Star Spangled Murder

by Leslie Meier

  Judging from their pleased expressions, Lucy understood the board members were congratulating themselves on their good judgement and wise management of a resource they hadn’t actually known they had. Whatever they’d been doing, it had apparently been the right thing, at least for purple-spotted lichen.

  “And how do you suggest we continue to care for this rare and wonderful little plant?” asked Ellie.

  “That brings me to my next illustration,” said Franke, flipping to the next page on his chart, a map of the town with prime lichen areas indicated by purple patches of color.

  “As you can clearly see,” he said, making the little red laser dot dance over the map, “one area of particular concern is out on Quisset Point. This is actually the town’s largest community of purple-spotted lichen, thanks to the abundance of ferrous rock.”

  The board members nodded, indicating their high level of interest in an issue that was surely noncontroversial and certain to resonate positively with voters.

  “That is why our organization, the Association for the Preservation of Tinker’s Cove, is here tonight to request the cancellation of the upcoming July Fourth fireworks display.”

  All five board members were stunned, even Bud Collins, who had been nodding off. They had certainly not expected this.

  “I’d like a clarification,” said White. “Did you say you want us to cancel the fireworks?”

  “You mean call them off?” demanded Marzetti.

  “No fireworks at all?” exclaimed Crowley. “Isn’t that un-American?”

  “Believe me, we are not making this request lightly,” said Franke, looking very serious. “We wouldn’t consider it except for these facts.” He lifted a finger. “A: The lichen is severely endangered throughout the state. B: The lichen is extremely fragile and easily damaged by foot traffic. And C: The lichen is highly flammable and one errant spark could wipe out the entire Quisset Point colony.”

  “I get you,” said Crowley. “What say we move the fireworks off the point? Onto a barge or something?”

  “Once again I believe there would be substantial risk from sparks.”

  Crowley scratched his head. “Okay, you say this is the best colony in the entire state, right? Well how come, if we’ve had the fireworks out there every year since who knows when? I mean, maybe this pinkyspotted moss likes fireworks! Have you thought of that, hey?”

  “Actually, we have, and we’ve concluded that the continuing success of this particular colony of purple-spotted lichen is nothing less than miraculous. We’ve been lucky so far, but it’s far too dangerous to continue endangering this highly-stressed species.”

  The board was silent, considering this.

  “Can I say something?”

  Lucy turned and saw Scratch Hallett was on his feet, his VFW cap in his hand.

  “Please do,” invited White, desperate for an alternative to calling off the fireworks.

  “This just don’t seem right to me,” began Hallett. “A lot of folks have fought and some have even made the supreme sacrifice to keep America the land of the free and the home of the brave. We celebrate that freedom on the Fourth of July, always have, ever since 1776, and I don’t see what this purple-spotted stuff has got to do with it. We didn’t know we had it, none of us did except these here environmentalists. I never noticed it myself, and I don’t care about it. We defeated the Germans and the Japanese and just lately the Iraqis so we could enjoy freedom, and you’re telling me we have to stop because of an itty-bitty little plant?”

  “Mr. Franke, would you care to reply?” said White. “I think this gentleman has made an important point.”

  “Yes, yes he has,” said Franke, beginning diplomatically. “And I and the other members of the Association value our American values and freedoms as much as anyone, and the sacrifices made by members of the Armed Forces. I want to assure you of that. But,” he continued, his voice taking on a certain edge, “I’d also like to remind you that the purple-spotted lichen is on the list of endangered species in this state and is therefore subject to all the protections provided by the state’s environmental protection statute, which includes substantial penalties to any person or agency judged to have caused harm to said species.”

  The board members looked miserable. If she hadn’t known better, Lucy would have suspected they were all coming down with an intestinal virus.

  “As much as I hate to cancel the fireworks, it seems to me we have a responsibility to preserve our environment,” said Ellie.

  “I think we have to look at the APTC track record,” said Crowley. “They’ve been active in our town for a good while now, and Tinker’s Cove is a better place for it. We’ve preserved open space, we’ve maintained our community character, I think we’ve got to give them the benefit of the doubt on this one.”

  “I don’t know what community character you’re talking about. It’s things like the Fourth of July parade and the fireworks that give our town character. I refuse to vote against the fireworks,” declared Marzetti, who had grown hot around the collar.

  “Well said,” drawled Bud Collins.

  “Is this a vote?” Howard White seemed uncharacteristically confused.

  The others nodded.

  “Two for and two against. I guess it’s up to me.”

  The room was silent.

  “My inclination is to hold the fireworks. It’s been a tradition in this town for as long as I’ve been here and I hate to see it end.” White sighed. “But I truly believe it would be irresponsible and futile to ignore the state regulation. It would set a bad precedent and it would cost us dearly in the end. It’s with great sorrow that I vote to discontinue the fireworks display.”

  He had hardly finished speaking when Scratch Hallett was on his feet, marching out of the room. He paused at the door. “This isn’t the end of this,” he declared, as he set his VFW hat on his head. “We may have lost the battle, but we haven’t lost the war!”

  Chapter Two

  The buzz of the alarm woke Lucy and she squinted, trying to make out the time. Five-thirty. There must be some mistake. Then reality gradually dawned and she remembered it was Wednesday, deadline day. It was no mistake. She had to get up.

  With a groan she sat up and groped with her feet for her slippers. Then she slipped on her lightweight summer robe and headed downstairs to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. While it dripped she made a quick stop in the downstairs powder room, then went outside and down the driveway to get the morning paper. Kudo greeted her with a wagging tail and she stopped by the kennel to stroke the big, yellow dog’s long nose, which he poked through the heavy-duty wire mesh fencing. Then she went back inside to drink her first cup of coffee and check her horoscope. It didn’t look good: only two stars out of a possible five. Not that she really believed that stuff. Not at all.

  At six she climbed back upstairs with a cup of coffee for Bill and to wake Elizabeth, who had to be at work at the Queen Victoria Inn by seven. Elizabeth liked to cut it close and sacrificed breakfast in favor of an extra half-hour of sleep before starting work at her summer job as a chambermaid. Lucy knew she was counting the days until she could go back to Chamberlain College in Boston to begin her sophomore year. Toby, the oldest, was already gone; he’d left the house well before four. He was working for Chuck Swift on his lobster boat this summer and had to be down at the harbor before dawn.

  While Bill enjoyed his coffee in bed, checking out the sports pages, Lucy got dressed. Since she’d be in the office all day and didn’t have any interviews, she opted for comfort in a pair of khaki shorts and a polo shirt. It was already warm and there was every sign it would be a scorcher of a day.

  Elizabeth wasn’t up yet, so she called her again. “You’re going to be late,” she warned. Elizabeth groaned in reply. Encouraged, Lucy went back downstairs and popped an English muffin in the toaster. She was sitting at the table, eating it, when Elizabeth sped through the kitchen, the apron strings of her uniform streaming behind her. Minute
s later she was back.

  “My car won’t start.”

  “You probably flooded it. Give it a minute and try again.”

  “A minute!” she shrieked. “I haven’t got a minute!”

  “Shhh. You’re going to wake up Sara and Zoe.” The youngest girls were still asleep; Friends of Animals day camp didn’t start until eight-thirty. Since she had to be at the Pennysaver as early as possible, Bill would drop them off, starting a bit later than usual on his current project, restoring an old oneroom schoolhouse that had been moved from New Hampshire to become a guest house for some wealthy summer people.

  “Let me take your car, okay, Mom? Please?”

  “But what if I can’t start your car, either? Then I’ll be stuck. Call and tell them you’re running late. They’ll understand.”

  “I’ve already been warned, Mom!” Elizabeth was close to hysterics. “They’ll fire me.”

  “Well, whose fault is that?” grumbled Lucy. Maybe there was more to those horoscopes than she thought.

  “I know. I know. I’ll do better in the future I promise. If only you let me take the car this one time. Please. Pretty please.”

  Lucy knew she was making a big mistake.

  “Okay,” she said, handing over the keys. “But this is the last time.”

  “Thanks, Mom. You’re the best.”

  When Lucy tried to start Elizabeth’s car, the engine didn’t sound right. “RRR,” it droned. “RRR.” After a few tries she gave up and went back into the house to get help from Bill.

  “The battery’s dead,” said Bill, who had progressed to the breakfast table.

  “Are you sure?” asked Lucy. “How can you tell?”

  “I can tell,” said Bill.

  “Can’t we jump it or something?”

  “I doubt it’ll hold a charge. You’d just stall out somewhere and get stuck,” said Bill. “You’ll have to ride with me.”

  “I’ll be late,” groaned Lucy. “On deadline day.”

  “Nothing you can do about it,” said Bill, with a shrug. “You might as well relax and have another cup of coffee.”

  At a quarter past eight, the girls were ready to go, but they didn’t like the idea of cramming into the cab of the pickup truck along with their parents.

  “Can’t we ride in back?” asked Sara.

  “Mom’ll squish me,” observed Zoe, smoothing her new summer outfit.

  “It’s way too hot in the truck,” whined Sara.

  “Get a move on,” snapped Bill. “Time’s a wasting.”

  “Bill,” asked Lucy, as she struggled to get the seat belt around herself and Zoe, who was sitting on her lap. “Will you pick up a battery?”

  “I will not.”

  “We’ve got to get that car back on the road. What will Elizabeth do?”

  “She can damn well take care of it herself. It’ll be good for her. Teach her a valuable lesson.” He paused. “You’re way too soft on that girl.”

  “Right,” said Lucy, wondering why she couldn’t take the same hard line that Bill did.

  “You’re late,” said Ted, when she finally arrived at the Pennysaver.

  “I know,” said Lucy. “Car trouble.”

  “I don’t want excuses. . . .”

  “Not again. I’ve already been through this with Bill.” Lucy practically growled at him. “You’ll have your story. On time.”

  “Okay, okay.” Ted held up his hands and turned to Phyllis. “Must be that time of the month.”

  “I wouldn’t go there if I were you,” warned Phyllis. “I have proofs to check,” said Ted. “I’ll be in the morgue.”

  Good place for him, thought Lucy, as she booted up her computer. If only he could stay there permanently. With Bill. They could sit and congratulate themselves on issuing tough lines and demands and ultimatums while the women of the world conciliated and compromised and kept things going.

  “Anything much happen at the meeting?’ asked Phyllis. The little fan she’d set up on her desk didn’t even ruffle her hair-sprayed hair.

  Lucy stared out the plate glass window, through the old-fashioned wood venetian blinds. A few early tourists were cruising Main Street, looking for breakfast. Mostly older couples, the men sporting captain’s caps and the women with straw sun hats.

  “They canceled the Fourth of July fireworks,” said Lucy.

  Phyllis choked on her coffee. “What?”

  Ted stuck his head out of the morgue. “What?”

  “You heard me. They canceled the fireworks. ’Cause of this purple-spotted lichen. It’s endangered. At least that’s what Jonathan Franke and the APTC people say.”

  “Lichen?”

  “A flowerless plant composed of algae and fungi in a symbiotic relationship,” said Lucy, quoting from the dictionary open on her desk. “It grows on rocks. And there’s a major colony growing on the rocks out at Quisset Point.”

  “So why can’t they move the fireworks?” asked Phyllis, looking quite perturbed.

  “That was suggested, but they’d have to be in the cove so people could see them and there’s a danger of falling sparks.”

  “The board actually voted to cancel the fireworks?” asked Ted, incredulous.

  “They weren’t happy about it,” said Lucy. “But I think they figured it was that or face all kinds of penalties from the state. This lichen is on the endangered species list. And Franke as much as threatened to take them to court and they’re terrified of spending taxpayer’s money on legal fees.”

  “What does it look like?” asked Phyllis. “I never heard of it.”

  “It’s that patchy stuff on rocks and trees.”

  “Like barnacles?”

  “Kind of. It’s softer. Sort of fuzzy.”

  “With purple spots?”

  “I guess so. It’s called purple-spotted lichen. It must have spots. Purple ones.”

  “We’re going to need a picture,” said Ted, reaching for his camera. “Quisset Point, you say?”

  “Just look for the spotty stuff.”

  He left in a hurry, slamming the door behind him and making the little bell fastened to the top jangle.

  “I wouldn’t want to be one of those selectmen,” said Phyllis. “This isn’t going to be popular. Not at all.”

  “The VFW’s already declared war,” said Lucy.

  “I’m not surprised.”

  It wasn’t the VFW who fired the first salvo, however. It was the Chamber of Commerce. When Ted returned with his film he was accompanied by chamber president Corney Clark, who was toting a picnic basket. Corney operated a successful catering business out of her stylish home on Smith Heights Road.

  “I know it’s deadline day and you all work under so much pressure, so I brought you some relaxing herb tea and some fresh-baked corn muffins with my homemade lavender-lemon marmalade,” she cooed. “Lavender is sooo relaxing.”

  In a matter of moments Corney had spread a blue and white checked cloth on the reception counter and topped it with an artful arrangement including a basket of muffins, a crock of marmalade and a cute vase of pansies. A thermos held the tea, which Corney was pouring into blue and white striped mugs.

  “Sugar?” she asked.

  “Sure,” said Lucy, absolutely amazed.

  “Ted, would you like a muffin? With marmalade?”

  “M-m-muffin,” stammered Ted. “Thanks.”

  “This lavender marmalade isn’t half bad,” said Phyllis, talking with her mouth full. “I wouldn’t have thought it, but it’s very good.”

  “I’m so glad you like it,” said Corney, taking a chair, crossing her legs and getting down to business. “Now, Ted, I have a letter to the editor here from the Chamber about the fireworks. It’s very timely and I hope you can get it in this week’s paper.”

  Lucy knew the editorial page was already set, ready to go to the printer.

  “Sorry, but that’s impossible,” mumbled Ted, biting into a second muffin.

  “It’s extremely important,” contin
ued Corney. “I think we’re all in favor of protecting endangered species, but the local economy is also something of an endangered species, especially if this fireworks ban isn’t lifted. The Fourth of July celebration with the fireworks is traditionally the beginning of our summer tourist season, and Ted, I’m sure you know how much many local businesses rely on the tourists.”

  She flourished the letter, making Lucy wonder where she’d had it stashed. Was the woman a magician?

  “Of course, this is all stated much better in the letter,” continued Corney. “Joe Marzetti and I and some of the chamber members got together first thing this morning. We decided it would be best to simply ask the selectmen to reconsider the probable impact of canceling the fireworks.”

  “Great letter,” said Ted. “But I’ll have to run it next week.”

  “Now, Ted, I don’t mean to tell you your business, but you’re missing the boat here. This is a hot issue. Everybody’s going to be waiting for their Pennysaver this week, believe me. You don’t want to let your readers down.”

  Lucy found herself agreeing with Corney. “She’s got a point, Ted. Why not run it in a little box, a sidebar to my story.”

  “Old news is no news,” said Phyllis.

  Ted knew when he was beat.

  “Okay,” he said. “I could use a little more of that tea.”

  “My pleasure,” said Corney, reaching for the thermos. She paused before pouring, holding it in mid air. “No fireworks, and now Pru Pratt wants an anti-skinny-dipping bylaw!” She giggled. “What’s the town coming to?”

  Corney was just packing up her picnic basket when the contingent from the VFW arrived, dressed in their parade uniforms, already wilted from the heat. Scratch Hallett had brought reinforcements; he was accompanied by the post commander, Bill Bridges, and the chaplain, Rev. Clive Macintosh. They stood in a line, hats in hands, and saluted Ted.

  “Good morning, gentlemen. What can I do for you?” he inquired.

  “It’s about the fireworks,” began Bridges, removing his cap and mopping his forehead with a large red bandanna.