Tippy Toe Murder

by Leslie Meier

Inspired, Elizabeth cupped her hands under her chin, pulled down the skin under her eyes, and stuck out her tongue. Lucy snapped the photo, then focused the camera on Lisa.

  In contrast to her own rowdy girls, Lisa seemed very quiet and withdrawn. She watched their antics as they mugged for the camera, a wistful expression on her face, but didn’t join in. When she realized Lucy was going to take her picture, she became self-conscious. Her round, soft features stiffened and took on a wary, adult expression.

  “Okay, girls,” said Lucy, lowering the camera. “You’ve got to get dressed and make your beds. Then you can show Lisa your Barbie collection.”

  Shooing them out of the kitchen, she decided they’d have to play indoors today. She wasn’t about to let them out of the house until Lisa was safely on her way. Checking the clock, she wondered when Sue would wake up. She didn’t like being alone, and kept peering anxiously out the window.

  Lucy had just finished tidying the kitchen when Sue clattered down the cramped back staircase.

  “These things are dangerous,” exclaimed Sue, regaining her balance.

  “You get used to them. They’re part of the antique charm.” “How are you holding up?” asked Sue, making a beeline for the coffeepot.

  “I’m a nervous wreck,” answered Lucy. “I guess I’m not cut out for this sort of thing.”

  “Any word from our friends at Tupperware?”

  “Not even a burp,” quipped Lucy.

  “Well, you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

  “Mommy,” interrupted Sara, tugging at Lucy’s sleeve. “Can you put this outfit on Barbie for me? It’s too tight.”

  “Sure,” said Lucy, adjusting the doll’s costume. “You know,” she continued, speaking over Sara’s head to Sue, “when Barbie came to our house she had nothing but the evening gown she was wearing. I think her date jilted her and left her at the ball. We took her in out of the kindness of our hearts and she’s done very well for herself. Now she has a town house, a Ferrari, tons of clothes, and lots of friends. I should be so lucky.”

  “It’s an inspiring story,” agreed Sue, wrapping her hands around her coffee mug. “Let’s go into the family room and indulge in some mindless depravity.”

  “I can’t imagine what you have in mind.”

  “Daytime TV, of course.”

  32

  All choreography—Tatiana O’Brien.

  While Sue turned on the TV and flipped through the channels, Lucy paced from window to window scanning the yard.

  “When will Bill be home?” asked Sue, settling down with Regis and Kathie Lee.

  “Around noon, if everything goes all right. He has to get the muffler on the truck fixed.”

  “Noon sounds kind of optimistic. I think we’re on our own. Have you got a plan or anything?”

  “Not really,” admitted Lucy. “I’m hoping the network gets here before Roderick does. If he’s got all the legal papers and everything, I guess I’ll have to let him take Lisa. What else can I do?”

  “We could hide her. An old house like this ought to have some hidey-holes.”

  “Well,” said Lucy slowly. “There is one, but I wouldn’t want to have to use it.”

  “Maybe he won’t come,” said Sue, crossing her fingers.

  Lucy sipped her coffee and tried to care as an unbelievably beautiful supermodel explained how anyone could improve their appearance by practicing yoga and eating nothing but fruit. Then two hotel chambermaids competed to see who was the fastest bed maker, something the live studio audience seemed to find hilarious. Lucy was glad for the distraction when the girls trooped into the room toting a couple of plastic tubs filled with dolls, and a bright pink wardrobe case.

  “Now, who’s this?” asked Sue, picking up a little doll.

  “That’s Skipper,” explained Elizabeth. “She’s Barbie’s younger sister.”

  “I like Skipper,” said Lucy. “Barbie makes me feel so inadequate.”

  “I know what you mean,” said Sue, skeptically taking Barbie’s measure. “She’s quite a woman. How does she keep her figure?”

  “I don’t think she ever eats. She’s an anorexic with breast implants,” said Lucy.

  “That would explain it,” chuckled Sue. “Does she have lots of boyfriends?”

  “Lots and lots,” said Elizabeth. “They’re all named Ken. I like this Ken best. He never loses his head.”

  “That’s important in a man,” said Sue, studying the headless figure Sara showed her.

  “Who’s this?” asked Lisa, fingering a black-haired male figure doll dressed in a gray suit.

  “That’s Mr. Heart. He’s married to Mrs. Heart and they have twin babies,” said Elizabeth.

  “Gus and Granola,” said Sara, rummaging in the bin and retrieving two small baby dolls dressed in matching pink and blue gingham playsuits.

  “Granola is not a name,” Elizabeth informed her. “They’re really named Andrea and Andrew.”

  “Granola is too a name,” insisted Sara, bolstering her point by appealing to a higher authority. “Isn’t it, Mom?”

  “Why not? I used to have an imaginary friend called Routine,” remembered Lucy. “Mom was very big on structure,” she told Sue.

  “Routine’s not a name either,” said Elizabeth.

  “It sounds like a name. I think you can name dolls whatever you want. What do you think, Lisa?”

  Lisa was huddled over the Heart family dolls. She’d placed the twins in a toy stroller and propped Mrs. Heart behind it. Mr. Heart stood by himself some distance away.

  Suddenly, she scooped up Mr. Heart and carried him out of the room. A moment later she returned without him.

  “Where’s Mr. Heart?” asked Lucy.

  “Away on business,” she answered, serenely picking up one of the tiny dolls. “I think Granola’s a good name.” She kissed the little figure and tucked it in the stroller.

  There was little to do except wait, and the morning passed slowly. Although Lucy checked the phone frequently to make sure it was working, there was no call from the network. She wandered from window to window, constantly on guard in case Roderick should appear. She helped Sue keep the girls amused by playing an endless game of Monopoly and several hands of Old Maid. She was certain the tension and boredom would drive her mad, and she was absurdly relieved when it was finally time to make lunch.

  They had just finished eating their peanut butter sandwiches when they heard the familiar crunch of gravel that meant a car had pulled into the driveway. Lucy rushed to the window hoping to see Bill’s red pickup. Instead, she saw a shiny black Saab.

  “It’s him,” she hissed. “Quick. You’ve got to hide in the root cellar.” Lucy rushed into the pantry and yanked open the closet door. “Down there!”

  “There?” said Sue, hesitating before descending into the dark, musty hole.

  “Make a game of it,” said Lucy, thrusting a flashlight into her hand. “Down you go, girls.” She picked them up under their armpits and lowered them one by one to Sue. She slammed the trapdoor shut and replaced the piece of linoleum that concealed it. Then she closed the closet door and went out to the kitchen.

  Quickly glancing around, she noticed the lunch plates still on the table. She scooped them into the garbage and covered them with a crumpled piece of paper towel. Then, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she opened the door. Roderick was just stepping onto the porch.

  “Mrs. Stone,” he began politely. “I believe we met at the courthouse.”

  “I remember,” said Lucy. “You’re Franny’s lawyer. How’s the case going?”

  “No new developments, I’m afraid,” he said, furrowing his brow in a concerned expression. “Everything’s on hold until the psychiatric exam is completed. Actually, I’ve come to ask your help on a different matter.” He shifted from foot to foot, adopting a pleading expression Lucy had seen on certain dogs. “It’s kind of a long story. Do you mind if I come in?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Lucy. “My husband
doesn’t allow me to let men into the house when he’s not home.”

  “Very wise of him, I’m sure. But you have nothing to fear from me.” His manner was deferential, his smile was reassuring, and his eyes crinkled at the comers.

  What an actor, thought Lucy, bracing the door with her foot. “I don’t think I can help you.”

  “I’m sure you can,” he said, adopting a slightly more aggressive tone. “I think you might have my daughter. She was staying with Caroline Hutton. When I heard what happened yesterday, on the radio, I was horrified. I checked with the police. They told me you found her.” As he spoke his eyes darted around the room behind her, then locked onto hers. “Was my daughter at the cabin? Did you find her?”

  “No,” said Lucy, staring right back at him. “Only Caro. If I hadn’t seen her with my own eyes I wouldn’t have believed one human being could hurt another like that.”

  “Horrible, I agree,” he said, adopting a concerned expression. Then his eyes lit on something. He shouldered his way into the room, flinging the door wide open and shoving past her. He crossed the room in two or three strides and seized the photographs she’d left lying on the counter.

  “It’s time to stop playing games,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “This is Melissa. Where is she?”

  “I don’t know,” insisted Lucy, praying that Sue could keep the girls quiet in the root cellar.

  “These pictures were taken in this room.” Roderick’s eyes blazed. He tapped the photos against his fingernails.

  “She was here,” admitted Lucy. “But she’s not here now. I think you’d better leave before I call the police.” She reached for the phone.

  “I don’t believe you,” he said, grabbing her wrist. “Let’s look and see if she’s here.”

  “That hurts! Let go of me,” she cried as he pulled her into the dining room. “See? There’s no one here. I’m all alone.” Grabbing her upper arm, he dragged her into the hall and stood her against the wall. Lucy felt his body pressing against hers as he looked through the doorway into the living room and the family room beyond. He glanced at the stairway, glared at her, daring her to move, and dashed upstairs.

  Nauseous and out of breath, Lucy clung to the newel post for support. She heard his heavy footsteps as he crashed through the rooms over her head, knocking over the furniture as he searched for his daughter. He was angry, and she was afraid he would turn his fury on her when he returned. The knob on the newel post was loose in her hands. Maybe she could knock him out with it.

  Hearing him on the stairs, she raised her head and waited warily, fingering the solid wood knob, ready if he attacked her. He stopped a few steps from the bottom, where he towered above her.

  “You know where she is,” he said, leaning over her. Even if she summoned up the courage to knock him on the head with the knob, she realized, she couldn’t reach him unless he came down the last few stairs.

  He grabbed her shoulders with both hands and squeezed. His breath was hot on her face and she stepped backward, trying to shake out of his grasp.

  “You can’t get away from me,” he said, his lips twisting into an unpleasant grin. He leaped down the last few steps easily and stood in front of her. “I can do whatever I want with you.”

  Taking his hand off her shoulder, he chucked her on the chin. Then he slowly lowered it and fondled her breast. Lucy stared at the wallpaper. His hand moved lower, across her belly, and he reached between her legs. She bit her lip and stood very still.

  He moved his hand back and forth. “Do you like that?” he asked.

  Lucy froze, trying to send her mind somewhere else, pretending that this wasn’t happening.

  “Say you like it,” he said, squeezing her shoulder with his other hand.

  “I like it,” said Lucy, humiliated.

  “How do you like this?” he asked, suddenly grabbing her upper arms and slamming her against the solid pine front door.

  Stunned and shaken, Lucy wrapped her arms protectively across her chest and rubbed her bruised arms. Instinct told her to run, but she didn’t have the strength. A warm flood poured down her legs, and her cheeks burned with shame.

  “Where’s my little girl? Better tell me now,” he advised, rubbing his thumbs against his fingers. “I won’t ask again.”

  “I don’t know.” Lucy could only whisper as she felt his hands tightening on her neck. She was fighting to breathe, her heart was pumping in her chest, and her head rang. She was growing dizzy, her body reflexively gulping for the air he was denying her. She wrapped her hands around his wrists and tried to pull them away, she kicked at his legs.

  “You’re like all the others,” he said, tightening his hands and shaking her. Lucy felt the almost irresistible pull of unconsciousness, but her body still fought for breath. She heard his voice, as if from a distance. “Liar. Bitch. Whore.”

  “Stop it, Philip. Let her go.”

  The voice was cool and authoritarian. Miraculously, his hands loosened and Lucy slid to the floor, retching and gagging.

  Annemarie stood in the doorway, wearing a pink cardigan embroidered with a picket fence, flowers, and bunnies with fluffy angora tails. She was holding a .22.

  “The police are on the way—I called from my car phone. Get out now,” she said, waving the gun. “I’ll say I didn’t get a clear view of the assailant.”

  “Efficient as always, Annemarie,” said Roderick, adding a patronizing little chuckle. His tone was casual, but his hands were clenched. “I think you may have forgotten something. I’m running this show. You do what I say, cutie-pie, or you’ll be looking at the inside of a jail cell for a real long time.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to tell the police the truth. I can’t live like this anymore. It’s getting so I can’t stand to look in the mirror.” On the floor, Lucy groaned and stirred. Roderick glanced at her.

  “Do what you want,” he said, dismissing Annemarie. “I want to find my daughter, and the bitch knows where she is.” He started toward Lucy.

  “No.” Annemarie waved the gun. “Leave her alone.”

  “Or what? You’ll shoot?” Roderick was sarcastic.

  “Yeah, I’ll shoot. Don’t make me. Just leave. You don’t have much time.”

  “That’s right. And she knows where Melissa is.”

  He bent over Lucy and began shaking her. Lucy’s eyelids fluttered, and he slapped her face.

  “That’s enough,” warned Annemarie.

  “I’m getting sick of you,” growled Roderick, turning and advancing toward her. “Give me that gun.”

  Annemarie’s face turned white, and she took a few steps backward, bumping into one of the kitchen chairs. It fell with a loud clatter. Roderick laughed and grabbed for the gun. Annemarie bit her lip and squeezed the trigger.

  33

  Sound courtesy of Down East Music.

  “Fred, my husband, asked me to stop by at Lucy Stone’s and drop off an insurance check, since I was going out that way anyway. When I pulled into the driveway I saw Philip Roderick’s car, and when I got up on the porch I heard a crash. I looked through the window and saw Philip attacking Lucy. I ran back to the car, called the police, and took my little twenty- two out of the glove compartment. Fred gave it to me because I’m out alone at night quite a bit, at business meetings. I warned Philip to stop, he turned on me, and I fired. Is he dead?”

  “The medics say the wound isn’t life-threatening,” answered Detective Sergeant Horowitz. He was sitting opposite her at Lucy’s kitchen table. Lucy was strapped to a stretcher, ready to be taken to the hospital.

  “Good. I think one murder is enough for anyone.”

  Horowitz raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling me that you’ve killed somebody else?”

  “I killed my father-in-law, Morrill Slack.”

  “Ready to go, Mrs. Stone?” asked the EMT. “Your friend Mrs. Finch says she’ll stay with the kids.”

  Lucy shook her head no, frant
ically. Her throat was so sore she couldn’t speak.

  “Let her stay a minute,” advised Culpepper. “I’m sure she wants to hear what Annemarie’s got to say.”

  Lucy nodded her head gratefully, listening avidly as Annemarie began her confession.

  “My father-in-law called and told me to come by the store because he had something to show me. He did that pretty often, called up and demanded an appearance. I had a twelve-thirty appointment with Dr. Fox and was always out by one-twenty, so I thought if I went on my way to the club meeting it would be a good excuse not to stay too long.”

  Lucy nodded, remembering the timetable she’d worked out earlier.

  “As soon as I got there he grabbed my arm and pulled me into the office, demanding I look at this video. It was just the replay on the camera, black and white and about an inch square, but I could see Ben in the store, reaching into the cash register. He was obviously stealing.

  “I told Morrill we’d pay it back, however much it was, and thought that was the end of it. I started to go, and he blocked the door.

  “Paying it back wouldn’t be enough, he told me. He was going to go to the police, turn Ben in. I begged him not to. ‘Can’t we keep this in the family?’ I asked. ‘We don’t have to air our dirty laundry in public.’

  “He just laughed at me. Said I probably knew plenty about dirty laundry, since I was just a filthy dago. That’s what he called me. I said my family was just as proud of our heritage as he was of his.

  “He said then I’d understand how it was part of his heritage to obey the law, even if it meant embarrassing me.

  “I said I thought he was more interested in embarrassing me than obeying the law, and we ought to be thinking about Ben.

  “He said it would teach Ben a lesson. I said it could ruin his life and there was a better way to handle it. Then I picked up the camera and started to remove the tape. He tried to grab it back. We struggled and I yanked the thing out of his hands and smashed it on his head.

  “That’s exactly how it happened. I didn’t mean to kill him. Things just escalated.