by Leslie Meier
“What time was that?”
Moira’s eyes blazed. “I don’t know what time it was! My husband was lying on the floor. There was blood everywhere. I thought he was dead, for pity’s sake.” She paused dramatically. “I didn’t check my watch.”
Horowitz raised his eyes, meeting hers. “You didn’t call for help, but you did remember to cancel the hair appointment.”
Hearing this, Lucy’s jaw dropped in shock.
“I never did!” exclaimed Moira, self-righteously.
“Someone used your cell phone to call the salon,” said Horowitz. “We checked the phone records.”
“All right,” admitted Moira. “I didn’t want to lose the appointment, especially if there was going to be a funeral and everyone would be looking at me.” She sniffed. “Jean-Pierre was most understanding. Very sympathetic.”
“Right,” said Horowitz, snapping the notebook shut. “That’s all for now, but I wouldn’t advise either of you to leave town. I’ll need official statements, so I’ll be contacting you later today or tomorrow.”
Dave was on his feet immediately, heading for the door. He didn’t even pause to say goodbye to Moira. She made a beeline for the elevator, with Deirdre in tow, apparently heading for the basement cafeteria.
Horowitz turned, pocketing his notebook, and spotted Lucy. “Ah, Mrs. Stone, I didn’t realize you were there.”
“I feel a little shaky, and I didn’t want to drive until I felt better.”
“You were eavesdropping.”
“I didn’t hear a thing,” she said.
“Well, good, because then I won’t have to remind you that anything you might accidentally have heard is strictly off the record. Got that?”
“Got it.” Lucy stood up and crossed the room, meeting Horowitz in the middle. “I can’t believe she called her hairdresser instead of nine-one-one.”
“It must’ve been a hair emergency,” said Horowitz.
Once again, Lucy’s jaw dropped in amazement. “I had no idea you actually have a sense of humor,” she told him.
Phyllis had the same reaction when Lucy recounted the story at the office.
“Will wonders never cease?” mused Phyllis. “Horowitz cracked a joke.”
“I don’t know what’s more amazing,” said Ted. “Horowitz making jokes or Moira canceling her appointment with Jean-Pierre?”
“I definitely think she could have called nine-one-one first,” said Lucy.
“Well, Lucy, people have different priorities,” said Ted. “Right now my priority is getting the paper out. Could you call the hospital and check on Malone’s condition?”
“He really has a rock in his head?” asked Phyllis. “How could that happen?”
“Beats me,” said Lucy, yawning as she flipped through the Rolodex for the hospital number, a task that suddenly seemed beyond her.
“Slingshot,” said Ted. “That’s my guess.”
“Probably some kid,” grumbled Phyllis.
“I don’t think so,” said Ted. “Kids don’t play with slingshots these days. They’re too busy with video games and instant messaging and posting blogs on the computer. And if they have a violent bent and video games aren’t exciting enough for them, they get real guns and shoot up their school.”
“Not all kids,” protested Lucy. “Plenty of kids have part-time jobs and compete in school sports and science fairs and do their homework because they’re worried about getting into college.” Finally locating the number, she picked up the phone, yawning again and blinking as she struggled to make out the digits. “You do have a point, though. I don’t see why some kid would fire off a slingshot at Dylan, unless it was absolutely random and accidental.”
“Which is unlikely considering what happened to his brother,” said Ted.
Lucy got a busy signal and hung up. “You think somebody wants to kill both Malone brothers?”
“It sure looks that way,” said Ted.
Lucy got up and poured herself a cup of coffee. Now that her body was no longer pumping out adrenaline, she felt completely exhausted. She needed something to help her stay awake. Setting the cup on her desk, she sat down and stared at the computer, intending to write an account of Dylan’s injury. Her mind was jumbled, however, and she wasn’t sure what she could include and what Horowitz told her was off the record. The longer she sat, the blurrier the words and letters became. Her eyes fell shut, and she jerked herself awake, typed a word or two, and felt her eyelids growing heavier until they shut again.
“Lucy,” said Ted, gently shaking her shoulder. “You’ve been asleep for ten minutes.”
“I have?” she asked groggily.
“You might as well go home and get some Zs. You can write this tomorrow.”
“No, no. I can do it,” she said, forcing herself to focus on the screen. She saw nothing but lines and lines of As. Her hand had dropped on that key when she drifted off.
“Go,” he said. “We’ll have more information tomorrow. There’s no sense writing it twice.”
He was right. Besides, being so tired, she knew she’d have to rewrite whatever she managed to produce, anyway.
“See you tomorrow,” she said, stumbling as she gathered her coat and bag and headed for the door.
“Will you be all right?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said, and she was as soon as the cold air hit her face. She took a few deep breaths as she walked down the sidewalk to the car. By the time she was behind the steering wheel, she knew she would never be able to manage a nap. Her body was tired, but her mind was full of random, freakish thoughts: Moira’s dramatics, Moira’s curly red hair, the blood flowing from Dylan’s wound and pooling in his ear before trickling down his neck, King Conor’s exploding head. She slipped the key into the ignition, pausing when she heard the call of a seagull. It reminded her of the morning Old Dan’s body was found in the harbor, and she wondered if this latest attack on Dylan was related. It seemed obvious that they must be, but why? Who was out to get the Malone brothers?
Starting the car, she was taken by a fit of yawning and realized she really was too tired to drive all the way home. Instead, she turned down Sea Street, toward the harbor, where Bill and Brian were working at the Bilge. Bill looked up in alarm when she tapped on the door.
“Is everything all right?” he asked. “Is Molly okay?”
“What have you heard?” she asked, alarmed.
“Nothing. I thought maybe you’d heard something,” said Bill.
“No. Nothing from that quarter, but I do have something to tell you,” said Lucy. “Somebody attacked Dylan Malone this morning. He’s in the hospital, with a rock stuck in his head.”
“I know he’s got rocks in his head,” said Brian, attempting a joke.
“No. It’s true,” said Lucy. “They think it came from a slingshot. He’s in bad shape.”
Bill sat down on a bucket of joint compound. “Damn. This could mean I’m out of a job. And you, too, Brian.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” admitted Brian. “I was wondering if the show’s gonna go on.”
“Frankly, I wouldn’t mind if you never set foot in this place again,” said Lucy, looking around at the big, new windows, which let in the light, and the fresh, clean wallboard. “I think you should get yourself clear of anything connected with the Malones. First, it was Old Dan, then it was Dylan, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence. Somebody’s out to get them, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the Bilge is next.”
Brian and Bill exchanged glances, and Brian began to say something but was silenced by a quick shake of the head from Bill.
“Don’t be silly,” said Bill, giving her a hug. “You’re letting your fears get the best of you.”
Lucy sighed. “You’re right. I’m just tired. I was heading home for a nap, but I was afraid I’d fall asleep at the wheel.”
“Let’s break for lunch, and I’ll take you home,” said Bill. “Brian, you mind picking me up in an hour or so?”
&nbs
p; “No problem, boss,” said Brian. “Meantime, I think I better make some calls. Let Frank and Father Ed know what’s happened.” He shrugged. “The show must go on, right?”
“That’s what they say,” said Lucy. “Personally, I’ve got some doubts.”
Chapter Sixteen
Lucy went straight to bed when she got home and was awakened a little bit after three, when Sara and Zoe arrived home from school. Libby, the dog, always barked when she heard the school bus grinding its way up Red Top Hill and yipped and pranced excitedly as she awaited the wonderful moment when the door would open and the girls, who had been carried off by the big yellow monster of a school bus, would miraculously reappear. Then she would indulge in an ecstasy of wiggling, tail wagging, and jumping, which was either ignored by the girls or earned her a sharp reprimand. Today it was the latter. “Down, down, you stupid dog,” ordered Sara, but Libby paid no mind. She never did until she got her treat, a handful of dog biscuits. Then she would begin hiding them, a task that kept her occupied for at least half an hour. Lucy had grown used to finding them tucked away between sofa cushions, under throw pillows and afghans, even under the pillow on her bed. That was clearly the dog’s intent today. Lucy heard her nails as she clicked up the stairs and saw her slightly annoyed expression as she stood in the doorway to Lucy’s room, biscuit between her teeth.
“Don’t worry. I’m getting up,” said Lucy. And as soon as she did, the dog jumped on her bed, dropped the biscuit, and began arranging the covers with her nose in order to hide it.
She was wondering if a dog could suffer from obsessive-compulsive behavior as she splashed some water on her face in the bathroom, then went downstairs to greet the girls. They were both sitting at the kitchen table. Zoe was eating a piece of cold pizza, and Sara was doing her homework. They both looked up when she appeared.
“How’s Molly?” asked Sara.
“No news is good news, and I haven’t heard anything all day,” said Lucy, lighting the stove under the kettle. “I’m going to the hospital this evening.”
“Can we come?” asked Sara. “I’m doing my homework right now so I can go tonight.”
Lucy knew the Cottage Hospital welcomed visitors. “I don’t see why not. What about you, Zoe? Do you have homework?”
“I did it at school. During reading.”
Lucy nodded. This was nothing new. Zoe, who got all As, was a whiz at knocking off her homework while the kids who had trouble reading aloud made their halting way through the day’s lesson. The kettle shrieked, and she made herself a cup of tea, then sat down at the table to wait for it to steep.
“Deirdre’s father is in the hospital,” she told Zoe. “He hurt his head.”
“How did he hurt it?” asked Sara.
“Somebody threw a rock at him.” Lucy pulled the tea bag out of her mug, squeezing it against the side with a spoon.
“People shouldn’t throw rocks,” said Zoe. “I’ll make him a get well card.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Lucy, taking a sip of tea. She felt a pleasant warming sensation in her chest, but she wasn’t sure if it was the tea or Zoe’s thoughtfulness that caused it.
The phone rang, and both girls stampeded across the kitchen to answer it. Sara won the race, as usual, only to learn the call wasn’t for her. “It’s for you, Mom,” she said, sounding terribly disappointed. “It’s Mrs. Goodman.” Lucy wondered who she was hoping would call. A boy?
“Hi, Rachel,” said Lucy, taking the phone.
“I won’t keep you. I know you’re busy with Molly and all,” she began.
Ah, the wonders of small-town life, thought Lucy. “How’d you hear?” she asked, curious about the functioning of the gossip grapevine.
“My neighbor Susan works in the emergency room,” said Rachel. “She said it was touch and go for a while there.”
“Yeah,” agreed Lucy. “Doc Ryder is trying to avoid a caesarean. The baby is still too small.”
“That’s tough. I’ll be thinking of you all, especially Molly.”
“I’ll tell her,” said Lucy. “I’m going tonight.”
“Oh, that’s the reason I called. To tell you Frank’s calling a rehearsal at six sharp.”
Lucy’s eyebrows shot up. “That was fast. Dylan’s in the hospital, too, you know.”
“I know. Everybody’s talking about it. After all, it isn’t the sort of thing that happens every day. It’s something straight out of The Guinness Book of World Records. Poor Dylan really does have rocks, or at least a rock, in his head.”
Sometimes Lucy wondered why they bothered to print the Pennysaver; news spread so fast in this town that it hardly seemed necessary.
Getting no reply from Lucy, Rachel continued. “I know I shouldn’t joke about something like this, but, well, it is pretty funny in a macabre sort of way.”
Lucy started to say she didn’t think it was funny at all, and that she found it extremely upsetting that somebody was running around town, chopping off heads and lobbing rocks at people, but didn’t want to say so in front of the girls. “I just hope they get to the bottom of it,” she said.
“Oh, probably some kid who was messing around with a slingshot, don’t you think?”
“Probably,” said Lucy, who didn’t think that at all. “So is Frank taking over for Dylan?”
“Just until Dylan’s back on his feet. And a bit of luck for me—I’m going to take Moira’s place since she’ll be busy with Dylan.”
“Congratulations,” said Lucy, happy for her friend, even though she doubted Moira would willingly relinquish her starring role. “I’ll try to make it, but I’m not sure if I can. I want to stop at the hospital and see Molly.”
“Of course. I’ll explain the situation to Frank, and I’m sure he’ll understand. And it’s not as if you have a major role or anything. You’re only in the chorus, after all.”
Lucy smiled ruefully to herself. Who would have thought it? Yesterday Rachel was in the chorus; today she was a star. And already a prima donna.
After conferring with the girls, Lucy decided she would grab a quick bite at home and stop at the hospital on the way to rehearsal, and Bill and the girls would visit Molly later, after cooking supper and cleaning up the supper dishes. Lucy wasn’t sure she had the energy for a rehearsal, but she knew everybody would be talking about Dylan’s injury, and she didn’t want to miss a word. It would be interesting to see how various people, especially Frank, Dave, and Brian, reacted. But first she had to assure herself that Molly was holding her own.
Toby was sitting in the recliner next to Molly’s bed when Lucy arrived, watching a sports channel. Molly was sound asleep and, to Lucy’s eyes, seemed to have lost some of the puffiness she’d had the day before.
“Don’t get up,” said Lucy as Toby started to his feet the minute he saw her. “I can’t stay long.”
“Should I wake Molly?” he asked, clicking off the TV.
“No, no. Let her rest.” Lucy gave him a peck on the cheek. “How’s she doing?”
“Okay, I guess. They won’t tell me much.”
“She looks better,” whispered Lucy.
“Yeah. I think so, too.” He looked down at his hands. “I never expected anything like this.”
“It’s not your fault,” she told him, responding to his guilt-stricken expression. “It’s not anybody’s fault. It’s just one of those things.”
“She’s never sick. She doesn’t even get colds.”
“Then she’ll come through this just fine,” said Lucy, sensing that he needed reassurance. “I’m sure of it.”
“I hope so,” he said, raising his voice and causing Molly to stir.
Lucy put her finger to her lip. “I guess I better go. I’m on my way to rehearsal.”
“I’ll walk you to the elevator,” he said, getting up and casting a glance at Molly just to make sure she’d be all right in his absence. Out in the hallway, he took hold of her arm. “There’s something I want to tell you, Mom,” he said.
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br /> What now? Lucy turned to face him and, seeing how anxious he looked, stroked his cheek.
“There’s weird stuff going on at the Bilge,” he said. “It’s got me kinda worried.”
“What do you mean?”
“Stuff’s been stolen. They’ve even ripped up work that Dad and Brian did. Pulled up floorboards, kicked holes in the Sheetrock, stuff like this.”
“Who’s doing it?” asked Lucy, alarmed.
“I think it’s the old Bilge crowd. They don’t like the idea of losing their hangout, you know. Now there’s no place for them to go when they come off the boats.”
“Do you think one of them could’ve thrown the rock that hit Dylan?” she asked.
“Probably. Some of those guys can be pretty crazy, especially if they’re high on meth or booze or something. They wouldn’t think it would really hurt him, you know?”
Lucy wasn’t buying it. “Even Zoe knows you shouldn’t throw rocks.”
“Zoe’s not using meth,” said Toby. “It kinda clouds your judgment.”
“And how do you know so much about it?” asked Lucy.
“Not firsthand, Mom,” said Toby. “Just stuff I heard.”
“Maybe you should tell some of this stuff you heard to the police. You could give Barney a call.”
“That’s why I’m telling you, Mom. Dad won’t do anything, says it would just lead to more trouble. But I’m afraid it’ll get worse if somebody doesn’t stop them.” He paused. “It’s bad enough having Molly in the hospital. I’d hate to have Dad or Brian here, too.”
“Thanks for telling me,” she said, giving him a hug. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Then he turned and walked down the hall to Molly’s room, looking as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Watching him go, Lucy shook her head sadly. He and Molly were so young, and this was a lot to handle. She sent up a little prayer for Molly and the baby and for Toby, too. Then the elevator came, and she thought over what he’d told her as she descended to the lobby and went out to the parking lot. The sun was setting, casting dazzling orange and red reflections on the hospital windows. It almost looked as if the building was on fire, but it was only a trick of the light. Soon the sun would drop below the horizon, taking all that razzle-dazzle with it and leaving darkness behind. The thought made her uneasy as she started the car. She felt vulnerable and afraid, and she didn’t like it. She wanted things to go back to the way they were before Dylan and Moira came to town, bringing murder and mayhem. Oh, not that she thought they were directly responsible, but even Moira admitted they did seem to have unleashed forces that couldn’t be explained or controlled.
