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Authors: Leslie Meier

Tags: #Suspense

BOOK: Star Spangled Murder
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“I hadn't heard anything about that, Lucy.” Ted scratched his chin. “Are you sure?”
“I told you. Chuck says his traps are being poached.”
“Anybody else?”
“That's what I want to find out. So I'll get right on it, okay?”
“No. The naturist story is top priority. This is big and you can bet it's going to get some regional, maybe even national attention. TV even.” He waggled a finger at Lucy. “And we want to be the ones who break it.”
“Not me,” said Lucy. “I'm not interested. If you're interested, I think you should cover it yourself. I could get some more reaction to the fireworks cancellation. Or get a head start on the listings—there's a lot of holiday activities next week. We ought to play up the parade, for example, since there aren't going to be any fireworks.”
“I would Lucy, except that's what I'm paying you to do. I'm the editor. I'm the one who makes the assignments. You're the reporter. You're the one who does the assignments.” He gave her a hard look. “Do you understand?”
Lucy nodded and got to her feet. “If you're going to put it like that. . . .”
“I am.”
She picked up her bag and checked to make sure she had her camera and a notebook.
“Well, I'm on my way.” She stopped at Phyllis's desk. “If I die of embarrassment, let my family know that it was all Ted's fault. Promise?”
“If you ask me, honey, you're not the one who should be embarrassed.”
Lucy tried to remember that as she approached the pond, camera in hand. She hoped to get some discreet long-distance shots first, before attempting any interviews. That was the plan, anyway. She really wasn't sure if she was going to be able to work up the courage to talk to any of the naturists.
But first she had to get to the pond, which was quite a hike. Recalling the lack of parking the previous day, she'd decided to leave the Subaru at home and walk. She wasn't going to risk having to park in the underbrush and scratching the finish on her relatively new station wagon. Walking also had the benefit of buying her some time, time to figure out a way of conducting the interviews.
She wasn't exactly marching along. She was dawdling her way down the trail, actually playing a little game of seeing how quietly she could walk. It was something she used to do when she was a little girl, pretending to be Lewis and Clark's famous Indian guide, Sacajawea. She was walking so quietly, in fact, that she surprised Calvin Pratt, Pru's husband, who was installing a wire fence along his property line.
“That's a good idea, Calvin,” she said.
Calvin jumped a mile, dropping his hammer.
“I didn't mean to startle you,” she said, smiling in a friendly manner.
Calvin looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He didn't say anything. He just stood there, a skinny fellow with a gaunt face sporting a stubble of beard in a pair of oversized farmer's overalls. He wasn't wearing a shirt and Lucy could see the ropey muscles in his arms and a tuft of gray hair sprouting from his hollow chest.
“Say, Calvin, I'm supposed to write a story for the
Pennysaver
about these naturists at the pond. Would you mind giving me a quote? How do you feel about having all these naked people so close to your property?”
Calvin didn't answer her. He bent down and picked up his hammer and, next thing Lucy knew, he was gone. He had vanished into the woods.
Lucy shrugged and continued down the path, wishing it would go on forever. It didn't, of course. It ended and she found herself in the cleared space bordering the pond. The rocks were once again full of people. It was still morning so there weren't quite as many people as there were the day before, but there were still quite a few naturists stretched out on blankets or sitting in beach chairs, enjoying the sunshine. It was a peaceful scene. Only one radio was playing and a few kids were splashing in the water. One serious swimmer was crossing the pond in a neat Australian crawl.
Lucy snapped a few shots of the general scene, figuring she was far enough away that the figures in the photo would be an indistinct jumble of arms and legs. No faces. No breasts. Maybe a round bottom or two, but no sex organs.
The thought froze her in her tracks. She wanted to flee, like Calvin. If only she could. But unlike Calvin, who had probably been forbidden by Pru to even glance at the pond, she was under orders to see everything she could.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained, she told herself, putting on her sunglasses. They would give her a bit of privacy, which she valued even if her subjects didn't. She took a few steps forward, scoping out the situation. Not so bad. The rock closest to her was occupied by a young woman, an attractive girl who reminded her of Elizabeth. She ought to be able to handle this, she told herself. Just pretend she was talking to her daughter.
Lucy took a few more steps. She looked closer. It
was
her daughter.
“Elizabeth!”
“Mom!”
“What are you doing here?”
“Getting a tan! It's great, Mom. You should try it.”
“Put something on!”
“Relax, Mom. It's no big deal. Everybody's naked. It's cool.”
Lucy didn't know what to say. Like Calvin, she was standing transfixed, with her mouth open. Like Calvin, she turned and ran for home. She was running pell-mell down the path, panting heavily, when she ran smack into somebody very solid. A naked somebody.
“I'm so sorry,” she stammered, recognizing another neighbor, Mel Dunwoodie, who owned a nearby campground.
“Take it easy, Lucy,” he said.
“I will,” she said, continuing on her way at a brisk clip.
Thank goodness Mr. Dunwoodie had brought something to read.
Chapter Five
T
ed was not amused when Lucy returned to the office empty-handed. He stared at her, incredulous. “You mean to tell me you didn't get any interviews? Any photos?”
“Sorry,” said Lucy, slinking into her chair.
“Why the hell not?” he demanded, standing over her.
Lucy shrank into the chair, making herself as small as possible. “I got scared and ran away.”
Ted scratched his chin. “Didn't you see any familiar faces down there? Wasn't there anybody you knew?”
Lucy spoke in a very small voice. “That was the problem.”
Phyllis was intrigued. “Who? Who did you recognize?”
“Mel Dunwoodie, for one.”
Phyllis let out a hoot. “Mel Dunwoodie! He must weigh two hundred and fifty pounds!”
“At least,” agreed Lucy, who was trying to erase the image of all that naked flesh from her mind. She had an awful feeling the memory was going to stay with her for a long time.
“Anybody else?” asked Phyllis.
“Well, yes. In fact that's why I exposed my film.”
“Who was it?”
“Elizabeth.”
“No!”
“As much as it pains me to admit it, my own daughter was sunning herself in her birthday suit.”
“I wish you hadn't done that, Lucy,” muttered Ted, adding up potential sales that would not now be realized. “A nice, discreet shot of Elizabeth would have been perfect for the front page. Just think what it would have done for newsstand sales.”
“That's exactly what I was thinking of, Ted,” snapped Lucy, looking at him through a red haze. “There's no way my naked daughter's photo is going to appear in this paper. Not while I have breath in my body. No way.”
“Well, I can understand that,” he admitted, checking the film in his camera. “I guess I'll go down and see what I can do. You can make some phone calls.”
Lucy was on her feet, shaking a finger angrily. “Ted, I'm warning you: Absolutely no photos of my daughter. Got it?” She paused. “I'll tell Pam.”
“Don't worry,” he grumbled as he left. “I won't even look at your daughter.”
“I wish I believed him,” said Lucy.
“Well, you don't honestly believe the little hussy's out there in broad daylight without a stitch on because she doesn't want people to look at her,” said Phyllis.
“No, I don't,” wailed Lucy, collapsing back into the chair. “That's the worst part. My daughter's an exhibitionist!”
Lucy was on the phone talking to Myra Dunwoodie—she'd caught her just as she was going out the door, on her way to join Mel at the pond—when the bell on the door jangled and she looked up to see Beetle Bickham entering the office with a piece of white paper in his huge hand.
“So how long have you and your husband been naturists?” asked Lucy.
She was having a tough time keeping her mind on the interview. She was curious about what had brought Beetle, who was head of the Lobstermen's Association, to the
Pennysaver
.
“Oh, forever,” said Myra. “In fact, that's how we met. At a naturist camp in Pennsylvania. I fell in love with him during a game of volleyball. He had a fantastic spike, and his serve wasn't bad, either.”
“Right,” said Lucy. “Great spike.”
“On second thought, don't put that in the paper,” said Myra, giggling. “Someone might take it wrong.”
“Right,” said Lucy, who was dying to talk to Beetle. “Well, I shouldn't keep you any longer. I'm sure you don't want to miss this beautiful weather.”
Hanging up the phone, she turned to Beetle, who was leaning on the counter and chatting with Phyllis. He was a terrific flirt, speaking with a faint hint of a Quebec accent, and Phyllis was all smiles, responding to his flattery.
“Anything I can do for you?” asked Lucy.
“Well, yes, Lucy, since you mention it.” Beetle unfolded the paper and handed it to her. “This here's a letter to the editor I'd like you to print.”
“What's it about?”
“Well,” said Beetle, hitching up his waterproof yellow oilskin pants. “Some of the fellas are saying they think somebody's poaching their traps.” He shrugged. “It's hard to tell seeing that the catch has been down lately and all. But there's signs. Some people, and I'm not naming names, seem to be doing better than others. A lot better than you'd expect, considering the amount of time they're putting in. Not to mention their history as kind of shiftless and not exactly hard workers.”
“Could be luck,” suggested Lucy. “Maybe they found a hot spot.”
“Could be,” admitted Beetle, sounding doubtful. “And that's why I worded this letter very carefully. It's just kind of a general plea to play fair, if you get my meaning.”
“I get it,” said Lucy, quickly perusing the letter. “But do you think the poachers will read it? And if they do, will they take it to heart?”
“I hope so, Lucy,” said Beetle. “It'd be in their best interest, that's for sure. Lobstermen don't take kindly to poachers. Folks who mess with a man's livelihood have a way of turning up dead. It's happened before, and I don't want to see it happen again.”
“Me, either,” said Lucy. “I'll make sure Ted gets the letter.”
“Thank you kindly, Lucy,” he said, flashing her an irresistibly lopsided smile, “and have a nice day.” He paused on his way out the door and winked at Phyllis.
“Au revoir, madame.”
 
 
Ted read the letter thoughtfully when he returned, but didn't say anything.
“I think we've really got to look into this,” said Lucy. “Maybe we can help defuse the situation before there's any violence.”
“We only report the news, Lucy,” said Ted. “We can't change it.”
“That's not exactly true, Ted. Take the school budget increase. That would never have passed except for our coverage, showing how Tinker's Cove students were doing worse on standardized exams than kids in towns with bigger budgets.”
He read the letter again.
“Okay,” he said, with a sigh. “I'll run the letter and budget space for a story in next week's issue. Okay?”
“Okay,” said Lucy. She chewed her lip nervously. “So, did you get any good photos at the pond?”
“Sure did.” Ted sounded awfully pleased with himself. “And interviews, too.”
Lucy swallowed hard. “Elizabeth?”
“She wasn't there. She must've left.”
Lucy gave a huge sigh of relief, but she knew it was only temporary. She wanted to stop Elizabeth's nude sunbathing but she wasn't sure how to do it. She couldn't lock her in the house, after all.
 
 
One of the things Lucy liked most about working at the
Pennysaver
was the flexible hours. Today, for example, she was finished by two o'clock which give her time to stop by the library to return her books. While she was there, she decided, she'd see if there were any books offering expert advice to parents of young adults. She could certainly use some help.
The library was only a few blocks down Main Street so she decided to walk. She hadn't gotten very far, however, before she noticed a crowd of people gathered in front of town hall, where several tables had been set up. She was wondering what it was all about when a clipboard was shoved into her face.
“Would you like to sign our petition?”
“What's it for?” she asked the ponytailed girl holding the clipboard.
She was one of several college students dashing up and down the sidewalk accosting everyone. They were all wearing T-shirts printed with the APTC logo.
“It simply requests that the town take all necessary steps to protect the endangered purple-spotted lichen.”
“Don't sign it, Lucy,” yelled Scratch Hallett. He was seated at a flag-draped table with a couple of cronies from the VFW. “Sign ours, instead. We want to bring back the fireworks.”
Lucy smiled and waved. “As a member of the press I have to remain impartial,” she said.
“You can't avoid the day of judgement,” warned a man with a familiar face whom Lucy couldn't identify. He was sitting at a third table with members of the Revelation Congregation, a fundamentalist Christian church that had grown steadily since its founding a few years ago. “Choose decency and godliness and support the anti-nudity bylaw.”
Thinking of Elizabeth, Lucy was tempted.
“Sorry,” she shrugged.
“Come on, Lucy,” urged Jonathan Franke, who was supervising the APTC volunteers. “You're entitled to have opinions, especially since you live so close to Blueberry Pond.”
“What's Blueberry Pond got to do with lichen?” she asked.
“It's a prime lichen environment and we're worried the increased use by naturists may have a negative impact.”
Lucy reached for her notebook. “Does this mean APTC is supporting the anti-nudity bylaw?”
“Oh, no,” he said, holding up his hands. “We're not
against
nudity, we're
for
lichen. Putting Blueberry Pond on the Web site has attracted large numbers of people, and people can be quite destructive to lichen. It's so small and blends into the rock so well that they may not even realize it's a life form.”
“That's right,” agreed the girl. “So will you sign?”
“I'll think about it,” said Lucy. But what she was really thinking about as she continued on her way was how very strange it was that APTC was finding common ground with the Revelation Congregation.
Once inside the library, she shoved her books through the return slot and went to check out the new arrivals. There wasn't anything new about parenting, but there was a Family Medical Guide that had photographs illustrating skin cancer. Just the thing to put on Elizabeth's bedside table.
 
 
When Lucy pulled into the driveway, she noticed the kennel gate was swinging open once again. Kudo was gone and she had a good idea where she'd find him. She grabbed the leash and set off on foot along Red Top Road to her neighbors, the Pratts.
In contrast to her own yard, where the weeds and flowers and pea vines and lettuces all grew exuberantly and where bicycles and badminton racquets and volleyballs tended to sprout on the overgrown lawn, the Pratts' yard was extremely neat. A few clumps of hostas promised some pale and feeble blooms later in the summer, but nothing was flowering now, in late June, when almost every garden in town had at least one rambler rose in riotous bloom. The grass had been clipped to an inch of its life and was already turning brown in spots. Unless it rained soon, it would be entirely brown in a week or two, giving the yard a sere and dry look. Not that it was exactly lush and vibrant now. It was also empty; there was no sign of Kudo.
The house was a stark set of geometric shapes, a tall rectangle dotted with awkwardly placed square windows and topped with a rectangular roof. There was no chimney, no porch, no bushes to soften the harsh lines and angles.
Lucy knocked on the door and when she received no answer she went around back to check on the chickens. They were clucking and pecking at the ground in their run attached to the coop and seemed contented enough. There was no sign of any intrusion, no break in the fence. Even though she was relieved he hadn't attacked the chickens, Lucy was anxious about the dog's whereabouts. Where could he be? She decided to try the pond by following the path that wandered from the rear of the Pratts' yard and through their woods. Once behind their barn, however, her attention was drawn by the large amount of lobster gear that was haphazardly stacked there. It was funny to see traps stacked up this time of year, when they should be in the water. Lucy was taking a closer look when she was startled by Pru Pratt's voice.

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