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Authors: Leslie Meier

Tags: #Suspense

BOOK: Star Spangled Murder
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“Let me know if there's anything I can do,” said Melanie.
“I might just take you up on that,” said Lucy, “because I'm just about at the end of my rope.”
Chapter Twelve
B
ack in the car, Lucy was alone with her emotions. She sat for a minute, trying to sort it all out. Shock and sadness, of course, but also a sense of relief. As much as she hated to admit it, a very difficult problem had been solved. She no longer had to worry about what to do about Kudo.
Of course, this wasn't the way she would have wished to solve it. It would have been better if their efforts to control the dog had worked. But the sad truth was, they hadn't. He'd been impossible. Nothing they tried seemed to work. Even Cathy Anderson had said they'd made every effort to restrain Kudo. No matter what they did, he continued to get loose, and once loose he generally went after Prudence Pratt's chickens.
He had truly been an awful dog, thought Lucy, feeling tears pricking her eyes. An awful, terrible, horrible dog, but she'd loved him. He was loyal, in his way. He always came home, eventually. And maybe she was fooling herself, but she thought Kudo had a special place in his doggy heart for her. When she was sad or depressed, he had a way of sensing it and would stay with her, often resting his chin on her knee.
Lucy sniffed and reached for her purse, she needed a tissue. How could she feel relieved that Kudo was gone? What kind of person was she? He'd been a good dog and here she was practically glad he was dead. She might as well start adding up how much she'd save on dog chow and anti-flea drops and annual checkups at the vet. Not to mention the additional coverage they'd had to get on their homeowner's insurance. They'd practically be millionaires now that the dog was gone, and they'd have better relations with their neighbors, too.
Or maybe not, thought Lucy, trying to remember if Wesley's truck had been damaged when it hit the dog. He had driven off so quickly, and she had been so concerned about the dog, that she hadn't really thought about it. But if there had been damage, she had to make it right. Things were tense enough with the Pratts, they certainly didn't need to give them any more grounds for grievance. She considered driving over to the Pratts and getting the matter resolved, but she was already late for work. It was true she didn't have to write the story about the Selectmen's meeting, but there were always a million last-minute tasks and Ted would want her to help with those. On the other hand, the noon deadline meant they always finished up early on Wednesdays. She could swing by the Pratts place after the paper was put to bed, in the early afternoon.
Ted was in a lather when she got to the office, struggling with the story about the meeting. He was hunched over his computer keyboard, alternately typing a few words and flipping through the pages of his notebook, looking for quotes. He was too involved in his work to notice that Lucy was nearly two hours late.
Phyllis gave her a conspiratorial wink. “I told him that he ought to appreciate you more, considering that you do this week after week,” she said, fanning herself with a sheaf of papers. She was wearing a purple and green Mexican cotton dress today and was the brightest thing in the dingy office.
“It was a killer meeting,” said Lucy. “Did he tell you about the parade?”
“He didn't have to. We've had a steady stream of irate citizens dropping off letters to the editor.”
“Yeah, Lucy, could you edit them for me? We don't have room for them all, so pick a representative sample, okay?”
Lucy took the folder of letters from Phyllis, noticing with a shock that she'd polished her nails green to match her dress. She sat down at her desk and turned on the computer, waiting while it produced the usual clicks and groans. She felt the same way—it was hard to settle down to work.
“If you're writing about the dog part of the hearing I guess you ought to mention that Kudo's dead,” she said.
Both Phyllis and Ted dropped what they were doing. It was as if she'd exploded a bombshell.
“Dead? How did that happen?” asked Ted.
“Wesley Pratt ran him over with his truck,” said Lucy, surprised by the pricking in her eyes.
“I'm so sorry,” said Phyllis, enveloping her in a huge billowing green and purple hug.
Now Lucy was really crying and furious with herself for losing control.
“It was horrible,” she blubbered. “The girls were in the car.”
“Oh, no!” Phyllis patted her hand.
“Did he do it on purpose?” asked Ted. “Was it some sort of retaliation for the fight?”
“Oh, no!” protested Lucy, eager to nip this misconception in the bud. “There was nothing he could do. The stupid dog ran right in front of his truck.”
“Did he stop?” asked Ted.
“Well, no, but he's just a kid. I didn't really expect him to.” Lucy dabbed at her eyes. “The truth is, I'm kind of worried that the impact may have damaged his truck.”
“It doesn't take much,” offered Phyllis. “My cousin Elfrida only grazed that moose and her car was a total loss. The insurance paid, of course, but they only paid the replacement value and considering she had a twelve-year-old Escort it wasn't much.”
This was not encouraging news to Lucy.
“I guess I better follow up and let them know we'll take care of any damages,” said Lucy.
Behind her, Ted's and Phyllis's eyes met.
“Oh, I don't know,” said Ted, “from what I've seen of Pru she won't hesitate to let you know all about it.”
“In fact,” added Phyllis, “I'm surprised she hasn't called already.”
“Maybe she's mellowing,” said Lucy, opening the folder.
Phyllis snorted. “Mark my words, you'll hear from her before the day is out.”
 
 
The rest of the morning passed uneventfully, however, with no word from Pru. A few people stopped in with letters to the editor about the parade or to buy last-minute classified ads and Mike Gold called to see if Ted needed any more information about the naturists, but that was all. They were able to wrap up the paper on time and Lucy was done for the day before one o'clock.
She decided to make good on her resolution to stop at the Pratts' on her way home. She didn't want to be worrying about this all day, she wanted to have it all settled before she told Bill and Toby about the dog's death. That way there would be no reason for them to have any contact with the Pratts, especially Wesley, and no chance that things would get out of control. Not that they would, she told herself, but it was better to be on the safe side.
As she drove, Lucy rehearsed what she would say. Keep it simple and direct, she told herself, the Pratts weren't much for small talk. It would be easier if Wesley was there because then she could just tell him there were no hard feelings about the dog and ask if there was any damage to the truck. If Wesley wasn't home, she'd have to explain the accident to his parents, and she'd have to make it very clear that she wasn't seeking redress. She understood full well that Wesley couldn't have avoided hitting the dog, and as for the fact that he left the scene of an accident, well, she herself was the mother of a twenty-one-year-old and she knew how irresponsible they could be. They tended to follow their first impulse, which was generally fight or flight, without taking time to think.
By the time she reached the Pratts' house Lucy was beginning to think that this might be an opportunity for some sort of reconciliation. She didn't like being at odds with her neighbors, and most of the animosity had been a direct result of Kudo's behavior. Now that he was gone, maybe things would be more relaxed and agreeable. She certainly hoped so.
She turned into the Pratts' driveway, struck once again with the bareness of their yard. Not even the weeds dared to sprout in the driveway, no bushes or flowers softened the stark angles of the house. Since she knew the Pratts didn't approve of trespassers she parked at the end of the drive and went straight for the back door, where she stood on the stoop and knocked.
When there was no answer, she called out, guessing that Pru might be out back, tending to her chickens, or her vegetable garden where the spinach and Swiss chard and onions all grew in straight lines with military precision. She was pretty sure Pru was home because her car, an aged but impeccably maintained Dodge Shadow, was parked in its usual spot.
Lucy knew the wisest course of action would simply be to leave. She could leave a note, she could call later. She could stop by on her way home from work. The one thing she shouldn't do was start poking around in hopes of finding Pru perched high on a ladder cleaning out the gutters or out behind the chicken coop wringing a chicken's neck.
On the other hand, however, she was here right now and she wanted to get this thing off her chest. She didn't want it hanging over her, distracting her and causing her more worry. She wanted to get it over with. It certainly couldn't hurt to peek around behind the house, where Pru kept a clothesline. She wouldn't even have to step off the drive to do that. No reasonable person could call that trespassing. Not at all.
Lucy squared her shoulders and continued a few more paces down the drive, until she reached the corner of the house. There she had an unobstructed view of the turning area, where the driveway widened and where Wesley and Calvin parked their trucks. There were no trucks, today, but there was a crumpled pile of something blue, maybe laundry that had dropped off the line where several pairs of jeans were hanging heavily in the humid air.
Lucy went to investigate, and as she drew closer she realized it wasn't a pair of blue jeans that had fallen at all. It was Pru, herself, lying in a heap.
Reaching the fallen woman, Lucy instinctively reached out and touched her shoulder, as if to wake her. But Pru wasn't going to wake up. Pru was dead. Definitely dead.
Chapter Thirteen
L
ucy's first reaction was utter disbelief. This was too much. First the dog, now Pru. Two deaths in one day. How could this happen? Especially to Pru. She had seemed invincible, a force to be reckoned with like the tides or the temperature. You couldn't change her, you had to deal with her. But now, it seemed, she had met a power greater than her own.
Recoiling, Lucy stood up and stepped back, studying the body. What could it have been, she wondered. What did she die of? From what she could see there was no sign of violence, no gunshot wound, no knife protruding from her body. Maybe it was a stroke or a heart attack. Something sudden and overwhelming like a burst aneurysm. Whatever it was, there was no clue in Pru's expression. Her eyes were slightly open, her jaw hung slack, her face was blank.
She hadn't been a beauty in life and death certainly didn't become her. The poor woman, thought Lucy, hurrying back to the car. She probably woke up this morning full of plans, never guessing what fate held in store for her. Reaching inside the car she pulled her cell phone from her shoulder bag and dialed 911 with trembling fingers.
It seemed to take a long time for help to arrive, and Lucy found herself going back to the body. She knew she hadn't imagined it but finding Pru dead like that seemed so incredible that she had to reassure herself that it had really happened. There was no doubt, however, when she rounded the corner of the house. You didn't have to be an expert to know that Pru was dead: her extremities were cold and she was beginning to stiffen up.
Lucy stood awkwardly a few feet from the body and looked around. As she had noticed earlier, Pru was lying in the turning area at the end of the driveway, behind the house. Her car was parked about ten feet away and was the only vehicle. The clothesline was next to the driveway and beyond that was the barn, a ramshackle affair that looked ready to fall down but didn't. It had been in pretty much the same condition for the twenty-plus years Lucy had lived next door, occasionally losing another cedar shingle or a pane of window glass. Beyond the barn Lucy could see the pointy tops of the dark green fir trees and she heard the distant caw of a crow. She felt very alone.
Where was everybody? The police, EMTs, somebody ought to be here by now. She listened, straining to hear the sound of sirens but all she heard was more crows, answering the first. She looked at the body once again, lying exactly as she'd found it. Of course it hadn't moved, what was she thinking? Dead bodies didn't move and they didn't see. They didn't talk, either, so there was no way Pru could object if she looked around.
Shrugging off a guilty feeling that she was doing something she shouldn't, Lucy wandered across the yard, past the vegetable garden and the chicken house, where the sudden flapping of one of the hens startled her. She stared at the dozen or so hens in the pen and they stared back with reptilian yellow eyes, then resumed their pecking and scratching. Lucy continued on her way behind the barn, where she remembered seeing a jumbled pile of lobster traps, line and buoys that she suspected was evidence of Calvin and Wesley's poaching but it was gone. There was no sign of any of it, just a bare bit of dusty earth with a few clumps of crab grass.
Now, finally, she heard sirens, weak at first but growing stronger. She hurried across the yard and reached the driveway just as a small caravan of official vehicles arrived. She pointed out the body to the police officers and EMTs and waited for permission to leave. She was very hungry, she suddenly realized, and no wonder. She hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast.
Feeling a bit dizzy, she decided to sit in her car. She was digging in her purse for a mint or something, anything with a bit of sugar, when she remembered she hadn't called Ted. It was probably just as well, she decided. There was no way that Pru's death could be included in tomorrow's issue anyway and there was no sense in rushing to tell Ted the news because it would only make him miserable. Besides, it wasn't as if she'd been murdered or anything, it wasn't really a story. They'd probably just run an obituary.
“Mrs. Stone?”
Lucy looked up and met the serious eyes of a youthful police officer. She didn't recognize him, but she knew the department had hired additional help for the summer. A glance at his name tag told her she was speaking to Officer Blaine.
“Yes?”
“I understand you found the body?”
“Yes, I did. Can I go now? I'm not feeling very well.”
“I'm sorry, but I have orders to keep you here. Lieutenant Horowitz wants to talk to you.”
“Lieutenant Horowitz?” Lucy knew he was the state police officer who investigated serious crimes that were beyond the scope of the local department. “Why does he want to talk to me?”
The officer shrugged. “I'm just following orders, ma'am.”
Lucy's stomach growled and she thought longingly of her well-stocked kitchen, just a few hundred feet down the road. What she'd like more than anything, she decided, was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a tall glass of milk. She had those things, they were all there, waiting for her.
“You know I just live in the next house. Couldn't the lieutenant talk to me there?”
“My orders are to keep you here,” he said, squaring his shoulders and resting his hand on his holster.
“No problem,” said Lucy, hoping she wouldn't die of hunger before the lieutenant arrived.
Lucy was feeling queasy and light-headed when Horowitz arrived in his state police cruiser, accompanied by the medical examiner's van and a couple of unmarked Suburbans from the state crime lab. They were emblazoned with the motto of the Maine State Police: “Integrity. Compassion. Fairness. Excellence.” Quite a turnout, she thought, for an ordinary unattended death.
“Ah, Mrs. Stone,” he said, approaching her car, “another body.”
Lucy had investigated numerous crimes through the years and was well acquainted with Horowitz. He looked the same as ever, dressed in a lightweight gray suit that needed pressing. His pale hair was thinning, his eyes were gray and there was no sign of color in his face. Lucy doubted he got outdoors much. Something about his expression always reminded her of a rabbit. Not a scared bunny but a wise and wary old buck who'd learned to suspect everyone and everything.
“I'm afraid so.”
“The victim's your neighbor, right?”
“Victim? What do you mean? This wasn't a crime, was it?”
“There's a definite possibility that Mrs. Pratt was murdered.”
Lucy was glad she was sitting because she felt as if a rug had been pulled out from under her. Suddenly, everything was spinning and she was retching. Horowitz yanked her car door open and helped her turn and lower her head between her knees. When she felt better, she sat up.
“I'm sorry. I guess it's a delayed reaction.”
“Quite understandable.” He paused. “Although I am a little surprised that you, of all people, didn't suspect foul play.”
“I thought she'd had a heart attack or something. How was she killed?”
“The medical examiner will determine the cause but we think she was run down by a car or truck.”
Lucy didn't have time to absorb this information before he asked, “How long were you neighbors?”
The answer didn't come to her quickly. This upsetting news had confused her. “About twenty years. As long as we've lived here.”
“Did you have any problems with her? Or her family?”
Lucy didn't like the direction Horowitz was taking.
“Everybody had problems with her.”
“I didn't ask about everybody, I asked about you.” There was a gleam in his eye. “You're the nearest neighbors. It's a legitimate question.”
“We had a few problems. Our dog went after her chickens a few times, there was even a dog hearing. But the dog was hit by a car this morning. That's why I came over. I wanted to tell her there wouldn't be any more problems.” Lucy knew she wasn't telling the whole story.
“Did you see the driver?”
Lucy sighed. “It was her son. Wesley.”
Horowitz digested this information. “So you came over to have it out with her?”
“No! It was an accident. I saw the whole thing. But the kid drove off and I was worried there might be some damage to his truck. I came to let her know there were no hard feelings and to offer to pay for any repairs.” Lucy paused, watching the investigators gathered around Pru's body. “I was hoping to get on a better footing with her.”
“So the dog was the problem?”
“Not exactly,” said Lucy. She knew there was no sense trying to hide Toby's fight with Wesley because it was a matter of public record. “There was a fight down at the docks last week and my son took a swing at Wesley.” Lucy felt her face reddening. “But he wasn't the only one. A lot of fishermen suspect Wesley and his father of poaching their lobster traps.”
“So your son has an unruly conduct case pending in district court?”
Lucy's heart sank. “Actually, it's assault and battery.”
Horowitz didn't show any reaction to this information. He stood in the driveway, getting the lay of the land. “There's a pond around here, isn't there?”
Lucy pointed to the woods behind the Pratts' barn. “Blueberry Pond.”
“That's the one where the nudists like to gather?”
“Mrs. Pratt didn't like them much,” offered Lucy. “She was trying to get an anti-nudity bylaw passed.”
“Sounds like she had a real knack for riling people up,” observed Horowitz. “I have a feeling we won't have too far to look for our murderer.”
Lucy grimaced. If only she'd been convinced he'd been looking in the direction of the pond, instead of her property, when he said that.
“I don't think we need to keep you any longer, Mrs. Stone.” Horowitz started to walk away, then turned to face Lucy. “After all, I know where you live.”

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