by Leslie Meier
“So I ask you to look into your hearts and root out the lies and half-truths you may find there. Now, more than ever, after all that has happened, we must be honest with ourselves and with each other. God’s unconditional love is the greatest truth of all. I can’t promise you nothing bad will happen to you, I can’t promise that good will always triumph over evil, but I can tell you that no matter what, God loves you. And when we recognize that truth—that every being on this earth is valuable to God, is loved by God—we understand that we must also love one another, as God loves us. That is what we were put here to do. That is what God wants us to do, to simply love one another.”
As she gathered up her things, Lucy pondered the minister’s words. His sermon hadn’t answered all her questions, but it had given her a place to start, she decided, resolving to put his words into action in her own life.
“Thank you for that sermon,” she told the reverend when it was her turn to greet him at the door. “I was very troubled when I came here this morning, and you really helped.”
“That’s good to hear, Lucy,” he said, grasping her hand in a hearty shake. “And it’s good to see you when it’s not even a holiday. I hope you’ll come again.”
“I will,” said Lucy.
But Sara challenged her when they got back to the car. “Did you mean what you said?” she demanded. “Are you really going to start going to church?”
The question brought Lucy up short. “Probably not,” she admitted, checking over her shoulder before pulling out and making a quick U-turn.
“You listened to a sermon about telling the truth, and you lied!”
“I think he knew I was fibbing. It was a social lie,” said Lucy, driving along.
“Or maybe he believed you! Maybe he’ll be standing at the pulpit next week, in an empty church, looking for you because you promised to come.”
“I get your point,” snapped Lucy, rather irked. But as she followed the familiar route toward home, she faced the unpleasant truth that she hadn’t exactly been honest with Sara. She’d snooped in her room, checked her phone messages, and even searched her backpack. If Sara had kept a diary, Lucy admitted ruefully to herself, she would have read it.
“Okay,” said Lucy, pulling up to a stop sign. “I have a confession to make. I’ve been worried about you, and I’ve done some things I shouldn’t have, but I was afraid you were heading for trouble.”
Sara looked surprised. “What exactly did you do?”
When Lucy had finished recounting her transgressions, Sara had just one simple question. “Why?”
“Elizabeth said you weren’t sleeping, because of the phone. Zoe said you had laxatives….”
“Mom, I tell you everything,” protested Sara.
“Not true. What about the booze party?”
“I thought we were going to the movies. Honest. And about the rest, I told you about the photo and the rumors about me and Chad….”
“What about the laxatives?”
Sara rolled her eyes. “They were for a report I had to do in health class on binging and purging.”
Behind her, somebody honked.
“Oh,” said Lucy, accelerating. “That’s a load off my mind.”
“You could have just asked me.”
Lucy was chagrined. “From now on, I will,” she promised, turning onto Red Top Road.
At work on Monday Lucy decided to follow Sara’s advice. Instead of speculating and worrying about Ted’s intentions, she came right out and asked him.
“Ted, are you planning to sell the paper?”
Across the room, Phyllis’s severely plucked eyebrows shot up over her harlequin glasses.
“Why do you think that?” he asked.
“Well, I know a number of small weeklies have been bought up by big chains recently. And you’ve been gone a lot, and when you’re here, you’re very…”
“Picky,” said Phyllis.
“That’s the trouble with this business,” he grumbled. “It’s impossible to keep a secret.”
“So you are selling the Pennysaver?” asked Lucy.
“No.” He paused. “But I was.”
“What happened?” quizzed Lucy
“Not enough money?” speculated Phyllis.
“Plenty of money.”
“They weasled out of the deal,” suggested Phyllis.
“Nope. I did.”
“How come?” asked Lucy.
Ted looked around at the office, with its old-fashioned wood venetian blinds hanging in the plate-glass windows on either side of the door, the old Regulator clock on the wall, and the scarred vinyl tile floor, until his gaze finally settled on the rolltop desk he’d inherited from his grandfather, a legendary newsman.
“I guess what it came down to,” he said, speaking thoughtfully, “is that I didn’t want a corporation telling me what to do—what stories I could print, what ads I could or couldn’t take. I want people in Tinker’s Cove to know that the Pennysaver prints the truth, or as close to the truth as we can get.”
Lucy and Phyllis were silent for a long minute.
“I was kinda hoping for health insurance,” complained Phyllis.
“I think you made the right decision,” said Lucy.
“Thanks,” said Ted. “And since you’re such an enthusiastic newshound, I know you’re going to love your next assignment. It’s a real investigative report involving fiscal mismanagement, wasted taxpayer dollars. It’s a real stinking mess. Citizens are outraged and demanding action.”
Lucy braced herself; this didn’t sound good. “What exactly am I supposed to investigate?”
“The new sewage treatment plant. It’s giving off foul odors, and the neighbors are furious.”
“Yuck,” said Lucy, grimacing.
Everything was ready at the community center for the after-prom party. The Claws had set up their amps and mikes and were tuning up their guitars. The gym had been turned into a carnival, with games of all sorts. Video games were in one corner, trampolines in another; there was even a volleyball net. Refreshments had been set out: soft drinks, chips, and sandwiches were arranged on long tables, and pizzas were warming in the oven. There was even a make-your-own sundae bar, homemade cakes and cookies, and bowls of candy.
It was all ready, except for the chaperones. They were fading fast.
“This is past my bedtime,” sighed Lucy. “Way past.”
“I should never have let you talk me into this,” said Sue, peering into a tiny purse-sized mirror, licking her finger, and smoothing her eyebrows. “I’m going to look absolutely awful tomorrow.”
“Tell me again why I’m doing this,” demanded Rachel. “I don’t have a kid in high school.”
“Yeah,” said Pam, chiming in. “I finally got Tim out of the house. Why am I sitting up all night, waiting for teenagers?”
“Because somebody had to take over where Tina and Bar left off, and because you’re all wonderful, community-spirited people, solid citizens, and…” Lucy paused, letting out a big sigh. “I couldn’t get anybody else.”
“I understand Tina couldn’t make it,” said Sue. “After all, she can hardly rise from her grave, as much as she’d probably like to. But what’s Bar’s excuse? She’s out of jail. She’s a free woman, isn’t she? And this party was her idea.”
“She’s been keeping a very low profile ever since Ashley’s arrest,” said Lucy, turning to Rachel. “What’s going to happen to those girls? Is Bob defending Ashley?”
Rachel shook her head. “The Humes fired him when he suggested that Ashley accept a plea deal. They want to go to trial, and they think they can win since Heather is cooperating with the prosecution. They’ll say it was all her idea, and now she’s trying to put the blame on Ashley.”
“But what about Ashley’s notebook?” asked Lucy. “She had it all planned out, down to the last detail. She even had a list of things she planned to do once her parents were out of the way. She was going to move to New York, take a trip to Paris, and never
, ever play tennis again.”
Rachel threw her hands up in the air. “You know Bar. She always gets her way. She won’t give up. She’s got a million rationalizations for Ashley’s behavior.”
“And Bart’s going along with this, after what they did to him?” Sue was incredulous.
Rachel rolled her eyes. “He does what Bar tells him to do. She’s been keeping him on a very short leash since he admitted his relationship with Amanda Connell.”
“The one I feel sorry for is Lenny,” said Lucy. “He gave that girl everything. I mean, he was driving that old wreck of a Volvo, and she had a brand-new Prius. He adored her.”
“I don’t know how you deal with something like that,” said Pam, sadly. “Your own child turning against you.”
“Oh, he seems to be coping okay,” said Sue in a sardonic tone. “You’ll never guess who I saw him with.”
“Who?” asked Lucy.
“Elfrida!”
Lucy was still shaking her head over the vagaries of human behavior when the first kids started to arrive, still in their prom finery but toting duffel bags packed with comfortable clothes. One by one, they shuffled into the restrooms, where they transformed themselves from glamorous butterflies to average kids in T-shirts, jeans, and sneakers.
Lucy watched each new arrival, looking for Sara and one last glimpse of her beautiful dress. She was one of the last to arrive, accompanying Chad, who was resplendent in his tux and prom king crown. Sara, however, had no prom queen tiara. That was sitting on the platinum-blond head of Gerta Ingridsdottir, the Icelandic exchange student.
Lucy felt a pang of disappointment and hurried to console Sara. “You are so beautiful…I hope you’re not upset.”
“Upset? Why?”
“Well, because Chad’s king and—”
“It’s cool. Everybody loves Gerta, and she’s going home next week.”
“So you don’t mind?”
“Not a bit.”
“Did you have a good time?”
“It was terrific, except for Chad.”
Lucy had expected this turn of events, but not quite so soon. “What about Chad?”
Sara leaned close, whispering into her mother’s ear. “He’s b-o-r-i-n-g. All he talks about is sports, especially baseball.” Sara suddenly caught sight of Renee and waved to her, just as the Claws were beginning their trademark cover of “Sweet Caroline.”
Sara was bouncing from one foot to the other. “Look, Mom, I wanna dance, okay?”
“Sure,” said Lucy, watching as Sara joined a bunch of girls who were shimmying and shaking on the dance floor. The guys, she saw, were content to stand on the sidelines, watching and sipping sodas, before drifting off to the video games.
“Coffee?” Sue was holding two Styrofoam cups. “It’s going to be a long night.”
Lucy yawned, gratefully accepting the hot coffee. She took a sip, then chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking about Toby and Molly. They can’t wait for Patrick to sleep through the night so they can get a good night’s sleep. But you know what? It never happens, does it?”
“Nope,” agreed Sue, with a wry smile. “It never does. Even when they’re all grown up, you’re always waiting for that phone call in the night.”
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
850 Third Avenue
New York, NY 10022
Copyright © 2009 by Leslie Meier
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2008942337
ISBN: 0-7582-5128-9
