by Leslie Meier
“May I help you?” asked a clerk, a gray-haired woman wearing the Country Cousins uniform, a generous calico apron with ruffled shoulder straps. Her name, Alice, was embroidered on the bib of the apron.
“I’m looking for the Halloween costumes,” confessed Lucy.
“All sold out, I’m afraid,” said Alice in a sympathetic tone. She cast anxious eyes at an oil painting of an extremely unattractive gentleman, which was displayed high on the wall behind the enormous wooden counter, and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I think they still have some at the dollar store.”
“It’s still weeks until Halloween!” exclaimed Lucy, who had never noticed the portrait before.
“I think it’s because of the pumpkin festival. Everything Halloween is selling out fast.”
“Thanks for your help,” said Lucy, still wondering about the portrait, which showed a rather mean-looking old guy with beady eyes set too close together, thin lips, and hollow cheeks, dressed in a somber black jacket and a starched white shirt with a high collar. A massive gold watch chain could be glimpsed beneath the jacket, fastened to his vest, and he was clutching an account book and a sharp-nibbed pen with his rather unnaturally elongated fingers. Studying the painting, Lucy wasn’t sure whether those grasping fingers accurately represented the subject’s hands or the artist’s lack of skill. “Has that always been here? Is it a Halloween decoration?”
“Heavens no!” exclaimed Alice, stifling a giggle. “That’s Old Sam, Samuel Buckingham Miller, Tom Miller’s father.”
“Really?” mused Lucy, thinking Old Sam looked to be an old skinflint. “You’d think they’d find a more flattering image, wouldn’t you?”
Alice’s eyes had widened at the approach of Glory Miller, the boss’s wife, and she gave a little snort before hurrying off to help another customer. Glory, still vibrant though well into her sixties and sporting close-fitting clothes that emphasized her curvy figure, was wearing an amused expression.
“I told Buck that Old Sam’s portrait would scare the customers away, but he insists it’s a vital part of his old-fashioned values ad campaign. It’s supposed to inspire confidence in Country Cousins’ integrity and value for consumers.” Glory paused. “I guess we’re all going to have to get used to seeing the old miser’s sour puss all over town. Buck’s having it painted on the trucks, printed on the bags, even put on a billboard out by the highway.”
“The younger generation . . . ,” said Lucy. “Where do they get their ideas?”
“Well, Buck got his at the London School of Economics,” said Glory with a shrug. “What do I know? My reaction is undoubtedly colored by my memories of Old Sam.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “I knew him and can truthfully say I never liked the old cheapskate.”
“I guess we’re officially old fogies,” said Lucy. “I’m just from a Hat and Mitten Fund meeting, where I learned my ideas are hopelessly out of date.”
“How so?” asked Glory, raising her expertly waxed and shaped brows.
“It’s the treat bags for the Halloween party,” said Lucy. “There is a concern that too much candy isn’t good for kids. They want apples and cheese sticks instead.”
“Apples!” exclaimed Glory. “The kids will throw them at each other—and us!”
“Definitely a possibility,” agreed Lucy, thinking of Patrick’s good throwing arm, developed by tossing tennis balls for the dog. “But I’ve got my instructions.”
“Me, too,” said Glory, glancing at the portrait and rolling her eyes. “No problem, Lucy. I’ll cut down on the candy and get some apples from MacDonald’s Farm.”
“You’re a dear,” said Lucy. “You’re always so generous.”
“It’s my pleasure,” said Glory. “I didn’t grow up with much, you know, so I know how much these little treats can mean to a kid.” She turned to go, then whirled around. “Dang it, I will not cut down on candy! I’ll give ’em their apples, and the disgusting rubber cheese things, but they’re getting double the candy, so there!”
“That’ll show ’em,” said Lucy, laughing. “Kill ’em with kindness!”
Chapter Four
Tinker’s Cove Chamber of Commerce
Press Release
For Immediate Release
As the First Annual Giant Pumpkin Fest Grows Near, the Planning Committee Still Has Openings in the Schedule of Events. Local Businesses and Organizations Are Encouraged to Sponsor Events That Will Make Our Fest the Best Fest! For More Information, Contact Corney Clark at the Chamber’s Office.
Lucy and Glory were still chuckling when Corney Clark joined them. “Good morning, ladies. What’s so funny?”
“Kids today,” said Glory with a big grin. “They just don’t seem to appreciate the benefits of sugar and high-fructose corn syrup.”
“I use stevia,” replied Corney. “You’ve got to keep up with the times.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” said Lucy, who was still feeling disgruntled over the way Heidi hijacked the Hat and Mitten Fund meeting.
“Things are changing so fast,” complained Glory. “I finally figured out how to use my new cell phone, and they’ve just come out with a new, improved model.”
Corney gave a polite chuckle and took Lucy by the elbow, leading her toward the stairs. “Well, I’d love to spend the morning chatting, Glory, but Lucy and I have a meeting with Buck, and we don’t want to keep him waiting.”
“Of course,” said Glory, with a touch of sarcasm in her voice. “You mustn’t keep Buck waiting.”
Lucy allowed Corney to lead the way, wondering as they wove their way through the crowded and cluttered store if Buck’s involvement in the family business was causing some resentment. It wouldn’t be surprising, she thought, if the young man’s new ideas were upsetting to the older generation. After all, Tom had been running Country Cousins single-handedly since his brother’s murder more than twenty years ago.
“I thought it would be cozier if we met here,” said Corney, opening a door to a storeroom and leading the way through to a staircase. “This used to be living quarters in the old days, but it’s been converted to office space. It’s really used only by the store manager, since the corporate offices are out by Jonah’s Pond. But there is a nice meeting room that they use for staff meetings here at the store.”
She found herself feeling rather anxious as she climbed the stairway, which was dark and cramped, and she breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the meeting room, which was surprisingly large and airy, with windows overlooking Main Street. Buck, who was seated at a repurposed dining table and was studying his smartphone, stood up to greet them. He was an attractive young man in his midtwenties, with an engaging smile, and his light brown hair was gelled and combed straight up in the current style. He was dressed, appropriately, in Country Cousins classics: a light blue oxford button-down shirt, a brown sweater with a short zipper at the neck, and tan chino pants. Lucy noticed with amusement that his shoes reflected his European upbringing, as he was sporting a pair of sleek Italian slip-ons rather than the sturdy boots and brogues the store carried.
“Good morning,” he said, extending his hand in greeting. “Sit down. Make yourselves comfortable.” Once they were seated, he asked, “Can I get you something? Tea, coffee, juice, water . . . we’ve got it all.”
Lucy followed his gaze and noticed that the next room was a kitchen, and found her mind wandering, attempting to reconstruct the apartment that once housed Buck’s ancestors. What would it have been like, she wondered, to live above the store? Handy, she guessed, if you happened to need a fresh pack of tighty whities or a pound of cheddar cheese.
“Nothing for me,” said Corney, breaking into Lucy’s thoughts. She was leaning forward, resting her arms on the table in a way that provided a generous display of bosom edged with black lace.
“Me neither,” said Lucy, pulling a pen and notebook out of her bag and flipping it open. “So tell me, Buck, why did you decide to come back to Tinker’s Cove and the family bus
iness?”
“It’s in my blood. What can I say?” he began, with a winning smile, speaking in lightly accented English. “I grew up in Europe, in France and England, but somehow I always knew that this is where I really belong. I’m American through and through, and I found I really like business, which isn’t surprising, since I come from a long line of shopkeepers. That’s one reason why I chose to use the portrait of my grandfather for this new ad campaign focusing on Country Cousins long tradition of quality and value. I think—”
Lucy interrupted, raising her pen. “But wasn’t it hard to come back here, considering everything that happened?”
“Lucy!” chided Corney. “I think you’re getting off the track here.” She patted Buck’s hand in a comforting, protective way. “That was a very difficult time for Buck.”
“Not at all,” said Buck, shaking his head and removing his hand. “I don’t mind. I was only five, just a little kid. All I knew was what my mother told me, that my father had died and we were going to fly away in an airplane and start a new life. I found out later that he’d actually been murdered. I was so young when he died that it never really affected me. I know that sounds terrible, but it’s true. I don’t really have any memories of him. I don’t think he was home much, I guess he was always working.” He paused, tenting his fingers. “And that’s all I want to say about that. I agree with Corney that there’s no sense rehashing the past.”
“I just want to say, Lucy, that Buck is being terribly brave about his loss, which we know must have affected him deeply,” said Corney. “I don’t think we want to remind people about the murder and, um, all that unfortunate business. I think we’ll keep Buck’s last statement off the record. Okay?”
“I am sorry, but I did have to ask,” said Lucy, fearful of scuttling the interview. “I have to include a mention of the past tragedy, but I’ll be tactful. After all, it’s the one question our readers will all want answered.”
“Those who are old enough to remember,” said Corney, making a wisecrack.
“Which, I’m sorry to say, is most of the Pennysaver’s readers,” said Lucy with a rueful grin.
“Well, now that Buck is back home, where he belongs, right here at Country Cousins,” said Corney, rising from her chair and standing behind him, with her hands on his shoulders, “the focus is on the future.”
“That’s right,” agreed Buck, slipping out from her grasp and standing beside a motivational flip chart. “We’re moving forward, but we want people to know that our values haven’t changed. The merchandise may change, the mix of products will definitely change, but the company’s slogan hasn’t changed, and it’s not going to change.” He lifted a page of the chart and pointed to the motto printed there: We’re not happy unless you are.
Just in case Lucy’s eyes had failed her, Corney read the motto aloud. “We’re not happy unless you are.”
“So, Buck,” continued Lucy, “what new products do you have in mind?”
“Oh, that would be telling. Besides, we’re still in discussions. Nothing has been finalized.”
“And the product mix? What would you like to see there?”
“Well, again, we’re analyzing sales patterns and revenue flow, gathering data. In the future the company will be largely driven by data. There’s no sense making moccasins, for example, if nobody’s buying them.”
“You’re giving up moccasins?” asked Lucy, a note of alarm in her voice. Country Cousins’ moccasins were a wardrobe staple in Tinker’s Cove. This was news the Pennysaver’ s readers would definitely want to know.
“Just an example . . . No decisions have been made,” cautioned Buck.
“That is absolutely off the record, Lucy,” said Corney. “I don’t want to see any reference to moccasins in the story.”
“Okay,” agreed Lucy, with the uncomfortable feeling that she was losing control of the interview. All she’d gotten so far was the fact that young Buck, who was apparently a rather callous fellow, had come back with big plans, plans that he was not about to divulge.
“I suppose your uncle, Tom Miller, must be pleased to have you join the company,” said Lucy, unable to resist probing a bit. “It will take some of the pressure off him as CEO, right?”
“Well, um—” began Buck, only to be cut off by Corney.
“My goodness!” she exclaimed, making a big show of checking her watch. “Is this the time? I’m afraid we have to wrap this up.”
“Okay,” said Lucy, who knew when she was beat. “Thanks for meeting with me. Just one more thing, a photo. How about you standing right there, next to the company motto?”
“Great,” enthused Corney. “That would be fabulous, just fabulous. And don’t forget to mention the portrait of Old Sam, which is going to be the focus of the old-fashioned value campaign.”
“Old-fashioned values, with an s,” said Buck, correcting her. “We don’t have one single product that’s a good value. All our products are great values. That’s the point we want to make.”
“Absolutely,” said Lucy, dropping her notebook and pen into her bag and preparing to leave. “Great to meet you.”
Buck extended his hand for a parting handshake, and she noticed his fingers were very long, just like Old Sam’s. So, she thought, the artist had been true to his subject.
“Just one last thing,” she began, voicing a question that had been bothering her, especially since Buck was so keen on exploiting the company’s heritage in his new ad campaign. “Why not be called Sam, after your father, grandfather, and even your great-grandfather? Why did you change to Buck?”
“It was Mom,” he replied. “She decided to go with my middle name, Buckingham, when we moved to France, and I liked it a lot better than Sam.” He gave her a somewhat embarrassed grin. “I thought Sam sounded too much like an old man, and Buck was more masculine, more dynamic.”
“That makes sense,” agreed Lucy as he opened the door for her. “Thanks again.”
“No problem,” he said with a grin. “Have a nice day.”
Amazing, thought Lucy as she wandered through the store once again, making her way to the Main Street entrance. Buck had been in the United States for only a few weeks, and he’d already caught the “Have a nice day” infection. Well, next up on her agenda was the Conservation Commission meeting, but she had nearly an hour before it was scheduled to begin. Since it was a fine day, she decided to treat herself to a lobster roll lunch, the last of the season, as the Lobster Pool was soon due to close for the winter. She deserved it, she told herself, since she had to work on this gorgeous Saturday instead of relaxing with her family.
“I’m going to miss these,” Lucy told the girl at the take-out window. The roll, which had been grilled in butter, was loaded with chunks of lobster meat lightly tossed in mayonnaise and was accompanied by a generous serving of crispy fries and a diminutive paper cup of cole slaw. You wouldn’t want to spoil this meal with anything remotely healthy, she thought, taking her plastic utensils and plate over to one of the wooden picnic tables that overlooked the cove.
As she sat there, gazing out at the boats bobbing in the harbor and at the hillside beyond, dotted with neat houses and lots of green, pointy pine trees, along with an occasional golden maple, she savored the moment. Days like this, with crisp air and a cloudless sky, were rare by the coast, where clouds and humidity dominated the weather. She could see the Quissett Point lighthouse on the opposite side of the cove, where it was perched on a rocky promontory that was constantly battered by the waves, even on a calm day like this, and her thoughts turned to the interview with Buck.
She speared a chunk of tail meat with her plastic fork and chewed it, chuckling as she recalled Corney’s obvious flirting with Buck. That woman simply could not resist an attractive man, no matter his age or suitability. Well, thought Lucy, more power to her. If she hadn’t been married to Bill for what seemed like forever, maybe she’d be a predatory cougar, too.
She remembered Buck as a little boy, when everyo
ne knew him as Sam. He had been in kindergarten when his father was killed. It had happened around Christmastime, when she had been working at Country Cousins, taking orders over the phone on the night shift during the holiday rush. She had actually discovered Sam Miller’s body when she’d stepped outside on her break for a breath of fresh air. She’d found him in his car, a sporty BMW, poisoned by carbon monoxide. His death was first thought to be a suicide, and the fact that it was a murder wasn’t discovered until later, after Sam’s wife, Marcia, had left town with her little son.
Chewing steadily, Lucy had worked her way down to the bun, which still contained plenty of lobster, and she lifted the sandwich to her mouth and took a bite. This was her favorite part, where the buttery roll and the succulent lobster combined in exquisite deliciousness. She sighed, experiencing bliss. There was no food better than this in the world, she decided, and certainly not when the sun was warming your back and a light ocean breeze was ruffling your hair.
Oh, to be in Maine, she thought, eating a lobster roll on a sunny day. Perhaps this was what heaven was like. She hoped so, and she felt a sudden tug at her heartstrings, thinking of her absent children. She thought of Elizabeth, who was presumably having the time of her life in Paris, and wondered if and when her oldest daughter would decide to settle down, marry, and produce a grandchild. And then there were Toby and Molly in Haiti, which was geographically closer to Maine than Paris but somehow seemed even farther away. She wished they were back in Maine, where they belonged, and she suspected that Patrick missed his parents more than he let on. He was a little trooper, but she’d noticed he’d become a bit more difficult lately and even a bit weepy at bedtime. It was only natural that he’d miss his mom and dad and that the missing would intensify the longer they were separated.
She was down to the last bite, but she was full and decided to leave it, sort of as a promise to herself that there would be more lobster rolls next summer. She tossed it out onto the rocks that edged the cove, and a couple of seagulls swooped down to claim it. One succeeded, and the other followed it in flight, complaining loudly.