by Leslie Meier
“Oh, no. He wouldn’t do the least little thing for Buck. Not anything at all,” said Marcia, stepping out of the Cadillac. “Oh, no. Tom was protecting himself and his big secret.” She tilted her head in the direction of the Country Cousins complex, visible in the distance on the hill above Jonah’s Pond. “Why do you think I left? I was afraid, terrified, after what happened to my husband. When he died, there was no one to protect me, but I’m not afraid anymore. It’s all going to come out, finally. Isn’t that right, Tom? The big family secret.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” scoffed Tom. “There’s no secret.”
“But there is,” said Lucy. “I suspected it all along. There’s something in the pond that you don’t want found, right? That’s why you wouldn’t let the kids dive.... Somebody could have died, you know, because you tampered with their equipment.”
“Somebody did die,” said Marcia. “Tom’s first wife, Cynthia.”
“I didn’t kill Cynthia!” declared Tom. “She deserted me. She ran away.”
“Enough with the lies, Tom,” said Marcia. “I know what happened to Cynthia. My husband, Sam, said he saw you and your father loading her body into a trunk when he was just a kid. He had nightmares about it his whole life.”
“He saw?” asked Tom, with a little start. “I didn’t know that. He never said.”
“Why would he say?” demanded Marcia. “So you could kill him, too?” She shook her head. “No. He knew the family way. Secrets. Always secrets.”
Tom stared at the ground; then he looked up and straightened his shoulders. “You’re right. Too many secrets. But I’m telling the truth. I didn’t kill Cynthia. It was my father. He killed Cynthia when she tried to leave. He had us all under his thumb with his locks and control. We had to account for every minute. I grew up that way, and I thought all families were like that. It wasn’t until Glory came along that I realized how nutty it was. . . .”
“Nutty!” exclaimed Marcia, not convinced. “That’s a funny word. Like it was nothing but a little eccentricity? A teeny little awkwardness? A little quirk? No, no, no. It was murder. You took a life. You killed your wife.”
“It wasn’t me,” said Tom, speaking with a clenched jaw. “I didn’t kill Cynthia. I loved her. I would never hurt her.”
“Oh, Tom,” sighed Marcia. “You always do this. You have to put the blame on someone else. You can’t face the truth. You say you loved her, but you let your father abuse her. He was always at her, Sam says, forcing himself on her, making her—”
“Shut up!” snarled Tom. Lucy had never seen Tom Miller like this. She’d always seen the affable, handsome, friendly Tom, but this Tom was behaving like a cornered dog, with his curling lips and his eyes that darted nervously back and forth.
“I will not shut up,” declared Marcia. “This has gone on too long. I didn’t want Buck to come back here, and I was right. You’ve gotten him involved in drugs, and now you’re trying to pin that murder on him.”
“Now who’s the one trying to pin blame on someone else!” said Tom.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” said Lucy, wondering what was taking the cops so long.
“Buck is young and foolish and greedy, but he would never kill anyone,” said Marcia. “But you, Tom, you would do anything to protect your precious secret.”
“You killed Ev,” said Lucy as the puzzle pieces fell into place. The pumpkin maulings, the vandalism, the bureaucratic red tape were all efforts to stop the Giant Pumpkin Fest. “The fest was too risky for you. All the outsiders coming to town, the media . . . All it would take was one slip and Tinker’s Cove isn’t the pumpkin capital. It’s the pot capital. You had to stop it. . . .”
“I had to stop the pot. That much is true,” said Tom, jutting his chin out defensively. “It was all getting out of control. Ev wanted more and more space, more workers, more trucks, and Buck thought it was great. He was convinced marijuana was going to be legal soon and we’d be in position to control the Northeast market, maybe the world. The kid was so high most of the time, he thought he was king of the world.”
That was too much for Marcia, who suddenly threw herself at Tom, shrieking, “Liar! Liar!” and beating his chest with her fists. Tom tried to subdue her and succeeded in grabbing her wrists, causing Marcia to kick at his shins with her pointy-toe boots. In the distance, finally, Lucy heard the faint wail of a siren, but time seemed to stop while the two struggled. Marcia had the advantage of surprise, at first, but Tom was bigger and stronger and was soon able to subdue her. She had given up the fight and was holding her arms up defensively, but Tom didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. Lucy watched, horrified, as he wrapped his hands around Marcia’s neck and began to choke her. Marcia was making awful sounds as she struggled for air, and Lucy looked desperately for something she could use to stop him.
Then, suddenly, Glory was there, raising the canister of candy corn and smashing it down on Tom’s head, momentarily stunning him. Marcia staggered backward and collapsed on the oyster-shell driveway, her hands at her neck, chest heaving. Tom fell to the ground, and Glory was on her knees, crying and cradling his bleeding head. The heavy cut glass canister lay where it had fallen, amid the scattered candy corn.
“So tell me all about what happened while I was gone,” said Corney, fresh from an island vacation and sporting a fabulous Caribbean tan.
Where to begin? wondered Lucy. They were standing among the crowd gathered for the Take Back the Night March, watching the sun set from the town pier. Then, as darkness fell, they would climb the hill to Main Street to march to the Community Church, where a program would take place featuring the much-anticipated appearance of Mary Winslow.
“Marcia and Glory are taking over at Country Cousins. Buck is facing charges for distributing marijuana, and Tom is accused of murdering Ev Wickes. That’s it in a nutshell.”
“That much I know, Lucy. Why did Tom kill Ev?”
“To stop the marijuana operation. And he also wanted to throw a monkey wrench in the Giant Pumpkin Fest, because he was afraid the underwater pumpkin-carving contest would uncover the big family secret, the body of Tom’s first wife, Cynthia, which was hidden in the pond.”
“Tom killed his first wife?”
“He says not. He insists it was his father, Old Sam, who had been sexually abusing her. Old Sam was a kook. He kept every room in the house locked. He was a lot like Lizzie Borden’s father. A real control freak.”
“But Lizzie killed her father, or so they say,” said Corney.
“Cynthia only tried to run away, but Old Sam caught her and killed her and made Tom help him bundle her body in a trunk and drop it in the pond. Marcia says Sam saw the whole thing as a child and was haunted by it.”
“And Buck?”
“Well, you were right that he is a real go-getter. It seems he was positive marijuana would soon be legal here in Maine, like in Colorado, and he wanted Country Cousins to be in position to dominate the market.”
“Will he go to jail?” asked Corney as the crowd began moving up the hill, led by Miss Tilley and her friend Rebecca Wardwell. Seth Lesinski was there, too, along with a big contingent from the college that included a surprising number of male students.
“I don’t know. He’s got Bill Braxton representing him.”
“The state rep?”
“Former state rep,” said Lucy. “He’s now CEO of a legal medical marijuana dispensary.”
“Is it just me, or does that seem a bit dodgy?” asked Corney.
Lucy shrugged, striding along as the group reached the top of the hill and the pace picked up. “It’s all about who you know. You know that. You’re the one who’s always talking about networking.”
“I think I left town at a good time,” said Corney. “Buck might’ve tried to get me involved.”
“For a while there I was worried you might be at the bottom of the pond, too,” said Lucy.
“They did have a total immersion treatment at the resort’s spa, but I
passed on it,” said Corney, with a grin.
“Sounds like a smart decision,” said Lucy as the group gathered in front of the Community Church. Mary Winslow was already there, waiting in her wheelchair on the paved terrace in front of the church doors.
“Thank you all for coming,” said Miss Tilley, speaking into a microphone. “This is a wonderful night, the thirty-fifth anniversary of our first Take Back the Night March.” She paused while the crowd applauded. “In these years we’ve made some great strides to stop violence against women, but sadly, we know that it still continues. Here tonight we have a survivor of abuse, Mary Winslow.”
Rebecca wheeled Mary forward to the mike, which she removed from its stand and passed to her.
“Tonight I want to say only that violence against women must end, and I want to dedicate this march to the memory of Cynthia Miller and all the other women who have suffered and died at the hands of people who claimed to love them.”
Mary then lit a candle. Miss Tilley used it to light her candle, then passed the light on to Rebecca. Rebecca carried her candle to the edge of the terrace, where Sara was standing, and gave the light to her. Sara passed it to Zoe, who passed it to Renee, who passed it to Amy, and on and on it went, until everyone was holding a lighted candle. Then, at a signal from Mary, they raised their candles high above their heads, lighting the night with the glow of hundreds of candles.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2015 by Leslie Meier
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2015937824
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN-13: 978-0-7582-7707-7
ISBN-10: 0-7582-7707-5
First Kensington Hardcover Edition: September 2015
ISBN: 978-0-7582-7707-7
Kensington Electronic Edition: September 2015