by Leslie Meier
Lucy dutifully collected quotes and took photos, and when it was all over, she approached Felicity and asked if she could visit Howard White.
“You too?” she asked. “He’s getting a lot of visitors lately.”
“I just want to ask him about old times here in town,” said Lucy.
“Great. He’s sure enjoying all the attention. In fact,” she said, scanning the residents who were filing out of the room, “that’s him, over there. The tall man and his fan club.” She grinned, pointing out a tall fellow accompanied by three or four white-haired ladies, all carrying their unwrapped presents, which were bars of fancy soap. “That’s what I call them. Men are in short supply here and they do attract the ladies.”
Lucy smiled. “Thanks,” she said, and crossed the room to join the fan club.
“Well, well, it’s Lucy Stone, if I’m not mistaken,” said Howard. He was a good-looking, older man with a healthy crop of white hair, bushy white eyebrows, a hawk nose, and a square chin.
The fan club twittered and fussed a bit over Lucy.
“Aren’t you the clever one.”
“I love reading your stories in the Pennysaver.”
“What brings you here today?”
“Well,” she began, “I want to ask Howard about an old classmate of his.” She produced the photocopy of the group picture. “It’s this girl, Dorcas Pritchett,” she said, pointing her out.
“Oh, is that you, Howard? Wasn’t he handsome?” enthused the liveliest member of the fan club, a tiny lady, with a tight perm, wearing bright red lipstick.
“Oh, my, always a heartbreaker,” added another, a chubby lady in a bright pink tracksuit.
Howard stared at the photo, then returned it to Lucy with a “humpf.”
“I gather you remember Dorcas, but not fondly,” suggested Lucy.
“She got me in trouble. I saw her cheating on an exam, and I foolishly reported it to the teacher. Dorcas denied it and accused me of lying, and the teacher fell for it.” He paused. “Looking back, I think pretty much everybody fell for Dorcas’s stories—until they were the victim. I was scolded for dishonesty and I guess word got around in the faculty lounge because I couldn’t breathe without some teacher giving me the evil eye.”
Interesting, thought Lucy, with a rising sense of excitement. “So you didn’t, by any chance, send her a Christmas card?”
“Are you kidding? I stayed as far away from her as I could. As it was, I was lucky to get into the state college. Thanks to Dorcas I had a real hard time getting recommendations.” He paused. “She had no trouble, however, the little hypocrite. I couldn’t believe it when she got accepted at some Bible college. I think it was in Boston.” He rolled his eyes. “Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.”
“You poor thing,” cooed the tallest member of the fan club, a rather stern-looking lady with a pixie haircut and eyeglasses with thick plastic pink frames. “So unfair.”
“I did all right in the end,” replied Howard, grinning broadly. “Funny to look back, though.”
“Do you know anybody else in town who might have known Dorcas?” asked Lucy. “Are any of her other classmates still around?”
Howard scratched his chin, then nodded. “Franny Small. Franny wasn’t in our class, she’s a few years younger, but she was around then. She might remember Dorcas.”
“Thanks for your help.” Lucy smiled at the group. “And I’d like to wish you all a merry Christmas.”
“Oh, it will be merry,” cooed the tiny lady, her cheeks growing pink. “Christmas is always special with Howard.”
Howard cleared his throat, then led the way down the hall, accompanied by his little clutch of admirers.
As she made her way back to the parking lot, Lucy thought about her conversation with Howard and came to the conclusion that she really hadn’t learned much; he’d only confirmed what she suspected. Little Dorcas had figured out how to manipulate people and didn’t hesitate to use that power for her own ends. Howard hadn’t retaliated against her, like the sender of the Christmas card, but he hadn’t forgotten the lies she told about him even after so many years. He had given her one bit of new information, however, which was his recollection that Dorcas had attended a Bible college in Boston. Lucy didn’t know of any such institution, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist. What with high-profile universities like MIT and Harvard in nearby Cambridge, and Northeastern, BC, and BU in Boston, it was easy to forget that there were plenty of other, lesser-known colleges in the area. The problem facing her, she decided as she climbed into her SUV, was finding time to do the research. Maybe Miss T and Rachel would help out once again.
* * *
Lucy spent the rest of the day finishing up her holiday stories and helping Phyllis with the events listings, which were much more numerous than usual thanks to the holidays. Meanwhile, she kept an eye on the clock for the four o’clock selectmen’s meeting. For once, Lucy planned on being early in hopes of catching a word with Franny Small.
Selectmen’s meetings were held in the basement meeting room at the town hall, but were sparsely attended, now that all the meetings were televised on the local CATV channel. Except for a few regulars, most people only bothered to go if they had a bone to pick with the town’s governing body. Now, with the holidays approaching, Lucy found the meeting room quite empty, apart from three of the five members of the board. Joe Marzetti, chairman Roger Wilcox, and Franny were standing together, sharing a laugh.
Joe was the first to spot her and called out a welcome. “Hi, Lucy. Better grab a chair while you can, before the crowd gets here.”
“Thanks for the advice,” replied Lucy, waving at the neat rows of chairs. “It’s hard to choose.”
“Too big a selection,” agreed Roger. “It’s like at the supermarket—too many cereals. It’s overwhelming.”
“Yeah,” agreed Joe. “They seem to come out with a new one every week.”
“Well, I always get my Raisin Bran,” volunteered Franny. “But last week I got the wrong one. It had granola bits in it.”
“New and improved,” snorted Roger, checking the clock. “We don’t have a quorum, maybe we ought to call Val Dennehy and Bill Shaw, see if they’re coming.”
“Good idea,” said Joe, pulling out his cell phone and stepping away from the group to make the calls.
“Hey, Franny,” began Lucy, “I’ve been wondering about the people who lived in my house before we bought it—”
“The Pritchetts,” volunteered Franny. “I remember them quite well. I went to school with their daughter, Dorcas.”
“She’s the one I’m curious about. What can you tell me about her?”
Roger wasn’t interested in Franny’s trip down memory lane, so he wandered over to listen in on Joe’s phone call. Franny took a seat in the front row of chairs and Lucy sat beside her.
“I heard she went to a Bible college in Boston,” offered Lucy, getting her started.
“I think she did, she was a couple of years ahead of me. We all looked up to her, you know. She was a leader in the school, team captain and student council and all that sort of thing, always on the honor roll. I kind of idolized her, maybe it was one of those schoolgirl crushes, but I was in for a big disappointment.”
Her curiosity piqued, Lucy asked, “In what way?”
“Well,” began Franny, smoothing her wool plaid skirt, “you know how I started that little jewelry business using the nuts and bolts and things from the hardware store.”
Lucy nodded, she didn’t need to be told. Franny’s “little business” had become a multimillion-dollar success.
“When I was starting out, I signed up for this women’s entrepreneurship convention in Boston. It was expensive, but I was eager to learn about business and the fact that Dorcas—well, she called herself Doris by then—was one of the speakers, was pretty irresistible. So I coughed up the outrageous registration fee, I remember it was a real stretch for me, and off I went, hoping that Doris would give me some advi
ce. Maybe even be a mentor to me.”
“So she was very successful,” said Lucy. “What did she do?”
Franny laughed. “I never did find out. I think she was really just an inspirational speaker. That was her gig, and she made a business of it, giving pep talks. She didn’t miss a beat, that one, she also sold mugs and posters and things with inspiring phrases on them.”
“So I’m guessing she wasn’t terribly helpful to you?”
“Wouldn’t give me the time of day, but she did give me a brochure about the pricey seminars she offered for Breaking the Glass Ceiling, or something like that.” Franny looked up, noticing that the other board members had arrived and were taking their places on the dais. “I guess I’ve got to go, Lucy.”
Franny took her seat with the others; Roger banged his gavel, opening the meeting; the town clerk came in and took a seat on the other side of the aisle from Lucy.
“First on the agenda,” said Roger, “is a request from our town clerk, Sandy Greene.” He smiled at her. “We know your time is valuable and you’re eager to get back to your office.”
“Right,” said Sandy, a plump woman with dark hair. “This won’t take long. I’m just asking for funds to digitize the town’s real estate tax records so they can be accessed electronically. We get requests for information all the time and it ties up my assistants. There’s a lot of information in those files and it would be great if people could access them by computer, rather than coming into the office and having my girls digging through a couple of centuries’ worth of old records.”
“And how much will this cost?” asked Joe.
“I have a couple of quotes,” said Sandy, glancing uneasily at Lucy and distributing information packets to the board members.
From the expressions on the board members’ faces as they studied the packets, Lucy was able to make two conclusions: Digitizing was going to be expensive, and the project didn’t have a chance of getting the board’s approval.
* * *
Lucy was a bit uneasy when she drove home from the meeting, since she hadn’t seen or heard from Bill all day, and hadn’t been on good terms with him the night before. Her mother had always advised her never to go to bed angry, and this evening she wished she and Bill had worked things through last night rather than letting their disagreement fester.
But when she turned into the driveway, she noticed a box containing a toilet sitting inside Bill’s truck. She found this somewhat encouraging. However, she also knew that it might not be for the master bath she so desperately desired. It could be meant for one of his customers.
She wasn’t quite sure how to handle this development, but resolved to do her best to restore peace and amity in the house. Bill was in the kitchen when she entered, sitting at the round oak table with a beer and a pad of paper. Libby was curled up on the floor beside him, but looked up and greeted Lucy with a thump of her tail.
“Hi,” he said, greeting her with a smile.
“Hi, yourself,” she said, hanging her coat up on one of the hooks by the door. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I was such a jerk last night.”
“I think you were overtired,” said Bill, smiling. “I peeked in on you around nine and you were sound asleep.”
Lucy found this touching. “You did?”
“Yeah. I didn’t want to disturb you so I camped out downstairs.”
“That was awfully nice of you.” Lucy went to the fridge and got a bottle of Chardonnay, poured herself a glass, and joined him at the table. “What are you working on?”
“The master bath. What do you think of this plan?”
Lucy couldn’t believe her ears. “Really?”
“Yeah. I really thought you’d like one of those fancy closets. I didn’t realize how much the bath meant to you, but Sid told me you’d been talking to Sue about it and were pretty upset.” He slid the pad across the table. “I’ve already picked up a toilet. It was on sale, so I grabbed it. I figured you’d want to decide about the tub and vanity.”
Lucy studied the neat drawing he’d made on graph paper and broke into tears. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she said, laughing and wiping her eyes. “And even though Sue said we should paint the bedroom pink, we don’t have to. You can pick the color.”
Bill couldn’t help laughing. “Well, I appreciate that,” he finally said, taking her hand and leaning across the table to give her a great big sloppy kiss. “Zoe won’t be home until nine or so,” he added. “It’s her seminar night.”
Lucy smiled slyly. “Whatever do you mean, sir?”
“You know exactly what I mean,” said Bill, pulling her to her feet.
Lucy did, and followed him up the stairs with light steps and an even lighter heart.
Chapter Seven
Waking very early on Saturday morning, Lucy decided it had definitely been a good idea to push the two twin beds in the guest room together, and wondered why she hadn’t thought of it sooner. Bill was still asleep, snoring gently, so she tiptoed out of the room and downstairs, where she made a pot of coffee. While it dripped, she checked her messages and saw that Miss Tilley had texted her the name of Cromwell College, which was affiliated with the Congregational Church.
Lucy asked her phone for information about Cromwell College and the miraculous, automated voice that seemed to know absolutely everything told her in a crisp British accent that it was a small liberal arts college located in the Boston suburb of Waltham and offered pre-theological courses, as well as majors in sacred music, religious education, and church administration. Interesting, she thought as the scent of coffee filled the kitchen. She was planning on visiting Sara this weekend to do some Christmas shopping in Boston, maybe she could fit in a quick visit to Cromwell College. But if she was going to do all that, she decided as she filled her coffee mug, she had no time to waste.
Lucy made good time on the drive, enjoying the sunrise as she drove over the Piscataqua Bridge, and easily found Cromwell College—thanks again to the miraculous voice of her GPS. How did we ever manage without our smartphones, she mused as she parked outside the repurposed Greek Revival–style residence that now housed the college’s combined admissions and alumni offices. Her very smart smartphone had already advised her that it was open on Saturday and offered campus tours to prospective students.
When she entered, she was greeted by a student receptionist, who asked if she wanted to join the handful of families waiting for the next tour. When she said she was looking for information about a graduate, she was quickly referred to the director of alumni services.
“Come on into my office,” invited Susan Ellers, a recent grad, dressed conservatively in a turtleneck sweater and A-line skirt, along with stockings and low-heeled pumps. Her office featured color photographs of the campus, as well as black and whites of students dating from the 1940s and ’50s.
When Lucy was seated in the visitor chair, Susan offered her coffee or tea. Lucy declined and got straight to the point of her mission. “I live in Tinker’s Cove, Maine, in an old house and I’m curious about the people who lived there before us. I found an old Christmas card dating from the 1960s, you see, and it’s caught my interest.”
Susan was definitely intrigued. “And you think there’s a link between those people and Cromwell?”
“It’s just a hunch, but I know this family was very religious and it seems likely that they might have sent their daughter to a college that was affiliated with their church.”
“The sixties, you say. Back then, Cromwell had a reputation of strict supervision of students. There were no long-haired hippies at Cromwell.” She paused, smiling. “Things have changed quite a bit, but we’re still quite traditional. Who was the student?”
“Her name was Dorcas Pritchett, though she later changed it to Doris.”
“Let’s see what comes up,” suggested Susan, turning to her desktop computer. “I can’t give you grades or personal information, but I can tell you if she was enrolled here.” As
she clicked away on the keyboard, she continued, “As you can imagine, we keep close tabs on our grads.”
“For donations?” Lucy and Bill received frequent solicitations from their colleges, as well as the kids’ schools.
“Oh, yes, but we also like to celebrate their successes. Ah, here’s Dorcas. You were right, she was here for the 1963 through ’64 school year.”
“Just one year?”
“Yes. And there’s been no contact since then. She’s really dropped off our radar.”
Lucy was disappointed. “No address changes, then.”
Sally gave her a sympathetic smile and a shrug. “Sorry.”
“Not even one donation?” asked Lucy, thinking that a check might give some information.
“That’s personal information that I am not supposed to reveal”—Susan shrugged—“ but like I said, no contact whatsoever.”
Lucy stood up. “Well, thanks for your help. I really appreciate it.”
“I’m happy to help. And I wonder, are you perhaps looking at colleges for your kids or your friends’ children? Maybe you’d like to take a closer look at Cromwell?”
Lucy laughed. “I’m almost done. My youngest has dabbled in every possible major, but at long last is almost finished at Winchester.”
“Congratulations. And keep us in mind, we really appreciate recommendations.”
“I will,” said Lucy, somewhat doubtful that the occasion would arise, but open to the possibility. “And thanks again for your time.”
* * *
Weekend traffic was light on Route 128 and Lucy soon found herself looking for a parking spot near Sara’s little borrowed apartment in Quincy. The narrow street was closely packed with three-deckers, and lined on both sides with parked cars, but a van pulled out a few doors down from Sara’s place and Lucy popped into the vacancy. Sara welcomed her with a hug, and over a soup and sandwich lunch, they discussed their plans for the weekend.
