Irish Parade Murder

by Leslie Meier

  She was keeping a nervous eye on the sky as she turned onto Old Forest Road and saw a fork of lightning split the dark clouds, causing her to press harder on the gas pedal in hopes of getting through the woods before lightning struck a tree or the rising wind knocked one down. Her decision to go off the main road didn’t seem so smart now, especially since there seemed to be something wrong with her right front tire. She didn’t hear the floppy sound of a flat, and she wasn’t having trouble steering, but the warning light on her dash had gone on: LOW TIRE PRESSURE. She didn’t always believe these indicators; the car’s computer system was oversensitive, in her opinion, more often than not causing needless anxiety and concern. So she pressed on, fingers crossed, as the trees swayed forward and backward, threatening to fall onto the road, and thunder boomed overhead. She’d only proceeded a quarter mile or so when the car’s indicator system went into alarm mode, and there was no denying that she had a flat since she could hear the whump-whump of the collapsed tire.

  There was nothing for it but to stop and call AAA for help.

  AAA was quick to answer her call, the dispatcher immediately asking if she was in a safe place before moving on to the business of her membership ID number and expiration date.

  “Well, it’s a little-traveled road in the woods, and I’m in the middle of a thunderstorm.”

  “Stay in the car and put on your flashers,” advised the dispatcher. “It may take a while to get a service technician to you. There’s been a rash of calls.”

  “I understand,” said Lucy, resigned to her fate.

  “I’ll keep you posted. Is this the best number to reach you?”

  “Yes,” said Lucy, checking her bars and noticing that only one was left. No problem, she had plenty of gas and could use the charger in her car. It was always there, in the storage bin between the seats, except that today, the day she really needed it, it wasn’t there. So trouble comes in threes, she thought: a thunderstorm, a flat tire, and a dying phone. What else could go wrong?

  She adjusted the back of her seat so she’d have a bit more room and tried to relax, but the dispatcher’s words kept playing in her head: “Are you in a safe place?” Suddenly the woods didn’t seem so safe after all. She was alone and defenseless, and any crazed maniac could be wandering around, looking for a helpless victim. And then there were bears, emerging from hibernation with big appetites after their long winter’s nap. And if that wasn’t bad enough, it was growing darker by the minute, and rain was coming down in sheets, pelting the car. She clicked the button, locking her doors, and prepared to watch and wait, keeping an eye out for danger.

  She was startled when her phone rang and almost dropped it before she could answer the call. “Good news,” said the dispatcher. “There’s a tow truck in your area, so we’re putting you at the top of the list. Silver Cloud should arrive in ten minutes.”

  “Great,” said Lucy, with a big sigh of relief. “It’s really kind of scary out here in the woods.”

  “Soon you’ll be back on the road,” promised the dispatcher, and true enough, Lucy could already see the approaching headlights of the truck. When it had pulled up behind her, and the tech got out, she unlocked her door and climbed out of her car, pulling up the hood on her jacket.

  “I’m really glad to see you,” she said, producing her membership card.

  “So what’s the problem? A flat?” He was dressed for the weather in an oil-stained yellow rain slicker and was already walking around the car, checking the tires. “That is one very flat tire,” he said, arriving at the front of the car and studying the situation. “Have you got a spare?”

  “One of those itty-bitty ones,” confessed Lucy.

  “It’ll have to do. I can put it on for you, but you’ve got to get to a service station promptly and get the flat repaired. These spares only last for fifty miles or so.”

  “Not a problem. I just want to get home tonight.”

  So, while Lucy watched, he jacked up the car and switched the tires, stashing the flat in the back of her car. Lucy signed the paperwork and was back on the road, bouncing over roots and avoiding potholes and vowing never, ever to do such a stupid thing again. From now, on she was sticking to main roads, not wandering off into the hinterland. When she finally turned out onto Red Top Road, she was only a few hundred feet from home, and she could see the old farmhouse perched at the top of the hill, windows blazing with light. She’d never been so glad to see the old place, never mind the electric bill.

  She discovered that supper was well in hand when she walked into the kitchen and smelled the delicious scent of onions and peppers. “Sausage hoagies,” Bill announced, shoving the veggies around in the frying pan with a spatula. “How does that sound?”

  “Great,” said Lucy, collapsing onto a chair at the big, round golden-oak table. “And it smells even better than it sounds.”

  “Tough day?” he inquired, pouring a glass of Chianti and setting it down on the table for her.

  “I tried to take Old Forest Road and got a flat tire,” she said, pausing to take a sip. “AAA came; the wait wasn’t too bad.” She shuddered. “Just a bit creepy in the woods.”

  “Any bears?” teased Bill, adding Italian sausage to the veggies and popping the rolls into the oven to warm.

  “No bears; they’re probably still hibernating. But I sure am glad to be home. And I’ve got to get the tire fixed tomorrow.” She drank a bit more wine. “So how was your day?”

  “That woman Catherine Klein called. She wants to get together with us; she says she’s been waiting a long time to find her family.”

  Lucy stared at the wineglass, studying the way the kitchen light reflected on the surface of the red wine. “It’s kind of pushy, isn’t it? I mean, we have a family. Do we need more members? For all we know, she’s crazy or some sort of criminal. She could be anybody.”

  “Aren’t you the least bit curious?” asked Bill, pushing the sausage around in the pan.

  “Not really,” said Lucy. “I wish she’d go away.”

  “Not likely.” Bill added a jar of spaghetti sauce to the pan and set a lid on top, then joined her at the table, where he’d set his beer. “The thing is, she could go around us and go straight to Mom. That’s my worry.” He took a long swallow.

  “Has she threatened to do that?”

  “Not in so many words, but it’s out there. She was at the funeral, and she knows where Mom lives. And she’s getting impatient; she mentioned that several times.” He picked at the label on his beer bottle. “I really don’t want Mom getting involved.”

  “What don’t you want Gram getting involved in?” asked Zoe, coming from the family room, drawn to the kitchen by the heady aroma of sausage and tomato sauce. “Dinner smells so good that I can’t concentrate on my reading.”

  “It’ll be ready in a few minutes. Where’s Sara?”

  “She’s having dinner with some friends; she won’t be home for supper.”

  “Okay, ladies, I think we’re ready,” announced Bill, setting the pan on the table. Lucy got the rolls out of the oven, and Zoe quickly produced plates, napkins, and silverware. They were all digging in when Zoe spoke up. “You never told me why you’re worried about Gram,” she said.

  “There’s this woman who’s decided she’s related to us. She did some DNA test or something,” said Lucy, talking with her mouth full.

  “Really?” Zoe was intrigued. “That’s amazing.”

  “It’s not so amazing. It’s a problem. She claims she’s my half sister, that my father is also her father.”

  “But that means Poppop must’ve had an affair, right?” Zoe was thoughtful, putting things together. “And this is not a good time for poor Gram to learn that her husband was messing around with another woman,” said Zoe.

  “Exactly,” said Bill.

  “If there’s ever a good time. So we’ve been trying to stall her, to put her off, but she’s growing impatient,” said Lucy, using her fork to pull a slice of green pepper out of
her hoagie and nibbling on it. “I dread to think what she might do.”

  “I think you’ve got to head her off at the pass before she decides to go and see Gram,” said Zoe, in a matter-of-fact tone. “It would be better if she heard about this from you guys and knows you’ve got her back. Present a united front.”

  “That’s a good point,” said Bill, draining his beer and getting up to fetch another from the fridge. “That would give us more control of the situation.”

  “But your poor mother,” protested Lucy. “I just don’t see why she has to deal with this mess, not now.”

  Zoe covered her mother’s hand with hers. “Gram is tougher than you think. And she was married to Poppop for almost fifty years. Do you think she really doesn’t know everything about him?”

  Lucy looked across the table at her husband, wondering if there was something he was hiding from her. He looked back, apparently reading her mind, and shook his head. “I’m an open book, Lucy. I’ve got no secrets, and I don’t think my dad did, either.” He uncapped his beer. “I’ll call Mom tonight.”

  So while Lucy emptied the clean dishes from the dishwasher and filled it with the dirty supper dishes, Bill sat at the table and called his mother. Zoe hovered in the doorway to the family room, nervously fidgeting. “I hope I’m right and Gram’s not too upset,” she said, grabbing a sponge and proceeding to wipe down the stove top.

  “Hi, Mom, it’s me,” said Bill, when his mother answered. “How’s everything?”

  He put the phone on speaker, and Lucy listened in as his mother launched into a long description of her recent activities, mostly centering around her friend Althea’s fading memory, which was causing problems at their weekly bridge game. “She simply can’t remember which suit is trump, and nobody wants to partner with her anymore.”

  “That’s too bad,” sympathized Bill. “Uh, Mom, something’s come up, and I want to discuss it with you.”

  “That doesn’t sound good,” said Edna.

  “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.” He took a deep breath. “Okay. Here goes. There’s this woman who came to Dad’s funeral who says that he was her father. She took one of those DNA tests. She’s about my age, and she wants to meet with us all; she says she wants to be part of the family.”

  “What’s her name?” snapped Edna.

  “Catherine Klein. She calls herself Kate.”

  “Hmph.”

  “Any idea about this woman? Did Dad ever mention—you know, confess—to some, I don’t know . . .”

  Lucy and Zoe exchanged a glance, amused at Bill’s difficulty expressing himself.

  Edna, however, got straight to the point. “An affair, you mean?”

  “I guess so.”

  “No.” Edna paused, apparently thinking. “How old is this woman?”

  “About my age, I guess.”

  There was a long silence. “I suppose it’s possible,” she finally said, speaking slowly and thoughtfully. “When I was pregnant with you, your father was working on assignment in San Francisco. He was gone for weeks at a time, and when he did get home, I wasn’t myself. I didn’t feel well, and I was cranky. I was mad at him for being away, even though it wasn’t his fault, and I was scared. It was one of those rough patches that couples go through, but once you arrived, everything changed. He was thrilled to have a son, and I was glad to not be pregnant anymore.”

  “So you think this woman might be his daughter?”

  “I suppose it’s possible, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t know about her. If he had, I think he would have made some provision for her and her mother. He was a good man, a decent man.”

  “So do you want to meet her and learn more?” asked Bill. “That’s the question.”

  “I guess so. I’ve been thinking of coming for a visit anyway.” She sighed. “I really can’t face Althea, for one thing. I need a break.”

  Lucy found herself smiling. Here Edna was a recent widow suddenly confronted by her late husband’s likely affair, and she was more concerned about her friend’s memory loss.

  “Oh, and by the way, Bill,” continued Edna, “do you happen to have a copy of Dad’s will. I can’t seem to find it anywhere.”

  “I’ll look, Mom. So when are you thinking of visiting?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she answered, sounding uncertain.

  “Make it soon,” urged Bill. “You know we’ve always got a place for you here.”

  Not exactly, thought Lucy, thinking of the superhero décor in Toby’s old room.

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning, Lucy dropped off the car at the repair shop and walked over to the office, tightening her scarf and buttoning up her jacket against the blast of freezing wind that was blowing off the water. This was the time of year she found hardest, when it seemed as if winter would never let go and the weather would never warm up. When she got to the Pennysaver, she smiled to see that Phyllis had set a big pitcher’s worth of Irish daffodils on her reception counter.

  “Oooh,” cooed Lucy, burying her nose in the flowers, inhaling their musky, springy scent. “I love daffodils.”

  “What’s not to love,” agreed Phyllis. “First sign of spring, even earlier than the pussy willows.”

  “Point taken. I’m going to look for some this weekend, back by Blueberry Pond. They’re the earliest.”

  “Bring me some, too,” said Phyllis, looking up to greet Rob as he entered. He seemed to be a man with a mission, giving them a curt wave and heading straight to Ted’s desk, where he sat right down and grabbed the phone. Lucy and Phyllis exchanged a glance, and Lucy ambled over to her desk, where she kept an ear cocked, curious to learn what he was up to.

  She didn’t get much, however, as she missed his opening question, and the rest of the conversation was hmms and oh reallys and a final got it, thanks. Clearly dissatisfied, he got up and poured himself a cup of coffee, took it back to his desk, and swiveled his chair around to face Lucy.

  “I don’t suppose you know anything about this Melanie Wall case, do you?” he asked, peering at her over his coffee mug.

  “Melanie Wall? What about her?”

  “She accused this county jail guard, Gabe McGourt, of sexual misconduct, but the case was dropped because she never showed up.”

  “That was last summer, right?” asked Phyllis. “You must remember, Lucy. This girl got herself arrested for drugs and couldn’t make bail and claimed one of the corrections officers at the county lockup got too friendly and groped her or something.” She smoothed her sweater over her ample bosom. “Kind of a gray area, if you ask me. Half the time those women offer themselves, just to get drugs and stuff.”

  Lucy wasn’t sure she agreed with Phyllis on this particular point; it seemed to her there was a clear difference between physically restraining a prisoner and sexual assault. But she also knew Melanie was the sort of girl who pushed the envelope. “Yeah, I remember Melanie. She worked with Sara and Zoe at the Queen Vic. They were always complaining about her, about how she’d leave a room half-cleaned and they’d have to finish the job. One time, Sara found her passed out on a half-made bed.”

  “Did she have family around here?” asked Phyllis.

  “I don’t think so, but I don’t know for sure,” admitted Lucy. “I could ask the girls what they remember.” She turned to Rob. “Do you think there’s a story here?”

  “For sure,” he replied. “Everybody knows the sheriff is corrupt . . .”

  Lucy felt this was going a bit too far. “That’s a big assumption,” she began. “If Ted were here, he’d tell you to slow down. You’re just beginning to develop contacts and figure out the lay of the land. You don’t want to start off on the wrong foot.”

  Rob straightened his back and slapped his hand on Ted’s rolltop desk. “That’s the sort of attitude that enables corruption to flourish,” he declared. “There is such a thing as right and wrong, and powerful people tend to abuse their power, and we have to stand up for the little guy. Or girl, in this case.”
He paused. “You know that Murphy’s got his own private goon squad, otherwise known as deputy sheriffs, and the corrections officers, too. They’re all beholden to him for their jobs, and he turns a blind eye on any abuses they commit. It’s a perverted loyalty thing or something, a gang mentality. They all stick together.”

  “They do,” admitted Lucy, “and that’s why you need to be careful. There’s a whole network of favors and kinship in these small towns, and you need to figure out the structure before you start attacking people. Believe me, I learned the hard way when I pressed a candidate for School Committee about a principal I suggested was incompetent, only to learn that he was her brother.” Lucy shrugged. “Different last name. How was I to know?”

  “What happened?” asked Rob, scratching his cheek.

  “She won, he kept his job, and my son didn’t get to go to the statewide moot court.” She sighed. “I got off easy. I didn’t get fired, but I did get a stern talking-to from Ted, who told me that in this town, everybody’s related, and blood is thicker than water. A lot of families here go back for centuries, and newcomers don’t count for much.”

  “Well, I don’t plan to stick around for long,” said Rob, pushing his chair away from the desk and standing up. “But I do plan to make a difference while I’m here.” With that, he zipped up his jacket and headed for the door, looking a bit like a hound who’d caught the scent of a rabbit.

  “Lord preserve us,” sighed Phyllis, rolling her eyes.

  At lunchtime, with her stories filed by the noon deadline, Lucy headed over to the repair shop to pick up her car. When she reached the lot, she saw her car was ready to go, with a brand-new tire. That was an expense she hadn’t expected, so she had her credit card in hand when she presented herself to the cashier, Lynne.

  “Hi, Lucy. Have you got a minute? Fred wants to talk to you.”