by Leslie Meier
“There’s a basket of toys under the settee,” said Kitty. “Why don’t you pull it out and see what’s there.” She nodded approvingly when Sara jumped down, seated herself on the braided rug, and began investigating the basket. “How many children do you have?” she asked Lucy.
“This will be my fourth,” said Lucy, patting her tummy.
“Four! Aren’t you lucky! I didn’t have Fred until rather late in my marriage. I was thrilled to finally have a baby.”
“And a son, too. Your husband must have been pleased.”
“I think he was, in his way,” recalled Kitty. “Of course, like many people his age he didn’t believe in showing affection. He was afraid that sparing the rod spoiled the child. People don’t think that so much anymore.”
“Sometimes things change for the better,” observed Lucy, wondering how to broach the subject she wanted to discuss. “I don’t quite know how to begin,” she said, leaning forward, “so I guess I’ll just plunge in. I came here to ask you to tell your husband that the video camera he took from Franny Small yesterday really is mine. I need it back to tape my daughters’ ballet rehearsal. Tatiana only allows cameras at the dress rehearsal, and it’s today. At three-thirty.”
Kitty’s face was blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“My video camera,” said Lucy, taking a deep breath. “Franny borrowed it to prove to Mr. Slack that she isn’t the one stealing from the store. He caught her with it, and fired her. He also confiscated the camera, and I want it back.”
“He fired Franny? When did all this happen?”
“Yesterday,” said Lucy. She could practically hear the wheels turning in Kitty’s head as she put two and two together.
“Thank you for telling me, Lucy. This explains why Morrill was so upset last night.”
“Didn’t he tell you what happened?”
“He did say something about it being Annemarie’s fault. That’s all.”
Lucy was amazed at this lack of communication between husband and wife. “How long have you been married?” she asked.
“More than fifty years,” said Kitty. “I can hardly believe it myself. Times were hard all those years ago. It was during the Depression. My folks were sure happy when Morrill started showing an interest. It meant one less mouth to feed.”
“They forced you to marry him?”
“Oh, no. I didn’t mind. I figured taking care of this nice house would be lots easier than haying and milking on my folks’ farm.”
“Kind of like getting a better job?” Lucy was fascinated.
“Yup,” said the old woman, breaking into a broad smile. “Of course,” she said, slapping her knee and cackling, “I don’t think Morrill has any intention of letting me retire.”
Lucy joined in Kitty’s laughter. She couldn’t help admiring her. Kitty was clearly a survivor, and Lucy suspected it was her sense of humor that got her through.
The laughter stopped abruptly when Lucy realized Sara was no longer playing quietly on the rug.
“Where’s she gotten to?” exclaimed Lucy, dashing through the swinging door into the dining room, past the long mahogany table, which still held the remains of Morrill’s solitary breakfast. Lucy cast an anxious glance up the tall staircase and frantically checked the front and back parlors.
She found Sara in the study, lifting a bell jar off a pair of stuffed bluebirds. The birds were sentimentally nestled together on a branch of flowering apple. The flowers were made of blown glass, and the whole arrangement was probably priceless. It looked as if it belonged in a museum.
“Sara! Don’t touch!” scolded Lucy, replacing the glass dome. “You mustn’t go wandering about in other people’s houses.”
“No harm done,” said Kitty. “I bet Sara would like a cookie.”
Back in the kitchen, she sat Sara at the scrubbed pine table, gave her an enormous molasses cookie, and poured a glass of milk for her. “I bake cookies, but I rarely have a young visitor to eat them,” said Kitty. “These used to be my grandson Ben’s favorites. I only have one grandchild, but he’s a good one.”
“You must be proud of him,” said Lucy politely. “He was very helpful to me the other day. He put a bag of fertilizer in my car. Finish up, Sara, we have to go.”
“So soon?” Kitty would have preferred a longer visit.
“I’m afraid so,” said Lucy, lifting Sara out of the chair. “I’ll be stopping at the hardware store this afternoon. Do you think you could talk to your husband before then about the camera?” “I’m afraid not, Lucy. I’ve learned it’s better if I don’t interfere.”
Disappointed, Lucy led Sara to the door. “Well, thank you for the visit. What do you say, Sara?”
“Thank you for the cookie,” whispered Sara.
Lucy was on the doorstep, turning to go, when she noticed Caroline Hutton’s was the house next door. She spoke without thinking.
“You’re Caro’s neighbor! Have you heard anything?”
The old woman shook her head. “I can’t believe Caro would go off without telling me. We had an arrangement. I have her house key and I always take her mail and water her plants when she goes away.”
Lucy noticed she had crumpled her apron and was nervously kneading it in her hands.
“There’s food in the refrigerator, and a gas furnace. I don’t know what to do.”
Lucy understood Kitty’s anxiety. Her own mother had found the responsibilities of home ownership overwhelming when she was suddenly widowed. With Lucy’s encouragement she soon decided to move to a small apartment in a retirement community.
“Would you like me to go over with you?” asked Lucy, patting the old woman’s hand.
“Would you?” Kitty’s eyes lit up. “I’ll get the key.”
As she watched Kitty scurry off, Lucy carefully arranged her features. Kitty didn’t need to know how eager she was to search for clues in Caro’s house.
10
There will be an opportunity to photograph each class before the dress rehearsal.
While Lucy waited for Kitty, she watched Sara turn circles on the lush grass lawn. Huge old trees shaded the Slacks’ back yard, making it an ideal place for children to play in the summer. She wondered if Fred had been allowed to invite his friends over for noisy games like Cowboys and Indians or Capture the Flag.
“Doesn’t she get dizzy doing that?” asked Kitty.
“That’s why she does it. She likes getting dizzy. Come on, Sara. We’re going next door.”
Crossing the driveway, Lucy took note of the neat exterior of Caro’s house. It was much smaller than the Slacks’ house, of course, but it had a character all its own. It was a modem, architect-designed dwelling with bleached cedar siding, an oversized brick chimney, and a huge picture window. It didn’t look anything like the other houses in Tinker’s Cove.
“How did she get permission to build a house like this?” asked Lucy.
“It’s older than you think. It was built in the fifties, before we had the historical commission. Morrill doesn’t like it much; he says it looks like a gas station.”
“It sure is different,” said Lucy, waiting while Kitty unlocked the sliding glass door. Heavy homespun drapes concealed the interior.
Once inside, Lucy decided the house was surprisingly elegant. It was uncluttered, serene, vaguely Oriental. The living room was sparsely furnished, but it contained a state-of-the-art entertainment system, neatly housed in polished teak.
A small hall led to two bedrooms, simply furnished in Danish modern. The master bedroom was distinguished by a shaggy rya rug; otherwise it was almost identical to the smaller guest room.
“The police searched, but they didn’t find anything. This house doesn’t have any hiding places,” said Kitty.
“It’s so neat,” exclaimed Lucy, thinking of her own slapdash housekeeping.
“It was always like this. Never anything out of place. The kitchen’s this way.”
In the sleek, galley-style kitc
hen Lucy helped Kitty empty out the refrigerator. It was well stocked with salad greens and other perishables; it was not the refrigerator of someone who was planning to take a trip.
Lucy followed Kitty downstairs to the cellar. It was just as tidy as the rest of the house. The walls were lined with shelves containing flowerpots, paint cans, and a few oversized stock-pots. There was a washer and dryer, and a huge furnace that sprouted ducts like tentacles. It had probably been installed when the house was originally built. A pilot light burned fiercely behind the grate.
“I don’t like gas,” clucked Kitty. “It’s awfully dangerous.”
“It should be turned off,” advised Lucy. “The weather’s warm now and the pipes won’t freeze.”
Kitty looked at the furnace skeptically.
“I think you just flip this,” said Lucy, pointing to red emergency switch. “Shall I?”
“I’m sure you know best.”
At Lucy’s touch the furnace sputtered, then fell silent.
“Much better,” said Kitty.
Returning upstairs, Lucy found Sara seated on the sofa, turning the black pages of an old-fashioned photo album.
“What did I tell you, Sara?” she demanded, taking the book. “You mustn’t touch other people’s things.”
“I’m sorry,” whispered the child, pouting and studying her new sneakers.
“That’s okay,” chuckled Lucy, undone by Sara’s adorable expression. “Where did you find this?”
“There.” Sara pointed to a drawer in the coffee table.
Lucy pulled the drawer open and spotted a second album; this one had a carved wooden cover. She took it out and carefully turned a few of the fragile pages. She thought of her own family albums and how she had sat with her mother, asking the same questions over and over. “Who’s that? Where’s that? When was that picture taken?” Each photograph was a document indicating relationships, friendships, times, and places. Family albums contained a wealth of information.
“Put it back, Mommy,” reminded Sara.
Lucy began to replace the albums, then hesitated. The temptation was too great. They might contain a clue that would explain Caro’s disappearance.
“Mrs. Slack,” she began.
“Lucy, I see the cesspool truck’s at my house. I’d better run if I’m going to catch him before he drives all over the lawn.”
“Go on,” urged Lucy. “I’ll lock up here.”
“You’re a dear,” exclaimed Kitty, hurrying off. Sara followed her to the door and stood watching as the old woman ran awkwardly across the driveway.
Promising to work things out with her conscience later, Lucy closed the drawer and tucked the albums into her African basket shoulder bag. She took Sara’s hand and glanced around to make sure nothing was disturbed. Then she left the house, carefully locking the door behind her.
11
Pictures and videos are to be taken during the dress rehearsal ONLY!
It was early afternoon when Lucy pulled into a vacant parking spot in front of Slack’s store and shifted the Subaru into park. It was just like Morrill Slack to confiscate the camera, she thought. He obviously didn’t have any respect for Franny, or anyone he considered his inferior, even his wife. He lived in the past, when a small group of men like himself controlled almost all the wealth in Tinker’s Cove and the rest of the population eked out a meager living as hardscrabble farmers and fishermen. He had little knowledge of the modem world, in which videos were almost as common as snapshots.
Thinking of last night’s award ceremony, Lucy was determined to get the camera back. The evening had started out miserably enough. In fact, when she’d taken her seat in the school auditorium she’d doubted she would get through it. Bill’s face was stony, the girls were fidgety, and Toby looked quite nervous up there on the stage. It was crowded, noisy—and very hot, thanks to the greenhouse effect created by evening sunlight pouring through the windows.
The school principal stood up; the room quieted down. He ordered the shades drawn and assigned several sixth-grade boys to do the job. The school band began playing “The Star- Spangled Banner” and everyone stood up.
As the band struggled through the difficult song, Lucy glanced at Bill and their eyes met, just as a particularly sour trumpet note sounded. She giggled, he broke into a grin, and they began to enjoy the evening.
It was almost embarrassing, they agreed later, that Toby won so many awards. They had expected the attendance award, of course, and were pleasantly surprised when he won a book prize for an essay on prejudice. When he was called up to receive the fourth-grade mathematics award, Bill squeezed her hand. When he also received the science award, and a certificate for outstanding scholarship, they could barely contain their pride.
Their son was the very picture of a humble scholar as he went back and forth from his seat to receive his awards. When the principal described him as an extraordinary young man, Toby blushed mightily, shuffled his feet, and hung his head. It was only afterward, when Ted Stillings snapped his picture for the paper, that he allowed his pride to show. Standing on the sidelines, observing his glowing face, Lucy wished she could have recorded the ceremony.
She couldn’t recapture Toby’s big moment, but she certainly wasn’t going to miss the one and only opportunity she’d have to videotape the girls’ ballet recital.
Checking her watch, she saw it was just a little bit past one and she still had to buy blank tapes. Then she had to pick up Sara at Sue’s house, where she had temporarily parked her. Lucy didn’t want any distractions while she coped with Morrill Slack.
She hoped there wouldn’t be any difficulty. Her swollen feet were killing her and she wished she were back home taking her usual after-lunch rest on the couch. She also had a wicked case of heartburn; she probably shouldn’t have had that second cup of decaf this morning. Her back ached and, as almost always, she had to pee. She was in no mood to tolerate any nonsense from a cranky old fart like Morrill Slack.
Squaring her shoulders and bracing her legs, she yanked the stubborn door open and marched into the store. It was something of a letdown to discover that nobody seemed to be around. There was no sign of Slack, or even Ben, in the place. Franny’s usual spot at the cash register was empty. Lucy peered down the aisles and called out a hello, but there was no answer. She wondered if the store was closed, and began to feel uneasy. Perhaps she should come back another time.
“What other time?” she reminded herself. She needed the camera now. She didn’t even have time to go over to the Slacks’ house. Spotting the office door slightly ajar, she decided to give it a try. After all, the old guy might be hard of hearing. She knocked smartly, which made the loose glass rattle. The unlatched door swung slowly inward. There she found Morrill Slack slumped forward on his desk, motionless.
Lucy ran to him and reached for the phone to call the ambulance. The receiver was unpleasantly sticky, but it was only after she’d hung up that she noticed blood on her hand. Forcing herself to focus, she saw the entire desk was splattered with blood. Slack’s head, she realized with a growing sense of horror, had been brutally bashed in and it very much looked as if her video camera had been used to do the job. It was lying next to Slack’s head on the desk, and bits of tissue and bone clung to it. Lucy’s gaze shifted back to the old man. One pale blue eye was still open, and stared dully through the cracked lens of his eyeglasses. Her last thought, as she fainted dead away, was that he looked like a fish on ice.
12
No reserved seating.
It was only minutes later when Lucy came to, flat on her back on the floor. She struggled to sit up, but overcome by dizziness and nausea, she collapsed again.
The next thing she was aware of was the booming voice of Barney Culpepper.
“Don’t touch anything except Mrs. Stone,” he ordered a pair of uniformed EMTs. “You guys contaminate this crime scene and I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Don’t raise your head, Mrs. Stone,” said one of the
EMTs. “We’re just going to slide you onto this stretcher and take you for a little ride to the next room. Oopsy-daisy, there we go.” The sudden movement made her head whirl and she groaned.
“Be careful with her,” she heard Barney bellow.
“I’m okay,” she reassured him once they had her settled in the store. “I must’ve fainted.”
“Do you have any chest pains?” asked the EMT, slipping a blood pressure cuff around her arm and inflating it. “Any pain at all?”
“No. Yes. My head hurts.”
“Good. Your pressure’s okay. I’m going to give you this lollipop to suck on. When you feel like it, you can sit up.”
Lucy concentrated on sucking the pop and tried not to think about the gory scene in the next room. “Is he dead?” she asked Barney.
“Afraid so, Lucy. Just try to relax,” he answered.
Lucy let out a quivery little sigh and took stock of her situation. Nothing hurt, except for her head, and nothing was broken. A flurry of activity inside told her the baby was fine. Her hand was still blood-smeared, and she wanted to wash it.
“Is there any place I can clean up? I have to get the girls to the dress rehearsal. And I need that camera.”
“There’s no hurry, Lucy. Number one, the dress rehearsal’s been canceled until further notice. There’s a sign on the auditorium door. And number two, you’re not going to have that camera for a long time. It looks like it’s the murder weapon and it’s gotta go to the state crime lab. If there’s a trial and it’s submitted as evidence, it could be years ‘fore you get it back. If I was you, Lucy, I’d just get another one. They’ve come down in price quite a lot.”
“Yeah. And they’re a lot lighter now, too,” agreed one of the EMTs. “Yours musta been pretty heavy to do all that damage.” “Nah,” said the other EMT, shaking his head. “Did you see how thin his skull was? Cracked just like an egg.”