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Authors: Leslie Meier

BOOK: Birthday Party Murder
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Chap's expression brightened up. “That's a great idea. It's next Saturday, in Granby.”
Lucy jotted it down in her day planner. Checking the time, she decided to peek in the kitchen and see if Sue was ready to leave. Pushing open the swinging door, she found her deep in conversation with the caterer, Corney Clark.
“That was a great spread, Corney,” she said, joining them. “Too bad it was for such a sad occasion.”
“I absolutely hate funerals,” admitted Corney. “Give me a wedding, a bar mitzvah, a christening, anything but a funeral.” Her eyes locked on Lucy's, indicating she was very sincere about what she was about to say. “You wouldn't believe how much food people eat at funerals.”
“I believe it,” said Lucy, uncomfortably aware of her tight waistband. “I'm going to work out with my exercise video as soon as I get home. What do you say, Sue? Are you ready to go?”
“In a minute. Corney and I were just talking about the birthday party. She's offered to give us some cookies and finger sandwiches for half price.”
Corney smiled graciously. “And I'll throw in some nice pink tablecloths, too.”
“That's great,” exclaimed Lucy. “Much nicer than the paper ones.”
The very thought of paper tablecloths seemed to trouble Corney.
“Have you given any thought to music?” she asked. “It makes a big difference, you know.”
“We thought of that,” said Lucy, rather proudly. “The high school and middle school bands are going to play.”
A cloud passed across Corney's face. “That's nice,” she said, without enthusiasm. “I was thinking more along the lines of a string quartet, or a harpist. If the budget won't run to that, you might consider playing some recorded background music, too. When the band's not playing.”
“That's a good idea,” said Sue. “Thanks for mentioning it.”
“I'm full of good ideas—call me anytime,” said Corney.
“How much are those ‘half-price' cookies and sandwiches going to cost?” muttered Lucy, as they made their way through the living room to say their farewells to Rachel and Bob.
“Plenty—but it's worth it,” replied Sue. “She has a lot of experience with big parties and now I can pump her brain. You heard her, she said ‘call me anytime' and I plan to. Besides, I have some ideas for fund-raising.”
“Fund-raising? How are you going to do that?”
“I'm going to ask some local businesses to be sponsors, like the banks and insurance agencies.”
“What? You're going to call it the Tinker's Cove Five Cents Savings Bank Birthday Party for Miss Tilley?”
“If they'll give me enough money, I will,” said Sue. Seeing Lucy's shocked expression, she continued. “Calm down. I'll take care of the businesses. I was hoping you could get some donations from local groups, like the Women's Club.”
Lucy didn't even pause. The words just came out. “Don't even think about it. You're on your own with that one, kiddo. I've got enough on my plate right now.”
For a moment, Sue stared at her in shocked silence.
“Be like that,” she sniffed, obviously displeased.
For a fleeting moment Lucy was tempted to change her mind. She was saved by Pam, who was waving at her from across the room.
“I've got to go,” she told Sue. “Pam's giving me a ride home.”
“I hope you make it home in one piece,” said Sue.
But Lucy wasn't worried about the safety of her ride as she seated herself on Pam's zebra-striped front seat. Instead, she was beginning to feel uneasy about Miss Tilley. Why had Sherman wanted to see her? What would he have told her if he hadn't died? And why were relatives popping up now, when she was nearing the end of her long life? Family reunions were all very well and good, but she had a few pointed questions she planned to ask this particular long-lost relative.
Chapter Eleven
“I
'm sorry I'm late,” said Lucy, when she arrived at Miss Tilley's on Monday morning to photograph the reunion. “I just couldn't get out of the house. . . .”
Rachel waved away her excuses. “Have you got your camera?”
“Right here.”
Lucy pulled her little instant-focus camera out of her bag and went into the living room to greet Miss Tilley.
“Are you ready for the big day?” she asked, taking her usual chair.
“Oh, yes.”
The old woman's cheeks were pink with excitement and her white hair was freshly curled. She was wearing her best outfit, a periwinkle-blue dress topped with a string of pearls. Despite her age she reminded Lucy of a little girl all dressed up and waiting for her birthday party to begin. Maybe it was the twinkly, silver sneakers.
“You look very nice.”
“Thank you, Lucy.” Miss Tilley wasn't really paying attention; her eyes kept straying to the window.
Knowing Miss Tilley as she did, Lucy hadn't expected her to be this excited about the reunion. She had lived a determinedly single, solitary life for so many years, often declaring that she always expected the worst of people and was rarely disappointed.
Lucy was pulling out her notebook, intending to ask how the meeting with her niece had come about, when a compact car with a rental agency plate drew up outside. Miss Tilley clapped her hands together and sat up very straight. She seemed to be holding her breath as she watched the door open and a figure emerge. A trim little woman in a neat blue coat trotted up the path and Miss Tilley exhaled.
“Welcome,” exclaimed Rachel, opening the door.
“Come in, come in,” called Miss Tilley, from her chair.
The woman rushed in, a small whirlwind of blue topped with a head of curly white hair, and clasped Miss Tilley's hands.
“We meet at last!” she exclaimed. “It's like a dream come true.”
“Shirley,” cooed Miss Tilley, her face radiant with joy. She reached up and stroked the younger woman's cheek. “Harriet's daughter. You look just like her.”
“I would know you anywhere,” affirmed Shirley. “You look just like Mother, before she . . .” Unable to finish, she fumbled in her purse for a tissue.
Despite her doubts, Lucy felt tears springing to her eyes and noticed Rachel was also blinking furiously. It was an incredibly touching moment.
“Here, here. Let me give you a big hug,” demanded Shirley, pressing her cheek against Miss Tilley's.
They clung together for several minutes before Shirley released the old woman and stepped back, obviously looking for something to sit on.
“Sit here,” said Lucy, springing out of the rocker.
“I want her to sit right here by me,” said Miss Tilley. “Rachel, get a chair.”
“It's right here,” said Rachel, setting one of the Windsor chairs from the dining room next to Miss Tilley's rocker.
Noticing Miss Tilley's flushed complexion, Rachel raised an eyebrow at Lucy.
“How about a little glass of sherry?” suggested Lucy. “In honor of the occasion.”
“Oh, yes, I should have thought of that,” fretted Miss Tilley. “Is sherry all right? Is there something else you would prefer?”
“Sherry would be lovely,” said Shirley, taking the chair and slipping her coat off her shoulders.
Except for the thirty-year difference in age, Shirley could have been Miss Tilley's twin, thought Lucy. She was dressed in a gray tweed skirt topped with a blue twinset; her legs were encased in support hose and sturdy black pumps. A cameo brooch was perched on one shoulder and abundant white curls framed her round face. Like Miss Tilley, her cheeks were plump little red apples.
“I'm Lucy Stone,” said Lucy, extending her hand.
“I'm just delighted to meet you,” gushed Shirley, clasping Lucy's hand in both of hers.
“And I'm Rachel Goodman, Miss T's helper,” said Rachel, holding out a tray with four sherry glasses.
“Lovely to meet you,” said Shirley, taking a glass and holding it up to admire the amber liquid.
Her nails, Lucy saw with a bit of a shock, were painted purple. Not quite what she expected, knowing how Miss Tilley loathed nail polish. But lots of women did wear nail polish, Lucy reminded herself. Some women considered it a necessary part of grooming.
“Shall we have a toast?” inquired Miss Tilley, raising her glass. “To long-lost relatives!”
“To long-lost relatives!” they all chorused.
Rachel kept a watchful eye on Miss Tilley as she drank her wine. When her high color began to subside and her breathing became more relaxed, Rachel slipped away to the kitchen to fix lunch.
Miss Tilley didn't notice her absence; she couldn't keep her eyes off Shirley.
“Do you mind if I take a picture? For the local newspaper?” asked Lucy, producing her camera.
“The newspaper?” Shirley seemed taken aback.
“This is big news in Tinker's Cove, you know. And I'll make sure you both get copies.”
“Wouldn't that be nice?” urged Miss Tilley.
“Okay, then,” said Shirley, “but the flash bothers my eyes. Cataracts, you know. Just let me put on my sunglasses.”
Lucy waited while she slipped on a pair of very dark, oversize sunglasses.
“Say cheese.”
Lucy snapped several photos, then took out her notebook.
“Now, I need your full name, Shirley,” she said, waiting with her pen poised. “For the caption.”
“Why, it's Henderson. Shirley Henderson.”
“Can you tell me how you found each other?” she asked.
“There was really nothing to it,” said Shirley, smoothing her skirt. “I knew that Mama had been born in Tinker's Cove, of course. I just called nationwide directory assistance and they gave me Auntie's number.”
Miss Tilley beamed at Shirley, as if she'd done something remarkably clever.
Lucy was scribbling it all down in her notebook. “And if this isn't too personal, what prompted you to contact your aunt after all these years?”
“Well,” said Shirley, adopting a mournful expression, “after Mother died, I found myself pretty much alone. It just seemed natural to try and find family, if I could.”
Miss T beamed her approval.
“The best part was when I dialed her number and she actually answered the phone.” Shirley clasped Miss T's hand in her own and gazed into the old woman's eyes. “I can't tell you how exciting it was for me to hear your voice at last. Mama always talked about you and how much she missed her family.”
At this, Miss Tilley pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.
“I don't know why I didn't try to get in touch myself,” she said, sniffling. “I had a dream, you know, that Harriet was angry with Papa for disowning her. I've had it many times through the years, but I never did anything. I should have, when Harriet was still alive.”
“Well, better late than never, that's what I say,” said Shirley, nodding so hard that her curls bounced.
“She's right,” agreed Lucy. “Would you mind telling me what it was all about originally? Why did your father disown Harriet?”
“Because she married a Democrat, of course.” Miss Tilley made it sound as if this were normal behavior.
Lucy's eyebrows shot up, but Miss Tilley didn't notice her surprise. She was gazing at the bronze bust of Lincoln that sat on the mantel.
“He never forgave her for deserting the party of Lincoln.”
“Well, don't you worry,” said Shirley. “I always vote Republican myself.”
“You don't say?” Miss Tilley was beaming at her.
“I do say. Didn't Florida vote for George W. Bush in the last election?”
Lucy was tempted to say something, but held her tongue as the two women sat together, holding hands, enjoying their reunion. This was no time to talk politics. In fact, Lucy was perfectly willing to bask in the sentimental glow the two long-lost relatives were generating. Reluctantly, she pulled herself away.
 
 
She was still floating on a happy little cloud of family feeling when she finally got to the office straight from the while-you-wait film-developing machine at the drugstore.
“Ted told me to tell you not to bother getting the police log today. He's over there anyway and he'll pick it up,” announced Phyllis, peering over her half glasses.
“What did I do to deserve this?” asked Lucy, stunned by her good fortune. To tell the truth, she'd forgotten all about the darn thing. She'd goofed up, and been spared the consequences. She handed Phyllis the packet of photographs. “Take a look at these, will you?”
“Good God! As if one Miss Julia Ward Howe Tilley isn't enough. Where'd you find the other one?”
“She's her niece. Never met her, never even knew she existed until she called up one day, out of the blue.”
“Kind of scary, if you ask me.” Phyllis frowned at the photo. “I hope none of my long-lost relatives start crawling out of their trailer parks to come a-calling.”
“I don't think Miss Tilley's niece comes from a trailer park. Look how nicely she's dressed. And I've got to tell you, I've never seen Miss T look so happy. We had to give her some sherry just to calm her down.”
Phyllis wasn't impressed. “What's with the sunglasses? Is she in the witness protection program or something?”
“They're the kind people wear after cataract surgery,” replied Lucy.
The bell on the door jangled and they both looked up as Ted came sailing in, clutching a handful of papers.
“Clear the way. I've got the ME's report.”
“On Monday morning? They're really getting careless over there,” observed Lucy. “Don't they usually schedule press conferences for Wednesday afternoon, about an hour after deadline?”
“It was a rare slipup.” Ted's tone became sarcastic. “Darn! Now I won't have all week to work on the story.”
Lucy chuckled. “I've got breaking news, too. A touching family reunion. Miss Tilley reunited with her long-lost niece. And I've got photographs.”
Ted grabbed the packet and flipped through the pictures.
“Good work. Can you give me ten inches?”
“I'll give you ten inches if you tell me what the ME's report says about Cobb's death.”
“You've got a deal. ‘Not inconsistent with suicide.'”
Lucy's spirits sank. “That's it?”
Ted shrugged. “Pretty much.”
“You know, I don't buy it,” said Lucy, sitting down at her desk and waiting for her computer to boot up. “I was over at his house. Bob Goodman asked me to take a look around, you know?” Lucy paused for emphasis. “I found a pork chop.”
“A pork chop?”
“Yup. Sitting on the counter, like it had been put out to defrost. Cobb wasn't planning to kill himself; he was planning to eat a pork chop for dinner. A nice thick one.”
“Probably got it at Dunne's,” suggested Phyllis, naming a specialty butcher in the neighboring town of Gilead.
“He might have,” agreed Lucy.
Ted was already clicking away on the keyboard. “Maybe he changed his mind.”
“No way,” said Phyllis. “He'd never waste a Dunne's pork chop!”
“My thoughts exactly,” said Lucy, opening a file and starting to type. “ ‘Papa never forgave her for deserting the party of Lincoln. . . .' ”
 
 
It was a couple of hours later and Lucy was eating a nonfat yogurt for lunch when Ted looked up from his Chinese takeout and said, “Tell me about the pork chop.”
Lucy looked longingly at his egg roll, as yet untouched, and licked the last drop of strawberry custard off her plastic spoon. “It was on his counter, like people do, you know. He probably took it out of the freezer in the morning, planning to cook it up that night for supper.”
“You're not supposed to do that, you know,” said Phyllis, peering suspiciously into her container of wonton soup. “You're supposed to defrost meat in the refrigerator. It's safer.”
“Do you do that?” challenged Lucy.
“Naw. It takes too long. I can't think that far ahead.”
“Me either,” said Lucy. “And if you defrost meat in the microwave, it gets half cooked.”

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