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Authors: Leslie Meier

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BOOK: Star Spangled Murder
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Epilogue
T
hings hadn't been going well on the homefront, that was for sure. For one thing, Mom just hadn't been her sweet self lately. Instead of settling down with the family and opening the milk bar, the way she used to, she'd suddenly become restless. Up and down. A pup would no sooner find her spot and start snacking when Mom would be up and on the move, leaving her and the others to dangle hopefully for a minute or two before tumbling to the floor with a thud. And there'd been no restorative, healing licks, either. Mom was too busy pawing at the door, demanding freedom, to attend to the puppies' needs.
It was nothing at all like those first blissful days when they all curled up together for endless naps and cuddles with plenty of rich, warm milk to drink. Now, even if Mom did decide to catch a rare nap things had suddenly gotten very crowded indeed. And the competition was fierce with everybody pushing and shoving and nipping at each other. No, things had definitely changed.
In some ways, it was probably better. It was fun to chase her own tail and even more fun to chase somebody else's tail. And then there was wrestling, rolling around with her brothers and sisters and attempting to pin the other one down. Though even if she succeeded she only had the advantage for a moment before they were off and running again.
She'd finally gotten used to the routine—naps and meals and playtime—when it all changed again. She was plucked out of the pen, taken away from the gang. Without any warning, she found herself held tightly by one of those large, noisy, pink creatures. Its voice was so loud and piercing it hurt her ears. And then she was stuck in a box, all by herself. It was very upsetting and she'd started to cry.
That's when they had all descended on her—a whole litter of the huge, hairless beasts. All talking and passing her back and forth like she was a hot potato. And when she'd had that little accident, oh, the shrieks! All she wanted was to go back to Mom and the gang.
She was resigned to misery when she was picked up again and carried to one of the enormous creatures. This one was different. She felt soft, kind of like Mom. And her voice was quiet. She didn't shriek. Maybe there'd be milk, she thought, licking hopefully at the creature's face. There wasn't, but it was all right. Suddenly tired, she yawned, then curled up in the creature's lap and went to sleep.
Libby, Liberty, had found her new home.
Please turn the page for
an exciting sneak peek of
Leslie Meier's next
Lucy Stone mystery—
NEW YEAR'S EVE MURDER,
coming in hardcover in November 2005!
Chapter 1
WIN A WINTER MAKE-OVER for YOU and YOUR MOM!
A solid month of baking and chasing bargains and wrapping and decorating and secret keeping and it all came down to this: a pile of torn wrapping paper under the Christmas tree, holiday plates scattered with crumbs and half-eaten cookies, punch cups filmed with egg nog, and sitting on one end table, a candy dish holding a pristine and untouched pyramid of ribbon candy. And then there was that awful letter. Why did it have to come on Christmas Eve, just in time to cast a pall over the holiday?
Lucy Stone shook out a plastic trash bag and bent down to scoop up the torn paper, only to discover the family's pet puppy, Libby, had made herself a nest of Christmas wrap and was curled up, sound asleep. No wonder. With all the excitement of opening presents, tantalizing cooking smells, and people coming and going, it had been an exhausting day for her.
Lucy stroked the little Lab's silky head and decided to leave the mess a bit longer. Best to let sleeping dogs lie, especially if the sleeping dog in question happened to be seven months old and increasingly given to bouts of manic activity, which included chewing shoes and furniture. She turned instead to the coffee table and started stacking plates and cups, then sat down on the sofa as a wave of exhaustion overtook her. It had been a long day. Zoe, her youngest at only eight years old, had awoken early and roused the rest of the house. Sara, fourteen, hadn't minded, but their older sister, Elizabeth, protested the early hour. She was home for Christmas break from Chamberlain College in Boston, where she was a sophomore, and had stayed out late on Christmas Eve catching up with her old high school friends.
She had finally given in and gotten out of bed after a half-hour of coaxing, and the Christmas morning orgy of exchanging presents had begun. What had they been thinking, wondered Lucy, dreading the credit card bills that would arrive as certainly as snow in January. She and Bill had really gone overboard this year, buying skis for Elizabeth and high-tech ice skates for Sara and Zoe. When their oldest child, Toby, arrived later in the day with his fiancée Molly, they had presented him with a snow board and her with a luxurious cashmere sweater. And those were only the big presents. There had been all the budget-busting books, CDs, video games, sweaters, and pajamas, right on down to the chocolate oranges and lip balm tucked in the toe of each bulging Christmas stocking.
It all must have cost a fortune, guessed Lucy, who had lost track of the actual total sometime around December 18. Oh, sure, it had been great fun for the hour or two it took to open all the presents, but those credit card balances would linger for months. And what was she going to do about the letter? It was from the financial aid office at Chamberlain College advising her that they had reviewed the family's finances and had cut Elizabeth's aid package by ten thousand dollars. That meant they had to come up with the money or Elizabeth would have to leave school.
She guiltily fingered the diamond studs Bill had surprised her with, saying they were a reward for all the Christmases he was only able to give her a handmade coupon book of promises after they finished buying presents for the kids. It was a lovely gesture, but she knew they couldn't really afford it. She wasn't even sure he had work lined up for the winter. The economy was supposed to be recovering, but like many in the little town of Tinker's Cove, Maine, Bill was self-employed. Over the years he had built a solid reputation as a restoration carpenter, renovating rundown older homes for city folks who wanted a vacation home by the store. Last year, when the stock market was soaring he had made plenty of money, which was probably why the financial aid office had decided they could afford to pay more. But even last year, Bill's best year ever, they had struggled to meet Elizabeth's college expenses. Now that the Dow was hovering well below its former dizzying heights, Bill's earnings had dropped dramatically. The economists called it a “correction” but it had been a disaster for vacation communities like Tinker's Cove as the big city lawyers and bankers and stockbrokers who were the mainstay of the second home market found themselves without the fat bonus checks they were counting on.
The sensible course would be to return the earrings to the store for a refund, but that was out of the question. She remembered how excited Bill had been when he gave her the little box and how pleased he'd been at her surprised reaction when she opened it and found the sparkling earrings. All she'd hoped for, really, was a new flannel nightgown. But now she had diamond earrings. He'd also written a private note, apologizing for all the years he'd taken her for granted, like one of the kids. But they had surprised her, too, with their presents. Toby and Molly had given her a pair of buttery soft kid gloves, Elizabeth had presented her with a jar of luxurious lavender body lotion from a trendy Newbury Street shop, Sara had put together a tape of her favorite songs to play in the car and Zoe had found a calendar with photos of Labrador puppies—all presents that had delighted her because they showed a lot of thought.
So how was she repaying them for all their love and thoughtfulness? In just a short while she was going off to New York City with Elizabeth and leaving the rest of the family to fend for themselves. Really abandoning them for their entire Christmas vacation. The bags were packed and standing ready in the hallway; they would leave as soon as Elizabeth returned from saying good-bye to her friends.
She had been thrilled when Elizabeth announced she had entered a
Jolie
magazine contest and won winter makeovers for herself and her mother. Not only was she enormously proud of her clever daughter but at first she was excited at the prospect of the makeover itself. What working mother wouldn't enjoy a few days of luxurious pampering? But now she wished she could convert the prize into cash. Besides, how would Bill manage without her? What would Zoe and Sara do all day? Watch TV? That was no way to spend a week-long holiday from school.
Also, worried Lucy, checking to make sure the earrings were still firmly in place, what if the supposedly “all-expense paid” makeover wasn't quite as “all-expense paid” as promised? Traveling was expensive—there were always those little incidentals, like tips and magazines and mints and even airplane meals now that you had to buy them, that added up. What if it turned out to be like those “free” facials at the make-up counter where the sales associates pressured you to buy a lot of expensive products that you would never use again?
Lucy sighed. To tell the truth, she was a little uneasy about the whole concept of being made-over. There was nothing the matter with her. She stood up and looked at her reflection in the mirror that hung over the couch. She looked fine. Not perfect, of course. She was getting a few crow's-feet, there were a few gray hairs and that stubborn five pounds she couldn't seem to lose, but she was neat and trim and could still fit in the sparkly Christmas sweatshirt the kids had given her years ago. And since she only wore it a few times a year it still looked as festive as ever.
Now that she was actually giving it a critical eye, she could understand why her friend Sue always teased her about the sweatshirt. It was boxy and didn't do a thing for her figure. Furthermore, it was the height of kitsch, featuring a bright green Christmas tree decorated with sequins, beads, and bows. Not the least bit sophisticated.
She sighed. She hadn't always been a country mouse; she'd grown up in a suburb of the city and had made frequent forays with her mother, and later with her friends, to shop, see a show, or visit a museum. It would be fun to go back to New York, especially since she hadn't been in years. And she was looking forward to a reunion with her old college buddy, Samantha Blackwell. They had been faithful correspondents through the years, apparently both stuck in the days when people wrote letters, but had never gotten in the habit of telephoning each other. Caught in busy lives with numerous responsibilities, they'd never been able to visit each other, despite numerous attempts. Lucy had married right out of college and moved to Maine, where she started a family and worked as a part-time reporter for the local weekly newspaper. Sam had been one of a handful of pioneering women accepted to study for the ministry at Union Theological Seminary and had promptly fulfilled the reluctant admission officer's misgivings by promptly dropping out when she met her lawyer husband, Brad. She now worked for the International AIDS Foundation, and Lucy couldn't wait to see her and renew their friendship.
Which reminded her, she hadn't had a chance yet today to call her friends to wish them a Merry Christmas. That was one holiday tradition she really enjoyed. She sat back down on the couch and reached for the phone, dialing Sue Finch's number.
“Are you all ready for the trip?” asked Sue, after they'd gotten the formalities out.
“All packed and ready to go.”
“I hope you left room in your suitcase so you can take advantage of the after-Christmas sales. Sidra says they're fabulous.” Sidra, Sue's daughter, lived in New York with her husband, Geoff Rumford, and was an assistant producer of the
Norah!
TV show.
“No sales for me.” Lucy didn't want the whole town to know about the family's finances, so she prevaricated. “I think I'll be too busy.”
“They can't keep you busy every minute.”
“I think they intend to. We're catching the ten o'clock flight out of Portland tonight so we can make a fashion show breakfast first thing tomorrow morning, then there are numerous expert consultations, a spa afternoon, photo sessions and interviews, I'm worried I won't even have time to see Sam.” She paused. “And if I do have some free time, I'm planning to visit some museums like the Met and MOMA. . . .”
Sue, who lived to shop, couldn't believe this heresy. “But what about Bloomingdale's?”
“I've spent quite enough on Christmas as it is,” said Lucy. “I've got to economize.”
“Sure,” acknowledged Sue, “but you have to spend money to save it.”
It was exactly this sort of logic that had led her into spending too much on Christmas in the first place, thought Lucy, but she wasn't about to argue. “If you say so,” she laughed. “I've got to go. Someone's on call waiting.”
It was Rachel Goodman, another member of the group of four that met for breakfast each week at Jake's Donut Shack.
“Did Santa bring you anything special?” asked Rachel.
Something in her tone made Lucy suspicious. “How did you know?”
“Bill asked me to help pick them out. Do you like them?”
“I love them, but he shouldn't have spent so much.”
“I told him you'd be happy with pearls,” said Rachel, “but he insisted on the diamonds. He was really cute about it. He said he wanted you to wear them in New York.”
This was a whole new side of Bill that Lucy wasn't familiar with. She wasn't sure she could get used to this sensitive, considerate Bill. She wondered fleetingly if he was having some sort of midlife crisis.
“Aw, gee, you know I'm really having second thoughts about this trip.”
“Of course you are.”
Lucy wondered if Rachel knew more than she was letting on. “What do you mean?”
“Haven't you heard? There's this awful flu going around.”
“What flu?”
“It's an epidemic. I read about it in the
New York Times.
They're advising everyone to avoid crowds and wash their hands frequently.”
“How do you avoid crowds in a city?”
“I don't know, but I think you should try. Flu can be serious. It kills thousands of people every year.”
“That was 1918,” scoffed Lucy.
“Laugh if you want. I'm only trying to help.”
Lucy immediately felt terrible for hurting Rachel's feelings. “I know, and I appreciate it. I really do.”
“Promise you'll take precautions?”
“Sure. And thanks for the warning.”
She was wondering whether she should buy some disinfectant wipes as she dialed Pam's number. Pam, also a member of the breakfast group, was married to Lucy's boss at the newspaper, Ted Stillings, and was a great believer in natural remedies.
“Disinfectant wipes? Are you crazy? That sort of thing just weakens your immune system.”
“Rachel says there's a flu epidemic and I have to watch out for germs.”
“How are you supposed to do that? The world is full of millions, billions, zillions of germs that are invisible to the human eye. If Mother Nature intended us to watch out for them, don't you think she would have made them bigger, like mosquitoes or spiders?”
It was a frightening picture. “I never thought of that.”
“Well, trust me, Mother Nature did. She gave you a fabulous immune system to protect the Good Body.” That's how Pam pronounced it, with capital letter emphasis. “Your immune system worries about the germs so you don't have to.”
“If that's true, how come so many people get sick?”
“People get sick because they abuse their bodies. They pollute their Good Bodies with empty calories and preservatives instead of natural whole foods, they don't get enough sleep, they don't take care of themselves.” Pam huffed. “You have to help Mother Nature. She can't do it all, you know.”

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