Trick or Treat Murder

by Leslie Meier

  Which one led to the office? Opening the middle one, she found herself looking at a jumble of old office equipment. The faintest whiff of a pungent scent reminded her momentarily of

  starchy plaid dresses with white collars and her fingers wrapped clumsily around a big yellow pencil.

  Closing that door, she opened the one to the left. This was obviously Durning's office, but no one was there. Checking her watch she saw it wasn't quite eleven. When she had called, asking on Bill's behalf if he had any TCHDC minutes or records on Lenk's gas station, he had told her to come by around eleven.

  Deciding he would probably be along soon, Lucy went back outside. It was a sunny, crisp fall day, too nice to be inside. Lucy set Zoe back in her safety seat and leaned against the car, looking up and down Main Street. It was the sort of day New England was famous for. The sky was bright blue, the leaves on the maple trees lining the street were bright yellow. The ground was covered with them. Lucy gave a kick, sending up a small shower of rustling gold.

  Regarding the stately old homes that sat well back from the street, surrounded by generous yards, Lucy appreciated the value of the commission. Tinker's Cove was a handsome town, thanks in large part to the fine homes built by merchants and sea captains in the last century. Prosperous, and proud of it, they spent their fortunes building large, stately houses.

  The age of sail hadn't lasted, of course, and the sea captains eventually fell on hard times, taking the rest of the town down with them. There wasn't any money to add on to the houses, or change them, so they stayed the way they were. A few had been cut up into apartments or rooming houses, but from the outside the street looked much as it had looked a hundred years ago. Although the road was now lined with parked cars, there were still a few mounting blocks and hitching posts, Lucy noticed. Remnants from another age.

  She liked that. In New England, people respected the past and were slow to change. She'd visited relatives in the sun belt and been shocked at the raw, utilitarian ugliness of the buildings. The buildings were low and squat, with flat roofs. There were no lofty steeples, no pitched roofs angled against the blue sky. Without the garish, plastic signs you couldn't tell a store from a church or a house. There was no history; everything was new.

  Thanks to the recent recession, of course, there hadn't been much new development in Tinker's Cove. Now that the region once again seemed headed for economic recovery, some people claimed the commission stifled initiative and new development. People like Randolph Lenk, for instance.

  "Hi, Lucy. Sorry I'm late, I got held up at town hall." Doug was a bit out of breath, as if he'd been hurrying.

  He was a good-looking man, not too tall, a touch of gray at the temples. There was something a bit battered, a bit world-weary about him, that Lucy found appealing. She gave him a big smile.

  "No problem. I've just been enjoying this beautiful day."

  "Come on in and I'll see what I've got for you. You know, Lucy, Bill is a real addition to the commission. He knows his stuff, but he's not fossilized like the others. He knows what it's like to try to run a business and pay the bills."

  "He sure does," said Lucy with a smile. "I just have to get the baby, okay?"

  Toting the heavy, plastic seat, Lucy followed Doug into the rather bare reception area. A deacon's bench sat under one window, a couple of captain's chairs were pulled up to a desk.

  "Sally's only part-time," he said, waving his hand at the empty desk. "I think she keeps the commission stuff in here." He opened a file drawer and began searching. "Hmm, this may take a minute or two. Go on in and sit down in my office—the chairs there are more comfortable."

  Still carrying the sleeping Zoe, Lucy went into Doug's office and sat down in an upholstered wing chair. She tried to imagine what purpose this room must have served when the house was built and failed; it seemed too small to have been a parlor or dining room, too large to be a pantry.

  Spotting a framed plan, she got up to examine it, and all was made clear. The old house had been completely remodeled inside and the original four rooms and a hall had been transformed into three office suites. The plan was surrounded by a display of photographs, and Lucy was intrigued.

  There was Doug shaking hands with Larry Bird, there was a signed photo of hockey great turned businessman Bobby Orr, and a group photo that included Doug, George and Barbara Bush, and five or six others. Leaning closer, Lucy tried to identify the people in the other photos. Except for one rather notorious grouping, a savings and loan president now in jail along with a former state representative currently under indictment, she didn't recognize anyone.

  "Here you are, Lucy. She had it filed under T, I can't imagine why."

  "Thanks. Bill will really appreciate having some background information. I know he felt a bit at sea at the last meeting."

  "It takes awhile to get up to speed."

  "I'm sure. This is a wonderful collection of photos." Lucy couldn't resist asking, "How did you happen to meet Larry Bird? What's he like?"

  "Real nice. I actually had dinner with him." Doug was on the verge of boasting, but caught himself. "Me and a lot of other people. It was a business thing—a long time ago." He shrugged. "Seems like another life—the fabulous eighties. Those were the days. You could sell anything, for any price. Everybody had money to burn. Not anymore."

  "Never, for me," admitted Lucy. "Seems like I've always been pinching pennies. That reminds me. I'm supposed to ask if you could make a donation to the Halloween Party."

  "Oh, sure," said Doug, promptly sitting down at his desk and opening a massive checkbook. "That's a great idea, doing something for the kids at Halloween. Keep 'em out of trouble," he said, writing out a check and handing it over.

  "Thanks," said Lucy, stuffing the check in her pocket. "I hate asking for money."

  "Think nothing of it. It's for a good cause."

  "Well, thanks again, for everything. I'll see you at the hearing."

  Once again, Lucy picked up the heavy baby seat and lugged it out to the car. Why, she wondered, did Zoe insist on sleeping when it was least convenient? Later, when they got back home and Lucy had dishes to wash and rugs to vacuum and cupcakes to bake, she would be wide awake and demanding attention.

  Lucy strapped the car seat in place, and slid under the wheel. Remembering the check in her pocket, she pulled it out and looked at it. Ten dollars. She shook her head. She was going to spend more than that in cupcake mix. What was all that about worthy causes? she wondered, as she turned the ignition. Of course, she admitted with a shrug, with these Yankees you could never tell if they didn't have any money, or just didn't want to spend it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  When Lucy arrived at the Body Shop she discovered she only had a few minutes before her one-thirty class. She quickly dropped Zoe at the child care center and hurried into the locker room to change. Then, taking a place at the back of the room she threw herself into the lesson. As she followed Vicki's instructions, amplified over the thumping beat of a rock song, she imagined the fiat melting and slipping off her body, revealing firm, shapely muscles beneath. She lifted her legs and raised her arms, ignoring the aching, burning pain and concentrating on the firm, slim body she was determined to have.

  When the class was over she felt a bit light-headed and wobbly so she headed for the juice machine. Sitting on a bench, she sipped a raspberry-kiwi concoction and waited for the sugar to take effect.

  "Oh, good," said Vicki, sitting beside her and taking a long drink from a bottle of spring water. "I thought you looked a bit pale. I was going to suggest you have some juice or something."

  "How do you do this all day long?" Lucy asked.

  "You get used to it," said Vicki, shrugging a smooth bronze shoulder. "So, how do you like the class?"

  "Fine, I guess. How long does it take before you notice a difference in your body?"

  "After about six weeks you'll begin to see some changes."

  "That long?" Lucy was disappointed.

  "I
t takes time—think how long it took for you to get out of shape."

  "Getting out of shape was a lot easier than getting back in," said Lucy. "Do you like working here?"

  "It's great. I knew Krissy from Boston and I was real excited when she asked me to come up here. I was sick of the city—high rents, dirt, the crowds on the T, the homeless people lying on the sidewalks. Too depressing. Here, everything's clean and pretty."

  "Wait till winter," warned Lucy. "There isn't much to do."

  "That won't bother me," said Vicki, with a toss of her pony- tail. "I'll just curl up by the fire with a good book."

  "Have you known Krissy for long?" inquired Lucy.

  "We worked at some of the same places, you know. The fitness world is kind of small—you keep running into the same people. But I didn't really know her well until I came here. We worked together all summer, getting this place ready."

  "You did?' Lucy was interested. It seemed Krissy had been in Tinker's Cove longer than she thought.

  "Yeah. We rented a floor scraper and we nailed up sheetrock and painted it. Krissy even did the electrical wiring."

  "You're kidding." Lucy was amazed. Apparently Krissy wasn't quite the dumb blonde she had assumed.

  "No, it's true. She knows all about this stuff. She helped her father remodel their house when she was a kid. I just did what she told me but it came out pretty good, don't you think?"

  "It really did," agreed Lucy. "But isn't wiring kind of tricky? I mean, what if she made a mistake and crossed some circuits or something?"

  "Then we'd have a big problem, I guess. But everything seems to be working just fine. Sound system, ventilation, lights, you name it. Listen, I gotta go. My body sculpting class is waiting for me." She paused for emphasis. "Those girls are serious, believe me."

  Lucy glanced at the clock, shocked to see how late it was. She had better get moving, she decided, tossing her juice can in the re-cycling bin next to the machine. She was supposed to pick up the kids at school and meet Sue for a trip to Andy Brown's pumpkin patch. She quickly showered, passed the blow dryer over her hair, threw on her clothes, and headed for the nursery where she found Zoe fussing in a crib.

  "I tried everything I could think of," apologized the attendant. Lucy knew from the sign on the door that her name was Peggy and she was a nursing student at the community college. "I finally put her down, hoping she'd go to sleep."

  "That's okay," said Lucy, "I think she's working on a tooth or something." She picked up Zoe and tucked her under her chin for a cuddle. Zoe gave a little snort, sighed, and promptly went to sleep.

  "I guess that explains it. She just wanted her mommy," said Peggy.

  "It's wonderful to be needed," Lucy said, hurrying off. She was halfway down the hallway, past the office, when she heard Krissy's voice.

  "I can't believe this," Krissy sobbed. There was a pause. When she spoke again, she sounded angry. "Not after all I've done for you. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

  Lucy stepped closer, straining to hear. Then Zoe stirred against her chest and began to fuss. "Shhh," she whispered, rubbing her chin against Zoe's head.

  Zoe was not about to be soothed. She took a deep breath, winding up for a full-blown cry.

  Reluctantly, Lucy pulled herself away from the doorway and hurried down the hall. "It's okay," she murmured, patting the baby's back and gently bouncing her. She pushed open the door and crossed the parking lot toward her car.

  At first she didn't notice anything wrong. It was only when she reached for the door handle that she saw the damage.

  A long, jagged line of black paint had been sprayed along the side of her car.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  "I guess Halloween came early this year," said Sue, eyeing the damage a few minutes later. She licked a finger and rubbed the black streak. "Lucky for you, it seems to be water soluble."

  "I'll try the car wash. Hop in, I'm running late. The kids got out of school five minutes ago."

  Sue hopped into the car next to Lucy, and fastened her seat belt. "So, how's the investigation going?"

  Lucy didn't need much encouragement and started right in. "I was pretty convinced it was Dr. Mayes—after all, ninety percent of the time it's the husband. But now I'm beginning to think Krissy might have done it. It turns out she's very handy. Vicki told me all about how she spent the summer wiring the gym."

  "You think Krissy set the fires?" Sue was intrigued.

  "She was here, and she knows all about electricity. And once she got Monica out of the way she'd have Dr. Mayes all to herself.

  But I'm not convinced. I've been reading this psychology book and it says arson is predominantly a male crime."

  "Most crimes are," said Sue. "But don't forget, this is an equal opportunity society. Girls can do anything boys can. Personally, I wouldn't put anything past her. She's entirely too..." Sue paused, looking for the right word. "Fit."

  "By the way, I haven't seen you at the gym," said Lucy, pulling up in front of the school.

  "I haven't had time."

  "Excuses, excuses," said Lucy, shaking her head. "Hop in kids—Toby, you'll have to get in the wayback."

  "You were late, Mom," said Elizabeth, climbing into the back seat. "We had to wait forever."

  "Who painted the carr asked Sara.

  "Bad boys, most likely," said Lucy, catching Toby's eye in the rearview mirror. "I hope none of you would ever do such a thing."

  "Mom, wash it off! It's bad enough I have to ride around in this beat-up old Subaru ... what if somebody sees me?" Elizabeth was acutely self-conscious.

  "Somebody like Matt Price?" teased Toby.

  "No-o-o." Elizabeth's voice was scornful. "I don't care if Matt Price sees me."

  "Who, then? Stubby Phipps? He told me he likes you."

  "Stubby is disgusting. Almost as disgusting as you."

  "Stop bickering, or we won't go to the pumpkin patch," warned Lucy. "We'll go straight home."

  "Mom, are we almost there?" asked Toby. "It's not very comfortable back here."

  "Almost," answered Lucy. "It's just down the road a little bit."

  Even though the farmstand was on the outskirts of town, it was still in the historic district. Wary of commercialization, the town had voted to extend the district along Main Street to the town boundary.

  "Can we go on the haunted hayride?" asked Elizabeth.

  "That's at night. We're only here to get a pumpkin. A perfect pumpkin."

  "What's a perfeck pumpkin?" asked Sara.

  "We'll know when we see it," said Lucy, spotting a sign for Farmer Brown's Pumpkin Patch. "I think we're getting close."

  Coming around a bend, Lucy couldn't help gasping as the full glory of Farmer Brown's was revealed to her. The farmstand itself was an old barn, painted the TCHDC-approved shade of yellow, but outlined with strings of orange lights. Constrained by the stringent sign code, Andy Brown had not hesitated to improvise. He had constructed a platform above the barn entrance, and arranged shocks of corn, bales of hay, and numerous harvest figures made from stuffed overalls with pumpkin heads. To the left of the barn another platform had been erected, this was a shrine to the 775 pound winner of Farmer Brown's annual contest for the biggest pumpkin.

  Acres and acres of pumpkins, still clinging to their withered vines, surrounded the farmstand, along with acres and acres of parking. Hay wagons, pulled by small red tractors ferried customers from their cars and out to the farther reaches of the pumpkin fields. Judging from the number of cars in the parking lot, Andy Brown was certainly doing something right.

  Opening the car door, Lucy heard recorded wails and shrieks, punctuated by Vincent Price's voice.

  "It's the Monster Mash," a delighted Elizabeth cried.

  "Hurry up, Mom," urged Toby. "We'll miss the wagon."

  "There'll be another one," said Sue. "Your mom has to get Zoe and Sara."

  After Lucy had zipped Zoe into the corduroy pouch, and released Sara from her booster seat, they all cluster
ed around a bright orange post with a sign proclaiming PUMPKIN PATCH EXPRESS and waited for the wagon.

  Soon one trundled and they were greeted by the cheery young driver.

  "Climb on," he said. "I'm your driver, Brad, and we're off to the pumpkin patch!"

  Lucy and Sue climbed on awkwardly and seated themselves on bales of hay, holding on for dear life as the wagon lurched into motion. The girls shrieked with excitement, even Toby was having a hard time maintaining the sophisticated, world-weary attitude he adopted when he was out in public with his mother.