Holiday Murder

by Leslie Meier

  “I was thinking of something more . . . beige,” said Lucy.

  “Beige?” Lee was disappointed.

  “Maybe a stripe,” suggested Lucy.

  “I’ve got it.” Lee pulled out another book. “Wainscoting! That way you can have your cake and eat it, too. Color on the bottom of the wall, something light and airy above.”

  “That’s a good idea,” admitted Lucy, intrigued.

  “It would be nothing at all for Bill to put up a little bit of molding.”

  “It would really dress up the room. I’ll think about it. Can I take the book?”

  “Sure.” Lee drew closer and lowered her voice. “Don’t tell anybody I told you this, but I can probably do something for you on the price. We have a big sale after Christmas, anyway.”

  “Thanks, Lee. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

  “There’s no rush. Take your time.”

  Lucy couldn’t swear to it but she thought Lee was humming a happy little tune as she saw her to the door.

  “Have a nice day, now, you hear.”

  * * *

  As she walked down the pathway to her car, Lucy was so deep in thought that she didn’t notice Lieutenant Horowitz approaching.

  “I seem to keep running into you,” he said, eyeing her with disapproval. “And I don’t think it’s a coincidence. I’m beginning to suspect that you’re conducting your own investigation of Tucker Whitney’s death.”

  Lucy looked up, startled. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “I said I think you ought to mind your own business instead of poking your nose into an official police investigation, that’s what I said.”

  “Oh, I’m not. . . .”

  “Don’t give me that,” growled Horowitz. “I know what you’re up to, and I’m warning you that you could be breaking the law.”

  Lucy smiled sweetly, and held up the wallpaper book as proof of her innocence. “Buying wallpaper is against the law?”

  “No, Mrs. Stone. There’s no law against buying wallpaper, but there are plenty of laws about obstructing justice.”

  “Well, I happen to be interested in wallpaper,” said Lucy, allowing a self-righteous tone to creep into her voice.

  “Right,” muttered the lieutenant, brushing past her and pulling open the door to the shop.

  Lucy continued on her way to her car, checking her watch as she went. It was later than she thought, she realized, thinking guiltily of the long list of Christmas errands she hadn’t done. With only two weeks left until the holiday she’d wasted an entire day running around town looking for information, and she didn’t even have the comfort of knowing she’d made any progress. The sun was already setting, a giant red ball sinking behind the stark, black silhouettes of the bare trees, and she had more questions about Tucker’s murder than she’d had that morning when she set out. All she’d managed to accomplish, she realized, was to antagonize Lieutenant Horowitz. Now, the kids were home from school and she had to get home, too, and put that roast in the oven if they were going to have it for supper.

  Chapter Eight

  13 days ’til Xmas

  Today was another day, another chance to tackle that list of errands, resolved Lucy as she started the car on Friday morning. If she didn’t get anything else done, she definitely had to get the Christmas cards mailed. Then she had to go to the bank, get gas and groceries, and stop at the church to pick up Zoe’s angel costume for the Christmas pageant.

  As she drove down Red Top Road and turned toward town and the post office, she remembered that she only had a few dollars in her wallet. She turned and was driving down Main Street, approaching the rec building on her way to the Seamen’s and Merchants’ Bank, when a huge Ford Expedition suddenly pulled out in front of her, directly in her path.

  Lucy slammed on the brake and held on to the steering wheel for dear life, narrowly missing a collision. As she watched, horrified, the Expedition almost tipped over as the driver made a sharp turn into the narrow street. For a second or two it was only on two wheels, then the driver gained control and it righted itself. As it sped down the street past her, Lucy got a clear view of the operator. It was Lee.

  Making a quick decision, Lucy flipped on her blinker and turned into the rec-center parking lot Lee had just exited. She must have just dropped Hillary off at the day-care center; maybe Sue would know what was going on.

  “I haven’t got a clue,” said Sue, who was on her knees struggling to unzip Hillary’s jacket. “Mommy was in a hurry this morning, wasn’t she?”

  After a few more tugs the zipper opened, and Hillary shrugged out of her jacket and ran across the room to join Emily at the toy stove.

  Sue examined the zipper, fingering the place where the fabric was torn.

  “I don’t know what’s going on, but this obviously wasn’t a good morning for Lee. She just shoved Hillary through the door and left, never said a word.”

  “She was driving like a maniac when she left here. Almost ran right into me.”

  Sue shook her head. “Maybe she’s finally realized that Steve’s a suspect in the murder. Last night Horowitz paid me a visit and all his questions were about Tucker’s relationship with Steve.”

  “He’s the obvious suspect. Obvious to everyone except Lee.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It seemed to me that he and Tucker were more good friends than anything else. Tucker told me she liked him and all, but she thought he was too old for her. She said it was like dating her father!”

  “Maybe Tucker wasn’t serious, but Steve was,” suggested Lucy. “Sounds like a motive to me.”

  “Could be.” Sue glanced around the room, making sure the children were all behaving themselves.

  Lucy took the cue. “I’ve got to go—have a nice weekend.”

  “It doesn’t look too good right now. Tucker’s parents are coming to make funeral arrangements—the service is going to be on Monday night—and they want to meet with me.”

  Sue’s expression was grim, and Lucy knew she was dreading the meeting.

  “Will you be all right? Do you want me to go with you for moral support?”

  “Thanks, Lucy,” said Sue squeezing her hand. “This is something I have to do alone. I’ll be all right.”

  “Okay. Call me if you change your mind.”

  Back in the car, Lucy tried to sort out her thoughts. From what Sue said, it seemed that Steve was definitely the prime suspect. Horowitz had questioned him, he’d questioned Lee, he’d even questioned Sue about Steve’s relationship with Tucker.

  Lucy tried not to think about how likable she’d found Steve, she tried not to think about how happy Lee had been to have Steve all to herself again, she tried not to think about little Hillary and Gloria. Whatever was going to happen was out of her hands. If Horowitz had the evidence, there was no doubt he would arrest Steve Cummings.

  All weekend, Lucy followed the newscasts. She tuned in while she drove Sara and Zoe to their friends’ houses on Saturday, she listened to the radio while she cooked supper that night. On Sunday morning she was so eager to see the paper that she went out to the plastic tube that stood by the road in her slippers, even though there were two inches of snow. Her feet got cold and wet, but she didn’t learn anything new. Police were reported to be continuing the investigation, but there were no new breaks in the story.

  On Sunday afternoon, she and Bill left the kids home and went to the mall in Portland to finish their Christmas shopping. Bill was happily humming along to a favorite Clapton tune when Lucy switched the radio to the all-news channel.

  “Why’d you do that?” he asked.

  “I keep waiting to hear if they’ve arrested Tucker’s murderer,” she explained.

  “I’m sure they’ll break in with an announcement if that happens,” he said, switching back to the local music station. “Why don’t you just sit back and enjoy this rare opportunity to be alone with me? l’m your favorite husband, after all.”

  “Okay,” said Lucy, laughin
g, and temporarily shelving her intention to talk to him about Toby. “It’s just you and me and a very long shopping list.”

  * * *

  At the mall, Lucy couldn’t help thinking that Bill looked a little out of place in the trendy juniors shop, refugee from the granola wars in his beard and corduroy slacks, topped with a plaid flannel shirt and a bulky down jacket. He surprised her when he pointed to a sparkling spandex T-shirt and suggested they buy it for Elizabeth.

  “That?” Lucy raised her eyebrows doubtfully. To her, it looked sleazy. Besides, it was overpriced at thirty-nine dollars.

  “She’ll love it,” he said, nodding positively. “I saw something just like it on MTV. And it’s on sale.”

  He was right, Lucy realized, spotting a sign indicating the whole rack was one-third off.

  “That makes it . . .” She furrowed her brow as she figured the math.

  “About twenty-four dollars.”

  “Okay.” Lucy pulled the shirt from the rack.

  * * *

  Now, on Monday afternoon, as she tucked tissue paper around the shirt and arranged it in the box, she couldn’t help smiling fondly. That was the thing about Bill. He kept surprising her. Married for almost twenty years, and he hadn’t lost the power to amaze her. That itself was astonishing, she thought, picking up the ringing phone.

  “Oh, Lucy,” wailed Sue. “It was awful.”

  “What was?”

  “Tucker’s parents came.”

  Lucy sat down on the bed, remembering how worried Sue had been on Friday afternoon. It seemed like eons ago.

  “That must have been sad. Were they real emotional?”

  “That was the worst part. They’re terribly polite, you know, and very stiff-upper-lip and all that. But you could tell they were all ripped up and torn inside. They should have been beating their breasts and sobbing, but instead they were telling me they didn’t want to intrude and would only take a minute but they did want to gather up Tucker’s belongings and by any chance, if it wasn’t too much trouble, could I tell them a little bit about her work at the center?”

  “What did you say?”

  “What I told you. That she really seemed to enjoy her work and that I don’t know what I’ll do without her.” Sue paused. “They wanted to know if she’d seemed troubled or anxious—they really seemed to want to know about that.”

  “Of course they would.”

  “I couldn’t bring myself to tell them anything about Steve—I just said I hadn’t noticed anything wrong. I should have noticed something, shouldn’t I?”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” said Lucy. “What could you have done? You didn’t even know about Steve until she told you on the way to the cookie exchange.”

  “If only she’d confided in me sooner. I could have advised her, warned her to be careful. I don’t know.”

  “Well, Steve is the last person you’d think to warn her about,” said Lucy, matter-of-factly.

  “You think it really was him?”

  “I’m not convinced, myself, but I think it’s just a matter of time until he gets arrested. What I can’t figure out is what’s taking the police so long.”

  Sue was silent for a minute. Finally, she spoke. “Well, at least then the Whitneys will know what happened to Tucker. They say that the trial brings sense of closure to the victim’s family.”

  “I wish I believed that,” said Lucy, remembering Tucker’s bright presence at the cookie exchange. “I don’t think parents ever get over the death of a child. Oh, they go on living, but they’re never the same. It’s like they’re walking wounded.”

  “You’re right.” Sue’s voice was so sad that Lucy struggled for some way to console her.

  “You gave her something wonderful, you know. You gave her the job at the center and she discovered her vocation—that she wanted to work with kids. She loved working at the center, everybody says so. And she was perfect for it. She was bright and happy and full of energy.” Lucy paused, hearing the kids arriving home from school in the kitchen downstairs. “That’s how I’m going to remember her. Now, I’ve got to go. It sounds as if the Mongol hordes have found the refrigerator.”

  “I better let you go, then.” Sue sniffled. “Thanks for everything, Lucy. Talking to you really helped.”

  “Anytime. Now, for my next challenge: preventing World War III.”

  * * *

  In the kitchen, Lucy found Eddie and Toby with their heads buried in the refrigerator. Elizabeth was perched on the counter, legs crossed, doing her best to catch Eddie’s eye. Sara was prying open a yogurt carton, not having bothered to remove her coat, and Zoe was precariously balanced on a kitchen chair trying to reach the cookies in the cabinet high above the stove.

  “Hi, Eddie,” began Lucy. “Elizabeth—off the counter. Zoe, don’t climb on chairs, it’s dangerous. Sara, hang up your coat. Toby, reach that bag of gingersnaps for me.”

  Lucy set out a plate of cookies and poured big glasses of milk for the boys. Elizabeth didn’t want any; she fled from calories like a vampire avoided the rays of the sun. Sara took the yogurt into the family room and Zoe renewed her efforts to scale the kitchen cabinets, this time looking for the chocolate syrup.

  Lucy pried her loose and joined the boys at the kitchen table, planting Zoe in her lap.

  “So, are you going to work on those college applications today?” she asked. She turned her gaze on Toby. “As I remember, you owe me one, and today’s a good day to make good.”

  Toby grimaced and popped a cookie in his mouth. Eddie shifted his bulky frame in the chair and leaned back, brushing his crew cut with his hand. Lucy was struck yet again by how much he resembled his father, Barney.

  “You don’t want to be a cop, like your dad?” Lucy realized she had spoken without intending to.

  Eddie’s face reddened; he looked uncomfortable. “Nah,” he finally said, reaching for another cookie.

  “He just likes to eat—that’s why he wants to go to cooking school.” Toby punched Eddie’s shoulder.

  Lucy shook her head. They might be bigger, she thought, but they behaved just like the little Cub Scouts who used to cluster around her kitchen table every week.

  “Did you bring the applications?”

  Eddie nodded and pulled a thick sheaf of papers from his backpack.

  “Well, it looks as if you guys have your work cut out for you. Why don’t you get started—just jot down some ideas for those essays. I’ll see how you’re doing in about half an hour, OK?”

  “Sure thing, Mom,” said Toby, pulling his own pile of papers toward him and opening the top folder.

  “Call me if you get stuck,” she said, heading downstairs to the washer and dryer.

  * * *

  From time to time Lucy peeked in the kitchen and saw the boys bent over the table, apparently deeply immersed in the applications. When she noticed it was beginning to get dark, she decided to ask Eddie to stay for dinner. But when she went into the kitchen she found the boys had disappeared, leaving the papers behind. Leafing through the printed forms she saw that only the most basic questions had been answered; there was no sign of any progress on the questions that required essays.

  “January 1. These are due January 1,” she muttered to herself, looking out the window.

  There was no sign of the boys in the yard, so she checked the family room and went upstairs to peek in Toby’s room.

  “Have you seen Toby?” she asked Elizabeth, who was reclining on the couch in the family room and flipping through channels with the remote. “By the way, don’t you have any homework?”

  “Nope. Tomorrow is ‘Smart Kids, Smart Choices.’”

  “What’s that?”

  Elizabeth pulled a wad of folded paper from her pocket. “Don’t read the back, OK?”

  “Scout’s honor,” said Lucy, carefully prying the layers apart and studying the Xeroxed notice.

  “Smart Kids, Smart Choices,” she learned, was made possible by the Tinker’s Cove Police Departm
ent and the PTA. This traveling troupe of reformed alcoholics and drug abusers, none older than twenty-five, would present a “hard-hitting, graphic account” based on their own experiences. The rest of the morning would be spent in discussion groups and in the afternoon the entire school population would work together to create message murals that would be displayed in the halls.

  “This is taking all day?” asked Lucy “What about French and chemistry and algebra and . . .”

  “Oh, Mom,” groaned Elizabeth in a world-weary voice. “If they actually taught us chemistry, we’d probably just cook up our own drugs. That’s what they think, anyway.”

  “Well, maybe if they taught you some solid reasoning skills, they wouldn’t have to indoctrinate you and you could figure out for yourselves that drinking and using drugs isn’t very smart.”

  “Interesting, Mom,” said Elizabeth. “Very interesting.” She studied her fingernails, which were painted light blue. “But hopelessly retro.”

  “That’s me. Hopelessly retro,”agreed Lucy, who had received a solid prep-school education and could still conjugate her Latin verbs, even if her inability to comprehend percentages had been the despair of the entire math department. She resolved to call the principal for a little chat, in which the school’s declining SAT scores would definitely be mentioned.

  Failing to find the boys in the house, Lucy concluded that they must be outside. She stood in the kitchen doorway and yelled for them. Their heads popped out from behind the shed, only to disappear immediately.

  What are they up to? she wondered, pulling on her jacket. She marched across the yard, straight to the shed.

  “What are you guys doing? Are you smoking?” she asked, suspiciously.

  This last was met with gales of laughter. Laughter that didn’t stop, but rolled on, eventually forcing the boys to clutch their stomachs and sides. There was also a sweet, familiar scent in the air.

  “Pot!” exclaimed Lucy. “You’ve been smoking pot!” Suddenly Toby’s odd behavior made sense, including the disappearance of her Dee-Liteful Wine Cake.

  “Shhh, Mom. Not so loud.” Still shaking with laughter, Toby put a finger over his mouth to caution her.