LStone 20 - Easter Bunny Murder

by Leslie Meier

  Lucy returned to the table, dying to learn what VV had whispered into Miss Tilley’s ear, but determined not to show it.

  Miss Tilley was equally determined not to share her friend’s secret, whatever it was. She polished off her pie, drained her coffee cup, and announced she was ready to leave.

  In the foyer, they encountered Sylvia, who was coming down the stairs.

  “VV seems to be doing very well,” said Lucy. “She was bedridden when I was here for the funeral.”

  “Everything’s changed now that Mr. Willis is in charge,” said Sylvia, with a smile. “Mrs. Van Vorst began to improve the minute she realized those three were gone. I think the only way she could deal with them was by retreating into herself.”

  “How terrible,” said Miss Tilley. “I tried to visit but they wouldn’t let me.”

  “I know but, hopefully, that’s all in the past. She’s getting good food and fresh air and I expect she’ll grow stronger every day.” Willis had opened the door and Sylvia looked outside at the expansive lawn and beckoning gardens. “I wish we could get her out to the Italian garden, it’s so beautiful this time of year, but it’s too far for us to manage. We need a strong young fellow.”

  Lucy turned to Willis. “Is that true? Are you looking for someone?”

  “Yes, we are,” said Willis. “It’s just part time, mostly helping Izzy in the garden. Do you know of anyone?”

  Lucy remembered Barney saying that his son Eddie was looking for part-time work. “I do know someone. He’s taking courses at the community college so he needs flexible hours.”

  “Have him call me,” urged Willis. “Maybe we can work something out.”

  Willis accompanied them to the car and helped Miss Tilley get settled in the front seat. She was quiet as they drove down the drive and Lucy suspected the visit might have tired her out, but when they reached the gates, she spoke up.

  “VV asked me to do something and I might need help,” she said.

  “I’d be happy to help,” said Lucy, turning onto Shore Road. “What exactly does she want you to do?”

  “There’s the rub,” said Miss Tilley, scowling. “It’s confidential. I don’t want to read about it in the Pennysaver.”

  Lucy’s face burned as if she had been slapped, and she tried to remember that Miss Tilley was old and outspoken, sometimes even tactless. “Well, I think you know me well enough to know that I would honor a confidence.”

  Miss Tilley didn’t reply but kept her face turned away, supposedly looking out the window.

  Oh, be like that, thought Lucy, braking and cautiously approaching the curve that had claimed Maxine’s life. Keep your secret. What difference could it make?

  When Lucy got back to the office that afternoon, nobody was there and the door was locked. She suspected that the barrage of inquiries from out-of-town reporters, who had returned for the trial, had gotten to be too much for Phyllis and Ted so they’d vacated the premises. After entering, she checked her voice mail and found a message from Rachel, among the many others from various news outlets. She deleted them all, wondering exactly how big an idiot these big-time reporters thought she was. News was a competitive business and they could do their own footwork, she wasn’t going to make it easy for them. She also worked through her e-mails, hitting the DELETE button there, too. Then she called Rachel back.

  “How did it go?” asked Rachel, her voice still husky.

  “Great. They included me. I had lobster Newburg with VV and Miss T.”

  “Oh, dear, not lobster Newburg! She’s on a low-cholesterol diet.”

  “It was delicious, definitely not low cholesterol. Elfrida’s turning into a good cook.”

  “That’s what Phyllis told me when I ran into her at the post office. It seems that Elfrida didn’t know about cookbooks; she always just followed the directions on the box. She told Phyllis that recipes are really just as easy, except that you have to find the ingredients and measure them.”

  “Incredible,” said Lucy.

  “Elfrida is in a world of her own,” said Rachel. “But she’s definitely good-hearted. Phyllis says she’s loving her job now that Willis is back in charge. She even got a raise.”

  “It’s like the old days,” said Lucy. “VV was out of bed, in a wheelchair, and she looked great. Her hair was done and she was wearing pretty clothes. There were fresh flowers in the foyer, the lunch table was beautiful. The two of them were so cute, they really enjoyed each other.”

  “That’s great,” said Rachel. “But it could all change if Vicky and Henry get off.”

  “Do you think that’s a real possibility?” asked Lucy.

  “Bob is worried. He says financial stuff is tricky. It’s complicated and it’s hard for jurors to follow. Also, the fact that there’s so much money involved and the jurors will be middle class means they might be turned off. They might decide that VV is a selfish old bitch and Vicky deserved to take as much as she could. But the worst thing, the thing he’s really worried about, is the fact that the whole case depends on Weatherby’s testimony. It’s his word against theirs and he’s not exactly a trustworthy witness; it’s obvious he’s only interested in saving his own skin.”

  Lucy’s spirits sank as she listened to Rachel, realizing that it was all true. Jurors who were living from paycheck to paycheck, or even subsisting on unemployment, could hardly be counted on to be sympathetic to the plight of a multimillionaire who lived in a huge mansion and had private nurses and servants. Those folks would hardly consider staff reductions and the lack of fresh flowers as hardships. They would think VV was pretty well off compared to themselves.

  “That’s depressing,” said Lucy. “The DA’s going to have to convince them that VV was a prisoner in her own home and that this is really a case of elder abuse.”

  “All the defense has to do is claim that VV was ga-ga and Vicky and Henry were only trying to protect her interests,” said Rachel. “The jurors are most likely going to be sandwich generation folks themselves who’ve had to deal with aging relatives and they might very well sympathize with Vicky and Henry.”

  Lucy thought of Izzy, who’d remarked that her aged mother was getting better care at Heritage House than VV was getting in her own mansion. “Aucoin has to show them that VV really was abused, that she would have gotten better care as a Medicaid patient,” said Lucy.

  “Good luck with that,” said Rachel, and Lucy realized she was right.

  “You know,” replied Lucy, “I’m convinced those three had something to do with Van’s and Maxine’s deaths. Two accidental deaths in the same family, in one week, it just seems fishy to me. I’m sure they wanted to get them out of the way. Van came home and upset the apple cart because he didn’t like the way VV was being treated, and then Maxine came on the scene, claiming that Van’s death wasn’t an accident.”

  “Believe me, Bob’s begged the DA to investigate, but Aucoin says there’s no evidence the deaths were suspicious. The cops found a half-empty vodka bottle in Maxine’s car . . .”

  This was news to Lucy. “Did the medical examiner check her blood alcohol level?” she asked.

  “The body was pretty far gone, it had been in the water for several days,” said Rachel. “As for Van, it turns out he’d suffered from arrhythmia for some time but kept it a secret.”

  “Yeah,” grumbled Lucy. “It’s not enough to know, or suspect, what happened. You’ve got to be able to prove it.”

  “Exactly,” said Rachel. “But if you can come up with some proof, Bob says it would really strengthen the prosecution’s case.”

  “I’ll work on it,” said Lucy, aware that there was a huge difference between wishing and doing. She wished she could prove that Van and Maxine were murdered but she didn’t have the slightest idea how to do it.

  “That would be great, Lucy,” said Rachel. “By the way, Bob says they need some help at Pine Point. Do you think Toby would be interested?”

  “Toby’s got his hands full at the moment, but I know t
hat Eddie Culpepper is looking for a part-time job. Willis also mentioned it to me when I was there, and told me to have Eddie call him.”

  “Thanks, I’ll have Bob call him.”

  “Take care. Get better soon,” said Lucy, hanging up. She’d no sooner ended the call than the phone started ringing. She checked caller ID, saw it was an out-of-state 212 area code, and ignored it. Following Phyllis’s and Ted’s example, she turned off her computer, switched off the lights and headed for home.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Lucy got to the office on Friday morning, Ted was working on a story about a fund-raiser for Will Smollett, the fisherman who’d been electrocuted and didn’t have health insurance. “So the Claws are going to play and there’s going to be a silent auction?” asked Ted, tilting his head to hold the phone against his shoulder and clicking away on his keyboard. “Are you still accepting donations of goods for the auction?”

  Lucy hung up her jacket and went over to the reception counter, where she rested her elbows on the scuffed Formica. “Heck of a thing,” she said to Phyllis. “You’d think a guy like Will would know better than to get himself electrocuted.”

  “Those generators can be tricky,” said Phyllis, who was wearing apple green today. Her reading glasses were green with rhinestones, her sweater was green with sequin trim, and her eye shadow and fingernails were green. Lucy was relieved to see that her lips were thickly coated in a somewhat more natural peony pink.

  “I don’t know much about them,” admitted Lucy, leafing through the stack of press releases that Phyllis handed her. “Fishing is so darned dangerous.” It occurred to her that restoration carpentry was also dangerous and she hadn’t yet convinced Bill that he needed a will; she filed the thought away when Phyllis picked up the conversation.

  “I don’t know why they bother. They can hardly make a living at it anymore, what with the catch limits and all the other regulations.”

  Lucy nodded. It was a subject she’d written about many times, every time the government changed the regulations, which was often.

  She had picked up the press releases and was starting to cross the room to her desk when the door opened to a jangle of the bell, and a middle-aged woman stepped into the office. With her neatly permed gray hair, tailored black pantsuit, and expensive-looking black loafers, it was obvious she wasn’t from Tinker’s Cove, where most women wore sweatpants or jeans. When she spoke, it was with a heavy New York accent.

  “I’m looking for some information and I wonder if you could help me,” she said.

  Lucy eyed her warily and pointed to the stack of Penny-savers on the reception counter. “If you’re from the media, you can buy our latest issue for seventy-five cents.”

  The woman reached into her stylish leather tote and produced a leopard print card case. “I’m not from the media,” she said, giving Lucy a card. “I’m a private investigator. Fran Martino.” She stuck out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Glancing at the card, Lucy recognized the 212 number she’d ignored the day before. “A real private eye?”

  “From New York?” asked Phyllis.

  Even Ted, who had finished his interview, was on his feet. “Ted Stillings, editor, publisher, chief reporter,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve been hired by Juliette Duff to look into the deaths of her parents, Van Duff and Maxine Carey. She’s not convinced that the local authorities conducted a thorough investigation.”

  “She’s right!” exclaimed Lucy. “I’m Lucy, Lucy Stone. Part-time reporter.”

  “And you’re Phyllis,” said Fran with a nod to the nameplate on the reception counter. “Nice to meet you.”

  “So you’re a big city detective come to our little town,” said Phyllis with a defensive edge to her voice.

  “I’m not here to make trouble,” said Fran with a reassuring smile. “My client, Juliette Duff, is a young woman who tragically lost both her parents in a short time and has a lot of questions that need answers, answers she hasn’t been able to get from the authorities.” Fran made eye contact with each of them. “She wants closure, that’s all.”

  “Well, I can certainly understand that,” said Ted. “We’ll be happy to help in any way we can. Lucy can fill you in.”

  “What about the listings, Ted?” asked Phyllis rather pointedly.

  “There’s plenty of time for the listings,” he said, waving away her concern. “Why don’t you make a fresh pot of coffee? Lucy and Fran can talk in the morgue.”

  “Since when do I make coffee?” asked Phyllis, getting rather pink under the collar.

  “Never mind,” said Ted, quick to avert a feminist power play. “I’ll do it. Cream? Sugar?” he asked Fran.

  “Just black is fine,” she said, following Lucy into the tiny, dusty morgue where the old papers were kept, beginning with the Courier and Advertisers published in the 1850s.

  Lucy pulled out a chair for Fran, then took one opposite her at the scarred oak table. She could hardly contain her excitement—here she was, face to face with a genuine private investigator. “Is it fabulous?” she asked. “Being a private eye?”

  Fran’s eyes brightened and she smiled. “Sometimes it’s interesting, but most of the time it’s a lot of donkey work.” She pulled a file out of her tote and opened it. “These are copies of the official reports,” she said, pointing at the papers with her finger; her nails were neatly filed but unpolished. “They’re not very informative.”

  Ted entered with two mugs of steaming coffee. “Budget cuts,” he said. “Everybody’s understaffed. And remember, these are very well-connected and powerful people. Nobody wants to stir up a hornets’ nest.”

  Lucy wrapped her hands around the mug. “Van had a heart condition. Maxine had been drinking and was upset. That was all the explanation they needed. Of course, that was before anybody knew what Vicky and Henry and Weatherby were up to.”

  “Juliette says that Vicky discouraged her father from visiting Pine Point, but he insisted. He couldn’t believe there wasn’t going to be an Easter egg hunt . . .”

  “Nobody could. There was a crowd at the gate, everybody expected it,” said Lucy.

  “Van was in the house, challenging Vicky’s authority. He was her brother, after all. He wouldn’t take any guff from her. Juliette says he loved his grandmother. He would have found her situation intolerable.” Fran took a sip of coffee. “Vicky had a strong motive—a hundred million dollar motive—to get rid of him.”

  “I suppose she could have known about his heart condition,” said Lucy.

  Ted was leaning against one of the shelves holding the oversize bound volumes containing the old papers. “But how did she do it? Doc Ryder didn’t find any indication . . .”

  “He didn’t look for any anomalies,” said Fran. “There were no tests for drugs, poison, nothing.”

  “Maxine was very suspicious about Van’s death. She came in here, making all sorts of accusations,” said Lucy. “That alone would have been motive enough for the Three Pigs, as she called them.”

  “Juliette says her mother was furious when she learned the Karl Klaus sculpture had been sold,” said Fran. “Jelly Beans was a gift from the sculptor, she didn’t think they had any business selling it. She says Weatherby must have gotten at least a million for it.”

  “Another motive,” said Lucy.

  “There’s no shortage of motives,” said Ted. “We can speculate all we want, but what we need is proof.”

  “Well, that’s what I’m here to find—proof. And I intend to get it.” She set down her mug. “But I’m going to need some help, someone with local knowledge.”

  Lucy looked at Ted. “It’ll be a great story,” she said.

  Ted let out a long sigh. “Okay,” he finally said. “But you’ve still got to do those listings for Phyllis.”

  “I will, I promise,” said Lucy eagerly. “I’ll work on them at home, nights, on my own time, if I have to.”

  “Good,” said Ted.
“So where are you starting?”

  Lucy didn’t hesitate for a moment. “Pine Point,” she said. “That’s where it all began.”

  Fran offered to drive and Lucy didn’t object; the price of gas was rising and groceries cost more, but her weekly allowance had been the same for years. She happily climbed in the passenger seat and gave Fran directions to Pine Point, but she soon discovered she didn’t like the direction Fran’s questions were taking.

  “Can you tell me a little bit about the staff at Pine Point? I’m familiar with Willis, of course, because of the court case.”

  “Willis has been with VV forever—over thirty years. He’s devoted to her. Vicky and Henry made a big mistake when they fired him,” said Lucy.

  “That’s what Juliette told me. But what about the others? Is there a cook?”

  “That would be Elfrida, Phyllis’s niece. She’s a sweet girl, has a bunch of kids. She’s not a professional cook, but she’s learning.”

  “That’s a bit odd, isn’t it? How long has she been there?”

  “A couple of months, maybe. She got hired just before all this started.”

  “Interesting,” said Fran. “Do you think she’s involved?”

  “I think she came cheap,” said Lucy, feeling she had to defend Elfrida from Fran’s suspicions. “There was a fancy French chef but they let him go.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “Pierre or Jean or Claude, I don’t know. Willis will have records, I’m sure.”

  “What about housekeeping staff?” asked Fran.

  “There are some local women who come in to clean. Willis will have information about them.”

  “Who takes care of VV?”

  “There are two nurses, Lupe and Sylvia. I’m not convinced they’re actually . . . well, they didn’t come from a local agency. They seem competent enough, but I suspect there’s some sort of immigration issue. Like maybe they have foreign credentials.”