Star Spangled Murder

by Leslie Meier

  For a long minute they all stood silently, staring at the grave. Finally, Bill spoke.

  “Good-bye, old pal,” he said.

  “Good-bye, old pal,” they chorused in response.

  “This service is now concluded,” said Bill, pulling the shovel out of the mound of dirt and starting to fill in the grave.

  Zoe was beginning to sniffle, so Lucy took her hand and led her away, towards the house.

  “It’s time for your bath,” she said, “would you like to use some of my bubble bath?”

  “Okay.” Zoe wiped away her tears with the back of her hand.

  “You know, it’s really nice to know Kudo meant so much to all of us,” said Lucy, as they walked through the firefly-lit twilight and mounted the porch steps. The screen door creaked as she pulled it open and they stepped inside. It was a comforting sound.

  But later, as she filled the tub and watched the bubbles grow, Lucy felt prickings of worry. Bill’s words about how Kudo protected the family played in her mind, as did Toby’s story about learning to stand up for himself. Valuable lessons and laudable values, true enough, but they could be taken too far. She understood Toby’s need for independence, but she wished he didn’t have to be quite so private. She’d sure feel a lot better if she knew what he was up to these days.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lucy was frying up some bacon and eggs for breakfast when the phone rang. It was Sue.

  “Are you busy? Can you talk?”

  “Talk away. I’m just cooking up some bacon and eggs.”

  “Are you trying to kill your family? Haven’t you heard of cholesterol?”

  “Oh, shut up. I haven’t cooked a real breakfast for them in years. But now that I’m not working I have time to make things that take a little time and fussing. I think Sara was still in diapers the last time I made pancakes.”

  “Pancakes!”

  “Tomorrow. If you’re gonna do it, you might as well go all the way.”

  “That’s the advice you give Elizabeth?”

  “Not quite, but she doesn’t listen to me anyway.”

  Sue chuckled. “That’s so true. When Sidra was in college she’d smile and nod and agree with me. . . .”

  “And then she’d go and do the exact opposite.”

  “Right!”

  “Well, everything worked out for her,” said Lucy. Sidra had a promising career in television in New York City and was happily married to her high school sweetheart, Geoff Dunford, who was a science teacher at the Bronx High School of Science.

  “It will work out for Elizabeth, too,” said Sue. “Listen, I had that talk with the Wilsons.”

  Lucy poked at the bacon with a fork, turning over a few pieces. “That’s fast work. Did you learn anything?”

  “Yes. It seems that, unfortunately, I am doomed to hell because I have not been born again.”

  “But you’re such a nice person and you give lovely parties. I’m sure they’d love to have you in heaven.”

  “That’s what I thought, too, but I was wrong. The important thing is being born again. You can be absolutely rotten, stinking with sin, but if you find Jesus and repent, you get to go to heaven.”

  “You mean heaven is full of crooks and thieves and murderers?”

  “Reformed ones.”

  “They’re the worst kind,” said Lucy. “I’m not sure I want to go now. Especially if you’re not going.”

  “Don’t worry. Wherever we end up, we’ll stick together.”

  “Good.” Lucy lifted a piece of bacon with her fork and set it on a paper towel to drain. “There’ll be all the fried chicken you want and you never gain any weight.”

  “Whipped cream?”

  “Of course. The clouds are made of it.” Lucy smiled. “In Bill’s heaven, the clouds will be made of beer foam.”

  “You’re not going to be together?”

  “Not all the time. How about you and Sid?”

  “Well, you know how he hates shopping and there would have to be shopping, right?”

  “Absolutely. Of course, maybe that would be your particular hell. Endless shopping, at full price, with your husband tagging along and complaining.”

  “Enough theology. I called to tell you what the Wilsons said about the Pratts.” Sue paused for breath. “Apparently, many of the Revelation Congregation members considered Pru their cross to bear, if you know what I mean.”

  “Even those pious folk didn’t like her?’

  “Not much. She made a habit of pointing out other people’s deficiencies, for example, she told Mrs. Wilson that her cakes were flat because she didn’t have enough faith.”

  “Her baking powder’s probably old.”

  “That’s what I told her and it came as a great relief. Apparently Pru’s accusation touched a nerve, because she was pretty upset about it. She also accused Mr. Wilson of lusting after other women because she saw him buying a Playboy at the Quik-Stop, but he insists it was only a gag gift for a friend at work.”

  “Likely story,” scoffed Lucy.

  “Well, whoever he was buying it for really wasn’t any of Pru’s business. She sounds like a real bully. Telling everyone how they ought to behave and pointing out their shortcomings. Especially Calvin’s. The Wilsons said everybody felt sorry for him. She was constantly nagging him and belittling him in front of other people. It was painful to watch, they said. Everybody was waiting for the day when Calvin would stick up for himself.” Sue paused. “Do you think he finally did? Maybe he snapped and ran her down. You can just picture it: She’s standing in the driveway, giving him what for about buying a Playboy or leaving the toilet seat up or not cleaning out the gutters and he impulsively slams his foot down on the gas. It’s over before he has time for a second thought.”

  “You think Calvin did it?” Lucy remembered her encounter with him in the woods near Blueberry Pond. Rather than speak to her, he had run away, vanished into the woods. “He’s afraid of his own shadow.”

  “Those are the ones, Lucy. The quiet ones. Isn’t that what the neighbors of the murderer always say. ‘He was so quiet. He always kept to himself.’ ”

  “I still think Wesley’s a better candidate. He’s hot tempered, and then there’s the incident with Kudo. He was definitely running away from something that morning.” She took the last pieces of bacon out of the pan and flipped the eggs. “Whichever one it was, it’s going to be awfully hard to prove. If it were a stranger, there might be a footprint or some kind of physical evidence. But Wesley and Calvin live there.”

  “What about damage to the truck?”

  “He hit the dog right after. He could say the dog caused the damage. If only I could talk to Calvin I bet he would fold pretty quickly,” said Lucy. “But I’d have to catch him when Wesley isn’t home, when no reporters are around. We’ll probably have a solar eclipse before that happens.”

  “I have an idea,” said Sue. “I could go to Pru’s funeral. The Wilsons actually asked me if I was going.”

  “That’s a great idea. Will you do it?”

  “For you, sure. But in the meantime, since you’re home anyway and enjoy cooking so much, do you think you could make twenty pounds of potato salad?’

  Lucy’s heart was bursting with gratitude. “Absolutely.”

  “And one other little thing?”

  Lucy’s grateful heart was shrinking; she was beginning to think the price of this particular favor was getting rather high. But what was she going to do? She couldn’t go to the funeral herself without causing a scandal. “Whatever you say.”

  “Bake six dozen red, white and blue cupcakes. You don’t have to make them from scratch—you can use a mix if you want.”

  “That’s big of you,” said Lucy.

  “I know. I can’t believe I’m not going to heaven.”

  “I can,” said Lucy.

  Lucy didn’t really mind baking the cupcakes; she didn’t really know what to do with herself now that she didn’t have to go to work at the Pennysaver. S
he had a couple of boxes of cake mix in the pantry and it only took a few minutes to mix up a batch. While they were baking, she stirred up some brownies using her favorite recipe. She hadn’t made it in a long time, and it reminded her of the days when the kids were small and she turned out a steady stream of baked goods for their lunch boxes and after-school snacks. Whatever happened to that recipe for peanut-butter bars, she wondered. That had been a favorite, with a thin coating of chocolate frosting.

  She smiled when she took the cupcakes out of the oven, admiring the festive paper cups decorated with red and blue stars. She had found them in the pantry, tucked away with cupcake papers for every conceivable holiday: hearts for Valentine’s Day, pastels for Easter, red and green bells for Christmas, little green shamrocks for Saint Patrick’s Day. No holiday had gone unremarked when the kids were small.

  Once she’d started working, however, that had changed. Dinner had to be something she could throw together quickly, and instead of baking treats she usually grabbed something from the store. These days they all seemed to be watching their weight anyway. More often than not they had fruit or frozen yogurt for dessert.

  She sniffed the rich chocolate scent of the brownies baking in the oven and sighed. All that butter and sugar, not to mention the walnuts, they had to have tons of calories. But it would be worth it, just this once. A chocolate extravagance.

  Maybe a bit too extravagant, she decided, taking the pan out of the oven and setting it on a rack to cool. It was a big recipe, making at least four dozen brownies. Elizabeth and Sara wouldn’t touch them, Toby was hardly ever home, and Zoe shouldn’t eat too many. Neither should she and Bill, considering their ongoing battle with middle-age spread.

  She touched the brownies, waiting for the magic moment when they would be just the right temperature to cut. Too soon and she’d end up with a mess. Wait too long, and they’d be tough. She tapped the side of the pan with her knife.

  Maybe she could take a few brownies into the Pennysaver. Phyllis loved her brownies and Ted would wolf down any food that came his way. It would be a good way to show there were no hard feelings, and maybe she’d even pick up some information about the murder investigation. She sank the knife into the brownies and drew it towards her in a straight line. Perfect.

  Lucy was a bit surprised to see the little encampment opposite the driveway had disappeared when she left the house that afternoon. Maybe they were all at the funeral, or maybe they were busy chasing down nudists. Maybe the family feud was old news. She certainly hoped so. It felt great to go about her business unobserved.

  The Pennysaver office hadn’t changed a bit, she discovered, when she arrived carrying her plate of brownies, carefully covered with plastic wrap. The little bell on the door still jangled, the motes of dust danced in the sunlight that streamed through the venetian blinds, and Phyllis was still sitting behind the reception desk.

  “Howdy, stranger,” said Phyllis, beaming at her through her half-glasses. The rhinestones were gone, replaced by a pair with a garish abstract design inspired by Jackson Pollack.

  “I like your glasses,” said Lucy. “Wild.”

  “That’s what I thought,” said Phyllis, peering at the plate. “What have you got there?”

  “Brownies. They’re for you and Ted. Is he around?”

  “Nope. He’s covering the funeral.” Phyllis picked the largest brownie off the plate and took a bite, closing her eyes and moaning with pleasure. “These are fantastic. You really shouldn’t have.”

  “I’ve got a lot of time on my hands these days.”

  “Ted doesn’t, that’s for sure,” said Phyllis, her shoulders shaking with laughter. “I think he really misses you.”

  “Good,” said Lucy. “You can tell him I’m enjoying this little vacation.”

  “I will.” Phyllis eyed the plate. “I guess I better save some for him,” she said, choosing a second brownie.

  “It would be nice.” Lucy glanced at her desk, which was covered with papers. “Whatcha doing?”

  “Letters to the Editor.” Phyllis sighed. “Between the nudists and the Fourth of July and the lichen, we’re getting an awful lot of mail these days. Everybody’s got something to say.”

  “Ted must be in seventh heaven,” said Lucy, picking up a letter. “This one says the environmentalists are in league with the Communists.”

  “We’ve gotten a couple of those.”

  “This lady says she’s glad there won’t be any fireworks because they always used to upset her dog.”

  “Listen to this,” said Phyllis, waving a sheet of paper with an impressive letterhead. “It’s from the VFW. They say they’ve voted to oppose the anti-nudity bylaw because, and I quote, they ‘fought for freedom, not for some petty-minded prudes to start telling people what they could do.’ ”

  “Wow,” said Lucy, taking the letter and examining it. “It gets better: ‘A ridiculous attempt to legislate morality by a sexually repressed and unfulfilled woman who is attempting to impose her extreme religious beliefs on an entire town.’ ”

  Phyllis raised an eyebrow. “Pretty strong language, especially about a dead woman.”

  Lucy checked the date. “It’s dated the day she died.”

  “I’m behind in the mail,” admitted Phyllis. “Who wrote it? The whole VFW?”

  “It says they all voted on it, but the letter’s written by Scratch Hallett.”

  “Sounds to me like he got a little personally involved.”

  The bell on the door jangled and Ted came in, accompanied by Mike Gold.

  “Hi, Lucy!” he exclaimed, cheerfully. “Don’t tell me you’ve reconsidered and you’re here to help with the mail?”

  “Not on your life, Ted,” said Lucy, smiling sweetly. “But I did bring you some brownies, to help you keep your strength up.”

  “Your brownies? Your fabulous brownies?” Ted took one from the plate and passed it to Mike Gold. “You’ve got to try one. These are fabulous.”

  Lucy would have liked to ask Ted about the investigation but she knew she wouldn’t get much out of him while Mike was around. Or even if he left, for that matter. She knew Ted well enough to know that he often used high spirits and jollity to block questions he didn’t want to answer.

  Mike had taken a brownie and was smiling as he bit into it. “Mmm. Real butter. You can always tell.”

  “Ah, so you’re a connoisseur,” said Lucy, wondering if he would be a better bet.

  “More of a consumer, I’m afraid,” said Gold, patting his ample belly. He turned to Ted. “Do you have any more questions for me? I don’t mean to rush you, but I’ve got another appointment. You said I could have some back issues. . . .”

  “Oh, right.” Ted disappeared into the morgue for a minute, returning with a handful of papers. “Here you go. Thanks for the interview.”

  “No problem. It was a pleasure,” said Mike, opening the door.

  “I’m going, too,” said Lucy. “Mind if I walk with you?”

  Ted’s eyebrows shot up, but she was through the door before he could say anything.

  “I’m Lucy Stone, by the way,” she said, introducing herself.

  “I know. I’ve seen you on TV.” Gold’s eyes twinkled mischievously.

  Lucy rolled her eyes. “You can’t believe everything you see on TV.”

  “You’re telling me?”

  They laughed together, walking down the street and stopping in front of the storefront the ANS was using as a temporary headquarters.

  “I guess you’re used to all the media attention,” said Lucy.

  “It’s a constant battle for the organization,” said Gold. “All we want is responsible, fair reporting but as soon as they realize who we are, they start to sensationalize our position. Basically, all we want is to be left alone to take our clothes off.”

  Lucy smiled sympathetically. “All I want is to find out who killed Pru Pratt so my family and I can get on with our lives.” She sighed. “Do you mind if I ask you a few quick ques
tions?”

  Gold checked his watch. “Gotta be quick. I don’t want to keep ‘Inside Edition’ waiting.”

  “Trust me, they’ll wait for you,” said Lucy. “I’m just curious about my neighbor, Mel Dunwoodie. Has he been involved with ANS for long?”

  “Dunwoodie? The guy with the trailer park?”

  Lucy nodded.

  “I know he’s a dues-paying member, and he’s been real helpful to the organization. He’s a member of the task force we organized to deal with the anti-nudity bylaw issue, but I don’t really know anything about him personally.” He paused. “He seems nice enough. He’s a real hard worker.”

  “What about his relations with . . .”

  “Sorry,” said Gold, cutting her off. “I’ve got to go.”

  Lucy watched as one of the big white trucks with a satellite dish on top rolled up to the curb, then put on her sunglasses and quickly turned and walked down the street. She didn’t want to risk any more media attention. Back in the car she considered her next step and decided she’d like to have a little chat with Scratch Hallett.

  Driving through town to Hallett Plumbing & Heating, she remembered how angry he’d been at the selectmen’s meetings when first the fireworks and then the parade had been cancelled. He’d been particularly angry about the parade, even blaming Pru for raising such a fuss over the nudists that organizers felt the parade had to be canceled. She wondered where all this anger was coming from, and if there was some long-standing grudge behind it.

  Hallett Plumbing & Heating was located behind Scratch’s modest clapboard house, in a garage that had been enlarged throughout the years as the business grew. Scratch now employed five or six mechanics, and a small fleet of blue and white vans was parked every night on the blacktop outside the shop. Now, of course, the vans were gone as the crew of plumbers were out turning on the water in summer homes, repairing leaky faucets and replacing busted water heaters.

  Lucy parked in the area reserved for customers and went in the office, pausing to admire a Rube Goldberg-like assemblage of pipes and plumbing fittings that was displayed in the window. Scratch himself was seated at an enormous gray steel desk dating from the fifties. A pinup calendar from a tool company, featuring a busty girl in a skimpy bikini holding a very large monkey wrench hung on the wall behind him.