Gobble, Gobble Murder

by Leslie Meier

When the phone rang, she was surprised to hear Rey’s voice.

  “How is Bill?” he asked, concern in his voice.

  “He’s doing okay,” said Lucy, taking the phone into the kitchen so she wouldn’t disturb Bill. “He’s in some pain, I think, but he doesn’t want to admit it.”

  “What a terrible thing. I feel responsible. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  Lucy was tempted to say that he’d done enough, thank you, and to please leave them alone, but then she remembered that his son was facing murder charges, which was much more serious than a broken arm and a few bruises. “What’s going on with Matt?”

  “I believe they’re transferring him today, bringing him back to Maine for arraignment on Monday. The lawyer says there’s little chance he’ll get bail, but we’re going to try.”

  “I’m very sorry,” said Lucy.

  “I guess it was inevitable, given the situation, that they would try to pin Franklin’s murder on him. He’s innocent, of course, and I believe the truth will come out in the end.”

  “I certainly hope so,” said Lucy.

  “The reason I called is I’m coming to Maine for the arraignment, and to see Matt, and I’d like to meet with Bill about the restaurant project.”

  “I don’t suppose you want to continue—” began Lucy.

  “On the contrary,” he said, interrupting her. “I’m determined to go ahead, I’m meeting with the insurance adjuster tomorrow and I’d like Bill to be there, if he’s able.”

  “I’m not sure,” said Lucy when Bill appeared in the doorway.

  “Who’s that?” he asked.

  When she said it was Rey he took the phone himself and, before she could object, had agreed to meet him at the burned-out pub first thing in the morning.

  Lucy was furious. “You’re always telling me to mind my own business and to stay out of trouble,” she reminded him, “and here you’re walking right into a hornet’s nest. Maybe you should take your own advice.”

  “I’m not committing myself to anything. I’m just going to a meeting,” he said, turning his back on her and shuffling back to the family room.

  A series of thumps emanating from the back staircase preceded Zoe, who appeared with her enormous duffel bag, ready to leave for Montreal. “You’re sure you don’t need me here, Mom?” she asked, setting the suitcase on the floor.

  “No, we’ll be fine. Give your dad a kiss.”

  Zoe disappeared into the family room, only to emerge a moment later. “He’s gone back to sleep. You’ll have to say good-bye for me.”

  “Okay,” said Lucy, her voice thickening. “Drive carefully and be—well, you know, it’s a big city. Take care of yourself.”

  “I will,” said Zoe, laughing, as she put on her coat. “I won’t go wandering off with any strangers, not even if they’re incredibly cute and have charming French accents.”

  “If only I could believe that,” said Lucy, tying a long scarf around her daughter’s neck and giving her a big hug.

  She stood at the kitchen window, watching as Zoe dragged the heavy bag down the path and loaded it into her car. She paused before getting in the car and gave her mother a wave, then she was gone.

  Lucy was headed down to the cellar with a load of laundry when her cell rang and she saw the caller was Zoe. “What’s up? Did you forget something?” she asked, resting the laundry basket on her hip.

  “No, Mom, I didn’t forget anything. It’s this billboard. I thought you’d want to know about it. It must have just gone up, right out here on Route 1. It’s a big blown-up version of the newspaper photo of those three drug dealers that got arrested a few weeks ago, with those police ID placards that have their names on them, all Latino of course, and then in big red, white, and blue letters it says AMERICA FOR AMERICANS!”

  CHAPTER 17

  Bill might have been able to drive one-handed, but the fact that he was also taking pain meds meant that Lucy had to chauffeur him to the early Monday morning meeting with Rey. His truck was damaged in the blast and was in the body shop, so they went in her SUV. The sun was just rising when they arrived at the harbor and shafts of morning light filled with dancing bits of dust streamed through the burned outer wall of the restaurant. The place reeked of smoke, charred wood, and melted plastic. Lucy and Bill stood outside the cordon of yellow tape and studied the scene, amazed that Bill survived the blast that created so much damage.

  “I was sure lucky,” he said, taking Lucy’s hand.

  “I can’t think about what might have been,” she said, turning away. Looking across the mostly empty parking lot dotted with a few pickup trucks and boats shrouded in white plastic, she spotted a white sedan coming down the hill. “I bet that’s Rey.”

  Moments later the sedan slid into the parking spot next to Lucy’s SUV and Rey got out, giving them a wave. The passenger side door opened and a young woman stepped out and came around the car to join him.

  “This is my daughter, Luisa,” said Rey, introducing her.

  She was a petite version of her brother, with the addition of a gorgeous mane of black, wavy hair. She smiled, revealing dazzling white teeth and two dimples, one in each cheek.

  “It’s lovely to meet you,” said Lucy. “We’re both very sorry about Matt. Have you seen him?”

  “Not yet,” said Rey. “I imagine we’ll be able to have a minute or two with him after the arraignment.”

  “He’s very strong,” said Luisa, sounding as if she was trying to reassure herself. “He’ll be all right.”

  “I’m sure he will,” said Bill. He indicated the burned out pub with a wave of his hand. “So what do you think?”

  Rey stepped up to the yellow tape and walked along it, studying the damage and shaking his head. Bill, Lucy, and Luisa stood together, silently watching him.

  “I’m interested to hear what the adjuster has to say,” he said, joining them. “I think that may be him.”

  The him turned out to be a her dressed in mannish Carhartt overalls, sturdy work boots, and a hard hat. “I’m Donna Dewicki from National Assurance,” she said, sticking out her hand.

  “Rey Rodriguez.” He shook hands with her and introduced the others.

  “I’ve got permission from the fire department to take a look inside,” she said, pulling a flashlight out of her pocket. “I’ll be back in a jif.”

  The four stood together, watching as Donna stepped inside the burned shell of the pub and following the progress of her dancing flashlight.

  After a few minutes she returned. “This is a total loss. It doesn’t look to me like anything can be salvaged.”

  “So that means the company will pay the entire amount of the policy?” asked Luisa.

  “That depends on the results of the fire marshal’s investigation,” said Donna, giving Rey a once-over. “If the explosion was caused by a gas leak or an electrical fault, then the company will pay, but if it’s arson, there will need to be a further investigation.”

  “Are you implying I might have done this myself?” asked Rey.

  “I’m not saying that. I’m saying that it’s been done before and the company will want to be certain that it’s not the case. We have a responsibility to our shareholders.”

  “I’d like to point out that I was in California when this happened,” said Rey.

  “Point taken,” said Donna. “But there are people who would do the job for a price, and there are plenty of people who think a couple thousand dollars is a small price to pay for a million dollar payout.”

  “I can’t believe this,” fumed Rey, who was building up a head of steam.

  Luisa rested a cautionary hand on his arm.

  “It’s okay, Papa. They have to investigate all the possibilities, but we know that we had nothing to do with this.”

  “I hope that’s the case,” said Donna, thrusting a clipboard in front of Rey. “Sign here, please. It’s just an acknowledgement that I was here and examined the premises.”

  Rey scrawled an ove
rsized signature on the small line marked with an X and handed the clipboard back with a little shove.

  Donna responded with a raised eyebrow, but didn’t say anything and quickly turned and strode across the parking lot to her van. No doubt she had learned through the years to avoid confrontations with policyholders. Lucy herself had been furious with her own insurance agent when he informed her that, even though their auto policy would cover some of the cost of repairs to the truck, they would have to pay a hefty deductible.

  “Come on, Papa,” said Luisa. “Let’s look at the view before we leave.”

  Rey shook his head. “I want to talk to Bill. I want to know what he thinks.”

  “I’ll walk with you,” offered Lucy. “You can see Quissett Point from here.”

  “Okay,” agreed Luisa with a smile.

  The two women strolled to the end of the pier, watching in silence as a little red boat headed past the lighthouse, rounded the point, and went out to sea.

  “It must be awfully cold out there,” said Luisa with a little shiver.

  “You bet.” Lucy wondered if Luisa knew about the developing relationship between Matt and Zoe, but wasn’t sure how to ask. After they stood in silence a few moments, gazing at the gleaming surface of the water and the little pine-covered islands and the boats bobbing on their moorings, she decided to just go for it. “You know, Matt seemed to be taking an interest in my daughter Zoe.”

  “He told me. He said she was the first girl since Alison that he really liked.”

  “Zoe’s in Montreal, visiting a girlfriend there,” said Lucy.

  “Probably a smart move, considering all this,” said Luisa with a nod in the direction of the burned-out pub.

  Lucy was quick to add, “But she’s very worried about Matt. She made me promise to keep her posted on developments.”

  “I’ll let him know,” said Luisa with a little smile.

  “Thanks,” said Lucy. “Was he very serious about Alison?”

  “I think so. He dated her for quite a while. She was practically part of our family. They met in LA. She was a student at UCLA and he was working as a sous chef at the Four Seasons. I think they met when they were both running. You know, they had the same routine and saw each other every morning and finally started saying hi, that sort of thing. But then she had that accident and got into drugs and they broke up.”

  “Wow, it really is a small world. Girl from Maine meets boy in California.”

  “You know those Venn diagrams, those circles that overlap?” asked Luisa. “I’m into math and that’s how I think about things. We all travel in circles, you know family groups, interest groups, economic groups, age groups, and when people share a certain number of factors it’s pretty likely that their circles will overlap and they’ll meet.”

  “So Matt and Alison shared a number of factors?” asked Lucy.

  “Yeah. They were both young, they were both runners, they were in the same city, and they shared the same fantasy. She saw herself as a damsel in distress and he saw himself as a knight in shining armor.”

  “So what was Alison’s dragon?” asked Lucy. “Drugs?

  “No. It was her family. She didn’t get along with them at all. I used to think that it wasn’t so much Matt who she liked as our whole extended family. You know, the parties and dinners with all the uncles and cousins and aunts.”

  “Well, Ed Franklin wasn’t the easiest guy to get along with . . .” began Lucy.

  “Oh, no, it wasn’t her father. It was her monster mom and her slimy stepfather. Her words, not mine. And she hated the half brother, Trot or Trig. I forget his name. She said he was awful.”

  “In what way?” asked Lucy, fascinated.

  “I’m not sure, exactly,” admitted Luisa, “but Matt told me that she had him install a deadbolt on her bedroom door so she could lock herself in at night.”

  “Oh,” said Lucy as they turned to walk back. She knew from her work as a reporter that sexual abuse in families was not uncommon and often had tragic consequences. “Do you think that she might have killed herself?”

  “No. She would never have committed suicide,” said Luisa, certainty in her voice. “I’m sure of that. And she didn’t use drugs, either. She got addicted to pain killers after an accident, but she went to rehab and after that, she wouldn’t even take an aspirin.”

  Bill and Rey were shaking hands and saying good-bye when the women returned and joined them.

  Lucy also took Rey’s hand and said, “I hope everything goes well at the arraignment. Be sure to give Matt our best wishes.”

  “I most certainly will,” said Rey, taking Luisa’s arm and walking with her to the rental car.

  Lucy and Bill were quiet as they walked to the SUV, but as soon as they were inside Lucy asked if Rey had come to a decision about the future of the pub.

  “He wants to go ahead,” said Bill. “He says it’s a blessing in disguise and he’s hiring an architect to design his dream restaurant and he wants me to build it.”

  “I guess that depends on the insurance company.”

  “I guess it does.”

  Lucy took a detour on the way home, driving out to Route 1 to see the AMERICA FOR AMERICANS billboard. It was exactly as Zoe had described it, and it dominated the view. You couldn’t avoid seeing it even if you wanted to. Lucy suspected a good number of people probably agreed with the anti-immigration sentiment.

  “I wonder if Rey and Luisa saw it,” said Bill as Lucy drove on past.

  “I think they must have. Of course, they would have thought it utterly ridiculous since their family was here long before the American Revolution.”

  “But it’s not really about immigration, is it? We’re all descended from immigrants after all. It’s about race and ethnicity. You know how they say a picture is worth a thousand words? Well there are only three words on the sign, but the picture of those mug shots of the three accused drug dealers says that Mexicans are criminals.”

  “I wonder who’s behind it,” said Lucy, switching into investigative reporter mode. “Those billboards are expensive.”

  “I have a feeling you’re going to find out,” said Bill as she turned off Route 1 onto Shore Road, heading back to Tinker’s Cove and home.

  * * *

  Lucy was running late when she was finally able to leave for work, and she knew that Monday morning was always busy. There were usually new developments over the weekend, and a lot of people seemed to have nothing better to do on Sunday afternoon than to write e-mails to the local paper, which had to be answered.

  Phyllis greeted her with a smile, and asked how Bill was doing. “Everybody’s talking about that explosion,” she said, peering over the zebra-striped cheaters perched on her nose. They matched her sweater and also her fingernails.

  “Bill’s got a broken arm,” said Lucy, studying Phyllis’s manicure. “How do you get stripes like that on your nails?”

  “They’re stickers. I heard the explosion, you know, and the sirens. It was scary. I thought the whole town was going to blow up.”

  “It was a heck of a blast,” said Ted, turning away from his computer screen. “He was lucky he wasn’t blown to bits.”

  “That’s what he tells me,” said Lucy, attempting a joke while hanging up her coat. She didn’t like to think about the explosion and what might have been. Now she was realizing, for the first time, that the blast hadn’t affected only her family and the Rodriguez family, but had literally sent tremors through the entire town.

  “I’d like to interview Bill, if he’s up to it,” said Ted. “That blast is a big story and I’d love to get a first-person account.”

  Lucy plunked herself down at her desk, feeling overwhelmed. It was one thing to cover the news, quite another to be the news. “I was on my way home from Ed Franklin’s funeral when Zoe called. I was only thinking of Bill. I wasn’t thinking like a reporter.”

  “That’s perfectly understandable,” said Ted. “But it’s the biggest thing that’s happene
d in Tinker’s Cove since the big ropewalk fire. I’m running it on page one.”

  “They had mutual aid,” said Phyllis, referring to the system by which the local fire departments helped each other. “Trucks came from Gilead, Elna, and Dundee.”

  Lucy found herself growing misty, thinking of all those people who came to help Bill and put out the fire. “He says he doesn’t remember much, but I’m sure he’d like to tell you as much as he can.”

  “Great,” Ted said. “I’ll give him a call and set a time. I want to interview him face-to-face. You’re writing up the Franklin funeral. There’s the selectmen’s meeting and I think the finance committee is meeting—”

  “What about the billboard? I want to do a piece on that, find out who’s behind it,” said Lucy.

  “What billboard?” asked Ted.

  “The one out on Route 1 that says America for Americans, with bigger than life mug shots of those three drug dealers that got arrested.”

  “I hate those things. They spoil the view,” said Phyllis. “I was so happy when they finally took down that one of the governor.”

  “I’ll swing out that way and take a look on my way to the interview,” said Ted, reaching for his jacket. “Meanwhile you’ve got plenty to do, Lucy.”

  * * *

  Lucy had finished up her story about the Franklin funeral and was trying to think of a way to write an interesting story about the selectmen’s debate as to whether or not the town had an adequate supply of road salt for the coming winter when Ted called.

  “I saw the sign and it’s too big to ignore,” he said. “Go ahead and find out who’s behind it.”

  “Great,” she said, only too happy to switch gears. She immediately called the owner of the sign, Maine Message, and spoke to a sales rep who was enthusiastic about the benefits of roadside advertisements.

  “We have hundreds of billboards throughout the state. Surveys show that billboards are one of the most effective forms of advertising.”

  “I’m not interested in renting a billboard,” said Lucy, explaining that she was a reporter with the Pennysaver newspaper. “I’m working on a story about a billboard that just went up on Route 1 and I need to know who is responsible for it. It’s got an anti-immigrant message, America for Americans.”