Trick or Treat Murder (11 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Later that evening, after supper, Lucy wondered if she had been too hasty when she encouraged Bill to go to Shelburne Village. Maybe I should have fallen on my knees and begged him to stay home, thought Lucy, plunging her arm up to the elbow in pumpkin guts.

"It's a shame Dad's missing this," she told the kids, who were gathered around the newspaper-covered kitchen table. "He would've loved it."

"We didn't wanna wait," Toby said. "It's almost Halloween."

"Only four more days," Elizabeth said.

"I can't wait," Sara squealed. "Trick or treat!"

Propped in her baby seat, Zoe did not seem very excited about pumpkin carving, or Halloween. If anything, her expression seemed to indicate some internal discomfort. She gave a little hiccup, and then started to cry.

"I have to feed the baby. Toby, can you finish cleaning out this pumpkin?"

"Sure." He started to reach into the pumpkin.

"Roll your sleeves up," Lucy advised.

"Oh, yeah."

Lucy kept an eye on him as she rinsed her hands, dried them, and picked up the baby. "No funny stuff," she warned, just as he picked up a handful of stringy seeds and hurled them at Elizabeth.

"That's it," she told Elizabeth, who was scooping up a handful herself in order to retaliate. "It stops here."

"That's not fair! He gets away with everything!"

"He's not getting away with it. I'll punish him later. Right now, let's concentrate on finishing up this pumpkin."

"How are you going to punish himr asked Elizabeth, as Lucy settled Zoe at her breast.

"I don't know. I'll think of something."

"You should ground him," Elizabeth suggested with a malicious grin.

"That's not fair! You get grounded for something real bad, like stealing," Toby protested.

"I haven't decided, yet. Just remember, you owe a debt to society, young man. So, what kind of eyes are you going to give it?"

"Two triangles," said Sara.

"You don't have to make triangles. You can be creative. How about big, spooky circles?"

"Triangles," Toby said.

"Triangles," Elizabeth agreed.

Lucy sighed. "Okay, make triangles." Sometimes Lucy wondered about her children. They were so conservative. They never wanted to try anything new. "Be careful with that knife, Toby."

"How do you want the noser Toby asked. "Triangle?'

"Triangle," Sara said.

"Triangle," Elizabeth agreed.

"You know, I saw somewhere, how they made the pumpkin seeds dribble out of the jack-o'-lantern's mouth, so it looked like throw up," Lucy suggested, propping Zoe on her shoulder and patting her back. "It looked kinda neat, if you like that sort of thing."

"Yuck," Toby said, grimacing.

"That's disgusting," Elizabeth observed, as Zoe upchucked all over Lucy's shoulder.

"It's only spit up," said Lucy. "I hope she isn't coming down with something."

"She sure knows how to come up with something," volunteered Toby, pleased at his cleverness.

"Make the mouth smile," Sara said.

"A big grin with lots of teeth," Elizabeth added.

"What did you think of Mrs. Finch's white pumpkin?" Lucy asked, gently rocking Zoe.

"It's just not Halloween," said Elizabeth. "This pumpkin's right for Halloween."

Toby placed a flashlight inside the pumpkin and turned it on. Then he switched off the kitchen light, and they all admired the jack-o'-lantern. It had two triangle eyes, a triangle nose, and a big toothy grin. It was perfect.

"Okay, Toby. For punishment you can clean up. I'm going to put Zoe in her crib and see if she'll go to sleep."

"Aw, Mom, do I have to?"

"Yes, you have to. If you throw stuff around and make a mess, you get to clean it up. That's how it works, and I don't want to hear another word about it."

Surprised at her tone, Toby glanced at his mother. Lucy raised her eyebrows, and he decided that further argument would not be in his best interest. Instead, he reached for a sponge.

Coming back downstairs, Lucy listened to Zoe's crying and wiped up the table. Toby had done his best, it was just that when Toby cleaned up, somebody had to clean up after him. The baby wasn't really wailing, her crying was more in the nature of a complaint. Lucy decided to wait a bit and see if she'd go to sleep, so she opened the refrigerator and pulled out the salad greens.

Even after she'd made the salad, and boiled the water for the macaroni, Zoe was still crying.

"Elizabeth, could you get the baby? I'm making supper."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes. You can sit in the rocking chair with her."

"What if she throws up on me?"

"Then we'll clean you up. Do you want to eat tonight? I can cook, or I can rock the baby."

"I have to do everything around here," Elizabeth complained, mounting the stairs.

"Right," said Lucy, mixing up the cheesy sauce. "She has to do everything."

"Mom, the baby feels hot," Elizabeth said, when she returned to the kitchen with the baby.

"She's been crying," said Lucy, bending down to kiss Zoe's forehead. "Maybe she has a little fever."

"What if she's sick?"

"I'll get a cool washcloth. You can wipe her face, see if she cools down."

All through supper, which they ate in front of the TV as a special treat, Lucy laughed along with the kids at a silly sitcom rerun and refused to admit how worried she was about the baby. Zoe wasn't interested in nursing and only stopped wailing when Lucy held her against her shoulder. Finally, Lucy gave her a tiny dose of fever medicine, and she drifted off to sleep.

Returning to the kitchen, Lucy loaded the dishwasher and wiped off the counter. Then, deciding she still had a tiny bit of energy left, she mixed up another two dozen cupcakes and set them in the oven. While they baked, she thought about calling the doctor.

No point, she decided, at this hour she would only get the answering service. Zoe probably had a little cold, nothing to worry about. She was well-nourished, well-hydrated, full of maternal antibodies. If she wasn't better tomorrow morning, Lucy decided, she'd call the doctor then.

By the time Lucy got the older kids settled down, and had changed into her nightclothes herself, it was ten o'clock. Zoe kept waking and fussing, nursing a bit and spitting up. Lucy tried bathing her to bring down the fever, but Zoe cried so much she abandoned the idea. Dressing her only in a diaper and shirt and wrapping her in a light receiving blanket, Lucy held her against her shoulder, and sat in the rocking chair. Rocking was the only thing that seemed to soothe the baby, which meant going to bed was out of the question.

Lucy rocked back and forth. She listened to the dishwasher go through its cycle. She listened to the hum of the refrigerator. She heard the click of the thermostat, and the whoosh of the fur¬nace. She closed her eyes and told herself that resting was almost the same as sleeping.

A second later the phone rang.

Startled, she jumped to her feet, clutching the baby. She picked up the receiver.

"Hello," she said, expecting to hear Bill's voice.

She didn't hear anything, just the sound of someone breathing. That was followed by a hoarse, male voice. "You can't stop me."

Then, far away in the distance, she heard the fire horn, and the wail of sirens.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Had he made a fool of himself? Driving back home the next afternoon, Bill wasn't sure. This consultant stuff was harder than he had expected. He hoped the Shelburne Village people weren't disappointed in him.

He'd done his best. The door was atypical. Quite unique. He'd never seen anything like it. Some features were eighteenth century, others nineteenth. Faced with the curator's puzzled expression, he'd finally ventured a guess that it was made in the nineteenth century by a very old craftsman using his father's tools.

It wasn't that far-fetched, he told himself. Even today, in remote pockets of New England, there were people repairing chairs and building stone walls and making baskets just the way their parents or grandparents had taught them.

Turning onto Main Street, he sighed. No use crying over spilt milk. What was done was done. Either they were impressed withhis honesty and frankness, or they figured he was a fool. In the big scheme of things it hardly mattered. He had plenty of work to keep him busy and put food on the family table.

Slowing for a traffic tie-up, Bill was surprised to see a cop directing traffic. Given the time of year, Tinker's Cove only had traffic problems in the summer, this was unusual. Curious, he pulled over and got out of his truck. He had only gone a few feet down Main Street when he saw the blackened remains of Doug Durn- ing's real estate office

.

"What the hell," he said under his breath, joining the group of curious onlookers along the yellow tape.

"Our arsonist at work again," said Ted Stillings, returning his camera to its case.

"When did it happen?"

"Last night. It was some blaze. Chief called for mutual aid from companies as far away as Gilead and Wilton. Twelve engines, thirty-five firefighters, it was quite a show. Where were you?"

"I had business over in Vermont. I'm just getting back." Bill shook his head. "This is an awful shame. That was a nice old house."

"Yeah. Was is the operative word. Chief says it's a complete loss. There's Doug, now. Excuse me, I've got to get a statement."

Bill watched as Ted approached Doug, notebook in hand.

"I'm sorry to bother you at a time like this," he began. "I just wondered if you have anything to say for The Penny saver?"

"I sure do," Doug began. "I'm mad as hell." His face was red and his gestures were choppy. Bill wondered if he'd been drinking; he wouldn't have blamed him if he had. "What's it gonna take? How many buildings have to burn before they catch this guy? Is he gonna burn the whole goddam town down before they get him?"

Suddenly deflated, Doug paused for breath and staggered. Ted took him by the arm and steadied him.

"This was my life," he said, shaking his head. "I took some hits in the recession, but business was picking up. I was one of the survivors—I thought. Now it's all gone. I've lost everything."

"Was the building insured?" asked Ted, scribbling away.

"Yeah, but not enough. Not near enough. I'd cut back, trying to save money."

"That's too bad," said Ted, momentarily at a loss for words. He always found it hard not to identify with the people he interviewed, and this cut close to the bone. He could put himself in Doug's place all too easily, and knew how devastated he'd be if the Pennysaver Press burned. "Hang in there, man," he said, giving Doug a pat on the shoulder.

Standing a few feet away, Bill also sympathized with Doug.

"I'm sorry," he said, stepping up and clasping his hand. "Anything I can do?"

Doug stared hollowly at the burned-out building that had been his livelihood, and gestured emptily with his hands. Blinking furiously, he turned away and headed down the street. Bill watched him go, then climbed in his truck.

It was time to go home.

When he pulled into his own driveway, however, he was surprised to see a police cruiser parked by the back door. Hurrying into the kitchen he was relieved to see it was only Barney, sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee.

"Hi," he said, pouring himself a cup, giving Lucy a peck on the cheek and joining them at the table. "Guess you guys were busy last night, hunh?"

"You could say that," agreed Barney.

"I saw Doug. He's taking it pretty hard."

"I was just there the other day. I was thinking what a nice old place it is ... was," said Lucy.

"I gotta finish this report, Lucy," Barney said, reluctantly drawing her attention to the form on the table in front of him.

"There isn't much to tell," Lucy began. "The phone rang around ten. I picked it up. There was a breathing sound, then someone said, 'You can't stop me.' Then I heard the sirens."

"When was this?" demanded Bill.

"Last night."

"Are you telling me the arsonist called here?" demanded Bill, looking at Barney.

"We don't know who called," admitted Barney. "The timing could have been a coincidence."

Bill turned to face Lucy. "How come you didn't call the police right away? Why'd you wait til now?"

"Calm down," she said. "I called first thing this morning and Barney got here as soon as he could. I thought about calling last night, but I could hear the fire horn and I knew everybody'd be busy. It wasn't an emergency—it was just a phone call. A scary phone call. I figured it was a Halloween prank, like the paint on the car. Actually, I was more worried about the baby."

"What's the matter with the baby?"

"Ear infection. I took her to the doctor this morning. She'll be fine."

"I hate this," said Bill, fingering his coffee mug. "I go away for one night and all hell breaks loose."

"Not quite," said Lucy, patting his hand.

"What did he say? It was a man?"

"Definitely a man. He said, 'You can't stop me.' "

"Have you made any enemies lately?" asked Barney. "Had an argument with someone, made anybody angry?"

"It's the commission," said Bill, smacking his forehead with his hand. "I never should've agreed to join that thing. Doug's a member, and look what happened to him. All you do is make people mad. The couple with the green house, Andy Brown, Lenk— any one of them could be pissed off at me."

"Not the couple," said Lucy.

"Right. I voted for them."

"People do take this stuff more seriously than I thought," said Lucy, thinking of the free pumpkin Andy Brown had offered her.

"Sure they do," said Bill. "That commission is powerful. If I had to paint my house all over again, I might make an anonymous phone call or two myself. Maybe I'd even be mad enough to set a fire."

"Hold your horses, Bill. You're kinda jumping to conclusions, here. We don't know who made the call," said Barney. "Most likely Lucy's right and it's a Halloween trick."

"Arson and anonymous phone calls kind of go together," said Lucy, thinking of the description of the typical arsonist in the psychology book. She had been so sure that Krissy and Dr. Mayes were responsible for the fires, now she wasn't so certain. Maybe there was a pyromaniac loose in Tinker's Cove.

Or, maybe that's exactly what Krissy and Dr. Mayes hoped everyone would think. Maybe this fire was carefully planned to divert attention away from Monica and bolster the theory that she was truly a hapless victim who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Or, thought Lucy, her mind racing, maybe the fire was supposed to send a message to Doug. Did he know something he shouldn't? Had he stumbled on some bit of evidence? Did they need to get him out of the way, too? Lucy's heart skipped a beat. What if they knew she suspected them and had been asking questions? Would they come after her next?

"Are you okay?" Bill asked, interrupting her thought. "You're awfully quiet."

"You look kinda pale, Lucy." Barney furrowed his brow in con- cern, looking a bit like a huge St. Bernard.

"Maybe this is more serious than I thought," Lucy admitted. "The paint, the phone call—maybe somebody is trying to warn me off."

"What do you mean, Lucy?" Bill asked. "Warn you off what?"

Lucy held her breath, waiting for Bill to draw the inevitable conclusion.

"Have you been investigating these fires?" Bill looked her right in the eye.

Lucy looked at the salt and pepper shakers on the table. "Not really."

"What does 'not really' mean?"

"I think... I thought it might have been Dr. Mayes, especially after I learned about him and Krissy. I was asking some questions around the gym."

"I wish you'd mind your own business, Lucy," said Bill.

"You should leave this investigation to the police," advised Barney.

United in agreement, Bill and Barney sat back and lifted their coffee mugs.

"What about those Patriots?" began Bill.

"I think I hear the baby," said Lucy, glad to escape the male chauvinists in the kitchen. But as she tended to the baby one fact became very clear to her. If the arsonist was threatening her there was only one thing she could do. She had to catch him before he had a chance to hurt her, or her family.

As much as she liked Barney, she had to admit he didn't exactly inspire confidence in the investigative abilities of the Tinker's Cove Police Department. It was time to consult an expert. Fortunately, she had made the acquaintance of a state police detective a few years ago when she was working for the Country Cousins catalog store and found the body of the owner, Sam Miller, in the parking lot. She decided to give Detective Horowitz a call.