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Authors: Leslie Meier

Turkey Day Murder (16 page)

BOOK: Turkey Day Murder
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CHAPTER 19
W
hen Lucy stopped at the day care center the next morning her heart almost stopped when she didn't see Tiffani playing with the other children.
“You look like you've seen a ghost,” said Sue.
“It's what I'm not seeing,” said Lucy, frantic with worry. “Where's Tiffani?”
“Her mom called. She's keeping her home today.” Sue paused, giving her an odd look. “What's it to you?”
“She's home and everything's okay?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“It's a long story,” said Lucy.
“I'm not going anywhere,” said Sue, casting an eye at the roomful of children. “I've got plenty of time.”
“Well,” began Lucy, taking a child-size seat next to Sue's desk. “I saw her at the funeral yesterday. She'd gotten separated from her mother or whomever she was with and was wandering around lost in the crowd. I tried to help her, but ended up getting arrested myself.”
“No!”
“Yes. It was horrible. Jail isn't all it's cracked up to be.”
“I can imagine,” said Sue, expertly surveying the play area, where the little girls were chattering in the dress-up corner and the boys were divided between the blocks and the sand table. “How come you went to the funeral? I didn't know you knew Curt Nolan.”
“I didn't. I went to support Ellie Martin. I got to know her when I interviewed her for the story I wrote about the dolls. She and Curt were in a relationship, so this has all been pretty tough on her. I've been trying to help—I even took the dog.”
Sue stared at her. “You've got a dog?”
“Curt Nolan's dog.”
“Kadjo?” exclaimed Sue in disbelief. “The one that killed the chickens?”
“We call him Kudo now. He's not a bad dog at all really. I've gotten kind of attached to him.”
Sue gave her a knowing look. “Ah, an empty-nest puppy.”
Lucy shook her head. “Don't be silly. He just needed a home.”
“Right,” said Sue, furrowing her brow. “Harry, please don't throw the sand.”
“I never heard anything so silly,” continued Lucy. “It would be crazy to try to replace Toby with a dog.”
“If you say so,” said Sue. “Harry, this is a warning. If you do that again you'll have to go to time-out.”
Harry threw down his shovel and went over to the shelves, where he took down a big dump truck and started pushing it around on the floor.
“You know,” said Lucy, “I never did get Tiffani's last name. What is it?”
“Sykes.” Sue was on her feet, keeping an eye on Harry while she poured glasses of juice.
“Sykes! Is she related to Bear Sykes?”
“You bet,” said Sue, carrying the tray of juice cups over to a low table and setting it down. “She's his granddaughter.”
Lucy brought over the graham crackers and unwrapped them. “I guess that explains what she was doing at the demonstration.”
Sue nodded, passing out the crackers to the children. “You won't believe this,” she said, whispering. “He wanted me to bring all the day care kids, but I told him it wasn't appropriate.”
“He wanted you to bring the kids to the demonstration?” Lucy was appalled. “Where'd he get such an idea?”
Sue took a bite of cracker. “About half the kids here are Metinnicut, you know. He's been after me for quite a while to add Metinnicut songs and stories to the curriculum.”
Sue lowered her head, studying her carefully manicured nails. Her face was hidden by a fall of glossy black hair, which Lucy happened to know was testament to her colorist's skill. “I know I should. I mean, I really try to be multicultural. We sing songs from all over the world, so why not Indian songs? I'm really not opposed to it,” she said, lifting her head, “but I don't quite see what business he has coming into my day care center with a couple of young toughs and telling me what to do. I told him to get lost.”
Sue's attention shifted to the snack table. “Don't grab, Justin. There's plenty for everyone.”
She turned back to Lucy. “And then he told me I'd better start looking for a new job because when the tribe makes money from the casino they're going to open their own day care center and I'll be out of work.”
Lucy could hardly believe her ears. “That's ridiculous,” she said, sputtering.
“No it's not. Like I said before, about half the kids are Metinnicut. If they go somewhere else, there won't be enough children left to justify funding the center. In fact, I wouldn't feel right asking the voters for the money for so few children.”
“You could fight back,” said Lucy. “I'll put it in the paper, how he's using strong-arm tactics.”
“It's not such a big deal really,” said Sue. “I don't have to do this. I'm not sure I want to anymore. It filled a need when Sidra went away to college. I admit it. It was a way to fill my empty nest.” She smiled down at the children, who were seated around the snack table. “But I've worked that out. I'm ready for something new.”
“I had no idea,” said Lucy, giving her friend a hug. “I didn't realize you were that upset when Sidra went away.”
“It was terrible—I almost got a dog,” said Sue, struggling to keep a straight face.
“Ouch!” exclaimed Lucy. “I'm not taking any more of this abuse. If I want abuse, I can go to work. At least Ted pays for the privilege.”
 
 
But when Lucy got to the
Pennysaver
office, there was no sign of Ted.
“He's interviewing Bear Sykes,” said Phyllis, “for a story about the demonstration yesterday.”
“Oh,” said Lucy, digesting this information while she hung up her coat. All of a sudden it seemed as if Bear was popping up everywhere. He was the man of the hour, and as yesterday's protest seemed to indicate, the tribe was falling in step behind him.
“Lucy,” said Phyllis, breaking into her thoughts, “since you're here, would you mind keeping an eye on things? I've got to go to the post office.”
“No problem.”
Lucy sat down at Phyllis's desk, where she could answer the phone and keep an eye on the door. Since she was alone, it seemed a good time to call Lieutenant Horowitz and tie up that last loose thread. Then she could retire from the investigation in good conscience.
Lucy reached for the receiver, then hesitated. This wasn't going to be pleasant, she told herself, recalling previous encounters with the lieutenant, but it had to be done. Bracing herself, she dialed the number of the state police barracks in Livermore.
“Ah, Mrs. Stone,” he said when her call finally got through to him. “I was wondering why I hadn't heard from you.”
“I didn't know you cared,” said Lucy, picturing his long rabbit face and his tired gray eyes.
“I care very much,” said the lieutenant, adding a long sigh. “It's the new buzzword in the department: community policing. We're supposed to get the public involved, maintain good relations with the media. So what can I do for you?”
“Well, since you asked, I was wondering if Jonathan Franke is a suspect in the Curt Nolan investigation?”
There was a long pause. “Well, in an investigation like this, the umbrella of suspicion covers a lot of people. Why are you asking about Franke in particular?”
“I happened to see him at the funeral yesterday and he was being very attentive to Ellie Martin, who used to be Nolan's girlfriend.”
“Hmm. Jealousy. Could be a motive.”
Encouraged, Lucy continued. “Plus, he happens to wear a lot of tweed jackets with the kind of button that was found in Nolan's hand.”
“Who told you about the button?”
From the lieutenant's icy tone, Lucy guessed he was no longer interested in cultivating good media relations. “I can't tell you that,” said Lucy. “My sources are confidential.”
“I could take you into court for witholding evidence,” said Horowitz. “I don't think Judge Ryerson would look very kindly on you, especially considering the list of charges pending against you.”
“You know perfectly well that's all a big misunderstanding. Now, to get back to Jonathan Franke, I think you have to consider him a suspect. First there's the motive: jealousy. Then there's the question of whether he'd be capable of committing murder. I can tell you he has a very hot temper and I've seen him almost come to blows with Nolan.”
“Mrs. Stone, just hold on a minute. Curt Nolan almost came to blows, hell he did come to blows—with lots of people.”
“What about the button?”
“Every man in America has an article of clothing with that kind of button: a jacket, a sweater, a raincoat. Trust me on this.”
“It isn't who's got buttons like that—it's who's missing a button,” said Lucy, feeling rather pleased with her cleverness. “Have you checked his clothes?”
“Mrs. Stone, as a professional journalist—and I use the term loosely—you know perfectly well that I can't reveal the details of an investigation. But off the record, I will tell you that Jonathan Franke has been eliminated as a suspect in the murder of Curt Nolan.”
“Eliminated? Why?”
“Again, off the record, he was having dinner with his mother at the time. Thanksgiving dinner.”
“You believe that?” Lucy was incredulous. “You're taking the word of his mother?”
“Actually, no. He had proof. Turkey leftovers, wrapped in foil.”
“You're teasing me. You know you are.”
Horowitz chuckled. Lucy could hardly believe her ears. “You know, I understand your interest in the case. It's a big story. And I appreciate the coverage we've gotten from the
Pennysaver
in the past. The
Pennysaver
's always been supportive and cooperative. But I've got to tell you that an investigation like this is best left to the professionals. We're not talking about someone who steals Girl Scout cookies here—this is a real bad guy and he won't hesitate to kill again. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” said Lucy, in a small voice.
“Good. Now I want to tell you about the department's unclaimed property auction next month. Got a pencil?”
“Sure,” said Lucy.
She'd just finished jotting down the details when the bell on the door jangled and Ted came in. His jaw was set and he stomped across the office to his desk, tossing his notebook down. Then he pulled off his jacket and threw it across the room, missing the coat rack.
“What's the matter?” asked Lucy, ready to duck for cover.
“Bear Sykes—that's what's the matter.”
“The interview didn't go well?”
Ted snorted.
“It wasn't an interview, it was a lecture. Sykes told me the kind of coverage he wants in the future, and he pretty much let me know that the
Pennysaver
's continuing survival depends on it. And he had a bunch of young fellows from the tribe to back him up, too. Guys with nothing better to do than look tough.”
“Wow. I guess power's really gone to his head. Sue said he's been throwing his weight around at the day care center, too.” She paused, remembering the selectmen's meeting when Sykes had presented the Metinnicuts' petition. Ellie had called him an errand boy when he'd run out to fetch the architect's model of the casino. “It looks like he's really consolidated his position as tribal leader,” she said. “You should've seen him at that demonstration yesterday. And the cops just played into his hands—those arrests will unify the tribe even more.”
“I dunno,” said Ted, perching restlessly on the edge of his chair. “Somehow I have a feeling that Curt Nolan must be turning over in his grave. He took pride in his Indian heritage. I don't think he'd like what's going on. Sykes and his boys looked more like the Mafia than anything else.”
Lucy's and Ted's eyes met; they were both thinking the same thought. Before either could express it, however, the door opened with a jangle. They both looked up. Lucy recognized Jack O'Hara.
“Hi,” she said, stepping behind the counter. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” he said. “I'd like to speak to the editor. You can say Jack O'Hara from Mulligan Construction is here.”
“I know who you are,” said Lucy with a big smile. “I covered the meeting.”
“I'm sorry. I should have recognized you.” He grinned apologetically. “I'm afraid I have a terrible memory for faces.”
Yeah, right,
thought Lucy. She was pretty sure he'd gone into that meeting knowing exactly who would be covering it; Chuck Canaday would have primed him.
BOOK: Turkey Day Murder
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