Birthday Party Murder

by Leslie Meier

  “No?”

  “Pretty typical, I guess. High blood pressure, of course. And then she had to have that cataract operation. It was after that the osteoporosis began to be a concern. Considering she smoked all her life it was a mercy she only had emphysema, not lung cancer. It was the leukemia that did her in, however.”

  “Harriet smoked?”

  “Like a chimney. I used to tell her she ought to stop but she’d never listen to me. Wouldn’t listen to her doctor, either. Of course, I think she was right there. He had her on so many medications that you had to wonder what happened inside, after she’d swallowed all those pills. Expensive, too. She generally took about half of what he prescribed, but it still took her a good quarter hour or more every morning to take her medicines.”

  “I do occasionally take an aspirin,” admitted Miss Tilley. “I have a touch of arthritis.”

  Rachel smiled, hearing the waspish tone of Miss T’s voice.

  “Well, good for you. It must be this good, clean air you have up here.”

  “Is this a tricycle?”

  “Mom loved that trike. She rode it all around the retirement community. Over to the pool and the community center, you know. Mah-jongg every afternoon. She wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

  “Tricycles are for children.”

  That’s my girl, thought Rachel. The uncharacteristic fit of sentimentality was apparently over.

  “And adults. In Florida they’re very popular with older folks. Because of the stability, you know. They’re not as tippy as a bicycle. You see a lot of them there, believe me.”

  “I’m sure I would feel ridiculous on a tricycle.”

  “You should try it! You might like it.”

  When Rachel brought in the tea, she found the two women sitting side by side, studying the photographs.

  “Look at this, Rachel,” said Miss Tilley. “It’s my sister Harriet on a tricycle. Did you ever hear of such a thing?”

  “I have. My father rides one.” She turned to Shirley. “My folks live in Naples.”

  “That’s not far from Fort Myers, where my mother lived.”

  “It seems like another world,” said Miss Tilley, taking a restorative sip of tea.

  “It’s very different from Maine,” said Rachel. “My folks say they like it there, but even they say they miss the changing seasons. My mother says she can’t get used to Christmas without any snow.”

  “Not my folks,” said Shirley. “Pop said he hoped he never saw another snowflake. Mom used to love to listen to the weather reports; the colder it got up north, the happier she was.”

  “She used to love snow when she was a little girl.” Miss Tilley’s tone was wistful.

  “People change as they grow older,” observed Shirley. “Don’t you think so?”

  “I don’t know,” said Miss Tilley, a note of doubt in her voice. “I don’t think I’ve changed.” She looked up at the portrait of her father on the wall.

  “Well, I say life’s an ever-flowing river. It’s never too late to jump in and go along for the ride.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” said Miss Tilley, beaming at her. “So tell me more about this amazing sister of mine.”

  Back in the kitchen, Rachel put the last dish away and hung the damp dish towel on the ancient wooden rack that hung above the sink. She looked around the room, basically unchanged since the old wood stove gave way to a newfangled propane model, and wondered why New Englanders were so attached to their old-fashioned things. It was pure cheapness, she decided. As long as something worked, a New Englander would hang on to it.

  It was time for her to leave, but she hesitated. She didn’t want to barge into the living room and disturb the two women. Miss Tilley was obviously enjoying hearing the titillating details of her sister’s racy lifestyle.

  Hearing a lapse in the conversation, Rachel stuck her head in the room.

  “I’m leaving now, Miss T. Just wanted to say good-bye.”

  “Is it time for you to go already?”

  “Yup. Two o’clock. Oh, one thing before I go. Do you want me to pick up anything at the store for you?”

  “No need for you to bother,” said Shirley. “I can get Auntie anything she needs.”

  Rachel knew it was ridiculous, but she felt as if Shirley was taking over and pushing her out.

  “Okay. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Don’t you worry about a thing,” said Shirley. “I’ll take good care of my favorite aunt.”

  “I know you will,” agreed Rachel, as Shirley closed the door behind her.

  She turned back as she walked to the car and saw Shirley watching her from the window. She raised her hand in a wave and Shirley waved back.

  From inside the house, Shirley waited until Rachel had driven away. Then she turned her attention to her aunt.

  “Aunt Julia, would you like to watch a little TV? Norah’s on in a few minutes and, well, I don’t watch much TV, but I do enjoy Norah!”

  There was no answer, and when she looked closer she saw that the old woman’s eyes were closed. She had nodded off.

  Because she lived so close to the school, Julia always went home for lunch. She didn’t have to bother to carry a lunch pail like the children who lived outside town, and she didn’t have to eat at her desk or put up with the antics of the rowdy boys during recess. Instead, she walked the block or two home, her mind lost in daydreams inspired by the morning reading lesson. Today, she was imagining herself as the beautiful Rowena in Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe.

  Rowena’s eyes widened as she heard sounds of battle coming from inside the castle. . . . No, it wasn’t sounds of battle. It was Father, roaring, and Mother, crying, inside the big white house on Main Street.

  Julia pushed open the kitchen door and saw her mother, hunched over the kitchen table with her head in her arms. Mother was sobbing.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Mother sat up and wiped her eyes on her apron. “It’s your sister . . .”

  “Has something happened to Harriet?”

  “It hasn’t happened to her! It’s what she’s done!”

  Julia tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “What has she done?”

  “She’s cut her hair!”

  Julia’s mouth made a little o. She couldn’t believe it. Harriet had been threatening to bob her hair for months, but Father had absolutely forbidden it.

  “Her beautiful, long hair. Her best feature. Gone.” Mother threw up her hands in a gesture of defeat.

  From upstairs, Julia heard the drone of Father’s voice, followed by shrieks from Harriet. She knew that Father had found a use for the hairbrush Harriet would not be needing anymore.

  “Mother, what’s that smell? I think something’s burning.”

  Mother jumped to her feet. “The cream puffs! Oh, no!” She pulled a pan from the oven.

  “They don’t look too bad to me,” said Julia, brightly.

  After all, they only had patches of black. For the most part they were just very, very brown.

  “I was making them for the bridge club. They’re coming this afternoon.”

  Even Julia, who was only ten, knew that her mother could not serve anything that was less than perfect to the bridge club. If she did, soon everyone would be saying what a shame it was that Mrs. Tilley was having difficulties. No, her mother would not serve scorched cream puffs to the bridge club.

  “What am I going to do?” wailed Mama.

  Julia heard her father coming down the stairs. “Ask Papa to get something at the bakery,” she suggested.

  “I will!”

  Mother jumped to her feet and ran down the hall, but she was too late. The front door had closed and Papa was proceeding down the front walk. Mama would never call to him from the porch; she couldn’t run after him. Such conduct was unthinkable in public.

  Mama’s steps were slow as she returned to the kitchen.

  “I’ll just make some cookies,” she said, reaching for the
bread knife and slicing the homemade loaf so she could make sandwiches.

  “I wish I’d been born a man,” she declared, waving the knife. “Then I could put my hat on and walk out the door!”

  “I hope Harriet stops crying before the ladies get here,” said Julia.

  “I’d like to wring that girl’s neck,” said Mother.

  Miss Tilley’s eyes flew open. She wasn’t ten years old, she was close to ninety. She wasn’t sitting in her mother’s kitchen in the big white house on Main Street, she was sitting in the Boston rocker by the fireplace in the little grayshingled house she had bought after her parents had both died.

  “You had a nice little rest, didn’t you?” It was Shirley, smiling at her from the couch. In the corner, the TV was on.

  Miss Tilley looked at the TV as if it were an ugly spider that had come crawling out of a crack.

  “I was just watching Norah!” said Shirley, turning it off. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” Her tone indicated that while she didn’t mind, she didn’t quite approve, either.

  “Would you like something? Can I get you some of that sherry?”

  “That would be very nice,” admitted Miss Tilley.

  “I’ll just be a jif,” said Shirley, scooting into the kitchen. “A lot of people have color, now, you know,” she called from the other room. “I’m surprised you still have black and white.”

  Miss Tilley waited for her to return to the living room before she answered.

  “I only watch the evening news,” she said.

  “But you don’t know what you’re missing,” insisted Shirley. “Why, take Norah, for example. She looks different in color. That skin. That hair. She’s a gorgeous woman.”

  “I don’t need a TV to see Norah in living color. She has a summer home right here in Tinker’s Cove.”

  “She does?” exclaimed Shirley, obviously starstruck.

  Miss Tilley was enjoying Shirley’s reaction so much that she went even further. “Stick around,” she said, casually. “I’ll introduce you sometime.”

  “Actually,” said Shirley, seizing the moment, “it’s getting rather late for me to drive all the way back to Auburn—that’s where I’ve been staying with some friends. I didn’t want to leave while you were asleep and I didn’t want to wake you up, so I stayed. But I don’t think I’d get back before dark if I leave now.” Shirley paused for breath. “Aunt Julia, would you mind very much if I stayed the night?” she finally asked.

  “That would be just fine.”

  Shirley gave the old woman a quick hug, concealing her satisfied smirk.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was a slim lead, but it was all she had, so Lucy decided she would call Officers Kodak and Wickes as soon as she got to the office. There was no answer at the vacationing Wickeses’ house, however, so she left a message. She’d already started dialing Howie Kodak when she remembered he would probably be sleeping since he was working the night shift. Waking him up would be a bad way to start an interview, so she jotted his name and number down on a yellow sticky and slapped it onto her computer so she wouldn’t forget.

  “What did we do before stickies?” she asked Phyllis.

  “I believe people tied a string on their finger, but I’m not exactly sure how it worked,” said Phyllis, greeting Ted with a smile.

  He didn’t smile back. “Have you got that story you promised me?” he asked Lucy.

  “You’ll have it in half an hour,” promised Lucy, waiting for her computer to boot up.

  She quickly polished off the elder abuse story and began working on a summary of last night’s finance committee meeting. Phyllis was busy putting the classified ads together, so when the phone rang Ted answered it. It was a reader who took great exception to a letter to the editor that ran the previous week.

  “Ma’am, that letter does not represent my viewpoint or the viewpoint of the paper—only the views of the person who wrote it.”

  Lucy’s and Phyllis’s eyes met and they shared a chuckle as Ted’s tone became more exasperated.

  “Well, if the letter upsets you so much, why don’t you write a response? I’d be happy to print it.”

  Lucy’s phone rang and she picked it up, hoping it wasn’t another angry reader. It wasn’t.

  “Listen, Lucy,” said Sue, by way of a greeting, “Sidra called again and they’ve absolutely got to have more info if they’re going to put Miss T on the Norah! show. You’ve got to get over there today and get some more material.”

  “Whoa,” said Lucy, fingering the stack of papers on her desk. “No can do. I have a job, you know.”

  There was a pause while Sue considered this. “There must be some way.”

  “Tomorrow afternoon,” suggested Lucy. “After deadline.”

  “Sidra wants it today.”

  “Well, Sidra will just have to wait,” said Lucy.

  “I’ll call her back and tell her we can absolutely, definitely have great, fantastic material for her tomorrow.”

  “You tell her that,” agreed Lucy, wondering how she could possibly deliver on such a promise. “I’ve got to go.”

  She hung up the phone and it immediately rang again.

  “How am I supposed to get anything done?” she asked Phyllis, as she picked it up.

  “Mom?”

  “Toby?” Lucy’s heart skipped a beat. Toby hardly ever called home from college, unlike his younger sister, Elizabeth, who checked in every Sunday evening, and he never called her at work. She knew something must be wrong. “Is everything okay?”

  “Sure, Mom. I just called to see how you’re all doing.”

  “We’re fine,” said Lucy, seriously doubting he was telling the truth. “Sara’s birthday is coming up next Saturday.”

  “Uh, really? Thanks for reminding me.”

  “Maybe you could send her a present. Maybe a Coburn U T-shirt or something?”

  “I’m kind of low on cash, Mom.”

  “A card?” persisted Lucy, rolling her eyes for Phyllis’s benefit.

  Phyllis was enjoying the conversation; her shoulders were heaving with laughter.

  “Sure. I could do that.” He paused. “It would need a stamp, wouldn’t it? Uh, where do you get those?”

  Lucy shook her head in disbelief. “The post office!”

  Phyllis was now laughing so hard she was clutching her stomach.

  Lucy wasn’t seeing the humor in the situation. “You know, Toby, I have work to do. Maybe I could call you tonight?”

  “Actually, I kinda wanted to ask your advice.”

  Lucy braced herself.

  “See, I’m kinda worried my grades aren’t going to be very good this term.”

  “What’s the problem? You’re a smart kid—you got 1400 on your SATs. Are you going to classes?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Lucy’s temper flared. “Well, that’s not good enough. That’s what you’re there for. There’s really no excuse for skipping classes.”

  “I know,” admitted Toby. “It’s just that economics is at eight o’clock, and even though I set my alarm I sometimes sleep through it.”

  “Get a louder alarm, or get a friend to wake you up.”

  “I’m going to do that, Mom. I really am. But I don’t know if it will be enough. I got some pretty bad midterm grades.”

  “In economics? Maybe you can talk to the professor about getting some extra help.”

  “In all my courses actually.”

  Lucy’s ears were beginning to ring. Phyllis, she noticed, was no longer laughing but looked serious.

  “Toby, this is unacceptable. You know how expensive college is. We really expect you to take it seriously and do your best. It sounds to me like there’s too much beer and partying and not enough studying going on.”

  “You’re right, Mom. I’ll try harder.”

  Lucy was out of patience. “Don’t say you’ll try harder. Do it. Right now. Grab your books and go over to the library. It’s ope
n. Go.”

  She slammed down the receiver.

  Both Ted and Phyllis were staring at her.

  “I can’t believe it,” she exclaimed. “He’s a smart kid—what’s he been doing all term?”

  “Drugs,” suggested Phyllis.

  “Girls,” offered Ted.

  “Not on my dime. I’m not sending him to college to waste his time.”

  They nodded in agreement.

  “Bring him home and put him to work,” said Phyllis.

  “There’s always the army,” added Ted.

  Lucy rubbed her temples. She was getting a headache.

  “Here. Take these,” said Phyllis, handing her two aspirins and a paper cup full of water.

  “Thanks.”

  Lucy swallowed the tablets and tried to relax her tense muscles by picturing a quiet mountain lake. Instead, she saw a clutter of yellow reminders stuck to her computer screen. She decided she’d better call Officer Kodak before his sticky became as old as the others. A woman answered.

  “Mrs. Kodak? Lucy Stone at The Pennysaver. Could I have a quick word with your husband?”

  “He’s asleep right now and I don’t like to wake him. He’s working the night shift this week, you know.”

  “Oh, no, don’t wake him. Could you just ask him to call me at his convenience? It’s kind of important.”

  “Why don’t you just stop by at the house around five or so? He’ll be up by then.”

  It was a little after five when Lucy pulled into the Kodaks’ driveway, carefully avoiding an asortment of bikes and Big Wheels.

  “Come on in,” invited Mrs. Kodak, who turned out to be every bit as blond and perky as Doris Day. “My name’s Bonnie and this is Trevor,” she said, pointing to a chubby five-year-old, “and his little brother, Hunter.”

  “I’m three,” said Hunter, holding up four fingers.

  “That’s four, this is three.” His older brother was quick to correct him.

  Lucy smiled. They reminded her of Toby and Elizabeth, when they were younger and the problems were simpler.

  “What can I do for you?” Howie Kodak was seating himself at the table, giving each boy a high five. With his crew cut, he looked like an overgrown kid himself.