by Leslie Meier
Rosie wasn’t eager to talk. “This is for the paper, right?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’m just looking for some perspective from the people who knew Ty and Heather best.” Lucy was at her desk, staring at the photos of her kids, taken when they were still in elementary school, and wondering how well she knew them now that they were adults living out in the world. “Did you know that Heather was into drugs?”
“Pot’s legal now, you know, so sure. I’ve been growing my three plants, and so are a lot of other people. Heather was dealing with a lot, you know, with the chemo and cancer and moving into a new community. She said that grass really helped with the pain and anxiety she was experiencing.”
“She didn’t die from using grass,” said Lucy. “What about heavier drugs?”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” said Rosie, in a clipped tone.
Lucy decided to change her tactics. “Would you say that Ty and Heather were a happy couple?”
Rosie took her time before answering, and Lucy was beginning to wonder if she was still on the line when she finally spoke. “Who knows what really goes on in a marriage?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Exactly what I said. They seemed happy, but now Ty’s been charged with killing her. The cops must’ve found some evidence; I don’t think they just made up a charge like that. It makes you wonder if what you thought was happening was actually what was going on.” She paused. “I’ll say this, I always thought Ty was the dominant partner. Heather always seemed to defer to him. She wouldn’t do anything unless he approved. Like if I asked her to meet me for lunch or to come by for a glass of wine, she’d always say she had to check with Ty.”
“And did Ty ever say no?”
There was another long pause. “Yeah. Sometimes he did.”
“Did she give a reason for that? Like she forgot they made plans or something?”
“No. She’d say something like ‘Ty doesn’t think I should.’” She paused. “Sometimes I wondered if that was just an excuse, something Heather made up because she didn’t feel like going out.”
“Interesting,” said Lucy, remembering her initial suspicion about Ty when she first met him and thought he was extremely controlling and even suspected he was abusing his wife. As she got to know him better, she’d changed her opinion, but now she was wondering if her first impression was possibly correct. “Anything else you’d like to add?”
“Uh, no. I’ve probably said too much already.”
“I don’t have to use your name,” offered Lucy, hoping to get more information.
“Thanks. That makes me feel better.”
“No problem,” said Lucy. “Who else should I call?”
“Matt and Luisa, maybe? Brendan? We all hung out together. Kevin, too, but as assistant DA, he’s prosecuting . . .”
“Right,” said Lucy. “Thanks for your help.”
Lucy’s next call was to Luisa Rodriguez, but she said she was too upset about Heather’s death to talk. Her brother, Matt, claimed he knew nothing about any illegal drugs in Tinker’s Cove and declared he believed Ty was one hundred percent innocent. Brendan Coyle said only that he refused to judge people. “My mother used to say that if you want to know someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes.”
That caused Lucy to smile. “That’s what my mother used to say, too.”
“Well, it’s good advice.”
Figuring that she’d struck out in her conversations with Ty’s friends, Lucy decided to tap into a richer source of information and dialed Franny Small.
After exchanging pleasantries, Lucy got down to business. “You were the Moons’ next-door neighbor, after all. How did they seem to you?”
“Weird, that’s how they seemed. There was all that business with the moans and noises and flashing lights when they moved in, but that was all connected to his work, so I got used to it. But they were never friendly. Not at all, not even a wave if you happened to see them coming or going. And that’s the only time I saw them outside the house. They didn’t use their backyard at all; they were always either in the house or leaving to go somewhere. They didn’t work in the yard or garden, nothing like that. They had landscapers mow the grass, but they never even sat outside of a summer evening, say, to relax and enjoy the fresh air.” Pausing a moment for breath, she added her most damning observation. “They didn’t even feed the birds!”
“Did they have company? Did people come for dinner or anything?”
“Not until they started working on that haunted house party. That was the first time I saw other folks at the house.”
“Did they give you and the other neighbors a heads-up about the haunted house? You know, do the neighborly thing and let you know what was going on, and maybe even ask for your help?”
Franny laughed. “Not a peep. Even after that whole thing with your grandson and the SWAT team, not a word. He just kept on doing what he did, noises and lights and all. I mean, sometimes it was impossible to sleep.”
“Did you approach him? Tell him he was disturbing you?”
“No,” admitted Franny. “To tell the truth, I was afraid of him. I didn’t want to get involved, if you know what I mean.”
Lucy thought she did. Some people were approachable, and some weren’t, and Ty Moon was one of the latter. There was something about him that was like a big warning sign—danger, falling rocks, something that made you want to keep your distance. She’d thought she’d broken through the barrier and discovered there was nothing to fear, after all, but now she was beginning to wonder if she’d been fooled. Abusers were often master manipulators, and maybe he’d simply told her what she wanted to hear and convinced her of what she already wanted to believe.
At home that night, she asked Bill if he thought Ty was guilty and got a strong denial. “No way. He adored Heather. Remember, I saw them together when we worked out the plans for the remodel, and he always included her, always asked for her opinion. That’s not always the case, you know. A lot of men shut their wives out of the planning or demean their ideas. But not Ty. He sincerely wanted to give Heather everything she wanted.”
Lucy had done numerous stories about domestic abuse and was familiar with the abuser’s cycle of violence, which often included a period of contrition and even apology. She found herself wondering if Ty had a guilty conscience and was trying to make amends with Heather for something he had done.
“Do you think he was afraid of losing her?” she asked.
“What kind of question is that?” demanded Bill, who was seated at the kitchen table. “A guy treats his wife nicely, and you start suspecting his motives?”
“Well, it’s not an unreasonable reaction,” said Lucy, putting a pot away in the cabinet. “He has been charged with killing her.”
“Sorry, but I just don’t see the guy as a wife killer.”
“Maybe that’s what he was counting on,” said Lucy, standing behind her husband and stroking his hair. “Maybe he was just playing the part of a loving husband.”
* * *
First thing on Tuesday morning, Lucy got a call from Bob Goodman. “I just want to let you know that I’m planning to mount a strong defense for Ty Moon, who is definitely not guilty of murdering his wife. And I’m happy to say the judge was not impressed by the prosecution’s argument that Ty was a flight risk and a danger to the public. He pointed to Ty’s absolutely clean record, not even a parking ticket, and decided to grant bail. I’m happy to report that Ty has been released from custody and is now eagerly awaiting trial and the opportunity to prove his innocence of these outrageous charges.”
“Thanks for the update,” said Lucy, wondering how the community would take this news. She had a feeling that many people would not be happy with the judge’s decision. “So is he going back to the house on School Street?”
“Not just yet,” said Bob. “We decided it would be best for him to lay low for a while, until things die down.”
“So where’s he going?”
>
“I’m not free to give you that information. But I will remain in constant touch with him, and he will appear for trial. The date has not been set yet, but I will let you know when it is.”
“Well, thanks, Bob. Anything you want to add about your client?”
“Only that he is devastated by the loss of his wife; he’s grieving, and he won’t rest until the truth about her death is known.”
“Okay,” said Lucy, who had been clicking away on her keyboard, getting every word.
“And, oh, before I go, Rachel wanted me to remind you about the Hat and Mitten Fund party on Friday. Make sure there’s a notice in the paper, okay?”
“I haven’t forgotten; it’s on page one,” said Lucy, smiling.
* * *
When Friday rolled around, Lucy was ready for some welcome distraction from the Moon story. She understood why readers were fascinated by the sensational tale involving drugs and murder that was unfolding in their own town, but for the most part, they had the advantage of a certain distance. Ty and Heather were like actors on a stage to them, but she actually knew them and found the whole story terribly depressing. As she drove through town to the Community Church, where the annual Hat and Mitten Fund Halloween party took place, she resolutely tucked all thoughts of the Moons into the back of her mind and focused instead on all the various holiday decorations people had put out. It seemed that staid, reserved Mainers who limited Christmas décor to a simple swag on the front door tended to go overboard for Halloween. Maybe it was the riot of fall color in the forest that inspired them, or maybe it was the hint of the macabre that impelled them to set out scarecrows and harvest figures on their lawns. Not to mention huge, inflatable jack-o’-lanterns, enormous purple spiders perched on porch roofs, and fluttering ghosts hanging from trees. And there was always the classic witch that had unfortunately crashed into a tree or even a chimney.
The party was just getting started when she arrived, and a line of costumed kids and their caregivers were entering the basement room. She could hear the DJ playing “Monster Mash,” and the cries of the kids as they discovered the games and treats inside. She slipped past the line with an apologetic smile and popped into the kitchen to change into her witch costume. Sue was not impressed.
“You’re not going to be a witch again?” she said, watching as Lucy wiggled into the long black dress.
“Why not? It’s a classic.” Lucy noticed that Sue was dressed entirely in gray and had added a necklace of paint chips, also all gray. “What in the world are you supposed to be? A foggy day?”
“Think, Lucy, think.”
“Gray Gables?”
Sue exhaled and rolled her eyes. “Come on, Lucy. You’ve certainly heard of Fifty Shades of Gray, haven’t you?”
Lucy plopped her pointy witch’s hat on her head and grinned broadly. “That is clever! I wish I could think of something like that.”
“Once more into the fray,” said Sue, as they left the quiet of the kitchen and entered the madhouse beyond the swinging door.
The music was pounding, kids were dancing and dashing from game to game, dropping candy and spilling drinks in their haste to see and do everything. There were all sorts of games: bean bag tosses, bobbing for apples, a marshmallow shooting gallery, a ball toss, and, of course, Rachel’s Madame Zenda. Lucy took her place behind at the refreshment table, which was covered with a colorful assortment of ghoulish treats: zombie fingers, meringue ghosts, eyeball cupcakes, mummy pretzel rods, jack-o’-lantern cookies, and devil’s food Draculas. Lucy was particularly impressed by the Franken-munchies, Rice Krispies treats that had been dyed purple and trimmed with fruit leather and marshmallows to resemble Frankenstein’s monster.
Stella Rose Levitt, however, was not impressed. “There’s no such thing as purple Rice Krispies,” she declared, stamping her foot and making her curly hair bounce. She was dressed as a fairy, in a gauzy dress complete with wings and a little sparkly wand.
“Wouldn’t you like to try one?” asked Lucy, smiling down at the little four-year-old. “Give them a taste test?”
“No! I know everything, and I know there’s no such thing as purple Rice Krispies! Yuck!”
“Perhaps you’d like a smiling skeleton cookie?” offered Lydia Volpe, taking her place beside Lucy at the table. “They’re just plain cookies with some sugar icing.”
“Sugar’s not good for you, you know.”
“It’s all right to have a treat once in a while,” said Lucy.
“No. My mom says sugar makes me crazy.”
“Your mother may have a point,” said Lydia, who was a retired kindergarten teacher. “Why don’t you try bobbing for apples?”
“I don’t wanna get wet!”
“Do you see that little tent over there?” asked Lucy, pointing. “There’s a very wise fortune-teller in there, who can see the future and tell you all about it.”
“My mom says nobody can see the future.”
“Well, you might try dancing to the music, or what about the bean bag toss,” suggested Lydia.
“This party is dumb,” said Stella Rose, turning on her heel and running off.
“Wow,” said Lucy, turning to Lydia. “She’s a tough little cookie.”
“They all are; kids are a lot smarter than they used to be. I retired just in time, before the screen generation arrived.”
“I was so shocked one day when I saw a tiny toddler in a stroller swiping away on her mother’s cell phone,” said Lucy.
“It was probably the tyke’s own cell phone,” said Lydia, offering a tray of cupcakes to a little boy in a superhero costume and watching with dismay as he took two. “Hey, it’s one to a person,” she informed him in her teacher voice.
“Not if you can’t catch me!” he cried, dashing off with a cupcake in each hand.
“Typical,” said Pam, joining her two friends. “Kids today.”
“The winds of change do seem to be blowing, even here in Tinker’s Cove,” said Lucy.
“And not in a good way,” offered Lydia. “I’ve seen young people wearing pajamas in the supermarket!”
“And the cars, have you noticed the cars?” said Lucy. “I was happy to have a second-hand Subaru when I was a young mom, but now they’re all driving Audis and Volvos and Range Rovers.”
“Not everybody,” said Lydia. “A lot of kids qualify for reduced lunch, you know.”
“And I bet a lot of others are bringing fancy whole-grain goodies in their reusable, organic lunch bags,” said Pam.
“Face it,” said Lucy, “house prices around here are out of reach unless you’re a professional with a big income. That means we’ve got yuppie newcomers with plenty of money and the poor folks who are living with Mom and Dad in the old family farmhouse, or maybe they’ve plunked down a trailer in the front yard.”
“Ted says it’s not sustainable,” offered Pam. “He worries about the future of towns like Tinker’s Cove. He says we’re losing the sense of community and shared values that made us special.”
“I think he’s right,” said Lydia, with a sigh. “It’s getting harder and harder for folks to raise a family here.”
Looking out across the room at all the children in their Halloween costumes, Lucy hoped Lydia and Pam were wrong. Times changed, but kids were kids, weren’t they?
Chapter Six
Lucy was out campaigning for Bob at the IGA again on Saturday morning, distributing handouts and chatting up potential voters. She found it quite a pleasant experience, as she discovered she knew more people than she thought and was enjoying catching up with folks she hadn’t seen in a while, like her Prudence Path neighbor Frankie LaChance, whose daughter, Renee, was pursuing graduate studies at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland. She was enjoying a vicarious glow of pride over Renee’s accomplishments when she spotted Rosie Capshaw, dressed in her usual uniform of paint-stained farmer’s overalls, pushing an empty cart across the parking lot.
“Hi, Rosie,” she called, adding a little
wave. “Have you got a minute?”
Rosie didn’t seem inclined to linger. “Actually, I’m in a bit of a rush . . .”
Lucy suspected Rosie might be trying to avoid further questions about Ty and Heather and was quick to inform her that she was campaigning for Bob Goodman. “Can I give you one of these flyers? It’s full of good information about Bob.”
“Sure, thanks,” said Rosie, giving the cart a push and then stopping in mid-stride, as if she suddenly remembered something. “Hey, you know, I’ve got the money from the haunted house party, and I don’t know what to do with it.”
“Oh, golly,” exclaimed Lucy, horrified that the money had been overlooked in the excitement about Heather. “I never gave it a thought. I figured whoever was supposed to have it actually had it.”
“No. The kitty was sitting there by the door after everybody left, so I grabbed it to keep it safe. What should I do with it?”
“I don’t really have a clue,” said Lucy, who knew the Hat and Mitten Fund hadn’t been involved in the financial arrangements. “I suppose there were expenses and donations and all. Who was keeping track of all that?”
“It was actually Heather. Well, she was supposed to do it, but she found it was too much, so I was helping her.”
“So you’ve got all the figures?” asked Lucy. “Why don’t you just tote it up, pay any outstanding bills, and give whatever’s left over in a check to the Hat and Mitten fund?”
“I’m really not comfortable doing it all by myself.” Rosie glanced down at her black-and-white-checked Vans. “I’m no bookkeeper; I can’t actually balance my checkbook,” she confessed. “And considering everything that’s happened, I’d really appreciate some oversight, in case there are any questions.” She glanced around. “I don’t want anybody to think that the finances weren’t, well, you know, aboveboard.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about that! After all, you’re the one who saved the cash,” said Lucy, giving her a reassuring smile. “But I do see your point. Why don’t Pam and I meet with you and go over it all? Out of an abundance of caution? Pam’s the fund treasurer.”
