Mother's Day Murder (2 page)

“We screen our temporary workers very carefully, and I can assure you they all speak English.”

“Well, that’s something. Now, why don’t you put them to work and have them reseat
those
people”—she pointed at the Nowaks—“so we can have
our
table.”

Jasper’s professional veneer of patience was wearing thin. “We cannot disturb the other diners,” he said. “I’ll be happy to seat you at another table.”

“Come along, Bar,” said Bart, taking his wife by the elbow. “How about that table over there? It’s by a window, too.”

“But it’s not the corner,” replied Bar. “It’s not
our
table.”

Bart was firm. “It’s a window, and I’m hungry.”

“Oh, all right,” Bar said, with a sigh, dramatically rolling her eyes. “I don’t want to make a fuss.”

“Right, Mom,” muttered Ashley, sarcastically, as the group was ushered past the desired corner table.

Tina waited until Bar was behind her chair, and then she spoke to her husband. “Don’t you think it was rude of Bar to make such a fuss?” she asked in a loud whisper. “Especially for someone who thinks she’s the next Emily Post.”

Bar pretended not to hear the comment but seemed to flinch slightly as she followed Jasper to the small window table adjacent to the Stones’ large round one. Jasper made an elaborate show of pulling out chairs for Bar and Ashley and even placed napkins on their laps with a graceful flourish and snapped his fingers to attract the water boy’s attention. He was filling their glasses when Bar took her revenge.

“You know,” she began, placing her hand on her husband’s arm and leaning toward him, speaking in a low tone that nevertheless carried across the room, “sometimes when I’m target shooting, I imagine Tina Nowak’s face on the target.” She giggled and smoothed her napkin. “It’s a surefire way to get a bull’s-eye.”

“W
hat’s with that woman?” asked Elizabeth on the ride home. “Did you hear what she said?”

“I think the whole room heard it,” said Lucy, who was feeling rather uncomfortable. She’d eaten too much and couldn’t wait to get out of those control-top panty hose. And her thoughts had returned to Corinne Appleton’s mother, a woman whose problems were real, in contrast to Bar Hume, who made them up. “I think she meant them to. She wanted to create a scene and shock people.”

“But why?” persisted Elizabeth. “Why would she say a thing like that? It’s like saying she wanted to shoot Mrs. Nowak. Why would she even think it? It’s sick.”

“It’s the clash of the supermoms,” explained Lucy. “Somebody ought to make a movie. They’re always trying to outdo each other. It’s a continuing drama, kind of like a soap opera. Everybody gets a kick out of it. Some people have even taken up sides, depending on their politics. Bar’s a Republican, she’s head of the town Republican committee, and Tina’s a Democrat. She’s head of the town Democratic committee. They actually do quite a bit of good for everybody as they try to outshine each other.” “It still sounds sick to me,” said Elizabeth. “Especially when one starts talking about shooting the other.”

“Nobody’s going to shoot anybody,” said Bill. “You’ve been living in Boston, after all. They’re always shooting each other there. But it’s different here in Tinker’s Cove. Right, Lucy?”

Lucy didn’t answer immediately. She was looking out the window at the round little harbor, where white boats bobbed on the still blue water. She was thinking about Corinne and what her parents must be going through, wondering if she was still alive. “Sometimes I think this thing between Bar and Tina goes too far, especially the way they push their daughters into competing with each other.”

“What do you mean?” asked Elizabeth.

“They’re tied for valedictorian,” said Sara. “They have the same grade point averages, but Heather does take easier courses, because she has to spend so much time practicing her ice skating. She’s a figure skater, she’s won a lot of prizes, and she wants to go to Harvard.”

“She’s going to the regionals,” said Lucy, who had written a story for the
Pennysaver
. “She has a good chance of placing high enough to go on to the nationals.”

“Does the other one—what’s her name?—skate, too?” asked Elizabeth.

“Ashley? No, she doesn’t skate,” said Sara. “Ashley’s captain of the tennis team and the field hockey team, too. She takes the hardest courses she can. She even takes classes at the college. She wants to go to Harvard, too.”

“Does she want to go, or does her mother want her to go?” asked Bill, making the turn onto Red Top Road.

“I think Mr. Berg wants her to go,” said Sara, naming the high school principal.

“Getting a student into Harvard would be a feather in his cap,” said Lucy. “Nobody’s been accepted there since Richie Goodman, have they?”

“Not that it did him much good,” said Bill. “What’s he doing? Still in school, isn’t he?”

“He’s pursuing a doctorate in ancient Greek ceramics or something like that,” said Lucy, who was friends with his mother, Rachel. “But he’s taking a break this semester to build houses in New Orleans for people who lost their homes in Hurricane Katrina.”

“You sure don’t need a Harvard degree to do that,” said Bill.

“So how do these girls act at school?” asked Elizabeth. “Are they friends?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” said Sara. “They both belong to the same clique, you know, the popular kids. They all sit together at lunch, and they’re mean to everyone else.”

“Oh, I’m so glad I’m out of high school,” sighed Elizabeth.

“My friends don’t like them very much,” said Sara, with a shrug. “Even though they’re the most popular, they’re mean to each other, too. They’re always saying nasty things about each other, even when they’re ganging up on somebody else.”

“I noticed they couldn’t keep their eyes off of each other,” said Elizabeth.

“Probably checking out their outfits,” guessed Lucy.

“Maybe it’s like Machiavelli said,” mused Elizabeth.

“Who is Macaroni?” asked Zoe, joining the conversation.

“Machiavelli. He’s a fifteenth-century Italian philosopher. He said you should keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”

Lucy nudged Bill. “And you were saying Chamberlain’s too expensive. Look at the stuff she’s learning.”

“Well,” muttered Bill, turning into the driveway, “let’s see what sort of job she can get when she graduates.”

Mother’s Day was definitely over, thought Lucy, surveying the kitchen as she poured her first cup of coffee on Monday morning. The pan Bill had used to fry himself a couple of eggs was still on the stove, coated with grease and burned-on egg. One of the girls had slopped milk on the counter when she fixed herself a bowl of cereal, the table was covered with toast crumbs, and the dog had gotten into the garbage, scattering soggy tea bags, empty cans, and bits of empty food packages across the floor.

Lucy was reaching for the sponge when Elizabeth appeared and asked if she could do a load of wash before leaving for Boston.

“I don’t think there’s time,” said Lucy. “I have to get to work by nine.”

“But my bus isn’t until eleven. Can’t you come home and take me then?”

“I guess so,” grumbled Lucy, thinking of her boss Ted’s reaction. He’d been acting like a bit of a Tartar lately, becoming a real stickler for punctuality and keeping a close eye on Lucy’s time card. Unable to think of any other explanation, she’d chalked it up to male menopause.

Two and a half hours later, it went exactly as she had imagined. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he demanded as she headed for the door, with her keys in hand.

Phyllis, the receptionist, who also handled classified ads and events listings, gave her a look. “The listings are especially heavy this week,” she said.

“I have to take Elizabeth to the bus. I’ll be back in a flash,” promised Lucy.

“Make sure you are,” warned Ted.

Lucy shrugged it off; she was already late, but she wondered what exactly he had in mind. Was he threatening to fire her?

When she got home, Lucy found Elizabeth dressed and waiting impatiently for her ride, the clean clothes packed in a duffel. The kitchen, which she had tidied before leaving for work, was once again a mess, with the stove and countertop filled with dirty pots and mixing bowls. The fruit basket, which she had filled on Saturday, was empty.

“I hope you don’t mind. I made some food to take back. Healthy stuff, like brown rice salad and grilled vegetables and fresh fruit.”

“No problem,” said Lucy, a bit grudgingly but unwilling to end Elizabeth’s brief visit with an argument. Now, of course, she’d have to stop at the grocery on her way home from work, something she hadn’t been planning to do. Lucy sighed and grabbed the cooler Elizabeth was “borrowing” to carry the food back to Boston.

“I thought you’d be glad I won’t be eating fast food,” said Elizabeth, grabbing the duffel and following her mother out the door.

“Sorry. I’m just distracted,” said Lucy, starting the car. That was a fancy cooler she’d snagged at an end-of-season sale last fall; she’d never be able to replace it for what she’d paid.

“Yeah, I’m worried about Sara, too,” said Elizabeth, fastening her seat belt.

Lucy’s head snapped around. “Why are you worried about Sara?”

“She was up half the night, text-messaging her friends.”

This was news to Lucy. “What is she doing that for?”

“It’s what kids do now. Instead of talking on the phone, like we used to do, they use their cell phones to send text messages. That way nobody can overhear them. Nobody knows what they’re saying. It’s more private.”

Lucy considered this as she turned out of the driveway. Come to think of it, the phone in the house hardly ever rang anymore. Thanks to the family plan, they all had cell phones, even Zoe. The days when the kids would scramble to get to the household phone whenever it rang were over; they knew it was only likely to be a telemarketer or one of their parents’ friends.

“But why do they send these messages at night?” asked Lucy.

“Because that’s when they’re alone. There’s nobody looking over their shoulders, nobody watching them, nobody noticing.”

“Okay, I guess I understand that. There’s nothing the matter with a few messages before she gets tired and turns the phone off.”

Elizabeth turned and faced her mother. “Mom, they’re not exactly telling each other to sleep tight.”

“No?”

“No. They play these mind games with each other. They start fake rumors. They tear each other apart.”

Lucy couldn’t believe it. “Sara wouldn’t do anything like that.”

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean her so-called friends aren’t doing it to her. Last night I heard her crying under the covers.”

“I’m amazed.” Lucy braked at the stop sign. “I didn’t know anything about this.”

“I bet you don’t know she has a page on myspace. com, either.”

Lucy didn’t know. “She does?”

“Yes. And you know that sexual predators prowl those sites all the time, looking for unhappy, vulnerable kids.” Elizabeth sighed. “And believe me, that’s most high school kids.”

Alarm bells were beginning to ring in Lucy’s head. Was this what had happened to Corinne? Had she met someone in a chat room, someone who seemed to understand her and appreciate her, but turned out to be some sort of sexual predator? “I’ll have a little talk with her,” she said, pulling up at the Quik-Stop, where the bus picked up passengers.

“Before you do that, I think you should do some research, okay? You need to know what you’re up against.” Elizabeth handed her a slip of paper. “This is how you can break into myspace.com.”

“Thanks for telling me,” said Lucy as Elizabeth climbed out of the car. “Have you got your bus ticket?”

“No, I didn’t have enough cash for a round trip.”

Lucy couldn’t believe it. Just when she thought Elizabeth was all grown up, she’d go and do something stupid, like taking a trip without bringing along enough money. And now there wasn’t time to go to the ATM. “How much do you need?” she asked, hoping she had enough cash in her wallet.

“A couple of twenties would do it, Mom.”

Lucy handed them over, leaving herself with a couple of tattered singles.

“Thanks for everything, Mom.” Then the bus pulled in, Lucy gave her daughter a quick hug, and she was gone, in a puff of diesel exhaust. But the concerns she’d shared with her mother about Sara lingered like heavy smog, clouding Lucy’s mood.

When she got back to the office, Ted was gone and Phyllis was waiting for her return so she could go to lunch. “Now that I’m on this maintenance diet, I’ve got to eat every three hours, or else I get so hungry, I overeat,” she explained, smoothing her gray sweater set over her flat tummy. “I get all shaky, you know, ’cause I don’t have any reserves.” She looked over her shoulder. “And you know how Ted is these days. He threw out the sign with the little clock that said back in whatever minutes.”

It was true. They were under strict orders to never, ever leave the office unattended during business hours.

“I’m sorry,” said Lucy. “I had to get Elizabeth to the bus. It isn’t as if she discussed her plans with me. It’s always last minute with her.”

“You’re too soft on those kids. You let them walk all over you,” said Phyllis, who never hesitated to give child-rearing advice, even though she’d never married and was childless.

Maybe she’s right
, thought Lucy, listening to the little tinkle of the bell on the door as it closed after Phyllis. She sat down at her desk and shrugged out of her Windbreaker, letting it slip down between the chair and her back. She started working on the listings, then impulsively switched to the Internet and went to myspace. com, where she followed Elizabeth’s directions and called up Sara’s page. It was a bit of a shock to see a photo of her daughter on her computer, but she had to admit it was a flattering picture. There were also several other pictures of her with friends, and most surprising, one with the family dog, Libby. Although Sara volunteered regularly at the animal shelter, at home she tended to steer clear of the Lab, claiming she smelled bad. But here they were on MySpace, posed ear to ear and smiling, even Libby.

When it came to personal information, Lucy learned her daughter liked “pretty much all music,” didn’t watch much TV but was addicted to
Grey’s Anatomy,
and didn’t drink or smoke. So far, so good. She hoped to go to college and become a veterinarian. Even better. She admitted to being straight, but that was all. She wasn’t looking for love on the Web. It all seemed pretty harmless. So what was Elizabeth making such a fuss about?

Just to be thorough, she typed in a couple of Sara’s friends, with similar results. She even looked up Ashley Hume and Heather Nowak, again learning little more than that Ashley never missed
Survivor
and Heather loved Sudoku, before Ted marched in and she had to switch back to the listings.

Phyllis was right; there were a lot. Now that the weather was warming up, every club and organization in town seemed to be planning a yard sale or rummage sale or silent auction. It made Lucy wonder if there was some giant pool of unwanted items that were circulated from one event to another, from sale to sale, year after year. And if they weren’t selling you old junk, they wanted to feed you ham and beans or barbecued chicken or roast beef. The VFW was even holding a pig roast. Those who still had some cash after the sales and dinners could see a show. The Tinker’s Cove High School Players were selling advance tickets to their upcoming production of
Grease,
the Comedy Club was putting on
Sylvia,
and the Wentworth College Drama Club was presenting
Titus Andronicus
.

Just thinking about all this activity was tiring, and Lucy was glad when the clock finally read four thirty and she could leave.

“Any chance you could stay late tonight?” asked Ted. “We’re swamped this week.”

“I’ve got to pick up Sara,” replied Lucy. “But I can come in early tomorrow morning.”