by Leslie Meier
“Oh, I don’t know,” countered Sue with a chuckle, tucking a lock of her expensively cut hair behind her ear with a perfectly manicured finger. “I bet a Cadbury cream egg would go a long way toward restoring any kid’s mental health.” Sue was a dedicated dieter and limited herself to black coffee.
“Those things are disgusting,” protested Pam Stillings, who was a fan of whole grains and natural foods and always had the yogurt and granola bowl. She was married to Lucy’s boss, Ted.
“I didn’t want Ted to use that photo on the front page,” said Lucy, her fork poised over the hash and eggs combo plate. “It was worse, if you can imagine such a thing. The head of the bunny costume was here,” she said, pointing with her fork to the white margin outside the photo. “It looked like the Easter Bunny had been decapitated.”
Rachel was horrified. “Oh, dear.”
“I got him to crop it out, it was just too . . .” Lucy speared a chunk of hash with her fork and dipped it in the egg yolk.
“Graphic,” said Sue. “That’s the word you want.”
“Inappropriate,” said Lucy, swallowing. “That’s what I told Ted. The Pennysaver is a family newspaper, though I don’t know if kids really read newspapers these days.”
“I don’t think anybody reads newspapers,” said Pam with a grim expression. “Circulation’s down.”
“Well, Lucy,” said Sue, lifting her cup and sipping her coffee, “if Ted lays you off, you can always go into catering.”
“That reminds me,” said Lucy. “Don’t forget we agreed to work at Pine Point this afternoon.” Sue had done no such thing, but Lucy was hoping to finesse that point.
“I don’t remember agreeing to that,” said Sue. “I was planning on cleaning out my closet and putting the winter things in storage.”
“Please,” said Lucy in a small voice. “I really need you. This is my only chance to get in the house again . . .”
“Are you going undercover?” asked Rachel, leaning forward and whispering.
“Why? What are you investigating?” asked Pam.
“Nancy Drew here thinks there’s something suspicious going on at Pine Point,” said Sue with a sniff. “If you ask me, the only suspicious thing is why they ever hired Elfrida as a cook! She can’t even make a simple pound cake. Lucy had me cooking up cakes and sandwiches for after the funeral all yesterday afternoon and now she wants me to be a server while she goes sniffing around.”
Rachel broke off a piece of her Sunshine muffin. “Lucy might be on to something. I know Bob is concerned about VV,” she said, popping the bit of muffin in her mouth. Rachel’s husband, Bob, was a lawyer.
“How so?” Lucy asked.
“Well, he represented VV for years, but last summer he got a letter from another lawyer saying VV no longer required his services. He called the house to check, but was told VV was too weak to speak to him. Willis, however, confirmed the change, saying this new guy, Weatherby, was handling everything. Bob told Willis that he would continue to represent VV unless he got something in writing and a day or two later he got a brief note, very terse, typed, with VV’s signature on the bottom. Bob said it didn’t seem like VV’s way of writing—her notes were always handwritten and full of dashes and exclamation points—and the signature was dubious. He’s been trying to decide what to do. He feels responsible for her, but she has every right to hire whomever she wants to represent her. It’s awkward.”
“I don’t know if this is relevant,” said Lucy, “but there does seem to be some sort of economy drive going on at Pine Point. The staff has been reduced, they’re cutting spending every way they can. Even Van’s funeral . . .”
“Egg salad sandwiches!” exclaimed Sue. “And sherry from a jug!”
Pam nodded in agreement. “They only gave twenty-five dollars to the Hat and Mitten Fund last year. I think VV really got slammed in the recession.”
Rachel knit her brows together. “I don’t think so. The stock market has recovered, it’s jobs and housing that are still depressed. And I happen to know that VV is doing just fine, at least she was last summer.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “I’m actually not supposed to know that—forget I said it.”
“I’ll forget in a minute,” said Lucy. “First tell me what you know and how you know it. Off the record, of course.”
“Well,” said Rachel, as they all leaned in closer, “Bob was very upset when he learned that VV no longer wanted him to be her lawyer and he mentioned that considering how much money she had, he should have demanded a retainer. He said here she was with hundreds of millions of dollars and he only charged her his usual hourly rate, the same rate he charges clients with a lot less money.” Her cheeks grew pink with embarrassment and she hurried to defend her husband. “That’s not really like him, he’s not greedy, it was just that he was so upset. He’d represented her for years and years.”
They all nodded in agreement, aware that Bob’s fees were extremely moderate and he did a great deal of work pro bono.
Rachel looked at Lucy. “Now, remember, you’re forgetting I ever said anything about this.”
“Right,” said Lucy, waggling her fingers. “It’s gone. What was it you said?” But she knew, they all knew, that it’s very hard to forget hundreds of millions of dollars.
About a hundred specially invited guests were seated in the drawing room where the funeral service for Van Duff was underway; Lucy and Sue were busy in the dining room with last minute preparations. They could hear bits and pieces of the service as they laid out the platters of sandwiches and sliced cake and made sure there was cream—Sue pointed out that it was actually milk—in the creamers and sugar in the sugar bowls.
“He was always up for a good time,” they heard a male voice saying. “Whether it was a last-minute trip to catch the waves at Baja or a round of golf at the National, he was your man. I don’t think I ever heard him say the word no. Van was never too busy to help out a friend. I remember when I got stranded in Bali, after the tsunami. I don’t know how he even knew I was there, but a couple of days after the disaster, I’m out there on this beach, trying to help these people whose village was completely destroyed—I mean absolutely nothing was left standing—and what do I see but a huge catamaran that comes right up on to the beach and who’s at the wheel but Van. He gives me a wave and then he starts unloading boxes of food and clothing and bottled water. He saved the entire village. I don’t think they would have made it without his help; they had nothing.” There was a long pause and then they heard him continue, his voice tight with emotion, “I’m gonna miss you, bro.”
Other speakers continued in the same vein: Van was terrific at golf, a keen competitor on the tennis court, a sailor who loved to take risks, a generous friend to those in need, a lover of wilderness and a defender of endangered species. It was the last speaker, however, who they found most moving.
“Van was my father,” she began, in a voice so soft they had to strain to hear her. Crossing the dining room and peeking through the double doors, they saw a beautiful young woman standing at the podium. Tall and whippet thin, she was dressed simply in black which made a stunning contrast to her buttery blond hair and creamy complexion.
“In addition to everything else, Van had terrific genes,” said Sue. “You know, I’ve seen her before. I can’t remember where.”
“Shh,” hissed Lucy. “I want to hear.”
“He wasn’t the sort of father who read bedtime stories and tucked you in at night, he wasn’t the sort of father who made you eat broccoli,” she said, getting a laugh. “In fact, there were long periods when he wasn’t around—but that didn’t matter, because it made it so special when he was.
“I have one memory I want to share with you. It was when I was very little, maybe four or five years old. It’s one of my first memories. We had a snowstorm, a big storm that kept us indoors all day. Daddy blew in just as the sun was coming out the next morning and he had Mom bundle me up in my boots and snowsuit. We started out walking but the s
now was too deep for me so he picked me up and set me on his shoulders and carried me up to the top of our road, Pickering Avenue. It was early in the morning and no cars were out, but the road had been plowed, leaving just a couple of inches of packed snow, perfect for sledding. Dad set me down on this big old Flexible Flyer sled and wrapped his arms tight around me and away we went, sailing down Pickering Avenue. I’ve never again done anything as exciting, and I’ve never felt as safe as I did in my daddy’s arms, flying through that cold winter morning.”
Lucy’s and Sue’s eyes met and they both had to brush away tears. In the drawing room, someone struck a few chords on the piano and everyone shuffled to their feet to sing “Morning Has Broken.” Sue adjusted the parsley garnish on a platter of sandwiches, Lucy stationed herself behind the urns of coffee and tea, and the gathered mourners sang the final amen. Willis opened the doors to the dining room and the family formed a reception line.
Lucy recognized Vicky, Van’s sister, and her husband, Henry, from the photos she had seen in the society pages. Vicky’s light brown hair was done in a classic pageboy complete with a black headband and she was wearing a single strand of pearls over a black and white tweed suit. Henry’s hair was graying at the temples and he was impeccably dressed in a charcoal gray suit and beautiful wingtip shoes, which had been polished and buffed to a high sheen. Van’s mother, Little Viv, stood next to Henry, and Lucy was shocked to see how fragile she looked. She was so thin that her knees and elbows were knobby bulges beneath the thin silvery gray silk knit pantsuit she was wearing. Her granddaughter, the beautiful Juliette, was last in line and the two made a startling contrast between youth and age. It was impossible to avoid seeing Juliette’s future in Little Viv’s frailty.
Soon Lucy was too busy pouring tea and coffee to keep track of the principal mourners, and the dining room was filled with the gossipy din that inevitably follows a funeral. She suspected that the survivors were so relieved to find themselves alive and kicking that they enthusiastically embraced each other in good fellowship and indulged in the enjoyment of large amounts of food and drink. The platters were emptying fast, Lucy saw, and the sherry was almost gone. She was on her way to inform Willis that more wine was needed when she encountered her dear old friend, Miss Julia Ward Howe Tilley.
Miss Tilley, now retired, had been the longtime librarian at the Broadbrooks Free Library and knew just about everything about everyone in Tinker’s Cove. Her aureole of white hair gave her an angelic aspect but she was no sweet old lady, as Lucy knew only too well. Miss Tilley—no one except a diminishing number of very old friends dared call her anything else—had a sharp tongue and didn’t hesitate to use it.
“What are you doing here?” Lucy asked, embracing the old woman. “I thought you avoided funerals like the plague.”
“It’s true, I don’t much like them,” said Miss Tilley, who had some years ago celebrated her ninetieth birthday, “but as funerals go, this one wasn’t too bad. They skipped a lot of the religious nonsense and stuck to Van’s life, which made it a lot more interesting than most.”
“I heard a little bit,” said Lucy. “It made me wish I’d known Van.”
“Well, you know how it is at funerals,” sniffed Miss Tilley. “They only say good things about the dear departed. Believe me, there was plenty that wasn’t wonderful about Van. His mother, Little Viv, is my goddaughter, you know, and she spent many an afternoon crying on my shoulder about him. He was kicked out of four or five prep schools, as I remember. Oh, he led poor Little Viv a merry chase!”
“I had no idea,” said Lucy.
“Oh, yes. Van was a little devil, that he was.”
“I’m sure he was. What I meant was, I had no idea you were so close to the family.”
“I don’t know about close.” Miss Tilley shrugged her bony shoulders. “I send Little Viv a handkerchief for her birthday every year, that’s about it. And, of course, VV and I grew up together, we went to the same one-room school, that sort of thing, but that was many, many years ago. People drift apart.” Miss Tilley turned her attention to the buffet table. “You know, I wouldn’t mind a glass of sherry and something to eat. Death always gives me an appetite.”
“Right,” said Lucy, reminded of her duties. “I was just on my way to see about getting more sherry from Willis.”
“Well, don’t let me keep you from your mission,” said Miss Tilley with a wave of her gnarled, blue-veined hand.
Lucy was coming back with a freshly filled decanter when she saw Miss Tilley heading up the stairs, a plate of sandwiches in her hand, only to encounter Vicky in the middle of the flight. The two exchanged words, but Lucy couldn’t hear what was said, and then Vicky shook her head, a firm expression on her face.
Miss Tilley responded by attempting to continue on her way upstairs, no doubt expecting the younger woman to step aside, but Vicky remained in place. In fact, Lucy thought she glimpsed Vicky raising her hand to block Miss Tilley’s progress. The abrupt gesture caused the old woman to flinch and she seemed to be losing her balance. Lucy rushed up the stairs, fearing she was about to fall, but was preceded by a tall, gray-haired man who caught Miss Tilley around the waist and steadied her.
“Whoa, that was close,” he said.
“I was just taking some sandwiches to VV,” said Miss Tilley, who didn’t seem rattled by her near miss at all. In fact, she seemed more determined than ever to visit with her old classmate. “I’ve heard she’s not doing well and thought she’d enjoy a visit.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” said Vicky, glaring at Miss Tilley. “She’s in no condition to receive visitors.” She turned to Lucy, who was standing behind Miss Tilley, clutching the sherry. “The show is over, you can get back to work.”
Lucy had never been spoken to in precisely that tone before and she found her hackles rising. “I just wanted to make sure your guest was all right,” she snapped, refusing to be intimidated.
“Well, this particular guest has no business on this staircase,” said Vicky.
Miss Tilley’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “Victoria Eugenia, I’ve known you your entire life. That’s no way to talk to me.”
The room had fallen silent as everyone watched the little drama unfolding on the stairs, and Vicky was well aware of the attention they were attracting and quickly changed her tune. “Oh, Aunt Julia, forgive me. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m just so upset about all this . . .”
She looked about the room with a helpless expression and her husband, Henry, hurried to her side. With his arm around her waist, he led her away, up the stairs. Lucy found herself on the staircase with Miss Tilley and the gentleman who had saved her from falling.
“I’m Lucy Stone,” she said. “Thanks for helping my friend.”
“Oh, dear me.” Miss Tilley was quite pink and flustered. “I am so sorry. I should have thanked you. You saved me from a nasty fall.”
“It was a pleasure,” he said. “I’m Andrew Duff.”
“Such a shame about Van,” said Miss Tilley, as he took her arm. “It’s always terrible to lose a child.”
Andrew simply nodded and Lucy realized with a shock that he must be Van’s father. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said, switching the decanter to one hand and taking Miss Tilley’s free arm with the other. Together she and Andrew led her safely downstairs and installed her in an armchair.
“I wouldn’t mind some of that sherry,” said Miss Tilley, eyeing the bottle.
“I’ll be right back,” promised Lucy, who hurried over to a table where a few glasses remained. She filled two and brought them back to the pair, who were chatting amiably, like old friends. Miss Tilley was seated, looking up at the younger man, who Lucy suspected was well into his seventies. For his age, he was very good-looking, tall and lean with a full head of silver hair, and Lucy thought of Sue’s remarks about Van’s excellent genes. “Here you go,” she said, giving them each a glass.
“To Van,” said Miss Tilley, raising her glass
and taking a sip.
“May he rest in peace,” said Andrew. “He certainly never found it in his life.”
Lucy wished she could listen in on the old couple’s conversation but instead had to return to her job serving refreshments. The crowd showed no sign of thinning and they were running out of clean dishes; every surface in the room was cluttered with discarded plates, glasses, cups, and saucers. Lucy made a quick sweep of the room, gathering up as many as she could carry on a tray and sent it down to the kitchen on the dumbwaiter. She waited for it to return with a supply of clean crockery but none appeared, so she went down to the kitchen to see what the problem was. There she found Elfrida bent over the steamy sink, her face flushed and damp tendrils of hair clinging to her forehead.
“Willis said I’ve got to go faster, but what does he know? I bet he never washed a dish in his life. This is murder. My back’s killing me and I’ve still got to get the nurse’s supper tray ready or she’ll kill me,” she complained.
“I never saw such a crowd,” said Lucy. “You’d think they were starving.”
“I thought Sue was out of her mind, making all that food, but we’re down to our last platter of sandwiches. There’s still a couple of pound cakes, though, and I’m keeping the tea and coffee coming.”
Lucy loaded the dumbwaiter with clean crockery and sent it up, then grabbed the last enormous platter of sandwiches and headed for the stairs. This time they seemed steeper and Lucy realized she’d been on her feet for hours without a break. It was a bit of a struggle to make it up the last few steps and she found herself staggering as she pushed the service door open with her fanny, nearly bumping into a trim little man.
“Whoa, there!” he exclaimed. “Can I help you with that?”