by Leslie Meier
By the time she reached the Pratts’ house Lucy was beginning to think that this might be an opportunity for some sort of reconciliation. She didn’t like being at odds with her neighbors, and most of the animosity had been a direct result of Kudo’s behavior. Now that he was gone, maybe things would be more relaxed and agreeable. She certainly hoped so.
She turned into the Pratts’ driveway, struck once again with the bareness of their yard. Not even the weeds dared to sprout in the driveway, no bushes or flowers softened the stark angles of the house. Since she knew the Pratts didn’t approve of trespassers she parked at the end of the drive and went straight for the back door, where she stood on the stoop and knocked.
When there was no answer, she called out, guessing that Pru might be out back, tending to her chickens, or her vegetable garden where the spinach and Swiss chard and onions all grew in straight lines with military precision. She was pretty sure Pru was home because her car, an aged but impeccably maintained Dodge Shadow, was parked in its usual spot.
Lucy knew the wisest course of action would simply be to leave. She could leave a note, she could call later. She could stop by on her way home from work. The one thing she shouldn’t do was start poking around in hopes of finding Pru perched high on a ladder cleaning out the gutters or out behind the chicken coop wringing a chicken’s neck.
On the other hand, however, she was here right now and she wanted to get this thing off her chest. She didn’t want it hanging over her, distracting her and causing her more worry. She wanted to get it over with. It certainly couldn’t hurt to peek around behind the house, where Pru kept a clothesline. She wouldn’t even have to step off the drive to do that. No reasonable person could call that trespassing. Not at all.
Lucy squared her shoulders and continued a few more paces down the drive, until she reached the corner of the house. There she had an unobstructed view of the turning area, where the driveway widened and where Wesley and Calvin parked their trucks. There were no trucks, today, but there was a crumpled pile of something blue, maybe laundry that had dropped off the line where several pairs of jeans were hanging heavily in the humid air.
Lucy went to investigate, and as she drew closer she realized it wasn’t a pair of blue jeans that had fallen at all. It was Pru, herself, lying in a heap.
Reaching the fallen woman, Lucy instinctively reached out and touched her shoulder, as if to wake her. But Pru wasn’t going to wake up. Pru was dead. Definitely dead.
Chapter Thirteen
Lucy’s first reaction was utter disbelief. This was too much. First the dog, now Pru. Two deaths in one day. How could this happen? Especially to Pru. She had seemed invincible, a force to be reckoned with like the tides or the temperature. You couldn’t change her, you had to deal with her. But now, it seemed, she had met a power greater than her own.
Recoiling, Lucy stood up and stepped back, studying the body. What could it have been, she wondered. What did she die of? From what she could see there was no sign of violence, no gunshot wound, no knife protruding from her body. Maybe it was a stroke or a heart attack. Something sudden and overwhelming like a burst aneurysm. Whatever it was, there was no clue in Pru’s expression. Her eyes were slightly open, her jaw hung slack, her face was blank.
She hadn’t been a beauty in life and death certainly didn’t become her. The poor woman, thought Lucy, hurrying back to the car. She probably woke up this morning full of plans, never guessing what fate held in store for her. Reaching inside the car she pulled her cell phone from her shoulder bag and dialed 911 with trembling fingers.
It seemed to take a long time for help to arrive, and Lucy found herself going back to the body. She knew she hadn’t imagined it but finding Pru dead like that seemed so incredible that she had to reassure herself that it had really happened. There was no doubt, however, when she rounded the corner of the house. You didn’t have to be an expert to know that Pru was dead: her extremities were cold and she was beginning to stiffen up.
Lucy stood awkwardly a few feet from the body and looked around. As she had noticed earlier, Pru was lying in the turning area at the end of the driveway, behind the house. Her car was parked about ten feet away and was the only vehicle. The clothesline was next to the driveway and beyond that was the barn, a ramshackle affair that looked ready to fall down but didn’t. It had been in pretty much the same condition for the twenty-plus years Lucy had lived next door, occasionally losing another cedar shingle or a pane of window glass. Beyond the barn Lucy could see the pointy tops of the dark green fir trees and she heard the distant caw of a crow. She felt very alone.
Where was everybody? The police, EMTs, somebody ought to be here by now. She listened, straining to hear the sound of sirens but all she heard was more crows, answering the first. She looked at the body once again, lying exactly as she’d found it. Of course it hadn’t moved, what was she thinking? Dead bodies didn’t move and they didn’t see. They didn’t talk, either, so there was no way Pru could object if she looked around.
Shrugging off a guilty feeling that she was doing something she shouldn’t, Lucy wandered across the yard, past the vegetable garden and the chicken house, where the sudden flapping of one of the hens startled her. She stared at the dozen or so hens in the pen and they stared back with reptilian yellow eyes, then resumed their pecking and scratching. Lucy continued on her way behind the barn, where she remembered seeing a jumbled pile of lobster traps, line and buoys that she suspected was evidence of Calvin and Wesley’s poaching but it was gone. There was no sign of any of it, just a bare bit of dusty earth with a few clumps of crab grass.
Now, finally, she heard sirens, weak at first but growing stronger. She hurried across the yard and reached the driveway just as a small caravan of official vehicles arrived. She pointed out the body to the police officers and EMTs and waited for permission to leave. She was very hungry, she suddenly realized, and no wonder. She hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast.
Feeling a bit dizzy, she decided to sit in her car. She was digging in her purse for a mint or something, anything with a bit of sugar, when she remembered she hadn’t called Ted. It was probably just as well, she decided. There was no way that Pru’s death could be included in tomorrow’s issue anyway and there was no sense in rushing to tell Ted the news because it would only make him miserable. Besides, it wasn’t as if she’d been murdered or anything, it wasn’t really a story. They’d probably just run an obituary.
“Mrs. Stone?”
Lucy looked up and met the serious eyes of a youthful police officer. She didn’t recognize him, but she knew the department had hired additional help for the summer. A glance at his name tag told her she was speaking to Officer Blaine.
“Yes?”
“I understand you found the body?”
“Yes, I did. Can I go now? I’m not feeling very well.”
“I’m sorry, but I have orders to keep you here. Lieutenant Horowitz wants to talk to you.”
“Lieutenant Horowitz?” Lucy knew he was the state police officer who investigated serious crimes that were beyond the scope of the local department. “Why does he want to talk to me?”
The officer shrugged. “I’m just following orders, ma’am.”
Lucy’s stomach growled and she thought longingly of her well-stocked kitchen, just a few hundred feet down the road. What she’d like more than anything, she decided, was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a tall glass of milk. She had those things, they were all there, waiting for her.
“You know I just live in the next house. Couldn’t the lieutenant talk to me there?”
“My orders are to keep you here,” he said, squaring his shoulders and resting his hand on his holster.
“No problem,” said Lucy, hoping she wouldn’t die of hunger before the lieutenant arrived.
Lucy was feeling queasy and light-headed when Horowitz arrived in his state police cruiser, accompanied by the medical examiner’s van and a couple of unmarked Suburbans from the state
crime lab. They were emblazoned with the motto of the Maine State Police: “Integrity. Compassion. Fairness. Excellence.” Quite a turnout, she thought, for an ordinary unattended death.
“Ah, Mrs. Stone,” he said, approaching her car, “another body.”
Lucy had investigated numerous crimes through the years and was well acquainted with Horowitz. He looked the same as ever, dressed in a lightweight gray suit that needed pressing. His pale hair was thinning, his eyes were gray and there was no sign of color in his face. Lucy doubted he got outdoors much. Something about his expression always reminded her of a rabbit. Not a scared bunny but a wise and wary old buck who’d learned to suspect everyone and everything.
“I’m afraid so.”
“The victim’s your neighbor, right?”
“Victim? What do you mean? This wasn’t a crime, was it?”
“There’s a definite possibility that Mrs. Pratt was murdered.”
Lucy was glad she was sitting because she felt as if a rug had been pulled out from under her. Suddenly, everything was spinning and she was retching. Horowitz yanked her car door open and helped her turn and lower her head between her knees. When she felt better, she sat up.
“I’m sorry. I guess it’s a delayed reaction.”
“Quite understandable.” He paused. “Although I am a little surprised that you, of all people, didn’t suspect foul play.”
“I thought she’d had a heart attack or something. How was she killed?”
“The medical examiner will determine the cause but we think she was run down by a car or truck.”
Lucy didn’t have time to absorb this information before he asked, “How long were you neighbors?”
The answer didn’t come to her quickly. This upsetting news had confused her. “About twenty years. As long as we’ve lived here.”
“Did you have any problems with her? Or her family?”
Lucy didn’t like the direction Horowitz was taking.
“Everybody had problems with her.”
“I didn’t ask about everybody, I asked about you.” There was a gleam in his eye. “You’re the nearest neighbors. It’s a legitimate question.”
“We had a few problems. Our dog went after her chickens a few times, there was even a dog hearing. But the dog was hit by a car this morning. That’s why I came over. I wanted to tell her there wouldn’t be any more problems.” Lucy knew she wasn’t telling the whole story.
“Did you see the driver?”
Lucy sighed. “It was her son. Wesley.”
Horowitz digested this information. “So you came over to have it out with her?”
“No! It was an accident. I saw the whole thing. But the kid drove off and I was worried there might be some damage to his truck. I came to let her know there were no hard feelings and to offer to pay for any repairs.” Lucy paused, watching the investigators gathered around Pru’s body. “I was hoping to get on a better footing with her.”
“So the dog was the problem?”
“Not exactly,” said Lucy. She knew there was no sense trying to hide Toby’s fight with Wesley because it was a matter of public record. “There was a fight down at the docks last week and my son took a swing at Wesley.” Lucy felt her face reddening. “But he wasn’t the only one. A lot of fishermen suspect Wesley and his father of poaching their lobster traps.”
“So your son has an unruly conduct case pending in district court?”
Lucy’s heart sank. “Actually, it’s assault and battery.”
Horowitz didn’t show any reaction to this information. He stood in the driveway, getting the lay of the land. “There’s a pond around here, isn’t there?”
Lucy pointed to the woods behind the Pratts’ barn. “Blueberry Pond.”
“That’s the one where the nudists like to gather?”
“Mrs. Pratt didn’t like them much,” offered Lucy. “She was trying to get an anti-nudity bylaw passed.”
“Sounds like she had a real knack for riling people up,” observed Horowitz. “I have a feeling we won’t have too far to look for our murderer.”
Lucy grimaced. If only she’d been convinced he’d been looking in the direction of the pond, instead of her property, when he said that.
“I don’t think we need to keep you any longer, Mrs. Stone.” Horowitz started to walk away, then turned to face Lucy. “After all, I know where you live.”
Chapter Fourteen
Free to leave, Lucy had to exert every ounce of self-control she possessed to proceed at a sedate pace. All her instincts told her to floor the accelerator and get out of there as fast as she could. But that, she knew, would only make Horowitz wonder why she was in such a hurry to get home.
Home, that’s where she wanted to be. It was a great relief when she turned into the driveway to the antique farmhouse, but her heart dropped when she saw the empty kennel. She firmly pushed thoughts of the dog from her mind and hurried up the porch steps and into the house. The slam of the screen door when she entered the kitchen seemed to assure her that everything bad was outside and she was safe inside. Her hands were shaking and she felt light-headed; she knew she had to get something into her stomach. She stood in front of the refrigerator and downed a glass of milk, then, feeling a little better she made herself the longedfor peanut butter and jelly sandwich and poured a second glass of milk. This was no time to count calories.
She wolfed down the sandwich and was considering making another when she remembered Ted. The fact that the police considered Pru’s death a homicide changed everything. She had to let him know about it right away. Even if it was too late for the Pennysaver, he could sell it to the Portland and Boston papers as a stringer. She dialed his cell phone number, but he didn’t answer and she had to leave a message. What was the point of the darn things, she wondered, if people left them lying about instead of keeping them with them?
She was rinsing out her glass when he called back.
“Pru Pratt was murdered,” she told him. “The cops are there right now. Do you want me to go over?”
“Murdered? Are you sure?”
“Horowitz told me himself. I thought she’d had a heart attack or something.”
“You thought?” Ted’s voice was suspicious. “What do you have to do with it?”
“I found her body.”
“Good grief.”
“Do you want me to write it up? What should I do?”
“Hold on, Lucy. Don’t do anything. I’ll take care of it.”
“Don’t you want me to help? I was there, after all.”
“That’s the problem, Lucy. I think you may be a little too close to this one.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just lay low, okay?”
“Okay.”
Puzzled, Lucy ended the call. This had never happened before. Ted had never told her not to pursue a story. She couldn’t figure it out. The story was right next door, for Pete’s sake, and she wanted to follow it. It wasn’t just a job, it was personal. She wanted to find out who had killed Pru. After all, maybe there was a homicidal maniac loose in the neighborhood. They had certainly been attracting a lot of attention lately, what with the arrival of the naturists. Could some wacko be on the loose? They lived right next door to Pru—were they in danger? If they were, what could they do to protect themselves, without even the dog to alert them.
Lucy was lost in thought when the screen door slammed, practically causing her to jump out of her skin. It was Bill, home from work a little early because of the heat.
“Ohmigod, you startled me,” she said, sitting down and fanning herself with her hand.
“Sorry.” He took a Coke out of the refrigerator. “What’s going on next door?”
“You won’t believe this. Pru Pratt is dead. The cops think she was run down in her own driveway. And that’s not all. Kudo’s dead, too. Wesley hit him with his truck this morning.”
Bill sat down hard and popped the top on his soda, taking a long, long swallow that almost dra
ined the can. “What did you say?”
“Kudo’s dead. Wesley hit him with his truck. I don’t think he did it on purpose. It was an accident. The dog ran in front of his truck. There was nothing he could do.”
“Before that.”
“Pru is also dead. I found her body when I went over after work to find out if there’d been any damage to the truck.”
Bill finished the Coke and got up for another.
“And the cops say she was run over, too?” Bill sat down and opened the second can, taking a sip this time. “Doesn’t that seem fishy to you?”
Lucy looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “You think Wesley did it? He ran over his mother and was fleeing the scene when he hit Kudo?” Lucy fell silent, struggling with the idea. “His own mother? That’s horrible.”
“It happens,” said Bill.
“I know,” admitted Lucy. “But I don’t like to think of it happening next door.”
Bill stared at the table. “Well, I guess we won’t be having any more trouble with the neighbors.”
Lucy was appalled. “Is that all you can say?”
“Well, I am going to miss the dog,” he continued.
“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” confessed Lucy. “I think I feel worse about the dog than I do about Pru.”
“He was a big part of our lives.”
“It’s funny about dogs. The way they’re just sort of there, all the time, but you don’t really notice. If I was cooking, he was in the kitchen. When we sat down at the table, he was under it. A quiet evening in front of the TV, he’d be stretched out on the rug.”
“He was a great companion.”
“Not much of a talker. . . .”
“But a great listener.”
“That’s for sure. I really liked having him in the house if you were away for the night.” Lucy shrugged. “I know it’s irrational but I’m always a little nervous when you’re gone. But I knew I could count on Kudo to let me know if anything was amiss. If he was relaxed, I could relax.”
