Turkey Day Murder (8 page)

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Authors: Leslie Meier

BOOK: Turkey Day Murder
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Still holding the club above his head, Chris joined the circle of his teammates. The girls threw the torches onto the pile of wood and the crowd roared as the flames grew steadily higher.
All of a sudden, everybody seemed to be moving, gathering around the huge bonfire. Holding Zoe carefully by the hand, Lucy made her way down from the grandstand. They joined the throng and stood watching the fire, roaring in approval as a dummy dressed in a Gilead Giants uniform was thrown into the flames.
“Mom, we'll win the game, right?” asked Zoe.
“Maybe,” said Lucy, who subscribed to the glass-half-full theory.
“Not a chance,” said Sara. “Gilead's already in the finals for the state superbowl.”
“Winning's not the important thing,” said Lucy mechanically. She was wondering what to have for supper. Something everybody would eat. “It's how you eat the rice.”
“You mean play the game.”
“That's what I said.”
Zoe and Sara looked at each other and laughed.
CHAPTER 9
L
ucy was just putting the finishing touches on a brown rice and carrot casserole when the phone rang. She picked up the receiver and was surprised to hear Fred Rumford's voice.
“What can I do for you?” she asked as she slid the dish into the oven.
“I have to get something in tomorrow's paper,” he said.
“I'm sorry, Fred, but it's too late. The deadline was noon.”
“Damn,” he said.
Something in his tone made Lucy suspect that, whatever it was, it was something a lot more important than an announcement for a bake sale or a flintknapping workshop.
“Is something the matter?” she asked.
“You bet something's the matter! The Metinnicut war club is missing.”
Lucy's hand tightened on the receiver. This could be a big story. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I'm sure. When I handed it over to Chris White I made him promise to bring it right back to me as soon as the pep rally was over. We agreed on a meeting place—by the ticket booth—and I was there right on time. In fact, I was early and I stayed for an hour, but there was no Chris. I went back to the museum, thinking he might have misunderstood and gone there instead, but there was no sign of him. I called his house and his mother told me he wasn't home yet and she didn't expect him until late because it was the night before the big game.”
“Did you call the police?”
“Of course I did. And they picked up Chris, drunk as a skunk.”
“On the night before a big game?”
“Not just him. Most of the team!”
“No wonder we never win.”
“More to the point, there was no sign of the war club. Chris said he was approached after the pep rally by someone who offered to return the club for him and he handed it over.”
“I can't believe he did that,” said Lucy. “Did he know the person?”
“Apparently not. But he did say he looked like an Indian, with long black hair and a bear claw necklace.”
Lucy sighed. “That sounds like Curt Nolan.”
“Exactly,” said Rumford.
“Are the police looking for him?”
“They are, but so far they haven't had any luck. He wasn't home and nobody seems to know where he is. For all we know, he could have left the country.”
“I wouldn't jump to conclusions,” said Lucy, who had learned as a reporter that there were always at least two sides to any story. “We don't really know much for sure. It's not even certain that it was Nolan who took the club.”
“Oh, I'm certain,” said Rumford.
Lucy didn't like his tone. He sounded as if he were ready to act as judge, jury, and executioner.
“What now?” she asked.
“Well, I'd hoped to get the news out. Ask for anyone who has any information about the club or Nolan to contact the police.” He paused. “But you say it's too late.”
As much as she hated it, Lucy knew she had to tell him, even though it meant the
Pennysaver
would lose a scoop.
“You could call the Portland paper,” she said. “And the TV station. Why not try the
Boston Globe?
”
“You think they'd be interested?” Rumford sounded doubtful.
“I'm certain they will,” said a resigned Lucy.
As she hung up, she thought of Ted. He'd be furious that he'd missed such a big story, but that was the problem with publishing only once a week. It meant you lost out on news that happened the other six days of the week.
There was really no point calling him with the bad news, she thought, as she started cleaning up the mess she'd made preparing the casserole. He'd find out soon enough.
CHAPTER 10
O
n Thanksgiving day, Lucy woke up a half hour before the alarm was set to go off. It was a luxury she was unaccustomed to: time to herself. Careful not to disturb Bill, who was sound asleep beside her, she rolled on her back and stretched. Then she tried to work up some enthusiasm for the long day that stretched ahead of her.
Truth be told, Thanksgiving had never been her favorite holiday, consisting as it did of football and food. Food that she had to cook and dishes—lots of dishes—that she had to wash. This year she'd been able to summon up more excitement than usual, but that was because Toby was coming home.
She sighed. Somehow Toby's homecoming hadn't gone at all as she'd expected. He and his friends seemed interested in using the house only as a place to sleep and leave their stuff. Yesterday, much to her irritation, after she'd gone to the trouble of making that vegan brown rice and carrot casserole for supper, they'd gone on to Portland after stopping only briefly at the pep rally and hadn't returned until around eleven. She hadn't seen much of Toby, and the girls hadn't seen him at all. They'd either been asleep or at school when he made his brief appearances. There was plenty of evidence of his and his friends' presence, however, in the huge pile of sleeping bags and backpacks that practically filled the family room, in the wet towels left on the bathroom floor, in the litter of dirty snack dishes that filled the kitchen sink.
Lucy didn't know exactly what she wanted. Certainly not cozy family games of Monopoly, such as he used to enjoy when he was younger. But she had thought he would join the family at dinner. She'd thought he'd be around for a while in the evenings, perhaps watching a video with the rest of the family. And she had hoped to have a little time with him by herself.
Now, she realized with a start, if she did get him to herself she'd like nothing better than to shake some sense into him. She would like to yell and scream and let him know he was behaving like a pig. She'd like to make him understand how much he was hurting her and how very angry it made her feel.
No,
she thought. That wouldn't do. If he was the prodigal son, it was her job to set aside her petty little negative feelings and welcome him. To kill the fatted calf in celebration—or in her case, to cook the turkey and reheat the brown rice casserole.
Doing a quick count, Lucy realized there would be twelve for dinner, instead of the eight she'd been figuring on, presuming Toby and his friends deigned to eat Thanksgiving dinner with them. She counted again. Herself and Bill and the three girls—that was five. Toby and his friends made nine. Add the Barths and Miss Tilley, the total came to twelve.
That meant she would need some extra chairs. She'd have to round up all the strays from the bedrooms and Bill's attic office. There were plenty of dishes, but her silver service only had eight place settings, so she'd have to use the kitchen stainless, too. So much for the elegant table she'd hoped to set. Oh, well, she told herself as the alarm sounded, Thanksgiving was about being grateful for what you had, not wishing you had four more sterling place settings.
 
 
A few hours later, Lucy was savoring the sweet satisfaction of revenge. The college kids weren't sleeping late this morning thanks to Zoe, who wanted to watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV. She had settled herself right in front of the TV, a bowl of cereal on the floor, a spoon in one hand, and the remote in the other. Any attempts to dislodge her—and there had been a few—had been repulsed with fits of noisy squealing. She had now solidified her position, calling on her sisters to act as reinforcements. The college kids had finally given up and had begun the hours-long ritual of morning showers.
Busy in the kitchen, peeling potatoes and mixing up stuffing and arranging plates of condiments, Lucy thought smugly to herself that things had a way of working out. They hadn't eaten the cassserole last night; they could jolly well eat it today. They didn't want to behave like proper guests; the family didn't have to act like gracious hosts.
Glancing at the clock, Lucy saw it was almost time to leave for the football game. She turned on the oven and opened the door, preparing to slide the turkey inside so it could cook while they were gone, when Sara ran into the kitchen.
“You'll never believe it, Mom.”
“What won't I believe?” asked Lucy, straightening up.
“I saw Katie Brown on TV!”
Lucy looked at her doubtfully. “How can you be sure it was her?”
“ ‘Cause she was with her dad and her mom and her brothers. They were all there. At the parade, like she said they would be.”
“Really? You saw them in New York?”
“Yeah, Mom. Isn't that cool? She told me in school yesterday, to look for her, and I did and I saw her! I can't wait to tell her.”
“That is pretty cool,” said Lucy. “Is the parade almost over?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, because it's almost time for the game. Would you tell the others so they can get ready to go?”
“Sure thing, Mom.”
A miracle. A small miracle. She'd asked one of her children to do something and she'd done it willingly.
Treasure the moment,
Lucy told herself as she checked the dining room table.
Everything was in place: the linen tablecloth and napkins, the cornucopia of fresh fruit and nuts, the twelve place settings with assorted flatware. Three pies—pumpkin, apple, and mince—were sitting on the sideboard along with dessert plates and coffee cups and saucers. It all looked very nice, she thought, pausing to admire the new wallpaper.
In the kitchen, the turkey was stuffed and roasting in the oven; it would be almost done when they got home. The brown rice casserole only needed a few minutes in the microwave; the potatoes were peeled and in the pot, covered with water and ready to cook. Cranberry sauce, pickles, and celery with olives were arranged on crystal dishes and covered with plastic wrap, cooling in the refrigerator. So was the wine, and the coffeepot was set up and ready to go.
And so was she. Ready to go and cheer for the home team at the football game.
Taking her place beside Bill in the Subaru, Lucy firmly pushed all thoughts of Toby and his friends from her mind. They had transportation. They could come to the game if they wanted to. She wasn't going to worry about them. She and Bill and the two younger girls would have a lovely time on their own. Elizabeth, never a big football fan, had offered to stay home and keep an eye on the turkey. What a contrast to her thoughtless, irresponsible, selfish brother!
“It's a perfect day for football,” said Bill, interrupting her thoughts.
Lucy considered. The sun was shining brightly in a cloudless blue sky, there was no wind to speak of, and there was just a slight nip in the air.
“It's perfect,” Lucy agreed, hoping that Toby and his friends wouldn't miss the game. It would be a shame, on such a nice day, to stay cooped up in the house.
Instead of going straight into town, Bill took the long way round on the shore road. There, big, old-fashioned, gray-shingled “cottages” stood on the bluff overlooking the cove. The trees were bare, and brown leaves had drifted into the road, but tall, pointed fir trees provided a touch of green here and there. Beyond the houses they could see the sea, deep blue with a scattering of tiny whitecaps. Farther out, on the horizon, they could see the humped shape of Metinnicut Island.
“See the seals!” exclaimed Sara, pointing to a small cluster of rocks.
Bill pulled off the road and stopped the car. Lucy took a closer look and saw several seals lounging in the sun. As she watched, one slid into the water.
“It's not a bad place to live,” said Bill as they turned back onto the road.
“Not bad at all,” agreed Lucy, resolving to concentrate on her many blessings rather than dwelling on her problems with Toby. After all, he was in college. It wasn't as if he were in jail or unemployed or working at a dead-end job somewhere.
Traffic grew heavier as they approached the field, so Bill decided to park alongside the road rather than try to find a spot in the parking lot. They climbed out and joined the crowd of walkers on the sidewalk.
As they marched along, Lucy kicked the dry brown leaves that covered the sidewalk and sniffed their sharp, musky scent. She grinned at the girls and slipped her arm through Bill's. When they turned the corner, they could hear the band playing, and Lucy felt as if she were back in high school herself. She squeezed Bill's arm. A roar went up from the crowd already gathered in the stadium and Lucy guessed the teams were being introduced.
They took their places in the line at the ticket booth and soon were climbing up the stands to claim the few remaining seats near the top. Lucy held Zoe's hand, but Sara insisted on going ahead of them.
They sat down just in time for the kickoff. The Warriors had won the toss and elected to receive the ball; Bill approved of their decision.
“Brian Masiaszyk, the kid who was on the state all-star team last year—he's really fast. If he gets the ball they'll gain a lot of yardage.”
Lucy thought she understood what he meant. Maybe. She held her breath as the ball soared throught the air and landed in Brian's arms.
“Yes!” said Bill, leaping to his feet.
Suddenly everyone was standing and cheering as the all-star player ran down the field, dodging and even slipping through the arms of the Giants to make a touchdown. The Tinker's Cove fans roared their approval. On the other side of the field, the fans of the Gilead Giants sat silently, looking glum.
“What happened?” asked Zoe, tugging on Lucy's sleeve.
“A touchdown, stupid,” said Sara.
Lucy's eyes widened in surprise. “That was unnecessary,” she said.
“I'm sorry,” mumbled Sara.
Lucy knew that Sara often squabbled with her older sister, but she was usually sweet-natured toward Zoe. Lucy wondered if the fact that Toby had ignored her since her got home was upsetting her, causing her to vent her frustration on her little sister.
“Is something bothering you?”
“Nah.”
“Are you sure?” Lucy reached out and touched Sara's arm.
“I'm sure,” said Sara, shaking herself loose.
“Okay.”
The Giants now had the ball and were making slow, steady progress down the field. Despite their brave showing at the beginning of the game the Warriors seemed unable to put up much defense. By the half the Giants were leading thirteen to seven.
“Want something to eat?” asked Bill, standing up and stretching as the teams straggled off the field.
“And spoil our appetites?”
Lucy was starving but didn't want to admit it.
“I'm starving,” said Bill. “It's been hours since breakfast. How about some hot dogs and hot chocolate?”
“Make it popcorn and black coffee for me.”
“You got it. Come on girls—I'll need help carrying the food.”
Left to her own devices, Lucy decided to head for the ladies' room. She was standing in line when Sue saw her and stopped to chat.
“How's it going?” she asked, flipping her tartan scarf over her shoulder and straightening her matching gloves.
To her surprise, Lucy felt tears pricking her eyes. She blinked furiously. “Great,” she said.
Sue narrowed her eyes. “If things are so great, how come you look so miserable?”
“I'm just feeling sorry for myself, I guess. Toby looks great. He's doing fine at school. He has lots of friends.”
“But he doesn't have any time for you?”
“No.” Lucy shook her head and her bangs bounced.
Sue wrapped an arm around her shoulder.
“I told you. You never get back the same kid you sent away. When Sidra was in high school she was hard working and organized. She kept her room neat as a pin. She played field hockey every fall and stayed in shape the rest of the year by running. She'd bring me little things she found: a perfect acorn, a seashell, a pink pebble.” Sue sighed. “She came back from her first semester a completely different person. She would only wear black. She spent the whole vacation lounging on the couch. When I suggested she get some exercise she actually growled at me. I didn't know what to do. I was frantic. Finally, I dragged her to the doctor.”
“What did he say?”
“After he examined her, he took me into his office and wrote me a prescription for tranquilizers!”
“Did they help?”
“I didn't take them. I decided I just had to let her grow up. I couldn't wreck my life worrying about her. It was time to let go.”
“Easy to say,” said Lucy, tempted to growl herself.

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