Star Spangled Murder (7 page)

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Authors: Leslie Meier

Tags: #Suspense

BOOK: Star Spangled Murder
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“I heard he's thinking of turning the campground into a nudist colony,” said Dot. “That's what Jack Kimble said. He's in real estate, you know, and he said he's worried about property values.”
“That's right in your neighborhood, Lucy,” observed Marge. “You and the Pratts would be most directly affected. Are you worried?”
“I'm worried,” admitted Lucy, thinking of Elizabeth. “But not about property values.”
“I suppose you want this on account, like usual?” asked Dot.
“Righto,” said Lucy, pushing her cart towards the exit. “Take care, now.”
“Keep your clothes on!” said Dot, laughing. She leaned across the counter to Marge. “I used to say ‘Have a nice day' but now I say ‘Keep your clothes on'. The customers love it.”
Outside in the parking lot, Lucy was interested to see that an impromptu counter-demonstration had formed. Members of the Revelation Congregation were out in force, making up for their lack of organization with righteous indignation. Their handlettered signs quoted Bible scripture, especially God's command to Adam and Eve to “cover their nakedness” when they were expelled from the Garden of Eden. The group's numbers were small, but they were doing their best to shout down the naturist speakers. One of the loudest was Pru Pratt.
“Sinners repent!” she shrieked, over and over, sounding like a crow.
Her husband, Calvin, was standing beside her. In contrast to his wife, Calvin looked abashed to be involved in a public display, and was practically hiding behind the sign he was holding. “Avoid the occasion for sin!” it proclaimed, in drippy red paint.
Not bad advice, thought Lucy, again thinking of Elizabeth as she wheeled the cart over to her car and unlatched the hatch. She tossed the giant package of paper towels into the back of the Subaru, then paused as she reached for the toilet paper. What was she thinking? She was once again agreeing with the Pratts. She needed her head examined.
Lucy was in the driver's seat, planning a route back to the paper that avoided Main Street, when she saw trouble looming on the horizon. A group of fishermen leaving the Bilge, their favorite hangout, had spotted the group from the Revelation Congregation. At first they were content to toss out a few ribald comments, and to laugh at the shocked reactions of the Revelation Congregation members.
They probably would have gotten bored and gone on their way soon enough, except for the fact that one of the more zealous demonstrators raised his sign and threatened the fishermen with it. That was all it took for them to charge into the crowd, seizing the signs and knocking several demonstrators to their knees.
Lucy grabbed her cell phone, intending to dial 911, but someone had beaten her to it. The wail of a siren was heard approaching and the fishermen quickly scattered. It was all over when the squad car came careening into the parking lot. Not far behind was a white van with a satellite dish on top. Tinker's Cove would make the TV evening news.
Chapter Seven
“T
his town's going to hell in a handbasket,” announced Lucy, as she wrestled the giant package of paper towels through the back door at the
Pennysaver
. Traffic was still not allowed on Main Street and she'd had to wind her way through back streets and driveways to the grungy parking area behind the office. It was shared with other stores and businesses on Main Street and was primarily used for deliveries and as a place to store garbage cans and dumpsters.
“Want some help with those bundles?” asked Phyllis.
“No, I can manage,” said Lucy.
She was out the door and back in a minute with the toilet paper. A third trip to get the bags of cleaning supplies and coffee completed her mission. Phyllis helped her unpack everything into the storage closet.
“Store-brand creamer?”
“You sound like my kids,” said Lucy. “I don't think you appreciate what I went through to get this stuff. It's like a war zone out there, with the boys from the Bilge attacking the pious folk from the Revelation Congregation.”
“Is that what happened? I heard the sirens and wondered what was going on.” Phyllis was arranging cans of coffee on the shelf. “Anybody hurt?”
“I hope not.” Lucy was picturing the encounter in her mind, wondering at the violence exhibited by the fishermen.
Phyllis voiced the same thought. “What do they have against the Revelation Congregation anyway?”
“I don't know,” said Lucy. “Frankly, I'm kind of amazed that nudity is turning out to be so controversial. It's sure turned this town upside down.”
“I wouldn't read too much into it,” said Phyllis, with a knowing nod. “After a few boilermakers, those boys'll punch anything that moves.”
“You've got a point,” agreed Lucy, heading for the door. “See you Monday.”
 
 
The hot weather held during the weekend and there was more traffic than usual on Red Top Road as naturists driving cars with license plates from all over New England and beyond gathered at the pond. Elizabeth spent every spare minute there, ignoring her parents' objections.
“You're asking for trouble,” warned Bill, passing a platter of corn on the cob, the first of the season. They were all gathered around the picnic table for a barbecue dinner.
“Don't be ridiculous, Dad,” replied Elizabeth. “The naturists are all polite and respectful.”
“It's not the naturists I'm worried about,” said Bill.
“Dad does have a point,” said Toby. “A lot of the guys are going down to the pond to check on the action there.”
“Well, I can't be responsible if they're pathetic and immature, can I?” countered Elizabeth.
“I hope you're using sunscreen,” fretted Lucy. “Take it from me, sun can really damage your skin.”
“You could get cancer,” said Zoe.
“It's not fair,” grumbled Sara, wiping her brow with a paper napkin. “Because of these nudists, we can't go swimming at the pond.”
“Naturists,” corrected Elizabeth. “And it isn't their fault. It's Mom's and Dad's. They're the ones who won't let you go.”
“Well, maybe I don't want to go,” snapped Sara, who was self-conscious about her developing body. “Maybe I'm not a show-off like you.”
“That's enough, girls,” said Lucy, determined to keep peace at the dinner table.
But keeping peace was no easy task, at the table or anywhere else for that matter, as the temperature soared and the humidity climbed. Frustrated by the unusual amount of traffic when he made his usual Sunday morning dump run, Bill finally slammed his hand on the horn and pulled into the road in front of a line of cars, prompting a flurry of honks in return. Toby made himself scarce, and when Lucy casually asked him what his plans were on Saturday night he was unusually evasive. There was no question about what Elizabeth was doing—she continued to go down to the pond and was so defensive about it that no one dared to say a word to her because she'd snap their heads off.
Finally, on Sunday afternoon, Lucy and the younger girls settled in the gazebo to make the crepe paper flowers. They occasionally caught a slight breeze off the ocean out there, and Lucy kept the lemonade pitcher filled as the piles of red, white and blue “carnations” grew around them. When they'd used up all the crepe paper they bundled the flowers into plastic garbage bags and stuffed them into the back of the Subaru to deliver on Monday morning.
Melanie was in her usual spot, greeting the campers, when Lucy pulled up. The girls hopped out of the car and unloaded the flowers, eager to show her how much they'd accomplished. While she oohed and aahed, Lucy went and parked the car. Today she was covering Officer Barney Culpepper's annual fireworks safety lesson. As community outreach officer, he was responsible for educating town children about the rules of the road for bicyclists, Halloween safety and the danger of fireworks. Lucy always looked forward to covering these events because she got cute quotes from the kids and adorable photographs.
Barney was just beginning his presentation when she arrived at the covered pavilion, positioning herself on the outside of the circle of children gathered around him.
“Who knows what this is?” he asked, holding up a sparkler.
Almost all the children raised their hands. He pointed to a little boy with red hair and a freckled nose.
“A sparkler,” said the boy. “My dad gets 'em every year for the Fourth of July.”
“Does your dad let you hold them?” asked Barney.
“Sure. It's fun.”
“It's fun, but it's also dangerous,” said Barney, lighting the sparkler he was holding and receiving a chorus of ohhhs. “Do you know how hot this is right now?”
The kids didn't know, but a few raised their hands anyway. Barney chose Zoe.
“Five hundred degrees,” she said, making an educated guess. “That's the hottest the oven gets.”
“More than one thousand degrees,” said Barney, carefully inserting the spent sparkler into a large coffee can filled with sand.
The kids were impressed.
“If you were to touch a lighted sparkler, you'd get a very bad burn. It could also set your clothes on fire. Who can think of some safety rules for sparklers?”
“Don't have them,” offered a little girl with glasses.
“That's the safest thing, absolutely,” said Barney. “But what if you do have them?”
“When they're done, put them in sand like you did,” suggested a serious looking little boy.
“That's excellent. Anything else?”
The group was stymied.
“Well, if you're holding a sparkler be very careful. Watch it. Keep it away from other people. Don't run with it. Hold it out, away from your clothes. Don't let it get near your face, and don't keep holding it after it burns out because the wire stays very hot. And always have a bucket of water nearby, just in case of fire. Okay?” Barney held up a string of firecrackers. “Who can tell me what these are?”
“Firecrackers!” chorused the kids.
“Anybody here ever set off any firecrackers?”
If they had, nobody was going to admit it.
Barney chuckled and winked at Lucy.
“Firecrackers make a lot of noise, right?” Barney had everyone step back and lit the string, which popped and crackled and banged and danced about on the ground. “They don't seem too dangerous, do they?”
“If you put one in a can it will make the can bounce,” offered the boy with freckles.
“What do you do if you put a firecracker under a can and it doesn't go off?”
“You look and see if it's gone out.”
“NO YOU DON'T!” yelled Barney. “If it goes off when you're looking, you could hurt your eyes. Even go blind.”
Barney's expression became very serious. “Do you know how many people are injured by fireworks every year?”
“Millions?” guessed the boy with freckles. He looked so serious that Lucy couldn't resist snapping his photo.
“Not millions, thank goodness,” said Barney. “It's around nine thousand, which is a lot of people. That's why firecrackers and most other fireworks are illegal in our state. They can get you in big trouble.”
The children had grown very quiet. Lucy guessed some were probably thinking guiltily of the supplies of fireworks their families had at home, ready for the holiday. After all, they were sold legally in neighboring New Hampshire and Canada, too.
“Anybody here hungry? Anybody want some watermelon?” asked Barney, sensing it was time to liven things up.
He lifted a small, round watermelon out of a box and held it up, prompting an enthusiastic reaction. The kids shrieked and clapped until he held up his hand for silence.
“Before we eat the watermelon, I want to try a little experiment. What do you think will happen if I put a little cherry bomb inside the melon and set it off?” He held up the little device. “It's pretty small, isn't it? It can't do much damage, can it?”
Lucy was surprised to see Zoe had her hand raised. She waited until Barney gave her a nod before posing her question.
“Officer Barney, isn't that cherry bomb illegal? You said only sparklers are legal, didn't you?”
“That's a very good question, Zoe,” said Barney, adding a big humph. “This cherry bomb was confiscated from somebody who was trying to bring it into the country illegally from Canada. It was given to our department for demonstration purposes only.” He paused, letting this information sink in, then pointed to a little girl with long braids. “I see we have another question.”
“Will it make the watermelon taste funny?” she asked.
“It might,” agreed Barney. “But we won't know unless we try. Everybody move back.”
Once he had everyone gathered at one end of the pavilion, he took the melon to the other end, where he set it on a concrete block. Then he donned safety glasses before he dropped the cherry bomb into the melon and awkwardly scampered away. A minute later, the fireworks started popping and the melon exploded, spraying chunks of rind everywhere.
“Sorry, kids. I didn't expect that to happen. I guess these firecrackers are more powerful than we thought, hunh?”
There were nods all round, as well as a few pouts.
“I want you to remember what happened to this watermelon if somebody asks you to play with fireworks on the Fourth of July, okay? They may look pretty, and you might think it would be fun to play with them, but they can be very dangerous They can really hurt you, and I don't want to visit you in the hospital.”
The kids were clearly impressed, sitting silently with somber expressions.
“Well, lucky for you, I brought two watermelons.” Barney bent over and hoisted an even larger melon out of the box.
The kids cheered.
 
 
Afterwards, when they were sitting side by side, chewing on half-moons of ripe, red watermelon, Lucy asked Barney about the scuffle on Friday afternoon.
“Just between you and me,” he said, wiping his chin with his huge hand, “that whole brouhaha had nothing at all to do with the church. Those guys were after Calvin Pratt.”
“Calvin?”
“Yeah. It's no secret that a lot of the fishermen suspect him and his son Wesley there of poaching their traps. He hasn't been very popular on the waterfront for some time.”
“Really? I didn't know that.”
Barney smiled slyly. “You should read those police logs you pick up every week.”
“I would if I had time,” said Lucy, defending herself. “Phyllis scans them into the computer.”
Barney took a bite of watermelon. “We've saved his butt a coupla times, breaking up fights.”
“No wonder he looked so miserable,” said Lucy. “Pru probably dragged him there.”
“I'll bet. He knew he was in big trouble if he was spotted.”
“Did they hurt him?”
“Nah, he ran for his truck as soon as he saw them coming. A couple of the naturists got in the way, there were some bruises. No broken bones.”
Lucy nodded. “You know, there's an awful lot of lobster gear on the Pratts' property, behind their barn. I went over there when the dog got out last week and it made me wonder because I figured they'd have all their pots in the water. But when I looked closer it seemed as if the stuff had a whole lot of different registration numbers on it. I think it was stolen.” She paused. “Wouldn't that be evidence that they're poaching?”

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