Tippy Toe Murder

by Leslie Meier

  “What are you in such a hurry for?” asked Lucy, looking about for Fred or Annemarie. “We can’t leave without saying goodbye.”

  “Forget it, Lucy. Let’s just go, okay?”

  Sue hustled her outside to the sidewalk, where Lucy stopped and demanded, “Now, what’s the matter?”

  “You’ll never believe what happened. I’m so embarrassed. I’ll never be able to face him again.”

  “Who? Why? What happened?”

  Sue took a deep breath and began talking while they walked.

  “I had no problem at all getting upstairs. The door to the powder room under the stairs was shut and I looked distressed and the bartender told me there was another bathroom upstairs. So up I went, with official permission. There wasn’t much to see, though, since all the doors were closed except for the bathroom. I do that, too, if I don’t have time to make the bed, or when the kids’ rooms get really bad. I decided I might as well use the bathroom since I was up there, so in I went.

  “It wasn’t anything special. No Jacuzzi or anything. Pretty wallpaper, though. Unusual. Kind of an abstract flower design. Almost impressionistic. Shades of pink and coral and green.”

  “What color were the towels?”

  “Coral, but that’s beside the point,” insisted Sue, waving her hands. “So I’m sitting there when I hear voices from the next room,” recounted Sue to an eager Lucy. As she spoke, it was almost as if she were back in the bathroom, perched on the environmentally correct low-flow toilet.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” demanded Annemarie. “I had to hear it from Hancock Smith. That bug-eyed old lecher was practically drooling all over me. He’s going on and on about what a wonderful legacy dear Morrill left for future generations. He said the historical society’s getting everything—the house, the furniture, and plenty of money to maintain it. They’re going to make the house into a museum, as if anybody’d want to look at all that ugly old stuff!”

  “Lower your voice,” warned Fred. “We’ve got a houseful of people. The historical society doesn’t get a thing until Mom dies. She gets everything.”

  “What about us?”

  “You didn’t really think he’d leave us anything, did you?”

  “I was hoping,” admitted Annemarie. “Especially since he was so fond of Ben. A nice inheritance would sure come in handy right now.”

  “Wills can be changed, you know,” said Fred, slipping his arms around her and nuzzling the back of her neck. “Maybe I can convince Ma to write a will of her own.”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Annemarie, turning to face him and draping her arms over his shoulders. “Is it legal?”

  “I dunno. I’ll ask Phil. He said he’d be here tonight.” “Phil’s just defending Ben, right?” she said, pulling away. “You’re not still thinking of having him help Franny, are you?”

  “Why not? He said he’s happy to do a favor for an old fraternity brother, and he’s got other business here anyway.” “How can you be so dumb?” Annemarie shook her head. “You think you’re helping, but you’re only making things worse.”

  “Look,” said Fred, grabbing her by the wrist. “I’m doing the best I can to get us out of this mess.”

  “Let me go,” she snarled. “We’ve got company. I’ve gotta go downstairs.”

  “That’s when Fred opened the bathroom door and saw me,” said Sue.

  “He saw you?” repeated Lucy.

  “I forgot to latch the door,” admitted Sue. “He caught me hiking up my panty hose.”

  “Was he embarrassed?”

  “He sure was, he was beet red. And so was I. I can’t believe he saw me in my Underalls.” The two women stopped in front of Sue’s house. “Do you want to come in for some coffee or something?”

  “No, thanks. I should go home. Bill’s babysitting.”

  “Lucy, you can’t babysit for your own kids. He’s fathering them, parenting them. It’s good for kids to spend time with their fathers.”

  “You know, you’re right,” said Lucy, climbing into the Subaru and starting the engine.

  Why, she wondered as she drove home, did she always feel so guilty whenever she left the kids? And why did Fred hire a lawyer to defend the person accused of killing his father? And what was Caro doing at Graceland?

  19

  No radios or tape players at rehearsal.

  Throughout Tinker’s Cove Sunday dinner was over and children were taking advantage of the last hours of weekend freedom as dusk settled in. Boys of a certain age formed small packs and prowled the town on bicycles, hunting for something to do. These long evenings gave them plenty of time to get into mischief.

  “What the devil are those boys up to?” muttered Barney Culpepper. He was talking to himself as he made a routine patrol around the elementary school. Sunday evening, he knew, was prime time for pre-adolescent vandals. Barney wondered what that little group was up to at the far end of the parking lot, where the principal and other school officials parked their cars in neatly marked spaces. He turned off his headlights and proceeded very slowly and quietly toward the group.

  What Barney saw, as he got closer and his vision became clearer, astonished him. Four boys, all sons of upstanding Tinker’s Cove families, were busy painting a message for the principal on the gymnasium wall.

  “Stop where you are, don’t move, this is the police,” he announced over the speaker, at the same time flicking on the cruiser’s powerful lights. Startled by the sudden bright light and the amplified voice of authority, the boys froze. Barney hauled his considerable bulk out of the car and firmly grabbed two of the miscreants by their collars, but the other two hightailed it across the parking lot and escaped into the woods. Barney started to pursue them, but stopped, realizing it was hopeless. “Can’t catch me, fat man!” heckled one of the escapees. “Mebbe,” growled Barney, “but I know who you are, Tim Rogers.”

  He turned and waved his flashlight at the two captives. “Into the cruiser,” he ordered.

  “Just once,” complained Eddie Culpepper to Rickie Goldman, “just once I wish I could get away with something. It’s awful having a cop for a father.”

  By Monday morning the wheels of justice were in full grind and four sets of parents had been invited to discussions with the principal at the elementary school: the Culpeppers, the Rogerses, the Goldmans, and the Stillingses. Soon after, Pam called her friend Lucy to vent her frustration.

  “I’m so embarrassed,” she confessed. “This is the sort of thing that happens to other people, not me.”

  “Think how Barney must feel. Catching his own kid.”

  “He looked pretty grim. We all did. Those boys weren’t brought up to vandalize public property. I can’t believe Adam would do a thing like that.”

  “Are you sure he did? How do they know it was Adam? Barney only caught Eddie and Rickie.”

  “The principal took one look at the wall and knew Adam was involved. Ted tells me the F word is always spelled with a ‘u.’ “

  “How was it spelled on the wall?” asked Lucy.

  “F-O-C-K,” answered Pam.

  “Isn’t that better? At least it wasn’t an obscenity,” reasoned Lucy.

  “I guess the meaning was clear enough. Anyway, Adam admitted the whole thing. He said it was Tim Rogers’ idea and he dared the rest of them to do it.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me. Bill says he’d gladly trade him for a ‘player to be named later.’ Any player,” said Lucy. “Don’t feel so bad. The only reason Toby wasn’t there is that we live too far out of town for him to bicycle in. There’s not enough for kids to do around here—that’s why they get into trouble.”

  “I know it. Barney said those boys who were in that car crash—you know, Ben Slack and his friends?—Barney said they were going to set off sticks of dynamite out in some field just for the hell of it. They could have blown themselves to kingdom come!”

  “Maybe getting caught now will teach Adam a lesson. It’s too bad nobody caught Ben Slack bef
ore he got into so much trouble.”

  “Adam and the others have to clean off the wall and repaint it. That’ll keep them busy for a while. This summer I’m signing Adam up for swimming lessons, sailing lessons, and tennis lessons. Plus he’s going to be tutored in spelling.”

  “Sounds expensive,” said Lucy.

  “It’ll be worth it if it keeps him out of jail,” said Pam. “That reminds me. I’d better get a move on. I’m going over to Wilton this morning to see Franny.”

  “At the jail? Oh, Lucy, you’re a saint.”

  “No, I’m not. I just feel guilty about all that Austrian ravioli in my freezer. Whenever I needed a hand, Franny was always the first to come. Now she’s in trouble, and the least I can do is visit.”

  “I’m sending her a card. Wild horses couldn’t drag me to that place.”

  “Thanks for the encouragement,” said Lucy sarcastically, hanging up the receiver.

  Once she was on the road to Wilton, after depositing Sara at Kiddie Kollege, Lucy began to wonder if going to the prison was such a good idea. She hadn’t told Bill about her plans for the day; she knew he wouldn’t approve. In fact, she wasn’t sure if she would tell him tonight. She could just imagine his reaction. If he had his way, she would spend her entire life at home cooking and cleaning with occasional trips to the grocery store for good behavior. Sometimes he would tease her by saying the best way to handle a woman was to keep her barefoot in the winter and pregnant in the summer. It was supposed to be a joke, but it came awfully close to reality.

  Set high on a hill over the little town of Wilton, the brick prison overshadowed everything around it. A complex of buildings, including the Superior Court and offices for county agencies such as the agricultural extension service and the health department, was situated at the bottom of the hill. A large parking lot separated it from the prison building, which was surrounded by a chain link fence topped with rows of barbed wire.

  Lucy parked the Subaru and climbed out, then on second thought she struggled back in and locked all the doors. After all, she wouldn’t want to help some desperate character escape. There were no trees shading the parking lot, so Lucy was grateful for the gray, overcast sky. It was hot and humid and she was panting slightly when she reached the fence surrounding the prison. A sign indicated the way to the women’s facility, so Lucy followed the walkway that ran alongside the fence.

  She was uncomfortably aware of a group of male inmates standing idly inside the fence, smoking, and felt their eyes following her as she walked along.

  “That one’s got a bun in the oven,” remarked one inmate, just loud enough for her to hear. Lucy ignored him and kept her eyes straight ahead, but she heard the snickers of the others.

  He raised his voice and called after her: “Hey, little mama, you like doing the wild thing? Wanna do it with me?”

  The other inmates found this very amusing, and he was rewarded with a chorus of laughter. Another prisoner whistled and yelled out to her: “Don’t listen to him. I’ll show you a better time!”

  Lucy was mortified as hoots of laughter followed this remark, but she refused to turn her head or quicken her pace. Her face felt very warm, however, and her hair was damp with perspiration. She heard a guard order the men to be quiet, and she made straight for the safety of the entrance just ahead, beyond the fenced comer of the yard. A lone figure stood in the comer, dressed in the regulation navy blue jumpsuit. He, too, was smoking a cigarette, and he had several days’ growth of beard. His eyes glittered dangerously and his gaze caught hers as she passed, separated from her by the chain link fence.

  “I could make you scream,” he said flatly, his voice gruff and his eyes hypnotically holding hers.

  Lucy quickly shifted her gaze past him to the door of the women’s wing of the prison and hurried toward it. A large, motherly matron opened the door when she rang, welcoming her with a big smile. “Don’t mind them, honey. They get kinda funny, being cooped up.”

  “I guess they would,” said Lucy, relieved that a thick brick wall now protected her from the men. “I’m here to see Franny Small. I called earlier and they said it would be all right.”

  “It sure is,” the matron told her. “Sign here, give me your purse, and walk through that metal detector.” After checking Lucy’s bag the woman returned it to her and unlocked a gate made of heavy wire mesh. “Go on in. Franny’ll be down in a minute.”

  Lucy found herself in a rather bare reception room. Chairs and sofas upholstered in sturdy vinyl lined the walls; the color scheme was faded mustard and avocado. The walls were covered with a thick coat of cream-colored high-gloss paint; a few amateurish landscapes, their tones oddly flat, hung on the walls. The windows were covered with heavy wire mesh, and a second doorway was also blocked with a gate. It was here that Franny suddenly appeared, accompanied by a second matron.

  “Lucy, it’s wonderful to see you. Thank you so much for coming,” she exclaimed, polite as ever, when the gate was opened for her.

  “Oh, Franny,” she said, unable to conceal her dismay when the gate was slammed shut and locked. Grasping both of Franny’s hands she asked, “How are you?”

  “It’s not so bad, honest. See? I can even wear my own clothes. Everyone’s real nice. The people who work here, I mean. I haven’t met anybody else. They keep me separate from the other prisoners because I haven’t been tried yet. I’m still officially not guilty.” Franny sat down on one of the Naugahyde couches and neatly crossed her ankles. She might have been at an afternoon tea party.

  “I’m glad you’re not in with the criminals,” said Lucy.

  “Not yet, anyway,” said Franny. “There’s only a handful of women here. Very few women commit crimes. And when they do, they usually hurt a relative. Least that’s what Verna says. She’s my favorite matron.”

  “They hurt their relatives?”

  “Husbands, generally. In self-defense. Verna says one lady here drowned her kids—all three of them. One was a baby, the oldest was four.”

  “Why did she do such a terrible thing? Was she crazy?” “Kind of, I guess,” admitted Franny. “She said it was the only way she could think of to keep them safe from their father. I never talked to her myself. I just know what they tell me.” “Have you had many visitors?” asked Lucy, eager to change the subject.

  “Mom, of course. She’s pretty upset. You can imagine. And Reverend Churchill, from the church. He told me not to worry because I’m in the Lord’s hands. And Fred called and said he got me a lawyer and I’ll probably be out on bail tomorrow after the arraignment.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “ ‘Course, there’s still the trial.” Franny was philosophical. “Oh, Franny, you’ll get off. No jury could convict you. You’re innocent!”

  “I think I am. I don’t remember killing him. But I wanted to, lots of times. In a way, that’s the same thing.”

  “No, it’s not.” Lucy was definite on that point.

  “Maybe. I’ve been thinking a lot lately. That’s really all you can do in a place like this. It’s like Reverend Churchill told me. ‘ “The Lord works in a mysterious way / His wonders to perform.” ‘ We’re all part of a big plan, and as it unfolds we each get what we deserve. It all works out in the end.”

  “I’m sure it will,” agreed Lucy. “But I don’t see why you have to be in jail now.”

  “I don’t mind. I should be in jail. I’ve done terrible things.” “We’ve all done things we shouldn’t have,” began Lucy.

  “I killed my husband.”

  “No,” Lucy said. “Barney said . . .”

  “Barney said everybody thought I killed Darryl but they couldn’t prove it.”

  “He said Darryl got what he deserved,” corrected Lucy. “Barney said everybody knew he was abusing you, but they didn’t know how to stop it. You kept insisting your injuries were from accidents.”

  Franny turned away from Lucy and stared at the wall; tears were welling up in her eyes and she brushed them away
with her hands.

  “All I wanted was for Darryl to stop hitting me. I used to beg him to tell me what made him so mad so I’d know not to do it. He made lists for me. Pages and pages. ‘Don’t cry in front of me, speak to me in a respectful tone of voice, don’t talk on the phone for more than three minutes.’ I studied the lists, I tried to remember, but I always forgot something and then he’d have to punish me. It was all my fault.”

  “How was it your fault? He was hitting you.”

  “He had to, because I wouldn’t pay attention. ‘If you won’t pay attention,’ he’d say, ‘then I’ll have to make you.’ He’d slap me and I’d try so hard to listen but I couldn’t. I was so scared all I wanted to do was get away.”

  Lucy got up from her chair and sat down on the couch beside Franny. She put her arms around her and hugged her close, as if she were comforting one of her children.

  “When I banged up the car I knew I was in big trouble. I wasn’t usually allowed to drive, but my leg got hurt.”

  “He broke your leg?”

  “No, it was just bruised, but I couldn’t walk very well. I was wearing one of those neck collars, too, and I couldn’t turn around to see when I backed up. I hit something and broke the tail-light. I knew he’d be real mad.”

  “Couldn’t you go to your mother’s? Or stay with a friend?” “I knew Mom would send me back to Darryl. She’d say my place was with my husband. I didn’t have any friends, really. Nobody who’d want to get involved. So I sat there in the car praying for a way out and it came to me. I saw each step just as clear as could be.

  “I stopped at the liquor store and bought a bottle of whiskey. I left it on the kitchen table, along with a note that said I’d be back at six. I knew that would make him mad—I was supposed to have supper on the table exactly at five-thirty. I knew he’d start drinking.

  “Then, just to make sure he’d go down in the cellar, I left the dryer going. It had a real loud buzzer that went off when the clothes were dry, so you’d know it was time to take them out. It was real annoying, and I was sure he’d want to stop it.