by Leslie Meier
Lucy also had a nagging feeling that Sue was angry with her. She’d tried calling several times but all she’d gotten was Sue’s answering machine. Sue was usually very good about returning calls but she hadn’t called back yet. Maybe she was out of town or something, but Lucy didn’t think so. She certainly hadn’t mentioned any plans for a trip. She was pretty sure Sue was giving her the cold shoulder as punishment for supporting Chris’s ideas in the meeting and she couldn’t help feeling that was unfair. She thought a strong friendship like theirs that had endured for twenty years or more ought to have room for differences of opinion, but apparently Sue felt differently. Too bad, thought Lucy, experiencing a touch of anger herself. Sue wasn’t her boss and she was entitled to her own thoughts and feelings. She only hoped this rift wasn’t going to continue for too much longer; she missed her phone chats with Sue. In fact, looking over the recipe for “gourmet” dog biscuits, she could just imagine what Sue would say.
“Raw liver? Yuck.”
Sue hadn’t suddenly materialized in her kitchen to voice her disgust, it was Zoe, who had been eager to help with the project—until she saw the glistening red lump of raw meat sitting on the kitchen counter.
“It’s for dog biscuits. Gourmet dog biscuits.”
“Mom,” said Zoe, her expression very serious, “I don’t think people understand what dogs really like to eat. They don’t like dog food at all. Not really. They only eat it because they have to. They would really rather have people food. Do you know what Libby’s favorite food is? Apple pie. With ice cream.”
Lucy smiled. “I think you’re probably right. Libby loves people food, but it’s not actually very good for her. Dog food has all the nutrients she needs to grow and stay healthy. That’s why we’re going to put this nutritious lump of liver in the biscuits.” She dropped the liver into the food processor. “It’s full of iron…” she said, pressing the button and producing a brownish red sludge. “And protein,” she continued, but she was talking to an empty room. Zoe had fled the carnage in the kitchen.
Zoe’s disdain for the gourmet dog treats continued the next morning, when Lucy suggested she take some along to Friends of Animals day camp to taste-test on the dogs there. “I don’t think so, Mom,” she said, with a sniff. “They’re my friends and I don’t want to insult them.”
“Libby liked them.”
“No, Mom, she didn’t. She buried them.”
“That means she likes them, right? She’s saving them for later.”
“If she liked them, she’d eat them right up.”
“Maybe she was full.” Even as she spoke, Lucy knew this was wishful thinking. Libby was a Lab and she would eat until she burst, that’s just the way Labs were. She’d eat sticks and rocks, she’d eat dead animals, she’d eat horse apples, she’d eat just about anything except the gourmet dog biscuits. The truth was unavoidable: the dog biscuits were a failure. “I guess I’ll have to find another recipe.”
“Try the Internet, Mom,” said Zoe, jumping out of the car. “I bet they have some good ones.” Then she was gone, running off to join her friends.
Lucy was a bit jealous as she drove on to work. If only there were day camp for grown-ups. She’d love to spend the day singing songs and practicing her backstroke and making something pretty in arts and crafts instead of slaving away over a computer trying to write an interesting story about the finance committee’s last meeting in time for the noon deadline.
“This came for you,” said Phyllis, handing her a business-size envelope.
Lucy took it, noticing there was no stamp and no return address. “Who brought it?” she asked.
Phyllis shook her head. The Aqua-Net was working; not a single tangerine curl budged. “Dunno. Somebody must have pushed it through the mail slot. It was on the floor when I got here this morning.”
That wasn’t unusual. Lots of people hand-delivered letters to the paper. There was no sense wasting a stamp if you were going to be downtown anyway, plus your letter would get there faster. Lucy put it with the stack of unopened mail, mostly announcements of local events, that was waiting on her desk and poured herself a cup of coffee.
“So how are things?” she asked Phyllis, taking advantage of the fact that Ted hadn’t arrived yet.
“I had some friends over for dinner last night. We had steak and whipped cream.”
“Yummy,” said Lucy, thinking Libby didn’t have it so bad after all.
“Don’t knock it. I’ve lost another five pounds.”
Lucy looked at Phyllis, resplendent in lilac slacks and a flowered blouse instead of the muumuus that used to be her summer uniform. “You look fabulous.”
Phyllis’s cheeks grew pink. “Thanks.”
The bell on the door jangled, announcing Ted’s arrival. Lucy gave him a big smile by way of greeting and headed for her desk, where she started opening the mail. Ted was all business on deadline day.
“How’s that story on the new teachers going?” he asked, setting a cup of coffee on his desk and opening his briefcase.
“It’s almost finished. I still have to talk to Buck Burkhart; I have an appointment with him at nine.”
Ted pulled out a notebook, flipping it open. “Okay. You’ve got new teachers, the finance committee meeting, the selectmen’s meeting, what else?”
Lucy had opened the letter on the top of her pile, the one with no return address. “Maybe there’s more to this hazing than we think. Listen to this: ‘players were subjected to a number of indignities including being forced to drink copious amounts of alcohol and having their heads shaved.’ That last part is true enough. Sara told me they’d shaved their heads but she thought it was voluntary.” Lucy returned to the letter, her eyes bulging at the next sentence: “‘They were then forced to undress and required to play the game of Twister in the nude.’”
You could have heard a pin drop. Ted and Phyllis were speechless.
“It’s another one of those anonymous letters,” she said, by way of filling the silence. “And I think it’s got the ring of truth, if you know what I mean. It’s weirder than fiction.”
“Naked Twister?” Phyllis’s ample bosom was heaving. “Kids today sure know how to have fun. We thought spin the bottle was hot stuff. What did we know?”
“I don’t think it’s funny,” said Lucy. “What do you think, Ted?”
Ted was examining the letter. “I wish the sender had signed it. Then I’d have a better idea what to think. This could be the work of a loony. Or somebody who has a grudge against the school. It could even be somebody who didn’t make the team.”
“I don’t think so, Ted. It sounds real to me. So did the first letter, for that matter.”
The bell on the door jangled just then, announcing Sue’s arrival. “Why so serious? Did somebody die?”
Lucy was relieved to see that Sue didn’t seem to be holding a grudge. Indeed, she looked inordinately pleased with herself as she set down a foil-covered plate on the counter.
“Hardly,” said Phyllis, fanning herself with a press release. “Somebody wrote a letter saying the football team plays naked Twister.”
“Naked Twister? I never thought of that. It sounds like fun.” Sue was smiling, just thinking about it. “With the right person, of course. I don’t know if Sid would be up for it. He’s not really all that flexible, anyway. It would have to be somebody younger, somebody like Johnny Damon. Or maybe that football player, Tom Brady. Now there’s a cutie.”
“Sue!”
“Just teasing,” she said, removing the foil and revealing a pyramid of frosted chocolate squares. “Voila! You must try these.”
They all took a step forward, drawn by the aroma of chocolate.
“Those look delicious.”
“Are they brownies?”
“Do they have carbs?”
“Yes, to all three. Now taste them.”
“I can’t,” said Phyllis, rushing out of the office.
“Atkins,” said Lucy. She picked up one of the
luscious-looking squares of chocolate.
“MMMph,” said Ted, practically inhaling one and reaching for a second. “Mmmm.”
“Ted tends to overreact,” said Lucy. “He never met a food he didn’t like.” She took a bite and found herself swooning and moaning with pleasure. “These are better than sex,” she said, when she’d recovered her senses.
“That’s inspired, Lucy! That’s what I’m going to call them. Better-Than-Sex Brownies. I think they’re going to be a sensation at the bake sale.”
“What’s in them?”
“Trade secret.”
“They’re not low-carb, are they?” She cocked an eyebrow. “Chris won’t like that.”
“Chris will love them. They’re going to sell like hotcakes. And we can charge a small fortune for them. Trust me. Once the word goes out people will be flocking to buy them. They’ll be coming in droves. In busloads. Screaming for Better-Than-Sex Brownies.”
“Some people might find the name offensive,” said Ted, reaching for a third.
“You don’t want to spoil your appetite,” said Sue, snatching the plate away.
“Please,” said Ted, a hint of a whimper in his voice.
“Take it back about the name.”
“It’s not offensive at all,” he said. “I was wrong. Very wrong. Now can I have another? Please?”
Sue was magnanimous in triumph. “Of course you can. In fact, I’m going to leave you the whole plate.”
Ted seemed to go a bit weak at the knees and grabbed the counter for support.
“I must go now,” said Sue, striking a Superman pose. “I have a few more recipes to try.”
“You’re not happy with these?”
“A true artist is never satisfied,” she said. “To paraphrase Picasso, or perhaps it was Cezanne, I believe I am only beginning to know chocolate.”
“It’s certainly a noble quest,” said Lucy, as Sue departed. The bell on the door was still jangling when Lucy took another brownie. Ted had apparently entered a chocolate coma and was reclining in his chair, his feet on the desk and a smile on his face. A definite first for deadline day, thought Lucy, as she prepared to leave the office for her interview with Coach Buck.
Tinker’s Cove Middle School was ready for the school year to begin. The empty halls had been painted and the floors polished, the one-armed desks in the classrooms were arranged in orderly rows and a bright “WELCOME” banner hung over the front door. Even the air smelled of floor polish; there was none of the adolescent stink she always associated with the school—a mix of sweat, cheap cologne, and old sneakers.
The staff in the main office were all present and accounted for, however. Unlike the teachers, administrators worked through the summer, preparing for the new school year. Angela Dobbins, the school secretary, was busy enrolling a new student when Lucy arrived but waved her down the hall. “Mr. Burkhart’s in his office,” she said. “Three doors down.”
The door was ajar but Lucy gave a little knock before sticking her head in. Buck Burkhart was sitting at his desk, leafing through a file. Until now, Lucy had only seen him from a distance as he came and went from his house on Prudence Path. Up close, she realized he was older than she expected, considering the ages of his wife and children. Bonnie seemed to be in her early thirties and the twins were six, but Buck was at least fifty, judging from his gray hair and the deep lines that ran from his nose to his mouth. He was quite fit, however, and jumped to his feet to greet Lucy.
“It’s great to meet you,” he said. “I’ve heard such nice things about you from Bonnie. And, of course, we love Sara. She’s great with the twins.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” said Lucy. “Sara really enjoys babysitting for the girls. She says they’re adorable and polite, too.”
“I can’t take much credit for that, I’m afraid,” he said, grinning. “Bonnie’s in charge of the kids.”
“Oh, you can never underestimate the importance of a strong father,” said Lucy, wondering how she’d become part of a mutual admiration society. She sat down and opened her notebook, determined to cut to the chase. “So tell me, what brought you to Tinker’s Cove?”
Buck leaned back in his chair and propped his elbows on the desk, tenting his hands. “I saw the ad in a professional magazine and, well, it caught my interest. We’d been living in Lawrence, Massachusetts and we were beginning to think it wasn’t the best place to raise the girls. There’s a lot of drugs, a lot of crime. I found the work there very challenging, very interesting, don’t get me wrong, I felt I was doing a lot of good. But it was time to think of the family, of the girls, and what would be best for them.” He paused. “And when I came for the interview, well, I just fell in love with this town. It’s real small-town America, the kind of place where there’s a real community. You know what they say, ‘It takes a village to raise a child,’ and I felt that was what we’d find here in Tinker’s Cove.”
Lucy didn’t want to burst his bubble; she figured he’d learn the truth soon enough. Tinker’s Cove was picture-perfect on the outside, but life was hardly idyllic. There was domestic violence and drug abuse and poverty and all the other problems that were part of modern life.
“I understand that in addition to your job as a guidance counselor you’re also coaching the high school football team?”
“That’s right. I love a challenge and I understand the Warriors haven’t had a winning season in fifteen years.”
“Something like that.” She chuckled, then grew serious. “How do you plan to change that?”
He leaned forward and fixed his eyes on hers. “Drills, drills, drills. I believe conditioning and preparation are the keys to winning. In sports and in life. That’s why I’m hoping to introduce an ambitious new career exploration program that will give students an opportunity to explore the world of work and the opportunities it affords. I’m going to set up mini-internships, job-shadowing, get the kids out of the classroom and into the workplace. And we’re going to bring the workplace into the school, too, with career days and speakers. Let them hear from a veterinarian or a newspaper reporter or a realtor what their job is all about. Let them ask questions.”
“Those all sound like terrific ideas,” said Lucy, softening him up for the big question. “To get back to the football team, I’ve heard some rumors about hazing during training. Is that part of conditioning?”
The question didn’t faze Buck in the least. “Absolutely not. That’s the sort of thing I simply will not tolerate. Who’s making these allegations?”
“We don’t know. They’re anonymous letters.”
Buck gave her a condescending smile. “I know you reporters are always after a juicy story, but don’t you think you should be ashamed of yourself? I mean, anonymous letters?”
“The sender might have been afraid of repercussions.”
“Now, that’s just ridiculous. If one of my players has a problem, I expect him to come to me and we’ll solve it together. That’s how my team operates. Teamwork. And that’s what we’re going to be doing in the guidance department, too. We’re going to develop teams that give the kids an opportunity to discuss issues like bullying, peer pressure, even drugs and alcohol. Open forums where the kids can discuss these things in a supportive atmosphere and learn how they can get help if they need it.”
Lucy was scribbling busily, trying to get it all down. “Are these programs that you’re importing from Lawrence? Were they successful there?”
“I think you could say that. Very successful, but I don’t want to blow my own horn.”
“And where did you work before Lawrence? And where did you go to college?”
“Boston University. A great sports school. I mean, I always loved football but when I got to BU I learned to love football.”
“Did you play?”
“Sadly, no. Just pick-up games with guys from the dorm.”
“I’m not clear on this. Don’t coaches need some sort of certification?”
“Not re
ally. It’s the kind of thing you learn to do by doing. I started out helping out…oh, that was years ago. I’ve been coaching football for twenty years or more.” He looked at his watch. “Oops, sorry, but I’ve got a meeting with the principal and I’m late.”
Lucy got to her feet. “I don’t want you to get in trouble, not when you’re just starting a new job.” She extended her hand. “Thanks for your time.”
“No problem,” he said. “It was a pleasure. Let me see you out.”
Lucy still had a million questions to ask, but there was no opportunity in the short walk from the guidance office to the front hall. All she really had time for was a quick request that he remember her to Bonnie before they parted at the main office. She hurried back to the Pennysaver office, wondering if Ted was still mellow from the brownies.
He wasn’t. “Lucy, I’ve got a hole on page one and I need that story.”
“I’m right on it,” said Lucy, tapping her head. “It’s all up here. I just have to type it up.”
Lucy sat at her desk and booted up her computer, taking a moment to organize her thoughts. Then she was off and running, flipping through her notes and writing up Coach Buck’s ambitious plans. But when she looked for information about his previous experience all she was able to find was the fact that he’d attended Boston University. She was trying to make a follow-up phone call when Ted spoke up.
“Are you done yet?”
“It’s coming, it’s coming,” said Lucy, who was getting a busy signal. She put the phone down and dashed off the final paragraph of the story.
“Great. Now I just need the Fin Com story.”
“Nothing much happened. They just went through the Highway Department budget and didn’t change a thing.”
“Make it short and sweet then.”
Lucy smiled. “Aye, aye, sir.”
Deadline was noon, which meant that Lucy got out of work earlier than usual on Wednesdays. She ran some errands and picked up some groceries, but she was still a half hour early when she drove over to the high school. She was surprised to discover practice was already over and Sara and Sassie were sitting on the ground, passing a water bottle between them, waiting for her.