Christmas Cookie Murder #6

by Meier, Leslie

  “If you say so,” said Scott, replacing his cap on his head and marching into the building.

  “Barney, you didn’t do anything like that, did you?” asked Lucy, as she watched the lieutenant stride off.

  “No, damn it, but I was sure tempted. I don’t like this kind of stuff. It’s awful close to entrapment, if you ask me. I’d rather wait for somebody to commit a crime, and then arrest them. I don’t like to trick ’em into it.”

  “Police do undercover operations all the time. It’s perfectly legal.”

  “Well, that don’t make it right.” Barney planted his cap on his head and shifted his belt. “You know what he wants me to do now? I’m supposed to put a box out on the desk when I visit the schools and tell the kids they can write me a note about anything that’s bothering them. Like maybe if their big brother is smoking pot or something like that. And I’m supposed to tell the kids it’s just between them and me and nobody will get in trouble. But that’s not true. The lootenant here wants me to pass on suspected violations to the school authorities, and by law, they have to report drug use to the police.”

  “Do people know about this? Maybe I should write a story.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Barney, waggling his finger at her. “Your daughter has come to the attention of the department—you wouldn’t want her investigated, now, would you?”

  “Tom said everything was okay, that he was dropping the whole thing.”

  “And he will,” said Barney, giving her a wink, “as long as you do things his way.”

  Barney was way off base, thought Lucy, as she drove home. She had Tom’s word that he wasn’t going to investigate the inhaler incident any further. There was nothing to investigate, for that matter. There was no law against helping a person in distress, Tom had said so himself. He’d said Elizabeth should be congratulated for her quick thinking.

  Poor Barney was under a lot of stress. He was no doubt worried sick about Marge. This was no time for him to have to adjust to a whole new way of doing things at work. After all, Barney had been on the force for twenty years or more, working the whole time for Chief Crowley. It was no wonder he was having trouble accepting the lieutenant’s ideas about community policing.

  But even Barney had admitted that the lieutenant was getting results—hadn’t he bragged to her about the department’s success in preserving the evidence that nailed Steve Cummings?

  The lieutenant certainly seemed to know what he was doing, thought Lucy, as she turned onto Red Top Road. And he was truly committed to his job. She remembered how his voice had cracked with emotion when he described finding the young couple dead in the crash, how he couldn’t forget the flowers on the girl’s wrist. White roses.

  What a tragedy, she thought, blinking back tears. And it would make a great lead when she wrote about the sting for The Pennysaver. She pulled into her driveway and braked, turning off the ignition. This was one story she couldn’t wait to write.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  6 days ’til Xmas

  “Great story, Lucy,” said Ted, after he finished reading her report on the sting operation.

  Lucy had been so eager to write it that she’d gone into The Pennysaver office first thing Friday morning, way ahead of deadline.

  “You don’t think I went over the top?”

  When she had been writing the story, Lucy had been carried along in a rush of creative energy. Now that it was finished, she was beginning to have second thoughts. Maybe she should have taken the time to make a few phone calls to New York to check the accuracy of Scott’s account.

  “No. Great detail, especially the white roses.”

  Lucy felt better; Ted was a lot more experienced in the news business than she was.

  “Our advertisers will love it,” he continued. “Good news for once.”

  “I knew you’d say that.” Lucy took a deep breath and plunged in. “Do you think maybe we’re getting a bit too concerned about the advertisers? I mean, it seems to come up an awful lot lately.”

  “Damn right it does. Adam wants to go to BU—do you know how much that costs? Frankly, this paper makes a pretty thin profit as it is, and I can’t afford to alienate any advertisers right now. Not if Adam’s going to get a college education.”

  “You’ll get financial aid.”

  “Not enough—I’ve done the calculations. And a lot of that aid is probably going to be student loans, which I’d like to avoid if I can. I don’t want Adam starting out with a huge debt burden.”

  “That worries me, too,” admitted Lucy.

  “The good news is that revenues are ahead of budget this month thanks to that new Ropewalk mall. They’ve placed a lot of holiday advertising with us.”

  “That’s great,” said Lucy. “Ho, ho, ho!” She shrugged into her coat and buttoned it up. “I’ll see you Monday.”

  In the car, she turned on the radio. The local station was also getting plenty of ads; as she drove she heard commercials urging her to celebrate the holiday season in a variety of ways: with specially decorated Dunkin’ Donuts packed in festive jars, with a new car from Fat Eddie and his “happy, holiday elves” who were practically giving away the new models in a burst of Christmas spirit, and with a “luxurious,” meaning expensive, outfit from the Carriage Trade. And if the stress of the season was getting her down, a public service announcement informed her she could call the Samaritans for counseling.

  If she were honest with herself, she thought, it did seem as if a gray cloud of depression was following her wherever she went these days. It was partly a reaction to the forced jollity of the Christmas season, but she was also struggling to cope with Tucker’s murder and Steve’s arrest. And if that weren’t enough, she was anxious about the kids: Toby’s experiments with pot and his lackadaisical attitude about the college applications, not to mention Elizabeth’s suspension. This was not the Christmas she had hoped for.

  She had intended to stop by at Miss Tilley’s to deliver a Christmas present, but in her present mood she wasn’t sure it was a good idea. When she got to the corner of Miss Tilley’s road, however, she found herself flipping on the turn signal and accelerating. Through the years she had found there was nothing like a conversation with Miss Tilley to put things in their proper perspective.

  Julia Ward Howe Tilley, who allowed only a sadly diminished number of contemporaries to call her by her first name, was the first person who befriended Lucy when she and Bill had moved to Tinker’s Cove. Then the librarian at the Broadbrooks Free Library, Miss Tilley had noticed Lucy’s interest in mysteries and began saving the new titles for her. As they grew to know each other, Lucy had come to appreciate Miss Tilley’s tart wit and nonsense attitude. Now that she was retired and steadily growing frailer, Lucy tried to stop by for a chat as often as she could.

  Rachel Goodman opened the door when Lucy knocked. After her auto accident a few years ago, Miss Tilley arranged to have Rachel help her with meals, housekeeping, and driving.

  “Hi, Rachel,” said Lucy, as she took off her coat. “You’ll be reading about your son in the paper next week.”

  “Nothing bad I hope,” said Rachel, hanging it up in the coat closet.

  “No. You should be proud. He did a great job on that liquor sting.”

  Rachel grimaced. “He didn’t want to do it, but he didn’t feel as if he could refuse. Richie thought that if he said no, the lieutenant would think he was in the habit of buying booze illegally.”

  It occured to Lucy that both Stones, Steffie and Tom, definitely had the knack of putting people on the spot.

  “Come to think of it, he did seem a little uncomfortable, but I figured it was just part of being seventeen.”

  Rachel shook her head. “No. He didn’t like the idea of tricking people and getting them in trouble. Plus, he does have a bit of a guilty conscience, I think. Now that he’s got his acceptance from Harvard, he’s come down with a wicked case of senioritis. He’s been spending a lot of time with Tim
Rogers, and I don’t think they’re memorizing Bible verses.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Frankly, I don’t know why the police are so concerned about underage drinking—the real problem at the high school is drugs, if you ask me.”

  Lucy would have loved to share her own thoughts on this subject, but was interrupted.

  “Who are you talking to?” Miss Tilley asked in a quavery voice from the next room. “I thought I heard Lucy Stone.”

  Lucy went into the living room, where Miss Tilley was seated in an antique Boston rocker next to the fireplace, with a bright crocheted afghan across her knees. A small fire was burning on the hearth. Lucy gave her old friend a quick peck on the cheek and presented her with a foil package wrapped with a bright red bow.

  “What is this?”

  “Scottish shortbread. Elizabeth made it.”

  “What a clever girl.”

  “Not that clever, I’m afraid,” said Lucy, seating herself on the camelback sofa. “She’s been suspended from school.”

  “I can’t believe it,” said Rachel.

  “It’s true,” said Lucy, telling them the whole story. When she had finished, Miss Tilley clucked her tongue.

  “Zero tolerance sounds like a good policy for people who have zero common sense and zero intelligence. You tell Elizabeth she did the right thing, and she shouldn’t hesitate to do it again. Goodness sakes, rules are made to be broken.”

  Lucy chuckled. “It’s nice to hear you say that. I was beginning to have doubts myself.”

  “But what about school?” asked Rachel. “Two weeks is a long time. Won’t she miss a lot of classwork?”

  “Toby gets her assignments for her and she’s been keeping up at home. It’s kind of nice having her around the house, actually. She’s been doing a lot of baking and has started making herself a dress to wear on Christmas.”

  Rachel shook her head. “It seems like she got a rum deal to me. I’ll ask Bob to give Mr. Humphreys a call. He’s been known to become a bit more tolerant when he’s faced with legal action. The school committee hates to pay legal bills.” She stood up. “How about some tea to go with that shortbread?”

  When Rachel had gone into the kitchen, Miss Tilley leaned forward and tapped Lucy’s knee with her bony hand.

  “Elizabeth’s not the only one who’s being treated unfairly—what do you think about poor Dr. Cummings?”

  Lucy shrugged. “Lee asked me to see if I could find out anything, and I talked to Barney—he says it’s pretty much an open-and-shut case. They’re certain he did it.”

  “Nonsense. Steve Cummings has been taking care of my teeth for years….” She pulled back her lips and tapped her yellowed incisors. “I still have all my own teeth, I’ll have you know, and that’s thanks to Dr. Cummings. I ask you, do you really think a man who has the patience to put up with an old horror like me would even think of committing murder? It’s just not in him. He’s a kind, good man.”

  “You only know him professionally,” argued Lucy. “He’s no saint. He left Lee and the girls and he was dating Tucker, who was only half his age. Isn’t it possible the situation got out of hand, and he lost control and killed her?”

  “This doesn’t much sound like the Lucy Stone I know,” observed Miss Tilley, taking a cup and saucer from Rachel. “What’s happened to that inquisitive mind of yours? Since when did you start swallowing the official line?”

  Stung, Lucy took a consoling sip of tea. Miss Tilley sure had a way of getting right to the heart of the matter. Wishing she knew the answer, she delayed by taking a bite of shortbread.

  “When it seems the only logical conclusion,” she finally said, but she had the uneasy feeling that Miss Tilley was right. Lately, it seemed to her, she’d been spending a lot of energy avoiding facts that didn’t fit rather than trying to work out the truth for herself.

  “Actually,” she found herself saying, “I do have another theory about Tucker’s murder—but it’s so awful I haven’t even been able to think about it.”

  “What is it?” asked Rachel. Both she and Miss Tilley were leaning forward in their chairs, eager to hear.

  “Well, I found Tucker’s agenda—it had been missing. It turned out it was jammed behind a drawer in her desk at the day-care center. There wasn’t much in it, but there was a notation the Sunday before she died. Apparently she’d had a meeting with Lee.”

  “You think Lee killed her?” Rachel’s hand flew to her mouth. “I can’t believe it. Besides, that was Sunday. Tucker wasn’t killed until Wednesday morning.”

  “What if Lee met with Tucker on Sunday and begged her to give up Steve and Tucker refused,” argued Lucy. “That would give Lee a strong motive to kill her, wouldn’t it? She was desperate to get back with Steve. You saw how she treated Tucker at the cookie exchange.”

  Rachel bit her lip.

  “The female of the species is more deadly than the male.” Miss Tilley nodded with satisfaction. “I knew it couldn’t be Dr. Cummings.”

  “It can’t be Lee, either.” Rachel shook her head. “Think of those two little girls. What would happen to them?”

  “I know,” agreed Lucy. “Hillary and Gloria. That’s why I don’t even want to think about it.”

  “Their father could take care of them if she went to jail.” Miss Tilley snapped off a piece of shortbread and popped it in her mouth. “I think you should go straight to the police with this information. Where’s the agenda now?”

  Lucy’s and Rachel’s eyes met. “It’s gone. Sue sent it to Tucker’s parents.”

  “That doesn’t matter. The police should consider all the evidence. You have a responsibility to tell them.”

  Lucy shook her head. “A minute ago you were telling me to think for myself. Well, I don’t think anything would be gained by making Lee the subject of an investigation. If Steve is really innocent, well, it will undoubtedly come out at the trial, and he’ll be acquitted.”

  “You’d leave those innocent little girls in the hands of a murderer?” Miss Tilley was shocked.

  “Well, if she did murder Tucker, it was only because she was desperate to save her family,” said Lucy. “Besides, I don’t have any real proof—just a theory. This time I’m going to mind my own business.”

  “Let the police earn their salaries, that’s what Bob always says,” advised Rachel.

  “Well,” snorted Miss Tilley. “I can only say how glad I am that I remained a single lady. Marriage apparently has a terrible effect on one’s morals.”

  “And it only gets worse when you become a parent,” added Lucy darkly.

  As she drove home, Lucy listened again to the steady barrage of holiday commercials. She tried to change the station but it didn’t make any difference whether she listened to 102.9 or 107.5 or 98.8—it was all buy, buy, buy. Disgusted, she reached to turn it off, but paused when she heard the familiar strains of one of her favorite carols.

  As she sang along, she remembered that the community carol sing was that night. They’d go, she decided, the whole family. It was just what they needed to restore their Christmas spirit.

  Much to her surprise, everyone was agreeable when she presented her plan at the dinner table. Sara and Zoe loved any excuse to sing Christmas songs, Elizabeth was tired of being stuck at home, and Toby saw an opportunity to socialize with his friends. Even Bill agreed to give up an evening of channel surfing.

  “There’s nothing good on TV on Friday, anyway,” he said.

  Bill and Lucy took the Subaru, along with the younger girls, while Toby drove the truck, with Elizabeth for company. He hoped to hook up with his friends, in which case he would need his own transportation home.

  “Behave yourself,” Bill warned, as he handed over the keys.

  A light snow was falling when their two-car caravan arrived in town, and Christmas lights were twinkling on most of the houses. A Christmas tree had been placed on the porch roof of the general store, and a bonfire was burning brightly in the parking area out front. A crowd of people h
ad already gathered and were singing, accompanied by Stan Pulaski, the fire chief, on the trumpet.

  “We three kings of Orient are…” was one of Lucy’s favorites and she joined in eagerly. She knew the words by heart, but the kids didn’t; somebody passed them a sheaf of paper with the lyrics.

  This was what Christmas was really all about, thought Lucy. Neighbors and friends gathered to enjoy old songs, raising their voices together to celebrate the season. She looked from face to face, familiar faces lighted by the glow of the bonfire, and felt a warm sense of fellowship. It was wonderful to be in this place at this moment, she thought, placing her hand in Bill’s.

  The general store faced the town green, an open space with grass and a few trees that afforded the carolers a clear view of the little town: the main street lined with stores, all decorated with Christmas lights, and beyond, the harbor, where some of the fishing boats had also been trimmed with holiday lights. The restored Ropewalk stood next to the fish pier, its unique shape outlined with strings of twinkling white lights.

  Stan had played the first few notes of “Silent Night” when a sudden explosion rocked the ground they were standing on. Everyone looked up, there was a collective intake of breath. Flames were shooting from one of the narrow windows of the Ropewalk.

  Lucy saw Stan running toward the firehouse, clutching his trumpet to his chest. A few others, volunteer firemen, also ran to help. Moments later the scream of sirens filled the air as the fire engines roared out of the station and tore off down the street. The rest of the carolers stood rooted in place, watching in horror as the flames grew larger and smoke began to billow into the night sky.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Suddenly, they were all running down Main Street toward the fire. Everyone wanted to see the spectacle; it was the biggest thing that had happened since the sardine cannery fire some twenty years ago.