'Tis the Season Murder

by Leslie Meier

  “That was 1918,” scoffed Lucy.

  “Laugh if you want. I’m only trying to help.”

  Lucy immediately felt terrible for hurting Rachel’s feelings. “I know, and I appreciate it. I really do.”

  “Promise you’ll take precautions?”

  “Sure. And thanks for the warning.”

  She was wondering whether she should buy some disinfectant wipes as she dialed Pam’s number. Pam, also a member of the breakfast group, was married to Lucy’s boss at the newspaper, Ted Stillings, and was a great believer in natural remedies.

  “Disinfectant wipes? Are you crazy? That sort of thing just weakens your immune system.”

  “Rachel says there’s a flu epidemic and I have to watch out for germs.”

  “How are you supposed to do that? The world is full of millions, billions, zillions of germs that are invisible to the human eye. If Mother Nature intended us to watch out for them, don’t you think she would have made them bigger, like mosquitoes or spiders?”

  It was a frightening picture. “I never thought of that.”

  “Well, trust me, Mother Nature did. She gave you a fabulous immune system to protect the Good Body.” That’s how Pam pronounced it, with capital letter emphasis. “Your immune system worries about the germs so you don’t have to.”

  “If that’s true, how come so many people get sick?”

  “People get sick because they abuse their bodies. They pollute their Good Bodies with empty calories and preservatives instead of natural whole foods, they don’t get enough sleep, they don’t take care of themselves.” Pam huffed. “You have to help Mother Nature. She can’t do it all, you know.”

  “Okay. How do I help her?”

  “One thing you can do is take vitamin C. It gives the immune system a boost. That’s what I’d do if I were you, especially since you’re going into a new environment that might stress your organic equilibrium.”

  Lucy was picturing a dusty brown bottle in the back of the medicine cabinet. “You know, I think I’ve got some. Now I just have to remember to take it. It looks like we’re going to be pretty busy with this makeover.”

  “Don’t let them go crazy with eye shadow and stuff,” advised Pam.

  “Is it bad for you?”

  “It’s probably a germ farm, especially if they use it on more than one person, but that isn’t what I was thinking about.” She paused, choosing her words. “You’re beautiful already. You don’t need that stuff.”

  “Why, thanks, Pam,” said Lucy, surprised at the compliment.

  “I mean it. Beauty comes from inside. It doesn’t come from lipstick and stuff.”

  “That’s the way it ought to be,” said Lucy, “but lately I’ve been noticing some wrinkles and gray hairs, and I don’t like them. Maybe they’ll have some ideas that can help.”

  “Those things are signs of character. You’ve earned those wrinkles and gray hairs!”

  “And the mommy tummy, too, but I’m not crazy about it.”

  “Don’t even think about liposuction,” warned Pam, horrified. “Promise?”

  “Believe me, it’s not an option,” said Lucy, hearing Bill’s footsteps in the kitchen. “I’ve got to go.”

  When she looked up he was standing in the doorway, dressed in his Christmas red plaid flannel shirt and new corduroy pants. He was holding a small box wrapped with a red bow, and her heart sank. “Not another present!”

  “It’s something special I picked up for you.”

  Lucy couldn’t hide her dismay. “But we’ve spent so much already. We’ll be lucky to get this year’s bills paid off before next Christmas!” She paused, considering. There was no sense in putting it off any longer. “And Elizabeth’s tuition bill came yesterday. Chamberlain College wants sixteen thousand dollars by January 6. That’s ten thousand more than we were expecting to pay. Ten thousand more than we have.”

  He sat down next to her on the couch. “It’s not the end of the world, Lucy. She can take a year off and work.”

  “At what? There are no good jobs around here.”

  “She could work in Boston.”

  “She’d be lucky to earn enough to cover her rent! She’d never be able to save.”

  Bill sighed. “I know giving the kids college educations is important to you, Lucy, but I don’t see what it did for us. I’m not convinced it really is a good investment—not at these prices.”

  Lucy had heard him say the same thing many times, and it always made her angry.

  “That’s a cop-out, and you know it. It’s our responsibility as parents to give our kids every opportunity we can.” She sighed. “I admit it doesn’t always work out. Toby hated college; it wasn’t for him. And that’s okay. But Elizabeth’s been doing so well. It makes me sick to think she’ll have to drop out.”

  Bill put his arm around her shoulder. “We’ll figure something out . . . or we won’t. There’s nothing we can do about it right now. Open your present.”

  Lucy’s eyes met his, and something inside her began to melt. She reached up and stroked his beard. “You’ve given me too much already.”

  “It’s all right, really,” said Bill, placing the little box in her hand. “Trust me.”

  “Okay.” Lucy prepared herself to accept another lavish gift, promising herself that she would quietly return it for a refund when she got back from New York. What could it be? A diamond pendant to match the earrings? A gold bangle? What had he gone and done? She set the box in her lap and pulled the ends of the red satin bow. She took a deep breath and lifted the top, then pushed the cotton batting aside.

  “Oh my goodness,” she said, discovering a bright red plastic watch wrapped in cellophane. “It’s got lobster hands.”

  “That’s because it’s a lobster watch,” said Bill. “They gave them out at the hardware store. Do you like it?”

  “Like it? I love it,” she said. “I think it makes quite a fashion statement.”

  “And it tells time,” said Bill, pulling her close.

  Lucy took a second look at the watch. “Was it really free?”

  “Absolutely. Positively. Completely.”

  “I’ll wear it the whole time I’m away,” said Lucy. “I’ll be counting the minutes until I get home.”

  “That’s the idea,” said Bill, nuzzling her neck.

  The wrapping paper underneath the tree crinkled and rustled as Libby rolled over. Instinctively, just as they had when they’d briefly shared their bedroom with the newest baby, they held their breaths, afraid she would wake up. They waited until she let out a big doggy sigh and her breathing became deep and regular, then they tiptoed out of the living room.

  As they joined Sara and Zoe in the family room, where they were watching A Christmas Story, Lucy resolved to enjoy the few remaining hours of Christmas. She’d have plenty of time on the plane to break the news to Elizabeth and to try to come up with a solution. A ten-thousand-dollar solution.

  Chapter Two

  THE ONE BEAUTY AID YOU CAN’T LEAVE HOME WITHOUT!

  “Mom, we have to turn back. I forgot something.”

  Lucy and Elizabeth were driving through the prime-time darkness, approaching the on ramp to the interstate. They were running late because Elizabeth’s round of farewells had taken longer than expected. When she’d finally arrived home she decided the clothes she’d packed were all wrong for New York City. The result was a frantic rush to get organized at the last minute.

  “What did you forget?” demanded Lucy, slamming on the brakes and pulling to the side of the road. “Your asthma medicine? Your contacts?”

  “Water.”

  Lucy couldn’t believe her ears. “Water?”

  “Yeah. In the last issue of Jolie they said you should take it along whenever you fly. Flying is very dehydrating and you need to drink lots of water.” Elizabeth flipped down the visor and checked her reflection in the mirror. “Especially if you’re older, Mom.”

  Lucy signaled and eased the Subaru back onto the ro
ad.

  “We’re not going back for water. You can get some at the airport.” She turned onto the ramp.

  Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up and her voice became shrill. “But I bought a gigantic bottle of Evian. That’s what the models drink, you know. It cost a fortune, and those weasely little worms will drink it.”

  “Please don’t refer to your sisters as worms.” Lucy checked her mirrors: not a headlight in sight. The road was clear and she accelerated, speeding down the empty highway as fast as she dared. “And why would they drink your water when there’s perfectly good tap water?”

  “Just to spite me.”

  “It would serve you right for wasting money like that. Our water comes from our own well, you know. It’s perfectly pure and good.”

  “It’s not Evian.”

  “It’s probably better.” Lucy sighed. “Besides, I’ve heard they won’t let you carry liquids onto the plane. There are all these new security rules, you know.”

  “That’s ridiculous! Water’s harmless.”

  “So are nail clippers and tweezers, but you can’t have them, either. And how are they supposed to know it’s really water? It could be some explosive or poison, cleverly disguised in a water bottle.”

  Elizabeth yawned. “You’re getting paranoid.”

  Lucy checked the speedometer and slowed to a speed ten miles above the legal limit.

  “I’ll tell you what I’m paranoid about,” she said, lowering her voice. “I’ve heard they actually have machines that can see through your clothes. And sometimes they do strip searches.”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Mom, nobody is going to strip search you.” Lucy was wondering what exactly she meant by that when Elizabeth chuckled. “But they probably will confiscate that lobster watch. They’ll call the fashion police.”

  “Very funny,” said Lucy, flipping on the windshield wipers. “Do you believe it? It’s snowing. Again.”

  * * *

  When they arrived at the airport they discovered all flights were delayed due to the weather. The snow was accumulating fast, and the runways had to be plowed and the wings de-iced before any planes could take off.

  “How long is this going to take?” fumed Elizabeth.

  “As long as it takes,” said Lucy. “It’s never the thing you’re worried about, is it? I was worried about getting through security but that was a breeze. I never gave a thought to the weather.”

  “How come they can send robots to Mars, but they can’t get our plane in the air?”

  “Dunno,” said Lucy, propping her feet on her carry-on suitcase and opening her book. “There’s nothing we can do about it so we might as well relax.”

  For once, Elizabeth was taking her advice. She was already slumped down in the seat beside Lucy, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder. Lucy decided it was as good a time as any to break the news about the increased tuition.

  “Chamberlain sent a revised financial aid statement along with the tuition bill,” she said, getting straight to the point. “It came Christmas Eve.”

  Elizabeth sat up straight. “What did it say?”

  “That we have to pay sixteen thousand dollars for next semester.”

  “That’s crazy!”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” said Lucy, checking the flight status monitor hanging above them. Their flight was still delayed. “I’m going to call the financial aid office and beg for more help, but there’s a real possibility we can’t afford to send you back. They cut your aid by ten thousand dollars, and we just don’t have it. To tell the truth, the six thousand I was expecting to pay will pretty much wipe out our savings.”

  Elizabeth was frowning, concentrating on her Ugg boots. “You might as well not bother calling. People always try, but they never get anywhere.”

  This was heresy to Lucy. “Of course I’ll try. A lot of it depends on federal guidelines and stuff. Now that your father’s not working we probably qualify for a Pell grant or something.”

  “Trust me, the most you’ll get is a loan application.”

  “That might be doable,” said Lucy, eager to seize the slimmest excuse for hope. In her heart she knew it was unlikely that the family would be able to afford a college loan, and Elizabeth was already saddled with thousands in student loans.

  Elizabeth continued studying her boots. “How much do we need?” she asked.

  “Ten thousand.”

  “That’s weird.” Elizabeth was sitting up straighter. “That’s really weird. I didn’t tell you before, but this makeover thing is also a contest.” The usually sullen Elizabeth was practically bubbling with excitement. “The best mother and daughter makeover team wins ten thousand dollars.”

  The view through the plate glass windows of the terminal was dark and snowy, but Lucy felt as if it was morning and the sun was shining. “Really? That’s fabulous. It’s like fate or something.”

  Elizabeth was actually smiling. “I know. Like it’s meant to be.”

  “All we have to do is be the best makeover?”

  “Yeah.”

  Lucy felt her optimism dim slightly. “How do we do that?”

  “I don’t know. I think the editors vote or something.”

  “They’re probably looking for the most dramatic change,” said Lucy. “We might be at a disadvantage, I mean, we’re pretty cute to start with.”

  Elizabeth turned and gave her mother a withering glance. “Mom, you’re wearing duck boots, a plaid coat and a green fake fur hat—I think we’ve got a pretty good chance.”

  Lucy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d chosen her outfit carefully and thought she looked fabulous. It was her best coat, after all, and only six years old. The hat had been an impulse purchase and the boots, well, come winter in Maine you didn’t leave the house in anything else. “Well then,” she finally said, “that’s good, isn’t it?”

  * * *

  It was well into the wee hours of the morning when the plane landed at New York’s La Guardia Airport and Lucy was congratulating herself on her decision not to check their luggage. She was bone tired and didn’t want to waste precious sleep time standing around a balky carousel trying to decide which black suitcase was hers. Fortunately, however, they were supposed to be met by a limousine that would, in the words of the official makeover itinerary, “whisk them into the world’s most glamorous city for a magical three days of luxurious pampering and personal consultations with top fashion and beauty experts.”

  Disembarking from the crowded plane seemed to take forever as passengers wrestled with the maximum number of bags allowable, all of which seemed much larger than the prescribed dimensions. Lucy and Elizabeth finally broke free from the shuffling herd and ran through the jet way, towing their neat little rolling suitcases. There were a handful of people waiting in the arrivals hall, holding placards with names, but none of the names was “Stone.”

  “The limo must have left without us,” said Lucy.

  “No wonder. We’re late,” said Elizabeth. “What do we do now?”

  Lucy weighed her options and decided this was no time to pinch pennies by searching for a shuttle bus—if they were even running at this hour. You had to spend money to save it, or in this case, win it. “Taxi,” she said.

  * * *

  The ride on the expressway was disorienting, as they sped along in a whirl of red and white automobile lights. The stretches of road that were illuminated by streetlamps gave only depressing views of the filthy slush and ice that lined the roadway, but their spirits brightened when they rounded a curve and there, right in front of them, was the glittering New York skyline.

  “Wow,” breathed Elizabeth. “It’s really like the pictures.”

  Lucy studied the ranks of tall buildings and looked for the familiar outlines of the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building, the only two she could identify with certainty. Those and the twin towers of the World Trade Center, but there was only an empty gap where they had stood. The thought made her hear
t lurch and she was surprised at her reaction; she didn’t trust herself to speak about it for fear she would start crying. Instead, she firmly turned her thoughts to the promised “three days of luxury at New York’s fabulous Melrose Hotel.”

  New York must indeed be “the city that never sleeps,” thought Lucy, as the taxi pulled up to the hotel and the doorman rushed forward to greet them. “Welcome to the Melrose,” he said, opening the door and extending a hand to help them alight from the car.

  In no time at all they were checked in and whisked through the marble lobby to the elevators and taken to their room, which Lucy was delighted to discover was decorated in a French-inspired style with wrought iron filigree headboards and wooden shutters at the windows. It was also very tiny and she had to maneuver carefully around Elizabeth before she could collapse on her bed.

  “Did you know this used to be the Barbizon?” she asked, quickly leafing through the leather-bound book listing the hotel’s amenities.

  “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” demanded Elizabeth.

  “I guess not,” admitted Lucy, reminded yet again of the knowledge gap between generations. “It was a famous hotel for women.”

  “Like for lesbians or something?”

  “No. Girls who were coming to the city for careers would stay here until they got married. It was a safe, respectable address.”

  Elizabeth was regarding her as if she was speaking in tongues.

  “Times were different then,” she said, with a sigh. She’d hoped this trip would be an opportunity to spend some quality time with her oldest daughter but now she was beginning to think that three days with Elizabeth might be too much of a good thing.

  “We might as well unpack,” she said, getting to her feet and lifting her suitcase onto the bed. “Then we can sleep a little later tomorrow morning.”

  “This morning,” corrected Elizabeth, reluctantly dragging herself off the bed and pulling her nightgown out of her suitcase.

  They soon discovered, however, that the bank of louvered doors along one wall concealed heating ducts and other paraphernalia, offering only limited closet space that was quickly filled with their coats and boots. A chest of drawers was also a cheat—the drawers weren’t drawers at all but a trompe l’oeil door concealing the minibar.