' Mother announced. 'Cousin Frank Hollingworth. I don't know why I didn't think of him before. And I've gotten the vestry's permission for him to perform the ceremony at the church, just as a formality. Given the circumstances they were all perfectly understanding. Now if someone can just go and pick him up, we'll be fine.'
'Where is he?' I asked, warily, as I mentally traced family trees, trying to place the Rev. Frank Hollingworth. Samantha and her mother were breathing sighs of relief. Prematurely, in my opinion. The Reverend Frank, whoever he might be, was not in our clutches yet.
'In Richmond,' Mother said. 'It's an hour's drive, so we'd better get someone started immediately.'
'Do we have to send someone for him?' Samantha said, peevishly. 'I mean, Dad would be happy to reimburse him for the mileage.'
'He doesn't have a car, dear,' Mother said.
'He could rent one,' Samantha countered.
'I'm not sure he has a license anymore,' Mother said. 'And anyway, I had to promise the director of the home that someone from the family would pick him up at the door and then deliver him back tomorrow.'
'Someone from the home,' I said. 'What home is that? A nursing home?' Samantha and her mother looked taken aback.
'Don't worry, dear. They're sending someone to look after him. To see that he takes his medication and all that.'
'Mother,' I said, as the light dawned, 'You aren't talking about crazy Frank, are you?'
'That's no way to refer to your cousin,' Mother chided. 'Besides, Sarah says that he's been coming home for the occasional weekend for several months now, and he's been a perfect lamb. All the visits have been absolutely uneventful.' I wondered, fleetingly, how badly three decades of being a Hollingworth by marriage had
