Authors: Leslie Meier

Tags: #Suspense

Star Spangled Murder (19 page)

BOOK: Star Spangled Murder

10.34Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

ads

Chapter Nineteen

L
ucy was frying up some bacon and eggs for breakfast when the phone rang. It was Sue.

“Are you busy? Can you talk?”

“Talk away. I'm just cooking up some bacon and eggs.”

“Are you trying to kill your family? Haven't you heard of cholesterol?”

“Oh, shut up. I haven't cooked a real breakfast for them in years. But now that I'm not working I have time to make things that take a little time and fussing. I think Sara was still in diapers the last time I made pancakes.”

“Pancakes!”

“Tomorrow. If you're gonna do it, you might as well go all the way.”

“That's the advice you give Elizabeth?”

“Not quite, but she doesn't listen to me anyway.”

Sue chuckled. “That's so true. When Sidra was in college she'd smile and nod and agree with me. . . .”

“And then she'd go and do the exact opposite.”

“Right!”

“Well, everything worked out for her,” said Lucy. Sidra had a promising career in television in New York City and was happily married to her high school sweetheart, Geoff Dunford, who was a science teacher at the Bronx High School of Science.

“It will work out for Elizabeth, too,” said Sue. “Listen, I had that talk with the Wilsons.”

Lucy poked at the bacon with a fork, turning over a few pieces. “That's fast work. Did you learn anything?”

“Yes. It seems that, unfortunately, I am doomed to hell because I have not been born again.”

“But you're such a nice person and you give lovely parties. I'm sure they'd love to have you in heaven.”

“That's what I thought, too, but I was wrong. The important thing is being born again. You can be absolutely rotten, stinking with sin, but if you find Jesus and repent, you get to go to heaven.”

“You mean heaven is full of crooks and thieves and murderers?”

“Reformed ones.”

“They're the worst kind,” said Lucy. “I'm not sure I want to go now. Especially if you're not going.”

“Don't worry. Wherever we end up, we'll stick together.”

“Good.” Lucy lifted a piece of bacon with her fork and set it on a paper towel to drain. “There'll be all the fried chicken you want and you never gain any weight.”

“Whipped cream?”

“Of course. The clouds are made of it.” Lucy smiled. “In Bill's heaven, the clouds will be made of beer foam.”

“You're not going to be together?”

“Not all the time. How about you and Sid?”

“Well, you know how he hates shopping and there would have to be shopping, right?”

“Absolutely. Of course, maybe that would be your particular hell. Endless shopping, at full price, with your husband tagging along and complaining.”

“Enough theology. I called to tell you what the Wilsons said about the Pratts.” Sue paused for breath. “Apparently, many of the Revelation Congregation members considered Pru their cross to bear, if you know what I mean.”

“Even those pious folk didn't like her?'

“Not much. She made a habit of pointing out other people's deficiencies, for example, she told Mrs. Wilson that her cakes were flat because she didn't have enough faith.”

“Her baking powder's probably old.”

“That's what I told her and it came as a great relief. Apparently Pru's accusation touched a nerve, because she was pretty upset about it. She also accused Mr. Wilson of lusting after other women because she saw him buying a
Playboy
at the Quik-Stop, but he insists it was only a gag gift for a friend at work.”

“Likely story,” scoffed Lucy.

“Well, whoever he was buying it for really wasn't any of Pru's business. She sounds like a real bully. Telling everyone how they ought to behave and pointing out their shortcomings. Especially Calvin's. The Wilsons said everybody felt sorry for him. She was constantly nagging him and belittling him in front of other people. It was painful to watch, they said. Everybody was waiting for the day when Calvin would stick up for himself.” Sue paused. “Do you think he finally did? Maybe he snapped and ran her down. You can just picture it: She's standing in the driveway, giving him what for about buying a
Playboy
or leaving the toilet seat up or not cleaning out the gutters and he impulsively slams his foot down on the gas. It's over before he has time for a second thought.”

“You think Calvin did it?” Lucy remembered her encounter with him in the woods near Blueberry Pond. Rather than speak to her, he had run away, vanished into the woods. “He's afraid of his own shadow.”

“Those are the ones, Lucy. The quiet ones. Isn't that what the neighbors of the murderer always say. âHe was so quiet. He always kept to himself.' ”

“I still think Wesley's a better candidate. He's hot tempered, and then there's the incident with Kudo. He was definitely running away from something that morning.” She took the last pieces of bacon out of the pan and flipped the eggs. “Whichever one it was, it's going to be awfully hard to prove. If it were a stranger, there might be a footprint or some kind of physical evidence. But Wesley and Calvin live there.”

“What about damage to the truck?”

“He hit the dog right after. He could say the dog caused the damage. If only I could talk to Calvin I bet he would fold pretty quickly,” said Lucy. “But I'd have to catch him when Wesley isn't home, when no reporters are around. We'll probably have a solar eclipse before that happens.”

“I have an idea,” said Sue. “I could go to Pru's funeral. The Wilsons actually asked me if I was going.”

“That's a great idea. Will you do it?”

“For you, sure. But in the meantime, since you're home anyway and enjoy cooking so much, do you think you could make
twenty
pounds of potato salad?'

Lucy's heart was bursting with gratitude. “Absolutely.”

“And one other little thing?”

Lucy's grateful heart was shrinking; she was beginning to think the price of this particular favor was getting rather high. But what was she going to do? She couldn't go to the funeral herself without causing a scandal. “Whatever you say.”

“Bake six dozen red, white and blue cupcakes. You don't have to make them from scratchâyou can use a mix if you want.”

“That's big of you,” said Lucy.

“I know. I can't believe I'm not going to heaven.”

“I can,” said Lucy.

Lucy didn't really mind baking the cupcakes; she didn't really know what to do with herself now that she didn't have to go to work at the
Pennysaver
. She had a couple of boxes of cake mix in the pantry and it only took a few minutes to mix up a batch. While they were baking, she stirred up some brownies using her favorite recipe. She hadn't made it in a long time, and it reminded her of the days when the kids were small and she turned out a steady stream of baked goods for their lunch boxes and after-school snacks. Whatever happened to that recipe for peanut-butter bars, she wondered. That had been a favorite, with a thin coating of chocolate frosting.

She smiled when she took the cupcakes out of the oven, admiring the festive paper cups decorated with red and blue stars. She had found them in the pantry, tucked away with cupcake papers for every conceivable holiday: hearts for Valentine's Day, pastels for Easter, red and green bells for Christmas, little green shamrocks for Saint Patrick's Day. No holiday had gone unremarked when the kids were small.

Once she'd started working, however, that had changed. Dinner had to be something she could throw together quickly, and instead of baking treats she usually grabbed something from the store. These days they all seemed to be watching their weight anyway. More often than not they had fruit or frozen yogurt for dessert.

She sniffed the rich chocolate scent of the brownies baking in the oven and sighed. All that butter and sugar, not to mention the walnuts, they had to have tons of calories. But it would be worth it, just this once. A chocolate extravagance.

Maybe a bit too extravagant, she decided, taking the pan out of the oven and setting it on a rack to cool. It was a big recipe, making at least four dozen brownies. Elizabeth and Sara wouldn't touch them, Toby was hardly ever home, and Zoe shouldn't eat too many. Neither should she and Bill, considering their ongoing battle with middle-age spread.

She touched the brownies, waiting for the magic moment when they would be just the right temperature to cut. Too soon and she'd end up with a mess. Wait too long, and they'd be tough. She tapped the side of the pan with her knife.

Maybe she could take a few brownies into the
Pennysaver.
Phyllis loved her brownies and Ted would wolf down any food that came his way. It would be a good way to show there were no hard feelings, and maybe she'd even pick up some information about the murder investigation. She sank the knife into the brownies and drew it towards her in a straight line. Perfect.

Lucy was a bit surprised to see the little encampment opposite the driveway had disappeared when she left the house that afternoon. Maybe they were all at the funeral, or maybe they were busy chasing down nudists. Maybe the family feud was old news. She certainly hoped so. It felt great to go about her business unobserved.

The
Pennysaver
office hadn't changed a bit, she discovered, when she arrived carrying her plate of brownies, carefully covered with plastic wrap. The little bell on the door still jangled, the motes of dust danced in the sunlight that streamed through the venetian blinds, and Phyllis was still sitting behind the reception desk.

“Howdy, stranger,” said Phyllis, beaming at her through her half-glasses. The rhinestones were gone, replaced by a pair with a garish abstract design inspired by Jackson Pollack.

“I like your glasses,” said Lucy. “Wild.”

“That's what I thought,” said Phyllis, peering at the plate. “What have you got there?”

“Brownies. They're for you and Ted. Is he around?”

“Nope. He's covering the funeral.” Phyllis picked the largest brownie off the plate and took a bite, closing her eyes and moaning with pleasure. “These are fantastic. You really shouldn't have.”

“I've got a lot of time on my hands these days.”

“Ted doesn't, that's for sure,” said Phyllis, her shoulders shaking with laughter. “I think he really misses you.”

“Good,” said Lucy. “You can tell him I'm enjoying this little vacation.”

“I will.” Phyllis eyed the plate. “I guess I better save some for him,” she said, choosing a second brownie.

“It would be nice.” Lucy glanced at her desk, which was covered with papers. “Whatcha doing?”

“Letters to the Editor.” Phyllis sighed. “Between the nudists and the Fourth of July and the lichen, we're getting an awful lot of mail these days. Everybody's got something to say.”

“Ted must be in seventh heaven,” said Lucy, picking up a letter. “This one says the environmentalists are in league with the Communists.”

“We've gotten a couple of those.”

“This lady says she's glad there won't be any fireworks because they always used to upset her dog.”

“Listen to this,” said Phyllis, waving a sheet of paper with an impressive letterhead. “It's from the VFW. They say they've voted to oppose the anti-nudity bylaw because, and I quote, they âfought for freedom, not for some petty-minded prudes to start telling people what they could do.' ”

“Wow,” said Lucy, taking the letter and examining it. “It gets better: âA ridiculous attempt to legislate morality by a sexually repressed and unfulfilled woman who is attempting to impose her extreme religious beliefs on an entire town.' ”

Phyllis raised an eyebrow. “Pretty strong language, especially about a dead woman.”

Lucy checked the date. “It's dated the day she died.”

“I'm behind in the mail,” admitted Phyllis. “Who wrote it? The whole VFW?”

“It says they all voted on it, but the letter's written by Scratch Hallett.”

“Sounds to me like he got a little personally involved.”

The bell on the door jangled and Ted came in, accompanied by Mike Gold.

“Hi, Lucy!” he exclaimed, cheerfully. “Don't tell me you've reconsidered and you're here to help with the mail?”

“Not on your life, Ted,” said Lucy, smiling sweetly. “But I did bring you some brownies, to help you keep your strength up.”

BOOK: Star Spangled Murder

10.34Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

ads