The Penguin Who Knew Too Much (29 page)

“She knows,” I said. “Look what clothes she brought.”

“Nice,” Michael said, with an appreciative smile. “But not exactly white satin.”

“Something old—my shoe. Something new—the skirt. Something borrowed, something blue—Rose Noire's blouse. And look what I found in the skirt pocket.”

I held up a shiny, brand-new dime.

“I thought it was ‘And a sixpence for your shoe,’ “ he quoted. “It's not a sixpence, and it was in the pocket. Maybe it was just left there.”

“A dime's the modern American equivalent of a sixpence, and it's a brand-new skirt—who could possibly have left a dime in it? Inspector number seven bribing me to overlook any flaws in the stitching? She knows.”

“Maybe she suspects, but she can hardly know.”

“What if she's down at the Clay County courthouse, waiting for us?” I said. “Crashing our elopement? What if they’re all down there?”

“If they’re down at the courthouse, they’re in for a shock. Courthouse is closed. It's Memorial Day, remember?” My mouth fell open.

“If the courthouse is closed, how are we going to—”

“We have an open appointment with a justice of the peace in Prince William County,” Michael said. “Which is right on the way to Dulles Airport. As long as we drop by her house sometime before dark, she’ll interrupt her family picnic long enough to perform the ceremony. Now have a seat and let me wheel you down to the car. The JP doesn’t care when we get there, but the airline might not be as accommodating.”

I hobbled over to the wheelchair and sat down.

“I still say Mother knows. I wouldn’t put it past her to follow us.”

“If she figures it out, she's welcome to come to the wedding. They’re all welcome to come. There's only one thing I insist on.” “What's that?” I asked.

“Just the two of us on the honeymoon. If I spot a single relative when we get to our destination, we’re leaving.” “Just the two of us,” I echoed.

Even finding the tin cans tied to the back of Michael's convertible didn’t spoil my good mood.