Free Murder With Peacocks by Donna Andrews Page A

He seemed to be looking for rescue. He kept glancing in my direction and then frowning all the harder. He would have to wait a long time before I rescued him. Unless--a sudden thought hit me. He wasn't just glowering at me, he was glowering at us. Michael and me. I would be willing to bet almost anything that Mrs. Grover was trying to make him jealous of Michael. Only Barry would be dim enough to fall for that one, I supposed. But the ridiculousness of it wouldn't necessarily prevent Barry from taking some violent action if he got much madder. He should avoid getting angry, I thought. It didn't suit him at all. His eyes got small and piggy and he reminded me more with each passing moment of the bull in a cartoon bullfight, snorting and pawing the earth and preparing to charge. Michael, who would be playing the part of matador if Barry did charge, didn't seem the least bit alarmed.
      I finally decided that it would be better to rescue Barry, for Michael's sake if nothing else, and had actually gotten within earshot when Dad bustled up.
      "I have a wonderful idea!" he said. "You don't mind, do you, Barry?" he said, taking Mrs. Grover by the elbow and leading her off. No, Barry didn't mind a bit, though Mrs. Grover looked rather like a cat when you take away a wounded bird that the cat's not quite finished playing with.
      "Fetch some punch, Barry," I said, rather brusquely, thrusting my cup into his hand and giving him a shove in the direction of the food and drink. I watched to make sure he was really leaving, then dashed off after Dad and Mrs. Grover, partly to avoid being around when Barry returned with the punch and partly to hear what Dad's wonderful idea was. I was appalled to see that he appeared to be making a date with her. To go bird-watching.
      Since Dad's bird-watching trips start an hour before dawn and include trekking through some of the local streams and marshes to view the waterfowl, Mrs. Grover was proving less than enthusiastic, even after Dad offered to lend her his spare pair of hip boots. But from the way Dad persisted, I realized he must have some ulterior motive. Very few people can hold out when Dad persists. Mrs. Grover finally agreed, with a visible reluctance that seemed to escape Dad, to meet him in Mother's backyard an hour before dawn for a few hours of nature appreciation.
      "Now, tell me why you're so eager to go hiking through the woods with Mrs. Grover," I said, when she finally escaped Dad's clutches.
      "I think a little taste of healthy, outdoor exercise would be beneficial," Dad said. "Perhaps a fishing trip in the rowboat would be a good idea, too."
      "You could borrow an outboard motor from someone."
      "No, that wouldn't do at all," Dad said. "The rowboat's the thing. I could teach her how to row."
      "Dad, I doubt if Mrs. Grover has any interest in learning how to row. If you're trying to chase her out of town, why don't you take her over to Mother's cousin's farm and show her the hogs."
      "That's a splendid idea," Dad said. "Perhaps he could arrange to slaughter a few while we're there. Any other little ideas you have to keep her out of your mother's hair and make her homesick for Fort Lauderdale, you just speak up anytime." And he trotted off happily in search of the hog-owning cousin. I sighed.
      "What now?" Michael asked, once more appearing at my elbow. He was getting very good at that.
      "Dad has found a new purpose in life," I said, pointing to where Dad was enthusiastically talking to Mrs. Grover.
      "Mrs. Grover?" he said, incredulously.

    "In a way. He's decided Mother needs protecting from Mrs. Grover."
      "Your mother?" he said, even more incredulously.
    "Precisely. He's planning to kill her with kindness. Strenuous dawn nature hikes, visits to cousins who live under rigorously rustic conditions--all sorts of supposedly fun things that aren't. Keeping her out of Mother's hair and if possible, encouraging her to flee."
      "She could always refuse to go