Wedding Day Murder by Leslie Meier Page B

sneakers. They were size twelves and could belong to either Bill or Toby. Then, feeling like Ma Clampett, she pushed the screen door open and clomped out onto the porch.
    The squeak of the screen door summoned Kudo, who took it to mean that breakfast was being served. He bounded up the porch steps and greeted Thelma by sticking his nose in her crotch. When she squealed in protest, he reared up on his hind legs and placed his forepaws on her chest, greeting her with a dripping tongue and a big, doggy smile.
    â€œDown, Kudo!” yelled Lucy, dragging him off Thelma and shoving him toward the door. She wanted to lock him inside, but he was having none of it. He wasn’t interested in going inside if his food bowl wasn’t full, so he circled around her and jumped off the porch to the path, where he stationed himself, ready to go where the action was.
    â€œAre you all right?” Lucy asked Thelma.
    â€œOh, yes,” replied Thelma, smoothing her expensive knit jacket. “I just love dogs.”
    Lucy didn’t quite believe her, and she didn’t trust Kudo to behave himself, so she took Thelma’s elbow as they went down the steps. Keeping a wary eye on the dog, who was loping along beside them, excited to have company for his early morning rambles, Lucy led the way around the house to the gazebo.
    â€œI think it’s such a lovely idea, a real country wedding,” trilled Thelma, moving with the speed of lightning in her high heels. How did she manage it? wondered Lucy, who was struggling along in the oversized men’s shoes.
    â€œJust look at all the grass and trees and stones and things. It’s so-o-o country.”
    â€œThat it is,” agreed Lucy, getting a whiff of manure from the field down the road. Why did they have to pick yesterday of all days to spread manure? Why? Maybe Thelma wouldn’t notice.
    â€œDo you smell something?” Thelma tilted her head up and sniffed. “Very unusual. Very earthy.”
    â€œIt’ll be gone by the wedding,” said Lucy, crossing her fingers. “All you’ll smell is flowers.”
    They rounded the corner of the house, and the gazebo was suddenly visible. Thelma clapped her hands together, setting her bracelets to jangling.
    â€œIt’s adorable,” she cooed.
    â€œI’m so glad you like it,” said Lucy, relieved. She knew how much Sue wanted to have the wedding there and had been fearful Thelma wouldn’t approve.
    â€œBut so small.” She shook her head sadly. “I don’t know if it will accommodate all the people we’re inviting.”
    â€œWell, I think Sue was thinking that the wedding itself would take place in the gazebo, and we’d have a canopy on the lawn for the congregation.”
    â€œEven so . . .” began Thelma.
    â€œHow many people are you thinking of inviting?” asked Lucy. “Sue said it would be a small wedding.”
    â€œDear Sue.” Thelma blinked her eyes, and Lucy wondered exactly how one managed to apply eyeliner so early in the morning. “I don’t think she really has any idea how important Ron is, or the circles he travels in. I mean, we were really quite comfortable in Englewood. Ron’s father—he was a stockbroker, you know—left us very well provided for. But that was nothing to the success Ron’s had. Did you see his photo in the New York Times last week? He was at that Computers for Kids benefit a few weeks ago at the Met. That’s a museum, dear, in New York.”
    Thelma had seated herself on one of the chairs and had neatly crossed her ankles.
    â€œHe was photographed with Barbara Walters, and all these Astors and Vanderbilts were there. It’s funny when you think of Ron, the grandson of a pickle manufacturer, hobnobbing with all those people. And do you know what Barbara—that’s Barbara Walters; I think I mentioned her earlier—well, do you know what she told me? She said that