Holiday Murder

by Leslie Meier

  Culpepper held the gun out in the flat of his hand for the boys to admire, then twirled it around his finger a few times before replacing it at his side.

  “What else have I got in my belt? This here’s my walkie-talkie. We use this when we’re working in a team—say, for the Fourth of July parade or a search. A situation like that.” He held up the instrument for the boys to see and then stowed it in his belt.

  “I tell you, this belt gets heavy. At the end of the day I’m sure glad to take it off. Now these,” he said, “these are handcuffs. Who’ll volunteer?”

  All the boys stuck out their hands, but Culpepper picked his son, Eddie, and clapped the cuffs on him. “Now, see if you can get loose,” he challenged. The boys gave Eddie all sorts of advice, but no matter how he twisted and turned the cuffs held fast.

  “Okay, I’ll unlock him. I’ve got the key right here.” A sudden burst of sound from the radio in the cruiser caught Culpepper’s attention as he unlocked the cuffs. “I have to answer that. Want to see how the radio works?”

  The boys all followed him over to the black-and-white vehicle. Lucy remained leaning against Indian Rock, overwhelmed by a sudden sense of recognition. She’d heard that sound before. But when? Not in the course of daily life; she’d heard it in connection with something major. How else could she explain the uneasy feeling that threatened to overwhelm her? She followed the boys over to the cruiser and tried to remember if she’d seen a police cruiser at her father’s funeral. Death. She knew the sound meant death.

  This is ridiculous, she thought to herself, and then she remembered. She’d been standing in the doorway at Country Cousins watching the snow fall. She’d stepped inside and closed the door. Then, she’d heard a sound. Because of the sound she’d gone out and found Sam Miller. And it wasn’t a dog barking, she now realized with horror. It had been the crackle of a police radio. She was sure. That meant a police cruiser had been in the Country Cousins lot when Sam Miller was dying. Had it been Culpepper’s?

  As Lucy watched him pushing buttons and talking into the mike, smiling and nodding at the scouts, bits of information fell into place. It was rumored that Culpepper had had an affair with Marcia Miller. Even if that wasn’t true, Miller’s role in the planning commission might have been enough of a motive. Just yesterday at the coffee shop she’d seen him nearly sock Jonathan Franke over the commission’s proposal. He had certainly looked as if he’d wanted to kill Franke.

  “That’s enough, boys,” said Culpepper, looking up at Lucy. He looked away furtively, and she realized he knew that something was wrong.

  “Boys!” she called. “It’s getting late. It’s time to go back.” They had run off down the trail without her. She half turned toward Culpepper, stretching her lips across her dry teeth in something she hoped looked like a smile.

  “Thanks so much for bringing the cocoa,” she said. “I’d better catch up with the boys.”

  “Not so fast,” said Culpepper, causing her to stop in her tracks. She stood nervously while he hauled himself out of the cruiser, calculating her chances. She was perhaps twenty feet from the cruiser. If she ran immediately, she would have a good head start. She was used to running, and a glance at Culpepper’s belly where the buttons on his uniform strained to hold the gaping fabric together indicated that he wasn’t. If she ran hell for leather down the path this instant, she could catch up to the boys and be safe. But she felt frozen in place; her feet felt like lead and her breath was coming too fast. She watched as he came closer and closer, fascinated by the red veins on his nose, the hairs that sprouted between his eyebrows, and his little blue eyes. Piggy eyes. Had Sam Miller felt like this before he died?

  “Lucy, breathe into this bag.” Culpepper shoved the doughnut bag against her face and picked up her hands, cupping them so she could hold it herself. “You’re hyperventilating. Here, sit in the cruiser for a minute until you feel better. Just take it easy. You’ll be fine,” he reassured her.

  “I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” Lucy admitted as he climbed in beside her. “For a minute there I thought you killed Sam Miller.”

  Culpepper looked up sharply, and again panic swept over Lucy. Why couldn’t she keep her suspicions to herself, at least until she was safe at home?

  “I know you didn’t,” Lucy reassured him. “But everyone’s saying you had an affair with Marcia Miller.”

  “What?” Culpepper was incredulous. “Me and Marcia Miller? That stuck-up bitch?”

  Lucy shrugged. “You know the kinds of things people say. I thought it was possible.”

  “You did?” Culpepper sucked in his gut and straightened his shoulders. “Do you think Marge knows?” Then he corrected himself. “I mean, do you think anybody said anything to Marge?”

  “No, they wouldn’t.” Lucy shook her head. People gossiped according to the rules in Tinker’s Cove. They talked about each other, but they never made direct accusations.

  “And then I saw you and Jonathan Franke in the coffee shop. You looked as if you wanted to strangle him.”

  “Those conservationists make me sick,” Culpepper confessed. “Not a one of ’em knows what it’s like to work for a living.”

  “But Barney . . .” Lucy weighed her words carefully. “I’m almost positive I heard a police radio the night I found Sam Miller. In fact, I know I did.”

  Culpepper dropped his head on the steering wheel. “I was afraid you’d remember. I tell you, I was sweating like a pig that day Horowitz had me come along to interview you. Boy, was I glad when you didn’t remember. I guess it’ll all come out now,” he said, raising his head and looking at Lucy.

  “What will come out? What were you doing in the parking lot?”

  “I was a fool,” said Culpepper. “I can’t believe I was so stupid.”

  “You’re really in trouble, aren’t you?”

  “You know it. If this gets out, I’ll lose my job.” Culpepper shook his head. “It’s not much of a job, but it’s all I’ve got.”

  “It can’t be that bad,” Lucy reassured him. “What did you do?”

  “I don’t know what I was thinking of,” Culpepper admitted. “You know that magazine? Modern Mercenary? Well, I’ve had a subscription for years. Real man stuff, y’know. Lots of action. I love it. In the back they have a classified section. Dirty deeds done dirt cheap, y’know what I mean?”

  “I think I saw something on TV about it.”

  “Yeah, I think Sixty Minutes did a story on it. Well, I put an ad in. Partly it was just for kicks, just make-believe. But partly I thought something might come from it. The pay for this job is lousy, and we could use some extra money. So I put an ad in.”

  His eyes glowed with pride as he remembered the words. “‘Resourceful, enterprising man of action available for assignments in Maine, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire.’ I didn’t want to be away from home overnight, you know.” He cocked an eyebrow and nodded at Lucy.

  “Barney, why don’t you drive while we talk? When the boys’ parents come to pick them up, they’ll wonder if I’m not there.”

  “Okay.” He started the car and headed down the road.

  “I only got one response to the ad, but it was a doozy. Someone wanted me to kill Sam Miller. Offered me ten thousand dollars. I said I wouldn’t do it, wasn’t really my line, and they hung right up.”

  “Who do you think it was? Was it a man or a woman?”

  “It was a man, but I don’t have any idea who. I didn’t recognize the voice and there wasn’t time to trace the call. Then I didn’t know what to do. If I warned Sam, I’d have to explain about the ad, and I was embarrassed, I might even have lost my job—moonlighting’s against the regulations. So I just tried to keep an eye on him. Checked in on him every so often. That night I happened to see him on the road, heading toward the warehouse. Then I got a call to go to the Anchor Bar and give Bill Maloney a ride home. When I got back to the parking lot, Sam was already dead. I didn’t have any reason to be in the parking lot, so
I left.”

  “You’d really get in trouble if this got out?”

  Culpepper nodded. “Probably get suspended without pay for a month, something like that. I can’t afford that.” He shook his head and then smiled. “Don’t look so worried, Lucy. I’ll think of something.” He indicated the anxious row of mothers peering into the cruiser and laughed. “I guess I’m not the only one with some explainin’ to do.”

  “I didn’t feel well,” said Lucy to the small group of curious women. “Officer Culpepper gave me a ride down from Indian Rock.”

  “These children have been unsupervised for at least fifteen minutes,” said Mrs. Phipps, the wattles under her chin shaking with indignation.

  “I’m sorry. It couldn’t be avoided.” Lucy shrugged. Seeing their skeptical expressions, she didn’t think she’d convinced them.

  “Don’t forget,” she added brightly, “there’s no meeting next week because of school vacation. C’mon, Toby, let’s go home.”

  Chapter Twelve

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  “I’m seriously thinking of committing suicide.”

  “Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a tiny bit?” Sue’s crisp, rational voice came over the phone wire.

  “Probably,” admitted Lucy. “But you should’ve seen the way they looked at me. I thought Stubby Phipps’s mother was going to lose her bridge. She just kept standing there with her mouth hanging open, looking at Culpepper and looking at me and trying to make one plus one equal something illicit.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t worry about her. If Stubby manages to graduate from high school, he’ll be the first in that family.”

  “But she’s influential. People listen to what she says, and she always has a lot to say. I bet the phone wires are just buzzing, and meanwhile my reputation is going down the tubes.”

  “What if Bill finds out?”

  “Sue! There’s nothing for Bill to find out! I’m not attracted to Barney at all.”

  “A lot of women are.”

  “I have trouble believing that.”

  “Why? These things happen, you know.”

  “Culpepper’s belly hangs over his pants.”

  “Just because you don’t find him attractive doesn’t mean that other women don’t.”

  “Well, I do know Barney. He’s a family man, he likes kids, he’s kind of an overgrown kid himself. And even if he wasn’t devoted to Marge, where would he carry on an affair?”

  “There’s lots of camps out in the woods. A roaring fire, a Hudson Bay blanket, a man with a gun . . . it could be kind of exciting.”

  “Whatever turns you on,” said Lucy, neatly turning the tables on her friend. “Seriously, it’s an awful feeling when you know people are talking about you. I feel so exposed. I can understand how Marcia Miller must have felt. No wonder she left.”

  “That, or a guilty concience?”

  “Who knows?” said Lucy, growing impatient. “Look, I’ve got to go.”

  She hung up the phone and turned to see her mother entering the kitchen. She was glad to see she was still in her robe and slippers. So far during her visit she had appeared fully dressed each morning. When Lucy went in to tidy Toby’s room she found both twin beds neatly made and her mother’s suitcase zipped shut and placed at the foot of the bed.

  “Did you have a good night?” asked Lucy.

  “I did,” answered her mother, pouring a cup of coffee. “I’ve slept better here than I have in a long time. I think it’s sleeping in the same room with Toby. I hear his breathing, and it’s so peaceful that I fall right to sleep. I haven’t done that in a long time.”

  “You must miss Dad a lot.”

  “Especially at night. I don’t like being alone. If I hear a little noise, I get frightened. I’m nervous all the time.”

  Lucy nodded. “I know what you mean.”

  “I wonder if you do. I don’t think anybody knows what it’s like until it happens to them. Losing a father isn’t like losing a husband.”

  “Maybe,” said Lucy, not quite willing to admit that losing her father was insignificant compared with her mother’s loss. “What would you like for breakfast?”

  “Just an English muffin.”

  “How about an egg or two? Or some hot cereal?” asked Lucy, eyeing her mother’s flat cheeks and stick wrists.

  “No, just a muffin. That’s what I always have.”

  “Marmalade?” Lucy asked hopefully.

  “That would be nice.” The older woman took a sip of coffee. “Lucy, last night I was thinking that I really ought to send some Christmas cards. I wasn’t going to, but now I’ve changed my mind.”

  Lucy almost dropped the knife she was poking into the marmalade jar. “I think you should. I’m sure you can find some conservative ones.”

  “I thought I’d look in that gift shop in town and see what they have.”

  Lucy’s heart sank. She wanted to encourage her mother to keep in touch with her friends, but with Sara still sick and a long list of things to do, she felt frantic at the prospect of another trip to town.

  “Mom, I’d love to help, but I just can’t drive you today.”

  “I could drive myself. I have a license.”

  This was news to Lucy. “You do? Dad always drove.”

  “He did, but I never let my license expire. I’ve been out a few times and I’ve done quite well.”

  “In the city?” Lucy was incredulous.

  “Only around the neighborhood, but I’m sure I could manage these roads. There isn’t much traffic.”

  “Okay,” Lucy agreed. She certainly wasn’t going to discourage her. In fact, new possibilities were opening before her. “Would you mind picking up a few things for me?”

  Lucy watched as her mother drove the Subaru very cautiously down the long driveway. As she turned out onto the road a large egg truck swerved to avoid her, narrowly missing a collision, but she continued on her way. Lucy wasn’t sure if her mother had noticed or not. She sighed. There was nothing she could do now except send up a quick prayer and keep her fingers crossed. She poured herself a second cup of coffee and sat down with the morning paper. She wanted to find a kitten for the kids to replace poor Patches, so she turned to the classifieds.

  The first ad she saw read “Kute, Kuddly, Kristmas Kittens.” Lucy chuckled and dialed the number, but the woman who answered told her that the kittens were all gone. She hung up and turned back to the paper to check the next ad. “Free to a good home,” it read. “Pretty Calico Kittens.”

  “I’m calling about the kittens,” began Lucy when the woman answered.

  “We do have some kittens,” the voice admitted cautiously. “But we want to make sure they’ll be well taken care of.”

  “We’ve had lots of cats. We’re very experienced cat owners, and I can promise we’ll take good care of the kitten,” Lucy promised.

  “How many cats do you have?” inquired the voice.

  “None at the moment,” Lucy confessed. “Our last cat was killed. . . .” The moment she said it she realized her mistake. She should have said “died of old age,” but she continued, hoping to convince the kitten owner that she was not a kitten abuser. “Our children have been very upset. They miss old Patches very much, and I was hoping to give them a new kitten for Christmas.”

  “You have children?” The voice was shocked. “I’m sorry, but our kittens are not used to children. Good-bye.”

  Lucy tapped her fingers on the table and looked at the next ad. She scratched her head thoughtfully and thought about Culpepper’s ad in Modern Mercenary magazine. Someone had read those ads looking for a hit man to kill Sam Miller just as she had gone through the ads looking for a kitten. When she didn’t get a satisfac
tory response, she just went on to the next ad. And whoever had called Culpepper had probably just gone on to the next ad when he’d refused the job.

  Lucy dialed the next number. She heard the phone ring six times and was about to hang up when she heard the receiver being picked up. She could hear a baby crying in the background.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi,” piped a child’s voice.

  “Can I speak to your mommy?”

  “Okay.” There was a long silence. Lucy thought of the times she’d found the receiver lying on the counter, the caller forgotten, as some distraction interrupted Sara or Elizabeth as they searched for her.

  “Hello?” said a grown-up voice.

  “I’m calling about the kittens,” Lucy said.

  “How many do you want?”

  “Just one.”

  “How about two? Two are definitely more fun than one.”

  “Two would cause fights,” said Lucy, suddenly overcome with Christmas spirit. “Do you have three?”

  “Sure, come on over.”

  “I must be crazy,” Lucy said, stricken with second thoughts.

  “It’s Christmas. Live a little! Crystal, put that kitten down!”

  Lucy wrote down the directions and told the woman she would come the next day, Christmas Eve. What am I getting myself into? she thought as she replaced the receiver. Three cats. It wasn’t all that ridiculous, she tried to convince herself. The house was big, and the kids would be thrilled to have one cat each. Maybe three cats would be content to stay safely at home. Anything was possible. She shuddered involuntarily, thinking of poor Patches and Sam Miller, too.

  “I know I shouldn’t do this,” she said aloud, dialing the police station. When she got Culpepper on the line, she just plunged in.

  “Barney, I think I know how we can find Sam Miller’s killer.”

  She explained how the idea had come to her while she had been looking for a kitten in the classifieds. Culpepper was skeptical.