Silver Anniversary Murder

by Leslie Meier

  She reached the Pennysaver office and slid into a vacant parking spot right in front; it was late afternoon and the little town was emptying as people headed home for the night. She wanted to take advantage of the fact that she would have the office to herself to get a head start on the happy couples story, which she knew would be challenging. She unlocked the door and went in, flipping on the lights and powering up her computer. But when she faced the empty screen she realized she didn’t know where to start.

  Writer’s block was not something she was familiar with, but she had come across a few tips in the course of her career . Just start was one piece of advice she’d heard, and she tried typing in a few random thoughts but soon ran out of steam. Start with a quote was another bit of advice, so she reached for the battered office copy of Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations but didn’t find anything that seemed to suit. Shoving the thick book aside, she thought enviously of Ben and Willa’s upcoming trip to Morocco, which they were able to take thanks to saved air miles and Airbnb.

  On impulse, she Googled Airbnb and much to her surprise found a reasonably priced studio apartment in Beth’s neighborhood. Well, not quite Beth’s posh district, but close enough, on the other side of the park, the West Side. That left the problem of airfare, but after a bit more poking about on the computer she found a travel site that offered some very low fares, although her itinerary required taking a very early Saturday morning flight and involved changing planes in Cleveland for some crazy reason. That left her with the problem of time. She was going to have to beg Ted to give her some vacation time and, even more challenging, she would have to convince Bill that she needed some time to herself. She suspected that taking a vacation from her marriage was going to be a lot trickier than taking one from her job.

  Now that she had a plan, she found she was able to write the story. “There’s no single recipe for a long and happy marriage,” she began, going on to write sympathetic portraits of three of the couples she’d interviewed. She struggled a bit when she got to Warren and Sylvia, but discovered that if she deleted Sylvia’s negative comments about Warren from her quotes she could present them as a contented couple united in their complementary businesses. Sylvia did say, after all, that “Warren is a good husband” and “the limo business is doing very well.” She just left off the parts about him being a “work in progress” and having “to keep on top of him.”

  Finally satisfied with her story, Lucy hit SAVE. She stood up, stretched, and headed home for the night. Home to her husband, who she hoped wouldn’t mind pizza, again.

  * * *

  Next morning Ted welcomed Lucy with a big smile. He was already at his desk when she arrived, fresh from a gossipy breakfast with her friends. “Super job on the happy marriages story, Lucy. I don’t know how you did it, but you managed to make the Bickersons seem like a relatively congenial couple.”

  “Sounds like mission impossible,” said Phyllis, settling herself like a broody hen at her desk. Maybe it was just the reddish orange tint to her hair and the matching sweatshirt that made her look like a Rhode Island Red today.

  “I hope it doesn’t sound phony,” said Lucy, remembering the breakfast bunch’s skepticism when she told them about the story. “Everybody in town knows what they’re really like.”

  “No.” Ted shook his head. “It’s like you’re presenting another side to this couple that most people don’t see. You’re showing the stuff that keeps them together, like their businesses.”

  “Well, we’ll see. If there’s one thing I know it’s that Sylvia isn’t shy about making her displeasure known.”

  “You’ve got a week’s grace,” said Phyllis, pointing out that since deadline had passed, the story would run in the next issue.

  “That reminds me, Ted,” said Lucy, working up to requesting the time off she so desperately wanted. “I’ve been working pretty hard lately, and I’m really having a difficult time coping with my friend Beth’s death, and I was wondering if you could get along without me for a week.”

  Ted swung around in his swivel chair and adopted a serious expression. “I know, Lucy, that must be tough. I lost a golf buddy a while ago and it’s still bugging me. He had a sudden heart attack—came out of the blue—and left his wife with three young kids. ”

  “They say Beth killed herself, but I can’t believe it.”

  “When do you want to take off?”

  “Next week?”

  “Are you sure you’re not trying to avoid Sylvia?” asked Phyllis.

  “That would certainly be a benefit,” admitted Lucy.

  “Okay,” said Ted. “But you’ll have to finish up the assignments I’ve already given you.”

  Lucy bit her lip. There was quite a lot on her desk, including revised fishing regulations, a proposal to construct a new water tank, and a planning board hearing about a controversial proposal to demolish one of the town’s oldest structures. “I can work late tonight,” she said.

  “Okay then.” Hearing the little bell announce a visitor, Ted swung his chair the other way in time to see Corney Clark arrive. “Hey, Corney, what’s up?”

  “I just wanted to stop by and let you know that the Silver Anniversary Weekend is really taking off. I placed two tiny ads—it was all we could afford—in the New York Times and Boston Globe, and several local innkeepers have told me they’re already getting reservation requests. The town is going to be buzzing with well-heeled empty nesters, looking for things to buy and places to eat.”

  “That’s good news,” said Ted.

  Corney had seated herself in the visitor’s chair next to Ted’s desk and crossed her legs. “I’m thinking of dying my hair silver for the weekend,” she said, twirling a lock of hair. “What do you think?”

  Phyllis was quick to jump aboard. “Great idea! We should all do it!”

  Lucy wasn’t quite so eager. “No way. I’m doing everything I can to cover up my gray hair.”

  “Some women look really cool with gray hair.” Corney turned to Ted. “What do you think?”

  Ted held up his hands in protest. “I don’t think, not about hair color anyway.”

  “I think Lucy’s right. I think going gray is going a step too far.” Corney shrugged. “I’m actually wishing I could wash my hands of this entire shindig. After all I’ve done for Sylvia she reamed me out when she heard about the ads. She was actually yelling at me, saying they were tiny and cost far too much. It was the best I could do, with the money I had. It’s not like she’s come up with any financial support. She wants the chamber to pay for all the publicity, but she’s insisting on being in charge. I told her it doesn’t work that way and she threatened to take her complaints to the board.”

  “I wouldn’t worry if I were you,” said Lucy. “The board members think you walk on water, Corney.”

  “I am pretty fabulous if I say so myself,” said Corney, only half joking. “But it’s still annoying to have to deal with unnecessary negativity.”

  “That should be Sylvia’s middle name,” said Phyllis, and they all laughed.

  Corney went on her way, and Ted turned to Lucy. “Hey, Lucy, before you go could you check out how the Silver Anniversary Weekend is coming along? Call a few of those innkeepers that Corney mentioned, okay?”

  Lucy sighed, only too aware that this was yet another assignment on her to-do list. “Okay,” she said, and reached for the phone.

  Her first call was to the Queen Victoria Inn, commonly called the Queen Vic. This venerable old establishment had stood on a leafy knoll in the center of town, from where its patrons could sit in rocking chairs on the porch and watch the local goings-on. It was the town’s only three-diamond inn, a fact that the rates reflected.

  Lucy’s call was answered on the first ring. “Queen Victoria Inn. How may I help you?”

  Lucy recognized the voice as belonging to the manager, Bill Pusey.

  “Hi, Bill,” she began. “It’s Lucy from the Pennysaver. I’m just doing a little survey for a story on the up
coming Silver Anniversary Weekend.”

  “We’re booked solid, and frankly, I’m amazed. June is usually very quiet for us, but this Silver Anniversary Weekend is putting us on the map. I’ve had to turn people away. And money’s no object for these folks. There were lots of requests for suites, more than I can handle. I’m looking for extra help, too. Anybody you know who wants to pick up a few bucks for a weekend’s work changing beds?”

  Lucy filed that thought away, thinking that Sara and Zoe might be interested. “I’ve got two able-bodied daughters.”

  “Have them stop by. I need waitresses, too, if they’re squeamish about cleaning rooms.”

  “I sure will. Any idea where these people heard about Silver Anniversary Weekend?”

  “The New York Times. It’s all from that teeny little ad.”

  “Interesting,” said Lucy, typing as she talked. “Thanks.”

  “No, thank you,” said Bill. “We appreciate all you do for us at the Pennysaver.”

  Unused to such sentiments, Lucy blushed. “Just doing my job.”

  After making a few more calls, Lucy was able to whip through a story reporting that hotel bookings were very positive for the upcoming Silver Anniversary Weekend. She called the state fish and game department and got an explanation for the changes in the freshwater fishing regulations, and spent all afternoon pursuing members of the water commission about the expensive proposal to build a new water tank. Then she headed home, intending to whip up a quick supper so she could attend the planning board meeting at seven o’clock that evening.

  She was dumping a bag of prepackaged salad into a bowl when she got a call on her cell phone and she was surprised to see it was from Dante.

  “How’s it going?” she asked.

  “Some days are better than others,” he said in a thick voice that made Lucy wonder if he’d been drinking.

  “That’s to be expected. It gets better with time.”

  “That’s what they tell me.” He sighed. “Some days I really feel like I can’t go on. I mean, I find myself heading for the Brooklyn Bridge and I’m afraid what I might do.”

  For a moment, Lucy thought her heart had stopped beating. “Oh, no, Dante, please don’t. Don’t do anything rash.”

  “I shouldn’t be bothering you like this,” he said.

  “It’s not a bother. I’m your ad hoc mom, remember.” Lucy collapsed into a chair at the round, golden oak kitchen table and leaned on her elbow, bent over the phone. “You’re such a special person and so many people love you.” She was so focused on the call that she didn’t notice Bill had come home and was standing behind her, expecting his usual welcome.

  “It’s just so hard. I don’t even want to get out of bed in the morning. She was my mother, you know? Why wasn’t that enough for her?” Dante’s voice broke and he sobbed. “She used to say we were the Dynamic Duo. The husbands came and went, but she promised that didn’t change anything between us, that she would always be there for me. Turns out it was all a big lie. It’s like she didn’t love me.”

  “That’s not true,” said Lucy. “I know that for a fact. And I love you, too. And I’m working on coming to the city, probably on Saturday. Can you hang on that long? Just a couple of days. For me?”

  Getting a mumbled assent, Lucy ended the call. She laid the phone on the table and stood up, wiping her eyes. Still blinking back tears, she turned, intending to continue fixing supper, and encountered her husband. Bill did not look pleased.

  “What was that all about?” demanded Bill. “Who is this guy?”

  “I was talking to Dante. Beth’s son.”

  “Likely story.” His face was red and he was clenching and unclenching his fists. “Are you having an affair?”

  Lucy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Are you crazy?”

  “Don’t call me crazy! I come home from a hard day at work and you’re crooning sweet nothings into the phone—I love you, can you hang on a couple of days, for me? That’s pretty suggestive stuff.”

  “He’s grief stricken. His mother killed herself. It’s a terrible thing for anyone to have to deal with, and he’s an only child. They were very close.”

  Bill’s expression softened, but he still wasn’t convinced. “So you want to rush back to New York to console this kid? What about me? What about the girls? You’ve got responsibilities here.”

  Lucy rolled her eyes. “Oh, give it up, Bill. You’re a big boy and the girls consider me more of a nuisance than anything else. . . .”

  “What do you mean?” he demanded. “They don’t think you’re a nuisance. That’s not true.”

  “That just shows how little you know,” declared Lucy, as a little seed of anger and resentment began to sprout. “I’m the one always throwing a monkey wrench into their plans. They’d both love to get out of this house and on their own in some off-campus apartment where they could do Lord-knows-what. Boys, booze, and probably drugs.”

  Bill was not about to hear his daughters, his little angels, maligned. “Now you’re going too far, Lucy.”

  “So you’ll accuse me of infidelity, but you think your daughters are little sweethearts, pure as the driven snow?”

  Bill let out a huge breath. “I’m sorry. I can’t help being jealous, even after all these years.”

  Lucy went to the sink and poured herself a glass of water, which she drank slowly, hoping it would dilute her warring emotions. Setting the glass down, she sighed. “I’m sorry, too. Dante is really suffering, and to tell the truth, so am I. This Beth thing has thrown me for a loop. I’m all at sixes and sevens.”

  “And you want to go to the city for the weekend?”

  Sensing she had Bill on the ropes, Lucy resorted to a tactic she saved for extreme cases: she pouted. “For a week.”

  “A whole week? Where will you stay?”

  “I found an Airbnb. It’s cheap, and I checked my credit card and I’ve got miles I can use if I fly to New York via Cleveland.”

  Suddenly, Bill was laughing. “Cleveland?”

  “Yeah.” Lucy was laughing, too. “Go figure.”

  Then they were in each other’s arms, and Lucy was pressing her cheek against Bill’s soft flannel shirt, hearing his big heart thumping away. “I love you.”

  Then Bill was pressing his lips against hers, and she melted into a lovely kiss. It ended, and she stroked his beard, wishing they could scamper up the stairway and into bed. But they couldn’t, because the girls were due home any minute. Then she had an intriguing thought. “You could join me in the city for that last weekend. It would be nice to be together, just us two.”

  “It would,” said Bill, coming in for another kiss as the door flew open.

  “Oh, yuck!” exclaimed Zoe.

  “Aren’t you too old for this sort of thing?” demanded Sara.

  The two sisters marched through the kitchen and thumped up the narrow back staircase, headed for their rooms.

  “I’ll check on flights tonight,” said Bill as they stepped apart.

  “But don’t tell the girls until the last minute,” whispered Lucy. “We don’t want them to know they’ll have the house to themselves for the whole weekend.”

  Bill’s eyebrows rose. “Why not?”

  She patted his cheek. “When the cat’s away . . .”

  “Not our girls,” he insisted.

  “I hope you’re right,” she said, going back to her salad.

  Chapter Seven

  Once she’d made the Airbnb and plane reservations, Lucy was eager to be off, but she had a whole day to get through. Friday turned out to be a very long day indeed, beginning with the ring of the alarm, which woke her out of a deep sleep. She’d been up late the night before at the planning board meeting, which didn’t end until after eleven, and then she’d had trouble falling asleep. When she finally did doze off she slept fitfully, waking every few hours with the uneasy sense that she’d had a nightmare but unable to remember what had frightened her.

  Bill was already up.
She could hear the shower running. When he came in, his hair still damp and wearing only a towel, he greeted her with a sexy smile. “I love the way you look in the morning, with your hair mussed and your eyes still sleepy.”

  “And my breath all stinky and my bladder ready to burst,” replied Lucy, throwing back the covers and groping around the rag rug beside the bed for her slippers.

  “You sure know how to dash a fella’s hopes.” Bill had dropped the towel and was pulling on his briefs. “Patrick called last night. He was sad he missed you.”

  “Patrick!” Lucy loved chatting via the computer with her grandson who lived in Alaska. “Patrick called and I missed him?”

  “Yeah. He looked good. He’s all excited about soccer. He got his first goal. We’ve got the video, and Toby posted it on Facebook.”

  Lucy grabbed her phone and took it with her into the bathroom, where she replayed the goal several times while seated on the commode. She considered watching one more time while she brushed her teeth, but decided that perching the phone on the edge of the sink probably wasn’t a good idea.

  Pulling on her robe, she headed down to the kitchen, where she found Sara and Zoe arguing over the last container of yogurt.

  “I’ll take that, thank you,” she said, plucking it out of Zoe’s hands and ending the argument. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table, placing the unopened yogurt in front of her.

  “Aren’t you going to eat it?” demanded Sara.

  “Maybe.” Lucy took a long swallow of coffee.

  “Mom, you always say that we shouldn’t take food unless we’re going to eat it,” protested Zoe.

  Lucy sighed and took another long drink of coffee. “I’m really not up to arguing this morning,” she said. “There’s cereal, English muffins, bagels, juice, eggs. I’m sure you can find something to eat. Or if you really have to have yogurt you can pick some up at the Quik-Stop on your way to class.”