Birthday Party Murder

by Leslie Meier

  “Hurry up,” snarled Shirley. Lucy felt her press the gun into her back. “I haven’t got all day.”

  She bent down and grasped the ring, giving the trapdoor a tug. It came up quite easily. Lucy peered down, expecting to see nothing but a rough wooden staircase and a dirt floor. What she saw were blue-jean-covered legs, a heavy torso in a torn T-shirt and a bearded face. Snake’s body.

  Lucy recoiled in shock and horror, involuntarily whirling around. She saw Shirley’s eyes narrow and her mouth harden into a thin line, she saw a flash and heard the gun fire, and then she was falling into the darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  From far away, Lucy heard someone calling her name. It was too early to get up. She wanted to stay in bed where it was warm and comfortable.

  She shut out the voice, clinging to unconsciousness.

  The voice was louder.

  Something was the matter with her bed. It was tilted somehow, and her head was lower than her chest. She must have lost her pillow. She lifted her arm to reach for it and a sharp, stabbing pain ripped through her shoulder.

  She heard a groaning sound, then realized she had made the sound. And with good reason. Her shoulder was killing her and she had a splitting headache. Not to mention there was something seriously wrong with her bed. Something was definitely very wrong and she had to find out what. She opened her eyes.

  Miss Tilley’s wizened face was floating above her, she realized with a shock. She closed her eyes and opened them again. Maybe she was still dreaming. Maybe it was a nightmare.

  “Lucy! Are you all right?”

  It was definitely Miss Tilley. She was dressed in a nightgown and her white hair was sticking out all over her head. The silver sneakers were on her feet, twinkling madly.

  Lucy tried to lift her head and groaned again.

  “Hold tight,” said Miss Tilley, squinting as she peered down at Lucy. “I’ve called the rescue squad.”

  “Where am I?” Lucy couldn’t produce much more than a whisper.

  “You’re in my cellar. Shirley shot you and you fell through the trapdoor.”

  Lucy began to remember. Shirley had pointed the gun at her and ordered her to open the trapdoor. She’d looked down and seen Snake’s body.

  Snake’s body.

  She wasn’t in bed. She had fallen through the trapdoor onto Snake’s body. Involuntarily, she cringed in revulsion. Her shoulder hurt like hell and she was dizzy. Damn it, she couldn’t move. She was just going to have to wait for help. She began to feel very queasy.

  Heavy footsteps shook the floor above her, and a face shiny with sunburn looked down at her.

  “We’ll have you out of there in no time,” said a hearty male voice.

  “Good,” said Lucy, in a weak voice.

  The EMTs made rather a production of getting Lucy out of the cellar. The smallest was elected to lower himself through the trapdoor and check her vital signs. Then a large basket sort of contraption was slid through the opening and Lucy was strapped into it. The trapdoor wasn’t large enough to lift the stretcher up straight so they raised one end—the one with her head—and slid her through at an angle.

  Lieutenant Horowitz greeted her when she appeared aboveground.

  “Well, Mrs. Stone, this is a first even for you,” he said, stroking his elongated upper lip.

  From his tone, Lucy suspected he thought her predicament was amusing. She didn’t see the humor.

  “How’s Miss Tilley?” she asked.

  “I’m fine,” exclaimed Miss Tilley. Lucy painfully turned her head and saw that she was seated at the kitchen table, slurping away at a big bowl of soup. “All that bed rest did me a world of good. I’m raring to go.”

  Lucy wished she felt half as good. She knew she needed to get to the hospital, but she had to ask one last question.

  “Where’s Shirley?”

  “Right behind you.” Miss Tilley sucked up a noodle and nodded. “I conked her with the bust of Lincoln.”

  The EMTs lifted Lucy’s stretcher and carried her out of the kitchen. Their path took them past Shirley, who appeared to be out cold on the floor with a third EMT crouching beside her. Then Lucy was in the ambulance, the door slammed shut and they began to move.

  In Miss Tilley’s kitchen, Shirley began to stir.

  The EMT, a young woman, stroked her forehead and told her she would be fine.

  Shirley’s eyes flew open and she slapped the EMT’s hand away.

  “Get your hands off of me!” she shrieked.

  Officer Barney Culpepper snapped into action, reaching for his handcuffs.

  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” said Barney, wrestling the woman facedown onto the floor.

  He placed his knee in the middle of her back and snapped the cuff on her right hand, then pulled her arm back so he could cuff her left hand.

  “Owww,” screamed Shirley, as if she were being killed.

  Miss Tilley clucked her tongue in disapproval.

  “Officer Culpepper is only doing his job. If you’re not willing to cooperate, he has no choice but to use force,” she said.

  “Shut up, you old biddy,” hissed Shirley. “My big mistake was—”

  “You made a lot of mistakes, dear,” said Miss Tilley, placidly. “For example, you never caught on to the fact that I wasn’t taking the sleeping pills. I heard everything. I know Snake killed Sherman, and you were trying to get me to sign a will leaving everything to you. Signing that, I suppose, would have been signing my own death warrant. I even heard you shoot your own son.” Her voice slowed. “And of course you shot dear Lucy.”

  Miss Tilley put down her spoon.

  “Quite frankly, it’s hard for me to believe that you could really be a member of my family. Are you in fact Harriet’s daughter, or did you make that up?”

  Shirley snorted in contempt. “Mother was right about you. You are a self-righteous prig and so was my grandfather.”

  Horowitz held up a cautionary hand. “Before this goes any further, I think I’d better read you your rights. You have the right to remain silent—”

  “Aw, shut up. I know my rights.” Shirley faced Miss Tilley. “And for your information, you old fool, you did sign that will.”

  Miss Tiley recoiled, as if she’d received an electric shock.

  Shirley was on her feet now, standing between Barney and another police officer.

  “You’re a sad, pathetic old woman.” She laughed. “You were so eager to have some family, to have somebody care about you, that you never checked me out. Sure, I’ve been to jail before, and you know what? It doesn’t scare me one bit.” She tilted her head toward the trapdoor. “Snake, there, he was getting soft. Getting all snivelly. He was getting to be a liability. I mean, if I had to do everything myself, what did I need him for?”

  Miss Tilley raised her big, china-blue eyes and leveled them on Shirley. “Before you take her away, I have one question.”

  “Go ahead,” said Lieutenant Horowitz.

  “Why did you kill Sherman? What was the reason?”

  Shirley’s thin lips twisted into a triumphant sneer. “You think you’re so smart, but you never figured it out, did you?” She chuckled. “Precious Sherman was dear Papa’s bastard son. The old buzzard knocked up his secretary. I had to get him out of the way, just so there wouldn’t be any messy inheritance issues after I finished you off.”

  For once in her long life, Miss Tilley was genuinely shocked. She watched as Shirley was hustled out of the kitchen and the EMT shut the door behind them.

  “Good riddance to bad rubbish,” said the young woman. “Now, how are you feeling? Maybe we should take you to the ER for a checkup? Just to be on the safe side?”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Is there someone who could stay with you for a bit? Is there someone I can call?”

  Miss Tilley smiled. “Rachel. Her number’s by the phone.”

  While the EMT was dialing on the old rotary phone, Miss T
illey slowly stood up. Walking slowly, almost as if in a daze, she made her way into the living room and lowered herself into her favorite Boston rocker. Letting out a long sigh, she turned and looked up at the portrait of her father that hung over the fireplace.

  He looked the same as always, still dressed in his judicial robes. His eyebrows bristled; his nose was sharp and hooked; his lips were set in a thin line.

  In the deep recesses of Miss Tilley’s mind a memory stirred. She remembered visiting Papa’s office with Mama. Papa’s secretary, Miss Kaiser, had given her a small piece of chocolate wrapped in shiny foil. She had often asked if they could visit again, but Mama had always said no. Maybe Mama had suspected something; maybe she’d known that Papa’s relationship with Miss Kaiser wasn’t all business.

  Julia gazed up at the portrait, and she noticed something she hadn’t seen before. There was definitely a twinkle in Papa’s eye.

  “You old devil,” she said, winking at the portrait.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Rachel Goodman gave a perfunctory knock and walked right into Lucy’s kitchen; she knew Lucy had joined Bill on the sick list and Rachel didn’t want to put them to the trouble of answering the door.

  “We’re in here,” called Lucy.

  Rachel pushed open the door to the family room, which had been turned into a temporary sick bay. Bill was in his usual place in the recliner and Lucy was stretched out on the couch. They made a touching picture, with matching red afghans spread over their laps.

  “Well, you two are the cutest pair of invalids I’ve ever seen!” Rachel declared. “Matching blankies!”

  “They’re from Norah,” explained Lucy. “Monogrammed.”

  Her fleece blanket was embroidered with a huge blue hers while Bill’s had a his.

  Rachel raised her eyebrows and shook her head in disbelief. “Can I get you guys anything?”

  “No.” Lucy shook her head. “We’re doing pretty well. I got shot in the shoulder, so I can’t use my arm, but Bill’s arms are fine. He can’t use his leg, but mine are fine. Together we’re a complete person.”

  “More than one,” said Bill. “About one and a half, I’d say.”

  “Make it one and a quarter,” said Lucy. “I don’t really have much energy. Getting shot takes a lot out of you.”

  “I’m sure it does,” said Rachel, taking a seat in an armchair. “You had a close call.”

  “And I hope she’s learned her lesson,” said Bill. “She should mind her own business and stop sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

  “If I hadn’t gone to Miss T’s that day . . . Well, I don’t even like to think about what could have happened.”

  “You wouldn’t have got shot, that’s what would have happened.”

  “Now, now, children,” Rachel scolded. “Play nicely or your friend will have to leave.”

  Bill apologized by way of a crooked smile.

  “So, how’s Miss T doing after her ordeal?”

  Rachel smiled. “She is doing great. She lost some weight, but I’ve been making things like tapioca pudding and milkshakes for her and she’s gaining it back. She swears the bed rest did her good and she’s got more energy than before. She works out with a TV show every morning now.”

  “Miss Tilley?” Bill couldn’t believe it.

  “Honest to God. She modifies some of the exercises, but she’s pretty good at the yoga portion of the show. She makes me do it with her.” Rachel flexed her arm, exhibiting her newly firm biceps muscle.

  “I guess Shirley didn’t realize who she was taking on,” said Lucy.

  “And a good thing, too,” said Rachel. “If they hadn’t been convinced the drugs were working, I’m sure they would have used force. That Shirley is one mean woman.”

  “What did they want?” asked Bill. “She couldn’t have much money. She was a librarian.”

  “A rich librarian, as it turns out. Bob did some research and found out that some old shares of Maine Motorcar—Sherman had some too—are actually worth a bundle.”

  “Maine Motorcar, that sounds familiar,” said Bill, reaching for one of the bound volumes of newspapers. He flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. “Here it is. An advertisement offering shares in the new company. It lists Judge Tilley as the chairman of the board, and Sheriff Wilbur Cobb is the treasurer.”

  “That’s Sherman’s father!” exclaimed Lucy, quickly remembering to correct herself. “Adoptive father, I mean.”

  “Yup. He and Judge Tilley were lodge brothers. Honorable and esteemed Beavers.”

  “I guess the Beavers never caught on,” said Rachel. “I’ve heard of Moose, Elk, Lions, Eagles—”

  “Even Odd Fellows,” inserted Lucy.

  “But never Beavers.”

  “The Beavers were an industrious lot,” said Bill, smiling at his own joke. “Quite a few of the brothers invested in the company. They were going to build the cars right here in town.”

  “You’re kidding. Did they ever do it?” asked Lucy.

  “I don’t think so,” said Bill. “It was 1929.”

  “The stock market crash,” said Lucy. “They probably lost it all.”

  “Not exactly,” said Rachel. “It seems that Maine Motorcar was bought by New England Tool and Die, which did a huge business during World War Two and eventually became part of General Avionics. Those old stock certificates mean Miss Tilley owns thousands and thousands of shares of General Avionics.”

  “Well, good for her,” said Lucy.

  Rachel shrugged. “I think she feels she paid a high price, if you know what I mean. She was really quite delighted when Shirley showed up. She even liked Snake. She really wanted to reestablish her family. She yearned for that connection, but Shirley still felt very bitter toward her mother’s family. She wanted to get even. I honestly think revenge was more important to her than the money.”

  “I think you’re right,” agreed Lucy. “The sad thing is that Miss T really did have family here all along, but she just didn’t know it. I think Sherman was going to tell her—remember he’d asked to meet with Miss T? I think the one thing he wanted before he died was to be acknowledged as a Tilley, the judge’s son and the grandson of the hero of Portland. He really idolized them.”

  Rachel nodded. “The cops think he actually may have started this whole thing by contacting Shirley. Horowitz told Bob that her Florida phone number was scribbled on his desk blotter.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me. I always thought Shirley’s story about seeing a TV commercial for nationwide information was pretty fishy.” Lucy sighed. “Isn’t it funny how people in the same family can be so different? Maybe Shirley inherited some bad genes or something. Family means nothing to her. She killed her own son, for goodness’ sake.”

  “Well, it turns out he wasn’t actually her son. He was her husband’s son from an earlier marriage—one of her husbands, that is. She had several, a couple of them at the same time. She raised him with the predictable result that he ended up in jail. She thought she could use him in her scheme, but apparently he wasn’t willing to take orders from her anymore and she got rid of him. She wasn’t taking any chances that he might give evidence against her.” She paused. “Bob says she’ll spend the rest of her life in jail.”

  “Couldn’t happen to a nicer person,” said Lucy, reaching to answer the ringing phone.

  “Hi, Toby,” she said, catching Bill’s eye.

  She tried to make her voice sound cheerful, despite the fact that these days Toby rarely called home with anything except bad news.

  “Mom,” he began in a firm voice. “I’ve come to a decision.”

  Lucy’s eyebrows shot up and Bill leaned closer, trying to hear.

  “I’m going to finish out the term—finals are next week—but then I want to take some time off next year. I need some time to decide if college is really the right thing for me. I’ve been thinking I could work with Dad. What do you think?”

  “I thin
k you better talk to your father,” she said, handing over the handset.

  “Hey, Toby,” said Bill, using his hearty father voice.

  Lucy and Rachel watched as he listened, his expression growing cheerier with every word of Toby’s.

  “Sounds good to me, son. I could really use the help.”

  He was beaming by the time he said good-bye.

  “He wants to take a year off from school and work with me.” He held up his hand, cautioning her. “I know what you’re going to say and—”

  Lucy had initially tensed, ready to argue that Toby shouldn’t interrupt his studies, but she was surprised to find the anxiety that had been accumulating for months, growing with each miserable phone call, was draining from her body. She suddenly felt light and buoyant, almost giddy.

  “It’s okay. I think it’s a good idea.”

  “You do?”

  Lucy nodded, gravely. “Let’s face it, you’re not getting any younger. He can keep an eye on you.”

  “I admit I had an accident,” said Bill, “but I only hurt my leg. I’d like to remind you that the rest of me is in perfect working order.”

  “Ahem,” said Rachel, clearing her throat. “It sounds like it’s time for me to get going. Are you sure I can’t do anything for you?”

  “We’re fine,” said Lucy.

  “And getting finer,” said Bill. “The cast is supposed to come off next week.”

  “That’s great,” said Rachel. “So I can count on seeing you both at the big birthday bash?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” said Lucy.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “Mom, how much longer are you going to be?” Sara’s voice on the other side of the bathroom door was polite, but even through the century-old pine Lucy could discern a note of impatience. She had been in the bathroom for quite a while, she realized. Smoothing the hypoallergenic moisturizer she’d bought at the natural foods store under her eyes hadn’t taken more than a minute; the problem was the assortment of antioxidant vitamins she’d bought. They were supposed to fight aging and guard against a host of ills, but Lucy couldn’t figure out how many tablets to take. The directions were printed in very tiny type on the label and she couldn’t make them out, even when she squinted and took them over to the window where the light was bright. She was definitely going to have to buy some cheaters, but in the meantime she knew what to do. She opened the door.