Star Spangled Murder

by Leslie Meier

  “I can’t believe this,” said Lucy, her teeth chattering. “Doesn’t Pam pay any attention to Coast Guard regulations? You’re supposed to have . . .”

  “I know. I know,” snapped Sue, cutting her off. “But she’s a free spirit. And all she uses the boat for is to putter around in the cove. I bet she never goes past the point.”

  “Still,” fumed Lucy. “It’s awfully irresponsible.”

  “She probably didn’t realize we’d be borrowing her boat,” said Sue, wrapping her arms around Lucy in an effort to stay warm.

  “I know,” said Lucy, slipping her arms around Sue’s waist. “We’ll be okay.”

  “I’m freezing.” Sue’s teeth were chattering.

  “Me, too.”

  “We’ll yell, on the count of three. Ahoy. Okay?”

  They yelled, and then they listened. There was no sound except the lapping of the water against the side of the boat.

  “At least it’s calm,” said Sue.

  “There is that,” agreed Lucy, shivering. “I’m starving. I didn’t eat any lunch.”

  “Let’s yell again,” suggested Sue.

  They yelled, but all around them there was nothing but silence. Lucy thought of the old sailor’s prayer that was often printed on little wooden plaques and sold in gift shops: “Lord, thy sea is so great and my boat is so small . . .”

  “I hear something,” said Sue. “Listen!”

  Lucy listened, then shook her head.

  “No, really. It’s a hum. A definite hum. Like an engine.”

  “Ahoy!!” yelled Lucy. “Mayday! Mayday!”

  “Together!” ordered Sue, and they yelled together, at the top of their lungs. Lucy was starting to get hoarse when she finally heard the motor.

  “It’s coming closer!”

  “We have to keep yelling.” Sue counted off three on her fingers, and they both screamed.

  Through the fog, they could just make out a dark shape.

  “We see you!” yelled Sue.

  The engine noise immediately grew quieter, as the boat cut its speed. Even so, it seemed to be coming awfully fast and the two women held on to their oars tightly, prepared to move quickly if they had to. There was no need, however, as the huge shape became clearer and glided towards them. It was the Carrie Ann.

  “Mom!” exclaimed Toby. “What are you doing out here?”

  Chuck maneuvered the larger boat carefully, bringing it close enough so that Toby could throw them a rope. Once the rowboat was tied fast, he helped them scramble aboard the larger lobster boat, where they were immediately wrapped in blankets and given hot coffee.

  “Fog sneak up on you?” asked Chuck.

  “You could say that,” replied Sue.

  “This is a real pea souper. You were lucky we found you.”

  Shivering, Lucy clutched her coffee in shaking hands. She didn’t want to think about what might have been, but Toby wasn’t going to let her off the hook.

  “What were you thinking?” he demanded. “That’s not a regulation life jacket. And where was your fog horn? What about a compass? Don’t you have any navigational equipment?”

  Sue pulled herself up to her full height and glared at him. “We had sunscreen,” she said.

  “That’s something, I guess,” grumbled Toby, reaching for the thermos and refilling their cups.

  It was only when they were safely docked and alighting from the boat that Chuck mentioned Sue’s outfit.

  “Were you on your way to a funeral or something?” he asked.

  “Actually,” she said, “I went to one this morning.” She paused. “Boy, that seems like a lifetime ago.”

  “Well, next time you take your boat out, make sure you’ve got the proper equipment. This could’ve been your funeral.”

  “I will,” said Sue. “Thanks for everything.” She turned to Lucy. “Are you coming?”

  “No, I’ll catch a ride with Toby,” she said.

  Toby didn’t seem pleased with that idea. “It’ll be a while, Mom,” he said. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  “I want to help,” said Lucy, determined to make amends for her foolishness. “Just tell me what to do.”

  Chuck and Toby glanced at each other.

  “Really,” insisted Lucy. “I’m strong and capable. What do you want me to do?”

  “Okay,” said Chuck. “You can hose off the deck. There’s a pipe stand and hose about halfway down the dock.”

  While Lucy went to get the hose, Chuck and Toby busied themselves unloading their haul. Each heavy box was hoisted out of the hold and onto the pier, then placed on a wheelbarrow to be taken to Chuck’s pickup truck. Once the truck was full, he drove the short distance across the parking lot to the cooperative’s refrigerated truck. When the day’s catch was in, the truck took it to the fish markets in Boston and New York.

  “Good haul?” she asked, as she began hosing down the fiberglass deck.

  “Pretty good,” said Chuck, grunting with the effort of lifting a plastic fish box filled with lobsters. “The catch has been up last few days.”

  “You know, I saw the Pratts’ boat heading out to sea. It was sitting very low in the water.”

  Toby ducked and turned, suddenly very interested in getting the cover fastened tight on one of the plastic fish boxes.

  “Maybe they haven’t cleaned out the bilge for a while,” said Chuck, a smile curving his lips. “All it takes is a little leak, or maybe the pump’s not working the way it should, and you can take on quite a bit of water. It’s gradual, so you might not notice.”

  “Especially if you’re kind of lazy to start with,” added Toby, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

  “Yeah,” mused Chuck. “They’re not exactly poster boys for good seamanship.”

  “Or maybe they’ve got a hold full of something they shouldn’t have, like other people’s lobsters,” said Lucy.

  “Or bales of marijuana,” said Chuck, laughing. “It’s been known to happen.”

  “Do you think that’s what they’re doing?”

  “I don’t know what they’re doing and I don’t care,” said Chuck. He put his hands on his hips and surveyed the boat. “Nice job, Lucy. Thanks.”

  “No problem,” said Lucy.

  Chuck slapped Toby on the shoulder. “See you tomorrow, buddy.”

  “Right.”

  In Toby’s Jeep, with the hot, asphalt-scented breeze whipping through the torn fabric roof and doors, Lucy soon discovered the tables had turned. This time it was her turn to get a scolding.

  “Is that what you were doing? Following the Pratts? Why would you do that? Don’t you know I’ve got this pretrial hearing coming up? This is the last thing I need. Believe me, I’m staying as clear of Wesley as I can and you should, too. For all I care, he can steal the whole damn town. I’m not saying a word.”

  “That’s crazy, Toby. If he is doing something illegal and you knew about it and fought with him to get him to stop, well, that would be a mitigating circumstance.”

  “I’m listening to Mr. Goodman, Mom, and he said to mind my own business and stay out of trouble. And that’s what I’m going to do.” He gunned the motor as he turned onto Sue’s street and parked behind Lucy’s car. “And I wish you would, too.”

  “C’mon Toby, I know you’ve been up to something. You’re never home. Where are you spending all your time?”

  “Can’t a guy have any privacy?”

  Lucy exploded. “Sure, you can have all the privacy you want when you move into your own place. But while you’re living in my house, I think I deserve some basic courtesy. Especially considering the fact you’ve got a court date coming up.” Her voice softened. “Don’t you understand? I worry about you.”

  Toby shifted in his seat and sighed. “Okay, Mom. You don’t have to worry. I’ve been seeing somebody.”

  “Seeing somebody? Who?”

  “A girl.”

  Lucy’s jaw dropped. “Oh.”

  “Yeah.”
/>
  “Do I know her?”

  “Sure. It’s Molly Moskowitz.” He paused. “She’s really cool.”

  “I’m sure she is,” said Lucy, opening the car door and getting out. She leaned in through the window. “You should bring her around sometime, for dinner, maybe, so we can all meet her.”

  “Yeah, Mom.” He tapped the accelerator, making the engine roar, and Lucy stepped back as he drove off.

  So Toby had a girlfriend. That was a relief, she thought, as she started the Subaru. Or was it?

  Chapter Twenty-one

  When Lucy got home, she found trouble waiting in the form of a police cruiser parked in the driveway. Its arrival had not gone unnoticed by the newshounds, and the encampment had sprouted once again on the opposite side of the road, like a weed that had been pulled only to reappear a few days later, sturdier than ever.

  As Lucy made her way down the driveway she saw Toby getting out of his Jeep. The waiting officer also got out of his cruiser and Lucy was relieved to recognize Barney. She hoped he was making a social call. Something to do with the picnic, maybe. She hurried to join them.

  “Hi!” she greeted him with a big smile. “What brings you here?”

  Barney’s face was serious; he looked more than ever like a bloodhound, and Lucy’s heart sank.

  “Actually, Lucy, I’d like to have a word with Toby.”

  Lucy felt her back stiffen. “I’ll call Bob Goodman. I don’t think Toby should say anything without Bob.”

  “It’s okay, Mom.”

  “Don’t be foolish, Toby. You’ve got a lawyer, you should follow his advice.”

  “Let me find out what it’s about before you go all hysterical,” said Toby.

  “I’m not hysterical,” said Lucy, in a very controlled voice. “But there’s no way I’m going to let him coax you into some kind of admission. . . .”

  Barney looked hurt. “Lucy, you know me better than that.”

  Lucy immediately felt ashamed of her outburst. “I’m sorry, Barney. I’m a little irrational, I admit it. I’ve had a tough day.”

  “That’s okay, then. Listen, both of you. The lab tests have come up clean on all your vehicles.”

  “That’s a relief,” said Lucy, stifling her impulse to hug Toby and do a little dance with him in the driveway.

  “Same with Wesley Pratt’s truck, too. They didn’t find any human blood, just blood from the dog.”

  “So Wesley’s in the clear?” Lucy tried not to sound disappointed.

  “Looks that way.” Barney’s jowls quivered. “Calvin, too.”

  “So where’s the investigation headed?”

  “Nowhere fast,” said Barney. “But there is something else I’d like to talk to Toby about.” He gave Lucy a meaningful look.

  “Right. I can take a hint. I’ve got to get supper started anyway,” she muttered, heading for the house.

  Once inside, she couldn’t resist watching through the glass panel in the kitchen door. But they seemed to be having nothing more than a friendly chat. They even laughed together, before shaking hands and separating. Barney went back to his cruiser and drove sedately off; Toby came in the house, whistling.

  “Did you tell him what he wanted to know?” she demanded, as soon as he was through the door.

  “I did. And Barney said he’d be sure to put in a word for me with the DA’s office.”

  “Really? Well, that’s all right then,” said Lucy, who was making a salad. “By the way, you don’t need to mention my little adventure today to anyone, okay?”

  Toby popped the top on a can of soda. “You mean Dad?” he asked, grinning mischievously.

  “Dad, or anyone, for that matter.”

  “Okay, Mom.” He took a long drink. “You don’t need to mention that stuff I told you about Molly, either. Okay?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer but bounded up the stairs to his room, where he slammed the door.

  After supper, Lucy and Bill settled down in the family room with their coffee to watch the news. “It’s been more than a week since Prudence Pratt’s lifeless body was found in her Tinker’s Cove driveway and police are no closer to solving the mystery,” began the announcer.

  His face was bland and expressionless; it was all the same to him whether he was pitching Barbara Walter’s next celebrity interview or announcing the end of the world. The report began with footage of the funeral, then turned to the “feud” between the two families. The network reran the same footage of the Stone family that had been aired so many times, ending with a new shot of the police cruiser in the driveway and Toby and Barney’s conversation. In this context it didn’t look like a friendly chat at all; the camera stopped running long before Barney and Toby laughed and shook hands.

  Without saying a word, Bill got up and left the room.

  Lucy reached for the remote, clicked off the TV and went into the kitchen. She had twenty pounds of potatoes to peel.

  She set the bag on the floor next to the sink and rinsed off a few potatoes. She scraped furiously, making little bits of peel fly every which way. It just wasn’t fair. Toby was no longer a suspect, the lab tests had cleared him, but that important piece of information hadn’t made it into the evening news report. Probably because the police hadn’t bothered to issue a statement to the press. And the media was so enraptured with the family feud story that they’d already convicted Toby without giving him the benefit of a trial.

  She was so angry that the sink was filling fast with soaking potatoes. She transferred them to a pot to cook, and drained the sink, refilling it with fresh water. She was standing there, wishing the murderer’s name would magically form in the water, when the phone rang.

  It was Rachel Goodman, Bob’s wife.

  “Are you okay, Lucy? Sue told me what happened today. You two are lucky you made it home safely.” She lowered her voice. “I can’t believe Pam didn’t have any safety equipment on that boat.”

  “She had life jackets.”

  “Come on, Lucy. Sue told me how you had to wear Adam’s old kiddie-jacket.”

  Lucy groaned. She was never going to live this down. “It wasn’t Pam’s fault. We were really stupid,” she admitted. “I don’t know what we were thinking. I haven’t even told Bill.”

  “Is that wise? He’s sure to find out anyway. Somebody’s sure to tell him.”

  “The timing’s not right. Bill’s pretty upset about the TV news tonight. It showed Barney questioning Toby. It looked pretty incriminating.”

  “Oh, nobody pays attention to TV,” said Rachel. “Don’t let it upset you. You could try meditation, or yoga, to clear your mind.”

  “Actually, I’m peeling twenty pounds of potatoes. It’s remarkably soothing.”

  “Twenty pounds! Whatever for?”

  “The picnic. Sue asked me to make twenty pounds of potato salad.”

  “That’s a lot.”

  “I know. I never made so much before.”

  “You’ll need to be very careful, you know. Did you hear about that church in Gilead? Practically the whole congregation got food poisoning at a potluck supper. It was traced back to some strawberries that weren’t properly washed.”

  Lucy glanced at the stove where two kettles full of potatoes were bubbling merrily.

  “Mayonnaise,” she said, groaning.

  “If I were you, I’d make sure the potatoes were good and cold before I added the mayo. The eggs, too. And keep it in flat pans in the refrigerator, instead of a bowl. That way it will stay colder. And make sure it’s kept on ice at the picnic.”

  “I will,” promised Lucy. “Thanks for the advice. We don’t want any more deaths in Tinker’s Cove.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  After thinking over Rachel’s warning, Lucy decided the safest course of action would be to cook the potatoes, slice them, toss them with a bit of olive oil and vinegar and chill them thoroughly in the refrigerator in a couple of plastic containers she’d bought just for the purpose. She would add the mayonnais
e and hard-boiled eggs at the last minute. It would mean leaving the ball game and dashing home just before the picnic, but she wasn’t going to risk the possibility of contamination. As it was, she planned to set the trays of potato salad in a bed of ice, considering the forecast of sunny skies and ninety degree temperatures.

  The cupcakes were another matter. They were so full of sugar and cake-mix preservatives that she didn’t have to worry about them spoiling. She brought them along when the family arrived at the softball field behind the Tinker’s Cove High School. The others went ahead while she took the cupcakes over to the long tables covered with red-and-white check tablecloths set up in the shade of the building and she added them to the mouth-watering array of brownies and cookies. Several large watermelons were cooling in a tub of ice water.

  Members of the volunteer fire department were already firing up the huge grills constructed out of fifty-five-gallon steel drums and the sharp chemical scent of charcoal starter filled the air. A small refrigerator had been set up temporarily behind the tables to hold hot dogs and hamburgers but there was no room for salads. A cluster of Crock-Pots filled with fragrant molasses-baked beans were connected to a power source by a spider’s web of extension cords. It was going to be quite a feast.

  “Where’s your potato salad?” demanded Sue, planting herself in front of Lucy.

  “At home. I’ll get it at the top of the ninth, I promise,” said Lucy, aware that she was babbling. “Rachel’s got me terrified about food poisoning.”

  “I didn’t know you murder suspects were so picky,” said Sue. She was dressed for the occasion in a red-and-white striped T-shirt and a blue denim mini skirt and had added a red, white and blue ribbon to her straw hat.

  “Ha, ha,” replied Lucy, scowling. “I was going to tell you what a fantastic job you’ve done organizing all this but now I don’t think I will.”

  “It’s pretty amazing, if I do say so myself,” said Sue. “I’ve even arranged for some surprises.”

  “Like what?”

  “Wait and see,” said Sue.

  The sun was shining, balloons were bobbing in the breeze and the discordant notes of the high school band tuning their instruments were heard as Lucy made her way to the packed bleachers where Bill was saving a seat for her. Some of the players, including Toby, were out on the field, warming up, stretching their muscles and tossing balls back and forth. Groups of teenage girls clustered near the dugouts, arranging themselves to advantage in the midriff-baring outfits that were currently the rage. Younger kids were chasing each other, playing endless games of tag. The very youngest, the babies, were tucked in backpacks and strollers, or were napping on blankets spread out on the grass under the trees. It looked to Lucy like a Norman Rockwell painting.