by Leslie Meier
Chapter Fourteen
Saturdays sure weren’t what they used to be, thought Lucy, as she loaded the dishwasher with last night’s snack dishes and this morning’s breakfast crockery. She remembered lazy mornings when she and Bill slept late, then made plans for the rest of the day over a leisurely breakfast. Later, when the kids were little, they used to let them watch Saturday morning cartoons while they lingered in bed until the kids got bored and came in for a midmorning romp. That all ended, however, when the kids became teenagers. Now she and Bill were at the mercy of sports schedules and coaches, AP exam coaching sessions, and part-time jobs. This morning she not only had to make sure Sara got up and was fed and dressed, but she had to drive her and Renee to work because Frankie usually had open houses on Saturdays. Revising her original thought, she added Realtors. Like all the parents of teenagers, they had to adjust their schedules to accommodate the demands of others.
Now that Sara had her driver’s license, she could drive herself except for the fact that Lucy needed the car later to take Zoe to her volunteer job at the Friends of Animals shelter. And there was always the possibility that Ted would call with a last-minute assignment, which often happened when a big story like Tamzin’s murder was unfolding. It would be nice if they could afford a third car for Sara, she thought, straightening up and stretching her back, but that wasn’t possible these days. Simply adding Sara as a driver had pushed their insurance premium so high that it was straining the family budget.
Glancing at the clock, Lucy realized they were running late. “Sara!” she yelled up the steep back stairway that led from the kitchen to the upstairs bedrooms. “I’m going out to start the car!”
Sara yelled back. “I’m almost ready!”
Lucy checked the thermometer that hung on the porch post and learned it was ten degrees outside. A mite nippy, she thought, but at least the sun was shining. Yesterday’s slush had frozen solid overnight, so she put on her boots, reminding herself to watch her step and to expect icy patches on the road. She’d have to drive slowly and leave plenty of time for braking.
“Sara!” she yelled once more, pulling her knit beret over her ears and pulling on her gloves. “We’ve got to go!”
There was a huge clatter as Sara crashed down the stairs and landed in the kitchen, where she paused to pull her hair back into a ponytail. “No sense fussing with my hair since I have to wear those ugly shower cap things.”
“Dress warm, it’s freezing,” Lucy advised, picking up the carefully wrapped cheesecake she intended to drop off at the contest and going out to warm up the car. Moments later, Sara popped out of the house, coat and scarf flapping.
“Brrrrr,” she said, hopping into the car beside Lucy. “You weren’t kidding.”
“The sun’s out, I think it will warm up,” said Lucy, switching on the radio. “Might even get up to twenty.”
“I think Elizabeth had the right idea,” said Sara. “While we’re freezing up here, she’s working on her tan in Florida.”
Lucy was backing out, humming along to a Beatles tune. “I don’t think she gets too much time to lie around the pool—she’s not a guest, she’s the hired help.”
“She gets plenty of time off,” said Sara, in a sour tone. “And she doesn’t have to wear a shower cap when she’s on the job!”
Lucy chuckled, picturing her oldest daughter in the tailored Cavendish uniform with an embroidered “C” on the blazer pocket, as she made the turn into Prudence Path and pulled up at the La Chance house. She gave the horn a little toot and looked over at her son Toby’s house, hoping to catch a glimpse of Patrick. “I thought Toby and Patrick might be playing outside but I guess it’s too cold,” she said, disappointed.
“I bet they’re watching cartoons,” said Sara. “I used to love Saturday mornings.”
Lucy smiled, remembering how she and Bill took advantage of the kids’ passion for cartoons to indulge in a little passionate activity of their own.
The song had changed and the Rolling Stones were singing “Gimme Shelter” when Renee ran out of her house and hopped into the back seat.
“Wow, it’s cold,” she complained, fastening the seat belt.
“I don’t know why you girls refuse to zip your jackets,” said Lucy. “They put zips and buttons on them for a reason.”
Sara rolled her eyes. “We don’t want to look like dorks.”
“So you look like popsicles instead,” retorted Lucy, as the song ended and commercials began to play. Lucy was driving slowly, wondering who could possibly be interested in an adjustable mortgage after the recent financial crisis and how exactly did Dr. Myron Bush reverse baldness, at the same time keeping an eye out for that tricky black ice. She’d made it to the end of Red Top Road when the news came on.
Police have made an arrest in the Chanticleer Chocolate murder case. Dora Fraser, 38, of Tinker’s Cove, was arrested late yesterday, according to state police. Fraser, who works at a rival chocolate shop, is accused of strangling Tamzin Graves and then coating her nude body with chocolate in what police have termed “a bizarre ritual slaying.” In other news....
The newscaster continued his report but nobody in the car was listening. They were sitting, silent and stunned, trying to absorb what they’d heard.
“Do we go to work?” asked Sara.
“I can’t believe it,” said Renee.
“I was afraid of this,” said Lucy.
Sara’s head snapped around. “You were?”
“Do you think she did it?” asked Renee, leaning through the gap between the two front seats.
“No. Of course not. I wouldn’t let you work for a murderer, now would I?” said Lucy, cautiously making the turn onto Main Street. “It’s because of her wicked sense of humor, the way she’s always joking.”
“The police must have more than that,” said Sara. “You can’t be arrested for making jokes.”
“You’re right,” said Lucy, wondering what evidence the cops had found that incriminated Dora. She also wondered how long it would be before they charged her with murdering Max, too.
“Mom, do you really think the store will be open?” asked Sara.
“Only one way to find out,” said Lucy, hoping she’d learn more about Dora’s arrest at the shop.
When they pulled up in front of the familiar storefront, with its red-and-white-striped awning and curtained windows, the OPEN sign was prominently displayed on the door. Lucy led the way, marching right in, followed by the girls, who hung back reluctantly.
“Come on in! I won’t bite!” said Flora, in her usual bossy tone. She looked the same as always, with her short salt-and-pepper hair and pink poly pantsuit. Her eyes didn’t have their usual sparkle, however, and she looked pale and drawn.
“We heard the news about Dora,” said Lucy. “The girls weren’t sure... .”
“It’s business as usual,” said Flora. “I’m manning the counter and you girls can go on back and start filling the mail orders.”
When they stood in place, she made a little shooing motion with her hands. “Go on. I’m not paying you to stand around gaping.”
The girls shuffled off through the curtained doorway and Lucy approached the counter, adopting a sympathetic expression. “I can’t believe the police suspect Dora,” she began.
“It’s nonsense,” said Flora.
“I know Dora likes a good joke but she’d never kill anybody,” prompted Lucy.
“Of course not.”
Flora was known for being close-mouthed, but Lucy was hoping distress would make her a bit more talkative. So far this was tough going. “Did they say what sort of evidence they’ve got against her?”
“Nope.”
“They just came and arrested her?”
“Yup.”
“When was that?”
“Last night, around eight o’clock. They came to the house.” Flora paused. “Good thing she hadn’t put on her pajamas like she usually does to watch TV.”
Lucy could just
imagine the scene. Police rushing into the cozy old Victorian, guns drawn, upsetting potted plants and knocking over tables. “That must have been terrible.”
“They were very polite, I’ll say that for them.”
Lucy realized she’d let her imagination run away with her. “Even so, it must have been very upsetting. How are Lily and Fern?”
“They’re not crying into their milk, that’s for sure. They’re checking out lawyers; we want to get the best for our Dora.”
“Of course,” said Lucy, struck with the woman’s brisk efficiency and determination. The police probably hadn’t gotten Dora into the cruiser before Flora was organizing the family and assigning jobs. “Let me know if I can do anything.”
Flora gave her a look. “Lucy Stone, I’ve known you forever and I like you fine, but I know you work for the paper so don’t be thinking I’m going to tell you anything I don’t want to see in print.”
Lucy felt as if she’d been slapped across the face, but she had to admit the woman had a point. “I understand,” she said, turning to go. At the door, she paused and turned. “The offer to help still stands, and I won’t print anything you tell me is off the record.”
Flora narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms across her chest. “Hmph,” she said.
Typical Mainer, thought Lucy, leaving the shop.
The dessert contest was taking place at the Community Church so that’s where Lucy went next. The parking lot was a slick sheet of glass so she walked slowly, keeping her weight forward and praying she wouldn’t slip and drop the cake. Sue was inside the basement fellowship hall, instructing her husband, Sid, where to set up tables.
“After the judging we’ll be selling portions of the desserts, as well as coffee and tea,” she was saying, when she spotted Lucy. “Hi, Lucy. You’re the first.” Sue waved a hand at the large, empty room with a stage at one end and a kitchen at the other, separated by a serving counter. “We’re not ready yet. You can put your entry on the kitchen counter. What did you make? Can I have a peek?” she asked, crossing the room.
Sid, a dark-haired man with a mustache, was lifting one of the big folding tables off the wheeled rack where they were stored. “Hi, Lucy,” he called. “How’s the family?”
“Everybody’s fine,” she replied, setting the cake on the counter. “It’s cheesecake,” she told Sue. “With blueberries.”
Sue frowned, picking at the foil with one finger. “Cheesecake?”
“Yeah. What’s wrong with cheesecake?” Lucy asked, defensively.
“Somehow blueberry cheesecake doesn’t say Valentine’s Day to me. It says summer, maybe at a clambake.”
“Too bad,” snapped Lucy. “Cheesecake’s what I felt like making... .”
“Yeah, I can see how you didn’t want to mess with chocolate, after finding Tamzin’s body,” admitted Sue. “I’m just telling you because I don’t think the judges are going to love cheesecake.”
“I like cheesecake just fine,” said Sid, flipping one of the tables over and unfolding its legs. His tight T-shirt revealed his muscular build; he worked as a closet installer and stayed fit, carrying heavy prebuilt components upstairs and down and wrestling them into place.
“Did you hear the news?” asked Lucy. “Dora’s been arrested for Tamzin’s murder.”
Sue put the cheesecake down. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. It was just on the news.”
Sue was silent for a moment, absorbing this news. “Well, if you ask me, she did us all a favor. That woman was nothing but trouble.”
“Meow,” said Sid, grabbing another table.
“If it wasn’t for the heavy lifting—and his spider-killing ability—I wouldn’t keep him around,” said Sue. “What about Max? Do they think she killed him, too?”
“The radio didn’t say, but I wouldn’t be surprised.” Lucy leaned her back against the counter and pulled off her gloves. “The killings were similar, bizarre, and Dora does have an odd sense of humor.”
“I can’t say I miss Max, myself, and I bet I’m not the only one,” volunteered Sid. “He’d beg you to help with a job and then if he paid you at all, he paid late.”
“I dunno,” said Lucy, thoughtfully. “From what I’ve heard, he was pretty popular, in spite of his money problems. And if there’s one person in town I’d expect to really miss Max, it would be Dora. There was something going on between them, even if they were divorced.”
“And Lily,” added Sue. “He loved his daughter, and she loved him. You’ve got to give him that.” She gave Lucy a look. “Why don’t you take your coat off and help us out here?”
Lucy looked at the vast empty room and the waiting racks of tables and chairs; just looking made her back ache. “Uh, thanks for the irresistible invitation but I’ve got a bunch of errands to do.”
“Be like that,” muttered Sue.
Lucy ignored her. “How’s Chris? Are she and Brad okay?” Lucy was feeling guilty about mentioning Brad to the police.
“I think they’ll be just fine, now that Tamzin’s out of the picture.”
“I wonder,” mused Lucy. “Did the cops question Chris? She had a motive, after all.”
“They did,” said Sue. “But she had an alibi. We were together Thursday night, working late, writing up student reports.”
“How late did you work? She could’ve gone to the shop afterwards and knocked off Tamzin.”
“No way. Brad took the SUV that day because of the weather, so she didn’t have a car. He dropped her off in the morning and I drove her home that night.” She paused, clearly remembering something. “In fact,” she said slowly, “the lights were on at Chanticleer when we drove by and I remember thinking it was awfully late for anybody to be in the store, especially since they don’t actually make the chocolates there. I even looked at the clock in the car. It was a little past nine.” She shuddered. “Do you think that’s when the murder took place? Isn’t that creepy?”
“Yeah,” said Lucy, wondering if the police had established a time of death for Tamzin’s murder.
Sue’s eyes widened. “Oh my gosh, I saw... .” She immediately turned toward Sid. “Don’t forget the mike, okay?”
He nodded and continued arranging chairs.
“What did you see?” asked Lucy. “Or should I say, who?”
Sue was looking down at the floor. “Dora. I saw Dora,” she whispered. “She was right in front of Chanticleer.”
“Are you sure? What was she doing?”
“Nothing, really.” Sue was hugging herself. “For all I know, she was just walking down the street. But I did say something to Chris about it. Like, how come she wasn’t walking on the other side of the street, some stupid crack like that.”
“And Chris probably told the cops.”
Sue nodded. “I feel sick about it.”
“It’s not your fault.” Lucy squeezed her lips together. “I’m sure the police have other evidence.”
“I don’t think Dora is a murderer,” said Sue, “but we did see her near the scene of the crime.”
“Poor Dora. This explains a lot—it seems she had means, motive, and opportunity,” said Lucy, realizing a little seed of doubt was sprouting in her mind. “Well, I gotta run. See you later, Sid,” she called, heading for the door.
Outside, in the car, she thought about what Sue had said. It certainly didn’t look good for Dora. She was probably the only person who had the skill to paint a body with chocolate, and witnesses had seen her at the shop the night of the murder. But as Sue had said, they didn’t actually make the chocolates at the Tinker’s Cove shop. The copper bowl and the marble-topped table and the other candy-making equipment were just for show. If Dora was the killer, she would have had to bring the chocolate that was used to paint Tamzin’s body. How did she do it? And why did she bother? And what happened to Tamzin’s clothes? When you thought about it, there were a lot of unanswered questions about the murder.
When she parked in front of the dry cleaners she noticed
Trey’s Range Rover was also parked on the street; maybe she’d get a chance to ask some of those questions. She hurried inside, hoping to catch him before he left, but there was no need. He was waiting patiently at the counter for the clerk to find his clothes.
“Hi,” said Lucy, standing next to him and digging in her purse for the little green receipt. “I’m awfully sorry about Tamzin.”
“Thanks, Lucy,” he said, in a solemn voice.
“Three-three-oh-four-five, here it is,” proclaimed the clerk, a gray-haired woman in her fifties, coming around the wall of hanging, plastic-bagged clothes. “Misplaced,” she said by way of explanation, setting Trey’s boxed shirts on the counter. “I didn’t realize you wanted them boxed.” She made it sound like an unreasonable request. “That’ll be eight dollars and forty cents.”
Trey handed over a ten dollar bill and turned to Lucy. “I’m still in shock, if you want to know the truth. Poor Tamzin. She didn’t deserve this.”
“Shocking,” said the clerk, counting out his change. “I told my boss, there’s no way I’m staying here after dark. I’m closing the shop at three-thirty. Folks’ll just have to come early.”
“It’s hardly the sort of thing you’d expect in a little town like this,” said Trey.
“It’s outrageous! We’ve had two murders, right here in town.” The woman’s chin shook with indignation as she shut the cash drawer. “You can’t be too careful these days.”
“That’s for sure,” said Lucy, handing her the green slip of paper and turning to Trey. “I know they arrested Dora Fraser—did the police tell you why they suspect her?”
“Pretty obvious, don’t you think?” replied Trey. “Tamzin was dating her ex, and then there’s the fact her business was suffering due to Chanticleer’s success... .”
“Those don’t seem very compelling to me,” said Lucy, as the clerk hung Bill’s suit on the rack. “You’re not really in competition with Fern’s Famous. You attract an entirely different clientele.” She paused, remembering how he’d touted the truffles as an affordable luxury, a status symbol. “I mean, you’re selling a lot more than chocolate.”
