by Leslie Meier
Miss Tilley couldn’t resist getting off a parting shot. “VV’s money has gotten her in a fine pickle,” she said, a note of triumph in her voice. “But what good’s money, if you haven’t got your health?”
Chapter Ten
Lucy knew she was in for trouble when she pulled into the parking lot behind the Pennysaver office and saw Ted’s minivan in the spot marked EDITOR AND PUBLISHER. She hurried in, head bowed by a guilty conscience. She not only hadn’t filed any stories yet, she hadn’t even begun to write them.
Ted was at his desk, on the phone, which gave her a reprieve, and she tried desperately to come up with an excuse. She knew he wouldn’t approve of her spending all that time engaged in investigative reporting of Pine Point; it only counted if he assigned it. In his view, she should have been writing up those meetings and her interview with Rebecca Wardwell. Maybe she could plead poverty, claiming that she had to moonlight to make ends meet. It really wasn’t much of a stretch, considering that neither she nor Phyllis had had a raise since the recession began.
But when Ted slammed down the phone and jumped to his feet, he wasn’t angry with her at all. “Lucy, have you got your camera?” he demanded.
“Sure,” she said, pulling the little digital point-and-shoot model out of her bag.
“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing his jacket. “They found a car at the bottom of Lover’s Leap.”
“Whose car?” asked Phyllis.
“They don’t know. They’re pulling it out now and we’ve got to hurry if we’re going to get any photos.”
Ted was a true newshound and loved nothing better than a breaking story—especially one that involved sudden and violent death. Lucy rolled her eyes and shook her head as she followed him out the back door, giving Phyllis a little wave. They got in Ted’s minivan and he was rolling before Lucy managed to fasten her seat belt. “Did the police call you?” asked Lucy in a skeptical voice.
“Are you kidding?” scoffed Ted. “I got a call from Milo’s Crane Service. I think he wants some free publicity.”
“I wondered how they were going to get a car out of there,” said Lucy, hanging on to the door handle as Ted took the corner too fast. “That’s a pretty high cliff. Five or six stories maybe?”
“At least,” said Ted, accelerating now that he’d cleared Main Street.
“Who discovered it? The water’s pretty deep there. It would cover up a car,” continued Lucy. She realized she was pressing hard on the car floor with her right foot, as if she were braking. If only she could, she thought. “Do we have to go this fast?”
“I want to be there when they pull the car up. Not just for the pictures. You get more information when everybody’s on the scene and before they remember the new police department policy that all information has to come from the chief. Honestly, I can get more information from our cat than I can from the chief.”
Lucy nodded. She’d developed her own source for police department news—the chief’s mother, Dot Kirwan, who worked at the IGA. She’d discovered that Dot was terribly proud of her son Jim and was only too happy to boast of his achievements when Lucy showed an interest. All she had to do was inquire how Jim was doing to get a concise update on department activities. The one drawback was that it was expensive; she had to buy enough groceries so that Dot didn’t finish ringing up her order before she’d related all there was to tell.
Lucy’s thoughts were following this line, wondering how much space she had in the freezer. Ted was now speeding along Shore Road, fast approaching the deadly curve, where a MEN AT WORK sign had already been posted. He braked hard and the van wobbled a bit, threatening to fishtail, and Lucy sent up a silent prayer. Then they saw Officer Barney Culpepper in the middle of the road, hand raised, standing in front of a huge flatbed trailer with the promised crane on board blocking the entire road.
Ted followed Barney’s hand signals and pulled the van over to the side of the road, setting his emergency flashers on. Then they both got out and went over to talk to Barney.
“What’s going on?” asked Ted.
“There’s a car down there,” said Barney, hooking his thumbs into his black leather belt. “Somebody took the curve too fast.”
“Who discovered the car?” asked Lucy.
“Jogger. One of those crazy guys who has to run a marathon every morning—he lives in one of those new McMansions on Shore Road. Computer guy, I think. Anyway, he said he runs the same route every day and today he noticed the sunlight bouncing off the water in a weird way and when he looked closer, he realized there was a mirror down there. One of those side mirrors.” Barney paused for effect. “It was low tide or I don’t think he’d ever have seen it. Then he noticed those skid marks in the road.” Barney pointed and they saw two black lines, curving ominously toward the cliff edge. “Whoever went in was flying—they didn’t go through the guard rail, they went over it.”
Lucy was silent, imagining the terror the driver must have felt, lifting off to certain doom.
“So what’s the plan? How are they going to get it out?” asked Ted. The crane was moving slowly off the flatbed and toward the side of the road where a number of police officers and construction workers had gathered.
“They’re gonna lower a couple of divers down there and they’re going to rig up some straps for the crane to hook on to and then, if it all goes according to plan, they’ll raise the car.”
“Is anybody inside?” asked Lucy.
Barney’s face softened and his jowls wobbled a bit. “Prob’ly. It didn’t get down there on its own,” he said in a gruff voice. He gazed off into the distance, looking across the choppy blue water to the horizon, then pulled himself together with a humph. “They will go too fast along here.”
The crane was in position now and Ted and Lucy went over to the edge of the road, where two wet-suited divers were getting ready to descend. A large wire-mesh bucket had been fastened to the crane’s hook and they all watched as the first diver climbed inside and gave a wave, which Lucy caught with her camera. Then he was up off the ground, and Lucy snapped as many shots as she could as the boom of the crane swung around and the diver began the drop toward the water. When he left the bucket and began swimming, it was raised to collect the second diver, who soon joined his comrade in the water.
Cautiously peering over the edge, looking down the rocky cliff face with its projecting boulders, Lucy thought she could just make out a pale shape beneath the surface of the water, something that could be the roof of a light-colored car. The divers looked quite small down there; they were treading water, adjusting their masks and breathing apparatus, and then they disappeared beneath the surface.
The tension was terrible. Lucy feared for the safety of the divers, who were in dangerous, rough waters that pounded the rocky shore, and she was also afraid that the car might contain someone she knew. Probably not, she told herself. She hadn’t heard of anybody who’d gone missing, but there were plenty of people in town who lived alone and whose absence wouldn’t be noticed until the mail and newspapers started piling up and somebody finally decided to investigate.
They seemed to stand there for a very long time, waiting, but finally the crane’s cable went tight and a dripping, white sedan with a crumpled front end and smashed windshield came into view. Police officers moved everybody back, the crane swung around, and there was a gentle thunk as the automobile landed back on the road, where it belonged. Lucy was busy snapping pictures, peering through the camera’s viewfinder, and it wasn’t until Ted grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her away that she realized that the dark shape draped over the steering wheel was a person.
The mood of the bystanders suddenly changed. The chatty camaraderie of a group of individuals focused on a challenging task gave way to somber silence as the gravity of the situation overwhelmed them. Lucy could hear the waves crashing down below, she felt the chilly breeze ruffling her hair, and then there was the shriek of metal on metal as the bucket was lowered once again to begin the pr
ocess of retrieving the divers.
The arrival of an unmarked car meant that State Police Detective Lieutenant Horowitz was now on the scene and a handful of officers hurried to greet him and fill him in on the situation. One uniformed officer handed him a sodden handbag, an artsy looking thing made of colorful brocade, and Lucy felt a shock of recognition. She’d seen that bag somewhere, quite recently. But where?
A couple of crime techs were covering the car with a blue tarp and a tow truck was just arriving on the scene when she suddenly remembered. It was just then that Lt. Horowitz cleared his throat, as if preparing to make an announcement. Realizing that Lucy and Ted were the only media representatives present, he approached them, bag in hand.
“We’ve made a preliminary identification of the deceased,” he began.
“Maxine Carey?” asked Lucy.
Horowitz raised one fine, barely-there gray eyebrow in surprise. “How did you know?”
“I recognized the handbag. I saw her at Van’s funeral.”
Horowitz had a long upper lip and watchful eyes and he always wore a rumpled gray suit. His thin gray hair, Lucy noticed, was steadily receding. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “So she’s related to that old lady at Pine Point?”
“Vivian Van Vorst,” said Ted. “Everybody calls her VV.”
Lucy shook her head. “They’re not related. She was the grandson Van’s ex-girlfriend. They had a daughter together. She’s grown now.” Lucy gazed at the car, now shrouded in a blue tarp, that was being hauled onto the tow truck. “There was quite a flap at the funeral. Maxine accused some family members of abusing VV in order to get her money.”
Ted’s jaw dropped. “How do you know all this? That funeral was invitation only. Were you invited?”
“Not exactly. Sue and I were hired to help out with the collation afterwards.”
“You never mentioned that,” said Ted, looking puzzled.
“I wanted to make a little extra money,” said Lucy, a defensive note in her voice.
Horowitz wasn’t buying it. “What were you after?” he asked.
“I’d heard rumors that things were dodgy at the house, especially after Van died. You know, the guy in the Easter Bunny suit.”
“I heard about that,” said Horowitz. “The local doctor didn’t find anything suspicious, right?”
“That’s right,” said Lucy. “But Maxine thought it was definitely suspicious. She accused Van’s sister, Vicky, and her husband, Henry, of getting rid of Van in order to inherit all of VV’s money. They’ve been pleading poverty, firing staff and cutting corners, but Maxine believed they just want to get control of the house and of VV.”
“So she was angry when she left the funeral?” asked Horowitz.
“Really angry,” said Lucy. “Furious.”
“And I suppose she had a few sherries, or even something stronger?”
“We ran out of sherry,” said Lucy. “But I don’t know how much Maxine drank.”
“When people are angry, they tend to drive too fast,” said Horowitz, his gaze following the departing tow truck. “Sometimes with tragic results.”
Ted was writing it all down in his reporter’s notebook, a thin, spiral-bound pad of paper. Horowitz noticed and cleared his throat. “As I said earlier, this investigation is in a very preliminary stage and I’m not ready to make a statement as to the identity of the victim or the circumstances of her death.”
“But you are going to investigate?” asked Lucy. “You’re going to check the car for tampering?”
Horowitz sighed. “We will follow the appropriate procedures,” he said.
“I think the state crime lab should take a real close look at the brakes,” said Lucy.
Horowitz sighed. “We’ll be taking this one step at a time, and we’ll use the crime lab if necessary, but I’d like to remind you that the state is having a budget crisis and there have been cutbacks at every level. Quite frankly, the lab has more work than it can handle and we will not request their services unless there is a compelling reason to consider this death suspicious rather than the tragic accident it most likely is.”
Ted had left them. He was hurrying across the tarmac to interview one of the divers, who was stripping off his wet suit.
Taking advantage of the fact that she was alone with Horowitz, Lucy spoke right up. “Something’s rotten up at Pine Point,” she said, tilting her head in the direction of the estate. “The butler’s been fired. He and some other employees got together with Bob Goodman over the weekend. I’m sure they want to counteract Vicky and Henry’s influence but I’m not sure what they’re planning. There’s a crooked lawyer, too, named Weatherby, who’s working with Vicky and Henry. Maxine was threatening to reveal something about him.”
Horowitz’s eyes widened. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you, sticking your nose in where it’s not wanted?”
Lucy felt she had to defend herself. “It’s not just me. A lot of folks here in town have been worried about VV.”
“She’s a millionaire,” said Horowitz, scowling.
“That doesn’t mean she isn’t a victim of elder abuse,” said Lucy.
Horowitz’s expression hardened. “Elder abuse! I’ll tell you about elder abuse. Just last week, I arrested a fourteen-year-old kid who beat his grandmother to death because he wanted her TV so he could sell it and get himself some Oxy. That’s elder abuse.”
He turned on his heel and returned to his vehicle, executing a neat turn and rolling off down the road. Lucy joined Ted and snapped a photo of the diver, a handsome young guy.
“It was pretty challenging down there,” he was saying. “The wave surge and the current made for less-than-ideal conditions. The water temperature was definitely a challenge, but we were able to successfully complete our mission and recover the car.” His face clouded. “It was too bad about the lady,” he said, zipping up his official state police warm-up jacket.
Lucy couldn’t forget his words as she got back in the van with Ted. It was too bad about the lady. Maxine was pretty outspoken, she was definitely on the edge, thought Lucy, but she didn’t deserve to end up like this.
She remembered the day Maxine had stopped by at the Pennysaver office, claiming Van’s death was no accident. Now she was dead, too, and it made you wonder. Two unexpected deaths involving the same family in just a few days seemed unlikely, and when you added in VV’s many millions of dollars, those deaths seemed pretty suspicious. If a kid would beat his grandmother to death for a TV, what would a resentful, impatient heiress do for hundreds of millions?
“You’re awfully quiet,” said Ted, driving the speed limit for once in his life. Lucy wondered if the sight of Maxine’s crumpled car had made him more cautious.
“Just thinking,” said Lucy. “We met her, you know. Maxine. She came to the office. She was very vibrant, very alive.”
“Not anymore,” said Ted. After a bit, he asked, “Does she have any kids?”
“A daughter,” said Lucy, envisioning Juliette. The two, mother and daughter, had seemed close. Now the poor girl had lost both her parents. She would be devastated. “Grown. Sue says she’s a model. She lives in New York City. Why?”
“I was just thinking about the obit,” said Ted. “Maybe you could give her a call.”
Lucy’s temper flared. “In a day or two, okay? She’s lost her father and now her mother. Can’t we give her some space, some time to deal with her loss?”
Ted braked at a stop sign and flipped on his turn signal. “Sure. You don’t have to do it today. But remember, deadline is noon Wednesday.”
Lucy glared at him. “I’m beginning to understand why people kill,” she said.
It went right over Ted’s head. “You know, I don’t understand. I never have.” He made the turn, picking up a little speed. “I don’t like war, capital punishment, murder, any of it. Live and let live, that’s my motto.” He patted the steering wheel and chuckled. “Besides, there’s always the editorial page. The pen is mightier than the swo
rd, it really is.”
Lucy found herself smiling. He was incorrigible. Newspapers across the country were in trouble, readership was dwindling, circulation figures dropping, and here he was proclaiming the power of the pen. Ink apparently did run in his veins.
“Make that the Internet,” she said. “The Internet is mightier than the sword.”
He swung into the parking lot, turned neatly into his marked space, and braked. “You’re right,” he said. “I could kill. I could kill whoever invented the Internet.”
“Get him on Twitter,” said Lucy.
“Twitter? What’s that?” asked Ted, following her into the office.
Chapter Eleven
Phyllis was waving a piece of paper when they entered the office. “This fax just came,” she was saying. “From Bob Goodman. He’s holding a press conference tomorrow.”
Ted shrugged. “Big deal. He’s taking on a partner? Remodeling his office?”
“I don’t think so, Ted,” said Lucy, grabbing the paper and quickly scanning it for details. “It’s just as I thought,” she said, stabbing at the paper with her finger. “Look here: ‘Filing suit against Victoria Duff Allen, Henry Chatsworth Allen, and George M. Weatherby on behalf of James Willis for wrongful dismissal’ and—ohmigosh, it’s right here—‘demanding an investigation into alleged instances of elder abuse and fraud.’ ” She plunked down in her desk chair. “I expected this.”
Ted looked at her, puzzled. “You did?”
She gave a self-satisfied nod. “You see a lot when you’re passing the canapés,” she said. “And, of course, I had inside information from Elfrida.”
Phyllis was beaming in her corner behind the reception counter. “You could say Elfrida broke the story.”
Ted’s expression was skeptical. “Well, let’s hope Elfrida doesn’t get fired.” He turned to Lucy. “And the same goes for you. I haven’t seen any copy yet and if I don’t get those stories I need, you’re going to be here tomorrow morning instead of sitting in the first row at Bob’s press conference.” He paused. “And don’t forget the listings.”