The Saucy Lucy Murders

by Cindy Keen Reynders

  “Not all men are flakes, dear.”

  “Sure could’a fooled me.”

  “Be nice.” Lucy wore a cautionary expression, standing there so prim and proper as she patted down a stray hair that had come loose from her serviceable brown bun. “And you might try dressing a little nicer. It’s as if you try to hide your attractiveness by wearing unflattering clothing.”

  Lexie glanced down her faded jeans, old blue T-shirt, and checkered apron. With her pony-tailed, frizzy, ginger-colored hair, she knew she must look like Little Orphan Annie. Well, she was definitely no Cindy Crawford. So what?

  Just then two farmers in coveralls, plaid shirts, and green, John Deere ball caps walked into the café and stood behind the punk-rocker boys to read the menu. The boys, obviously having made their choice of sandwich, walked purposefully toward the counter.

  Twelve o’clock. High noon. Showdown time.

  Desperation shot like a jolt of lightening through Lexie. “OK, I’ll go to your damn picnic and meet what’s-his-name! Eva doesn’t have any classes tomorrow so she’ll be home tonight. I’m sure she won’t mind covering for us at the café. Now will you please leave me alone?”

  Lucy’s brows rose. “Honestly, Lexie. Your language is atrocious. If Mother and Father could hear you—”

  “That line is getting old, Lucy. How many times do I have to tell you to quit worrying about me?”

  “You always were an ungrateful, spoiled brat and, unfortunately, you still are.” Lucy sighed heavily. “However, if it is my lot in life to lead you into the fold, then I will. Even if it takes me until the end of my days.”

  “Oh, brother. Now who’s being Scarlet O’Hara?” Lexie opened the refrigerator and pulled out several plastic tubs of sandwich fillings, stacked them one atop the other, and set them down by Lucy who was slicing crusty loaves of bread.

  She stepped over to the counter, picked up a pad and pencil, and looked at the punk-rocker boys standing on the other side. One of them had so many piercings in his eyebrows and lips and nose that she hurt all over just looking at him. She suppressed a shudder and forced a smile. “May I take your order?”

  The next morning, Lexie shuffled downstairs through the empty sandwich shop, and into the kitchen, eyes still glazed with sleep. Coffee, coffee, her mind chanted to a primitive rhythm known only to man, and she vaguely made out the Mr. Coffee machine beckoning to her on the counter. But when her toes recoiled at something cold and wet, she looked down.

  “Holy mother-of-pearl!” An inch of water and soapsuds arched across the yellow and blue linoleum, as if the Great Lakes had taken residence in her kitchen overnight. Lexie’s gaze instantly traced the pool of water back to its source. One of the dishwashers. “Eva!” She shouted over her shoulder, hoping her voice would carry up the stairs.

  “What, Mom?” Eva called a few seconds later.

  “I need your help. ASAP.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Just hurry. And bring every bath towel we own.”

  “Be right there.”

  While Lexie waited for Eva and the bath towels, she dragged out every dishtowel, tablecloth, and rag in the joint and threw them on Lake Superior. Then she grabbed a mop, sopped up the water and squeezed it into the sink. Lord, this was going to take all day.

  Lexie struggled to figure out what in the heck must have gone wrong with the dishwasher. It’ll probably cost an arm and a leg for the repairman to fix it. Just what she needed—another repair bill.

  Eva finally appeared in the kitchen door, arms loaded with towels. “Eeeeewwww, what happened?” Her faded pink flannel bathrobe had obviously been flung on in a hurry, and her long, brownish-auburn hair was knotted in a loose bun atop her head. She sloshed across the floor toward Lexie. Having inherited her father’s height, she was nearly a head taller than Lexie’s petite five-foot-tall frame.

  “I have no idea. But at least the floor will be squeaky clean when we’re through,” Lexie told her. “Throw down the towels then wring them off the back porch.”

  An hour later, Lexie stood to iron out the crick in her back. Finally, the floor was dry. Mom would have been so upset to think her linoleum could have been ruined. And heaven help the individual caught up in her wrath.

  Wondering what in the world she could have done to make the dishwasher go on the fritz, Lexie glanced over at the guilty beast. Then it all came flooding back. Eva had loaded it. A bottle of dishwashing liquid sat strategically close to the loading zone, with the jug of dishwasher soap nowhere in sight.

  Eva walked in from the back porch, the screen door slamming behind her. “Phewww, what a mess. You’re lucky I was here to pitch in. It’s going to get hot outside so the towels should dry pretty quick.”

  Lexie nodded. “Hey, tell me something. When you loaded that dishwasher last night, what soap did you use?”

  Eva walked over and picked up the dishwashing liquid. “This.” Her brows quirked innocently. “Why?”

  Despite her annoyance, Lexie checked her temper. Eva was completely clueless sometimes, but she’d meant well. “That’s used for washing dishes by hand, sweetie.” Lexie shuffled over, feet and toes withered beyond recognition now, and withdrew the jug of dishwasher soap from under the sink. “This is what we use for the dishwasher. OK?”

  “Oops.” Eva winced. “Sorry.”

  “Not a biggie.” Lexie said. “I’m just glad to know the dishwasher only had a bad case of indigestion.”

  “Right,” Eva said. “I’m gonna go hit the shower. Can I help you do anything else?”

  “No,” Lexie responded too quickly, then decided to change the subject so Eva wouldn’t guess she was afraid of her help right now. “Say, how’s your new roommate working out?”

  “She’s cool. College is cool … at least in the three weeks since I started. The cafeteria food sucks, though. Yours is much better.”

  Lexie warmed at the unexpected compliment from her self-absorbed teenager. “I suppose they do their best.”

  “Mom, it’d gag a maggot. And their mystery meat is totally disgusting. Like, it’s not fit for human consumption.” Eva brushed past Lexie and went upstairs.

  “Kids,” Lexie muttered to the sparkling clean kitchen. “Gotta love ’em.”

  Later, trusting Eva could manage to make sandwiches and ladle soup for the lunch crowd, Lexie drove across town to Lucy’s book club picnic at the Moose Creek Junction City Park. Under an arching canopy of ancient elms and cottonwoods sporting the golds, oranges, and reds of autumn, she navigated her truck past treacherous potholes on the narrow streets. She wondered briefly when the annual “Potluck and Pothole Day” was going to be held.

  As a kid, Lexie loved when everyone got together for a community potluck and road repair day. Kids ran around playing and eating while their parents worked with the local asphalt company filling and smoothing out holes in the road. Moose Creek Junction was definitely due for this event. She made a mental note to ask Lucy about it.

  Tucking strands of hair behind her ears, Lexie stared at the parched brown lawns of the neat bungalows lining the sidewalks. It had been dry over the summer. Terribly dry. And now the small town was under strict water rationing because Mayor Golly-horn had determined they could have a potential emergency situation if the winter ahead turned out as warm as the last few years. Global warming. The end of the world … Lexie didn’t want to think of that. The end of the world, that is.

  Lucy said that Gus Lincolnway, the reverend at the First Community Church of the Lamb of God was always harping on it, and how the evils of mankind were ruining the environment. Sister Lucy bought all that crap, but Lexie, the sinner, didn’t. She believed the environment had various cycles. The current cycle happened to be dry and hot. It was that simple. Amen.

  Lexie looked at the children again. Several of them were bouncing back and forth between the homes, chattering and having a bang-up time. She wondered if their mothers realized how lucky they were. That’s what she’d always wanted. Loving
husband, little house, white picket fence, two-point-five kids, a dog, a cat, and goldfish, maybe even a gerbil or a parakeet.

  Never mind Women’s Lib. She hadn’t really planned herself a career, despite her parents urging, so when good looking Dan Lightfoot came along, promising her the world, her born-yesterday self had fallen right into his snare. They’d been high school sweethearts, prom king and queen.

  Then she’d gone and gotten herself knocked up. Well, Dan had helped.

  “No problem,” Dan had said when she told him she was in the family way. At the time, his comment made her love him more because her delicate condition hadn’t even ruffled a hair on his fair head. Somehow, with the world against them, they’d graduated high school and took off for California with their tiny baby. Dan managed to make it through funeral home school with student loans and Lexie working evening waitress jobs.

  Unfortunately, any time something went wrong, even if there was real trouble looming on the horizon, Dan’s trademark comment was always, “No problem.” After a while, it became annoying, but Lexie learned to live with it.

  Once Dan started his own business, Lexie became a stay-at-home mom. Stay-at-home-mom. What an oxymoron created by some dork. Lexie and Eva lived more in the car than they did at home. There were play dates and nursery school to shuttle back and forth to, then PTA meetings and school plays, flute recitals, room-mother commitments and pee wee soccer games, gymnastic and swim meets, and finally high school football games where Eva cheer-leaded her little heart out wearing micro-mini skirts and school sweaters.

  While Lexie concentrated on taking care of Eva, Dan worked late, sometimes into the wee hours of the morning. Lexie never complained, believing Dan had been building his business and their future. Hah. Sixteen years went by before Lexie, either clueless or in denial, realized Dan’s ‘duties’ now included more than simply directing funerals.

  Come to find out, Dan, The Undertaker, was also providing too much comfort for bereaved widows. Above and beyond the call of duty, to be exact. Lexie’s storybook marriage crumbled; in fact, it had never really existed, except in her mind. Lexie filed for divorce and came back home to Moose Creek Junction.

  So much for the little cottage and white picket fence thing. Eva, being of age to choose which parent she wanted to live with, left with Lexie, though she’d grumped about being uprooted in her sophomore year of high school. Dan had been so involved with the new love in his life, he’d barely noticed when his daughter moved away and barely kept in touch with her.

  Coming back home after all this time was strange, to say the least. But like small towns, most things remained the same in Moose Creek Junction. People had gotten older, old timers had passed away. Yet they were subtle changes and it was like the same town and the same people Lexie had known years ago. Only thing was, she looked at life through the eyes of a former carpool and cookie mom, instead of a kid with scraped up knees and a runny nose.

  Lexie had been so absorbed in her thoughts that, with a start, she realized she had arrived at the park. Pulling into a shade-dappled parking spot, she turned off the engine of her old truck. It shivered, made a popping noise and went silent. Sliding out, she stuffed the keys in her pocket.

  Her gaze caught a cluster of people gathered near an ancient steam locomotive memorial. This was the place. Why do I let Lucy get me into this stuff, anyway?

  As she scuffed through fallen leaves toward the pavilion, she scanned the crowd for this Henry guy. Men stood everywhere on the burned-out lawn, tossing horseshoes or flipping burgers at smoking grills. Which one was Sister Lucy’s next victim? Lexie shook her head and plodded on.

  Mountainous piles of potato chip bags were mounded at one end of the two picnic tables pushed together. Crusty brown rolls, salads, brownies, and other assorted goodies also decorated the red wooden planks. When Lexie spotted the ice chests full of sodas, she smacked her cottony tongue against the top of her mouth and made a beeline over to the drinks. Popping the lid of a diet lemon-lime, she took a cooling sip and scanned the crowd for her matchmaking sister.

  Ah, there she was. Standing over by a group of women and gabbing. More like gossiping, Lexie figured. Lucy couldn’t stand in a group of hens and not talk about the latest and greatest juicy tidbits. Bless her, she had her finger on the pulse of the town’s latest happenings, such as whose bed whose boots were currently under. And that was putting it nicely.

  A fly decided to dive-bomb Lexie’s face and she brushed it away as she walked toward Lucy. How annoying. She could attract flies, but decent men ran from her like they had hot coals in their jockey shorts.

  Whatever. She did not need a man in her life. That was the whole point behind why she did not need to be here today meeting Henry what’s-his-name. As she drew closer to Lucy, the women’s cackling voices drifted on the air.

  “Hanna’s Kincaid’s baby sure doesn’t look like his daddy, especially the older he gets,” one of the women said, getting nods from everyone in the group.

  “That’s right,” Lucy agreed. “Why, that child has jet-black hair. Bob is almost albino blond and Hanna’s hair is not much darker. I’d say maybe the milkman’s been delivering more than milk—”

  Lexie cleared her throat, ignoring her devout churchwoman, gossip-mongering sister’s last comment. “Hey, Luce. What’s up?”

  Lucy whirled toward her sister, brown eyes snapping. “You’re late.” Today she wore another floral printed dress, support hose just like Mom used to wear and her sturdy brown shoes. Her brown hair had been twisted into a perfect bun with a hairnet. This was Sister Lucy’s usual uniform.

  Lexie sighed. “My dishwasher went on the fritz and I had to do some extra clean-up. You know I wouldn’t dream of missing out on the excitement of a heifer check.”

  Lucy glared at her.

  “What’s a heifer check?” One of the women asked. Her intricate beehive hairdo, shot through with glittery barrettes and hairpins, glistened in the sun.

  Lexie blinked. Man, that beehive hairdo would be a very cool place for magpies to nest.

  “Nothing to concern yourself about, Adeline,” Lucy muttered. “It’s just a private joke between sisters.” Gripping Lexie’s elbow, Lucy steered her away from the gossip circle.

  “You are such an ingrate,” Lucy complained to Lexie. “Here I am, trying my hardest to bring some sunshine back into your life, and you don’t act even halfway appreciative.”

  Sunshine? Lexie didn’t say anything until they stopped near a swingset resting in a sandpit. Annoyed didn’t begin to explain the emotion she felt. But there was no sense in starting any arguments.

  “I don’t mean to come off as a sourpuss,” she said. “I’ve just been burned in the men-department. It’s a sore spot with me.”

  “It’ll get better, dear,” Lucy soothed. “Just give it time.”

  “Really, I’m tired of dealing with relationships. I think in my next life I’ll come back as a caterpillar. Their lives are short, sweet, and to the point. They don’t suffer like humans. And I really don’t think they get all hung up about sex—”

  “Really, Lexie! You’re too much sometimes. Mom wouldn’t like you talking about living other incarnations. It’s not Christian and it’s not civil.”

  “Well, neither is dating, sis. Dating is murder.”

  “For Pete’s sake, there you go again being all melodramatic on me.” Lucy rolled her eyes. “You’re only going to meet Henry today. It may or may not go any further from there.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t.” Lexie took another sip of her soda and looked around. “OK, so where’s this Greek god you’ve been raving about?”

  “Let’s see.” Lucy shaded her eyes, and scanned the crowd. “Ah, there he is. Over by the horseshoe pit wearing the green shirt. Let’s go say hello.”

  Lexie looked for the green shirt, blinking hard when she found it. The man she saw was a true god. Tall and definitely good-looking, and probably near her age, his chest was broad and muscled and he ha
d a chiseled, athletic build. He’ll probably think he’s too good for me. She suddenly felt chunky and unattractive in her old jeans and T-shirt.

  Why hadn’t she dressed a little nicer like Lucy was always telling her to? She could have combed her hair out instead of leaving it in a ponytail. And she could have put on a little more make-up than a dab of lipstick and blush.

  As they walked toward Adonis, Lexie’s gaze met his and he sent her a fantastic, dimpled smile. Her knees buckled ever so slightly. Maybe Lucy finally hit on a good thing. Lexie stopped walking once they reached Adonis, but Lucy tightened her grip on her elbow and pushed her forward.

  Confused, Lexie said, “Wasn’t that Henry back there by the horseshoes?”

  Lucy looked over her shoulder at him. “Oh, no. That’s Kent Braxton. Helen Braxton’s husband.”

  After nearly drooling over the man, Lexie finally noticed the gold gleaming on his left hand. Brother. She should have known better.

  With horror, she watched as they approached another man sitting underneath a tree, gut hanging over his belt as he sucked a beer. He, too, was wearing a green polo shirt. He shoved to his feet when he noticed their approach. Lexie noted his shirt was a tad too small, showing his hairy belly button. His grin was positively slimy. Lexie’s dork meter started pinging.

  “I’m gonna kill you,” she muttered to Lucy.

  “Don’t be so quick to judge, my dear. He might clean up good. And some women might consider him cute in a Panda Bear sort of way.”

  “More like a troll sort of way.”

  Lucy jabbed Lexie’s ribs with her bony elbow and Lexie sent one right back.

  Once they were up close to Henry, Lexie’s nostrils flared with the smell of … something. Something strange. And it wasn’t grilled hamburgers, either. Maybe one of the toddlers running around needed their diapers changed. That had to be it.

  He gave that icky grin again. “Hi, ladies.”