Trick or Treat Murder (8 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The weekend did not start well. Lucy had no sooner poured herself a cup of coffee on Saturday morning when the phone rang. It was Lorna Phipps, Stubby's mother.

"You have simply got to get control of that son of yours," began Mrs. Phipps, in her usual tone of righteous indignation. Since her son, Stubby, had been the class scapegoat since kindergarten, she had plenty of practice.

"What's he done, now, Lorna?' asked Lucy. "Well, Toby and those friends of his, Eddie Culpepper and Rickie Goodman and Adam Stillings tossed my Stubby's gym shoes up in the air until they caught on the electric power line. I had to call the electric company to get them down."

"I do apologize. I'm sure it wasn't intentional, it must have been an accident."

"Accident, my eye. Of course they did it on purpose. They had no business taking Stubby's sneakers in the first place. They're always teasing and tormenting him."

Lucy knew this was true. Stubby, overweight and with an overprotective mother, was a natural victim. When Lucy had been the boys' Cub Scout den mother her biggest challenge each week had been trying to think of something for the boys to do that was more interesting than picking on Stubby.

It had been an almost impossible task. Stubby seemed to invite abuse. He stood a little bit too close, he asked stupid questions, he picked his nose. That didn't excuse his tormenters, however.

"I'll talk to Toby," promised Lucy, as a horrifying scene right out of The Lord of the Flies played in her mind. "They didn't actually take the shoes right off him, did they?'

"No. They were his gym shoes. They offer no support whatsoever. Dear Stubby has flat feet, you know, and has to wear good, sturdy oxfords. So difficult to find nowadays."

"I bet they are," said Lucy, her heart going out to poor Stubby. With a mother who insisted upon dressing him in sensible shoes and a bow tie for school, he didn't stand a chance.

"Perhaps if you let him dress more like the other boys, they wouldn't tease him so much," she ventured.

"How dare you, Lucy Stone! Just because I refuse to let Stubby dress like those young hooligans, your son included, I might add, that's no excuse for them to tease him."

"Of course not," agreed Lucy. "You're absolutely right."

"And you haven't heard the last of this, I can tell you that. All this happened at the school bus stop, and I am going to make sure the principal hears about it. Those boys could lose their bus privileges, you know."

"I know," admitted Lucy, wondering how she was going to find time in her morning schedule to chauffeur Toby to school.

As soon as she had hung up, she yelled up the stairs. "Toby, get down here this instant."

"Sure, Mom, what's up?" From his sheepish expression, it was clear he knew exactly what was up.

"What's all this about Stubby's shoes?"

"We were just playing keep-away and Eddie tossed 'em up and they got stuck on the wire. Kind of a freak accident."

"You boys have got to stop teasing Stubby. It's mean. Why do you do it?"

"I dunno." Toby looked at his feet.

"How would you like it if the boys did it to you?"

"Not much, I guess."

"Well, stop doing it, okay?"

"Okay." He silently observed a moment of penance, then looked up. "Mom, what's for breakfast?"

Lucy poured herself a big glass of orange juice and joined him at the table. As she watched him wolf down a huge bowl of cereal, and then pour himself a second, she wondered if she had been stern enough with him. He didn't seem to be taking this very seriously. What else had he been up to?

She studied her son, thinking that in many ways he was already a stranger to her. Teetering on the brink of adolescence, his face still pudgy and round, she thought of the pending onslaught of hormones that would carry him even further away from her. Had it already started? What did he do when he was out with his buddies? Could they have set the fires? On a dare, maybe. Or carried away on a sudden surge of testosterone? The thought gripped her, filling her with anxiety.

"Mom, are you okay?" asked Toby. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Oh, nothing," she said, giving him a hug. "I was just thinking how fast you're growing up. It's kind of scary."

"Oh, Mom," he groaned, wriggling away and heading for the stairs.

It was a few minutes past ten when Lucy loaded the kids into the Subaru for the short drive to the Ezekiel Hallett house. When they arrived, the ramshackle old mansion was already abuzz with activ¬ity. The lawn was filled with cars and trucks; it seemed as if the entire town had turned out to help.

"Hi, Lucy. I see you brought the whole crew," said Sue, trotting up to the car and checking her clipboard. "Where's Bill?"

"He's working this morning. He'll be over later. I've got his lunch."

"I knew I could count on you," said Sue with a smile. "Okay, Toby, you can help the boys carry out trash. Girls, find Miss Perry, the high school art teacher—she's in charge of making decorations. Lucy, I know you've got the baby. Could you sweep and keep an eye on the kids?"

"Sure. I even brought my own broom."

 "Great. Oops, I see some more new arrivals. Gotta go." 

Lucy watched the busy scene for a minute, thinking how nice it was to see people rally for a common cause. Then, she transferred Zoe from the car safety seat to the red corduroy pouch she wore on her chest. Toting her dustpan and broom, she climbed the hill to the mansion.

"Oh, Mrs. Stone, can I see the baby?"

"Sure," said Lucy, pausing so Jennifer Mitchell could stroke Zoe's cheek. Jennifer, now a junior in high school, occasionally baby-sat for the older kids, but so far Lucy had been reluctant to leave Zoe.

"Isn't she adorable? How old is she now?"

"Six weeks," said Lucy.

"Is she heavy? I know a lot of mothers use those carriers—is it comfortable?"

"You get used to it," said Lucy. "Babies love them. They like being close to Mommy."

"Look at those bright eyes," cooed Jennifer. "She's watching everything."

"She'll doze off pretty soon. Listen, Jennifer. Have you done much sitting for babies?"

"Oh, yeah. I worked all last summer as a mother's helper for Mrs. Cunningham. She had twins—Bridget and Brendan. They were premature and had apnea monitors for a while. They needed special formula, too, and were on a high-frequency schedule. Plus the meds, of course."

Lucy was impressed. "I guess you could manage Zoe, then. She's a normal, full-term baby."

"That'd be great. I've missed playing checkers with Sara."

"How about next Thursday? I want to go to that gas station hearing. It shouldn't be too late, but it'll give you a chance to get acquainted with the baby."

"Sounds super," said Jennifer, with a huge smile.

"I'll pick you up around six-thirty?"

"You don't need to do that. I can drive, now," said Jennifer, beaming with pride. "I passed my driver's test on the first try."

"Congratulations," said Lucy, who still remembered bursting into tears when she failed her first attempt. "Have you got a car?"

"I do. I bought it with my baby-sitting money. It's that little red Toyota." She pointed to a tiny Tercel, rather the worse for wear.

"It doesn't look like much, but it runs good. And it goes forever on a tank of gas."

"That's terrific. I'll see you a little before seven on Thursday?"

"You can count on me," said Jennifer, running off to help her friends, who were struggling to carry a mildewed old mattress to the Dumpster.

Lucy's progress up the hill was slow. She kept meeting people who hadn't seen her since Zoe's birth and wanted to peek at the baby. Finally, making her way into the entrance hall, Lucy paused to examine the plans Sue had tacked to the wall. Games would be located in the ballroom, and refreshments in the drawing room and parlor, while the stairs and a few upstairs rooms would be transformed into a "Trail of Terror" by the high school drama club.

"Whaddya think?" asked Sue, materializing beside her with two styrofbam cups of coffee.

"I think it's going to be a great party," said Lucy, accepting a cup.

"I didn't bring you any donuts—Jake's donated them—because I know you're trying to lose those extra baby pounds," re¬minded Sue.

"Thanks, so much," said Lucy, who was starving and could have eaten half a dozen. She consoled herself by nuzzling the baby's head with her chin.

"I have your best interests at heart," Sue assured her. "Are you sure Bill's coming? I need someone to tighten up the banister—I don't want any accidents."

"I'm absolutely, one hundred percent sure he'll come. I told you, I've got his lunch."

"Pretty clever. And I thought he was a conscientious, helpful sort of guy."

"He is," admitted Lucy. "Not like some men." She took a sip of coffee.

"Are you thinking of anyone in particular?" Sue leaned against the stained plaster, and settled in for a chat. It had been a long morning and she was ready for a break.

"Monica's husband. He was having an affair. With Krissy, just like I thought."

"How do you know?" Sue wasn't convinced.

"I called Monica's daughter, Mira. She told me. Then I happened to see Krissy at the gym and asked a few questions. It all adds up to a pretty big motive, if you ask me."

"Lucy, you're taking this stuff too far. If you keep poking around in other people's business you're going to get in trouble. In fact, someone's staring at you in the weirdest way right now."

"Who?" Lucy whirled around and saw Loma Phipps peering at her from a doorway. She gave her a cheery wave, but Lorna did not return it.

"That's just Stubby's mom—she disapproves of me," said Lucy, with a wave of her hand. "That has nothing to do with this. Don't you see? If he was having an affair, that would be a motive, wouldn't it? Say he wanted to marry Krissy."

"You've never heard of divorce?"

"You've never heard of alimony ?" Lucy shot back. "Maybe he wanted to get rid of her and keep his money. Maybe he was afraid Krissy wouldn't be interested in him without his dough."

"It seems pretty risky to me. What if he got caught? Then he wouldn't be able to enjoy Krissy or his money,"

"Well, he's gotten away with it so far. And if it hadn't been for the dog, the body might never have been discovered," Lucy pointed out. "It was almost a perfect murder."

"What about the car?"

"You've got me there," admitted Lucy, running out of an¬swers. "He should have gotten rid of it."

"See. It was an accident. Monica was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Maybe," agreed Lucy, draining her coffee and tossing the cup in a convenient trash barrel. 'Time to get to work," she said, taking up her broom and beginning to sweep.

"Let me know as soon as Bill comes, okay?" Sue made a note on her clipboard and hurried off.

Buckling down to her job, Lucy soon had a sizable pile of dirt in the middle of the floor. Moving awkwardly because of the baby carrier, she was bending down to sweep it into the dustpan when she was almost knocked off her feet by Toby and Eddie, who were running through the foyer.

"Hey, watch it," she said sharply. "You're gonna hurt somebody."

"That's right, boys. Slow down," roared Barney, clamping his hands on Eddie and Toby's shoulders and stopping them in their tracks. "What's the idea, anyway?"

"We're helping," offered Toby.

"What's that you got there?" demanded Barney.

"It's a walkie-talkie. Rickie got 'em for his birthday."

"Where's Rickie?"

"We're trying to find him and Adam."

"That's how you're helping? You're running all over, chasing your buddies?"

"I guess."

"Gimme that," ordered Barney, taking the toy. "I'll find them. You find Mrs. Finch and she'll tell you how you can help. Okay?"

"Okay," agreed Eddie and Toby.

Barney pushed down the button on the walkie-talkie. "Boys, this is Officer Culpepper. Get your butts in here this minute and report to Mrs. Finch. Got that?"

A high squeaky voice came through the static. "Got it."

Lucy laughed. "Those boys are driving me crazy. Did you hear about Stubby's shoes?"

"Marge mentioned it." Marge was Barney's wife. "I had a little talk with Eddie."

"I had one with Toby. Do you think it will do any good? Is this thing out of control?"

"I don't think so. Kids tease each other. It's not nice, but it's normal. To tell the truth, Stubby kinda asks for it."

"I know. Somebody ought to tell him how to stick up for himself."

"That's a good idea, Lucy. I think I'll have a little talk with Stubby myself."

"Don't let Lorna catch you. She's determined Stubby won't be a hooligan like our boys."

"I can tell her a thing or two about youthful offenders—real sickos—that'll keep her awake at night."

"That reminds me—any progress on the fires?"

"Well, the fire marshal's office had us bring in anybody with a previous record of arson—arrests, mind you, not convictions. Computer gave us eight or nine names, but it turned out none of them could've set all the fires. The fires were started the same way, according to the state fire marshal, so they're pretty sure it's the work of one person. Could be somebody new, just discovered he likes to play with matches, or could be the fires are a cover-up for some other crime."

"Like murder?"

"Could be murder, could be insurance fraud, could be a nut. They're looking at everything. The word I've heard is that this case is going to be cracked in the lab."

"What do you mean?"

"They've got solid evidence of some kind—DNA, fibers, I dunno. Nobody's talking. They've really clamped a lid on it."

"Did they question Dr. Mayes? His daughter told me he was having an affair. He might have wanted Monica out of the way."