Star Spangled Murder (11 page)

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Authors: Leslie Meier

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BOOK: Star Spangled Murder
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Lucy actually felt her stomach drop.
“Is the dog a danger to people? To children?” inquired Ellie Sykes.
“I don't believe so,” said Cathy.
From her seat, Pru Pratt snorted. “I wouldn't want to get between that dog and a chicken, that's for sure.”
“That's definitely a factor to consider,” said Joe Marzetti.
“I don't think we should concern ourselves with speculation,” said Howard. “We should base this decision on the facts, on the dog's past history.”
“The dog was before us a few years ago?” asked Marzetti, who was leafing through his information packet.
“Yes, when he was owned by Curt Nolan,” said Cathy. “It was a similar complaint.”
“I actually brought that complaint,” said Ellie. “I keep chickens, too, and he did quite a lot of damage to my flock.”
“I had a dog like that once,” said Pete Crowley, “only he chased cats. He was always treeing the neighbor's cats.”
“Do we have a motion?” asked Howard, cutting off Pete's reminiscences.
“I move we give the Stones one more chance,” said Ellie. “We can continue the order that the dog be confined to their property with the condition that it will be destroyed if it gets loose again.”
“Second,” said Bud Collins, who Lucy had thought was asleep.
“All in favor?”
The vote was unanimous.
“Whew.” Bill let out a huge sigh. “A reprieve.”
“But he's still on death row,” said Lucy, wondering how they were ever going to manage to keep Kudo confined, considering he'd overcome their best efforts to date.
Pru wasn't pleased with the decision. She was clearly in a huff as she went back to her seat.
“Our next order of business is a request from the July Fourth parade committee,” said Howard. “Who speaks for the committee?”
“I do.”
Lucy turned around and saw the speaker was Marge Culpepper, Barney's wife. She was a tall, plump woman who looked older than her years due to the curly, gray hair she refused to touch up with color. Lucy gave her an encouraging smile; she knew that Marge was terrified of speaking publicly.
“I'm here on behalf of the entire committee,” stammered Marge, indicating four other people seated in the same row with her. They all raised their hands, to identify themselves. Marge stood up a bit straighter and swallowed hard. “We're here to request that the board cancel the Fourth of July parade.”
There was a shocked silence in the room. Even the group from the VFW was too stunned to protest.
“What is the reason for this unusual request?” asked Howard.
“The problem is that the American Naturist Society has applied for permission to march in the parade.”
“So what?' asked Pete Crowley, scratching his chin.
“We're not confident they will be appropriately attired,” said Marge, blushing furiously.
“You mean they might march naked?” asked Crowley.
“That's ridiculous . . .” protested Mike Gold, only to be silenced by a bang of the gavel. He and Mel Dunwoodie both raised their hands, but Howard ignored them.
“It's a concern,” said Marge, nodding.
“So deny the application,” said Marzetti.
“It's not that simple. Marching in the parade is an exercise of First Amendment rights. Free speech and all that. The application is just a formality, really. We can't turn away anybody who wants to march, unless they're breaking some law. It's a violation of their right to free speech.”
“That's why we need a public decency bylaw,” yelled Pru, from the audience.
“We'll open this up for public comment later,” admonished Howard. “After the board has finished questioning Mrs. Culpepper.”
“It sure doesn't make much sense to me to cancel the whole parade because of one group,” said Joe. “Besides, the parade's a big tourist attraction.”
“Folks with kids are going to leave town fast and never come back if we have naked people in the parade,” said Pete.
“Have you expressed your concern to the naturists?” asked Ellie. “Perhaps you could get some sort of agreement from them in advance.”
“We considered doing that, but when we checked with town counsel he said we couldn't apply a restriction to one group that we didn't apply to all. And even if we did get some sort of informal promise, it wouldn't be binding. I don't think we can risk it.”
“Whiskey?” Bud Collins opened one eye. “Where?”
“Not whiskey, risky,” said Ellie.
Howard banged his gavel. “Any comment from the audience?”
Several hands shot up, joining Mike Gold's and Mel Dunwoodie's. Howard ignored them and chose the commander of the VFW post.
“Well, all I want to say is that Tinker's Cove doesn't seem to be interested in celebrating the Fourth of July anymore,” asserted Bill Bridges, his dentures clicking furiously. “First it was the fireworks and now it's the parade. What next?”
“Yeah, I don't suppose you're even interested in this flag that we're giving you,” said Scratch. “It flew over the Capitol, you know.”
“I don't recall recognizing you,” said Howard. “You only get the floor when I give it to you.”
“Well, I don't want your floor,” said Scratch, handing the flag to the commander. “I don't want anything to do with the lot of you. I think it's a sorry state of affairs when we can't even celebrate the founding of our country and I know who to blame, too.” He pointed a finger, shaking with fury. “It's you, Pru Pratt. It's because of you and that stupid bylaw that these naturists want to be in the parade, instead of doing what they do over at the pond.”
“Well, I never,” said Pru, rising to her feet, ready to give Scratch a piece of her mind. But it was too late. He'd left the room.
Unwilling to court further controversy, Howard called for a vote and the board members agreed unanimously, albeit reluctantly, to cancel the parade. They had hardly completed the vote when people started leaving. Down in front, Ted was getting quotes from Gold and Dunwoodie, scribbling furiously into his notebook.
“Do you want to stay any longer?” asked Bill.
Lucy shook her head and they joined the throng leaving the room.
“It just doesn't seem right,” she said. “No fireworks, no parade. It's not going to be much of a Fourth of July.”
“You can say that again,” agreed Bill.
“The parade's the least of it,” muttered Mel. “Whatever happened to free speech in this town?”
Chapter Eleven
L
ucy and Bill were both quiet on the ride home, thinking over the implications of the board's decision.
“It could have been worse,” said Bill.
“How are we going to keep Kudo from getting loose?”
“I'm working on it,” said Bill.
They fell silent.
It was almost midnight when they got to bed and Bill, unused to such late hours, fell asleep immediately. Lying beside him, Lucy's mind kept following the same worn track of worries, but now there were a few new twists. It seemed to her that the board hadn't really done them any favors—they'd already tried everything they could think of to keep the dog confined and he'd always managed to get loose. It was just a matter of time before they'd be back at another hearing, and this time the result was a foregone conclusion. What could they do?
It was an unanswerable question, but that didn't stop her from trying to think of something. She heard the grandfather clock in the hall downstairs chime two before she fell asleep and she didn't wake until Bill roused her an hour late in the morning.
“You shouldn't have let me sleep,” she protested.
“I thought you could use the rest. Besides, you don't have to write up the meeting today.”
“That's right,” she said, relaxing back against the pillows. “No deadline for me today.”
“I brought you some coffee.”
“Thanks.” She took the mug he held out to her and took a sip. “Coffee in bed—I could get used to this.”
“Enjoy it while you can, Madame Pompadour. I'm off to work.”
“Have a nice day,” said Lucy, stretching luxuriously.
She had at least fifteen minutes before she had to wake the girls and she was determined to enjoy them. If only she could start every day like this, with time to organize her thoughts. She was glad she didn't have to make sense of last night's meeting for a story; she wouldn't know where to begin. She'd never had to cover such a divisive issue. People were angry enough about the fireworks and now the parade had been canceled, too. Once word got out, the selectmen could very well have a rebellion on their hands.
Lucy was thinking it was really time to get up when Sara and Zoe rushed into her room in their pajamas and climbed into bed with her.
“What happened at the meeting?” asked Sara.
“Can we keep Kudo?” asked Zoe.
“We can keep him as long as he doesn't get loose. If he gets loose, even once, they're going to put him to sleep.”
“That's not fair!” protested Zoe, snuggling against her mother.
“He always gets out, no matter what we do,” said Sara, who was sitting at the foot of the bed.
“I know, honey. We're going to have to try harder. That's all we can do.” Seeing Sara's discouraged expression, she added, “Daddy's trying to think of something.”
“Don't they understand he's an animal? He can't think like people can. He's just doing what his instincts tell him to do.”
“I know.” Lucy paused. “Maybe we should try obedience school.”
“I know! We could send him to a trainer. There are people who specialize in difficult dogs. I can find out from Melanie.”
“You can ask her for information, but I bet something like that is awfully expensive. I don't think we can afford it.”
Zoe didn't want to hear it. “We have to save Kudo.”
“We also have to pay college tuition for Elizabeth and the lawyer for Toby and groceries and taxes and the mortgage. . . .”
“But you said they'll put him to sleep.”
Lucy looked down at Zoe's earnest little face and stroked her hair.
“We'll see what we can do,” she said, deciding to change the subject. “So, tell me what you did in camp yesterday.”
“We made T-shirts to wear in the parade,” said Sara.
What a morning, thought Lucy. Was no subject safe?
“Mine's pink, with a kitty,” said Zoe.
“Mine's blue, with a whale. A right whale because they're endangered. Did you know that whales are still hunted? For food?”
There was no point in letting them continue. She had to tell them.
“The shirts sound great, but I don't think you'll be wearing them in the parade.”
“Why not?”
“The parade's been canceled.”
For a moment the girls couldn't think of anything to say. This was something completely out of their experience. For as long as they could remember there'd always been a July Fourth parade.
“Are you joking?” asked Sara.
Zoe giggled with relief. “That's funny, Mom.”
“It's no joke, it's the truth. They're afraid people will march naked,” explained Lucy.
Zoe considered this. “I bet Elizabeth would.”
Lucy couldn't help smiling. “Come on girls, we've got to start getting ready or you'll be late for camp.”
 
 
By the time Lucy got herself dressed and the dog fed and the lunches made and got the girls into the car, she felt exhausted, as if she'd been swimming against the current. And resentful. Without the pressure of deadline, it was supposed to be a relaxed morning but it hadn't turned out that way. The car was hot, sweat was forming on her upper lip, and her clothes were sticking to her body. And it was going to get hotter: the sun was threatening to burn through the clouds.
“Turn on the AC, Mom,” said Sara.
“It is on.”
“I can't feel it back here. Can you feel it, Zoe?”
“It takes a while,” said Lucy, turning onto Red Top Road. “Give it a chance.”
She was beginning to pick up speed when she saw the unthinkable: Kudo was running through their yard heading straight for the Pratts' property. She immediately pulled to the side of the road and slammed on the brakes. Jumping out of the car, she called the dog.
He stopped, ears perked up and looked at her. Amazingly enough, he began to run towards her. Worried about a speeding car on the road, she began to cross, intending to meet the dog and grab him by the collar before he crossed the road.
This was really too much, she muttered to herself. That darned dog couldn't even stay out of trouble for twenty-four hours. What a nuisance. They would have to find another home for him, there was really nothing else to do. Not if they couldn't even keep him safe in his kennel for a single day.
Hearing the sound of an approaching engine, she turned her head and saw a pickup truck coming at high speed. She had no choice but to stop and wait for it to pass. To her horror, she saw that Kudo had a different idea. He was still coming, trying to outrace the truck.
“Stay! Stay!” she yelled.
But Kudo was intent on getting into the car and coming along for the ride. He kept on running straight into the path of the truck.
She watched, horrified, as the action unfolded in slow motion. The dog's happy, smiling face, tongue flapping in the breeze. The impact, and then his body flying into the air. A quick glimpse of the driver. The haze of smoke and the stink of rubber as Wesley Pratt slammed down the accelerator and sped off. The crumpled bundle of yellow fur lying in the grass by the side of the road.
Lucy ran to the dog and found he was breathing, just.
Sara was behind her, holding the blanket they kept in the back of the car.
“I know what to do, Mom. They taught us at camp. We'll slide the blanket under him and carry him to the car, okay? Zoe, open the back!”
Gently, trying to hurry because they knew moments counted, but afraid of hurting poor Kudo, they carried him to the Subaru wagon and placed him gently in the cargo area. Then Lucy drove as quickly as she dared to the veterinary hospital. Everybody there was nice as could be, rushing out to the car with a miniature stretcher and hurrying the dog into a examining room, but it was no good. The doctor was listening to his heartbeat and Lucy was gently stroking his head, whispering mindless words of encouragement when he breathed his last.
“I'm sorry,” said the vet, removing his stethoscope.
To her horror, tears sprang to her eyes.
“It's just so sudden. I didn't expect this.”
The vet handed her a tissue. “He didn't really suffer. He probably went into shock when he was hit.”
“He was happy, he was smiling as he ran across the road.” Lucy blew her nose. “I can't believe it.”
“It takes time,” said the vet. “Not to rush you, but how do you want to dispose of the body?”
Lucy didn't have a clue. “I guess we'll bury him in the backyard.”
“Not advisable,” said the vet. “He's a pretty big dog. I recommend cremation. Then you can bury the ashes.”
“Oh,” said Lucy. “I guess that would be better.”
“We'll call you when the ashes are ready.”
“Thanks.” Lucy walked out to the waiting room, feeling like a robot.
The girls jumped up and ran to her. “Is he . . . ?”
She shook her head, and found herself bursting into uncontrollable sobs. The girls joined her. Together, holding hands, they went out to the car. Too upset to drive, Lucy sat behind the wheel, mopping her face and passing tissues to the girls.
“I don't know why I'm so upset,” she wailed. “He was a terrible dog.”
“I used to be afraid of him,” admitted Zoe, “when I was little.”
“He smelled pretty bad,” said Sara.
“He was no end of trouble,” said Lucy.
“I'm really going to miss him,” said Zoe.
“Me, too.”
“We all are.”
Finally, automatically going through the motions without thinking, Lucy started the car and followed the familiar roads to Friends of Animals day camp. She drove slowly, wondering why driving faster seemed to take more energy. Whenever she was tired or upset, she found the car slowing, as if she couldn't summon the strength to press firmly on the gas pedal.
Melanie Flowers rushed out to meet them.
“I've been worried . . . I called the house but there was no answer. . . .”
“I'm sorry we're late,” said Lucy. “We had to take our dog to the vet. He got hit by a car.”
“Oh, how terrible.” She held out her arms and embraced the girls, who were still a bit teary. “Did this happen just this morning? You must all still be in shock.”
Seeing the girls' stricken expressions, Lucy wondered if she'd made a mistake bringing them to camp. “Maybe they'd be more comfortable at home. . . .” she began.
“Probably better to keep busy,” advised Melanie. “Zoe's group is just about to go to arts and crafts.” She gave the little girl a squeeze. “Maybe you'd like to make a drawing of your dog? Or a clay model?”
“That would be nice, Zoe,” said Lucy, with an encouraging little smile.
“Okay,” she said, giving a shaky little nod.
“Maybe you can walk her over,” said Melanie, giving Sara a squeeze, too. “Janine's making dog biscuits with the Hummingbirds and I know she could use a hand. They're in the kitchen.”
“Come on, Zoe,” said Sara, taking her little sister by the hand.
Lucy watched as they walked off together.
“Sara was a big help,” she told Melanie. “She knew just what to do.”
“How did it happen?”
“The dog just ran in front of Wesley Pratt's truck. It wasn't his fault. There was nothing he could have done.”
“That's a terrible feeling,” said Melanie. “I hit a deer last fall—there was absolutely no way I could have avoided it. It just jumped from the side of the road right into my car. I was devastated.”
“I can imagine.” Lucy was remembering how she'd seen Kudo heading for the road, but had been unable to stop him.
“And it made a terrible mess of my car, too.” Melanie nodded solemnly. “It was in the body shop for weeks.”
“Oh my gosh, I didn't think of that,” said Lucy, wondering if Wesley's truck had been damaged.
“The insurance covered most of it, but I had a hefty deductible.”
“Doesn't everybody,” said Lucy, wondering what Wesley's deductible was, or if he even had insurance. “Well, I've got to get to work.”
“Don't worry about the girls—I'll keep an eye on them.”
“Thanks for everything,” said Lucy, letting out a big sigh.

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