Mistletoe Murder (10 page)

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Authors: Leslie Meier

BOOK: Mistletoe Murder
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“Sure. Where are Mom and Dad?”
“Eddie, your dad had an accident last night.” Lucy spoke softly. “They took him to the hospital in Portland. Your mom called a little while ago. Your dad had surgery, and he did real well, but he's still unconscious. He's a big strong man, Eddie, and I think he'll be fine.”
“Dad once lifted a car off a little girl.”
“I remember that,” said Lucy. “It was on the TV news.”
“Yeah.” Eddie's eyes shone with pride.
“Well, he'll probably be in the news again. Meanwhile, you're going to Adam's. Mom will be home later, and you'll probably have leftover turkey for supper. Do you like that?”
“Yeah.” Eddie nodded, swallowing hard.
“Let's get a move on,” said Lucy. “How about combing your hair and brushing your teeth?”
“Do I have to?”
Lucy raised an eyebrow and smiled to herself as Eddie headed down the hall. The phone was ringing again, and she could see Bev Thompson coming up the walk carrying a pie basket.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
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“I couldn't believe it when I heard,” said Bev, shaking her head. “I was going to take this pie to the Friendship Circle dinner tonight, but I've got time to make another one. It's apple.”
“Thanks. I know Eddie will enjoy it.” Lucy took the pie, and as Bev turned to go she spoke impulsively. “Do you have a minute? I'd love to have a cup of coffee with you.”
“Sure, Lucy. I've been missing you and the other girls at work.” Bev settled herself at the kitchen table, and Lucy poured two cups of coffee.
“Have you been thinking about getting another job?” Lucy asked.
“Not really. Fred left me well provided for,” Bev admitted, taking a sip of coffee. “Actually, I'm thinking of traveling a little. I'd like to visit my son in D.C. Then I could go on to Florida and stay with my sister for a while—she's always after me to come. Then if I flew to San Francisco where my daughter lives and stayed with her a while, winter would be pretty well over.” Bev raised an eyebrow and tapped her mug, waiting for Lucy's reaction.
“I'm speechless,” said Lucy, smiling. “You've never been one for traveling.”
“I know,” admitted Bev. “I was perfectly happy to stay here. But now that I don't have my job anymore, there's nothing to keep me here.”
Lucy nodded. “Have you seen Karen?”
“I have. She's really mad. Thinks they laid her off because of the baby. Something about the insurance.”
“She said she was only working to get the insurance.”
“I know,” agreed Bev. “She's taking the company to court.”
“Really? Good for her.” Lucy chuckled. “I don't think the company should get away with it. There were never layoffs when Sam was in charge. I think George was behind it.”
“I never liked him. At least now I don't have to be polite to him.” She paused. “I saw him, you know. In MacReed's. I didn't say a word to him. I just glared at him.” She blushed, remembering her rudeness.
“What were you doing in MacReed's?” asked Lucy. MacReed's was a bait and gun shop.
“Oh, I was seeing about selling Arthur's guns and fishing tackle. I'll certainly never use them, and the money would come in handy for the trip. It was odd seeing George there. I never thought of him as the sporting type.”
“What was he doing there?”
“I don't know. He was in the gun side of the shop, though. Maybe he thinks he better get himself some protection now that he's laid off half the town.”
“Mrs. Stone, can I watch TV?” Eddie's hair showed signs of recent combing, and there were dribbles of toothpaste on his shirt.
“Sure. Come here a minute.” Lucy rubbed at the stains with a damp corner of a kitchen towel. “We'd better get this show on the road.”
Bev, quick to take a hint, rose to her feet and began putting on her coat. “Be sure to tell Marge that I'd be happy to help. All she has to do is call.”
“I'll do it. Take care, now.” Lucy closed the door and started washing up the dishes. It didn't take long for her to tidy up the little house, folding the afghan on the couch, straightening Eddie's bed, and giving the bathroom and kitchen a quick wipe. She wanted it to look nice for Marge when she returned.
Then she had Eddie pack up some toys and they drove over to the Stillingses' house. Pam opened the door for them, smiling her huge smile and welcoming them in a voice that could probably be heard in Alaska.
“Hi, Eddie,” she shrieked. “Adam's playing in the living room.”
“What did you tell him?” she whispered loudly to Lucy as Eddie made his way down the hall.
Lucy shrugged and smiled apologetically. “I'm operating on a ‘need to know' basis. I told him his dad had an accident, he's in the hospital, and that his mother's with him. I told him she'd be home this afternoon. I tried to keep things as normal for him as I could.”
“Good.” Pam nodded approvingly. She belonged to a generation that took their children's mental health as seriously as their temperatures. “It's best to let Marge decide how much to tell him. Just as long as he doesn't think the accident was his fault.”
As she spoke, Pam gave up trying to whisper and her voice rose to its usual piercing decibel. Lucy had often thought Pam's loud voice, and her understanding of child psychology, were the remnants of her brief career as a nursery school teacher.
“The most important thing,” she said, concluding her lecture, “is to maintain his usual routine. Children find that very reassuring.” She moved aside so her husband could get through the door.
“Hi, Lucy. Good-bye, Lucy,” said Ted. The two women watched him stride down the path toward his car, his reporter's notebook sticking out of his back pocket and his camera bag slung over his shoulder.
“Ted's been so excited, having a big story,” confided Pam. “There's never even been a murder in Tinker's Cove before this. Ted says the police are very suspicious about Barney's accident.”
“You mean someone tried to kill him?”
“That's what they think. After all, Barney had driven that route at least once a day for fifteen years or more. There's no way he could have made a wrong turn. And the car had just had a complete overhaul, so they're certain it wasn't a mechanical failure. They think it must have been attempted murder. First Sam Miller and now Barney!”
“I was thinking the same thing,” admitted Lucy.
“Well, you can read all about it in the
Pennysaver
. ”
“I will,” Lucy promised, giving Pam a wave.
As she drove home Lucy wondered about what Pam had said. Ted generally had a pretty good idea of what was going on in Tinker's Cove. After all, he was the editor, publisher, and chief reporter for the weekly paper that featured ads, coupons, and local news. In Tinker's Cove news generally came from two sources: the town hall and the police and fire departments. Ted covered it all, sitting through interminable evening meetings of the school board, the finance committee, the zoning board of appeals, and the selectmen. Nobody knew more about town politics than he did. Whenever the police and fire departments were called, Ted was there, writing up the automobile accidents, chimney fires, and petty crimes that had been all that filled the log books until now.
The last violent crime in Tinker's Cove had happened in 1881 when a hired man killed Mrs. Flora Kenny with an ax he happened to be holding in a dispute over wages. He had been chopping wood at the time. Immediately overcome with remorse, he'd obligingly hanged himself in the apple orchard. At least, that's how the story went. Anyway, it had happened a very long time ago.
Ted had written a feature story about the Tinker's Cove ax murder, and Lucy had enjoyed reading it. It had seemed more like fiction than fact, until she'd stumbled on the grave of Flora Kenney, “Beloved Wife and Mother,” in the cemetery one day last summer. Flora had been real, just like Sam and Barney. The difference was that Flora had been killed in a fit of temper. Whoever killed Sam and tried to Barney had been cold and calculating.
On the other hand, thought Lucy, pulling into the driveway, you couldn't be sure. Perhaps Barney
had
hit a patch of black ice. The road to Barrow's Light was notorious.
As she braked, she saw Bill's father carrying a load of suitcases and bags to his car.
“You're not leaving already?” Lucy protested.
“I'm afraid so. I've got work tomorrow, you know.”
“Tomorrow's Monday. I'd forgotten. I was hoping we'd have a longer visit.”
He grunted as he lifted a heavy suitcase. “We'll be back soon. Edna's got some crazy idea about cross-country skiing. Probably break her leg.”
Bill senior stood back to admire his packing job. Even though his large sedan had a huge trunk, he prided himself on getting the bags stowed perfectly.
“It's just like walking,” Lucy reassured him.
“At our age, even walking is risky,” he complained. “One slip and you're out of commission with a broken hip.”
“Excuses, excuses,” Edna chided, advancing with a shopping bag of Christmas loot. “You're just lazy.” She turned to Bill, taking the bag he was carrying for her. “He just wants to stay home and play with the VCR.”
“We'll send you lots of videos, I promise, but we'd love to have you stay longer.”
“I'm hoping I can pry him loose Presidents' Day weekend. I'll threaten him with the coat sales.” Edna laughed and gave Lucy and Bill each a peck on the cheek.
They stood arm in arm, watching the salt stained car disappear down the driveway. Feeling suddenly weary, Lucy leaned against Bill for a moment, luxuriating in the knowledge that he was there to support her.
“Tough night?” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her.
“Not too bad. What's up here?”
“Not much. The usual day-after-Christmas mess.”
Entering the house through the back door, Lucy was relieved to see that her mother had the kitchen firmly in hand. She had just started the dishwasher and was wiping the counters.
“Did you have breakfast? There's some stollen,” she told Lucy.
“I cooked a huge breakfast for Eddie, but I forgot to eat any myself. I'd love some stollen, and a big glass of milk. Don't bother, I'll get it.”
“No, go on in and sit down. I'll fix it for you.”
Lucy stepped carefully over the Christmas presents that were scattered across the floor and collapsed on the couch, propping her feet on the coffee table. Toby was too engrossed in his video game to do more than say, “Hi, Mom,” but the girls shrieked and jumped up as soon as they saw her. They perched on either side of her and showed her their favorite new Barbie outfits. Lucy sipped her milk and chewed her cake, watching Bill as he cleaned out the fireplace. For once she didn't feel compelled to clean up the Christmas mess; she'd do that later. For now she was positively enjoying the disorderly house, her children, her mother, and, most of all, her husband.
 
 
Christmas week passed in a blur. The children were busy with visits to friends and excursions to the movies and the ice-skating rink. Lucy kept in touch with Marge, but the news was always the same. Barney's physical condition continued to improve, but he remained deeply comatose. Marge brought in newspaper articles that she thought would interest him and read them aloud; she even read
Peanuts
to him. She took in photographs of Eddie, and she played his favorite Jimmy Buffett and George Thorogood songs on a portable tape player, but he remained stolidly unreachable.
On New Year's Eve Lucy drove her mother to the airport. They went alone, partly because Lucy didn't want another long wait with the children in tow, but also because she wanted a chance to talk with her mother.
“How are you doing?” Lucy asked as they drove along the highway. “I don't want your polite answer, I want to know how you're
really
doing.”
“Well, I don't like the way things are, but I'm all right.”
“I was very worried about you when you came. You seemed so depressed.”
“I almost didn't come,” admitted the older woman. “I was afraid it would be too painful. But there's so much going on at your house that I forgot to worry.”
“What do you worry about?”
“Everything! The car, the house, the furnace, the roof. I've never had to think about those things before. What if something breaks?”

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