by Leslie Meier
The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that Franke was a prime suspect for Nolan’s murder. It was obvious the murder hadn’t been premeditated; the murderer had acted on impulse. And everybody knew Franke had trouble controlling his temper. Years ago, when the Association for the Preservation of Tinker’s Cove had been in its early stages, he’d been involved in a few scuffles and had even been charged with assaulting a contractor in an effort to halt a construction project in a watershed area.
Lately, however, he’d made a real effort to be more reasonable and professional in his role as the association’s executive director. He’d given up the wild, curly hair that had been his trademark and had taken to wearing casual business clothes instead of the jeans and plaid flannel shirts he’d once favored. Now he was usually seen in khaki pants and tweed jackets-the sort of jackets that had leather patches on the elbows and woven leather buttons.
The thought brought Lucy up sharply: woven leather buttons, just like the one that was found in Curt Nolan’s hand.
Feeling pressure on her upper arm, Lucy glanced at the alcoholic woman next to her. She wasn’t a pretty sight and Lucy struggled not to gag. The woman had passed out and was leaning against Lucy. A stream of saliva was dribbling down her chin and she reeked of booze and vomit.
“Lucy Stone,” called the officer.
“Here,” yelled Lucy, gently easing herself away from the unconscious woman and lowering her to the bench before presenting herself to the guard.
She watched impatiently as he fumbled with the keys. Enough, already. She’d been here for an eternity and couldn’t wait to get out.
“What took you so long?” she demanded as Bob led her to his car. “Do you know what it’s like in there? People were throwing up! It was disgusting! I don’t know how they get away with treating people like that, keeping them in such appalling conditions! It’s outrageous!”
“I knew you’d be glad to see me,” said Bob, unlocking the car door for her.
“I must’ve been in there for hours,” said Lucy, fuming as she fastened her seat belt.
“Well, you’re out now—until December fifteenth. Want to tell me how you got in this mess so I can convince Judge Joyce not to lock you up and throw away the key?”
“She could do that?” Lucy was horrified.
“I’m exaggerating,” admitted Bob. “But you’ve got to face the fact that this isn’t over. You’ve been charged with assaulting a police officer, disorderly conduct, unlawful assembly, and kidnapping.”
“That’s absurd! I was there for the funeral. I wasn’t involved in the protest at all. Then I saw one of the kids from the day care center wandering around and tried to get her to safety. I wasn’t kidnapping her.” Lucy stared out the window at the bare gray trees they were passing. “They grabbed her out of my arms. What’s going to happen to her?”
“Probably social services is taking care of her until her parents can claim her. Were they arrested, too?”
“I don’t know. All I know is her name is Tiffani. I don’t even know her last name.” She bit her lip. “I hope she’s okay.”
“She’s in good hands.”
“I wish I could be sure of that.”
“All right,” said Bob. “I’ll check on her and let you know.”
“Thanks,” said Lucy.
“About time,” said Bob. “Most of my clients are a lot more appreciative. This will definitely be reflected in your bill.”
“I’ll tell Rachel,” said Lucy with a little smile.
“Touché,” said Bob. “This will be pro bono.”
“Thank you. That’s really nice of you.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Bob, turning into her driveway. “I’m just being realistic. If you couldn’t come up with bail, what are the chances you could pay me?”
“My funds were temporarily unavailable,” protested Lucy.
“Never mind,” said Bob. “Just do me a favor and stay out of trouble between now and December fifteenth. Promise?”
“I promise,” said Lucy.
CHAPTER 18
“Mom, you’re on TV.”
Lucy tossed the sponge she’d been using to wipe off the kitchen table into the sink and hurried into the family room. There she watched herself being unceremoniously tossed into the paddy wagon.
“Is my butt really that big?” she asked Bill.
He didn’t answer but walked right past her to answer the phone that was ringing in the kitchen.
She stood there in the doorway, watching the rest of the report. Bear Sykes got a lot of play; he was shown in action leading the protest and was also interviewed afterward, when he had been released from jail.
“Why do you want to get mixed up with a guy like that?” said Bill, returning to his recliner and picking up the remote.
“I’m not mixed up with anything,” protested Lucy. “I explained to you. All I did was go to the funeral. I didn’t even know there was going to be a protest. I got arrested because I saw one of the day care kids had gotten lost and tried to get her out of the scuffle.”
“Don’t give me that,” said Bill. “The cops obviously don’t believe that story and I don’t either. You told me you weren’t going to get involved in this murder, and here you are, charged with ten counts of sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Lucy shifted uneasily and looked over at the couch, where Zoe and Sara had gotten very still and quiet. Bill, however, was too angry to notice and continued his tirade.
“You had no business going to that funeral. It isn’t as if there isn’t plenty for you to do around here. The house could do with a good cleaning and Zoe got stranded at her scout meeting without a ride home. Anybody with two working brain cells could have figured out there’d be some kind of demonstration at that funeral but you never gave it a second thought and went off to get yourself arrested and forgot all about your responsibilities.”
“That’s not fair,” Lucy began, ready to argue in her own defense but Bill was having none of it.
“And if all this wasn’t bad enough,” he said, cutting her off, “you know who just called? The Barths. They don’t want to move here anymore. They just want me to finish up the house as quick and cheaply as I can so they can sell it—and I don’t blame them either. Who would want to live in a place with murders and a gambling casino and demonstrations? Nobody in their right mind—that’s for sure!” He glared at Lucy as if it were somehow all her fault.
“Bill,” she began, then realized she might as well talk to a wall. He had retreated behind the newspaper and she knew from past experience there was no point trying to talk to him when he was in this kind of mood.
Besides, she thought guiltily, returning to the kitchen, he did have a point. She had had no business promising Miss Tilley she would try to find out who murdered Curt Nolan and she should never have attempted to conduct her own investigation. She could have saved herself a lot of trouble if she’d stayed home vacuuming or dusting instead of going to the funeral.
Angry and depressed, she yanked open the freezer and pulled out the emergency chocolate bar she kept behind the ice cube trays. She smacked it on the table, smiling with grim satisfaction as she felt it shatter into small pieces. Then she sat down and unwrapped it, popping a piece of chocolate into her mouth.
Sitting there with the sweet, delicious chocolate melting on her tongue, safe in the house she didn’t seem to appreciate and surrounded by the family she had neglected, Lucy felt tears stinging her eyes.
She pictured once again Tiffani’s frightened, tearstained face as she wandered in the midst of the disordered crowd, looking for a familiar face among the struggling police and protesters outside the church. She remembered the fear and outrage she’d felt when the police had grabbed her and how frustrated she’d been to find herself completely powerless, being carted off ro jail. Worst of all was the way everybody had refused to listen to her explanation. To the cops and the judge, she was just another docke
t number, another case for the system.
And what a system. She hadn’t had any idea how people were treated when they were arrested. All jumbled together in that appalling paddy wagon and then confined in that filthy cell. As soon as she’d gotten home she’d taken a shower and changed her clothes, but the stench of the jail seemed to linger stubbornly about her. She could still smell the disgusting reek of vomit, booze, and body odor.
She reached for a tissue and gave her nose a good blow, then took another and wiped her eyes. If she was this upset, she thought, popping another piece of chocolate in her mouth, what must poor little Tiffani be going through? Was she spending the night with strangers in some foster home? Had some unfamiliar woman bathed her and dressed her in borrowed pajamas, then tucked her into a bed that wasn’t her own? Was she terrified that she’d never see her family again?
Lucy sniffled again and Kudo raised his head from the dog bed, where he had been snoozing. He looked at her curiously. He got up slowly and stretched, then clicked across the floor to her and rested his head on her lap.
At least someone understands, thought Lucy, stroking the thick fur on the dog’s neck. She hoped Tiffani had found some similar comfort, maybe a teddy bear, to get her through the night.
Bob had promised to check on the little girl for her, but Lucy wasn’t entirely confident he’d remember. Tomorrow she’d check with Sue at the day care center and make sure Tiffani was back where she belonged. Then, she promised herself, she would drop the whole thing.
But what about Jonathan Franke? she asked herself as she sucked the chocolate off a piece of almond. She couldn’t just forget about him, especially since he seemed to have such a strong motive for killing Nolan. No, she thought, picking up another piece of chocolate, she had to alert the police to her suspicions. Once she’d done that, then she could retire from the investigation and turn her attention where it belonged: to her home and family.
CHAPTER 19
When 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 t
o 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.”