Wedding Day Murder

by Leslie Meier

  “Not at all,” whispered Elizabeth, batting her eyelashes at Geoff.

  “Snowden’s Bank.”

  “That far?” Lucy was shocked.

  Geoff nodded, watching as the police transferred the handcuffed harbormaster to the patrol boat.

  Wiggins didn’t resist, but once aboard, he cast a mournful parting glance at the cigarette boat.

  “That’s one beaut of a boat,” he said and spit over the side.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Geoff didn’t waste any time getting back to Tinker’s Cove. He ran the Lady L’s engine at full throttle, but the patrol boat was much faster and was already at the dock when they arrived. Word of Wiggins’s desperate flight and arrest had spread quickly, and a crowd of curious onlookers had gathered in the parking lot. Still shivering and huddled in a blanket, Lucy observed the scene from the Lady L as Geoff maneuvered the lobster boat into her old berth.

  Eventually, Wiggins was taken from the patrol boat and transferred, in handcuffs, to a cruiser, under the watchful eyes of the crowd and the TV cameras. He was gone when the group aboard the Lady L finally disembarked and began making their way along the floating walkway. As soon as Geoff set foot on the solid wood of the pier, a petite figure broke from the crowd and threw her arms around his neck. It was Sidra.

  “Thank God you’re all right—I was terrified,” she told him.

  Geoff’s response was to draw her more tightly to him.

  If Elizabeth were jealous at this display of affection, she didn’t have time to show it before Lance grabbed her by the hand and dragged her away.

  Lucy’s progress was slower, hampered by the blanket she was clutching around herself. The crowd was already dispersing by the time she finally made it to solid ground, awkwardly assisted by Toby. She hadn’t exactly expected to be hoisted on someone’s shoulders and cheered by an enthusiastic crowd, but the general lack of enthusiasm at her triumphant return was discouraging. Even Toby promptly deserted her, hurrying off to tell his friends all about his adventures.

  Spotting Horowitz conferring with a couple of officers, she went over to him.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, impatiently.

  “Uh, well, I just wondered when you’d be taking my statement . . .”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “. . . or whatever,” she finished lamely.

  “Thank you,” he said formally. “I know where to reach you if I need additional information.”

  “Oh,” said Lucy, feeling rather deflated as she crossed the parking lot to her car. She shrugged off the blanket Geoff had given her and folded it neatly, placing it on the backseat. Toby could return it to the Lady L tomorrow. Then she slid into place behind the wheel.

  Being a hero isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, she thought as she started the engine.

  At the Pennysaver, Phyllis welcomed her with a big hug.

  “I heard the whole thing on the scanner. It’s a miracle you weren’t killed. They said if he’d hit a rock . . .”

  Lucy’s knees suddenly gave out and she grabbed the counter for support. Phyllis wheeled one of the desk chairs over to her and she sat down, trembling.

  “This is silly. I don’t know what’s come over me.”

  “It’s just a delayed reaction,” Phyllis reassured her. “The adrenalin’s wearing off or something. Here, take some of this.”

  She handed Lucy the can of Coke that was sitting on her desk. Lucy sipped at it, waiting for the sugar to hit her bloodstream.

  “Where’s Ted?” she asked when she felt a little better.

  “Over at the police station.”

  Phyllis had no sooner spoken than the bell jangled and the door flew open, causing Lucy to jump in her chair.

  “So there you are! The hero of the day!” exclaimed Ted.

  “It was nothing—” began Lucy.

  “Give me eighteen inches,” said Ted, cutting her off. “A first-person account of your terrifying ride. I need it by five. Tomorrow’s deadline, you know.”

  Phyllis clucked her tongue. “I better get you something to eat,” she said. “What do you want?”

  Even choosing a sandwich seemed beyond her.

  “What’s the matter with you?” demanded Ted.

  Lucy leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes.

  “She’s in shock; can’t you see?” snapped Phyllis. “Put a blanket or something on her. I’ll be right back.” She marched out the door.

  Ted reached for the old sweater that hung on the coat rack year-round and laid it over her.

  “Does this mean you won’t be able to work today?” he asked.

  Lucy shrugged. Actually, the sugar and caffeine were beginning to take effect, and she was feeling much better by the time Phyllis returned, with Dorfman in tow.

  “I’m a little confused,” he began. “They’re saying the harbormaster killed Davitz?”

  “That’s right. Frank Wiggins,” said Lucy, taking a bite of chicken salad on white. It tasted great. She thought it might be the best thing she’d ever eaten.

  “He always had a terrible temper,” said Phyllis. “Even as a little boy.”

  “Poor communication skills,” said Lucy, her mouth full.

  “The job was way over his head,” said Ted.

  “So the theory is he just lost his temper and whacked Davitz?” Dorfman didn’t seem convinced.

  All three nodded.

  “From what he told me, I think they argued over the fishermen’s parade float,” said Lucy, pausing before tackling the second half of her sandwich. “I saw him when it went by, and he was absolutely livid. I think he must have gotten into some sort of argument about it with Davitz. I don’t know who started it, but he told me Davitz told him it was his own fault that the fishermen didn’t respect him. His reply was to conk him on the head. When he realized he’d killed him, he tried to cover it up by rolling his body in the water so it would look like he drowned.”

  “And then he told the police he saw Geoff Rumford do it,” added Ted. “The police were all set to arrest Geoff.”

  “Nice,” said Dorfman, with a little whistle.

  Phyllis snorted. “He always was a little weasel. I remember—this was years ago when he was ten or twelve, I guess. I caught him stealing my cat. When I stopped him he said it was lost and he was taking it to the shelter.”

  “I suppose it’s possible,” said Dorfman skeptically.

  “Misty had a collar and was sitting on my front step at the time,” said Phyllis. “I always wondered what he planned to do with her.”

  “He probably just wanted something to love,” suggested Lucy.

  “I don’t think so,” said Phyllis.

  “They’re sure he’s the guy?” Dorfman still wasn’t convinced.

  “Oh, yeah,” said Ted. “He gave a full confession on the boat ride back. Cops said they couldn’t shut him up.”

  Dorfman shook his head. “When you think of all the people who had reason to kill Davitz, well, Wiggins is the last person I would have suspected.”

  Ted leaned back in his chair. “What exactly was Davitz doing? Some kind of pyramid scheme?”

  Lucy and Phyllis were all ears.

  “Kind of. It’s called ‘pump and dump.’ He started out as a day trader and made some money, which he invested in this Secure.net outfit. When the stock suddenly began going downhill fast, he started planting hints in financial chat rooms that Secure.net was a real bargain and was going to go up. He touted the technology with a lot of mumbo jumbo, and investors believed it. They started falling all over themselves to buy it, and the price did go up. A lot. There was huge interest, and the fact that he was so reclusive just added to the stock’s allure. The problem was, early on he’d announced the software would go on sale August fifteenth, but there was no software.”

  “That’s why the wedding had to be early in the month,” said Lucy.

  “The honeymoon was the perfect getaway. He planned to cash out and ride off into the sunset .
. . and never come back.”

  “There was never any technology?” asked Bill.

  Dorfman shook his head. “Secure.net was a real company, some kind of home alarm system, that was practically bankrupt. The stock was selling for pennies when Davitz started hyping it as an Internet company. It’s amazing what one man and a computer can do.”

  “And poor Sidra had no idea what was going on?” asked Phyllis.

  “She thought he was the real thing,” said Lucy. “But don’t worry about her. She’s going to be fine. Geoff Rumford is already making up for lost time.” She paused. “Actually, it’s Thelma I feel sorry for. He was her son, after all. She must have loved him.”

  “Don’t feel too bad for her,” said Dorfman. “The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. According to my research, she was accused of embezzlement back in the seventies. She was the volunteer treasurer for a charity thrift shop and she cooked the books. It never actually went to trial—the good ladies at the thrift shop dropped charges when she agreed to pay the money back—but the case is still in the court files.”

  “Was she part of this scheme?” asked Phyllis.

  “I don’t think so,” said Lucy slowly, remembering how she had been struck by Thelma’s odd attitude when she visited her on the yacht after Ron’s death. “But I think she may have suspected something. She’d tried to call his company and hadn’t gotten any response. I think she knew the jig was up and she was just trying to hang on as long as possible.”

  “As far as I know, investigators haven’t been able to connect her with this scam,” said Dorfman. “Ironically enough, if Ron had lived, they would probably have charged her as an accessory. He never would have gotten away with it, you know. I wasn’t the only one who figured it out. The feds had cottoned on to him, too.”

  They fell silent, considering the damage Davitz had wrought, when the bell on the door jangled. It was Sid, wearing his fishing vest and brandishing a big manila envelope.

  “Hi, everybody,” he said, laying the envelope on the counter. “What’s up?”

  There was a pregnant pause. Lucy finally broke the silence.

  “The wedding’s off. Ron’s dead.”

  Sid gave a long, low whistle. “When did this happen?”

  “On the Fourth.”

  He furrowed his brow. “How’s Sidra?”

  “Geoff Rumford is consoling her.”

  He nodded. “And Sue? She was pretty keen on that wedding, you know.”

  “She’s doing fine,” said Lucy.

  “That’s good.” Sid paused. “Hey, I almost forgot why I came here. You’ll never guess what happened. I won the Northern Lakes Challenge,” he said, opening up the envelope and pulling out a photo of himself with an enormous pickerel. “It’s not just the biggest fish caught this year—it’s the biggest ever on record. Almost five feet.”

  “Let me see that,” said Ted, getting up and holding out his hand for the photo.

  “I was kind of hoping you’d print it,” said Sid, reddening.

  “Wow. That’s some fish. Sure we’ll print it,” Ted replied.

  “That’s not all,” said Sid, producing a bronze medal in a plastic box. “I also got third place in the shoot.”

  “What shoot?” asked Lucy.

  “The Northern Lakes Rod and Gun Club Annual Shoot-Off,” said Ted, reading the medal.

  “They have it every year, same time as the Challenge,” Sid explained.

  “So that’s why you had a gun!” exclaimed Lucy. “Do you know how worried Sue was?”

  “She didn’t know about it. I never told her.” He turned to Ted. “I knew she wouldn’t approve.”

  “Sue found the gun,” said Lucy. “She didn’t know what you were planning to do with it, so she hid it.”

  “You know, you might be right.” Sid scratched his head. “I thought I’d put it in my bottom drawer, but when it wasn’t there I figured I’d just forgotten where I’d hidden it. I found it in my winter boots.”

  “Makes sense to me,” Phyllis chuckled.

  “I’d say you’re the premier sportsman in Tinker’s Cove,” said Ted. “This deserves a feature story. What about it, Lucy?”

  “Sure,” Lucy said in a small voice. “I still have that first-person account to do, you know.”

  “Write that up today and we’ll run the sports feature next week.” Ted glanced at the clock and rubbed his hands together. “Well, time’s a-wasting. We’ve got a paper to get out.”

  “Well, I guess I better get on home,” said Sid, hitching up his pants.

  “Hey, before you go, don’t you want to know how Davitz died?” asked Lucy.

  “An accident?” inquired Sid, cocking his head.

  “Actually, Frank Wiggins killed him,” said Ted.

  Sid paused, scratched his chin, and considered this news. Finally, he spoke.

  “You know, Frank’s not very popular with a lot of folks, but I’ve always kinda liked him.” He nodded his head. “Good man, Wiggins.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “Nothing like a sunny Sunday,” said Bill a few weeks later.

  Lucy looked up from the newspaper she was reading at the kitchen table. It was just the two of them; the kids were all still asleep.

  “We ought to do something special. It’s a shame to waste a beautiful day like this,” he said.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Let’s go on a picnic. A family picnic, like we used to.”

  Lucy smiled, remembering expeditions in past years, when they had loaded up the car with beach chairs and umbrellas and inner tubes, plus a big cooler filled with sandwiches and cookies and fruit and lemonade, and headed for a nearby state park, where there was a lake for swimming, picnic areas, and hiking trails. It had been fun, but that was when the kids were much younger. Nowadays, they didn’t want to hang out with their parents.

  “I think the kids have already made plans,” she said.

  “When they hear the words ‘picnic at the lake’ they’ll change them,” Bill said confidently, pouring himself another cup of coffee and reaching for the sports section.

  Zoe, as usual, was the first to wake up.

  “Hey, Zoe, I’ve got a treat for you,” said Bill. “A picnic at the state park!”

  Zoe was fixing herself a bowl of Cheerios. “I’m going to Sadie’s, today. She’s got a new video game.”

  “Oh,” said Bill.

  Lucy didn’t say anything, but buried her nose in the magazine section.

  Bill was reading the business section when Sara appeared.

  “Good morning, pumpkin,” Bill greeted her. “I’ve got a surprise—a picnic at the lake!”

  “Sorry, Dad,” said Sara, reaching for the cereal box. “I’m helping out at the Friends of Animals car wash today.”

  “Hmm,” said Bill.

  He had moved on to the automotive section when Elizabeth rushed into the kitchen.

  “I’m late, late, late. No time for breakfast. I’ll just take some coffee.”

  “Where do you think you’re going?” demanded Bill. “We’re having a family picnic—at the lake!”

  “That’s nice, Dad,” said Elizabeth, giving him a peck on the cheek. “I wish I could go, but I’ve got a date with Lance.”

  Outside, they heard a car horn beep.

  “Gotta run! Have fun on the picnic!”

  “Humph,” said Bill, reaching for the real estate ads. He was studying the listings when Toby stumbled into the kitchen.

  “Hey, Toby-my-man,” said Bill. “What say we go fishing at the lake, like we used to? We could even take a picnic.”

  “Sorry, Dad, I want to see that new football movie.”

  This was too much for Bill. “You’re going to spend a beautiful day like this indoors?”

  Toby nodded. “I’ve been outdoors every day this summer. It’s not exactly a treat. At least the movie theater is air-conditioned.”

  Lucy thought she heard Bill growl. It was definitely
not the time to say “I told you so.”

  “We can do something together,” she suggested in a sweet voice. “Won’t that be nice?”

  Later that afternoon, they were sitting in the gazebo when a car pulled into the driveway. It was Sidra and Geoff, accompanied by Sue and Sid.

  “See,” said Bill. “Some kids aren’t allergic to their parents.”

  “Hi,” Lucy greeted them. “What’s up?”

  Sidra was bubbling over with excitement. “Guess what? Geoff and I are getting married and we want to use your gazebo. The justice of the peace is meeting us here in an hour—is that okay?”

  Lucy blinked in surprise. “In an hour?”

  “I know it’s sudden,” said Sidra.

  “Not that sudden,” said Geoff. “We’ve had the license for more than a week.”

  “It was just going to be a quiet family ceremony at home,” said Sid.

  “But then the weather was so nice,” said Sue, “and I knew you wouldn’t mind if we used the gazebo.”

  “Mind? I’m thrilled,” Lucy said. “But we only have an hour to get ready.”

  “Calm down, Lucy,” admonished Sue. “You don’t have to do anything. This is going to be really simple.”

  “Right,” Sidra agreed. “After all that madness before, we just want to say our vows as simply as possible, with the people we really care about as witnesses.”

  “What, no dress?” It was Sara, returning home from the car wash. Her hair was plastered flat to her head and her clothes were soaking wet.

  Sidra laughed. “I always thought I wanted to get married in a long, white dress with a big, full skirt, but now I know it’s not the dress that matters.” She looked up at Geoff. “It’s the man.”

  Lucy had an idea. “Come with me,” she said. “Maybe you can have both.”

  In her bedroom, Lucy took the box containing her wedding dress down from the closet shelf.

  “I don’t know if this will fit you . . .” she said, lifting the dress out of its nest of tissue paper and holding it up.

  Sidra’s eyes glowed when she saw it. “It’s beautiful,” she sighed, fingering the delicate fabric. “But I couldn’t. It’s your dress.”