Murder With Peacocks by Donna Andrews

didn't, who knows. Maybe Samantha would get ticked off and cancel the wedding," I said.
      "Would that be such a tragedy?" Dad said, vehemently. "If you ask me, it'll be a sad day for Rob when he ties the knot with that one. I know you're working awfully hard to bring this wedding off, Meg, but I hope you won't be too upset if I succeed in talking him out of it, because I certainly intend to keep trying."
      I was speechless. I don't know what startled me more, hearing Dad's outburst or realizing that Samantha had come up behind him in time to catch every word of it. If looks really could kill, Dad would be in serious trouble.
      "Whatever you think best," I said, steering him gently out of Samantha's range.
      We found the cousin, and, after extracting a promise that he would canvass the neighboring farms for peacocks, I left him and Dad deep in a conversation on the relative merits of various kinds of manure. I went to help Pam with her repairs to the buffet table.
      "Well, at least they're having a good time," Pam sniffed, watching the winning team perform a decorous victory dance on the croquet field.
      "I think everyone is," said Michael. "Anything I can do to help, Meg?"
      "Hold these," Pam ordered, shoving several platters into his hands. "Mrs. Fenniman has left muddy footprints all over the tablecloth."
      "Having a wonderful time in their own inimitable fashions," I said, watching another aunt who was standing at the very end of the backyard on the bluff overlooking the river, flinging the biodegradable garbage to a flock of seagulls while conversing with them in their native tongue. "With the possible exception of Jake," I added. Jake was standing by himself, a drink clutched in his hand and a nervous expression on his face as he watched the bird-loving aunt.
      "I do feel rather sorry for Jake," Pam remarked.
      "Jake? Why?" Michael asked.
      "Well," Pam said, "about a year and a half ago he has to retire from his job up north somewhere and move down here because his wife is sick and needs a quiet place with a better climate. No sooner do they get here than his wife up and dies. And being pretty much at loose ends, before he's a widower for a year, he falls for Mother."
      "Who is apt to be every bit as much trouble for the poor man as an invalid," I said.
      "I don't see that there's any reason to feel sorry for him," Michael protested. Pam and I laughed. "I mean, your mother seems to be a very charming woman, and it's not as if she's forcing him to marry her."
      "Oh, Mother would never think of such a thing," I said.
      "Well, of course she would if she wanted to," Pam said. "But God knows, what reason would she have?"
      "But look at him," I said. "I mean, does he look happy?" We all three turned to look at Jake.
      "No," Michael said, after a moment. "He looks like a nervous wreck. But prenuptial jitters hit some men that way. I was best man for an old college friend a couple of years ago, and I had to stay up all night with him after the rehearsal dinner to keep him from getting into his van and driving to Montana."
      "Why Montana?" Pam asked. "Was he from there?"
      "No, he'd never been there or ever wanted to that I could remember. But that night, every time I would think I'd talked some sense into him, he'd jump up and say, "Break the news to her, Michael; tell her I've gone to Montana to herd sheep.""
      "But he didn't go?" Pam asked.
      "No, I got him to the church, and the wedding went off as planned. He's never mentioned Montana again. Or sheep. Just a monumental case of prenuptial jitters."
      We contemplated Jake a while longer. When one of the neighbors came up and tapped him on the shoulder, he started so violently I was afraid he'd fall into the pool. Pam shook her head.
      "If he's got prenuptial jitters already, think how bad he'll be by August," she said. "The man could have a coronary."
      "Good point," Michael said.
      "Perhaps he's more nervous than usual with his