He Loves Lucy

by Ann Yost

  The midwife grabbed Lucy’s arm. “What’s happened? Has someone been arrested?”

  Lucy knew instantly that she was talking about Cam.

  “No. No one. I’m just here on my own,” Lucy said, in a soothing voice. She scooped up one cold hand. “Molly, I think you’re ill.”

  “What? Oh, no. I’m fine. Good heavens, I can’t believe I’ve left you out here.” She looked past Lucy. “It’s starting to sleet. Come in. Please.”

  Lucy stepped into the cottage. It felt nearly as cold as the front step.

  “Molly? Is your furnace on?”

  The midwife’s eyes widened. “Is it cold in here?”

  It was obvious she’d had some kind of a shock. What was supposed to help with that? Lucy searched her memory. Warm milk? Soup? Whiskey?

  “Can I get you some herbal tea?” Molly’s effort at hospitality was touching.

  “I’d like that,” Lucy replied, more for Molly’s sake than her own. She followed her hostess through the small living room decorated with simple, sleek furniture and hand-woven throw rugs, using earth tones, like chocolate, sand and rust. Native-made berry baskets held magazines and knitting supplies, and carved totems served as bookends. The walls were painted the blue of the summer sky which gave the house a sense of light and laughter.

  Lucy paused at the thermostat. “May I turn up the heat?”

  “Sure,” Molly said, absently. “Thank you.”

  The kitchen was tiny but well-organized. Even so, Molly stood for a long moment in front of the window that looked out onto the fallow garden.

  “I’ll make the tea,” Lucy said, firmly, guiding her to one of the two ladder-back chairs at a small table. “You just rest.”

  She located a tin of loose tea, filled a pale-blue teakettle with water and set it on the stove. A few minutes later she set a hand-thrown rust-colored mug filled with the sugar-laced brew in front of Molly. The midwife picked up the mug with shaking hands. She took a sip and made a face.

  “Lucy! You have to strain the tea leaves.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry!” For once, Lucy didn’t mind screwing up. The incident seemed to have broken through Molly’s emotional paralysis. The midwife began to ask questions about Hallie and her new family, about Daisy and about Lucy herself. She appeared to approve of Lucy’s new job.

  “You have a natural curiosity,” Molly said. “Journalism should be a good career for you.”

  Lucy knew she could segue into her questions about the rez and casino but first she needed to know whether Molly’s fear had been for Cam.

  “When you asked me whether anyone had been arrested were you thinking of my brother?”

  Long lashes lowered over the dark blue eyes.

  “I’m worried about everybody involved. The murder happened on the casino site and the arrow that was used came from the Blackbird Museum.”

  Lucy nodded and temporarily abandoned her original line of questioning. She could always get back to it.

  “Tell me about the arrow.”

  “It was on display in the museum as a war arrow, although we believe it was used for hunting. The Abenakis, of which the Penobscots are one branch, have been a peaceful people for more than two hundred years.”

  “Why is it called a ‘war’ arrow, then?”

  “It’s for tourists. Not that we have that many. It is an old arrow which means it’s identifiable as one of ours.”

  “Do you think it was used in an effort to frame someone on the rez?”

  “It’s possible. The whole thing seems like a set piece, you know? I mean, why shoot someone with a bow-and-arrow near the rez? There have to be dozens of more efficient ways to get rid of someone.”

  “The killer could be sure of privacy,” Lucy suggested. “And, like you said, it focuses the investigation on the tribe. What about motive? Were there folks who opposed the casino?”

  Molly was hunched over her cooling tea, clearly on edge.

  “Just some of the young guys. They claim it’s disrespectful to the ancestors but I really think their protest is more because of boredom and their natural combativeness. I mean, they’ll all benefit from the casino in terms of jobs and a share of the profits.”

  “Do you think it’s disrespectful? The casino, I mean.”

  Molly sighed. “In a way. Sure. I mean, we don’t really want to encourage gambling, drinking and whatever else goes on at a casino and resort but we are so poor. Some people out here don’t have indoor plumbing, Lucy. And we desperately need to build a medical clinic. I think the trade-off is worthwhile. And, anyway,” she finished, sadly, “the old ways have been gone a long time.”

  “Who are the opponents?”

  Molly shot her a troubled look. “There’re half a dozen but, naturally, there’s a ringleader. Charlie Elk. He’s eighteen, restless, unemployed.” Her soft mouth twisted. “Pretty typical of the kids around here. Anyway, Charlie and his buddies are mounting protests like staging war dances at the Tribal Council meetings and sending threatening letters to the developer.”

  “You mean Packer?”

  “He wasn’t worried about it. In fact, he thought it was kind of funny.” Molly made a face. “I know it’s wrong to speak ill of the dead but Packer wasn’t a very nice man.”

  “I’m starting to get that picture.” Lucy paused. “Do you think Charlie or the other boys had anything to do with Nate Packer’s death?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Then I don’t think you need to worry. The sheriff is a fair man.” It seemed natural to defend Jake. “He won’t make an arrest without plenty of evidence.”

  Molly did not look particularly reassured.

  “I get the impression you’re worried about something else,” Lucy said, gently. “Someone else. Is it my brother?”

  Molly’s eyes dropped.

  “I think you’re right to worry,” Lucy went on. “I’ve heard his alibi for the time Packer was killed. A fool wouldn’t believe it and Jake Langley is nobody’s fool.”

  Molly’s head lifted. Her deep blue eyes shimmered with pain and unshed tears.

  “Cam didn’t do it.”

  “I know that,” Lucy said. “But why the stupid lie about driving around then pulling into a lay-by and falling asleep?”

  “It may be stupid,” Molly said, “but it isn’t a lie. At least, not the driving around part. He and I met at the Tribal Council meeting and we agreed to talk.”

  Lucy waited but Molly didn’t continue.

  “So you drove around together and then he dropped you off and went to sleep in a lay-by?”

  Molly’s delicate features twisted and Lucy wished she could recall her words. She felt like she’d skewered a butterfly on a pin. It was time to change the subject.

  “Tell me about the clinic.”

  Molly did, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. Her greatest interest was, naturally, in providing a facility for mothers-to-be.

  “All right,” Lucy said, an hour later. “Thank you for talking to me. I’d better get over to the Trading Post and speak with Davey Tall Tree.”

  But when they opened the front door they were greeted with violent swirls of snow that had already covered the ground and started to drift against the sides of the house.

  “This looks bad,” Molly said, unnecessarily. “You’d better forget about the Trading Post. In fact, I think you’d better stay here tonight.”

  Lucy checked her watch. It was only about three p.m.

  “I should get back. I promised Hallie and Baz I’d look after Robert tonight.”

  “It doesn’t look safe,” Molly protested.

  “I’m used to driving in snow. But if it gets worse, suddenly, I’ll come back.”

  “Call me when you get home, okay? Or if you run into trouble. I’ll send out a dogsled.”

  Lucy laughed, zipped her parka and headed out to the Jeep. Her little car, ever reliable, started immediately. She backed out of Molly’s driveway and onto the unpaved road that led to the reservati
on’s main drag. The snow, that had looked navigable from the protection of Molly’s front porch, was blowing and drifting out in the open, flat fields that flanked the road and visibility was seriously limited. Lucy inched her way along and only recognized the upcoming turn onto M-15 because she was able to make out the cabin located near the entrance of the rez.

  As she drew even with the small, wooden structure, her optimism faded and she realized she’d made a mistake. It was hard enough to maneuver the Jeep on the slick roadway with the gusts of wind trying to knock her onto the shoulder. Worse, the windshield wipers couldn’t keep up with the barrage of sleet. Lucy felt like a little rowboat in the middle of a monsoon.

  She made a decision. She’d have to go back.

  With her heart thudding against her ribs, Lucy executed the world’s slowest U-turn and started back toward Molly’s cottage. She’d just given herself a figurative pat on the back when a sharp blast of wind forced the car sideways and caused it to slide. She remembered to brake gently, the way Cam had taught her, but as soon as a second and then a third gust of wind slammed into her, she knew it was hopeless. She felt the Jeep glide to a stop in a shallow ravine. She sucked in a deep breath and shoved the Jeep into reverse. The wheels spun, helplessly.

  Lucy stared at the wall of snow that obscured any and all vision.

  Dang. Dang. And double dang.

  It wasn’t just a nor’easter. It was a white-out. And she was stranded right in the middle of it.

  Okay. Okay. What were the options? She wasn’t far from Molly’s, probably about two miles. But Lucy had grown up in Maine and she knew how easy it was to lose a sense of direction in white-out conditions. She could sit in the Jeep and wait this out but, again, a storm like this could last for hours, even overnight, and, already the ends of her fingers and the tips of her toes felt frozen.

  There really was only one choice. She just hoped that Molly hadn’t been kidding about the dogsled. Lucy fumbled her phone out of her purse.

  “Thank God,” Molly said, her voice heavy with anxiety. “Tell me where you are and I’ll send someone out.”

  “I’m fairly close to that wooden house near the entrance to the rez.”

  “Okay, just sit tight. I’ll get right back to you.”

  “I’m sorry, Molly. I should’ve listened to you.”

  “Oh, this isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I never ignore the weather like this. I was distracted. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  Lucy hung up, feeling better. At least someone knew she was stranded. It gave her a queer feeling to be alone here in the frozen, white wilderness, as if she’d somehow landed on the moon. It didn’t take long for the howling wind to get on her nerves and the cold sensation in her extremities moved inward and upward. She began to shiver.

  It was both a shock and a relief when the phone rang.

  “Help is on the way,” Molly reported. Between the storm conditions and the low battery in Lucy’s cell, she could only hear patches of Molly’s voice. She got the message that someone was coming to find her and that, when her rescuer arrived, they should take shelter at the wooden structure nearby, the Littlejohns’ cabin.

  “Won’t the Littlejohns mind the invasion?”

  “What? I’m sorry, Lucy. I can’t hear you. Stay in the car, Lucy. Do you hear me? Don’t get out in the storm.”

  The line went dead before Lucy could point out that she was nose down in a ravine. Undoubtedly snow had already covered the Jeep. The rescue party would never find her. She needed to get out, to flag them down. It was just a matter of how long to wait. She kept an eye on her watch as the minutes passed with the speed of sap dripping out of a maple tree. A half an hour later, she stepped into the storm.

  Chapter Five

  Jake cursed at the wintry mix of snow and sleet attacking the Blazer’s windshield as he drove along Route 2 north of Eden. He’d made the hour-long drive to Bangor in dry conditions. The storm had started while he was talking with Shirley Packer, the deceased’s first wife, and it had quickly gathered steam. He knew he faced a long afternoon and a much longer night of attempting to rescue clueless drivers who’d ignored all the warnings. Worse than that, his interviews had gained him nothing.

  Packer’s ex, Shirley, was either very clever or very lucky. She claimed that, the night Nate died, she’d been out alone at a concert where she’d run into no acquaintances. She’d returned home at ten forty-five, noticed by a neighbor who had been out at the curb retrieving his empty trash cans. The neighbor didn’t know her except by sight but he agreed that he’d seen her car turn into her driveway and disappear. Shirley’s unattached garage was located behind her house. Shirley produced a ticket stub, which indicated that she was telling the truth and that she hadn’t left Bangor that night.

  He supposed she could have obtained the ticket stub from someone, somehow managed to meet Packer after the Tribal Council meeting and kill him. She’d have had to speed back to Bangor in time to be seen by the neighbor. Alternatively, she could have hired someone to kill her ex.

  Shirley Packer hadn’t struck Jake as the killer type, but then, she’d been dumped for a younger woman and fired from her role in the company she’d helped build. It seemed inconceivable that she wasn’t bitter but she seemed to be content in her two-story colonial, a house as unpretentious as Shirley herself.

  The sleet launched itself at his windshield and Jake squinted into it.

  His gut told him this was about Packer, Inc. Apparently the developer and Shirley and their attorney, Claude Moore, had built it from the ground up. It had enjoyed a respectable reputation until this last project, the casino out at the rez, when suddenly there were accusations of using inferior materials and hooking up with the mob. Was that because Shirley was out? Had she been the company’s conscience?

  He’d gotten nothing from the widow, either. Paula Packer, blond, voluptuous, flirtatious and living in an ostentatious mansion, was happy enough to see him but she either knew nothing or she’d been coached by her personal guard dog, Moore, to reveal nothing.

  The attorney, himself, like the first Mrs. Packer, seemed fine with his current reduced role at Packer, Inc. He’d told Jake he was less involved in the day-to-day operation of the company but that he liked having the free time, as it had given him a chance to take up some hobbies, like flying. He lived in a well-appointed, ranch-style house, dressed in hand-tailored silk suits and drove a snazzy sports car. Moore appeared to have no money worries.

  A gust of wind slammed into the Blazer and Jake had to hang onto the steering wheel to keep the vehicle in its lane. The wipers worked overtime to clear a window for him to see. Where the devil had all this weather sprung from? This must be one of those flash nor’easters he’d heard about. For the most part, he hadn’t minded the change from Southern California to the northern reaches of Iceland but this was ridiculous. He wondered if there was any chance that everyone in Eden County would use their heads and stay in. It was certainly a night for home and hearth. Jake’s mind flashed on the family fun nights he and the kids had enjoyed with Lucy. They’d gathered around the table to play Chutes ‘n Ladders, Candyland, Hearts. Lucy had made caramel popcorn balls one night and Jake had had to spend the next day trying to get the caramel out of Lillie’s hair while Lucy did the same with the cat. He hadn’t laughed at the time but he smiled at the memory now.

  Lucy made even catastrophes exciting.

  No wonder the kids missed her. He missed her, too.

  He stopped at the service station outside Eden, filled up the Blazer with gas and his Thermos with hot coffee, just in case he got a call. He grabbed a dozen stale doughnuts including three Bavarian creams, Lucy’s favorite. He laughed mirthlessly. He wasn’t going to be sharing the doughnuts with Lucy.

  His phone rang as he climbed back in the Blazer and he sighed. But the sighs turned to curses when Molly Whitecloud told him why she was calling.

  If it wasn’t just like Lucy to get herself stranded in the biggest storm of the cen
tury. This was a perfect follow-up to the jingle bell-fiasco. Jake pointed the Blazer toward the rez and turned his radio up to full volume on Springsteen’s Born in the U.S.A., but the powerful beat wasn’t loud enough to drum out the reality of the situation. First, Jake had to find the little witch and then he had to spend the night with her in a deserted, unheated cabin.

  By tomorrow, his entire life would be changed because of Lucy Outlaw. And not for the better.

  Forty-five minutes later the pulse of pain that thrummed in Jake’s forehead threatened to explode into a full-blown migraine. His eyes strained with the effort to distinguish anything in the impenetrable sea of white but he knew this particular headache was due, mainly, to fear. It was not uncommon for people to die under these conditions. Lucy, he told himself, would not die. He would find her.

  And then he’d kill her.

  Where the hell was she?

  He crept down the rez road, every sense alert. Dusk had arrived but, for once, it wasn’t followed by darkness. The sky was light, pregnant with snow, and the effect was eerie.

  Jake inched along the rez road scouring the landscape as best he could. Finally, finally, he spotted a jerky little movement that didn’t fit in with either the storm or the snow-covered countryside. Something or someone was bouncing up and down like a kid on a pogo stick and Jake was pretty sure he knew who it was.

  Jake’s jaw clenched and his fingers tightened on the steering wheel as he battled zero-visibility conditions to keep his eye on the prize. Finally he was close enough to stop and throw the door open.

  “What the hell are you doing out of the Jeep?”

  He was aware that the power of the wind took all the punch out of his roar. She gave him a crooked grin and yelled something. He couldn’t hear it at all but he could read her lips.

  “I’m waiting for you.”

  He cursed, scooped her up in his arms and fought his way back to the Blazer. Thank the Lord she didn’t try to talk while he searched for the Littlejohns’. She kept her arms locked around her waist and shook like a maraca while Jake scanned the horizon. A minute later his target rose up like a mirage in the desert. He breathed a prayer of thanks, pulled up as close as he could get to the cabin and parked. Then he battled the storm to get to her door.