Candy Corn Murder (17 page)

Buck furrowed his brow. “Can you be more specific?”

“Well, take your workforce, for example. Country Cousins is one of the county's biggest employers, but labor here in Maine is pretty expensive. Do you have any plans to outsource? Maybe set up overseas call centers?”

“I don't think our customers would like that,” said Buck, with a grin. “I don't think they want to hear an Indian accent when they call us.” He leaned forward. “That's one of my ideas, you know. I want all our operators to have Maine accents. I'm thinking of bringing in a dialect coach to give some lessons to the folks who aren't native Mainers.”

“That's a really interesting idea,” said Lucy. “What about maintaining quality? I bought some polo shirts last spring, and I noticed they were made in Bangladesh.”

“Did they wear well? Were you satisfied with them?”

“Yeah,” admitted Lucy. “They were very nice.”

“Listen, I wish we could make everything we sell right here in the USA, but it's not practical, not if we want to be competitive. But we do maintain high standards, as high as we can and still keep our prices in line with our competitors.” He was leaning back now, with his arms extended along the top of the sofa. “And we offer free shipping. Always.”

“That was my next question,” said Lucy. “Any plans to change that?”

“Absolutely not,” he said, with a sharp nod of the head. “It's one of the things that make Country Cousins unique. It's a big part of our old-fashioned values campaign.”

Lucy was running out of questions, and besides, she really wanted to see what was in some of those windowless, gray steel buildings. “You know,” she said, tapping her lip with her pen, “I'd really love a tour. I don't think people realize how much Country Cousins has grown in recent years.”

“Great idea,” he said, jumping up. “I'll show you around.”

Lucy gathered up her things and followed him out the door, and down the hallway, where they encountered Tom Miller. He was coming out of his office, which was on the opposite side of the building. Glancing through the open door, she noticed his desk was piled high with stacks of paper, and even the floor was littered with rolled-up plans and piles of files. It was a marked contrast to Buck's neat and tidy office.

“I'm glad I caught you,” said Buck. “Do you know Lucy Stone, from the
Pennysaver?
She's interviewing me for a story.”

“Of course I know Lucy,” said Tom, with a gracious smile. “Give my regards to Ted. I haven't seen him on the links lately.”

A typical CEO put-down,
thought Lucy.
Like, you're okay, but I'm best buddies with your boss, so you better watch your step.
“I'll do that,” she said, pasting on a grin.

“I'm giving Lucy the grand tour,” said Buck.

Tom, who had started off down the long hallway, stopped suddenly and whirled around. “Grand tour?”

“You know, showing her around. The call center, the warehouse, the packing department. The works.”

“I'm afraid that's not a good idea,” said Tom.

“Really? I was looking forward to seeing your operation,” said Lucy. “It would add a lot of color to my story.”

“I understand,” said Tom in a sympathetic tone. “It's not me, you know. It's the insurance company. Only employees are allowed in the facility, apart from these offices, of course.”

“That's too bad,” said Lucy, wondering if her guess about the company wasn't as off the mark as she had supposed.

“Well,” he added, with an apologetic shrug, “it's just the way things are these days. The insurance companies set the rules.”

“They sure do,” said Lucy, who didn't believe him for a minute.

“Well, let me walk you to your car,” said Buck. “We can finish up while we walk.”

“Okay,” said Lucy, following him down the stairs. “I noticed you have a great view of the pond from your office.”

“It's okay,” said Buck in a grudging tone that reminded Lucy of her son Toby's attitude when he was in middle school.

“I saw that the police tape is gone, and I wondered if they've finished investigating out there.”

“You mean like divers and stuff like that?”

“I guess so,” said Lucy. “Or anything at all.”

“Nope. Haven't seen anyone out there.” He held the door for her. “Well, it was nice talking to you.”

“Thanks for everything,” said Lucy, shaking his hand and thinking there really hadn't been much of anything. But, she admitted to herself, even if she had been given a tour, it wouldn't have included the marijuana-processing facility. If it was even there, which was by no means certain.

She was climbing into her car when someone called her name, and she looked up and saw Glory hurrying across the parking lot. She was running awkwardly, hampered by high heels, and was toting several bulging shopping bags. “Ooh, ooh, Lucy! What brings you here?”

“Following up on my interview with Buck,” she answered.

“We're all so happy he's joined the company,” said Glory. “He's like a breath of fresh air. He's just full of ideas. Like this,” she said, indicating the shopping bags. “They're seconds. Buck suggested we donate them to the food pantry.”

“And dialect lessons for the operators,” said Lucy, “so they'll have distinct Maine accents.”

“That's a new one on me,” said Glory, biting her bottom lip, painted with shiny coral gloss. “So tell me, were you actually there when they found Ev's body? I couldn't make the pumpkin hurl, so I missed all the excitement.”

Lucy nodded. “I was taking photos of the smashed-up car for the paper. A lot of people apparently love this stuff. When it's flying through the air at a high speed, a pumpkin can do a lot of damage to a Hyundai.”

“I guess it would.” Glory fingered her necklace of oversize South Sea pearls. “Was it terribly gory?”

“I really only got a glimpse of his shirt . . . ,” said Lucy.

“Poor man,” said Glory. “And at the festival, too.”

“It probably means this is the first and last Giant Pumpkin Fest.”

“Well, Tom says it's probably for the best. He wasn't all that happy about the festival.”

“Do you know why?” asked Lucy, remembering the Conservation Commission meeting. “He didn't want the college kids to use Jonah's Pond for the underwater pumpkin-carving contest, but I didn't understand his objection. The contest seemed so harmless.”

“Don't ask me,” said Glory, setting the bags on the ground and leaning one hip against Lucy's car. “At first he was a big supporter, but then he changed his mind. He was pretty upset about it all. He even said it made him regret deeding the pond to the town. He thought it was going to be preserved forever as conservation land, and instead they were going to use it for a spectacle and bring a whole lot of people there. He was worried about litter and damage to the plants. There are some very rare endangered species there.”

“I guess I thought it was always town land,” said Lucy.

Glory shook her head, which made her curls bounce, her big hoop earrings swing, and her décolletage jiggle. “Nope. It was in the family for years, but Tom donated it in return for a tax break. It was back when the company started to take off and they needed to expand. That's when they built all this,” she said, indicating the complex with a wave of her bejeweled and manicured hand. “Believe it or not, back then Tom lived over the store with his first wife. Right there on Main Street. And his parents, Old Sam and Emily, lived with them, too. In three or four poky little attic rooms.” She put her hands on her hips. “I told him, ‘No way, José.' I said I was not going to live in a dinky apartment with Mom and Dad trying to sleep in the next room.” She winked at Lucy, a maneuver that Lucy would have thought impossible, considering her heavy application of mascara. “I'm not the sort of girl who keeps quiet when she gets excited!”

Lucy couldn't help laughing. “What did Tom do?”

“What he should have done years ago, honey. He built a house, a little ranch, on Parallel Street. It's still there, but after a few years, when the company really started to take off, I wanted something a little more . . . well, something that reflected his success. I wanted to live on Shore Road and . . .” Glory gave another little bounce. “Well, I usually manage to get my way.”

 

 

 

Chapter Sixteen

M
ore information than I needed,
thought Lucy as she climbed into her car. It was stuffy from sitting in the sun, and she rolled down the window to let the breeze in. So Glory was a noisy lover! She couldn't quite imagine the rather stern and taciturn Tom would enjoy vocal lovemaking, but then again, she didn't know him very well. She had seen him only in his public role, either as a member of the Conservation Commission or representing the company. She'd often taken what journalists called grin and grab photos of Tom, the ones in which generous donors were pictured handing over checks for worthy causes. Thinking back, she had recently snapped Tom giving generous donations to the Hat and Mitten Fund, the Tinker's Cove Cottage Hospital, Westminster College, and the Tinker's Cove Food Pantry. And that was just in the past few months.

Lucy's gaze turned to Glory, who was jiggling her way across the parking lot in her tight capri pants and high heels, and she couldn't help smiling.
Good for Glory and Tom.
It was nice to know that they'd been able to keep the spark alive in their marriage, and maybe she and Bill needed to try a little harder. Although, to be honest, knowing that Patrick was sleeping on the other side of the bedroom wall was somewhat inhibiting.

She shifted into gear and rolled across the parking lot, winding her way through the complex of buildings. As she drove, she wondered if the people who got the Country Cousins catalog, which was carefully written to convey a folksy, old-fashioned vibe, ever imagined what the company was really like. The catalog always featured a photo of the store, with the two benches on the front porch decorated for the season. In spring there was often a litter of Lab puppies on one of the benches, and in summer one of the company's canvas totes brimming with beach or picnic gear; fall inevitably brought a pumpkin or jack-o'-lantern, and winter a pair of the company's signature duck boots holding a holiday arrangement of pine boughs. She very much doubted the average customer had a clue about the company's size or its marketing savvy.

When she reached the gate, the security guard greeted her with a friendly wave and raised the bar so she could exit. As she drove through the gate, she caught a glimpse of a chain-link fence and took a harder look at the hedge of arborvitae trees that encircled the entire complex. The double row of evergreens was an attractive screen, she realized, that disguised a very serious chain-link fence, as well as a gate that could slide across the entrance, effectively sealing the complex from intruders.

Why on earth did they need that much security out here in Tinker's Cove? It was the sort of fence you'd expect to see at a prison or a military outpost, although there it would be out in the open, not disguised by clever landscaping. But here they'd gone to great lengths, and expense, to construct and hide the fence. It really seemed odd to her, considering that people in Tinker's Cove rarely bothered to lock their doors and often left the keys in the car when they dashed into the Quik-Stop for a gallon of milk.

The road to town took her around Jonah's Pond, and she noticed a flock of Canada geese flying overhead in a V formation, headed for warmer climes.
Lucky them,
she thought, watching as the flock circled around and splashed down on the pond. They would probably spend the night there, then continue on their way after they'd rested. It was a good thing the pond had been preserved as a conservation area, though from what Glory said, the company had profited from the transfer.

That was what you called a win-win situation, she decided. Conservation land was good for the environment, it provided habitat for wildlife, and it helped preserve the rural character of the town. The drive past the pond was certainly picturesque, she thought as a sudden gust of wind sent a shower of rusty brown leaves swirling across the road. Country Cousins was truly a good neighbor and a benefactor to the town, even if they did it to lower the company's tax bill.

Although, she thought, drawing on her knowledge of the town's budgeting process, Tinker's Cove had one of the lowest property tax rates in the state. She'd spent many hours covering finance committee meetings, where every expenditure was carefully scrutinized in excruciating detail. Doing some quick computations in her head, she discovered the conservation designation had probably gotten the company only a small reduction in their overall tax bill. Maybe Tom Miller had done it out of the goodness of his heart or out of personal conviction, or because . . . Here she ran out of ideas.

At the meeting he'd seemed to have a proprietary attitude about the pond, as if he still owned it. She recalled that he'd really wanted to keep the scuba club divers out of the pond, but he'd been outvoted. It was the discovery of Ev's body that had precipitated the cancellation of the underwater pumpkin-carving contest, she realized, with a growing sense of excitement. Was that the motive for Ev's murder? Could it be? Was there something in the pond that Tom, or somebody else, didn't want found? Something important enough to be a motive for murder?

Suddenly Tom Miller seemed like a more complicated person than she'd thought. He'd been married before, according to Glory, and the couple had lived above the store, along with his parents. Glory had refused to continue that arrangement when she married Tom, and who could blame her? A newly married couple didn't want to live with others in cramped quarters; they wanted privacy. And money hadn't been an issue for Tom Miller, not even back then, because Glory had gotten the house she wanted. So why had Tom's first wife put up with such an unsatisfactory living arrangement? And who was this first wife, anyway?

By now Lucy was almost home, but she decided to continue on into town and pay a visit to Miss Tilley. Her old friend knew everything that had happened in Tinker's Cove in her long lifetime, and she knew everybody. She would remember the first Mrs. Miller.

 

“Her name was Cynthia,” said Miss Tilley, who was sitting in her Boston rocker by the fire, with her Siamese cat, Cleopatra, purring in her lap. A small fire was burning brightly, crackling merrily as it warmed the sun-filled parlor.

“What happened to her?” asked Lucy.

“I have no idea,” said Miss Tilley as Cleopatra suddenly leaped off her lap and landed on the hooked rug, where she arched her back in a luxurious stretch. She then sat down, raised one rear leg gracefully above her head, and began some intense personal hygiene.

“Cats,” snorted Miss Tilley. “So indiscreet.”

“Not as bad as dogs,” said Lucy.

“Well, dogs.” Miss Tilley dismissed the entire species with a flap of her blue-veined hand.

“I didn't realize that Glory is Tom Miller's second wife,” said Lucy. “And from what she told me, that first wife lived above the store with Tom and his parents.”

“Could be,” said Miss Tilley. “I really don't know.”

Lucy leveled her gaze at the old woman. “You know. You know everything that's happened in Tinker's Cove in the past hundred years.”

“I'm not that old,” said Miss Tilley.

“I don't believe for one minute that you didn't know Cynthia and Tom and his parents, too. You were probably invited over for dinner.”

“Never,” said Miss Tilley, giving her head a little shake. “Poke that fire for me, will you? And add a log.”

Lucy obliged, then resumed her seat on the camelback sofa, watching as the fire flared up and began burning a bit more brightly. “I love fall,” said Lucy, “all except the short days. Daylight savings ends this Saturday, and it will be dark before five in the afternoon.”

“That's why we have the Take Back the Night March then,” said Miss Tilley. “Hard to believe, but this is the thirty-fifth march. Rebecca and I are going to carry a banner.”

“I had no idea it has been going on for so long. That must be some sort of record,” said Lucy.

“A lot of places gave them up after the first few, but we always kept it going,” said Miss Tilley, rubbing her knees. “I wouldn't miss it for anything. Not even my arthritis will keep me away.”

Lucy was thoughtful. “That's the spirit,” she said as the gears in her brain began a slow grind and started to mesh. “You were involved with that network of safe houses, weren't you? The one for abused women, right?”

The old woman leaned forward, her eyes bright. “Do you need help, Lucy? Because there are enough of us left, and we could resurrect the chain of volunteers.”

Lucy laughed. “Thanks, but there's no need. Really.”

Miss Tilley leaned back in her rocker. “I was just teasing.”

“Could you really reestablish the network?” asked Lucy. “If I knew of someone, if I had a friend . . . ?”

Miss Tilley shook her head. “No. That was long ago. And now there's really no need. There are laws in place that protect abused women and children. We didn't have them back then.”

“This would make a great story for the
Pennysaver,
” said Lucy.

“Oh, no. My lips are sealed.”

“But as you said, it was all a long time ago.”

“I took an oath—we all did—to never reveal the names of the women we helped, or the volunteers,” said Miss Tilley. “I couldn't break it.”

“I see,” said Lucy, and she did. “Well, I better go. I've got to feed my family. Is there anything I can do for you before I leave?”

“I wouldn't mind a small glass of sherry,” said Miss Tilley. “And some of those Goldfish crackers.” She paused. “Better make it a large glass, and don't hold back on those crackers, either.”

As Lucy got in her car, she admitted to herself that she hadn't got much information out of Miss Tilley, nothing really except for the name of the first Mrs. Tom Miller. Cynthia. That was something, she decided, starting the car. Now that she knew her name, she could try Google, for one thing.

Of course, Tom and Cynthia's marriage predated Google, and if Cynthia had fled the marriage via Miss Tilley's underground railroad, she would most certainly have changed her name. And how did it happen that Cynthia was an abused wife, while Glory was bouncing along, keeping Tom under her thumb? Did Glory know some sort of tantric sex tricks, like Wallis Simpson was presumed to have used to convince King Edward VIII to give up his throne to marry her?

In this case, she decided, she was better off relying on local people, who probably remembered Cynthia. Her thoughts turned to Bob Goodman, who she knew was Tom Miller's lawyer. She knew he came on the scene too late to know Cynthia, but his law office might have records concerning the couple. She decided to stop in on her way home.

“Any new developments?” he asked when Lucy stuck her head around his door. “Have the police been hounding Bill?”

“No,” said Lucy. “Maybe they've figured out he didn't have anything to do with Ev's death.”

“It does seem that there are bigger fish to fry, considering Ev's marijuana operation,” said Bob.

He was seated at his desk, which was covered with papers, and had dark circles under his eyes. Lucy knew he took his responsibilities to his clients very seriously, and suspected he had been working too hard. “I don't want to burden you,” she began.

“Shoot, Lucy,” he said, leaning back in his leather executive chair and folding his arms behind his head. “Unlike most of my clients, you always bring me something interesting.”

“This is probably from before your time . . .” she began.

“I came in as a junior partner in nineteen ninety, but the practice was established in eighteen eighty-five, so the files go back a long way.”

“That's what I'm hoping. Do you know anything about Tom Miller's first wife, Cynthia?”

“Actually, I do,” he said, with a big grin. “I remember because it was one of my first cases. Tom came in and said he wanted to get married but didn't know if he was free, because he'd been married previously to this Cynthia. He said he came home one day and there was no Cynthia. Cynthia had simply disappeared. There was a police investigation. It seemed she had packed a bag and left of her own accord. As I recall, Tom even hired a private investigator, who had no success finding her.”

“Was he upset?” asked Lucy. “Did he know why she'd left?”

“I never really got into that. It had all happened quite a few years before, and when Tom approached me, it was long after the three years, which is the legal definition of
desertion.
There was no problem at all about getting a divorce decree. She abandoned the marriage, and Tom made a good faith effort to find her. He had all the paperwork. It was clear that she had simply decided to disappear.”

“Did they consider suicide?” asked Lucy.