by Leslie Meier
Climbing up the stairs, Lucy felt as if she were struggling up Heartbreak Hill in the Boston Marathon. Her legs simply didn’t want to work. She felt like sitting down right there and going to sleep. Instead, she grabbed the railing and hauled herself up.
Sara was already in bed, a book propped on her chest, pointedly ignoring her little roommate. Zoe was flitting around the colorful toys that littered the floor in her Warrior Princess pajamas. Where did she get the energy? wondered Lucy as she struggled to produce one-word sentences.
“Bed. Now.”
“Xena doesn’t go to bed until . . .”
“Her mother tells her to.”
Zoe started to turn back the bedspread, then looked up at Lucy. “Are you sure?”
“Xena’s going to be too tired tomorrow to battle evil unless she goes to sleep right this minute.”
Exhausted by the effort of speaking, Lucy sat down on the side of the bed. She patted it and Zoe wriggled in between the sheets. Lucy bent down to kiss her, then started to go. Zoe grabbed her hand.
“Didn’t he know how to swim?” she asked.
Lucy sat back down and sighed.
“I guess not.”
“How come? Everybody I know can swim. I can swim all the way out to the float and back. I’m an advanced beginner.”
“Good for you,” said Lucy. “When you pass the test they’ll give you a card with a red cross on it and I’ll put it up on the refrigerator for everybody to see.”
“And Dad’ll give me a dollar?”
Lucy smiled at Zoe, who was determined to assert her claim to this family custom. Whenever the kids passed on to the next level of swimming lessons, Bill rewarded them with a crisp new dollar bill.
“You bet.”
“I’m tired,” groaned Sara, putting down her book. “I want to go to sleep.”
“Good night, sleep tight,” said Lucy, turning out the light.
“Don’t let the bed bugs bite!” Zoe finished the rhyme for her.
Lucy shut the door, wondering if Zoe would ever calm down and go to sleep. In fact, tired as she was, she wondered if she would be able to sleep, considering how tense she felt. She decided to take a warm, relaxing bath. When she finished, Bill was already in bed.
She climbed under the covers and snuggled beside him, resting her head on his chest and stroking his curly, springy beard.
“I take you for granted,” she said. “You’ve been a good husband and a good father all these years. I love you.”
Bill kissed her head and mumbled something.
“If anything happened to you, I don’t know what I’d do,” continued Lucy. “I’d be lost without you.”
Bill snored.
Lucy turned on her side and pushed her back against him, spoon-style. Then she reached up and turned out the lamp.
Chapter Fifteen
Next morning, the sun shone brightly in a cloudless blue sky. Birds twittered in the trees, rambling roses bobbed on fences, and fish leapt in the pond. If Nature were grieved at the loss of one of her children, she seemed to be hiding it rather well. Only the weeping willow tree seemed to sorrow at the news on the car radio that the next Bill Gates, Ron Davitz, had died and police were investigating.
Lucy dropped the girls at camp and drove on to the Queen Vic, where she pulled up in the circular driveway to let Elizabeth out of the car. Andy Dorfman spotted her from the porch and gave a wave, then hurried up to her car.
“Have you heard the news?” he asked, eagerly.
“It’s very sad,” said Lucy.
“Well, one man’s loss is another man’s gain,” said Dorfman, adding a little whistle.
“What do you mean?”
“I got his last interview,” he said, stepping back and raising his arms. “I can see the headline now: ‘Davitz’s Last Words: The Final Interview. ’ ”
“You’re sick,” said Lucy, shifting into gear and rolling down the driveway.
“That’s pretty cold,” observed Toby from the backseat.
But when they got to the harbor, Geoff met them with a big wave.
“Did you hear about Davitz?” he asked brightly.
“I found his body.”
“Oh, sorry,” said Geoff, rearranging his features into a serious expression. “That must’ve been a shock.”
“It was awful,” Lucy admitted.
Geoff looked at the ground for a moment, then shrugged. “Oh, well, life goes on.”
Lucy watched for a moment as he strode off with Toby. There was definitely a bounce in his step that hadn’t been there before.
At the Pennysaver, Ted was busy organizing coverage of Davitz’s sudden death. “We’ll have an obit, of course, and we’ll need a bio listing his achievements. We can probably get that off the Secure.net web page. Of course, everybody will have that. What we’ve got that nobody else has is the hometown advantage. That’s what I want you to write, Lucy. Something about the impact of his death on our town—especially his fiancé.”
Lucy stared at him. “I can’t believe this.”
“Now, don’t get all huffy,” he said. “You can do this sensitively.”
“You want me to take advantage of my friendship with Sue to intrude on her privacy to write about how her daughter is coping with an absolutely devastating loss?”
Ted looked embarrassed. “Well, if you put it that way . . .”
“You bet I’m putting it that way. And I’m not writing the story.”
“Okay. You write the obit and I’ll see what I can do with the reaction story.”
“Maybe you should kill it. Did you think of that?”
“Not gonna kill it.” He set his chin. “I’ll be sensitive. Promise.”
“I’m out of here,” said Lucy, grabbing her bag and heading for the door.
“Good idea,” said Ted. “Take a personal day. I know this must be difficult for you. Take all the time you need.”
The door slammed.
“Just get me that obit by Tuesday!” he shouted.
Outside, Lucy stood on the sidewalk, wondering what to do with herself. Spotting her friend Police Officer Barney Culpepper directing traffic at the corner, she walked in his direction. He joined her on the curb.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he said, sniffing the air appreciatively.
Barney was a big man, and the gesture reminded Lucy of a bear emerging from its den after a long winter’s nap.
“It’s almost too nice,” said Lucy. “Considering what happened last night, it ought to be gray and rainy.”
“I s’pose you were there at the party,” said Barney.
“I was.”
“Terrible thing to happen. The groom turns up dead at the wedding shower.” He shook his head. “How’s the bride taking it?”
“I don’t know. Horowitz wouldn’t let me see her last night. I guess I’ll head over there now and see if there’s anything I can do.”
He nodded. “Marge is making a lasagna. She’s going to stop by this afternoon.”
Marge was Barney’s wife, who had recently been given a clean bill of health after undergoing chemotherapy for breast cancer.
“How’s Marge feeling?”
“Great. Says the whole thing gave her a new attitude. Every day is a gift.”
Lucy watched as Barney held up his hand and stepped off the curb, stopping traffic so that a family of tourists could cross the street. When they were safely on the other side, he rejoined her.
“I feel so badly for Sidra,” said Lucy, continuing the conversation.
“Aw, she’s young,” said Barney. “She’ll get over it.”
Lucy didn’t agree. In her experience, younger people had a harder time dealing with loss than older folks. She suspected it was because they simply didn’t expect it and hadn’t developed any strategies for coping.
“Maybe,” Lucy said with a shrug. She didn’t want to argue, especially since she was hoping Barney would share some information with her. “Any word yet on how he died
?” she asked, keeping her voice casual.
The effort was lost on Barney, who had leaped off the curb and was blowing his whistle furiously at a convertible that hadn’t slowed for the crosswalk. Lucy watched as he reprimanded the young driver, even going so far as to pull his citation book out of his pocket. In the end, he let the kid go with only a verbal warning.
“Kids,” he muttered when he returned. “They’re so busy listening to the radio, they can’t be bothered reading the signs.”
“They’re reckless,” agreed Lucy. “Never think anything can happen to them.” She paused. “Do they know what the cause of death was yet?”
“Haven’t heard anything,” admitted Barney.
“Last night it seemed as if they were treating it as a homicide,” said Lucy.
“That’s standard procedure at all fatals these days. Sometimes what looks like an accident isn’t, if you know what I mean,” he said with a knowing expression.
“But as far as you know, they haven’t decided if it was an accident or not?”
He looked at her sharply. “Is there something you’re not telling me? Some reason you think it wasn’t an accident?”
Lucy opened her eyes wide and held up her hands in protest. “No, no. I was just wondering, that’s all. Seeing he was so young and all, it seems funny he would drown like that. I mean, there were lots of people around, and he could easily have swum to a boat or a dock.”
“Didn’t know how to swim.”
Lucy’s chin dropped. “He couldn’t swim?” she asked, incredulous.
To her, swimming was something children learned naturally, like walking and talking. Living on the coast and among so many lakes and ponds, her kids had grown up spending most of the summer either in or on the water.
“His mom said she thought it was too dangerous. Never let him learn.”
That sounded just like Thelma, thought Lucy. “Penny wise and pound foolish.”
“You said it.”
Barney tipped his hat and stepped back into the intersection, which definitely needed his attention. Traffic had backed up as drivers futilely waited for a break so they could turn left. It was so bad that Lucy decided to walk around to Sue’s rather than cope with the stop-and-go traffic on Main Street.
It was funny, she thought as she stood on the front step and prepared to ring the bell. From the outside, the house looked just the same as always. The neat lawn was edged with a border of flowers, white curtains were blowing at the open windows, and geraniums were blooming in a crock by the door. It was enough to break your heart. Lucy rang the bell.
“Thanks for coming,” said Sue when she opened the door.
“Of course I’d come.”
“I know,” said Sue, hugging her.
“How are you doing?” Lucy thought Sue looked as attractive as ever, dressed in a simple T-shirt and linen shorts, with not a hair out of place. The only hint that something was amiss was the fact that the only jewelry she was wearing was her wedding ring.
“I’m okay—the doctor gave me some tranquilizers.”
“Hey, whatever works,” said Lucy, following Sue to the kitchen. “How’s Sidra?”
“Still asleep. It was late when we got home last night, after the police and everything. She went in her room and shut the door. I didn’t sleep much myself and I checked on her a few times, but she was always sound asleep.”
“That’s all for the best, I guess,” said Lucy, taking a seat at the table.
“Coffee?”
“No, thanks,” said Lucy, thinking that the house was awfully quiet. In Tinker’s Cove, friends and relatives usually rallied around following a death. Family members gathered to tend to the needs of the bereaved, the phone rang off the hook with offers to help, and a steady stream of visitors brought baked goods and casseroles. Florists’ trucks arrived regularly with arrangements, and the mailbox was full of sympathy cards. “I saw Barney on the way over. He said Marge was making lasagna for you.”
“Bless her.”
“Has anyone else called?”
“Don’t know.” Sue was looking out the window. “I turned off the phone. I didn’t want the ringing to bother Sidra.”
“Oh. I didn’t know you could do that.”
“Sure.”
“And where’s Sid? Did he go to work?”
“Uh, no. He’s away.”
Lucy was shocked. “Away?”
“He left yesterday. He wanted to avoid the shower and all that, so he went fishing for a few days.”
“Ah.” Lucy couldn’t help thinking it was a good thing Sid had an alibi, just in case Ron’s death wasn’t accidental.
“You know what Barney told me? He said Thelma told the police she never let him learn to swim. Can you believe it?”
Sue pounced on the news. “He drowned?” she asked. “Is that what the police say?”
“They don’t know yet.” Lucy hated to disappoint her, especially since it seemed those tranquilizers weren’t working too well. Sue was obviously as tense as a mother cat watching the family dog sniffing at her kittens. “Barney did say that they investigate all sudden deaths the same way. Just because Horowitz was questioning everybody last night doesn’t mean they think it’s a murder or anything.”
“That’s good.” Sue seemed to relax a little. “Coffee?”
“You already asked me. I don’t want any, but go ahead and have some if you want it.”
“I think I will.” Sue poured herself a mugful and brought it over to the table, where she sat down next to Lucy.
She didn’t say anything, and the silence hung awkwardly between them. Finally, thinking over the events of the previous night, Lucy remembered the WIBs.
“What happened to the bridesmaids?” she asked. “Are they staying here?”
Sue’s head snapped around to confront her. “Don’t ask me. I didn’t invite them—they’re not my responsibility.” She sipped her coffee. “They’re Thelma’s guests and she can take care of them.”
“Of course,” said Lucy, reminding herself that she shouldn’t judge Sue. She had never had to cope with anything like this, and she didn’t really know what she would do. “Poor Thelma. She must be devastated.”
“Poor Thelma! She’s got the entire staff of that yacht to take care of her, and I’m willing to bet she’s making sure they do. I’m not worried about Thelma. The one I’m worried about is Sidra.”
“Of course,” said Lucy, gently. “But you have some responsibility for Thelma, too. After all, you almost became family.”
“It was a close call,” said Sue with a sardonic little chuckle.
Appalled, Lucy drew back in her chair.
“Don’t act so shocked, Lucy. It’s not as if you like her any more than I do. She’s awful and so was Ron. I’m not afraid to say it: I’m glad he’s dead. I never liked him; I never thought he was the right man for Sidra. She was making a horrible mistake marrying him, and now . . .”
“Mother!”
Sidra, pale and disheveled, was standing in the doorway, dressed in what Lucy suspected was her weddingnight lingerie. She stayed there for a moment, swaying on her feet, and then turned and ran down the hall, sobbing.
“Oh, shit,” said Sue, jumping to her feet and hurrying after her.
Left alone in the kitchen, Lucy decided this was a good time to leave. She was closing the door after her when a long, white stretch limousine pulled up at the curb. A black-tinted window slid open and Norah Hemmings poked her head out.
“Lucy! Come here!” ordered the queen of daytime TV. “I want to talk to you.”
“Hi,” said Lucy, bending awkwardly down to the window.
“Never mind that; come on in here. We’ll go for a little spin.”
Lucy pulled the door open and climbed in beside Norah, who was surrounded with a clutter of papers and a laptop computer.
“How is Sidra?” she demanded as the car glided along. “I flew up as soon as I heard.”
Lucy thought of the distr
essing scene she had just witnessed. “She needs time,” she finally said, relaxing on the cushioned seat and enjoying the air-conditioning. “I’d give her some time before you go back.”
“The poor child. I suppose she’s sobbing her heart out.”
Lucy nodded.
“I just know she’s heartbroken, poor thing. And her parents must be so upset, too.” Norah expelled a sharp little breath. “It’s just tragic, absolutely tragic. So young, the whole future ahead of them, and poof, it’s all over before it started. I just don’t think I can stand it.”
“It’s horrible,” agreed Lucy. “Especially for his mother.”
“That’s right. His mother’s here, too.” Norah paused, and Lucy could have sworn she heard a Rolodex spinning in her head. “Thelma?”
“Thelma.”
“Ahh, Thelma. An interesting woman.”
“You’ve met her?”
“Several times. At benefits and things.” Norah paused and smoothed her skirt. “And Ron, too, of course.”
“The next Bill Gates.”
“So they said.” Norah looked out the window at the stately captain’s homes they were passing, each set well back from the road, looking out on a spacious lawn dotted with big, old trees. Even a few mulberry trees, living relics of the China trade. “You know what these houses say to me? They say they were built by daring men who made their fortunes by sailing around the world, risking their lives to bring back goods and merchandise. Real stuff: lumber or bricks or dishes or tea. Something real, something you could weigh and measure and stock in a warehouse. It’s different nowadays. This Internet is just a lot of electrical impulses or something, and people are getting rich from it. I don’t understand it at all.”
“I don’t either,” admitted Lucy. “But you can’t argue with success. Ron was doing something right; they say he was a genius.”
“That may be so, but frankly, I never understood what Sidra saw in him.” Norah placed a hand on Lucy’s arm and leaned closer. “You know, I interview all sorts of people on my TV show, and after a while, you develop a sense about people. Whether they’re genuine or not, you know.”
Norah tapped her finger against Lucy’s arm. “There was something about him that just didn’t ring true, if you ask me.” She sighed. “It was the other fellow I really liked. Now, what was his name? Greg? Something like that.”
