Star Spangled Murder

by Leslie Meier

  “We want you to write an editorial condemning this un-American action by the Board of Selectmen,” continued Scratch. “The fireworks are an expression of American freedom, the right to pursue happiness. It’s in the constitution.”

  “Actually, it’s in the Declaration of Independence,” said Ted.

  “Well, wherever it is, it’s a fundamental American right and we want to protect it,” added the chaplain, uncharacteristically bellicose. “We’re ready to fight!”

  “I haven’t really had time to form an opinion myself,” said Ted, hedging. “But I’ll certainly bear your thoughts in mind. In the meantime, if you want to write a letter to the editor, I’ll be happy to run it.”

  “How soon do you need it? We can get it to you by twelve hundred hours.”

  Ted sighed. “That’s fine, as long as it’s not too long.”

  “Just one more thing,” said Scratch. “In addition to our fundamental American freedoms, which must be preserved, we also need to bear in mind that the post, as well as other local organizations, counts on the fireworks for part of its operating budgets. We run the parking, you know, at two dollars a car. The Ladies Aid Society has a big bake sale, and the Hat and Mitten Committee sells popcorn and glow sticks.”

  “He’s right,” said Phyllis. “I promised to make four-dozen brownies. The kind with cream cheese swirls.”

  “Most delicious,” said the chaplain. “And the Ladies Aid Society does a great deal to help our less fortunate residents.”

  “Thanks for reminding me,” said Ted. “That’s a good point.”

  “I just can’t understand people who think a plant’s more important than people,” said Scratch. He winked at Lucy, who was clacking away on her keyboard. “Gosh, she’s fast, and in this heat, too.” He chuckled. “Better make sure you keep your shirt on! You don’t want to get Pru all upset.”

  Then Bill barked an order and the three made a neat about-face, encountering Jonathan Franke and Ellie Sykes. No words were exchanged, but Franke politely held the door open for the departing veterans.

  “Let me guess,” said Ted. “You’re here about the fireworks.”

  Jonathan and Ellie looked at each other.

  “The opposition’s beat us to it?” asked Jonathan.

  “Representatives from the VFW and the Chamber have already stopped by,” said Ted. “They’re pretty upset that there won’t be any Fourth of July fireworks.”

  “We anticipated that reaction,” said Jonathan. “That’s why we’re launching a public relations campaign, and we’d like you to help.”

  “It’s called ‘I Like Lichen,’” said Ellie, producing a fact sheet. “This explains why lichen is important, it’s vital role in the ecosystem, and the special properties of our own purple-spotted lichen. Did you know that researchers think it may offer a cure for cancer and other diseases?”

  “They say that about every endangered plant,” sniffed Phyllis. “But even if they do find some fabulous cure, who do you think is going to be able to afford it with drug prices the way the are? If you ask me, this is getting out of hand. Lichen, shmiken. Who cares?”

  “That’s exactly the problem,” said Jonathan, pulling himself up to his full height and adopting an earnest tone. “Lichen’s not glamorous, like the bald eagle or the moose, but it’s every bit as important to the ecosystem.” He gestured grandly with his arms. “It’s a whole wonderful super-organism, and every species has a vital role to play. Lichen is a valuable winter food source for moose, you know. If the lichen goes, it’s possible the moose won’t have enough to eat and they’ll disappear, too. Did you ever think of that?”

  “I’m not all that keen on moose, if you want to know the truth,” grumbled Phyllis. “My cousin Elfrida hit one last year on the highway and her car was a complete loss. Moose, shmoose.”

  Jonathan Franke’s face was reddening, but Ellie put a cautionary hand on his arm.

  “All we’re asking, Ted, is that you consider this informational material. We know that you have a reputation for including all sides of an issue, so people can make up their own minds.”

  “Maybe we can run the information sheet along with the letters from the VFW and the Chamber,” suggested Lucy.

  “That’s a great idea,” said Ellie.

  “Will you be writing an editorial?” asked Jonathan.

  “Not this week,” said Ted, with a sigh. He glanced at the clock. “I hate to push you out the door, but we’ve got a paper to put together.”

  “Thanks for your time,” said Jonathan, extending his hand to Ted for a parting handshake.

  “I just want a word with Lucy,” said Ellie, seating herself on the extra chair next to Lucy’s desk. “I’ll catch up with you back at the office.”

  “I’m really in a hurry here,” said Lucy.

  “This will only take a minute. I know you have that dog hearing coming up and I’m sure you’re worried about it.”

  “Do we have to talk about this now?” groaned Lucy.

  Ellie smiled at her. “I just wanted you to know that I think you’ve done a good job with Kudo.”

  This wasn’t what Lucy had expected her to say.

  “Really?”

  “I was so grateful when you took him after Curt died,” she continued. “He was a handful, more than I could manage, that’s for sure. He was constantly after my chickens. Curt never trained him, he had this idea that he was some sort of American wild dog and that training him would kill his spirit or something.”

  “He was doing pretty well,” said Lucy, “until he discovered Mrs. Pratt’s chickens. I try to keep him confined, I really do, but he’s an escape artist.”

  “I know. I had the same problem with him going after my chickens. No matter what I did, I couldn’t stop him. Fences, loud noises, nothing worked. Believe me, I tried.” Ellie stood up. “I just wanted you to know that no matter how the hearing goes, the board members all respect you. They know you’re a good person.”

  Lucy was appalled to discover she felt weepy. “Thanks.”

  “Well, I’m off,” said Ellie, a naughty sparkle in her eye. “It’s a pretty hot day, you know. I think I might stop by the pond for a quick dip . . . au naturel. Just don’t tell Pru!”

  “I wish I could join you,” said Lucy, glancing over her shoulder at Ted. “But you know how he is.” She pointed at the sign that hung above her desk: “It’s not a guideline—it’s a deadline.”

  Ted cleared his throat. “I need that story, Lucy. NOW.”

  Ellie scooted out the door, and Lucy bent over her keyboard. The little bell on the door gave a jangle or two, and then the only sound in the office was the steady clicking of three sets of fingers striking computer keyboards.

  Chapter Three

  By the time Lucy typed the final period and sent her story to Ted for editing, the digital thermometer outside the bank read an unseasonable ninety-four degrees. It wasn’t much cooler inside the Pennysaver office, where the aged air conditioner wheezed and dripped.

  “If you don’t need me for anything else, I’m going to beat it,” said Lucy, fanning herself with a sheaf of paper. “I’m hoping I can catch a ride home with Toby. They ought to be coming in around now.”

  “See you tomorrow, Lucy,” said Ted, nodding his assent.

  “Keep cool,” advised Phyllis, lifting her brightly-printed Hawaiian shirt away from her skin so the little fan she kept on her desk could cool her. “This is awfully warm for this time of year. Must be that global warming.”

  Her words echoed in Lucy’s mind when she stepped outside and was hit by a blast of hot air. The bright sunlight bounced off the concrete sidewalk, radiating heat, and shimmers rose from the black asphalt road, which felt sticky on her feet when she crossed the street. It wasn’t much cooler at the harbor, either, but there was a faint breeze off the water. Chuck’s boat hadn’t come in yet, so Lucy found a shady spot and sat down to wait.

  She didn’t have to wait long. Pretty soon she heard the steady ch
ug of an engine and spotted the distinctive red hull of the Carrie Ann, named after Chuck’s wife, rounding Quisset Point. Lucy got up and slowly walked down to the floating dock to greet them.

  “Hot enough for you?” she asked, watching as Toby tied the boat fast. Sweat was dripping down his face.

  “Boy, it’s a lot hotter here than it was out on the water.”

  “Phyllis thinks it’s global warming.”

  “Maybe that explains it,” said Chuck, hoisting a fish box onto the pier. He was already tanned from working outdoors and his hair was bleached by the sun. “I never saw such a small catch. This is pitiful.”

  “Maybe the bugs are going deeper, to cooler water?” speculated Toby, using lobsterman’s slang. “Or maybe it’s that virus.”

  “Or maybe somebody’s getting to the traps ahead of us,” said Chuck.

  “Poaching?” asked Lucy, unhappy at the idea. There hadn’t been any poaching for some time, but she remembered the violence that rocked the waterfront years earlier, when Toby was just a baby. Accusations and suspicions had flown, and the body of a suspected poacher had been found floating face down, tangled in gear that didn’t belong to him. He hadn’t drowned; he’d been killed by a shotgun blast. “I hope not.”

  “Me, too,” said Chuck, loading only two partlyfilled boxes onto a barrow. “But I never saw so many traps come up absolutely empty. Usually there’s females with eggs and undersized juveniles that you’ve got to throw back. Not this time.”

  “They’re even taking the illegal lobsters?” Lucy was shocked.

  “If they’re stealing in the first place, Mom, they’re not going to worry about breaking the rules,” said Toby, who was hosing off the deck.

  “I guess not,” admitted Lucy, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “I need to ride home with you, and we have to get a battery for Elizabeth’s car. Give me the keys and I’ll open up your car, see if I can cool it off.”

  Toby tossed her the keys. “I’m almost through here.” He laughed. “Promise you won’t complain about the way I smell?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Lucy, reeling as she caught a heady whiff of lobster bait and honest sweat.

  Bill was already home when they arrived, having quit early because of the heat. He was sitting on the back porch, freshly showered, drinking a beer.

  “Too hot to work,” he said, lifting the brown bottle that was beaded with moisture.

  “You can say that again,” agreed Lucy, collapsing onto the wicker settee beside him. Toby’s rattle-trap Jeep wasn’t air conditioned, and she’d spent a hot half-hour at the service station buying the battery. And then there was the matter of the way Toby smelled.

  “I hope you’re headed directly for the shower,” said Lucy.

  “You can’t say I didn’t warn you,” said Toby. “It’s too hot for a shower. I’m going for a swim at the pond.”

  “Good idea,” said Bill. “Why don’t we all go? In fact, why don’t we have supper down there? It would save heating up the kitchen.”

  “I don’t know,” said Lucy, “maybe we should go to the beach instead. Mrs. Pratt was at the selectmen’s meeting complaining about people misbehaving at the pond.”

  “Misbehaving?” Bill’s eyebrows went up. “How?”

  “Rowdiness, I guess.” Lucy paused. “Skinny-dipping.”

  “Aw, Mom, everybody skinny-dips down there once in a while,” protested Toby. “What’s the big deal?”

  “Not a big deal to me,” said Lucy, looking up as Elizabeth whipped into the driveway in the Subaru wagon, with Zoe and Elizabeth in the back seat. “Since you’re a filthy mess anyway, why don’t you help your sister install that new battery?”

  Once again Bill’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t say anything.

  “I’m going to change into my swimsuit,” said Lucy. “Maybe you could start packing the cooler?”

  “Can’t I watch you change?” asked Bill, following her inside.

  Lucy rolled her eyes. The man was impossible, she thought, smiling to herself.

  An hour later the whole family had piled into Bill’s truck and was bouncing down the old logging trail that led to the pond. The kids were all piled in the back, along with beach chairs, towels, a cooler and a portable grill. Lucy and Bill were in front, with the windows open. The radio was blaring out an oldies station and they were all singing along to “She Wore an Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini.” Zoe was singing loudest of all, delighted at this change in the usual routine.

  When they came to the makeshift parking area in a clearing near the pond, they found it was packed with cars. It was full to overflowing and there wasn’t room for the truck, so Bill had to drive into the underbrush in order to leave the road clear.

  “Good thing it’s old and has a few dings,” said Lucy. “I guess a lot of people had the same idea we did.”

  “This heat’s bringing ’em all out,” grumbled Bill, busying himself handing out all the picnic paraphernalia. Toby and Elizabeth had run ahead with the towels and chairs. “I’ll take the grill, Lucy, if you and Sara can tote the cooler. Zoe, is this bag of charcoal too heavy for you?”

  Zoe was offended. “I’m a big girl, Daddy.”

  “Do you think it’s a church picnic or something?” wondered Lucy. “I mean, only local people know about the pond, and I can’t believe the whole town is here. I’ve never seen it this crowded before.”

  “High school reunion, maybe? Something like that?” mused Bill.

  “Could be. It’s the right time of year.”

  Indeed, when they approached the pond they saw that the large granite boulders surrounding it were covered with people. Quite a few swimmers were in the water, too. Music from portable radios filled the air, and the inevitable cries of “Marco Polo” could be heard.

  “Wow,” said Bill. “The population boom is out of control.”

  “It’s people like us,” said Lucy. “We broke the zero population growth pledge. We have two extra children.”

  “Okay. We’ll keep Sara and Zoe and eliminate the other two.”

  “Bill!” protested Lucy. “We can’t do that! And we don’t have to. Look, nobody’s on our rock.”

  For as long as any of the Stones could remember, the family had always spread out their blanket and chairs on the same enormous rock.

  The family formed a little procession, almost like a caravan, with Elizabeth and Toby leading the way. Toby was balancing a stack of folding aluminum beach chairs and Elizabeth had a canvas bag full of towels and sun lotion. Bill was next, toting the portable grill, followed by Zoe who was carrying the charcoal and a string bag containing some balls and frisbees. Lucy and Sara brought up the end, carrying the big red-and-white plastic cooler between them. It was heavy and Lucy was feeling a bit out of breath.

  “Do you want to rest a minute, Mom?” asked Sara.

  “Nnnnnh,” said Lucy, distracted by Toby and Elizabeth’s odd behavior.

  They’d reached the rock and started putting down their stuff when they suddenly began laughing hysterically and bolted back down the trail to the rest of the family.

  “Those people are tanning all over!” exclaimed Elizabeth.

  “They’re butt naked,” added Toby.

  “All of them?” asked Lucy, shading her eyes with her hand and taking a closer look.

  Her chin dropped. It was true. Every single one of the people sunbathing at the pond was stark naked. Not a single person was wearing a stitch: not the babies, not the grandmothers, not the mommies and the daddies. Not even the very pink, corpulent man who was standing up and stretching.

  Lucy dropped her side of the cooler and clapped her hands over Zoe’s eyes.

  “Back to the truck!” she barked.

  “C’mon, Lucy, be a sport,” teased Bill. “I’m game if you are.”

  “Well I’m not,” said Lucy, dragging Zoe down the path.

  “Mom!” protested Elizabeth. “I want to stay! Just think—no tan lines!”


  “Me, too,” agreed Toby. “There were some cute girls back there.”

  “And some really icky fat people,” added Sara.

  “You shouldn’t have looked,” said Lucy, primly. “We’re not staying. We’re going to the town beach, where they have regulations against this sort of thing. Chop-chop! In the truck, everybody.”

  Giggling, the kids obeyed and soon they were ready to leave.

  “I can’t believe it,” mused Lucy, as Bill backed out and made a three-point turn. “This is Maine, for Pete’s sake. Not the French Riviera.”

  “Don’t you think maybe you’re overreacting?” asked Bill.

  “I don’t think so,” protested Lucy, but deep down she wondered if he didn’t have a point. Even worse, she had to admit to herself that Pru Pratt was right. These were not casual skinny-dippers. The pond had been taken over by nudists.

  Chapter Four

  “Naked?”

  The voice on the other end of the telephone line was incredulous. Sue Finch, Lucy’s best friend, had never heard of anything so ridiculous.

  “You mean without any clothes at all?”

  “Not a stitch,” said Lucy.

  “But the swimsuits are so cute this year,” said Sue, who had a lifetime subscription to Vogue magazine. “Little boy shorts, triangle top bikinis, though those aren’t for me. I splurged on a wet-look halter number in black.”

  “You go swimming?” This was news to Lucy.

  “It’s not likely I’d actually get in the water,” admitted Sue. “But I like to sunbathe on my deck. With plenty of sunscreen, of course.”

  “You don’t get a tan that way,” said Lucy.

  “If you keep at it long enough, you do,” said Sue. “You have to work at it.”

  “I thought the idea was to relax,” said Lucy, who occasionally rolled her pants up to her knees in hope of tanning her legs when she was sprawled on a chaise lounge in the backyard. She usually fell asleep. And her legs usually kept that fish-belly look well into August, her tan developing just around the time the temperature started to drop and she had to start wearing long pants again.