Murder With Peacocks by Donna Andrews

Author:Donna Andrews [Andrews, Donna]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780312970635
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 1999-12-30T06:00:00+00:00

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 Doberman had stayed over. The sheriff was able to catch them before they took off for Richmond and drag them back out to our neighborhood. Also luckily, most of the neighborhood were still either asleep or in church, so we didn't have to contend with a large crowd. Just Dad, Michael, Rob, me, and nine assorted law enforcement officials. Ten if you counted the Doberman.

"Does this look like the other bomb?" the sheriff asked.

"No, the other was a wooden box about the size of a shoebox," I explained. "And it seems like a different handwriting. But the other one also had a tag that said For Meg."

The Doberman was going wild, barking madly at the box. This seemed to alarm his handler and the deputies. Did that mean it was a particularly large and powerful bomb? For that matter, Spike was going wild, too, but probably all that meant was that he wanted to attack the Doberman.

"We're going to put the box in a special container and then take it out where we've got room to detonate it without hurting anybody," the sheriff said. "We're just waiting for the special equipment."

Waiting for the special equipment was getting on my nerves. I found myself staring obsessively at the box, as if I could figure out by looking at it who had planted it there. I began to realize that there was something familiar about the box. It was a stationery box. A battered, grease-stained box that had once held envelopes. And there were holes punched in the side. And where had I seen that neat, elegant handwriting before? I suddenly realized what it was.

"Oh, for goodness' sakes," I said. I strode over to the steps--the deputies were too startled to stop me--and picked up the box.

"No--don't--put it down--look out!" came shouts from Dad, Michael, and the assembled lawmen. I opened the box.

"Mrrow?" A small white kitten was staring back at me with wide green eyes.

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