by Leslie Meier
Lucy rolled over and rearranged the pillow. Toby didn’t have to go to college to try drugs; drugs were readily available in Tinker’s Cove. Barney knew it, Ted knew it. What had he said? That he was grateful he hadn’t had to report any arrests in Tinker’s Cove.
Why not, wondered Lucy. There were plenty of arrests in neighboring towns; the court report in the Portland daily was full of them. Why weren’t drug offenders and dealers getting arrested in Tinker’s Cove? Lucy thought of the fire, the heroism out front, and the thievery that was going on behind the scenes. She thought of Main Street, the picture-perfect New England town where people didn’t bother to lock their doors but where high-school kids were getting illegal drugs.
And she thought of Tucker, supposedly killed by a jealous lover. Except the lover hadn’t been all that jealous, from what she’d heard. And Tucker hadn’t really seemed like the sort of girl to encourage attention from a married man twice her age.
Lucy flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling, gray in the dim light from the hall night-light. Above its smooth blankness, she knew, was a jumble of wires and insulation, a century’s worth of dust, insect colonies and, no doubt, families of mice. Tinker’s Cove was the same, she thought, a quaint little fishing town with a drug problem.
Under the covers, Lucy shivered and stared at the clock. It was almost two. She had to be up at six, and she had a long day ahead of her. She was going to get to the bottom of this; she was going to find out what was really going on, and a good place to start would be to take another look at Tucker’s murder. She snuggled down deeper under the covers and pressed her body against Bill’s. She closed her eyes and matched her breathing to his. She slept.
* * *
Next thing she knew it was morning. She woke feeling tired and a look in the mirror wasn’t reassuring; her eyes were puffy, and she suspected it was going to be a bad hair day. In the kitchen, Zoe was singing Christmas carols and pouring milk into a bowl already overflowing with Cheerios.
“For Pete’s sake, Zoe, watch what you’re doing,” she grumbled, pouring herself a cup of coffee.
“Who’s Pete?” chirped Zoe.
Lucy gave her an evil look.
“Well, I see we have lots of Christmas spirit this morning,” said Bill.
“Ho, ho, ho,” growled Lucy, hanging on to her coffee mug as if it were a life preserver.
Bill studied her, then sighed. “I’ll make the lunches,” he said.
“Thanks.” Lucy fought the impulse to rest her head on the table and took a swallow of coffee.
* * *
After a shower and two more cups of coffee Lucy felt almost human. Ted didn’t even look up when she arrived at The Pennysaver, just grunted and told her he needed the story on the meeting ASAP.
“And make it short,” he said. “Space is going to be tight this week.”
Lucy took him at his word and tapped out six inches of copy, reporting the results of the vote and adding a quote or two representing the differing points of view expressed at the meeting. It was still early when she left the office, so she decided to head for the gym. If she hurried she could catch Krissy’s ten-thirty workout. Lord knows, she could use it, but what was more to the point, hadn’t Sue told her that Tucker took a tai chi class after work?
* * *
“Hi, Lucy,” Krissy greeted her, annoyingly pert in a high-cut orange leotard. “You look as if you’ve got the holiday blues.”
“I’m trying my damnedest to get some holiday spirit, but it’s awfully hard this year, with the murder and the fire and all.”
Keeping up her spirits never seemed to be a problem for Krissy, who had opened the Body Works a few years ago. Even her ponytail bounced, as if it were full of energy, but her face was solemn as she nodded in agreement.
“I know. I just can’t believe that creep killed Tucker. . . .” Her gaze wandered to some other clients who were coming through the door, and she raised her voice a few decibles. “You’ve come to the right place. We’ll warm you up, stretch you out, work those muscles and finish up with a relaxing cooldown. You’ll feel like a new person when we’re done.”
“Can I talk to you after class?” asked Lucy as she handed over her five dollars.
Krissy nodded grimly and Lucy gave her hand a squeeze, then headed for the locker room.
* * *
When the session was over, Lucy had to admit that although she didn’t feel exactly like a new person, she did feel like a much-improved version of the old one as she headed down the carpeted corridor to Krissy’s office.
Krissy was on the phone, but she smiled at Lucy and pointed to a chair. “I’m on hold—I’m trying to get airplane tickets. All of a sudden I have this irrational urge to go home for Christmas.”
“Good luck,” said Lucy.
“Yeah. You’re right.” Krissy put the receiver back in its cradle. “I’ll never get tickets this close to Christmas.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what I was thinking. My family is completely screwed up. I swore I’d never go through another holiday with them, and here I am, ready to spend top dollar to fly to Jersey City just so they can tell me how worthless I am. I think I’ll stay here, and have Christmas with Earl.”
Earl was Krissy’s black Labrador. Pictures of his progress from puppyhood to maturity were plastered all over her office walls, and Earl himself was sound asleep on a futon in the corner.
“Earl’s good company,” said Lucy.
“The best,” affirmed Krissy. “Don’t tell him, but I got him a new collar and a squeaky toy for Christmas. Plus a case of tennis balls.”
“Mint-flavored?”
“I thought about it, but I decided he really likes them kind of dirt-flavored, and the mint might interfere with the proper aging process.”
Lucy laughed. “So Earl is the man in your life these days?”
“You know it.” Krissy shook her head. “Face it. There’s not much night life in a town like this, except the video store.” She sighed. “I really miss Tucker. We had some good times together.” Krissy stared at a point above Lucy’s head and blinked furiously.
“I didn’t realize you were such good friends,” said Lucy.
“Well, you know how it is in a small town like this. There aren’t that many young, single women. We met here and we hit it off right away. She was such a sweetheart—why’d he have to do it? What a bastard.”
“Maybe Steve didn’t do it,” said Lucy slowly.
“He did it all right,” said Krissy. “You wouldn’t believe what an unattached woman goes through in this town.”
Lucy looked puzzled.
“Tucker loved to dance, you know? So one night we went out to this bar, Scalliwags, they’ve got live music there on weekends. It’s kind of a dump, but we thought what the hell. So we’re having a great time dancing with these guys but they get the wrong idea. They think that dancing with them means you want to bear their children, you know what I mean?”
Lucy knew. “Is that what it was with Steve? That he wanted more than she wanted to give?”
Krissy shrugged.
“He just doesn’t seem to me like the kind of guy . . .” began Lucy.
Krissy snorted. “They’re all the same, believe me. And they’re all available—it’s just their wives don’t know it.”
Lucy chuckled. “Don’t want to know, is more like it.” She paused. “But I heard that Steve and Lee were getting back together.”
“Maybe. That doesn’t change the fact he was sniffing around Tucker like Earl used to do to the lady dogs before his trip to the vet.”
“Okay. I give up. Steve’s a worthless scum, but I still think there’s a big difference between acting like a hound dog and killing somebody.” She scratched her chin. “You know, an awful lot of drugs have been coming through town lately. . . .”
Krissy made her eyes round, pretending to be shocked. “No way.”
Lucy continued. “I was just wondering if Tucker might have got involved some
how, got in too deep or something.”
“Whoa.” Krissy held up her hands to protest. “Are you kidding? Tucker wouldn’t touch drugs with a ten-foot pole. Do you know who her father is?”
Lucy shook her head.
“He’s a big shot in the Department of Justice, I mean way up there. Just under the attorney general, I think. Anyway, he’s head prosecutor for all the federal drug cases.”
“I had no idea.”
Krissy nodded. “ ‘Just say no’ is like a religion in that family:”
“Yeah, but, look at yourself. Kids don’t always agree with their parents.”
“Tucker did. Believe me. She used to say she didn’t see why people couldn’t just get high on life. Nature, the woods, skiing, sailing, she used to come back from those AMC hikes all excited about the trees and the clouds, for Pete’s sake.”
Lucy wondered if she’d heard right. “AMC hikes?”
“Yeah. You know, Appalachian Mountain Club. Tucker was a member.”
So that was what the notation in Tucker’s agenda meant, thought Lucy. She hadn’t met Lee that Sunday before she’d died, she’d gone for a hike.
“Does anybody else around here belong? Anybody I could talk to?”
“Sure. Witt’s actually the president, I think.”
“Witt?”
“He teaches kick boxing.” Krissy glanced at her watch. “That reminds me. It’s time for me to kick butt.”
“Kick butt?” asked Lucy, standing up to go.
“That’s what I call it. It’s a class for women who want to tighten and firm their bottoms. We have it at noon so the working gals can come.”
“Oh.” She walked down the hall with Krissy. “I hope you and Earl have a merry Christmas.”
“We’re gonna do our best,” said Krissy, as she pulled open the gym door. Lucy peeked through the door, wondering if she knew anybody in the class and recognized Steffie Scott. She tried to catch her eye, but Steffie was too absorbed in her thoughts to notice her.
Lucy paused in the entryway, studying the· bulletin board as she zipped her parka, looking for the class schedule among the clutter of posters and announcements. There, under a notice advertising an amateur performance of The Nutcracker she saw a bright yellow sheet of paper announcing AMC hikes every Sunday at one o’clock. Next to it was the schedule: Witt’s kick-boxing class was at three-thirty on weekday afternoons.
Swinging her gym bag over her shoulder, Lucy headed for the car. She’d get some lunch and do some last-minute shopping, she decided, and then she’d try to catch Witt before his class.
Chapter Eighteen
The backseat of Lucy’s car was filled with bags of goodies and stocking stuffers when she returned to the Body Works at twenty past three. She hesitated for a moment in the vestibule, wondering how to approach Witt, when she saw a young man in exercise clothes coming out of the office with a sheet of paper in his hand. He stopped at the reception desk and started to poke around in a drawer, obviously looking for something.
Lucy walked over to the desk and he looked up. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“I’m looking for Witt.”
“That’s me,” he said, with a lopsided smile.
Lucy smiled back. Witt had the easy manner of someone who was comfortable with himself and knew he could handle pretty much any problem that came up. He wasn’t very tall and at first glance seemed rather stocky, but he was all muscle.
“I’m interested in these AMC hikes,” she began. “Can you tell me anything about them?”
“Sure,” he said, opening an Altoids tin and plucking a thumbtack out of the assortment of paper clips and other small, useful items it contained. He held up the paper for her to see and walked over to the bulletin board, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he went.
“See, this is the schedule. We have a different hike every Sunday.” He rearranged the papers on the bulletin board and made a space for his new notice, then turned to Lucy. “There’s no charge or anything, but we kind of encourage people to become AMC members if they become regulars.”
“That’s fair enough,” said Lucy, noticing that his eyes were very blue indeed. “I think a friend of mine was a member—Tucker Whitney?”
“Yeah.” He looked down, studying his hands. He swallowed and Lucy saw his Adam’s apple bob, a little bulge in the middle of his size 18 neck. “That was too bad.”
“Did you know her well?”
“Just from the hikes. She almost always came.” He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “It’s not going to be the same without her.”
“I know.” Lucy’s voice was gentle. “I wish I’d had time to get to know her better.”
He sighed. “I know what you mean.”
Something in his tone made Lucy wonder if he’d had hopes of a serious relationship with Tucker.
“So, what do you do on these hikes?”
“Hike, you know. Follow a trail. Some people take photographs or look for birds.” He looked over her shoulder and smiled at one of his students. “Go on in—I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Lucy felt she was running out of time. “How many people go?”
“Sometimes just two or three, if the weather’s really nice we might get eight or nine.”
“And that Sunday before she died?”
“Five or six, I think.” He nodded at a pair of students who were signing in at the desk. “Tucker was late that day. We waited a good forty-five minutes for her. Usually we wouldn’t do that, but nobody wanted to start without her.”
Lucy lowered her voice. “Did she seem the same as usual? I mean, could she have been stoned or something?”
“Tucker?” His voice was sharp, and those blue eyes seemed to bore right through her.
Lucy felt she had to defend her question. “I heard some things.”
“About Tucker?” His tone implied she couldn’t have been more wrong.
Lucy shrugged.
“That’s ridiculous. Who told you that?” He looked as if he’d like to smash a fist into whoever had suggested Tucker might have used drugs.
“Maybe I got it wrong,” said Lucy.
“You sure did. Look, I’ve got to go. The hike’s at one, if you want to come.”
“Thanks.” Lucy started to go, then turned around and called after him. “Did she say why she was late?”
Witt whirled to face her, the movement was quick, and he was perfectly balanced. “She said she took a wrong turn.” Then he vanished into the gym.
Lucy checked the bulletin board for the old schedule, and found it under a notice advertising a slightly used set of barbells.
According to the schedule, that Sunday the group had hiked in the conservation area near Smith Heights Road.
That was funny, thought Lucy, as she headed back to her car. Tucker had summered on Smith Heights Road for her entire life—how could she make a wrong turn that would delay her for forty-five minutes?
As she started the car, she considered taking a quick spin out along Smith Heights Road to the conservation area, to see where Tucker might have made her wrong turn. A look at the dashboard clock told her she didn’t have time, today. She had a family waiting and a Christmas tree to trim.
* * *
The Stones always set up their tree on the last day of school before Christmas vacation, usually the day before Christmas Eve. Nobody quite knew how or why the custom began, but through the years it had taken on the weight of tradition. Now, it was absolutely unthinkable to put up the tree on any other day.
When Lucy arrived home, Bill and Toby had already brought the tree in and set it in its stand and Toby was perched on a stepladder, arranging the strings of lights. Bill was carrying in the boxes of ornaments, Sara was busy digging out the Christmas CDs, and Zoe was a small ball of excitement.
“Hurry, Mom. It’s time to trim the tree.”
“So I see. But we can’t start hanging the ornaments until Toby finishes putting on the lights.”
�
��He’s almost done,” insisted Zoe, ignoring the coils of wire and bulbs covering the family-room floor.
“Why don’t you help Sara find the music?”
“Okay, Mom.”
Having distracted Zoe for a moment, Lucy hurried upstairs to hide the bags of stocking stuffers she had bought earlier. That done, she stood outside the room Elizabeth shared with Sara and knocked on the door. The frantic drumbeats of alternative rock told her Elizabeth was inside.
“What?” Elizabeth called out in answer to Lucy’s knock.
“We’re trimming the tree. Don’t you want to help?”
“Do I have to?”
“Don’t you want to?”
There was a long silence. “Not really.”
Lucy poked the door open and peeked in.
“Is everything OK?” asked Lucy. “Are they giving you a hard time at school?”
“Nah. School’s cool.” Elizabeth was standing in front of her mirror, considering her appearance.
From the pile of clothes on the bed, Lucy guessed she was trying on outfits. Personally, she didn’t think the black fishnet stockings really went with the silky, pink sheath, and the chartreuse sweater was really a mistake.
“Whaddya think?” Elizabeth turned, cocking her hip.
“What’s the occasion?” asked Lucy.
“Nothing, really.” Elizabeth ran her hands through her hair, making it stand up in short spikes.
“You look fine,” said Lucy, starting down the stairs. Under her breath she added, “Just don’t think you’re leaving the house looking like that.”
Elizabeth called after her. “Did you say something, Mom?”
“Nothing.”
In the kitchen, Lucy found Sara filling a plate with cookies from the cookie jar.
“Good idea. I think I’ll make some cocoa, while we wait to get started.” Lucy got out a pot. “Is something bothering Elizabeth?”