by Leslie Meier
“We’ve had a series of letters,” said Ted.
“And one of your players attempted to kill himself,” said Lucy.
“If you’re referring to Tommy Stanton, I believe his situation is rather complicated…though, of course, I do not make a habit of discussing students’ personal lives, it is no secret that his mother was murdered and that was most likely the precipitating factor.”
“How can you be sure?” asked Lucy. “Tommy was obviously in serious distress long before his mother’s death.”
“Well, as I say, I can’t discuss students’ confidential records.”
“I know you want to deny that this is happening but it’s too late,” said Lucy. “The dam is broken and pretty soon you’re going to have a flood of controversy on your hands.”
“She’s right,” said Ted. “Believe me, I’ve seen it happen plenty of times.”
Sabin felt a definite tectonic shift and stepped quickly to regain his balance. “Over the years I’ve learned it’s best to tackle issues like these head on, before the rumor mill gets going. I think the best approach is to hold a parent meeting to announce an investigation of these allegations, an investigation I feel sure will show them to be completely unfounded.” He turned to the secretary. “Judy, check the calendar and set a date for a parent meeting.”
“How soon?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Next Thursday?”
“Fine.” He turned to Ted and Lucy. “I trust you’ll publicize this in the Pennysaver so we’ll have a good turnout?”
“You can depend on it,” said Ted, shaking his hand.
“What do you think about that?” asked Lucy as they crossed the lobby.
“Sabin’s no dope. He knows he has to nip this thing in the bud or it will eat him alive.”
They were standing in the shade on the school steps, looking out over the black asphalt parking area where the shiny metal cars were shimmering from heat waves.
“This isn’t like Tinker’s Cove,” continued Ted.
“I know, it’s unseasonably warm, isn’t it? And I can’t remember the last time it rained.”
“Maybe that’s it,” mused Ted, shrugging and starting down the steps. “Maybe it’s the heat driving everybody crazy, but it seems to me the whole town is changing for the worse. Here we’ve got an unsolved murder, the football team is running amok, we’ve got a teen suicide attempt and even a homeless guy.” He shook his head. “Somehow we’ve lost the community spirit that made this town such a special place. I mean, look at the trouble Pam had with the Hat and Mitten Fund bake sale.”
“In the end we raised more money than ever,” said Lucy, following him. “We just had to use different tactics.”
“That’s what bothers me,” said Ted, turning to face her. “Instead of depending on the people in the community, you had to go outside, to the tourists at the outlet mall. In the past, the fund got all the support it needed from local folks, but not anymore.”
“I sense an editorial coming on,” said Lucy, climbing into the passenger seat of his car.
“You betcha,” said Ted. “And I also want you to put your investigative reporting skills to work to get this homeless guy’s story.”
“Righto,” said Lucy, adding a little salute for emphasis.
Lucy wasn’t sure her so-called investigative reporting skills were up to the task she’d been assigned, but she was determined to do her best. It was almost time to pick up Sassie and Sara when she finally cleared her desk, but she wanted to get a start on the story. She decided to begin her search where she’d last seen the homeless man, in the woods behind Prudence Path, after a quick stop at Jake’s for a coffee to go and a bag of doughnuts. It worked for the Salvation Army, maybe it would work for her.
There was no sign of life when she parked her car at the end of the cul-de-sac and got out. There were no cars parked in the driveways, no kids riding around on Big Wheels or swinging on the expensive backyard play sets, no housewives gossiping as they hung the laundry out to dry. What was she thinking? she wondered. She was getting as bad as Ted. Nobody hung out laundry anymore, they all had dryers. And these days kids weren’t allowed to play outside without supervision, either.
Since nobody was around to mind her trespassing, Lucy headed straight for the woods, carrying the coffee and doughnuts and cutting boldly through several backyards to the spot where she remembered seeing the homeless man. There was no sign of him today, but she did notice a faint path, probably a deer track, and she decided to follow it. The path meandered about in no particular direction but Lucy was pretty sure it would eventually lead to Blueberry Pond. She wasn’t worried about getting lost, this was familiar territory to her, besides, she was in sight of the Prudence Path houses.
There wasn’t a breath of wind in the woods, the birds were quiet, and the only sound was the late summer hum of cicadas. Lucy trudged along the path getting sweatier and itchier with every step and considering whether she dared take a cooling plunge in the pond when she stumbled on a rock. Looking down, she realized it was part of a fire ring and she immediately squatted down to see if the ashes were still warm. Perhaps the homeless man had been camping there within the last few hours. The fire was cold, but she continued to squat, imagining herself in his place. The campsite was not in a clearing, in fact she would never have noticed it if she hadn’t stubbed her toe on the rock, but as she looked around she eventually made out a pile of brush. Upon closer investigation she realized it was a crude shelter for sleeping. Encouraged, she searched the site for a cache of food or other personal belongings but there was no sign of either. If this was indeed the homeless man’s campsite he had been very careful to make it as unobtrusive as possible. There was no sign of any empty cans or trash of any sort. Of course, she had no way of knowing if he would return or if he had moved on. She decided to leave the food and coffee, just in case. She’d come back tomorrow in hopes of catching him and she could pick up any litter then.
In the meantime, she decided the best course of action would be to question people in town. She knew he’d been spotted Dumpster-diving behind the IGA and some of the workers there might have noticed him. Or he might have been hanging around the harbor, hoping for a handout or just making conversation.
She was on her way back to the car when her cell phone rang; it was Sara.
“Mom! Where are you?”
Guilt-stricken, Lucy checked her watch. “Ohmi-gosh, I had no idea it was so late. I’m so sorry. I’ll be right there.”
“Can you hurry up? Sassie and I have been waiting for hours.”
“I’ll be as fast as I can,” she promised, hurrying through the woods.
She was quite surprised then when she arrived at the high school just in time to see the girls piling into Willie’s big Wagoneer with numerous animal stickers plastered on the rear bumper. “You didn’t need to come,” she said, pulling around and coming up beside the SUV. “I was working on a story and got distracted, but I came straight over as soon as Sara called.”
“This seems to happen quite a lot,” said Willie, waspishly. “I understand you have a busy schedule and it’s no trouble for me, really.”
“My schedule is unpredictable,” said Lucy, her face reddening. “But I’m never very far away. All the girls have to do is call and I can be here in a few minutes. There’s no need for you to put yourself out.”
“I’d rather do it myself than worry that the girls will be left hanging around.”
“It was only for a few minutes,” protested Lucy.
“I know you don’t think you’re irresponsible, Lucy, but sometimes it seems to me you’re awfully casual when it comes to fulfilling your commitments.”
Lucy felt as if she’d been slapped. “I don’t think I’m irresponsible,” she said, “but I’ll certainly make sure I’m on time from now on.”
“It’s so important to set a good example,” continued Willie. “If we want our children to be prompt we can’t very well ke
ep them waiting ourselves, can we?”
“You’re absolutely right,” said Lucy, who was heartily sick of the whole issue. “So to make up for today, I’ll pick them up Monday.”
Willie nodded in agreement but didn’t look convinced as she drove off with Sara in the back seat.
Lucy followed, trying to decide if she really was irresponsible. She did have a somewhat loose approach to time, she admitted to herself. It came from years of juggling her job, a demanding one that involved deadlines, with the needs of her family. Perhaps she’d taken advantage of her family, expecting them to be flexible because deadlines weren’t.
She was mulling this over as she proceeded down Main Street, following Willie’s rather stately pace and fighting the urge to zoom off down a side street because that would probably be proof positive that she was irresponsible, when her cell phone rang again. This time it was Pam.
“Am I irresponsible?” asked Lucy.
“No. Why do you ask?”
“Never mind, it’s not important,” said Lucy. “What’s up?”
“Well, Ted told me about the parent meeting and I was wondering if we ought to set up a table and sell the leftover baked goods. What do you think?”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
“So you’ll help?”
Lucy looked for an out. “If I don’t have to cover the meeting.”
“Ted said he’ll do it.”
Lucy was trapped and she knew it. “Okay, then,” she said. “You can count on me.”
Chapter 12
Prudence Path seemed to return to normal when the weekend rolled around. Coach Burkhart was mowing his lawn and keeping on eye on the twins, who were riding their bicycles up and down the street. Chris Cashman’s husband, Brad, could be seen in his driveway, changing the oil in the family SUV. Snatches of pop music could be heard coming from the LaChances’ deck where Renee was sunbathing. Willie was on her knees, weeding the flower bed and casting disapproving glances in Renee’s direction. Only the Stanton house remained closed and silent, except for one brief excursion Sunday morning when Fred left and returned a half hour later with Tommy. After that, its inhabitants remained closeted inside.
As Lucy came and went, going about her weekend errands, she wondered what was going on behind that impressive front door. The whole town had pretty much decided that Fred was guilty, it was all anyone was talking about. The boys must have heard the rumors. What was it like for them, cooped up with him? Did they suspect him as well, or had they closed ranks against outsiders, convinced of his innocence? And when, everyone wondered, would the police get around to arresting him?
The answer came on Monday morning, when the moms and children had gathered to wait for the bus. Lucy had accompanied the girls, hoping to pick up some neighborhood gossip, and had no sooner joined the group when the entire Tinker’s Cove police force of three cruisers, lights flashing but without sirens, swooped onto Prudence Path and halted in front of the Stanton house. The women fell silent, watching as four officers took up positions behind their cruisers, weapons at the ready, and two others marched up to the Stantons’ front door and knocked. The door opened, there was a brief conversation and then Fred Stanton stepped out, was handcuffed and escorted without incident to one of the waiting cruisers. Then, as quickly as they had arrived, the police were gone.
“I can’t say I’m surprised,” said Frankie.
“I suspected him all along,” said Willie. “He has such a temper.”
“More than a temper,” said Bonnie. “I’d call him abusive. I bet poor Mimi tried to leave and that’s when he killed her.”
Lucy had heard the scenario before. The cycle of abuse, the increasing tension, the explosion into violence. The abusive partner’s obsessive need to control and dominate the other even to the point of murder if the victim tried to escape. Somehow it didn’t quite fit.
“Mimi had friends on the police force,” said Lucy. “She knew about the resources for battered women and she had plenty of support from her coworkers, she doesn’t sound like an abused wife to me.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Bonnie, sounding un-characteristically sure of herself. “Abuse crosses all socioeconomic lines; anyone can be a victim.”
“You seem to know a lot about it,” said Frankie, challenging her.
“I used to be a social worker. I’ve seen this sort of thing more times than I can say.”
“What about Tommy? What’ll happen to him?” asked Lucy.
“Now that he’s out of the hospital his older brother will probably get temporary custody,” answered Bonnie.
“But Preston’s just a kid,” said Lucy. “How can he be expected to care for a mentally unstable person?”
“He’s eighteen, that makes him legally an adult.”
“Besides,” said Frankie. “Did you see Tommy? They’ve got him so drugged he could barely walk.”
“I can’t believe this,” said Lucy. She couldn’t imagine what sort of system would give an eighteen-year-old motorcycle maniac the responsibility of caring for an extremely fragile suicidal sibling. Leaving the others she walked down the street to the Stanton house and knocked on the door. Preston answered, opening the door only a few inches. He looked, she thought, meeting his dark eyes, like an animal that hadn’t decided whether to defend his den or flee.
“I just wanted you to know that if you need anything, anything at all, we’re right here. Just give me a call.”
“We’re fine.”
“Well, you never know what might come up,” said Lucy. “If you have any trouble I’ll be more than happy to help.”
“You’re that reporter, right?”
“I’m here as a neighbor, that’s all,” said Lucy. “A concerned neighbor.”
“A big nosy-body, you mean,” he said. “Well you can just mind your own business and leave us alone.”
“Okay,” said Lucy, backing away. “I was only trying to help.”
She didn’t know why she bothered to say it, she was talking to a closed door. She started down the street towards home, aware that it was getting late and she really ought to get to work. But first, she decided, since she was so close to the woods she might as well take a quick look and see if the homeless man had returned to his camp. Unwilling to trespass on the Stantons’ property she cut through the Cashmans’ yard. Nobody was out. Chris was probably giving Pear and Apple their one hundred percent organic breakfast or prepping them for one of the day’s activities.
She had no trouble finding the path and hurried along keeping her eyes out for the ring of stones she’d discovered yesterday. She soon found it but there was no sign of a recent fire. Some animal, probably a raccoon, had spilled the coffee and eaten the doughnuts, leaving the ripped paper bag stuck in a bush. Discouraged, she picked up the trash and retraced her steps, heading for home. Somehow the morning hadn’t gone the way she had planned. Instead of a restorative half-hour with a cup of coffee and her own thoughts, she’d witnessed Fred Stanton’s arrest. If that wasn’t upsetting enough, she’d also discovered that Tommy and Preston were left to their own devices and would have to manage as best they could without either mother or father. She knew there was nothing she could do about it, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.
When Lucy arrived at work an hour late, Ted was simultaneously talking on the phone, holding the receiver against his shoulder by crooking his neck, picking away at his keyboard with one hand, and waving a handful of papers at Phyllis with the other. Phyllis was also multi-tasking, talking on the phone while applying a fresh coat of Tropical Melon to her nails.
“About time you got here,” he muttered to Lucy, throwing the papers down on his desk.
“The cops arrested Fred Stanton,” she said. “I saw the whole thing.”
“That’s great,” he said, covering the mouthpiece. “You can write a first person account. Then I want you to cover…” He held up his hand, signaling that she should wait for him to continue, and spoke into the phone. �
��So when do you expect we will know the tax rate?” he asked. “What do you mean, not until October? The fiscal year began July 1, didn’t it?” He slapped his hand over the mouthpiece and turned to her, picking up where he had left off, “…the police press conference. It’s at ten. When you’re there you can ask them about the homeless guy—some of the fishermen found his body floating in the harbor early this morning.”
Lucy sat down hard in her chair. “I can’t believe it.”
“If you ask me, he was an accident waiting to happen,” said Phyllis. “Wandering around town half-drunk.”
“Did he drink?”
“All homeless people do, don’t they? That’s the reason they’re homeless.”
“I think that might be an oversimplification,” said Lucy, recalling the extremely neat campsite she had discovered in the woods. There hadn’t been a single liquor bottle.
“I guess some of them do drugs,” conceded Phyllis.
“Ah, ladies, I hate to interrupt this discussion but it’s almost ten.”
“I’m on my way,” said Lucy, grabbing her bag and rushing out the door. The bell tinkled behind her as Ted resumed his conversation with the town assessor. “So you don’t actually inspect the properties to set their value but you use some sort of mathematical formula?”
Like most reporters, Lucy detested police press conferences. They always seemed to feature the same self-congratulatory parade of pompous officers reciting identical litanies of praise for each other’s organizations: “We could never have brought this case to a successful conclusion without the help of Chief Zero Tolerance and his entire department…” and “I want to acknowledge the selfless dedication of Assistant District Attorney Got Hisman…” and the inevitable “Teamwork is what made the difference.” These productions were as tightly scripted as the annual Oscar awards show, without even the mild suspense offered by the wait for the winners to be announced. And, like those so-called town meetings held by the president, questioning was only allowed by those who had displayed unswerving fidelity to the police community. Any reporter who included the merest hint in a news story that something wasn’t quite kosher about an arrest or an investigation soon became invisible when it was time for questions.
