Valentine Murder (21 page)

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Authors: Leslie Meier

BOOK: Valentine Murder
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“Aw, Dad,” groaned Toby. “Do I have to? I'm doing research for a paper.”
Bill looked over his shoulder. “What's your paper on? The MTV website? Get a move on.”
Toby gave a huge sigh as he logged off, prompting Lucy to wonder for the millionth time why teenagers were so lazy. Given their druthers, he and Elizabeth would sleep well past noon every day; then they would shower for an hour or two before settling down with the computer or TV. They only showed signs of life when the telephone rang; otherwise they were content to recline and nibble—Toby on any sort of fatty snack food, Elizabeth on her nails.
Hearing high-pitched screams in the kitchen, Lucy went to investigate. She found Sara and Zoe at the kitchen table, which was littered with cupcakes, a bowl of pink frosting, and numerous containers of cake decorations. Zoe's face was red and she was crying.
“What's the matter?”
“Sara took all the silver ones!” Zoe was furious. Lucy had never seen her so upset.
“There were hardly any, Mom. See?” Sara held up a cupcake with a few silver dragées on top.
“You and Sadie used them up on the cookies. Remember?”
“I hate Sadie.”
“No, you don't,” said Lucy, patting her littlest daughter's shoulder. “It's been a long day. I bet you're tired.”
Zoe sniffed and gave a little shudder.
“How about some chocolate sprinkles instead?”
Zoe shook her head.
“I know—wait one minute.” Lucy took the big heart-shaped box of chocolates down from the top of the refrigerator, where she had hidden it after the family binge the night before, and opened it up. Inside, nestled among the remaining chocolates, was a heart-shaped piece of chocolate wrapped in red foil. She plucked it out and gave it to Zoe. “How about this?”
Sara gasped, suitably impressed and obviously jealous.
Zoe glanced at her and stuck the candy on top of one of the cupcakes. “This one is mine.”
“You can have it for dessert,” promised Lucy. “Where's Elizabeth? I thought she was going to help you.”
“On the phone. She had to talk to Lance,” volunteered Sara, spotting an opportunity to get her big sister in trouble.
She was doomed to be disappointed. “Oh, well,” said Lucy. “Let's finish here and I'll help you clean up. You girls did a really good job—these cupcakes are beautiful. We're going to have a lovely Valentine's Day Blizzard supper.”
Zoe giggled and licked her fingers.
 
 
Lucy was wiping off the table when Toby came in, covered with snow from head to toe.
“Look at you!” exclaimed Lucy, hurrying over to help him out of his snow-caked clothes. “Where's your Dad?”
“Mr. Bumpus came by and Dad went with him.”
“He did?” Lucy was tugging at one of Toby's boots. “Why?”
“Something about the snow load on the library—he said they needed to shovel the roof.”
“Shovel the roof?”
Toby ran his fingers through his damp hair. His face was red and flushed and little droplets of water were sparkling on his eyelashes. “It's something out there, Mom. There's a lot of snow.”
Lucy peered out the window in the kitchen door. Because of the storm it was already starting to get dark, and the snow was still falling heavily, blowing this way and that. Everything was white. The car and truck were mounds of snow sitting in the windswept driveway. The wind had also cleared the front of the shed while covering one side with a huge drift. The same thing had happened to the house; some windows were half-covered with snow, others were bare.
“I wish he hadn't gone,” said Lucy. “This isn't any sort of weather to be out in.”
“Mr. Bumpus said the road isn't too bad, and he's got four-wheel drive.”
“Four-wheel drive has its limits,” said Lucy.
Toby was shocked at this heresy. “Don't worry, Mom. They'll be fine. That truck is . . .” He couldn't find words to adequately describe Ed's truck and sputtered. “Cool,” he finally said.
“I hope he's back in time for dinner,” said Lucy, opening the oven to check the turkey.
“Boy, that smells good,” said Toby, spreading some peanut butter on a piece of bread.
“Save some room for dinner,” said Lucy as she basted the turkey. “I don't get it—that roof is supposed to have steel beams. I remember people asked about the roof when they first presented the plans at the town meeting.”
“Mmmph,” said Toby, his mouth full of peanut butter.
Lucy closed the oven door and stood for a minute by the sink, tapping it with the turkey baster. Suddenly dropping it in the sink, she rushed up the back stairs, heading for Bill's little attic office under the eaves. There, she found the folder with the library figures on his desk.
Pulling out the chair, she sat down and opened it, slowly leafing through the pages. She wasn't sure what she was looking for—there were so many figures. After pages and pages of tightly noted columns, she turned with relief to the invoices for materials, neatly clipped together. One of the first was from A-B Steel, she noted with relief. That meant they did use steel beams, the way they were supposed to.
She was about to replace the invoices in the file when she noticed a notebook tucked among the papers—it was the journal kept by the clerk of the works. The clerk of the works, she knew, was responsible for logging in all the deliveries, and he had. Each page was dated and the time for each delivery was noted, as well as the materials. Perilli Excavating, Cove Readymix, Tinker's Cove Lumber, O'Brien Plumbing and Heating, Ashley Roofing, Flambeau Millwork—it was all there, a steady stream of deliveries by building materials dealers. But there was no mention of the company she was looking for: A-B Steel.
That didn't mean anything, she told herself. Maybe it was delivered by a hauler with a different name. So she began studying the lists of items. Cubic yards of concrete, squares of shingles, board feet of lumber, windows and doors, nails and wire and pipe, joist hangers, things she recognized and things she didn't. But nowhere was there mention of any steel beams. No I-beams, nothing. But there was a notation of eight forty-foot eight-by-eight beams from the St. Lawrence Salvage Company.
She thought of the open floor plan of the addition, how the circulation desk and the new books area seemed to flow right on into the children's area. There were no walls, no supporting beams. It was one huge, uninterrupted space, about forty feet from the front door to the back wall. Forty feet of roof, now covered with tons of snow, supported not by tempered steel I-beams but by wood beams from a salvage company.
Lucy was no engineer, but she could see why Ed was worried. If she'd known, she would have been worried, too. She reached for the phone, intending to call Chuck, when the lights went out.
That didn't necessarily mean the phone was out, too, she told herself. She lifted the receiver to her ear; there was no dial tone.
Sitting alone in the dark, she pictured Ed's face. The bristling eyebrows, the little piggy eyes. The smile that could seem friendly and open or vaguely threatening. What had he said at the funeral? “I want people to know that Bill Stone signed off on this project, that Bill Stone said it was okay.”
She hadn't liked it when he said it then, and she liked it even less now. Bill, she knew, had taken Ed's word that everything was as it should be. He had signed the papers, but he hadn't been involved in the construction. But now, if something was wrong, he could be blamed.
Even worse, thought Lucy, what if something happened to him? Shoveling off a roof was dangerous. A knot formed in her stomach. What if he fell? She felt as if something was gripping her heart; she couldn't breathe. She forced herself to inhale and exhale.
That's why Bitsy died, and Hayden, too. They had made the same discovery she had—that Ed had substituted inferior materials in the library addition. Bitsy must have been working on the figures before the meeting, that's why she had to be killed. Ed hadn't gone to the men's room as he had claimed; he'd gone around the building, let himself into the workroom with his key, and shot Bitsy. He probably hadn't thought twice about it—as a hunter he was used to killing and he didn't think much of Bitsy anyway.
Hayden, also, had been worried about the library. His last words to Ralph had been that there was something he wanted to straighten out. If he had gone to Ed with his questions, Ed wouldn't have hesitated to kill him. He despised Hayden for being gay; he probably thought he was doing everybody a favor. Stealing the tankard and leaving it with Hayden's body had been cunning—it gave Hayden a motive for supposedly killing Bitsy and himself.
And that's why Ed had dragged Bill off to shovel the roof, thought Lucy. Now that Gerald had been arrested, the state police would certainly be taking a close look at the bookkeeping for the addition. Gerald was safe in jail—Ed couldn't get to him. Even worse, realized Lucy, Ed knew that she had the figures—he'd seen her with the folder. Furthermore, he knew that Bill would be taking another look at them. But if Bill died, Ed could blame him for the discrepancies and there'd be nobody to dispute his story.
Nobody but Lucy, and Ed had been doing his very best to frighten the wits out of her. He probably thought that between the sledding incident and the car fire she would be afraid of her own shadow. If he thought that was true, she decided, he didn't know her very well.
She jumped to her feet, banging her head on the slanted ceiling. Wincing at the pain, she clutched her head and groped her way to the door. If only she could get help for Bill. Damn the stupid phone. And the lights, too. Why did they have to go out now? Thank God she still had the cell phone. She could use that, she thought, grasping a knob. She pulled, intending to open the door, but discovered too late that she had instead opened the cabinet where Bill stored his rolled-up plans. Cardboard tubes rained down on her; she tried to turn away, toward the door, but her feet got tangled. The next thing she knew she was flat on her stomach in the pitch black darkness, with a pounding headache.
“Dammit,” she muttered, frustrated at the absurdity of her situation—helpless in the dark in her own house with her children only a few rooms away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in,” said the Wolf.
A
fter a minute or two she cautiously felt around in the darkness with her hands, pushing the tubes out of her way and crawling toward the door. She found the knob, the right one this time, and pulled it open.
“Help!” she screamed down the pitch-black stairs. “I'm stuck in the attic.” The effort made her head throb.
There was no answer. Alone in the dark, at the top of the steep stairs, she might as well have been in an empty house.
“Toby!” she yelled. “Bring me a flashlight!”
The house was silent.
“Kids,” she muttered, feeling her way down the stairs backwards, on her hands and knees. What could they be doing? Were they sittting like idiots, staring at the blank TV screen? They knew better. They should be lighting the oil lamps and checking to see if everyone was okay. Especially their mother.
When she pushed open the door to the second floor hall, Lucy was relieved to see there was still a little daylight filtering in through the windows. She groped her way downstairs to the kitchen. There she lit a lamp and looked for the cell phone, intending to call Barney at the police station to get help for Bill. But the place on the counter where she had left it, freshly charged next to the lamps, was empty. It was gone.
“Where's the cell phone?” she hollered, pushing open the door to the family room. There she saw Toby and the younger girls sitting on the floor, huddled around a lamp, playing checkers. Elizabeth was lounging on the couch, the cell phone in her hand.
“Give that to me,” said Lucy, snatching it out of her hand.
“Okay—but it isn't working.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was working fine, but then it started making a lot of static and I couldn't hear anymore.”
“How long were you using it?” Lucy grabbed the phone and pushed the power button. The display panel read “Low Bat”.
“A while, I guess. Not long.”
“I charged it yesterday.” Lucy was furious. “You must have been talking for hours. What were you using it for, anyway? This is for emergencies.”
“It was an emergency,” insisted Elizabeth indignantly. “Toby had the phone line tied up with the computer and I had to talk to Lance.”
“How could you be so irresponsible?” Lucy's head was spinning. She glared at her daughter, her eyes glittering in the lamplight. “Do you know what you've done?” she began, then broke off. What was the point? Arguing with Elizabeth wasn't going to change the situation.
Her hands shaking with anger and blinking back tears of pain and frustration, Lucy carried her lamp into the bathroom and took three ibuprofen. Then she went back to the kitchen and sat at the table, her head in her hands. She could hear the turkey spitting and hissing in the oven; it must be almost ready.
She took a few deep breaths to calm herself and tried to analyze the situation. Had she overreacted? Was Bill really in danger?
Then she remembered Bitsy, lying on the floor of the storeroom, her lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling. She thought of Hayden, his murder cleverly arranged to look like suicide.
She closed her eyes. Bill had gone to meet Bumpus, unaware that he was walking into a trap. Up on the roof it would be easy to rig an accident. One slip and Bumpus would silence Bill forever. Then he'd be able to shift the blame for the shoddy materials onto Bill. It would be his word against that of a dead man.
Lucy shuddered. It might already be too late.
No, she decided, looking out the window at the fading light. That's why Bumpus came along when he did. He'd wait until it was dark. There was still time if she hurried.
 
 
Lucy and Toby stepped off the back porch into a bleak wilderness of snow and wind. Clinging together, they hung on to the clothesline and struggled across the short distance to the shed. The snow was so thick that the porch light did little good; its soft glow served only to mark the warmth and safety they were leaving behind as they ventured out in the darkness and howling wind.
Reaching the shed, they scrambled into its shelter, knocking rakes and shovels aside.
“Mom—let me go,” said Toby, already panting from the exertion of pulling the frozen door open. His jacket and snowpants were already coated with snow.
Lucy was beginning to doubt the wisdom of her plan. She hadn't realized the strength of the storm. She also wasn't sure of her ability to handle the snowmobile; until now she'd only been a passenger, riding behind Bill.
But Bill was out in the storm, alone with a murderer. She couldn't begin to explain it to Toby—this irrational, irresistible tug. She had to get to him.
“Help me get this thing out and we'll see what happens,” she said, tugging at the machine's grab bar. “Chances are I'll meet one of the plows before I get too far.”
They both knew the town trucks were equipped with radios; if she reached a truck they could radio for help.
“What makes you so sure the plows are out?” demanded Toby. “They're probably waiting 'til the storm's over.”
Lucy knew he was probably right. The DPW superintendent wasn't going to put his men, or his trucks, in danger. Frustrated, she challenged him.
“Are you going to help me or what?”
Toby joined her and together they dragged the snowmobile to the door. He gave the cord a yank and it started right up. Lucy gave him a quick peck on the cheek before she pulled on her helmet and climbed aboard. Then, cautiously, she maneuvered the machine down the ramp and started across the yard to the road. She was halfway there when it sputtered and stalled.
She tried to restart it, but nothing happened. Tears sprang to her eyes and she pounded the useless hunk of metal with her fists.
Toby materialized out of the swirling snow, pounding on his chest to indicate that he would drive. Lucy obediently slid back and he climbed on in front of her. The machine sprang to life once more and she wrapped her arms around his waist and hung on as they hurled forward.
The headlight only showed a wall of whirling white snow but with Toby driving they moved ahead steadily and reached the road. There, Toby cautiously accelerated and they skimmed along the freshly fallen powder. The roar of the wind was muffled by the helmet, but the sudden crack of a falling tree made her start.
Out in the dark emptiness Lucy felt she and Toby were very alone. If anything happened to them it would be a very long time before help came.
She pushed those thoughts from her mind. They couldn't give up; they had to get help for Bill. She swallowed hard as Toby carefully maneuvered the turn at the bottom of Red Top Hill where her car had burned. How far was it to town? Four or five miles at most, a matter of ten or fifteen minutes.
Sensing the open road ahead, Toby accelerated the snowmobile and they surged forward, speeding along through the wild night. Lucy's hands and feet were getting cold; she didn't have the benefit of the heated handles and the warmth of the engine as Toby did. She flexed her fingers and wiggled her toes inside her boots. A sudden flash of light made her jump. It was a broken power line giving off showers of sparks. Toby gave it a wide berth and pushed on.
They passed the Quik-Stop without realizing it. The familiar sign was covered with snow and the gas pumps were simply odd, snow-covered shapes. The first thing they recognized was the church, and next to it was the police station. It wasn't until they pulled up by the steps that they could see the faint blue light of the lamps by the door.
Lucy started to dismount but her legs wouldn't cooperate. They felt heavy and clumsy. She leaned heavily on Toby's shoulders and willed herself to move. Grabbing the railing, she pulled herself up the steps and yanked the door open, practically falling on the floor in front of the dispatcher's desk.
“Good God—what are you doing out on a night like this?” demanded Barney.
Lucy tugged at the helmet but couldn't get it off. Barney came around the desk and eased it off her head. “Easy now,” he said. “Tell me what's the matter.
“I need help. Bill's in trouble.”
“Jeez. What's happened?”
“He went with Bumpus. To shovel snow off the roof. Of the library.” Lucy was struggling to be coherent. “He's the murderer.”
Barney stared at her, trying to understand.
“You think Bill's in danger?”
Lucy nodded. “We have to help him.”
Barney's face drooped. “Lucy—there isn't anything I can do.”
“What do you mean? You can go over there with me!”
“I can't leave the station.” Barney looked stricken.
“Well, call for help.”
“I can't. There's nobody to call. We've had one emergency after another. You'll just have to wait until somebody gets back. And there's a coupla calls ahead of you.” He looked down at the floor and studied the gray and white tiles. “Besides, if what you say is true, it's probably too late.”
Lucy slowly blinked her eyes, then turned to retrieve her helmet.
“What do you think you're doing?”
“This is a waste of time. Toby's out there, freezing his ass off. We're going to the library.” Lucy pulled the helmet over her head and turned to go.
“Please, Lucy. You're in no shape to go and I bet Toby's no better. Stay here where it's warm and safe. What do you think you're gonna do when you get there?”
She shook her head stubbornly. “I have to go,” she said and staggered the short distance across the lobby to the door. She pushed it open and found herself once again in the storm. The wind had quieted, however, and the snow was falling less heavily. Moving stiffly, hanging on to the railing, she slid down the steps and staggered to the snowmobile. She grabbed Toby's shoulders and swung her leg over the seat. As soon as she sat down he was underway, zooming down Main Street to the library.
In minutes they were pulling up beside Bumpus's big black truck, the only one in the parking lot. Lucy tilted her head and raised her eyes to the roof.
There, a work light had been rigged, making an island of brightness in the darkness. She lifted her visor and gasped, seeing two figures struggling near the edge of the roof.
Toby followed her gaze.
She grabbed his arm with her hand as they watched the two dark shadows grapple with each other, locked in a life or death struggle. At first they seemed equally matched but gradually, the slighter, more slender man appeared to be losing ground. As they watched, he was pushed inexorably toward the edge of the roof by the bulkier one. She held her breath.
“No, no, no,” she whispered.
She felt Toby tense, and she held his hand in both of hers. As they clung together they saw one of the figures topple off the roof.
Fueled by adrenaline, Lucy leaped off the snowmobile and ran through the snow toward the motionless figure crumpled on the ground.
“Don't let it be Bill,” she prayed, kneeling beside the form in the snow. She tugged at the hood covering his face and moaned, recognizing Bill's beard. With her teeth she ripped her glove off and felt his neck for a pulse. It was there—she was sure she felt it.
Suddenly frantic, heart pounding, she looked for help and saw Toby running toward her.
“We have to get him to the hospital.”
Toby pointed to the roof, where Bumpus was looking down on Bill's broken body in triumph.
“You'll pay for this!” Lucy yelled, shaking her fist at him. “I saw you. I know who you are.”
Bumpus gave no sign of having heard her and turned away.
Lucy brushed the snow from Bill's face. Hearing a moan, she leaned closer to his lips. It wasn't from him, she realized, as the sound grew louder. She froze.
“Listen,” she said.
Alerted, Toby turned toward the building.
The sound was insistent, penetrating.
She followed Toby's gaze, realizing with horror that they were hearing the groan of overburdened timbers yielding to the weight of the snow.
“Get down!” she screamed and Bumpus turned to face her. His face was white in the spotlight and his mouth made an “O” as he realized the danger. He seemed to move in slow motion, stumbling as he scrambled across the snowy roof to the ladder that would lead him to safety.
He never reached it. There was a horrible crack, like an explosion. For a moment it seemed as if everything would be all right. Then, with a sudden sucking noise, almost like a huge intake of breath, the roof gave way. Lucy and Toby saw Bumpus teeter on the edge and then he was gone.

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