Star Spangled Murder (13 page)
Chapter Fourteen
F
ree to leave, Lucy had to exert every ounce of self-control she possessed to proceed at a sedate pace. All her instincts told her to floor the accelerator and get out of there as fast as she could. But that, she knew, would only make Horowitz wonder why she was in such a hurry to get home.
ree to leave, Lucy had to exert every ounce of self-control she possessed to proceed at a sedate pace. All her instincts told her to floor the accelerator and get out of there as fast as she could. But that, she knew, would only make Horowitz wonder why she was in such a hurry to get home.
Home, that's where she wanted to be. It was a great relief when she turned into the driveway to the antique farmhouse, but her heart dropped when she saw the empty kennel. She firmly pushed thoughts of the dog from her mind and hurried up the porch steps and into the house. The slam of the screen door when she entered the kitchen seemed to assure her that everything bad was outside and she was safe inside. Her hands were shaking and she felt light-headed; she knew she had to get something into her stomach. She stood in front of the refrigerator and downed a glass of milk, then, feeling a little better she made herself the longedfor peanut butter and jelly sandwich and poured a second glass of milk. This was no time to count calories.
She wolfed down the sandwich and was considering making another when she remembered Ted. The fact that the police considered Pru's death a homicide changed everything. She had to let him know about it right away. Even if it was too late for the
Pennysaver,
he could sell it to the Portland and Boston papers as a stringer. She dialed his cell phone number, but he didn't answer and she had to leave a message. What was the point of the darn things, she wondered, if people left them lying about instead of keeping them with them?
Pennysaver,
he could sell it to the Portland and Boston papers as a stringer. She dialed his cell phone number, but he didn't answer and she had to leave a message. What was the point of the darn things, she wondered, if people left them lying about instead of keeping them with them?
She was rinsing out her glass when he called back.
“Pru Pratt was murdered,” she told him. “The cops are there right now. Do you want me to go over?”
“Murdered? Are you sure?”
“Horowitz told me himself. I thought she'd had a heart attack or something.”
“You thought?” Ted's voice was suspicious. “What do you have to do with it?”
“I found her body.”
“Good grief.”
“Do you want me to write it up? What should I do?”
“Hold on, Lucy. Don't do anything. I'll take care of it.”
“Don't you want me to help? I was there, after all.”
“That's the problem, Lucy. I think you may be a little too close to this one.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just lay low, okay?”
“Okay.”
Puzzled, Lucy ended the call. This had never happened before. Ted had never told her not to pursue a story. She couldn't figure it out. The story was right next door, for Pete's sake, and she wanted to follow it. It wasn't just a job, it was personal. She wanted to find out who had killed Pru. After all, maybe there was a homicidal maniac loose in the neighborhood. They had certainly been attracting a lot of attention lately, what with the arrival of the naturists. Could some wacko be on the loose? They lived right next door to Pruâwere they in danger? If they were, what could they do to protect themselves, without even the dog to alert them.
Lucy was lost in thought when the screen door slammed, practically causing her to jump out of her skin. It was Bill, home from work a little early because of the heat.
“Ohmigod, you startled me,” she said, sitting down and fanning herself with her hand.
“Sorry.” He took a Coke out of the refrigerator. “What's going on next door?”
“You won't believe this. Pru Pratt is dead. The cops think she was run down in her own driveway. And that's not all. Kudo's dead, too. Wesley hit him with his truck this morning.”
Bill sat down hard and popped the top on his soda, taking a long, long swallow that almost drained the can. “What did you say?”
“Kudo's dead. Wesley hit him with his truck. I don't think he did it on purpose. It was an accident. The dog ran in front of his truck. There was nothing he could do.”
“Before that.”
“Pru is also dead. I found her body when I went over after work to find out if there'd been any damage to the truck.”
Bill finished the Coke and got up for another.
“And the cops say she was run over, too?” Bill sat down and opened the second can, taking a sip this time. “Doesn't that seem fishy to you?”
Lucy looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “You think Wesley did it? He ran over his mother and was fleeing the scene when he hit Kudo?” Lucy fell silent, struggling with the idea. “His own mother? That's horrible.”
“It happens,” said Bill.
“I know,” admitted Lucy. “But I don't like to think of it happening next door.”
Bill stared at the table. “Well, I guess we won't be having any more trouble with the neighbors.”
Lucy was appalled. “Is that all you can say?”
“Well, I am going to miss the dog,” he continued.
“It's terrible, isn't it?” confessed Lucy. “I think I feel worse about the dog than I do about Pru.”
“He was a big part of our lives.”
“It's funny about dogs. The way they're just sort of there, all the time, but you don't really notice. If I was cooking, he was in the kitchen. When we sat down at the table, he was under it. A quiet evening in front of the TV, he'd be stretched out on the rug.”
“He was a great companion.”
“Not much of a talker. . . .”
“But a great listener.”
“That's for sure. I really liked having him in the house if you were away for the night.” Lucy shrugged. “I know it's irrational but I'm always a little nervous when you're gone. But I knew I could count on Kudo to let me know if anything was amiss. If he was relaxed, I could relax.”
Bill sighed. “I don't think there's going to be much relaxing until they figure out who killed Pru.”
“I feel especially vulnerable without the dog,” fretted Lucy. “With all the new people in town, all those naturists, how do we know one of them isn't a serial killer or something. We could be next.”
“I don't think so, Lucy. People who get killed generally get killed for a reason.” He stood up. “You know, from the back, Pru looked an awful lot like Wesley.”
“I've noticed that,” admitted Lucy.
“It could have something to do with the poaching. The killer could have mistaken Pru for Wesley.”
Lucy looked out the window to the driveway. “I wonder where Toby is. Shouldn't he be home by now?”
Bill fingered his car keys. “It's time to get the girls, anyway. I'll pick them up. You've had enough excitement for one day.”
Lucy watched as he went out the door. She would have bet the house that he'd detour past the harbor on his way to the camp, just to see if the Carrie Ann was in port.
She shook herself. She wasn't going to worry, she wasn't going to jump to conclusions. She was going to make supper. Something wholesome and comforting, that's what was called for. She began filling a pot with water and reached for a box of shells. If ever there was a night for pasta salad, this was it.
Despite the comforting food, Toby's absence cast a shadow of tension over the meal. Bill reported that the boat was sitting in its berth but he'd found no sign of Toby. He'd even checked the Bilge, where the fishermen hung out, but nobody there knew his whereabouts. Or if they did, they weren't telling.
Elizabeth took the news of the deaths coolly. She only considered things that directly affected her as real tragedies, like a late paycheck at the inn or getting her period early or discovering a big, ugly zit on her chin. Those were real disasters.
The younger girls, too, had little sympathy for the neighbor.
“Mrs. Pratt was mean to animals,” said Zoe, spearing a noodle with her fork.
“She mistreated those chickens, you know,” said Sara. “I think poor Kudo was only trying to liberate the chickens from their terrible conditions.”
Lucy's and Bill's eyes met across the table.
“We all loved Kudo. . . .”
“Not me,” insisted Elizabeth.
“As I was saying, I understand you want to remember the good things about Kudo, and there were lots of good things . . .”
Elizabeth snorted.
“. . . but to him those chickens were an irresistible combination of fun and food,” said Bill, finishing her sentence.
“Mrs. Pratt may have had her faults, but I think she took pretty good care of her chickens. She was always winning blue ribbons at the fair. She must have known what she was doing.”
“That's not true!” exclaimed Sara. “You should have seen it. The chickens were in a little tiny space and there was tons of poop and they'd step right in it. It was disgusting! They'd even poop in their water dish.”
“Well, that's chickens for you,” said Bill.
“They're not the cleanest, or the brightest creatures on this good earth.”
“That's no excuse to treat them badly!” exclaimed Sara.
“There were no toys, Mom,” said Zoe. “Chickens can't read, they can't watch TV, so what are they supposed to do all day if they don't have any toys? Poor things. They must have been awfully bored.”
Lucy was beginning to wonder if Zoe was getting the wrong idea about animals at Friends of Animals day camp. “As much as we love our pets, they're not people, you know. Animals are pretty much happy just being, they don't need to be entertained.”
“Mrs. Pratt wasn't just mean to the chickens,” said Sara. “She was mean to her own son.”
Now this was interesting, thought Lucy. “How so?”
“We saw her yelling at him. Telling him he was a piece of . . . well, a lot of bad things. Worthless. Stupid. Lazy.”
“You heard her say these things?” asked Bill.
“She was yelling. We couldn't help it,” said Sara, self-righteously.
“You wouldn't have heard if you hadn't been snooping around,” Lucy reminded her. “Mrs. Pratt didn't know she was being overheard.”
“Mom, you always say we should be as polite to each other at home as we'd be if we were visiting friends,” said Zoe. “Mrs. Pratt was not polite to Wesley.”
“Maybe he did something very wrong and that's why she was mad at him,” said Lucy. “Sometimes that happens. Did Wesley yell back at his mother?”
“He did. He yelled some bad words at her and then he got in his truck and drove away very fast.” Sara paused. “That's when Mrs. Pratt saw us, because we'd been hiding behind the truck.”
“We ran as fast as we could,” said Zoe. “She was chasing us.”
“Let that be a lesson to you not to go trespassing,” said Bill. “Just think what might have happened if you'd got caught.”
“She might have put you in an oven and baked you, like in Hansel and Gretel,” said Elizabeth.
Lucy was about to admonish her when Toby strode into the dining room and sat down at the table, reaching for the salad and piling it onto his plate.
“What is this?” demanded Bill. “No hello, no apologies for being late, you just march in and start eating?”
“Uh, sorry Dad. Great salad, Mom.”
“Thanks,” said Lucy. “What held you up?”
“Stuff.”
“What stuff?” asked Bill.
“You know. Stuff.”
“NO, I DON'T KNOW!” yelled Bill.
“We're all a little upset,” said Lucy, hoping to lower the emotional temperature in the room. “Did you hear that Mrs. Pratt is dead?”
Toby was busy helping himself to seconds.
“Nah, I didn't hear that.”
“And Wesley killed Kudo with his truck,” said Sara, her voice trembling.
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