Holiday Murder

by Leslie Meier

  There, as if in slow motion, she saw Franny approaching Andrea, holding out something. Oh my God, she thought, realizing that Franny, dear, well-meaning Franny, had saved one of the MADD pamphlets and was intending to give it to Andrea. No doubt expecting her to be grateful for this show of concern.

  Lucy immediately started across the room, hoping to intercept Franny before the exchange could take place. In her haste, her foot slipped out of her loafer and she began to fall. She caught herself by grabbing the doorjamb and quickly shoved her foot back into the shoe.

  “What is this? A joke?” exclaimed Andrea, glaring at Franny.

  Lucy hurried to explain. “Steffie brought these pamphlets. Her husband is . . . ”

  “I know exactly who her husband is,” hissed Andrea.

  “Well, if I’d known about Tim, I never would have let her put the pamphlets out. And as soon as I heard, I threw them away. I’m sure Franny was only trying to be helpful.”

  “That’s right,” sniffed Franny.

  To Lucy’s dismay, Steffie joined their little group and placed her hand on Andrea’s arm.

  “It’s very normal to feel angry about Tim’s arrest, but it’s for his own good,” she said. “My husband has seen too many terrible accidents where kids, kids like Tim, have been killed. Isn’t it better for him to learn that drinking and driving is unacceptable? I mean,” she continued with the bright certainty of the mother of a blameless three-year-old, “I would much rather spend a morning in court with Will than a night in the emergency room.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be so confident, if I were you,” said Andrea, pulling her arm free of Steffie’s grasp. Her voice rang out shrilly, and the other women dropped their conversations and turned toward her.

  “I know what you’re thinking, all of you,” continued Andrea, her eyes flashing with anger. “You’re all positive that something like this will never happen to you because you’re good mothers. It’s only bad mothers whose kids get in trouble. And you’ve done everything right. You’ve cooked dinner every night. OK, so once in a while you order pizza, but that’s as bad as it gets. Right?”

  Pam and Juanita chuckled nervously.

  “You don’t let the kids watch too much TV—it’s not good for them. And you don’t let them eat too many sweets because you want them to have strong teeth. You go to church every Sunday, and you make sure the kids go to Sunday School.”

  Franny dabbed at her eyes, which were filling with tears.

  “Most of all, you’ve been good examples. You don’t drink and drive, and your kids would never dream of doing it. Oh, no. You’ve spoken with them and told them that if they need a ride home, they should call you. No matter what the time. You’ll get them, no questions asked. Right?”

  A few heads around the room nodded, including Lucy’s. She and Bill had had that very talk with Toby just a few weeks ago.

  “Well, you know what?”demanded Andrea, who was shaking with rage and shame. “I am a good mother. I’ve done all those things. And my son was arrested. The lawyer tells me he’ll have a criminal record for the rest of his life. So don’t be so sure it can’t happen to you.”

  Stunned, the women were silent, staring at Andrea, who was wiping tears from her face. Nobody seemed to know what to say. Realizing she had a social disaster on her hands, Lucy hurried to Andrea, proffering a napkin printed with holly. She gave her a little hug and turned to face the group.

  “Come on, everybody. It’s time to swap those cookies. Remember, you can only take a half dozen of each kind. Okay?”

  The women picked up the empty baskets and cookie tins they had brought and formed a loose line that wrapped around the table. Only Andrea remained in the living room, being consoled by Tucker.

  “Have you ever seen anything like this?” cooed Juanita. “The cookies this year are better than ever.”

  “They’re absolutely wonderful,” agreed Pam.

  “I don’t know how I’m going to keep them hidden until Christmas Eve,” confessed Lucy. From upstairs, she thought she heard the sound of the toilet flushing. Then she remembered Toby, hurrying upstairs with an especially purposeful expression. She held her breath, willing the aged pipes to cooperate, just this once.

  “We have ours on Christmas Day with hot cocoa,” said Pam, counting six Chinese noodle cookies into a sandwich bag.

  “I take mine to my folks’ house,” said Lee. “We always have Christmas with them.”

  Lucy reached across the table to take some of Tucker’s cookies when she felt a drop of water on her hand. She looked up and, horrified, saw the dining room ceiling beginning to sag, the plaster bulging with water.

  “I felt a drop,” said Lee. “Lucy, I think you have a leak . . . ”

  Lucy was standing openmouthed, transfixed by the sight of the bulging plaster bubble growing even larger.

  “Quick! Pick up the table!” ordered Sue, taking in the situation. “We can carry it . . . ”

  The women hurried to obey, struggling to lift the solid mahogany table Bill and Lucy had bought at an estate sale. But as Lucy watched, the drops of water began coming faster and faster, rapidly forming a trickle that in only a few moments more became a stream. Finally, just as the women were beginning to shift the heavy table, the plaster let go. It fell on the cookie-covered table with a thump, followed by a deluge of water that poured onto the table and then cascaded onto the floor, splashing everyone.

  “Wow,” said Sue, wrapping an arm around Lucy’s shoulder and giving her a squeeze. “You sure know how to give one heck of a party.”

  Chapter Four

  15 days ’til Christmas

  Wednesday morning, it took every bit of Lucy’s willpower to drag herself out of bed. All she wanted to do was to pull the covers over her head and forget everything—especially the cookie exchange.

  Once the flooding started, time had seemed to switch to slow motion. She remembered the horrified faces, and the polite assurances that “it didn’t matter one bit, we had a wonderful time, anyway” as the women departed, leaving her to face the sodden mess. Franny had offered to help clean up, but Lucy had sent her on her way, preferring to handle it herself.

  Bill had helped, holding a big trash bag open for her so she could dump the ruined cookies into it. It almost made her cry, thinking of all the work the soggy cookies represented, all those expensive ingredients gone to waste.

  She groaned, turning over and burying her face in her pillow.

  “You’ve got to get up,” said Bill, nibbling on her ear.

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Tough,” said Bill, whacking her bottom with a pillow.

  Lucy didn’t get up, she burrowed deeper under the covers, but she knew she was just postponing the inevitable. Bill was right. She had to get up. She had to get the lunches made and the kids off to school, then, she had to go straight to The Pennysaver and write up the selectmen’s meeting in time for the noon deadline. Ted was counting on her. She rolled over and got out of bed.

  * * *

  “Thanks, Lucy, you did a real nice job with this,” said Ted, after he had given the story a quick edit. He scratched his chin and smiled slyly. “I guess the real story was your cookie exchange. Pam said you had quite a flood.”

  “Don’t remind me,” said Lucy, buttoning up her coat. “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.”

  “These things happen to everyone,” said Ted. “Don’t forget the kindergarten Christmas party on Monday, okay.”

  “I’ll have it for you Tuesday,” promised Lucy.

  She took his nod as a dismissal and left the office, scowling at the cheery jangle of the bell on the door. Crossing Main Street to her parked car, she consulted her mental list of things to do. She could pick up a few presents, she could tackle the Christmas cards, she could get started on Zoe’s angel costume for the Christmas pageant . . . the list went on and on.

  Nope, she decided, shifting the list to a mental “do later” file. Right now, she needed some
tea and sympathy. She climbed in the car and started the engine, driving down the street to the rec building.

  * * *

  Sue’s reaction, when she looked up from the sand table where she was helping two little boys build a racetrack for their Matchbox cars, was not what Lucy had hoped for.

  “That was some party last night,” said Sue, giggling. “If you could have seen the look on your face when the water started dripping—I never saw anything so funny in my life.”

  “Well, I’m glad somebody had a good time.” Lucy plopped herself down in a child-sized chair. She glanced around the room, where another boy was busy building a tower of blocks and a group of little girls were playing in the dress-up area, and asked, “Where’s your helper?”

  Sue shrugged her shoulders. “No phone call, no nothing. It’s a heck of an inconvenience. I had to call the moms of the three infants and have them make other arrangements. You know, I really thought Tucker was different. Mature. Responsible.” She shook her head. “Sooner or later, they all revert to form. She’s only a kid, after all. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “I don’t know. I was pretty impressed with her. She was the life of the party, until the party . . . ”

  “Died a watery death?”

  “It needed to be put out of its misery, believe me.”

  Lucy watched as Sue put an arm around one of the little boys and began gently stroking his stomach.

  “Take it easy, Will,” she coaxed. “Just relax.”

  Will’s narrow chest, however, continued to rise and fall rapidly under his OshKosh overalls.

  “Is that Steffie’s Will?” Lucy asked, putting two and two together.

  “Yup. This is my friend, Will, and this is Harry,” said Sue. “Boys, this is Mrs. Stone.”

  “Glad to meet you,” said Lucy, reaching across the table and shaking their hands. Harry smiled brightly at her, but Will, intent on his struggle to breathe, only gave her a glance.

  Sue pulled an inhaler out of her pocket and he obediently took a puff, and then another.

  Lucy glanced at Will, raised her eyebrows, then shifted her gaze to Sue. “You know it was Steffie who brought the MADD pamphlets. I got rid of them as soon as I heard about Tim, but Franny must have saved one. I know her intentions were good, but Andrea didn’t see it that way.”

  “That woman”—Sue tipped her head toward Will—“must be a fanatic. Why would you bring something like that to a party? I mean, you could very well have served wine. That would’ve put the kibosh on things.”

  “It really threw me when she showed up with the darn things. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “I don’t know what else you could have done, under the circumstances.” Sue pushed a little red car along in the sand, following the road Harry was making with his toy bulldozer. “And to tell the truth, I feel badly for Andrea, but Tim’s gotta learn, too. This isn’t the first time he’s been driving drunk; it’s just the first time he got caught.”

  Lucy nodded thoughtfully, watching Will. He looked as if he could use another puff on the inhaler, but she knew it was too soon. Elizabeth had asthma, and Lucy had often helped her manage an attack.

  “Lee didn’t help matters much, either,” said Lucy. “You were right about her, All she can talk about is how badly Steve’s behaving. And what was that about Tucker stealing her cookie recipe?” Lucy looked puzzled. “I didn’t understand that at all.”

  Sue snorted. “She isn’t worried about her cookie recipe, believe me. She’s afraid Tucker is stealing her husband.” Sue paused, and put a comforting arm around Will’s shoulder. The little boy’s eyes looked huge under his bangs. “Steve’s been dating Tucker. She told me all about it last night.”

  “Ohhh,” said Lucy, “now it makes sense.” She reached across the table and gently pinched Will’s chin, but he didn’t look at her. He was entirely focused on his struggle to breathe and was beginning to panic. “I don’t like the look of this,” said Lucy. “I think he needs a nebulizer.”

  Sue nodded. “Can you stay here, until I get back?”

  “No problem.” Lucy noticed Will’s eyes were beginning to roll up into his head. “You better hurry. Get your coat.” She picked up Will and carried him over to the cubby area, where the coats were kept, and began zipping him into his jacket.

  Sue grabbed her coat and yanked open a desk drawer, pulling out Will’s emergency file. She took out a card and tucked the manila folder under her arm.

  “Notify his folks, okay?” she told Lucy, handing her the card. “They can meet me at the emergency room.” Then she scooped up the little boy and hurried off.

  Lucy took a quick head count on the remaining kids. Harry, she saw, had gone to join the little boy who was playing with blocks. Two of the girls had moved into the toy kitchen, and Hillary Cummings was piling stuffed toys into a doll carriage. Everything seemed under control, so she sat down at Sue’s desk to phone Steffie.

  Looking at the number printed on the card, Lucy hesitated and let her fingers play with the numbered buttons on the keypad. After last night, she didn’t really want to talk to Steffie. Her conscience took over, however, before she could decide if her reluctance was due to anger with Steffie or embarrassment over the leak, and she punched in the number.

  Listening to the phone ring, she thought about the frail little boy Steffie seemed to have such high hopes for. Finally, the phone was answered; it turned out to be a bank in the next town, Gilead, and she was connected to Steffie.

  “Of course. You couldn’t call my husband,” sighed Steffie, when Lucy explained the situation.

  “I didn’t think of that,” said Lucy, remembering the police station was just around the corner. She flipped over the card. “Actually, yours is the only number we have.”

  “I can’t believe this,” fumed Steffie. “As it happens, I’m in a very important meeting, and I can’t leave right now. I’m sure Will’s in good hands at the cottage hospital.”

  “Do you want me to try your husband?” asked Lucy, somewhat stunned. She couldn’t imagine reacting as Steffie had, but then, she hadn’t tried to juggle a demanding career with motherhood.

  “Never mind,” snapped Steffie. “I’ll get there as soon as I can, but I’m at least ten miles away.”

  Well, thought Lucy, replacing the receiver, at least Will is with Sue and she won’t leave until his mother shows up.

  Realizing it might be a while before Sue returned, Lucy went around the room, chatting with each of the children. She suspected they might be concerned about Sue’s sudden departure, and she wanted to introduce herself and let them know that she would be taking care of them. Then she spotted a tray with a pitcher and a plate of cookies, and realized it was well past snack time.

  As soon as she placed the tray on the table, the children came running and jostled for seats.

  “Wow, you guys must be hungry,” said Lucy, pouring cups of apple juice for them. “There’s plenty for everyone.”

  She sat down with them and played a name game. The first child said his name, Justin, and the second child had to say Justin’s name and add hers, Hillary. The third child, Emily, had to say the other names in order: Justin, Hillary, Emily.

  Lucy was last, and she pretended to have a terrible time remembering all the names. The kids thought she was hilarious, and had a rollicking good time laughing at a stupid grown-up. Finally, when everyone had finished their snack, she recited the names in proper order and sent the kids over to the cubbies to put on their jackets so they could all go out for some fresh air. While they did that, she cleared up the snack things and gave the table a quick wipe.

  By the time she joined them, the kids had done a pretty good job with their coats. She knelt down and helped them with zippers and buttons, and made sure they had their mittens on. Then she slipped into her own coat and led the little line over to the door. She was just about to open it, when Officer Barney Culpepper’s face appeared in the glass window.

  “Hi, Offic
er Culpepper,” she said, opening the door. “What can we do for you today?” She assumed he was there for one of the many safety programs he presented at local schools—maybe bike safety, or stranger danger. So did the kids, who clustered around him, demanding to see his walkie-talkie. But today Officer Culpepper wasn’t smiling, his St. Bernard jowls were drooping and he looked very grim.

  “Go on outside, children. It’s playtime,” said Lucy. “Officer Culpepper will be back another day.”

  “What’s the matter?” asked Lucy, fearing that his wife, Marge, had taken a turn for the worse.

  “Where’s Sue?” Barney looked through the doorway. “I need to talk to her.”

  “At the hospital. Will Scott had an asthma attack. Can I help you?”

  “Maybe.” Barney took off his blue cap and scratched his brush cut. “I probably shouldn’t tell you but, heck, it’s gonna be all over town soon enough, anyway.” He held the cap in his hands and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Finally, he spoke. “Tucker Whitney was killed this morning. A neighbor noticed her front door was open and called 911. The responding officer found her dead, inside the house.”

  Lucy collapsed against the door frame, feeling as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “I can’t believe it. l just saw her last night.”

  “It’s terrible.” Barney shook his head.

  Lucy’s mind was in a whirl, trying to understand how a healthy young girl like Tucker could be dead. “Was it an accident?”

  “Doesn’t look like it. They’re not saying anything until the medical examiner is through, but it sure looks like murder.”

  “How?” Lucy asked in a small voice.

  “She was strangled. At least that’s what they think.”

  “Oh my God.” Lucy closed her eyes and leaned against the doorjamb. Then, hearing a shriek from the play yard, she was reminded of her responsibilities.

  “Justin, Matthew—one at a time on the slide, please,” she said, struggling to keep her voice level.

  She looked up at Barney, blinking back tears. “I just can’t believe it. Who would do such a thing?”