The Saucy Lucy Murders

by Cindy Keen Reynders

  “I am Dr. William Briarhurst and this is my wife, Olivia. I assume you know who we are?”

  Yes, she did. They were Elton Briarhurst’s very rich and influential and torqued off parents. “Yes,” Lexie said with a nod. “I am so sorry about Elton’s accident and I feel terrible about it. Would you like to sit down?”

  She gestured at a room off to the right which she’d restored to an original old-fashioned parlor, complete with period antiques such as brocade settees, fern stands, statues, and an iron fireplace ensemble. A Persian carpet covered the polished wooden floorboards and replica velvet-flocked paper from the turn of the century adorned the walls along with a several old oil paintings.

  The Briarhursts didn’t answer, and William Briarhurst’s nostrils flared. This was not good. Panic seeped through Lexie’s pores and she began to ramble to fill the awkward silence.

  “It’s actually very comfortable in the parlor, you know. Some of my customers like to come in here and relax with their coffee and newspapers. It’s a nice room, sunny and pleasant …” She hoped Mr. and Mrs. Briarhurst wouldn’t notice how nervous she was. “I, ah—”

  “You need to realize, Ms. Lightfoot, that we are not here to pay you a social call,” Mrs. Briarhurst said sharply, raising a haughty brow as she glanced at the bandage on Lexie’s forehead.

  Oh, really? Lexie folded her arms across her chest, an ominous feeling creeping over her. “How may I help you, then?”

  “We’re here to talk about Elton,” Dr. Briarhurst said.

  Ah. Maybe they just wanted to find out what happened. So did she.

  “Again, I’m so sorry. How is he? I’ve been worried.” Lexie didn’t think it would be a good idea to tell them the hospital had gotten wise to her and refused to give her any more updates on Elton’s condition.

  “He’s finally on the mend, no thanks to you,” his mother said with a sniff.

  Lexie blinked. “I hope you don’t think I had anything to do with the accident.”

  “Well, you certainly did not behave in a responsible manner with our son. How you could run over him? I don’t understand,” Dr. Briarhurst rumbled angrily.

  “Run over him? What are you talking about? It was a hit and run. No one knows who did it.”

  “Don’t try and cover for yourself, Ms. Light-foot. Elton told us everything once he came out of his coma. Due to your irresponsibility, he will now need weeks of therapy in order to walk again,” Dr. Briarhurst insisted.

  Olivia Briarhurst began to sob softly and took out a flowered hankie to dab at her eyes.

  “I haven’t done anything wrong,” Lexie protested. “This is all a mistake.”

  “You, as his employer, should have known better than to have him repair your roof without the proper equipment,” Dr. Briarhurst stubbornly persisted. “Why, it’s outlandish and you know you’re responsible.”

  Lexie’s mouth dropped. “Elton told you he was repairing my roof?”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Briarhurst said with another indignant sniff. “And we’d like you to know we expect you to pay all his medical expenses. You’ll be lucky if my husband doesn’t file a lawsuit against you.” She hooked her arm possessively through Dr. Briarhurst’s.

  Lexie was stunned. She figured Elton didn’t want his high society parents to know he was moonlighting as a male stripper. She understood why he used her as the fall guy. She imagined the Briarhurst’s gave their rich and spoiled son plenty of money to go to college and live on, but he apparently enjoyed doing something completely against his strict upbringing.

  No surprise he’d kept his questionable employment a secret. It most likely would have raised his parents’ gently born eyebrows as well as their hackles and they’d no doubt sever his allowance. Maybe even remove him from the family will.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Briarhurst, please understand— I’m sorry about Elton’s accident. But you have been misinformed about a couple of things. One of them is that I wasn’t the person who ran over him, and another is that he wasn’t here to repair my roof.”

  “Don’t try to project blame,” Dr. Briarhurst growled. “You are responsible for this tragic event and you know it. By the time I’m through with you, you will no longer have a business and you will suffer for your lack of foresight. You will have to forever live with the fact Elton might never walk again or could possibly have brain damage—”

  “Or die.” Mrs. Briarhurst sobbed, her furry shoulders heaving. She produced the delicate hankie again and dabbed at her watery eyes.

  “All you need to know, Ms. Lightfoot,” Dr. Briarhurst said, eyes flashing, “is that you will hear from our lawyer.”

  Dr. Briarhurst pulled his sobbing wife down the hall and out the door, shutting it with a loud bang.

  Dumbfounded, Lexie stared at the entrance for a few numb minutes, during which time her mind replayed over and over the conversation with the Briarhursts. Was this really happening, or was it a dream? Pray God it’s a dream, she told herself, pinching her arm.

  “Ouch!” It was no dream.

  Lexie’s head was thumping like a washing machine that hadn’t been loaded correctly. Ka-thunk, ka-thunk. Had the Briarhursts thrown the grenade through the window? No, that didn’t seem like their style at all. But they could have hired someone to do it for them.

  Despite Lexie’s racing thoughts and her ballooning head, she knew one thing. If she didn’t lose the café because small-minded and ill-informed people were afraid she was a murderess and refused to eat here any more, she could very well loose it to the Briarhursts’ no doubt sharp-looking, smooth-talking and well-paid legal expert.

  Time to go lawyer hunting.

  Lexie finally managed to shuffle to the front door, flip over the CLOSED sign, then found her way into the parlor and sat down on a gold brocade sofa that had belonged to Grandmother Castleton. Her in-sides trembled and a dull roar of disbelief echoed in her brain. How could people be so cruel and thoughtless?

  She glanced around. The room had once been a favorite family gathering place. During the Christ-mases of her youth, her favorite time of year, the large stone fireplace had been draped with festive swags and a large decorated fir tree dominated the northeast corner by another large bay window.

  The parlor reflected a sense of warmth and comfort, from the knick-knacks her mother and father had placed around the room to the furniture and gilt-framed pictures her grandparents had arranged so lovingly when the home belonged to them. Lexie closed her eyes and reminisced about her childhood when all seemed right with the world, when her grandparents and parents had been alive and they’d enjoyed good times together.

  She could almost smell the rich chocolate scent of Grandma Castleton’s special cocoa and remembered how they used to make popcorn in an old-fashioned pan over the open fireplace. Her memories were a pleasant place to let her troubled mind dwell and they acted like a healing balm on her aching soul. She opened her eyes to the empty room that had once been filled with life and happiness, but now was full of memories and scents of days gone by. She rarely set foot in here except when townspeople reserved the room for meetings and events such as birthday parties and anniversary celebrations.

  Even Lucy’s book club, which typically rotated from one member’s house to another’s, had held meetings here on several occasions. Lucy hadn’t scheduled one lately and Lexie imagined the persnickety literary ladies didn’t want to discuss the latest book they’d been reading in the house of a suspected murderess.

  Lexie felt like running away. She wanted to go somewhere—maybe an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean—where no one knew her. It would be wonderful to disappear and leave all her troubles behind.

  That was impossible. How could she up and disappear when her daughter needed her? Sister Lucy would be beside herself. It would be wrong.

  She was left with the wreck that had become her life. Her business was going down the toilet because people stupidly believed she was capable of murder. She wanted to pay Lucy a salary this month, bu
t was short on cash.

  Then there were Eva’s expenses.

  The car payments on her Ford Escort still needed to be paid and spring tuition at the university would be due soon. Lexie also needed to buy food and gas and pay utilities and, unfortunately, her savings would only stretch so far.

  Cousin Bruce’s money had mostly gone to pay for the renovation on Aunt Gladys’ attic quarters. She decided she’d better try to call his hotel in Singapore and see when he was coming to pick up his mother, or if he’d wire a little more dinero. There’s only so much blood you can squeeze out of a turnip. It didn’t seem very promising.

  She could go down to MacGreggor’s Pub and see if she could get a job waitressing. Maybe they needed help slinging hash. She doubted it, but she could give it a shot. Rats! She’d have to find someone to sit with Aunt Gladys while she worked. That could be a problem.

  There was no excuse why she couldn’t ask The Undertaker for help with at least Eva’s tuition, but she refused to be humiliated again. He would repeat what he’d said many times before: I paid my own way through college and Eva can too. It’ll teach her what the real world’s all about. He’d make Lexie feel foolish for asking and remind her he had a new family to provide for.

  The dimwit.

  How could a man completely disown a child from a previous marriage like she never meant anything? Even if Eva was over eighteen, she was still his daughter. She still needed him. Lexie shook her head. The man was such a lost cause.

  To top things off, the Briarhursts were acting like she had hurt their son, as though everything were her fault. They had even got her halfway believing it. Maybe there was something she could have done to prevent Elton’s accident.

  Lexie leaned back against the sofa and closed her eyes. Warm tears oozed from under her lashes and rolled down her cheeks. She hated to cry. Only silly women cried. Here she was, doing it. So be it. She was a silly woman. Finally a numb acceptance of her circumstances spread through Lexie’s limbs and she relaxed enough to doze.

  “Mom, wake up.”

  Lexie’s eyes immediately flew open and she readjusted herself on the sofa, her neck kinked from the uncomfortable position she’d slept in.

  Eva stood in front of her, hands on her hips. “What’s with the duct-taped window? And your head!” She winced. “What happened?”

  With a mouth as dry as dirt, Lexie explained about the old grenade being thrown through the window, hitting her in the head and upsetting Aunt Gladys so badly she had to be sedated. She explained how the Briarhursts had shown up, threatening to sue her. “Nobody’s coming to the café to eat any more because they’re afraid. I’ve still got bills to pay and I can’t afford an attorney. I’m in a real pickle, sweetie.”

  Eva sat next to Lexie on the sofa and laid a hand on her arm. “Remember, Mom, I’ve got part-time work. I can make my car payment and cover insurance.” Eva knew better than to suggest they ask her father for help. Mother and daughter had gone that route too many times before and been burned.

  “I hate you have to work,” Lexie said. “How do you keep your grades up?”

  “I’m fine, Mom. I’m a big girl. Besides, lots of my friends have jobs.”

  Lexie swallowed a sob. No matter how bad things got during the divorce and afterward, Eva had always managed to keep up her spirits, even through her ornery teenage episodes.

  “Don’t worry about Elton’s snobby parents. They’re only trying to scare you. Call Bruce, too. He needs to haul his b-u-t-t back here to get Aunt Gladys. This is too much for you.”

  Lexie pulled a tissue from her apron pocket and blew her nose. “I guess so. I let myself get overwhelmed instead of thinking.”

  “It happens to all of us,” Eva said maturely, no doubt enjoying the fact that for once she was able to give advice to her mother.

  Strange how your kids grow up and the roles reverse at times, Lexie thought. She remembered when Eva’s biggest worry was not being invited to a friend’s birthday party, or thinking that her rear end was getting too flab-ulous.

  “Thanks,” Lexie told her daughter. Eva leaned her head on Lexie’s shoulder for a moment.

  Eva pulled back and looked at her mother earnestly. “Hey, didn’t you tell me on the phone the other day you have a big date tonight? Don’t you need to get ready?”

  In her misery, Lexie had completely forgotten about Jack Sturgeon and the movies. She glanced frantically at the grandfather clock. “I don’t have much time.”

  “Then get a move on.” Eva pulled her up and prodded her out the door into the hallway.

  “There’s stew in the kitchen for dinner and Aunt Gladys is resting in her room—”

  “Would you stop already? Aunt G and I will be fine.” Eva pointed at the staircase. “March!”

  CHAPTER 13

  UP IN LEXIE’S BEDROOM, HAIRBRUSHES, MAKE-up, and clothing flew as Eva helped her get ready. From the items in her closet she selected a black skirt, a black, low-cut sweater, and black heels. She topped off the ensemble with her mother’s pearl earrings and necklace. Eva insisted she wear her hair down instead of pulled back in her standard ponytail and helped her arrange the ginger-colored mass into soft waves that fell to her shoulders. Next Eva applied foundation, putting extra on Lexie’s bruised forehead. With a soft brush, she expertly applied cheek color, eye color, and finished her masterpiece with mascara. Eva also insisted Lexie borrow the Escort so she wouldn’t have to deal with the old truck clunking along and possibly breaking down.

  Unaccustomed to wearing a dress and heels, let alone makeup, Lexie glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror, completely unprepared for what she saw, but pleasantly surprised. Not bad looking for a thirty-seven-year-old broad if I do say so myself. Maybe there was hope for her yet.

  “Thanks for everything, Eva,” Lexie told Eva downstairs as she slipped on a light jacket and put Eva’s car keys in her pocket. “I just wish I could quit thinking of all the nonsense going on in my life right now. It’s distracting.”

  “Mother!” Eva rolled her eyes. “OK. Listen up. Tonight I’m … I’m like your fairy godmother. And I command you to have a good time.” She removed an umbrella from a wall hook and tapped Lexie on the top of the head with it. “Just be back by midnight or you’ll turn into a pumpkin. Got it?”

  Lexie laughed. “Got it.”

  Stars twinkled above like a million diamonds splayed on a blanket of black velvet as Lexie backed the Escort out of the garage and drove down the street. The sound of an engine revving drew her attention and she saw a dark car whip around the corner and out of sight when she drove past her house. Her blood froze in her veins. Was that the mysterious car she’d seen parking in front of her house lately? The one that disappeared every time she came out to investigate?

  She stepped on the gas, zoomed down the street and around the corner, determined to follow the vehicle. Sighting taillights up ahead in the distance, she pressed harder on the accelerator. Intent on her mission, she never noticed passing the one squad car belonging to Moose Creek Junction’s finest parked off the road in the shadowy bushes. One second later, a red light flashed in her rearview mirror and the sheriff’s cruiser pulled up alongside the Escort.

  “Crap!” Lexie couldn’t see inside, but she could imagine if it was Otis in there, he was furiously shaking his fist at her and swearing up a storm. She pulled over and the cruiser parked behind her. Furious, she got out and marched up to the sheriff’s vehicle just as Otis slid his portly form out of the driver’s seat.

  Yellow streetlights provided enough illumination to reveal the irritation written on Sheriff Parnell’s face. “I thought you were Eva, Lexie. Where the hell were you driving so fast? And why did you get out of your car? I’m supposed to come up to yours.”

  “Whatever,” Lexie said. “I’m in pursuit of a suspect. I’ve got to go—”

  Otis put a restraining hand on her arm. “Hold on there, girl. What suspect? What in Sam Hill are you talking about?”

  “That c
ar I told you about. It went that way!” She pointed down a dark street.

  “It’s long gone by now,” Otis said in a firm voice.

  “Yes, no thanks to you,” Lexie snapped back.

  “Lexie, you are not an office of the law, so quit acting like one. You should have called me, not gone after the damn car yourself. You could have gotten yourself hurt.”

  Lexie pulled her arm loose from Otis’ firm grip and rubbed it. “There was no time!”

  He snorted. “I’m only giving you a warning ticket this time because you’re my wife’s kid sister. But don’t let me or Cleve catch you driving like an idiot again or I’ll have your license yanked. Who do you think you are, anyway? Columbo on steroids?” He shook his head, then looked her up and down and whistled, as though he really hadn’t seen what she was wearing before. “All dressed up and someplace to go? That’s not usually your style, is it?”

  “Whatever, Otis,” Lexie said, ignoring him. “At least I’m trying to get somewhere on this case. Admit it. You’re not much good at your job, are you?”

  “You’re good at getting yourself in hot water is what, missy.” Red in the face, steam practically coming out his hears, Otis scribbled on a pad, ripped off a yellow ticket, and shoved it at her. “By the way, did you get a glimpse of who was driving? A license plate number or maybe even part of it?”

  “No.” Scowling, Lexie snatched the ticket from her brother-in-law’s meaty grip and stormed back to her car.

  “I’m warning you, Lexie. Keep your nose out of trouble,” Otis shouted at her.

  Lexie ignored him, got into the Escort and drove off. Maybe it was a dumb stunt to go chasing after the mystery car, but like she told Otis, at least she was trying. What if she had managed to get the license plate number or see who was driving? She’d be a hero. OK, maybe not a hero, but at least the car chase would have been worth her time.

  It wouldn’t be easy to convince herself to have a pleasant evening. Putting the mysterious vehicle from her mind and her humiliation at patootiehead Otis’ warning, she sailed down the street in Eva’s Escort.