Part 15 (2/2)
Lilian asked me to retrieve a box of notepads and pencils from the small office at the rear of the schoolroom and to distribute one each per chair. As I scurried off to do her bidding, I congratulated myself on the subtle way in which I'd confirmed the reason for Nicholas's trip to London. I wasn't as sanguine about his health as his aunt was, but it was marginally rea.s.suring to know that he hadn't invented the doctor's appointment as an excuse to get away from me.
I'd just finished working my way around the circle of chairs when the bells in the church tower began to chime seven o'clock. By the third bong, a commotion in the cloakroom signaled the arrival of the more punctual members of the Easter vigil committee.
”What in G.o.d's name are you wearing, Lori?” Peggy Taxman sailed majestically into the room, with Jasper trailing docilely in her wake. ”You're not pregnant again, are you?”
I blushed crimson. ”No, Peggy, I'm-”
”You've a lovely figure,” Sally Pyne interrupted, marching in behind Jasper. The round-figured little woman wore a pale peach pantsuit and carried a plastic container filled with jam doughnuts, which she plonked proudly on the refreshments table. ”If I had a shape like yours, Lori, I wouldn't hide it under a gray sack.”
”She wasn't wearing a gray sack on the square yesterday.” d.i.c.k Peac.o.c.k paused in the cloakroom doorway to straighten the black brocade vest he wore over his kelly-green s.h.i.+rt, then made a beeline for Sally's doughnuts.
His wife, clad in corduroy trousers and a fisherman's knit sweater, followed his example but managed to delay her first bite long enough to add, ”She was wearing her brown cotton jacket, d.i.c.k, which is about as alluring as the gray sack.”
”All the same,” d.i.c.k went on, impervious, ”she looked very pretty when we saw her kissing Nicholas.”
Lilian Bunting turned to me, shocked.
”Now, d.i.c.k,” I began, but Christine Peac.o.c.k jumped to my defense.
”It was hardly a kiss,” she pointed out, frowning at her husband. ”More of a peck, really. The sort of thing you'd give a cousin.”
”Too bad he's not her cousin,” d.i.c.k said, waggling his eyebrows.
”He's a good friend, eh, Lori?” Sally Pyne gave me a wink as she elbowed her way to the tea urn. ”A very good friend.”
I didn't know where to look. I'd expected the kiss to generate gossip, but I hadn't expected it to sp.a.w.n a public debate in my presence.
A throaty chuckle sounded from the cloakroom as Miranda Morrow joined the fray. Her fingers glittered with silver rings, and her flowing purple gown was covered with arcane signs embroidered in black silk.
”Scandalizing the village, Lori?” Miranda beamed at me. ”I thought that was our job. Come along, George.”
If George Wetherhead was abashed by Miranda's outspokenness, he didn't show it. He walked with his head held high, as if challenging his neighbors to say to his face what they'd been saying behind his back. None rose to the bait. They were too busy dissecting me.
”It's my considered opinion,” ventured Jasper Taxman in his pedantic, retired-accountant's drone, ”that Lori's display of affection was meant as a prank.”
”She was having a bit of fun,” George Wetherhead concurred. ”Pulling our noses to get a rise out of us.”
” ' Course she was.” Christine dabbed whipped cream from the corner of her mouth. ”If they were up to no good, they'd've been off snogging in the bushes, not out in the open, where everyone could see.”
”Mrs. Peac.o.c.k,” Lilian said severely, ”I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head. My nephew would never dream of-”
”No need to hide in the bushes,” Peggy broke in, ”when they can use Wysteria Lodge, though what kind of woman would use her husband's office as a trysting place, I wouldn't like to say. Where is the young rascal, anyway?”
”I'm here.”
All heads turned, and my heart skipped a beat, as Nicholas stepped into the schoolroom. The timing of his entrance was so contrived that I couldn't help wondering if he'd waited outside, hidden from view, until the last of our suspects had arrived.
He wore a nubby brown sweater beneath his tweed blazer and carried his trench coat over one arm. He seemed calm, but his face was very pale, and the lines around his eyes were etched more deeply than they'd been the day before. I wanted to take him aside and ask about the medical exam, but he'd already moved on to other things.
He nailed each of my tormentors with a penetrating glance. ”Your suspicions about the nature of my friends.h.i.+p with Lori are unfounded,” he said. ”I wish I could say the same for your suspicions about one another.”
No one spoke, and no one looked away. When Nicholas pointed to the circle of chairs, the villagers left their treats and teacups on the table and moved as if mesmerized, each taking a seat until only two places remained. Eight pairs of eyes followed Nicholas as he walked with deliberate speed to me, offered his arm, and seated me in one of the empty chairs. He elected to stand behind the other.
He draped his coat over the back of the chair, stood erect, and clasped his hands behind his back.
”You have been brought here under false pretenses,” he announced without raising his voice. ”There is no Easter vigil committee.”
Peggy snorted, and the others relaxed, as if the familiar sound had released them from Nicholas's spell.
”Tell us something we don't know,” Peggy huffed. ”Easter's only a week off. Your aunt may be scatty, but she wouldn't wait till the last minute to plan a vigil.”
Miranda eyed Lilian coyly. ”I somehow doubt that Mrs. Bunting would ask me to attend such a meeting, unless, of course, she needs help elucidating Easter's pagan origins.”
”We'll have none of your pagan nonsense here, thank you very much,” scolded Sally Pyne. ”Easter's for good, decent, Christian folk.”
Miranda's nostrils flared dangerously, but Sally went on regardless.
”All I know,” she said, ”is that Mrs. Bunting wouldn't have invited me without having her husband apologize to me first.” She shook a finger at Lilian. ”If the vicar thinks I'm going to forget-”
”No one thinks you're going to forget,” George Wetherhead muttered, clutching his head. ”We'll be hearing about those dratted flowers from now until doomsday.”
”Ladies, gentlemen, please.” Lilian tapped her notepad with her pencil. ”My husband will be away from home until tomorrow morning, but I'm sure that, when he returns, he will offer an apology to Mrs. Pyne. He truly regrets his decision regarding the Easter flowers. Now, if we might come to order?”
”How can we come to order with the chairs in a circle?” Peggy objected. ”There's no way of telling who's chairwoman.”
”I'm chairwoman,” Lilian said crisply. ”And I'm giving my nephew the floor. Nicky?”
Nicholas rested his hands on the back of the empty chair and looked from one face to the next around the circle. Christine Peac.o.c.k sat beside Lilian, with d.i.c.k to her right. After d.i.c.k came Peggy Taxman, Jasper Taxman, Sally Pyne, George Wetherhead, and Miranda Morrow. Nicholas stood between Miranda and me.
”Gossip is an inevitable fact of community life,” he began. ”Wherever two or more are gathered, someone will talk behind someone else's back.”
”True enough,” said d.i.c.k, stroking his goatee complacently.
”Nothing wrong with a bit of t.i.ttle-tattle,” Sally commented.
”I'd agree with you, Mrs. Pyne, under normal circ.u.mstances,” said Nicholas, ”but circ.u.mstances in Finch are far from normal. A murder has taken place. Destructive rumors abound. Law-abiding citizens refuse to help the police.”
”There's no need to involve the police,” Sally declared. ”Finch takes care of its own.”
”Does it?” Nicholas saw the opening and darted through it. ”Were you taking care of Mr. Peac.o.c.k when you told me he'd been on the square at the time of Mrs. Hooper's death?”
d.i.c.k's hand froze midstroke, and his eyes slid toward Sally Pyne. ”Telling tales out of school, are we, Sally?”
”Don't get your knickers in a twist, d.i.c.k,” Peggy Taxman chided. She looked askance at Nicholas. ”We know what d.i.c.k's doing on the square every Thursday morning, and it isn't smacking women in the head.”
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