Star Spangled Murder (24 page)
Chapter Twenty-four
B
itsy seemed perfectly at peace sitting in the passenger seat but Lucy's mind was a whirl of ifs, buts and maybes. Maybe Bitsy didn't really kill Pru, maybe it had all been an insane delusion. Perhaps she'd wished so hard for it to happen that she'd actually convinced herself she'd done it. Some sort of guilt process. Lucy didn't know much about psychology but she knew even the soundest mind could play tricks. And she wasn't convinced that Bitsy was actually sane. Maybe she could plead insanity and go away for a nice, long rest somewhere.
itsy seemed perfectly at peace sitting in the passenger seat but Lucy's mind was a whirl of ifs, buts and maybes. Maybe Bitsy didn't really kill Pru, maybe it had all been an insane delusion. Perhaps she'd wished so hard for it to happen that she'd actually convinced herself she'd done it. Some sort of guilt process. Lucy didn't know much about psychology but she knew even the soundest mind could play tricks. And she wasn't convinced that Bitsy was actually sane. Maybe she could plead insanity and go away for a nice, long rest somewhere.
It was amazing the stuff a good lawyer could come up with. She'd have to make sure Bitsy had a lawyer. Somebody who'd really fight for her. Who knows, maybe she could avoid a trial altogether by pleading guilty to a reduced charge of manslaughter? Or maybe she could get off entirely by arguing that it was justifiable homicide, considering the callous way Pru had murdered Mildred. It was just one of many mean things Pru had done and there were plenty of people in town who could testify to similar incidents. Bitsy was popular, too, and could certainly produce plenty of character witnesses.
“Try not to worry,” said Lucy. “I'm sure things will work out.”
“I'm not worried,” said Bitsy. “I know that whatever happens the good Lord will take care of me. I'm truly sorry for what I did and I know he'll forgive me and that's all that really matters.”
“Right,” said Lucy, wondering if Bitsy had actually ever seen the inside of the women's wing at the county jail and if she knew what was in store for here there. Lucy had visited on several occasions and she'd found the experience difficult. There was something terrifying about the way everyone was treated so impersonally. “Processed” they called it, whether you were being admitted as an inmate or a visitor. Though it was infinitely better to be processed as a visitor because that only involved a quick pat down, a walk through a scanner and a handbag search instead of a humiliating full-body examination. That and the fact that even though all the doors closed with a final-sounding clang, you knew you'd be able to leave.
Lucy felt absolutely horrible when they reached the police station and she turned into the parking lot. She hoped Bitsy wouldn't have to spend time in the county jailâmaybe they would release her on bail or even her own personal recognizance. She was certainly no threat to the community and wasn't a flight risk, either. On the contrary, she seemed eager to confess and receive her punishment.
“Thank you, Lucy,” she said, her face radiant in the glow of the street lamp. “I'm sorry for any distress I caused you and I want you to know that today you were truly God's instrument.”
Somehow that didn't make Lucy feel any better as she accompanied Bitsy into the police station lobby. A uniformed officer she didn't recognize was sitting behind a counter, protected by a thick sheet of Plexiglas with a small opening that allowed a visitor to present documents or identification. The only access from the lobby to the offices beyond was through a forbidding, metal-plated door. It had always irritated Lucy, who wondered exactly what threat the Tinker's Cove police department believed required such an extreme level of security.
“What can I do for you ladies?” asked the officer, speaking through a microphone. His voice echoed.
“I'm here to make a confession,” whispered Bitsy. “I murdered Prudence Pratt.”
“You'll have to speak up,” said the officer, looking like a goldfish in a tank.
“I murdered Prudence Pratt,” yelled Bitsy. “I want to turn myself in.”
“Sure you do,” said the officer, looking extremely doubtful. “Tell you what, we're kind of busy right now with some holiday merry-makers, so why don't you go on home and come back tomorrow?”
“I'm a murderer,” said Bitsy, indignantly. “I'm not leaving until I talk to somebody. I should be locked up.”
“If you say so,” replied the officer, yawning. “You can take a seat on the bench there but I can't guarantee anybody will get to you anytime soon.”
“That's all right,” said Bitsy. “We'll wait.”
Once they sat down, however, Bitsy's resolve seemed to crumple. She began crying quietly, carrying on a whispered, prayerful dialog with God. Lucy felt excluded and useless, unable to offer comfort, but didn't want to leave Bitsy all alone, either. She shifted restlessly on her chair, worried that Bill and the kids would be missing her. She checked the clock on the wall and discovered with a shock that it was almost eight o'clock. Poor Bill must be frantic with worry. She wanted to get out of there and rejoin her family.
Suddenly ashamed of her selfishness, she patted Bitsy's hand.
“Do you have someone to take care of your chickens? Do you want me to do it?”
“That's sweet of you, Lucy, but Ellie Sykes said she'd do it.”
“Ellie? When did you talk to Ellie?”
“It was the last thing I did before I went out to the coop and untied you.” Bitsy paused. “I know I apologized before, but I'm so sorry I hit you on the head like that. There was no excuse for it, truly. I don't know what I was thinking. And tying you up like that. It must have been horribly uncomfortable. And the hatchet. I can understand why you were so frightened, though of course I only intended to use it to cut the ropes. I never meant to harm you.”
Lucy happened to glance at the officer, noticing his surprised expression. He was talking on the phone.
“I think the detective is free to talk to you now,” he said. “Come on through.”
A buzzer sounded and Lucy was able to open the heavy metal door leading to the bowels of the station. The officer met them on the other side.
“One at a time,” he said, pointing to Lucy. “You can wait outside.”
Then, before she could even wish Bitsy luck, the door slammed in her face.
Lucy hesitated a minute, standing uncertainly in the lobby, then decided to make her escape while she could. If the cops wanted to talk to her they knew where she lived. She was going to salvage what she could of the holiday.
A pungent smell assailed her when she opened the car doorsâthe potatoes. Sitting in the hot car at Bitsy's, not to mention the long wait at the police station, hadn't done them a bit of good. There was nothing to do but throw them out, all twenty pounds. Lucy drove the car over to the dumpster and chucked them in, then opened all the doors and windows to let the car air out. While she waited she called home on her cell phone. There was no answerâeveryone must still be at the picnic.
The party was still going strong when Lucy arrived at the field overlooking the harbor. A local rock group was in the bandstand playing oldies. Some people were dancing, especially the kids, while others sat on lawn chairs and blankets listening to the music. Lucy spotted Bill chatting with Rachel and Bob, but before she could join them she was confronted by Sue.
“Lucy Stone, you promised me twenty pounds of potato salad. What happened?”
“I got tied up, solving the murder,” said Lucy. “It was Bitsy.”
“Right,” laughed Sue. “Tell me another.”
“Later,” said Lucy, spotting Bill coming towards her. “I've got some explaining to do to my husband.”
She ran up to Bill and threw her arms around him, practically knocking him off his feet.
“Whoa, Lucy,” he said. “What's this all about.”
“I'm safe. Everything's okay.”
Bill looked at her sideways. “Of course you are.”
“Don't tell me you didn't realize I was gone?”
“I thought you were helping out in the kitchen.”
Lucy was indignant. “I was held captive in a chicken coop.”
Bill was starting to speak when a huge explosion seemed to rock the very earth they were standing on. It was followed by shrieking rockets that soared high into the sky before exploding into streams of shimmering light. Shock quickly turned to delight and everyone cheered as dazzling chrysanthemum bursts of red and yellow filled the sky. They oohed and aahed as showers of whirling pinwheels danced high above their heads. The explosions came faster and faster, filling the sky with one beautiful display after another. It was the best fireworks show anyone had ever seen. It was incredible and it went on and on until Lucy began to wonder if it would ever stop.
“I didn't think they were going to have fireworks this year,” said Bill, when the last rocket fizzled out and the sky was once again dark.
“They weren't,” said Lucy, wondering exactly who had set them off and what the repercussions would be.
It wouldn't take longâpolice sirens could already be heard.
Chapter Twenty-five
T
he phone was ringing when they got home and Lucy was pretty sure she knew who it was. Her hunch was confirmed when she picked up the receiver.
he phone was ringing when they got home and Lucy was pretty sure she knew who it was. Her hunch was confirmed when she picked up the receiver.
“This is Lieutenant Horowitz,” began the deep voice at the other end of the line. “I understand you were the victim of an assault earlier today and I'd like to talk to you about it as soon as possible, preferably tonight.”
“Uh, sure,” began Lucy, aware of her civic duty.
“I can be there in ten minutes.”
“Uh, I don't think so,” said Lucy, having second thoughts. She didn't want to add to Bitsy's woes. “I don't want to be interviewed.”
“Bitsy Howell has confessed to assaulting you in her chicken coop.”
“There must be some misunderstanding,” said Lucy, firmly. “There was no assault.”
“Ms. Howell claims she hit you on the head with a feed bucket rendering you unconscious. She then proceeded to tie you up and left you unattended for several hours, according to her statement, given willingly and freely and under no duress whatso-ever.”
“I can't imagine why she's saying that.”
“Mrs. Stone, I'd like to remind you that it is your duty as a citizen to report a crime to the proper authorities.”
“I understand that.”
“If you refuse to press charges we will be unable to prosecute this case. Have you thought of that?”
“Actually, I have.”
“Am I to understand that you are refusing to press charges?”
“That's right,” said Lucy, smiling as she hung up the receiver.
The phone rang again almost immediately. It was Ted.
“Lucy, can you come back to the paper and write a first-hand account of how you solved the murder? And don't forget to include Bitsy's attack in the chicken house.”
Lucy considered. She wanted to get back to work, but there was no way she was going to go public about the episode in the chicken house. She knew all too well what it was like to be the subject of media scrutiny and she wasn't going to inflict that on Bitsy. She didn't want to add fuel to the prosecutor's case, either. She wouldn't lie under oath, if it came to that, but she wasn't going to volunteer damaging information. Pru Pratt had caused enough grief in Tinker's Cove and Lucy was determined to end it.
“I'll come back, but I won't write about Bitsy.”
There was a long pause.
“That's okay,” said Ted, “There's plenty of other stuff you can work on like the big fireworks explosion on Calvin's boat.”
“The fireworks were from Calvin's boat?”
“Yeah,” said Ted, chuckling. “He was desperate to get them to Massachusetts before the holiday so he and Wesley left yesterday as soon as the funeral was over. They only got a few miles before the bilge pump conked out and the engine was flooded. The current was pretty strong and pushed them back towards the cove, which was the last thing they wanted, of course. They were trying to solder a connection in the pump when they set off the fireworks by mistake. It was a heck of a show.”
“People were saying it was the best they'd ever seen,” said Lucy.
“Well, it looks as if they wiped out the purple-spotted lichen. The boat was just off the point when the fireworks started going off. Calvin and Wesley are in big trouble. The state environmental police are pressing charges and I'll bet Franke and the APTC are going to sue them, too.”
“That doesn't seem fair. A lot of people are probably going to be grateful to Calvin and Wesley.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if the lichen's gone, there's no reason the town can't have fireworks next year.”
“That's right,” said Ted.
“It gets better,” said Lucy. “If the Quisset Point colony is gone, that means the only remaining lichen is at Blueberry Pond, and that means APTC will be making sure the naturists don't disturb it. At this rate, Calvin and Wesley will probably be named grand marshalls of the parade next year.”
“I wouldn't count on that, Lucy. Don't forget Wesley is still facing assault charges and Calvin has confessed to killing his wife.”
“Calvin's confessed? But what about Bitsy?”
“That's exactly it. Barney told me that when Calvin heard about Bitsy's confession he went crazy, jumping up and down and screaming that he did it. And people say chivalry is dead.”
“So who are they going to charge?”
“It's anybody's guess right now. But I can tell you that Horowitz is fit to be tied. It doesn't look as if he's going to be able to make a case against either of them.” Ted paused. “There's a lot going on Lucy. I really need you. Will you come back?”
“See you tomorrow, Ted,” she said.
“Don't be late.”
Lucy smiled to herself. Some things never changed.
She was rinsing off the glasses and mugs that had collected in the kitchen sink when Toby came in the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, looking for a snack.
“Toby, I heard Calvin and Wesley had some trouble with their bilge pump. Do you know anything about it?”
“Poor maintenance, Mom,” he said, lips twitching as he reached for the orange juice. “It's amazing how something like that can blow up in your face.”
“Very funny,” said Lucy, shaking her head.
She went into the family room to join Bill, who was watching the holiday shows on TV with Sara and Zoe. They were all sitting on the couch, and Lucy squeezed in between the girls just as the Boston Pops began playing the final section of the “1812 Overture” complete with church bells ringing and howitzers firing. The music ended and the fireworks were beginning when Elizabeth came in the room.
“Shut off the TV,” she said. “I've got a surprise.”
Bill clicked the remote and the TV fell silent.
“Promise you'll keep your voices low and soft. No shrieking, okay? He's little and his ears are sensitive.”
“Whose ears?” asked Lucy, but Elizabeth had dashed out of the room.
When she returned she was accompanied by Toby and Molly. Molly was holding a squirming bundle wrapped in a towel.
“Mom, Dad, everybody,” said Toby, “this is Molly. She's got something for you.”
Molly placed the towel in Lucy's lap and unfolded it, revealing a wiggly little chocolate lab puppy.
“My dog had puppies a couple of months ago. When I heard about Kudo I told Toby you could have one, if you want it that is.”
“We made sure it was a boy, like Kudo,” said Elizabeth. “We thought you'd like that best.”
“He's adorable,” cooed Lucy as the puppy squirmed against her and licked her face. “What a cutie. Of course we want him.”
“That's a cute puppy, sure enough,” said Bill, “but it's no he.”
Lucy lifted the dog up to see for herself. Bill was right.
“Goodness, Elizabeth. All the time you've been spending down at the pond with the naturists, and you still can't tell the difference?”
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