The Windsor Knot

subsequent suspicion that some of the local dearly departed had not gone so far as the hereafter when they exited Chandler Grove, he had resolved to pursue a quiet inquiry of his own. Geoffrey had no desire to be helpful to the police in this matter-or even to share his findings with other interested parties; he simply thought that it would be amusing to know.

“At least it would save one the bother of trying to call them up on the Ouija board, if one learns that they are presently residing in Escondido, California,” he remarked to himself. As soon as Elizabeth had left for her dressmaker’s appointment, Geoffrey went out to his own car and headed for the one-block section of downtown Chandler Grove.

He decided to forgo a look at the courthouse records. “I wouldn’t pass the time of day with Susan Davis to find out if I were dead,” he muttered.

Five minutes later, he strolled into the office of the Chandler Grove Scout, where Marshall Pavlock was hard at work, pasting up the Piggly Wiggly ad. He was a heavyset man with a shock of white hair and a mild expression somewhat at odds with his eyes.

“Hello, Marshall,” said Geoffrey, edging past the customers’ counter. “Don’t let me disturb you.”

“I won’t,” said the editor and owner of the newspaper. “Not unless you’ve brought an ad about the new playhouse production.”

“Not yet,” said Geoffrey. “Ripeness is all.”

Marshall Pavlock frowned. “That’s Lear. I thought you were doing Twelfth Night.”

“Well, we are. Oh, never mind. Anyhow I’ve come about something else.” Geoffrey did not enjoy barding to an overeducated audience. It spoiled the spontaneity. “I’d like to look at the back issues of the Scout.”

The editor looked up from his ad with a puzzled expression. “Is there a scavenger hunt going on in town or something?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You’re the second person asking to see those papers. Now ordinarily we don’t get more than a dozen requests a year like that, and most of those are from high-school kids. I just wondered why all of a sudden it has become such a popular pastime.”

“Who was the other person who asked to see them?”

“The deputy. Clay Taylor. I got the impression from him that it was police business.”

“I expect it was,” said Geoffrey smoothly. “We probably want to see the papers for entirely different reasons.”

“Maybe so,” said Marshall. “But if you’re onto anything that would be useful as a news story, you let me know about it.” He motioned Geoffrey to the back room where the bound copies of the Scout were kept.

“Out of my lean and low ability I’ll lend you something,” muttered Geoffrey, but he took care that Marshall Pavlock should not overhear him.

An hour later Geoffrey emerged from the back room with a notepad full of interesting facts gleaned from the obituary columns of the Scout. He did not, however, share his findings with the editor of that publication.

Elizabeth and Jenny were having tea with Geneva Grey, who had recovered somewhat from her surprise upon meeting them. Or, rather, upon meeting Jenny. She had seemed quite equal to the honor of greeting Elizabeth, but when she had turned to welcome her second visitor, her face registered recognition, shock, and then delight in short order.

“Aren’t you-why, you’re my weather girl!” she cried, glancing at the television set as if in search of evidence of Jenny’s escape.

Jenny Ramsay smiled her demure princess smile, and her eyelids fluttered. “Oh, I can’t believe you recognized me!” she murmured. “Aren’t you sweet? I’m afraid I look like a dishrag in this old thing.”

Miss Grey, a small-boned woman with shining white hair and a dazzling smile of her own, had beamed back at the Weather Princess. “And you’re getting married!” she exclaimed.

“No, sorry,” said Elizabeth, with a little wave of her hand. “Over here. Yes, me. I’m the bride.”

The seamstress’s smile decreased in voltage ever so slightly. “Well, of course you are!” she said, patting Elizabeth on the arm. “I remember now. You told me all about your bone work on the telephone. It completely slipped my mind when I saw Jenny here. And afterward, you’re going to fly over to England and see the Queen.”

“Scotland, actually,” said Elizabeth, blushing.

“Well, do come in, and let’s talk about this exciting event.” She cast a last beaming smile at Jenny. “Just wait till I tell folks I had the Channel Four weather girl in for tea!”

She settled them on a faded velvet love seat in the parlor, then she bustled into the kitchen to make the tea. When they were alone, Jenny leaned over to Elizabeth and whispered, “I’m sorry. You must be about ready to kill me!”

Elizabeth summoned up a pale smile. “No, of course not, Jenny. I think it’s wonderful for you.” Privately she wondered how Jenny Ramsay would look in malarial yellow.

“You know, we never did talk about exactly where your aunt’s house is,” said Jenny. “I have to be able to find it on Saturday, you know!”

“You can’t miss it,” said Elizabeth. “It’s Long Meadow Farm. There’s a Bavarian castle across the road.”

“Oh my,” said Jenny, wide-eyed. “Are you related to them?”

“Sure. Amanda Chandler is my mother’s sister. In fact, her sons Charles and Geoffrey are part of the wedding party. They didn’t go to school in Chandler Grove, though. Did you ever meet them?”

Jenny laughed pleasantly. “I meet so many people,” she said. “If they ever served on a civic committee, I’m sure I’ve crossed paths with them. Are they cute?”

Elizabeth hesitated. “They’re… interesting.”

“Well,” said Jenny, “anybody with that much money is interesting.”

Presently, Miss Grey returned, bearing a silver tray on which a Spode tea service rested in newly rinsed splendor. Beside it was a plate of home-baked cookies. “Now,” she said, beaming at them, “I want to hear all about it!”

“Well,” said Elizabeth, “I’m afraid it’s short notice, because the wedding is only a week away, but I’ve been dieting, you see, and-”

“You’re not sweet on that Badger Darnell, are you?”

“I’m sorry,” said Elizabeth, losing her train of thought. “What did you say?”

Jenny gave a little cough. “I believe she means me, honey.” She directed another princess look at their hostess. “No, ma’am, I’m not at all involved with Badger. Why, I think of him as a big brother, and that’s all. He’s like family. But he certainly is an eligible bachelor, so if you want him, you go right ahead.”

Geneva Grey gave a little squeal of laughter and tapped Jenny playfully on the arm. That line always did go down well with the little old ladies.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and counted to ten. Then she reached for a cookie. “As I said, we have very little time, but I did bring a pattern that you might want to look at.” She reached into her totebag and brought out the thick envelope containing the dress pattern.

Miss Grey studied the cover drawings with a practiced eye. “Yes,” she said, “I like that neckline. Are you going to want it in satin?”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth. “I’ve already bought the material. What do you think?” She handed the totebag to the seamstress.

“Yes. Very nice. So you want it just like the picture, then?”

“Well, no. There is one alteration that I’d like.” She explained her plan.

“Well, that will make a change, won’t it?”

“Can you do it?”

“Well, certainly. I’ll just get some measurements. But first, we ought to decide what Jenny’s going to wear.”

“There are two bridesmaids,” said Elizabeth.