Mother's Day Murder

by Leslie Meier

  Hearing a muffled moan when there was a break in the music, Lucy came to a decision. “We’ve got to call the cops,” she said, opening her phone.

  “No!” hissed Lenny.

  “Are you crazy? I don’t think we’ve got much time here. Those girls are working themselves into a frenzy. We’ve got to stop this before they go too far.”

  “No,” declared Lenny, pulling himself together. “There’s got to be an explanation for this. Maybe they’re making a film. That’s it. They’re rehearsing a scene….”

  Lucy understood he was in shock, in denial. Lenny, after all, was the sort of father who gave his daughter a brand new Prius while he drove a broken-down old Volvo. He’d do anything to protect his child. But this was too much; Ashley and Heather had gone too far. “Let’s let the police sort it out,” she snapped, hitting the nine.

  “No!” Lenny grabbed the phone and snapped it shut. “Do you want them to get in trouble?”

  “Give that back!” hissed Lucy, eyes blazing. “What I want is for everybody to get out of this alive. You can think what you want, but I suspect it was the girls who killed Tina. We have to stop them now!”

  “That’s ridiculous,” said Lenny. “My Heather wouldn’t do that, and neither would Ashley. Trust me. I know a thing or two about negotiating. We’ll go in calmly and assess the situation, and then we’ll decide what to do.”

  “What are you saying? You think we can just walk in there and they’ll be glad to see us?”

  “They’ll be relieved,” said Lenny, pulling himself up. “You’ll see.”

  It was then that the first shot was fired.

  Lucy ran around the cabin and through the door before she had time to think, knocking Heather off her feet. Ashley, who was on the other side of the room, turned and pressed the barrel of her gun against Sara’s head. Lucy froze in place, holding her hands up.

  “Put the gun down!” yelled Lenny, appearing in the doorway.

  Lucy’s eyes were on Sara, who was visibly trembling and whose eyes were enormous over the strip of duct tape that was covering her mouth.

  Heather, who was sprawled on the floor, pushed herself up to a sitting position and started rubbing her elbows.

  “Get up!” ordered Ashley. “Don’t go all soft now. Get the duct tape! Tie them up.”

  Heather seemed to be having second thoughts. Her bottom lip was quivering, and she was blinking furiously, even as she picked up the gun that had fallen to the floor.

  “Heather, honey,” pleaded Lenny. “Don’t listen to her. Don’t make things worse. We can work this out. Everything will be okay. Daddy can fix it. Honest.”

  Heather sniffled, and her eyes darted between her father and Ashley, finally settling on Ashley. “Remember the plan,” said Ashley, perfectly composed, her voice steady. “It’s worked so far, hasn’t it? Everything will be fine as long as we stick to the plan.”

  Heather was still wavering, supporting herself with one hand while holding the gun with the other. Ashley was in the power position: she was facing Lenny and Lucy and could fire off two rounds at close range in seconds. Lucy remembered Bart bragging that the whole family, including Ashley, enjoyed target shooting. It wasn’t a comforting thought.

  “The police are on their way,” said Lucy, lying through her teeth. “You can’t get away. My car is blocking the road, and I’ve hidden the keys.”

  On the floor, Heather whimpered, “Daddy’s right, Ashley. He’ll fix this. He will. You’ll still get into Harvard. They took that other girl who killed her mother.”

  “Shut up!” ordered Ashley. “Can’t you see she’s lying? Tie her up and get the keys.”

  “She said she hid them,” protested Heather.

  “Check her pockets. See who’s right.”

  Heather rose slowly and approached Lucy, who had no choice but to let her reach into her jacket pocket. If she moved a muscle, she didn’t doubt that Ashley would shoot her.

  “You were right,” proclaimed Heather, pulling the keys out of Lucy’s pocket and holding them up.

  “And she didn’t call the cops, either,” said Ashley. “Tape her feet and hands,” she ordered, adding a nasty chuckle. “When we’re through, it will look like they had some kind of kinky sex game going on.”

  “No one who knows me will believe that,” muttered Lucy, watching as Heather approached, ripping off a strip of duct tape. She grabbed the girl’s arms just above the elbows and shoving her as hard as she could, propelling her across the room, toward Ashley. Ashley fired off a shot, and Heather screamed, dropping her gun and clutching her shoulder as she crashed to the floor. Lucy froze. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as Ashley turned in her direction, preparing to shoot. She was raising the gun when Lenny sprang into action and charged across the room, taking her down with a crash that shook the entire ramshackle cabin.

  Lucy immediately knelt beside Heather, who was screaming hysterically as blood spread across the white T-shirt she was wearing under the open raincoat. Fearing the wound was serious, Lucy quickly yanked the duct tape off Bart’s hands and face. His legs were still taped to the chair, and to Sara, but by falling onto his knees, he was able to reach Heather to examine her wound. Lucy leapt across the room in two bounds and joined Lenny, who was struggling to hold Ashley down. She was fighting him with all the determination of a wild animal, biting and clawing, kicking and squealing, until Lucy finally succeeded in wrestling the gun out of her hand. “Be still right now or I’ll shoot,” threatened Lucy.

  “Go ahead,” screamed Ashley, still struggling to free herself. She was pinned beneath Lenny, who was lying on top of her, grasping both of her wrists. “Do you think I care? I want to die!”

  “Shut up!” It was Bart. He was in his undershirt; he had stripped off his dress shirt and was using it to make a pressure bandage for Heather. “It’s over. You’re a disgrace. You’re no daughter of mine. You deserve to spend the rest of your life in jail.”

  “What do you know?” Ashley screamed at him. “You don’t know anything! Nothing’s ever good enough for you! I hate you! I hate you!”

  Sobbing, Ashley finally went limp, turning her face away and curling up into a ball.

  Panting and still holding the gun, Lucy kept a wary eye on her as Lenny pulled his phone out of his pocket and finally called for help. When he finished, Lucy watched him pick up the second gun, which he held uncomfortably, waving it around the room. A sobbing Ashley no longer seemed to pose a threat, but Lucy didn’t trust her and kept the other gun within reach as she began loosening the duct tape that still bound Sara and Bart. “Is she going to be okay?” she asked, with a nod to Heather.

  “Yeah. It’s a shoulder wound. Not life threatening,” said Bart.

  Heather’s brimming eyes were fixed on her father. “I’m so sorry, Dad,” she whispered, but Lenny didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at his daughter but stood silently, a man in deep shock.

  Lucy tugged the last bit of tape connecting Bart and Sara, finally freeing them, and took her daughter in her arms. She hugged her close, stroking her hair, like she used to do when she was small.

  Then, suddenly, there was a crash as Bart tackled Lenny, who fired off a wild shot as he fell to the floor. Lucy and Sara were shaking uncontrollably, watching as Bart gently unfolded Lenny’s fingers and took the gun. Lenny didn’t protest but lay still, exhausted, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  “He was going to shoot himself,” said Bart, by way of explanation, as he tucked the gun into his belt. “I was afraid he might do something like that.”

  “How…how’d you know?” asked Lucy. The shot was still ringing in her ears; she was stunned and struggling to make sense of it all.

  “Because I feel like doing the same thing,” said Bart in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Lucy thought of the shame she’d felt at the police station the night Sara was arrested and figured that Bart and Lenny must be experiencing a similar emotion, magnified many times over. Shame and…what else? Lo
athing? Disgust? Horror? Betrayal?

  Lucy hugged Sara tighter.

  In the distance, they could hear the wail of sirens. Help was on the way.

  Even the normally unflappable Detective Horowitz seemed troubled as Ashley and Heather were taken away. Heather went in an ambulance, handcuffed to the stretcher. Ashley, cuffed and shackled, was driven off in a cruiser, her composure restored as she calmly sat in the back, looking like Paris Hilton on her way to a costume party. Bart and Lenny were also gone: Lenny was on his way to a psychiatric clinic to be evaluated as a suicide risk, and Bart was completing his statement at the police station.

  “I’ve seen a lot in my career, but this takes the cake,” said Horowitz, seating himself beside Lucy on the cabin’s porch steps. Sara was behind them, sitting with her back against the cabin wall and her legs stretched out in front of her.

  Lucy was glad of his company. She felt small and fragile, as if she were made of glass, and found his presence protective and reassuring. “What will happen to them?” she asked.

  “Oh, there’ll be psychological exams and, no doubt, fancy lawyers, but in the end, they’ll go to jail for a very long time, maybe life.” He paused. “Ever since Columbine, the courts haven’t had much patience with juvenile offenders, and since they’re sixteen, they’ll be charged as adults. And these are serious charges, the murder of Tina Nowak, kidnapping Sara and Dr. Hume, conspiracy to murder, conspiracy to kidnap, assault and battery. The list goes on and on.”

  “If the prosecutor can get a jury to believe two smart and attractive young girls actually did all these terrible things,” said Lucy. “I was here, I saw them in action, and I can hardly believe it.”

  “I don’t think the prosecutor will have any trouble convincing a jury at all,” said Horowitz. “Ashley wrote it all down. We found a notebook in her backpack. It’s all there. Lists of things to do, all checked off. Buy a blond wig, check. Get duct tape, check. Get sedatives from Dad’s office, check. Drug Mom’s coffee so she’ll sleep. On and on, it’s all here. It’s damning.”

  How typical, thought Lucy, remembering how Sue had told her Ashley was obsessive about details. And just like a kid, too, to fail to consider the consequences of writing it all down and leaving a paper trail.

  “Why did she do it? What was the objective?”

  “To get out from under her parents,” said Horowitz. “Simple as that. Ashley really hated the way they controlled her, and she managed to convince Heather to go along with her.”

  “It was all Ashley, really,” said Sara. “She was the one who cornered me in the girls’ room and made me go with them. Heather kept saying she didn’t think it was a good idea. She even complained to Ashley that it wasn’t fair that it was her mother who got killed and Ashley still had hers, even if she was in jail.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Under the law, she’s just as guilty as Ashley,” explained Horowitz. He let out a long sigh. “But I agree that there are degrees of evil, and Ashley was clearly the instigator. She was relentless. She even planned to cut her father’s nurse’s brake line because the woman discovered the missing sedatives and questioned her about them.”

  Lucy gasped. “Amanda Connell died in a crash this morning.”

  Horowitz shook his head. “What a waste. Those girls had bright futures. If only they’d used all that energy for something positive. They might’ve found the cure for cancer. Who knows? Instead, they cooked up this crazy plan to eliminate their parents and anybody else who got in their way. Like it ever had a chance of succeeding.”

  “I don’t know,” said Lucy. “They came pretty close.”

  “Ashley thought of everything,” said Sara.

  “Not quite,” said Lucy. “She forgot the school’s new attendance policy. They call the parents whenever a student cuts class.”

  “Is that how you knew?” asked Sara.

  “That attendance officer saved your life,” said Lucy.

  Sara was quiet, thinking. “Do you think I’ll still have detention?” she asked.

  “Absolutely,” said Lucy.

  Chapter Twenty

  On Sunday morning, Lucy was on her hands and knees, delving into the back of the closet to find her good black pumps, which she’d last worn at the Mother’s Day brunch.

  Bill found her like that, rump up. He stood for a moment, enjoying the view, before he spoke. “What on earth are you doing?”

  Lucy’s voice was muffled by the clothes hanging above her. “Looking for my good shoes.”

  “Why? It’s Sunday.”

  Sundays at the Stone house were relaxing affairs, beginning with coffee and a leisurely perusal of the papers, followed by a big breakfast, which was worked off in the garden or on a long walk or bike ride.

  “Exactly,” said Lucy, emerging triumphantly with the shoes. “I’m going to church.”

  “What brought this on?” he asked. “You’re not usually much of a churchgoer.”

  It was true. The family usually went to church only at Christmas and Easter.

  “I don’t exactly know,” said Lucy, who was flipping through the hangers, trying to decide on something to wear. She was still a bit stiff and had a few bruises from her confrontation with Heather and Ashley at the cabin. “I guess I just want to hear that good is stronger than evil, something like that.”

  He stepped close and wrapped his arms around her waist. Lucy leaned back and relaxed against his broad chest, secure in his embrace. “Everything’s okay,” he said.

  She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him close. “I know, but it could have turned out a lot differently. Maybe I just need to say thank you,” she said.

  Out in the hallway, she bumped into Sara, sleepy-eyed and still in her pajamas. Her face and arms still bore red marks from the duct tape, and she was limping slightly due to sore, strained muscles.

  “How come you’re all dressed up?” she asked, squinting at her mother and scratching her head.

  “I’m going to church,” explained Lucy.

  “Oh,” said Sara, stepping into the bathroom. She turned and leaned against the doorjamb. “Can I come, too?”

  “Sure,” said Lucy, surprised. “But you’ll have to hurry. I’m leaving in ten minutes.”

  Sara didn’t make it in ten, so the church bell was ringing when Lucy found a parking spot on Main Street. As they hurried along the sidewalk, which tilted this way and that due to tree roots and frost heaves, Lucy began to have second thoughts. She and Sara had been in the news—they were part of a sensational story that had dominated the media for days—and she wondered how they’d be received. If she’d been alone, she probably would have turned right around and gone home, but she wanted to set a good example for Sara, so she marched on. Reaching the uneven granite steps that led from the sidewalk to the church, she instinctively reached for Sara’s hand, just as she used to do when the kids were little and they needed help climbing up. When that happened, Sara usually snatched her hand away, but today she didn’t do that. They were still holding hands as they approached the American Gothic arched door.

  When they stepped inside, Lucy immediately saw that the church was crowded, but no heads turned, and the murmured conversations continued. The usher smiled warmly, welcoming them and giving them each an order of service. Only a few seats were left, and they slipped into a pew at the back and waited for the service to begin.

  Soon the organist began playing the prelude, a variation on the old Shaker hymn “Simple Gifts.” As Lucy listened to the familiar tune, the words came to her.

  ‘Tis the gift to be simple,

  ‘Tis the gift to be free,

  ‘Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be…

  To turn, turn will be our delight,

  ‘Til by turning, turning we come round right.

  That simple affirmation, combined with the moving organ music, was too much for Lucy, and tears sprang to her eyes. Embarrassed, she dug around in her purse for a tissue until Sara supplied one.


  It had all come out right, she thought, gratefully. She and Sara both had some cuts and bruises and aches and pains from their ordeal in the cabin, but those were minor. It was the emotional scars that Lucy feared would be much slower to heal.

  She simply couldn’t understand why things had gone so very wrong. Why had two talented and privileged girls behaved so wickedly, throwing their brilliant futures away like so much trash? What happened? Was it their parents’ fault? Had Heather and Ashley simply erupted in reaction to their parents’ relentless pressure to succeed? Or was society to blame, in all its crassness and materialism? Or had they been possessed by some demonic, evil force? She was hoping the church would provide some answers.

  The procession was a welcome distraction from her thoughts, and Lucy sang along as the choir made its way down the aisle, singing “Faith of Our Fathers.” It was a favorite she remembered well from her youth. Then came readings from the Old and New Testaments, a responsive reading, and recitations of the Apostles’ Creed and the Lord’s Prayer, both familiar and comforting to Lucy, who’d learned them as a child in Sunday school.

  Then Rev. Sykes took the pulpit to deliver his sermon. He didn’t begin immediately but stood, gazing out at the congregation and gripping both sides of the carved wooden lectern, which held the pages of his sermon.

  “I see we’re rather crowded,” he finally said, prompting a ripple of laughter. “Perhaps so many of you came because you are troubled by recent events in our town. I am troubled, too, and as I prepared my sermon this week, I thought I would talk about the problem of evil. But when I began to gather my thoughts on the subject, I realized I don’t understand evil very well. Not many people do. In fact, when I did some research and looked the word evil up in the dictionary, I found a notation that the word is rarely used anymore. Evil apparently doesn’t fit well with the modern consciousness.

  “So I decided instead to talk about goodness, about love, but that subject also eluded me. I finally decided to speak about truth, because it seems to me that truth is the essence of God. Some say God is love, but unless there is truth, there cannot be love. And I would also venture to say that truth recognizes and banishes evil. And as we all know from the terrible tragedy that has rocked our town, evil does exist, even if we don’t want to talk about it and call it by name. Evil thrives in the dark. It flourishes and grows in the hypocrisy and confusion created by lies. Evil withers when it is exposed to the bright, searing, healing light of truth.