Christmas Cookie Murder #6

by Meier, Leslie

  Lucy watched as the four men huddled around Scott, wishing she dared to attempt to overhear their conversation. Instead, she wove her way through the scattered groups of firefighters and greeted Claw.

  “Lucy Stone, from The Pennysaver. Do you mind if I take your picture?”

  Claw shrugged and Lucy produced her camera. When the flash went off there was a moment of silence, then the buzz of conversation resumed. She snapped the shutter a few more times, then tucked the camera away and pulled out her notebook.

  “Are you happy with the vote?”

  “Like everybody else, I can go home tonight and know that if I need help, help will be there.”

  “What about the men who were charged? Two of them are your sons?”

  Rousseau’s face sagged and Lucy thought he must be older than she had guessed at first, probably closer to sixty than the robust fifty she had noted in her book. “At times like this you have to have faith,” he said.

  His answer took her by surprise. She had expected him to defend his sons, or at the very least to point out their heroism at the fire.

  “Thank you,” she said, and put away her notebook. She didn’t want to bother this clearly troubled man any further.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Lucy never worried about going out by herself after dark in Tinker’s Cove, but tonight she was unpleasantly aware of her vulnerability as she left the fire station and crossed the parking lot to her car. A group of firefighters had followed her out of the building, and although she could hear their gruff voices and heavy footsteps, she couldn’t see them without turning her head. She didn’t want them to think she was nervous about their presence, so she kept her eyes forward and tightened her grip on the car keys she held ready in her hand.

  As soon as she got inside the car she locked the doors, feeling slightly ridiculous as she did so. She rarely bothered with the locks, but tonight she felt uneasy.

  She started the car and carefully backed out of her parking space, then drove slowly across the lot to the exit. There she pulled to a stop and looked right and left to make sure the road was clear; she was ready to pull out when her eyes were suddenly hit with a bright glare. A pickup truck had pulled up behind her and its headlights were set so high that they beamed straight into her mirrors and the bright light bounced directly into her eyes. She squinted, trying to avoid the glare and pulled out. She actually never saw the oncoming car; only the blare of the horn and the screech of brakes as it swerved into the opposite lane to avoid a collision gave her any indication of the danger she had been in.

  Her heart was pounding and her hands were shaking as she proceeded slowly down the road. The truck was still close behind her, and the glare was so strong that she was practically blinded, even after she flipped the rearview mirror. She considered pulling over and letting the truck pass, but she knew that probably wasn’t a good idea. After all, they were in a passing zone, and there was little traffic. There was no reason why the driver of the truck couldn’t pass her if he wanted to. Lucy suspected he was harassing her on purpose and was afraid that if she stopped, he, whoever he was, would pull up right behind her and she would be at his mercy. She didn’t really have any choice but to keep going, hoping that her tormenter would eventually grow impatient with her slow speed.

  After following her for a mile or so, that’s exactly what happened. She heard a roar as the truck accelerated, then zoomed past and raced off down the road. A glance in the rearview mirror explained everything—a police cruiser had apparently scared off her pursuer and was now following her.

  She didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried, expecting any moment that the blue lights would flash, signalling that she should pull over. That didn’t happen, however, and it was only a few moments later that she made the familiar turn onto Red Top Road and finally reached her own driveway; the cruiser paused at the edge of the road and waited until she was safely inside the house before pulling away.

  Secure in her kitchen, Lucy let out a sigh of relief as she unzipped her parka and hung it among the other coats and jackets that crowded the row of hooks beside the door. She missed its warmth—Bill had turned down the heat before going up to bed and the kitchen was chilly—and rubbed her arms briskly. Realizing she was too keyed up to go to sleep, she poured a mug of milk for herself and set it in the microwave to heat. She stood, watching the seconds count down, and tried to sort out her emotions.

  She should have felt grateful for the police escort, she supposed. It was most likely Tom Scott in the cruiser, she thought. He had probably seen the men following her after the meeting and had decided to keep an eye on the situation. Thanks to his intervention the firefighters had stopped harassing her and she had gotten home safely. He had saved her from goodness knows what unpleasantness, and she owed him a big debt of gratitude.

  The microwave beeped, and she took out the milk and sat down at the table, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. Any proper person would be dashing off a thank-you note, she thought, but she didn’t feel grateful at all. She was angry, she realized. She was furious that she had needed protection and even madder that Scott had presumed to provide it.

  She had lived in this town for nearly twenty years and had managed to get along without police protection until now, and she wasn’t sure she had really needed it tonight. Her followers had probably just been teasing her; maybe they hadn’t even realized the blinding effect of the truck’s headlights.

  After all, Tinker’s Cove was the sort of place where people never locked their houses. Nobody bothered to lock a car, either, and lots of people even left their keys in the ignition when they parked on Main Street. There were occasional crimes of violence, like Tucker’s murder, but they were usually the consequence of emotions gone awry, intimate relationships poisoned by jealousy or alcohol or unemployment, not street crimes like you’d expect in a big city.

  It was odd, she thought, that she had never felt the least bit unsafe in Tinker’s Cove until now. When Chief Crowley was in charge, the letter of the law had been taken rather lightly, but somehow it had worked, or at least it seemed to.

  Now, the attitude was zero tolerance. There were no excuses, no exceptions. It didn’t matter if you were an honor student helping another student or a kid supplying drugs to your classmates, you were treated the same. And firefighters who had risked their lives were treated like common criminals. Nowadays nobody winked at a minor transgression, nobody trusted their own judgment, everybody got treated the same.

  Except they didn’t, realized Lucy, taking a sip of the hot milk and grimacing. It tasted awful. She got up and went into the pantry, looking for some vanilla to flavor it. She didn’t find any vanilla but she did find a bottle of brandy she had bought to make eggnog. She poured a dollop in her mug and added a spoonful of sugar. Much better, she decided, as the soothing drink flowed over her tongue.

  Zero tolerance might be the official line, she thought, but Mr. Humphreys had backed down soon enough when he had been threatened with legal action. Tom Scott had backed down, too, and offered a plea bargain when the firefighters had threatened to strike.

  Lucy finished her drink and set the mug in the sink. Then she stretched, enjoying the sensation of warmth and relaxation the drink had induced. She flipped off the kitchen light and tiptoed up the stairs, ready to go to bed. But when she slipped in beside Bill and closed her eyes, listening to Bill’s regular breathing, punctuated by an occasional snore, she couldn’t clear her mind for sleep. Disturbing thoughts kept flooding in.

  First there was the fire. The huge flames breaking through the Ropewalk roof, the sweaty faces of the firefighters caught in the revolving beams from the emergency lights on top of the trucks. That was how she remembered the fire, but she knew that she didn’t have the whole picture. While she had been watching all the activity in the front of the building, something else had been going on in the back, where some of the firefighters had been carrying off valuables. She struggled to reconcile the two images:
the brave heroism taking place in the front and the sneaky thievery going on in the back.

  Then she saw Claw Rousseau’s tired, lined face. Unlike Andrea, he didn’t make excuses for his boys or try to defend them. Why not, she wondered. She would have expected Claw to be intensely loyal to his sons. She thought of the panic she felt when she got the call from the high school, and the anger she still nurtured in her heart against Mr. Humphreys. If she felt this strongly about the school’s disciplinary policy, why wasn’t Claw furious with Scott? Was he really able to set aside his own feelings? Had he truly been willing to sacrifice his sons for the general welfare of Tinker’s Cove?

  Maybe the emotional ties between parents and their children grew weaker as the children grew older; after all, Claw’s “boys” must be well into their thirties. Lucy rolled back onto her other side and pressed her fanny against Bill spoon-style. Somehow, she didn’t think so. She thought of the Whitneys, devastated by the loss of their grown child. She thought of herself, determined to send Toby off to college where he would do what? Get drunk? Try drugs?

  Lucy rolled over and rearranged the pillow. Toby didn’t have to go to college to try drugs; drugs were readily available in Tinker’s Cove. Barney knew it, Ted knew it. What had he said? That he was grateful he hadn’t had to report any arrests in Tinker’s Cove?

  Why not, wondered Lucy. There were plenty of arrests in neighboring towns; the court report in the Portland daily was full of them. Why weren’t drug offenders and dealers getting arrested in Tinker’s Cove? Lucy thought of the fire, the heroism out front, and the thievery that was going on behind the scenes. She thought of Main Street, the picture-perfect New England town where people didn’t bother to lock their doors but where high-school kids were getting illegal drugs.

  And she thought of Tucker, supposedly killed by a jealous lover. Except the lover hadn’t been all that jealous, from what she’d heard. And Tucker hadn’t really seemed like the sort of girl to encourage attention from a married man twice her age.

  Lucy flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling, gray in the dim light from the hall nightlight. Above its smooth blankness, she knew, was a jumble of wires and insulation, a century’s worth of dust, insect colonies and, no doubt, families of mice. Tinker’s Cove was the same, she thought, a quaint little fishing town with a drug problem.

  Under the covers, Lucy shivered and stared at the clock. It was almost two. She had to be up at six, and she had a long day ahead of her. She was going to get to the bottom of this; she was going to find out what was really going on, and a good place to start would be to take another look at Tucker’s murder. She snuggled down deeper under the covers and pressed her body against Bill’s. She closed her eyes and matched her breathing to his. She slept.

  Next thing she knew it was morning. She woke feeling tired and a look in the mirror wasn’t reassuring; her eyes were puffy, and she suspected it was going to be a bad hair day. In the kitchen, Zoe was singing Christmas carols and pouring milk into a bowl already overflowing with Cheerios.

  “For Pete’s sake, Zoe, watch what you’re doing,” she grumbled, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

  “Who’s Pete?” chirped Zoe.

  Lucy gave her an evil look.

  “Well, I see we have lots of Christmas spirit this morning,” said Bill.

  “Ho, ho, ho,” growled Lucy, hanging on to her coffee mug as if it were a life preserver.

  Bill studied her, then sighed. “I’ll make the lunches,” he said.

  “Thanks.” Lucy fought the impulse to rest her head on the table and took a swallow of coffee.

  After a shower and two more cups of coffee Lucy felt almost human. Ted didn’t even look up when she arrived at The Pennysaver, just grunted and told her he needed the story on the meeting ASAP.

  “And make it short,” he said. “Space is going to be tight this week.”

  Lucy took him at his word and tapped out six inches of copy, reporting the results of the vote and adding a quote or two representing the differing points of view expressed at the meeting. It was still early when she left the office, so she decided to head for the gym. If she hurried she could catch Krissy’s ten-thirty workout. Lord knows, she could use it, but what was more to the point, hadn’t Sue told her that Tucker took a tai chi class after work?

  “Hi, Lucy,” Krissy greeted her, annoyingly pert in a high-cut orange leotard. “You look as if you’ve got the holiday blues.”

  “I’m trying my darnedest to get some holiday spirit, but it’s awfully hard this year, with the murder and the fire and all.”

  Keeping up her spirits never seemed to be a problem for Krissy, who had opened the Body Works a few years ago. Even her ponytail bounced, as if it were full of energy, but her face was solemn as she nodded in agreement.

  “I know. I just can’t believe that creep killed Tucker….” Her gaze wandered to some other clients who were coming through the door, and she raised her voice a few decibles. “You’ve come to the right place. We’ll warm you up, stretch you out, work those muscles and finish up with a relaxing cooldown. You’ll feel like a new person when we’re done.”

  “Can I talk to you after class?” asked Lucy as she handed over her five dollars.

  Krissy nodded grimly and Lucy gave her hand a squeeze, then headed for the locker room.

  When the session was over, Lucy had to admit that although she didn’t feel exactly like a new person, she did feel like a much-improved version of the old one as she headed down the carpeted corridor to Krissy’s office.

  Krissy was on the phone, but she smiled at Lucy and pointed to a chair. “I’m on hold—I’m trying to get airplane tickets. All of a sudden I have this irrational urge to go home for Christmas.”

  “Good luck,” said Lucy.

  “Yeah. You’re right.” Krissy put the receiver back in its cradle. “I’ll never get tickets this close to Christmas.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what I was thinking. My family is completely screwed up. I swore I’d never go through another holiday with them, and here I am, ready to spend top dollar to fly to Jersey City just so they can tell me how worthless I am. I think I’ll stay here, and have Christmas with Earl.”

  Earl was Krissy’s black Labrador. Pictures of his progress from puppyhood to maturity were plastered all over her office walls, and Earl himself was sound asleep on a futon in the corner.

  “Earl’s good company,” said Lucy.

  “The best,” affirmed Krissy. “Don’t tell him, but I got him a new collar and a squeaky toy for Christmas. Plus a case of tennis balls.”

  “Mint-flavored?”

  “I thought about it, but I decided he really likes them kind of dirt-flavored, and the mint might interfere with the proper aging process.”

  Lucy laughed. “So Earl is the man in your life these days?”

  “You know it.” Krissy shook her head. “Face it. There’s not much night life in a town like this, except the video store.” She sighed. “I really miss Tucker. We had some good times together.” Krissy stared at a point above Lucy’s head and blinked furiously.

  “I didn’t realize you were such good friends,” said Lucy.

  “Well, you know how it is in a small town like this. There aren’t that many young, single women. We met here and we hit it off right away. She was such a sweetheart—why’d he have to do it? What a bastard.”

  “Maybe Steve didn’t do it,” said Lucy slowly.

  “He did it all right,” said Krissy. “You wouldn’t believe what an unattached woman goes through in this town.”

  Lucy looked puzzled.

  “Tucker loved to dance, you know? So one night we went out to this bar, Scalliwags, they’ve got live music there on weekends. It’s kind of a dump, but we thought what the hell. So we’re having a great time dancing with these guys but they get the wrong idea. They think that dancing with them means you want to bear their children, you know what I mean?”

  Lucy knew. “Is that what it was with Steve? Th
at he wanted more than she wanted to give?”

  Krissy shrugged.

  “He just doesn’t seem to me like the kind of guy…” began Lucy.

  Krissy snorted. “They’re all the same, believe me. And they’re all available—it’s just their wives don’t know it.”

  Lucy chuckled. “Don’t want to know, is more like it.” She paused. “But I heard that Steve and Lee were getting back together.”

  “Maybe. That doesn’t change the fact he was sniffing around Tucker like Earl used to do to the lady dogs before his trip to the vet.”

  “Okay. I give up. Steve’s a worthless scum, but I still think there’s a big difference between acting like a hound dog and killing somebody.” She scratched her chin. “You know, an awful lot of drugs have been coming through town lately….”

  Krissy made her eyes round, pretending to be shocked. “No way.”

  Lucy continued. “I was just wondering if Tucker might have got involved somehow, got in too deep or something.”

  “Whoa.” Krissy held up her hands to protest. “Are you kidding? Tucker wouldn’t touch drugs with a ten-foot pole. Do you know who her father is?”

  Lucy shook her head.

  “He’s a big shot in the Department of Justice, I mean way up there. Just under the attorney general, I think. Anyway, he’s head prosecutor for all the federal drug cases.”

  “I had no idea.”

  Krissy nodded. “‘Just say no’ is like a religion in that family.”

  “Yeah, but, look at yourself. Kids don’t always agree with their parents.”

  “Tucker did. Believe me. She used to say she didn’t see why people couldn’t just get high on life. Nature, the woods, skiing, sailing, she used to come back from those AMC hikes all excited about the trees and the clouds, for Pete’s sake.”