Chocolate Covered Murder (13 page)

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Authors: Leslie Meier

BOOK: Chocolate Covered Murder
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“I'm in the girls' room, I'm not supposed to phone at school.”
“I know.”
“Mom, I just want you to know I'm really glad. Thanks.” Lucy thought she'd misunderstood. “You're glad you're not working today?”
“I don't want to ever go back.”
“You don't have to.”
“Good. I think I'll stick to babysitting.”
“Good choice,” she said. “Take the bus home. I'll see you later.”
Relieved, Lucy let out a big sigh just as Ted walked in the door. “Glad to see you're working hard,” he said.
Lucy glanced at Phyllis, who ran her fingers across her lips in a zipping motion. “That's us,” Lucy said. “Busy little bees.”
Chapter Eleven
T
ed tossed his jacket, hat, and gloves in the direction of the coat tree and made a beeline for the bathroom, causing Lucy and Phyllis to exchange amused glances. Unable to resist tidying up, Lucy picked up Ted's things, stuffed the hat and gloves in the jacket pocket, and hung it up.
“You know, Lucy, I couldn't help overhearing,” said Phyllis. “I think you did the right thing, getting Zoe away from Tamzin.”
Lucy turned and leaned her elbow on the battered Formica reception counter. Phyllis wasn't getting any younger, she thought, noticing the way her neck had developed crepey folds. And anxiety only served to emphasize the lines around her mouth.
“She's trouble,” said Lucy, with a sympathetic nod. “One of those two-faced women who's nice to men... .”
“Wilf can't stop talking about her, he loves those truffles.”
“As long as it's only a truffle, you don't have to worry.”
“I do, though. She's prettier and sexier than I am,” said Phyllis. “He doesn't see through her like a woman would, he doesn't understand why I don't like her.”
“Don't be silly,” said Lucy. “Wilf waited until he was practically fifty to get married and that's because he wanted to find the right woman, and that woman is you.”
“I can't help worrying.” Phyllis was chewing on the end of a ballpoint pen. “She's got him doing special favors, bringing her coffee from the shop next door. And not just regular coffee, skim milk lattes or some such thing. That Tamzin's got Wilf wrapped around her little finger.”
Ted had emerged from the tiny toilet tucked behind the morgue looking much relieved, until he noticed Lucy standing by Phyllis's desk. Then he furrowed his brow and scowled. “Haven't you got anything better to do than gossip?”
“Actually, Ted, I was hanging up your coat,” said Lucy, scowling right back at him.
“Uh, oh, sorry.” Ted was momentarily shamefaced until he thought of a fresh avenue of attack. “I wish you wouldn't bad-mouth our advertisers. Chanticleer took out a six-month contract, so no more grumbling about them, okay?”
“We weren't grumbling about Chanticleer, we were talking about Tamzin,” said Lucy.
“And you should be ashamed of yourselves,” said Ted, self-righteously. “You should welcome her. The poor little thing is new in town and wants to make friends.”
Lucy and Phyllis both laughed. “Only men friends,” said Phyllis.
“That's right, Ted. You're not qualified to talk on this particular subject. Tamzin's got you under her spell, like all the other men in town.”
“Right,” agreed Phyllis. “We women have a special sense that warns us about husband stealers like Tamzin. It's like when chickens know a storm is coming, or the wildebeests stampede because a lion's on the prowl.”
“Heaven help us if the women in this town stampede,” muttered Ted. “Considering their average weight is two hundred pounds, there'd be nothing left. The place would be flattened.”
“Not funny, Ted,” said Lucy. “Besides, the fact that Tamzin's a man-eater isn't all that I object to. She hired Zoe without getting a work permit and then she treated her badly and made her work extra time. It's Zoe's first job—and she's a rotten boss.”
Ted shook his head. “You know what kids are like... .”
“So don't hire a kid,” snapped Lucy. “She hired Zoe because she thought she could exploit her.”
“That's a reach, Lucy. Put yourself in Tamzin's shoes... .”
“Ha! I'd break my neck in those stilettos!”
“See! That's what I mean. What's really bothering you is pure female jealousy of someone who's more attractive... .”
“Watch it, Ted,” warned Phyllis.
Lucy decided she'd better not say what she was thinking and instead marched over to the coat tree and pointedly lifted Ted's jacket off the hook and dropped it on the floor, in the exact spot it had been before she'd picked it up for him. Then she stomped over to her desk, plopped herself into her chair, and clicked on the solitaire game.
“I'm sorry, Lucy,” said Ted, stooping to retrieve his clothing.
Lucy was staring at the screen, clicking her mouse and moving cards.
“I'm really, really sorry. I don't know what I was thinking.”
“Hmph,” said Lucy, starting a fresh game.
Ted seated himself in the spare chair next to Lucy's desk. “The thing is, Lucy, I need you to do something for me. I need you to take some photos at Chanticleer Chocolate for the ads.”
Lucy was moving cards, pretty sure she was going to win this game. “Why can't you do it?” she asked.
“Uh, this is embarrassing.”
“I knew it!” crowed Lucy. “Pam won't let you!”
Ted was staring at the scuffed floor. “That's right.”
The little cards were dancing around on the computer screen, celebrating Lucy's win. She smiled at Ted. “Can't do it today. I left my camera home.”
“You should always bring it,” said Ted, unable to resist putting Lucy in the wrong. Lucy cocked an eyebrow in his direction and he backtracked. “Tomorrow will be fine.”
“Good,” said Lucy, reaching for the phone. Darn it, she'd called the place so often in the past few days that she'd memorized the number, which was taking up way too much precious brain space. She winced, hearing Tamzin answer with “Chanticleer Chocolate” in a phony French accent.
“Hi, Tamzin, Lucy Stone here at the
Pennysaver
,” she began, in a tone that was all business. She certainly didn't want to get into a discussion about Zoe's need for a leave of absence after only one day on the job; she'd leave that to Trey. “Ted wants me to take some photos for the ad campaign.”
“Great!” From her enthusiastic tone, Lucy guessed Tamzin was also eager to avoid the subject of Zoe. “When do you want to come?”
Lucy considered her schedule. She sure didn't want to go out of her way for the woman. “Maybe tomorrow morning, on my way to the office. Eight-thirty?”
“We don't open until nine.” Tamzin made it clear she was doing Lucy a favor. “I'm happy to come in early for you, though.”
“Well, thanks, Tamzin,” said Lucy, happily. She was on a winning streak today. “See you then.”
Friday was the sort of day that would send any sensible person diving back under the covers. It was well after sunrise when Lucy drove down Main Street, but the streetlights were still lit which meant the sun was not providing enough light to trip the sensors that turned them off. In other words, it was dark as night at eight-thirty in the morning.
The gloom wasn't the worst of it, though. Sleet, frozen rain, whatever you wanted to call it, was coming down hard, plopping on the windshield of Lucy's car faster than the wipers could get rid of it. The road was filling with the slushy stuff, too, and every now and then the rear wheels would start to fishtail. The car's automatic all-wheel drive caught it every time, but it was still unnerving and Lucy's stomach lurched when she felt the car start to slip.
Maybe, she thought, swallowing down the coffee and bile taste that filled her mouth once again, maybe she should have had something more than black coffee for breakfast. Of course, she reminded herself, she hadn't had time to eat anything because she'd put off getting out of bed to the very last minute. Behavior like that wouldn't win her the mother-of-the-year award, or the wife-of-the-year award, either. She usually got up and made breakfast for Bill and the girls, but this morning she simply hadn't had the energy. Even now she had to resist the urge to turn the car around and go back home and back to bed, just like the snoring old man in the nursery rhyme
who went to bed and bumped his head and couldn't get up in the morning.
Really, there was something to be said for opting out, especially on a day like this when she had to photograph Terrible Tamzin. Talk about adding insult to injury. If there were ever a day she'd like to skip, a day she'd like to pretend never happened, it was this Friday, actually the twelfth, but it felt like an unlucky Friday the thirteenth. There was nothing to look forward to even after the photo session. When she finished at Chanticleer she had to go back to the office to write up the water commission's meeting, the highlight of which was the superintendent's assurance that the town had plenty of water.
Sure they did, thought Lucy, remembering last summer's floods and casting her eyes at the dark clouds filling the sky. Water in all its forms—ice, snow, rain, sleet, salty ocean, freshwater ponds, and streams—was one thing they had plenty of and, frankly, she could do with less of it.
She remembered a commercial for Aruba she'd seen on TV last night and pictured the sunshine, the sandy beach and turquoise Caribbean water. Boy, what she wouldn't give to be there. Now, that would be a great way to celebrate Valentine's Day: in a swimsuit, pale white skin slathered with sunscreen, sipping a piña colada, while Bill nibbled on her toes.
Not that Bill would ever do such a thing, she thought resentfully. Some men had foot fetishes, but Bill could truly be said to have a foot phobia. He didn't even like to see her barefoot. And instead of her being the focus of his adoring attention on Valentine's Day, this most personal of holidays had turned into a marathon. She had a to-do list that was a mile long. She had to make a dessert for the contest, pick up Bill's suit, jolly him into wearing it, and somehow find a way to stuff herself into her tight black skirt. Maybe skipping breakfast hadn't been such a bad idea after all, she decided, patting her now almost-flat tummy.
There was no problem finding a parking spot today. Main Street was practically deserted and Lucy thought of her old friend Miss Tilley's assertion that there was so little traffic when she was a girl that she and her friends used to play tennis in the road right in front of Slack's Hardware. Lucy parked in front of Chanticleer Chocolate and sat for a minute, lost in thought.
She was thinking of how things had changed even in her lifetime. When she and Bill first came to Tinker's Cove, the town had been more self-sufficient—you could get everything you needed right in town. There was a grocery store, drugstore, post office, liquor store, hardware store, a five and dime, and even a small department store with household linens and clothes to fit everyone in the family from newborn babies to grandmas. Through the years many of those old, established businesses had vanished, one by one, replaced by national chains. Now, if you wanted a new set of sheets or some pot holders, good luck to you. You had to travel to one of the big box stores that had sprung up out by the interstate or else you had to take your chances and order from the Internet.
Holidays were simpler, too. They were primarily family events, nobody thought of capitalizing on a holiday to bring tourists to town. Lucy remembered the kids making valentines for friends and family out of lace doilies and red construction paper. She'd make cupcakes for dessert, with pink icing and conversation hearts on top. Bill would bring home a box of Whitman's chocolates for her, which she shared with the kids after she'd plucked out her favorite caramels (easily identified from the chart on the inside of the box top), and that was that.
Sighing, she decided she'd put it off long enough, it was time to face the music. Or rather, Tamzin, with her fake boobs and false eyelashes, the glistening lips and the jeans that were so tight you wondered how she ever got them on, not to mention tucked inside those thigh-high boots.
Lucy pulled the fur-lined hood of her parka over her head and climbed out of the car. Ducking her head to avoid the sleet that pelted her face, she ran around the car and onto the sidewalk, seeking the shelter of the yellow Chanticleer awning. She was reaching for the door handle when the door flew open and Roger Faircloth barreled into her.
The man was obviously upset. He grabbed her by the shoulders with shaking hands and Lucy grabbed his sides, afraid he would fall. Noticing his pale face, shiny with sweat, and his panicked expression, Lucy thought he was having a heart attack.

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