by Leslie Meier
“No,” snapped Sue. “I don’t know why you’re making so much out of this.”
“Come on,” said Lucy, losing patience. “Admit it. You have been acting kind of oddly.”
“Well, my daughter’s fiancé has died suddenly, I have a heartbroken daughter on my hands, and my house is filled with bridesmaids in mourning. I don’t know . . . how do you think I should act?” Sue’s eyes flashed angrily. “And I don’t need you to keep bugging me.”
“Whoa,” said Lucy, taking a seat next to her friend. “Let’s start over. I have some interesting information about Ron.”
“Like what? He’s not a millionaire, he’s a billionaire?”
“He’s broke. The whole thing was a swindle.”
Sue’s chin dropped. “What?”
“It was all a big hoax. He hasn’t paid his rent on the yacht; he owes money for docking fees. It’s all over town. Plus, I talked to that writer from New York, Dorfman, and he has proof it was all a scam. A swindle. A big fraud. He’s talking to the police right now.”
Sue, who had been hanging on every word, collapsed back on the chaise and began to laugh. “That’s great,” she said. “That’s fabulous.”
This wasn’t quite the reaction Lucy had expected. “Why?”
“Because now I don’t have to pretend I’m sorry that the little weasel is dead. I don’t have to go through the motions of receiving callers; I don’t have to fill my house with gladiolus; I don’t have to eat Franny Small’s Austrian ravioli. It’s all over. I’m going to tell Sidra.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea . . .” began Lucy, but Sue was already on her feet. She dashed into the living room and opened the blinds, letting the sun in and startling Sidra and the others.
“Do you know what Lucy found out?” she began, standing in front of Sidra and placing her hands on her hips. “Ron was a crook. He wasn’t a millionaire after all. There’s no money; there’s nothing at all. He was a big phony.”
“That can’t be true . . .” began Sidra.
The bridesmaids glanced uneasily at each other.
“It is!” Sue proclaimed triumphantly. “Ask Lucy.”
Four sets of eyes fastened on Lucy.
She shrugged apologetically and nodded.
Sidra began sobbing hysterically. Lily passed her a box of tissues, then stood up and reached for her purse.
“We can see you’re upset,” she said, patting Sidra on the head.
“I think we’d better go,” said Lily, sliding smoothly along the couch, away from Sidra. Reaching the end, she stood up.
“You’ve got my cell phone number if you need anything,” said Kat, picking up her excruciatingly fashionable mini-tote bag.
Together, the three slipped out the front door. From the window, Lucy could see them pausing on the front walk for a quick gabfest, full of exclamations and gestures. Then they hurried down the walk, got in Norah’s big SUV, and drove away.
“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” said Sue, sitting beside Sidra.
“Why did they leave?” demanded Sidra, dabbing at her eyes.
“Because you’re not going to be marrying a millionaire, that’s why. Because you’re not going to be their ticket to café society.”
Sidra glared at her. “How can you say that? They’re my friends.”
“Well, where are they, then?” Sue asked, gesturing with an open palm. “They heard he was broke, and they vamoosed. Actions speak louder than words, honey.”
Sidra looked at her mother, then at Lucy.
“I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid,” she whispered. “Do you think he ever intended to really marry me?”
“Count yourself lucky,” said Lucy. “You had a close call.”
Sidra sat utterly still and white-faced for the longest time. Then, suddenly, she staggered to her feet, blinking like someone coming out of a long sleep.
“God, I hate gladiolus!” she exclaimed. “Is there something we can do with these flowers?”
“Toss ’em out,” suggested Sue, picking up an arrangement.
“No,” said Sidra, “that would be a waste. Let’s take them over to the nursing home.”
“You’re back!” Sue exclaimed happily, beaming at her daughter. “It’s the real Sidra.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” she said, giving Sue a hug. “I’ve been a real jerk.”
“You’re forgiven.” Sue smiled at Lucy. “Come on! Let’s get these flowers into the car.”
Chapter Twenty
Checking her watch, Lucy realized she had better get a move on or she would be late picking up the kids. She gave Sue and Sidra a wave and headed straight for the Queen Vic, and this time there were no police cars obstructing the driveway. She drove right up to the porch, where Elizabeth was sitting in a rocking chair waiting for her.
“Wow, Mom, you’re actually on time,” observed Elizabeth.
“Miracles happen,” Lucy said serenely.
And it was true, she thought. That was how she felt. For once, order had been restored to her world and things seemed to be working out right. The news that Ron had been a swindler had somehow come as a great relief. Not only to Sue and Sidra, Lucy realized, but to the whole town. Now Ron’s death wasn’t a Tinker’s Cove affair; it wasn’t linked to the wedding. It was much more likely, thought Lucy, that Ron’s death was a result of his illegal activities. Now the investigation would extend far beyond Tinker’s Cove.
In fact, she noticed as she pulled into her usual spot at the harbor, the white TV satellite trucks had almost all gone. Only the Portland station’s truck remained. Lucy honked her horn. From the Lady L, bobbing at its usual mooring in the harbor, she saw Toby wave. A few minutes later he was in the dinghy, rowing to shore.
As they waited, Lucy was surprised to see crew members on the Sea Witch cast off the lines and weigh anchor. The engines hummed, and the huge yacht slowly pulled away from the dock. Was Thelma aboard, Lucy wondered, or had she been jettisoned? For a moment, she had a crazy vision of Thelma, in jewels and high heels, attempting to hitch a ride on the interstate. She giggled.
“What’s so funny?” Elizabeth asked.
Feeling guilty, Lucy erased the thought from her mind.
“Nothing,” she said, spying Thelma’s tiny figure on the upper deck.
She couldn’t help feeling a surge of sympathy for the woman. Her society friends would certainly abandon her as soon as the news about Ron got out, just like Sidra’s bridesmaids had deserted her. She would not only have to deal with her grief for Ron, but she would also have to construct a new life for herself.
Toby pulled the car door open and plunked down in the backseat.
“You’re awfully quiet,” said Lucy, putting the car in gear and driving off. “Is something the matter?”
“I’m scared, Mom,” said Toby. “When we got back in this afternoon, some cops were waiting for Geoff. He figured they just wanted to ask him a few questions, but they took him away with them.”
“They arrested Geoff?” Elizabeth’s voice was shrill.
“I guess so. They made him go with them.”
Lucy didn’t like the sound of this. It seemed as if Geoff was now a suspect in Ron’s murder. She felt a tight little knot of anxiety forming in her stomach.
“Mom, you’ve got to do something about this,” demanded Elizabeth, eager to defend her idol. “Geoff would never do anything bad.”
“They searched the boat, too,” Toby added. “After they took him away. I didn’t know what to do. They had a warrant and everything, so I didn’t try to stop them.”
“They have a right to search,” said Lucy. “Did they find anything?”
“They took stuff away, but I don’t know what it was.”
“I thought this was a democracy,” Elizabeth muttered.
“What could he possibly have on the boat?” asked Lucy, wondering if this sudden police interest in Geoff was a result of their conversation with Dorfman. Once they eliminated him, Geoff would probably b
e next on their list. It was no secret that Geoff and Sidra had been dating before she took up with Ron. As a jilted boyfriend, he would be a prime suspect.
“Just research data about lobsters—why would they want that?”
“They probably don’t know what it is,” Lucy suggested, reaching out to pat Elizabeth’s thigh. “Once they figure it out, they’ll have to let him go.”
“Are you sure, Mom?” asked Elizabeth.
“I’m sure,” said Lucy, wishing she were half as convinced as she sounded. She turned into the drive at the Animal Friends Day Camp to pick up Zoe and Sara.
Next morning, a radio news report confirmed that Geoff Rumford was assisting police in their investigation but was not considered a suspect. He had been questioned and released.
“Does that mean he’s off the hook?” Elizabeth asked as she nibbled on an English muffin. It was her day off, but she was up early. Lance was taking her out for the day.
“Not necessarily,” admitted Lucy. “They can’t charge him without evidence. They could be putting together a case against him.”
“But he’s innocent!” declared Elizabeth.
“Well, you and I think so, but the police may have a different idea.” Lucy sent up a private little prayer. “It will all work out in the end.”
“It better, or I’ll be out of a job,” Toby added, slathering great quantities of cream cheese on a bagel. “I could probably get something else,” he continued, “but the project is showing real promise. Geoff said so the other day. It would be a shame if he had to stop now that he’s so close. You know how many people around here depend on lobsters.”
“That’s for sure,” Lucy agreed.
“Mom, isn’t there something you can do?” asked Elizabeth. “You know a lot of cops, like Barney and that lieutenant. You could tell them they’re wrong, couldn’t you?”
Lucy gave Elizabeth a rueful smile. “I don’t think Lieutenant Horowitz would appreciate my advice.”
“C’mon, Mom,” added Toby. “Geoff’s a good guy. I like working for him.”
Lucy looked from one earnest young face to the other. How could she refuse? Especially since she might have important information. What about those suspicious men in polo shirts? Had the police questioned them? Did they even know about them? It wouldn’t hurt to pay a visit to Barney and ask him to pass the word along.
“Okay,” she said, watching as they both broke into huge smiles. “But don’t get all excited. It probably won’t make any difference.”
An hour later, Lucy was making her usual stop at the harbor, dropping Toby off. Geoff was already on the boat, which had returned to its usual slip, bent over the bait boxes. He waved cheerfully as Toby walked down the dock, past the police officer who was posted there.
It was a tactic the local police had adopted recently, and Lucy didn’t approve of it. When they suspected someone but didn’t have enough evidence to press charges, they would keep the “subject” under observation. The official explanation was that surveillance was necessary in case the subject attempted to flee, but Lucy didn’t buy it. She thought it was simply a tactic to apply pressure to someone who was under suspicion in hopes that he or she would crack. Adding to the pressure was the presence of the Portland video crew.
A boat engine roared into life, and Lucy turned to see who it was. To her surprise, it was a blue-and-white police boat. They were apparently intending to follow the Lady L as Geoff and Toby went about their day’s work at sea.
The very idea disgusted her. She wanted to protest to someone about this injustice. Spotting Chuck Swift gassing up his boat at the fuel pump, she hurried over to him.
“Look at that!” she said, pointing out the police boat. “Do you see what they’re doing? It looks like they’re going to follow the Lady L.”
Chuck replaced the cap on his fuel tank and jumped onto the dock beside her.
“What’s it all about?” he asked.
“They think Geoff killed Davitz.”
“That’s a crime?” he asked with a perfectly straight face. “Next thing you know, it’ll be illegal to step on a spider or trap a rat.”
“Shame on you,” chided Lucy. “For all his faults, he was a human being. He didn’t deserve to be murdered.”
“I’m still not convinced it was murder,” said Chuck. “He could have slipped and hit his head falling in the water. It’s happened before.”
“Really?” Lucy was skeptical.
“Yeah.” Chuck nodded. “That’s how Carrie’s grandfather died. Slipped on a piece of bait and fell overboard, hitting his head on a bollard. They pulled him right out, but he was already dead.” Chuck looked toward the open water. “Fishing is real dangerous. More dangerous than people realize. You’re moving heavy stuff around on a slippery deck that like as not is rolling with the waves; you can get crushed. You can fall overboard—you know, most fishermen can’t swim. They’re superstitious about it. Then there’s the machinery. You can lose your fingers in a winch, get burned trying to fix a stalled engine. You want to know the truth, it’s a terrible way of making a living,” he said cheerfully. Then his face grew serious. “Carrie wants me to stop, because of the baby.”
“Are you going to?”
He gave his head a quick shake. “Nope.”
Lucy understood that fishing was in his blood; he could never give it up. “Were you down here on the Fourth?” she asked.
“Sure. Took the whole clan out in the boat to see the fireworks.”
“I mean earlier. In the afternoon. Around the time Ron got killed.”
He cocked his head. “You’re not playing detective, are you?”
“No. Nothing like that. I just wondered if you might have seen something unusual.”
“Well, it was a holiday,” he said, clamping his hands on his suspenders. “It wasn’t a regular working day. There were a lot of pleasure boaters, tourists. It was real busy down here.”
Hearing a shout, they turned and saw the harbormaster hurrying down the dock toward them.
“Why don’t you ask him?” suggested Chuck, reaching down and untying his boat.
“Hey, you! What do you think you’re doing?” Wiggins’s face was red and his whiskers were quivering with outrage.
“I’m going about my business,” said Chuck, pulling himself to his full height and facing Wiggins. “Have you got a problem with that?”
Testosterone, thought Lucy. Great stuff. Made men behave like roosters.
“I’ve got a problem with you, Swift.” Wiggins pointed a nicotine-stained finger at Chuck. “Can’t you read?”
“I can read,” Chuck said slowly. “But I’m not sure about you.”
“Well, if you can read, how come you can’t read that sign?”
Lucy followed Wiggins’s finger and saw a brand-new sign limiting fueling time to fifteen minutes.
“You can’t be serious,” scoffed Chuck.
“It’s town policy, and it’s my job to enforce it.”
“That’s the problem with you, Wiggins,” said Chuck, leaning back on his heels and narrowing his eyes. “You can’t think for yourself. This is just one example. Okay. There’s a fifteen-minute time limit. I’ll go along with that. Good idea, when there’s a lot of boats that need fuel. But right now, do you see anybody else waiting to use the pump?” He waved a hand at the nearly empty harbor. “Not a soul. So what’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that you think you can do whatever you want. Well, listen to me,” said Wiggins, thrusting his whiskered face in Chuck’s and giving him a little shove. “I’m the boss around here.”
Chuck staggered backward, then regained his balance and nimbly jumped into his boat. He grabbed the gaff and turned to face Wiggins.
“You want to get rough?” he asked, challenging him.
“Listen, fellas,” said Lucy, stepping in front of Wiggins. “Maybe you both ought to cool down a little. I don’t want to have to testify against either one of you.”
Chuck
laughed, tossed his gaff aside and started the engine. Giving a wave, he pulled away from the dock.
“Hey!” yelled Wiggins. “It’s pump and pay. That’s the policy. No credit!” Realizing Chuck was already out of earshot, he turned on Lucy. “And what are you doing here?” he demanded. “Did you get authorization?”
“No, I’m not authorized,” said Lucy, through her teeth. “But I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you, since if it wasn’t for me, you’d be treading water right now.”
Turning on her heel, Lucy marched back to the car. It wasn’t until she was out of the parking lot and on Main Street that she realized she’d missed her chance to ask Wiggins if he’d seen any suspicious characters on the wharf around the time that Davitz was killed.
Resolving to try to talk with him that evening when she picked up Toby, she headed over to the police station. With luck, she could catch Barney leaving for his usual morning coffee break.
When she arrived, however, the usually empty lobby was full of people, as if a meeting had just ended. In the middle of them all was Lieutenant Horowitz. Lucy quickly turned away in hopes of avoiding him, but she wasn’t quick enough.
“My favorite reporter,” he said, without much enthusiasm.
“Looks like you’ve got quite a crowd here,” said Lucy, pulling out her notebook. “What’s going on?”
Horowitz shrugged. “Just bringing everybody up to speed on the investigation,” he said.
Lucy glanced at the mix of plainclothes and uniformed officers that were crowding the lobby. “Are all these officers involved in investigating Davitz’s murder?” she asked.
Horowitz worked his long upper lip. “We take murder very seriously,” he said.
“Not this seriously,” protested Lucy. “I’ve never seen more than a handful of officers assigned to one case. Are you sure Davitz’s murder isn’t tied into some larger investigation?”
Horowitz’s gray eyes were blank. “I can’t comment on that at this time,” he said.
“Well, when do you think you will be able to comment?”
“I’m not a fortune teller, Mrs. Stone. I can’t predict the future.”
Frustrated, Lucy let out a long sigh.
