Gobble, Gobble Murder

by Leslie Meier

  “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.

  “We’re pretty informal here,” she said, tilting her head at Ted. “That’s Ted Stillings. He’s the editor and publisher.”

  O’Hara pushed open the gate next to the counter and walked over to Ted’s desk.

  “Nice to meet you, Ted. Like I said, I’m Jack O’Hara from Mulligan Construction.” He stuck out his hand and Ted shook it. “Mind if I sit down?”

  “Not at all. What can I do for you?”

  O’Hara spread his feet apart and leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs and shifting his gloves from hand to hand. Lucy had the feeling she’d become invisible; O’Hara was talking to Ted man to man.

  “As you probably know, Mulligan Construction has been selected by the Metinnicut Nation to build their casino. It’s a big project, and we know it’s bound to he controversial. This is a small town, and people in small towns don’t usually like change very much. They like things to stay the way they are and I guess that’s understandable.”

  Ted glanced at his watch, signaling it was time to skip the preamble and get down to business.

  O’Hara cleared his throat and continued. “I understand just how influential a local newspaper like the Pennysaver can be in a situation like this, and I want to be sure we’re all on the same page here. If you have any questions, anything at all you’d like to ask me about the project, I’d be more than happy to answer.”

  “Well, that’s real nice of you,” said Ted, reciting his stock answer. “I’ll keep it in mind and give you a call if I have any questions.”

  O’Hara didn’t take the hint. “A project like the casino can mean a lot to a town like this. It will give the local economy a big boost, believe me. And more business means more advertising, right?”

  “Hadn’t really thought about it,” said Ted. Lucy could tell he was getting a bit hot under his collar.

  “We happen to be fairly big advertisers ourselves at Mulligan,” continued O’Hara. “I’m not sure of the total budget, but I can assure you it’s substantial. And we’re very selective. We place ads where they’ll get the most results. And of course, we tend to favor publications that support our general goals. We play ball with people who are on the team, if you know what I mean.”

  Lucy watched, waiting for Ted’s reaction. This was the second time someone had tried to pressure him in one day and she knew he must be pretty fed up.

  “We’ll be happy to run your ads,” Ted said, spitting the words out. “As for supporting your goals or playing ball, I don’t work that way. The paper’s a public forum and we try to give equal coverage to all sides.”

  O’Hara looked down at his shoes, then turned his gaze on Ted. “I understand your reluctance,” he said, practically winking at Ted. “I can assure you we would definitely make it worth your while to write a positive editorial. I understand that your opinion is valuable—more valuable than you might think.”

  Ted sat there, his eyes bulging and his mouth gaping like a goldfish. “Are you saying you would pay me to write an editorial in favor of the casino?”

  “Oh, no. You misunderstand me,” O’Hara said smoothly. “We would work something out. I hear you have a son in college—perhaps he could win a Mulligan scholarship? How would that be?”

  “Get out!” roared Ted, rising to his feet and pointing to
the door. “This discussion is over! Get out of my office!”

  O’Hara maintained his casual manner as he stood up and crossed the floor to the gate. He pushed it open, then paused.

  “You’re making a mistake,” he said, slapping his gloves against his hand. “We can make things pleasant, or we can make them very unpleasant. It’s up to you.”

  “Are you threatening me?” Ted took a few steps toward O’Hara.

  “I think I’ve made myself clear,” O’Hara replied, opening the door.

  A moment later he was gone, with nothing to remind them of his visit except the jangling bell.

  CHAPTER 20

  “That was weird,” said Lucy after O’Hara had gone.

  Ted didn’t answer. He grunted and started flipping through the stack of papers on his desk. Then he shoved them aside, pushed his chair back and stood up.

  “I’m going out for some fresh air,” he said, dropping the stack of papers in front of her. “Would you mind typing in these listings for me?”

  Lucy figured Ted had had enough for one day and needed to get away from the office for awhile.

  “No problem,” she said.

  Once he’d gone, however, she realized it would take hours to go through the stack of press releases announcing club meetings and used-book sales and holiday bazaars. She was struggling to decipher a particularly confusing notice about an amateur production of Amahl and the Night Visitors when the phone rang. It was Miss Tilley.

  “I wondered if you’d like to join Rachel and me for lunch,” the old woman purred.

  Rachel worked as a part-time caregiver for the old woman, driving and cooking for her.

  “I’d love to, but I can’t. I’ve got too much work to do.”

  “That’s too bad. Rachel and I were hoping you could give us an update on your investigation.”

  Lucy squirmed in her seat, remembering her conversation with Lieutenant Horowitz.

  “I don’t have much to tell you,” she said. “In fact, I’ve been so busy—”

  “You can’t fool me, Lucy Stone,” snapped the old woman. “I know you must have some idea by now of who killed Curt.”

  “Oh, I have some ideas,” said Lucy. “But I think I’d better keep them to myself for the time being.”

  “I wouldn’t tell a soul,” coaxed Miss Tilley.

  Lucy glanced around the empty office. She was dying to discuss her thoughts with someone, and Miss Tilley was a gold mine of local knowledge.

  “My lips will remain sealed,” continued Miss Tilley.

  “I know you’ll tell Rachel,” said Lucy.

  “Well, Rachel won’t tell anyone either. She’s married to a lawyer and she’s used to keeping secrets. She’s nodding in agreement as we speak, and making a sign of zipping her lips.”

  Lucy chuckled. “This is just an idea, now. I don’t have any real evidence. But it does seem that one person has benefitted from Nolan’s death more than anyone else. It’s the cui bona thing.”

  “Bear Sykes!” exclaimed Miss Tilley, confirming Lucy’s suspicions. “I just knew it!” Then she added, “Rachel thinks so, too.”

  “This is just a hunch.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. It’s obvious when you think about it. He’s always had a power complex, and Curt Nolan was the one person who stood in his way as tribal leader.”

  “He’s definitely in charge now,” said Lucy. “He’s really been throwing his weight around, you know.”

  “I’m not at all surprised. Why, I remember when he was a little boy. He wasn’t much of a reader, you know, but he was looking for a topic for a research paper. It had to be about a famous person who changed history. I suggested Eisenhower, the supreme allied commander and such a dear man, too—but Bear wasn’t interested. He said he’d rather write about John Wayne and wanted books about him.”

  “John Wayne? Isn’t that an odd choice, considering Bear is a Native American?”

  “Now that you mention it, I guess it is. Of course, I had to tell him that John Wayne was only an actor, that he hadn’t really changed history.” She paused. “I finally suggested Napoleon and Bear really got interested. For a while there he was constantly asking for books about Napoleon. Such a horrid little man, I’ve always thought, but Bear absolutely adored him.”

  “I wonder why,” said Lucy.

  Miss Tilley spoke slowly. “I suspect it was the fact that Napoleon was ultimately defeated but was still considered a great general.”

  “Like Geronimo and Sitting Bull?” Lucy said.

  “I think so.”

  “Well, he’s certainly acting like Napoleon now. He’s turning the tribe into something like the Mafia.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised,” said Miss Tilley. “Do you think the police suspect him?”

  “I don’t know,” admitted Lucy.

  “Maybe you could help them. Isn’t there some way you could get evidence?”

  “I can’t think how.”

  “Search his house or something.”

  “You want me to break and enter?” Lucy was astonished. “That’s illegal. What if I got caught?”

  Miss Tilley clucked her tongue. “What’s happened to you, Lucy Stone? You used to much bolder, you know.”

  “Let’s say I’m older and wiser, unlike some people I know.”

  Miss Tilley wasn’t about to give up. “If you applied yourself, I’m sure you could trick him into confessing.”

  “And how would I do that without risking my neck? You know, I have a family and they depend on me.”

  Miss Tilley didn’t answer immediately, but Lucy could have sworn she heard her wheels turning through the telephone line.

  “Use the telephone! Like that Linda Tripp person. Record him and take the tape to the police.”

  “That’s illegal—they’ve filed charges against her, you know.”

  Miss Tilley sighed. “It was just an idea. You’re probably not clever enough to trick him into confessing anyway.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” said Lucy.

  “I have to go. Rachel says lunch is ready—it’s shrimp wiggle today,” said Miss Tilley, naming a favorite dish of Lucy’s.

  “You have absolutely no mercy,” said Lucy.

  She hung up and picked up the next press release. It was for a square dance, and although it gave more information than she needed about callers and cuers, it didn’t state the time of the dance. Fortunately, there was a phone number so Lucy called it.

  While she listened to the rings, Lucy noticed there was a record button on her phone. She pushed it just as the other party answered.

  She got the information she needed, hung up, and dialed the code for the message system. Sure enough, she’d recorded the entire conversation. That was interesting, she thought, wondering if she dared call Bear Sykes, when the phone rang. She recognized Jack O’Hara’s voice.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “but Ted’s not here. You can leave a message if you want.”

  “Actually, it’s you I want to talk to,” he said.

  Lucy rolled her eyes; didn’t this guy ever give up?

  “You couldn’t convince Ted, so now you’re going to try me? You’re wasting your time. I’m just the hired help. I have no influence whatever.”

  O’Hara laughed and Lucy found herself warming to the man despite herself.

  “You can’t blame me, can you? After all, this is a project I believe in. Not just because it will make a profit for Mulligan, but because it will improve the town’s economy. You’ve got to admit there’s an awful lot of poverty in your unspoiled rural paradise. I mean, people can’t afford to buy mittens for their kids?”

  Lucy thought of Tiffani and her ragged jacket. “I can’t argue with you there.”

  “Andy Brown and I would like to go over the plans with you. I think you’ll see that gambling is really just a small part. There will be shops, theaters, even a museum. In fact, it’s been suggested we name it after Curt Nolan as a memorial. It’s
a lot more than just a casino. It’s going to employ a lot of people and they’ll be able to make a lot more money than they’re getting from jewelry piecework—that’s for sure. This could mean opportunity for a lot of people.”

  Lucy’s first impulse was to refuse, but she hesitated. The man had a point. She hadn’t really considered the benefits the casino could bring; she’d made up her mind against it based on her own prejudices. Thanks to her Protestant upbringing, she had an unshakable conviction that gambling was sinful and the only proper place for money was in a savings bank.

  “Okay,” she finally said. “When and where?”

  “There’s no time like the present.”

  “No can do,” said Lucy. “I have some work I have to finish up before deadline.”

  “Say in a couple of hours? At Andy Brown’s place?”

  Lucy checked the clock. It was almost one and she had to be at the selectmen’s weekly meeting at four.

  “How about three o’clock? But I won’t be able to stay long.”

  “Great. See you then. I’ll have Andy warm up some of his famous cider.”

  “Sounds good,” said Lucy, suddenly hungry as she hung up the phone. She hadn’t eaten lunch and she was ravenous. She knew she ought to eat something, but she still had pages and pages of listings.

  Her stomach growled and she came to a decision. She’d go home and eat something and finish working on the listings there. That way she could check on the dog and she’d be closer to Andy Brown’s farm. She could easily swing by there on her way to the meeting.

  Satisfied with her decision, she stood up and stuffed the papers into her bag. She turned the sign in the window to read closed and pulled the door shut behind. As she hurried to the car she debated what to eat: leftover stew or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?

  CHAPTER 21

  Lucy was sitting at the computer in the family room, working on the press releases, when the girls got home from school at a quarter of three.

  “Home already? Gee, I didn’t realize it was so late,” said Lucy, ejecting the disk from the machine. “How was school?”

  “School sucks,” said Elizabeth. “I can’t wait to go to college.”