by Leslie Meier
When Lucy entered by the front door, she was hit by a wall of noise coming from the counter, which was packed, and by the almost irresistible aroma of bacon, coffee and fresh doughnuts. She stiffened her resolve to limit herself to a cup of black coffee, reminding herself that she had already eaten her usual bowl of raisin bran, and headed for the tables at the back, where it was quieter.
There she spotted Sue, sitting in a corner. Even from across the room she looked glum, slumped over a newspaper. Lucy touched her on the shoulder and she gave a little jump.
“Wow, you’re really tense,” said Lucy. She doubted that all this anxiety was caused by the wedding arrangements; something else was going on and she wanted to know what it was.
“I was reading the paper and you startled me,” said Sue.
Lucy thought her tone was a bit defensive and resolved to proceed carefully.
“Something interesting?”
Sue shook her head and shoved the paper aside. “What will you have?” she asked, signaling the waitress.
“Just coffee,” said Lucy, feeling rather virtuous.
“Make that two,” Sue told Helen, the waitress who had worked at Jake’s for as long as anybody could remember.
“You’re making a mistake,” said Helen. “We’ve got French toast on special today. Dollar ninety-nine.”
“That’s so tempting,” said Lucy with a sigh. “But I can’t. I really can’t.”
“How about you?” Helen turned to Sue. “Something sweet might cheer you up.”
“I don’t think French toast will do it,” muttered Sue.
“Oh, dear,” said Helen. “This sounds serious. I’ll have that coffee in a jiffy.”
“You know what I’d like to do?” Sue narrowed her eyes. “I’d like to put Thelma on a griddle, just like a piece of French toast, and watch her sizzle.”
Lucy looked over Sue’s shoulder to the front of the shop, where the grill and coffee urns were located. She could just imagine Thelma writhing on the grill, her feet in the air, frantically waving her ridiculous shoes.
“What has she done now?” she asked.
Sue pressed her lips together and hissed a reply. “She’s throwing a shower.”
Lucy looked up as Helen placed two steaming mugs on the table. “But you told her a shower is out of the question. Besides, who’s she going to invite?”
“Lucy, do you see a pattern here? No matter what I say, she goes right ahead and does what she wants. In fact, she’s already done it. The invitations are in the mail, she said.”
“To who?”
“The woman is scary. The CIA could use her. She got hold of Sidra’s high school yearbook and got busy on the Internet. She also called Norah Hemmings and got the names of some of her friends at work. All told, she turned up fifty of Sidra’s closest friends.”
“Wow.” Lucy had to admit she was impressed. “I don’t know fifty people. At least, not fifty people I’d like be in the same room with.”
“Neither does Sidra,” said Sue. “This is going to be really awkward. I’ve seen the guest list, and she hasn’t seen some of these people in years.”
Lucy took a swallow of coffee. “Where’s this shindig going to be?”
“On the yacht. Next week.”
“She doesn’t waste time, does she?”
“There’s no moss on that one.” Sue drummed her polished fingernails on the table. “I’d like to kill her.”
“No jury would convict you,” said Lucy sympathetically.
“I’ve looked forward to Sidra’s wedding ever since she was born, you know. I always imagined planning the wedding with her, doing it together. I thought it would be the happiest day of my life. But now, Thelma’s just ruined it. She’s taken it all away from me. It’s going to be everything I hate: pretentious and extravagant and vulgar and horrible. I can’t stand it.”
“You know what I keep wondering?” asked Lucy, remembering Ron’s performance at the harbor the day before. “Has Sidra ever told you why she wants to marry Ron?” She shrugged her shoulders. “Somehow, he doesn’t seem like her type, if you know what I mean.”
Sue threw up her hands. “That’s what Sid keeps saying. Over and over. But I can’t go there. Sidra says she wants to marry Ron. She’s a big girl now and she can make up her own mind. I’m not going to try to come between her and the man she’s chosen. I won’t do that. I love her too much to risk losing her.”
Since Sue had brought up the subject, Lucy thought she could safely inquire about Sid.
“How is Sid?” She lowered her voice. “Has he noticed that his gun is missing?”
“If he has, he hasn’t said anything.” Sue looked away, then changed the subject. “I really wanted to have the wedding in your gazebo, but I don’t think it’s going to happen. They got the Hadwen House.”
“I understand. You’re dealing with forces beyond your control.” Lucy paused, then decided two could play this game. If Sue could change the subject, she could change it back. “It must be weird, having this big secret between you and Sid. He buys a gun and doesn’t tell you; you find it and hide it and don’t tell him. Isn’t it kind of strange?”
Sue’s face was set. “It just seems the best way of handling things right now.”
Lucy didn’t like the sound of this. “You’re not afraid of him, are you?” she asked.
Sue’s hand jumped and she knocked over her coffee.
“Gee, Lucy. What kind of question is that? Now look what you’ve made me do!”
Lucy started pulling napkins out of the dispenser and mopping up the spilled liquid.
“It’s just a little spill; we can clean it up.” Lucy decided she’d gone this far; she might as well go all the way. “I’m worried you might be in an unsafe situation.”
“From Sid?” Sue’s voice rose, ending with a nervous little laugh. “Don’t be silly.”
“I’m not being silly. I’m worried about you. You’re a nervous wreck, you’re whispering on the telephone, and then there’s the fact that your husband is building an arsenal.”
Sue’s jaw was set. “I think you’ve misunderstood. Things are fine between me and Sid. The only thing I’m worried about is this wedding.”
“Speak of the devil,” said Lucy. “Ron’s just come in.” She watched as he made his way past the crowd at the counter and sat down at the first empty table.
Ron had barely settled himself when Lucy’s attention was caught by two very muscular young men who had taken the table adjacent to Ron’s. They were dressed in casual clothes, but something about their attitude wasn’t casual at all. They seemed to be working in tandem: one was watching Ron and the other was scanning the room.
“Look at those two guys,” Lucy whispered to Sue. “Who do you think they are?”
Sue shrugged. “Tourists?”
“Look again. They’re definitely interested in Ron.”
They watched as Andy Dorfman entered the coffee shop and headed for Ron’s table, where he sat down. The two men at the next table suddenly appeared to be very interested in their menus. Lucy jumped to a conclusion. “I bet they’re bodyguards.”
Sue stared at her. “Now it’s my turn to get worried,” she said. “First you decide I’m in danger from my husband of almost thirty years, and now you think two perfectly ordinary young men are bodyguards or something. You’ve got some imagination there.”
“I wish it was my imagination,” said Lucy. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he’d hired some protection. Things are really tense down at the harbor. There was almost a big fight yesterday. Ron doesn’t want the fishermen using the dock, because the noise and the smell upset Thelma.”
“I’d like to upset Thelma. Come on, Lucy, you must have some ideas. How can I get this wedding back on track?”
Lucy watched as Dorfman set a tiny tape recorder on the table and began talking with Ron, apparently interviewing him. Down at the harbor, thought Lucy, it had been easy to underestimate Davitz. He had seemed like th
e unpopular kid in the schoolyard, being picked on by the bigger, more athletic kids. It was easy to forget how wealthy and powerful, and wellconnected, he really was.
“She ought to be pleased with her little boy today—it looks like he’s doing that magazine interview she wanted.” Lucy smiled.
Sue smiled back. It was the first time since they’d started talking, Lucy realized.
“You know, on one hand I think it’s great that Sidra’s going to be meeting all these important people and having so many opportunities. Then on the other hand, I can’t help wondering if she really knows what she’s getting into.”
“Which brings us back to Ron,” said Lucy, watching as he suddenly stood up, knocking over his chair.
The commotion attracted everyone’s attention; there was a sudden silence, and all eyes were on him as he marched out the door.
“I guess Dorfman got a little too personal,” said Lucy. She picked up her previous train of thought. “Sue, you’re forgetting that Sidra has been living in New York for a couple of years now and working on the TV show. She’s already living in a much different world from Tinker’s Cove.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy saw movement and turned to focus on it. One of the muscular young men was on his feet. “Look! One of those guys is following Ron!” She savored the moment. “So, who’s got an overactive imagination now?”
“He’s probably going next door to buy postcards,” said Sue.
“And his friend is going to help him carry them,” retorted Lucy as the second man stood up and took the check over to the cash register.
“Whatever,” sighed Sue wearily. “Maybe I should just give up and let Thelma do whatever she wants. It looks like she’s going to do it anyway.”
“Things have a way of working out.” Lucy knew she was simply repeating a platitude, when something occurred to her. “Sidra will be coming home for the shower, won’t she?”
“Of course.”
“Well, this is your opportunity to find out what she wants. She’s your ace in the hole, you know. If she is appalled and horrified by the shower . . .”
“She will be.” Sue was certain.
“Then you can team up against Thelma. . . .”
“And get back the wedding!”
Sue jumped out of her chair. “Lucy, you’re a genius!”
“About time people realized it,” muttered Lucy, reaching for the check. She glanced at it and handed it to Sue. “This one’s on you.”
Chapter Ten
The invitation to the shower didn’t arrive until Saturday. As usual, Lucy was cleaning, and today she had the house almost to herself because Bill and Elizabeth were working and Sara and Zoe were visiting friends. Only Toby was home, sound asleep. A typical college kid, he slept until noon whenever he got the chance.
She had just finished wiping down the kitchen counters when she looked out and saw that the little red flag on the mailbox was down. She trotted down the driveway to get the mail, and there among the bills and credit card offers was a little square envelope.
She opened it as she walked up the drive to the house, and a handful of variously colored cards tumbled out and fell to the ground. Lucy stooped to pick them up and discovered they were cards from the stores where Sidra and Ron had registered their wedding gift preferences. They were all in New York, and the only one Lucy recognized was Tiffany’s.
As she stood there flipping through the cards, she felt a curious mix of emotions. Did they really want her company at the shower, or were they just after a gift? A rather expensive gift at that, judging from the cards. And why did they think they had to tell her where to shop? It was insulting, and furthermore, it made her feel inadequate. Even if she wanted to—and she realized guiltily that she didn’t want to—how could she afford a gift from Tiffany’s?
Replacing the cards in the envelope, she studied the invitation. The shower was to be on the yacht, on the evening of July 4. A handwritten PS invited her to stay for the fireworks in the harbor.
Now that was better, thought Lucy. It would be fun to see the fireworks from the boat. And no doubt there would be plenty of delicious food, and it would be lovely to see Sidra again and meet her friends from New York.
In the kitchen, Lucy attached the invitation to the refrigerator with a magnet. Then she reached under the sink for her bucket of cleaning supplies. She still had to clean the bathrooms and dust and vacuum the downstairs. The upstairs would have to wait until after lunch.
She was making herself a sandwich in her sparkling kitchen when Toby appeared, looking disheveled and seeking coffee.
“It will have to be instant,” she told him.
“Fine with me,” he said, slumping into a chair at the kitchen table and reaching for the morning paper.
She finished making her sandwich and fixed him a cup of coffee. When she leaned over him to place it in front of him at the table, she got a whiff of alcohol.
“Big night last night?” she demanded, hands on her hips.
“What do you mean?”
“I can tell you were drinking. Which, by the way, is not a good idea since you’re underage and you shouldn’t drive. . . .”
“Mom, how could I drive? I don’t have a car. Friends brought me home.”
“Who? Eddie? He’s underage, too.”
“Some of the guys from the Bilge.”
Lucy’s eyebrows shot up. The Bilge was the most disreputable bar in town, located just a few feet from the harbor. It was also, she remembered, the place where the fishermen had agreed to meet to plan their protest against the new harbor policy.
“So what were you doing at the Bilge?”
“I went with Geoff, for a meeting.”
“Geoff bought you beer?” Lucy was astonished.
“No. I bought myself beer.”
“Considering the way you smell, you bought a lot of beer.”
Toby shrugged. “He left early. I stayed.” He swallowed some coffee. “Do we have any aspirin?”
Lucy fought the urge to get up and bring him aspirin. “There’s some in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.”
Toby absorbed this information but didn’t act on it. Tough, thought Lucy. He deserves a hangover.
“Anything interesting happen at the meeting?” she asked, keeping her tone carefully casual.
“Nah.”
This was like pulling teeth, thought Lucy. “Were they putting something together for the waterways commission meeting on Monday?”
Toby was peering in the refrigerator, probably hoping for a slice of cold pizza or some leftover spaghetti. He settled for some orange juice and pulled the container out. “Not exactly,” he said, tilting the container and pouring the juice into his mouth. Lucy would have made a fuss, but she knew the container was nearly empty.
“But I thought they’re unhappy with the new transient policy.”
“Oh, they are. But they figure going to the meeting will be pointless. They’ve got something else in mind.” He tossed the empty container in the garbage and headed for the bathroom.
“Like what?”
“Sorry. I promised.”
Lucy found herself talking to a closed door. “Promised what?”
The door opened a crack. “Promised not to tell you.” Then it closed again and she heard the shower.
Irritated, she put her plate and glass in the dishwasher and slammed it shut. It didn’t seem fair. She fed and clothed and educated him—at great expense. The least he could do was pass along a hot news tip.
Later that afternoon, Lucy was reclining on the chaise longue in the gazebo. Her conscience was clear. After cleaning the entire house, she deserved a rest. Kudo seemed to agree; he was stretched across the top step, making sure no one would disturb her.
When Bill’s pickup turned in the drive, he leapt to his feet and went to meet him with his tail wagging. A few minutes later, they both joined her. Bill had changed out of his work clothes and was carrying a beer.
“This is
peaceful,” he said, sitting down.
“I’m pooped,” said Lucy. “I cleaned the whole house.”
“You wouldn’t have to do it all in one day if you weren’t working full-time,” he said.
Lucy shrugged. She didn’t want to argue.
“How’s the boathouse going?” she asked.
Bill was currently restoring a nineteenth-century boathouse for some summer people who owned one of the big “cottages” overlooking the water on Smith Heights Road.
“Good,” he said, gazing out across the yard to the mountains. “You know, I heard the oddest thing today. From the porta-potty guy.”
Lucy dropped her magazine.
“He said you’d ordered a couple of porta-potties for the first weekend in August,” continued Bill. “Lucy, why did you do that?”
“For the wedding.” Lucy’s voice was very small.
“What wedding?”
“Sue wants to have Sidra’s wedding here. Right here in the gazebo. Won’t that be nice?”
Bill narrowed his eyes. “And when were you going to tell me?”
“I am telling you. Now you know.”
Bill took a long drink. “I live here, too, you know. It would be nice if you’d checked with me first, don’t you think?”
“I figured you’d be excited about it. It’s a wedding. Everyone loves weddings. It’s a big honor.”
Bill sighed. “How much is this honor going to cost me?”
Lucy smiled at him. “Either a lot or nothing. Thelma—she’s the mother of the groom—wants to have it at the Hadwen House.”
“Go, Thelma,” said Bill.
Lucy laughed.
On Monday morning Lucy was already at her desk, working on the lobster story, when Phyllis arrived.
“Did you get an invitation?” asked Phyllis as she stashed her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk.
“Sure did.”
“Well, I hope they don’t think I’m going to buy a shower gift from Tiffany’s!”
“You’re not?” Lucy feigned surprise.
Phyllis stared at her. “No, I’m not. I’m heading straight for K-Mart after work. I’m going to get some of those cute Martha Stewart dish towels. They look vintage, but they’re new.”