Authors: Leslie Meier

Wedding Day Murder (10 page)

BOOK: Wedding Day Murder

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At seven o'clock, Wilfred Wiggins pounded his gavel on the table and called the meeting to order, even though the harbormaster had not yet arrived. The committee had waived the reading of the minutes of the last meeting and approved them and dealt with some old business when Frank appeared, dressed in a freshly pressed uniform.

“I'm sorry I'm late,” he said, blinking his eyes and twitching his shoulders.

Wilfred didn't ask for an explanation but smiled indulgently. “Got held up, did ya? Well, it goes with the job. Always something.”

Lucy suspected Frank had gotten held up at the laundromat, but the board members did not appear to share her suspicions.

“Not a problem, not a problem,” said Tom, baring his brown and ragged teeth in a smile.

“Let's hear your report; then we'll see if the board members have any questions. Agreed?”

All the board members nodded their heads.

Frank pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and took his place in front of the table, where he stood, jiggling on his toes. He began reading.

“Harbormaster's report for the month of June. Commercial boats: sixteen. Recreational boats: forty-eight. Prorated income from resident users: ten thousand one hundred and sixty-six dollars. Income from transients: twelve thousand dollars.”

He stood for a moment, Adam's apple bobbing furiously, waiting for the board's reaction.

“I guess that twelve thousand is from that big yacht,” said Wilfred.

“That's a nice boat,” said Herb.

“I'll bet that baby takes plenty of fuel,” said Al with a little whistle.

“He can afford it,” observed Tom. “They say he's the next Bill Gates.”

“Must be somethin' to have a boat like that,” said Herb, fingering his Quisset Point Yacht Club hat. Despite its name, Lucy knew the boats at the yacht club were hardly yachts; they were mostly day-sailers and a few small power boats.

“Do I have a motion to accept the harbormaster's report?” asked Wilfred.

“I so move,” said Tom.

“I second it,” said Alf.

“Vote?” asked Wilfred.

“Hold yer horses,” said Herb, and Lucy pricked up her ears. “You forgot discussion.”

“Any discussion?”

Herb looked pointedly at Al, and Lucy wondered if dissension would actually erupt at the meeting.

“Well, uh,” began Al, looking uncomfortable, “last month we voted on a new policy to, uh, encourage transient use, and I wondered how it was going. Any problems?”

“Good point,” acceded Wilfred. “Any problems, Frank?”

Lucy sat at attention, waiting to hear Wiggins's answer. Would he acknowledge that the fishermen were angry about the new policy, or would he cover it up?

Frank stood for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling. Then he looked down at his shoes. A shudder ran through his body and he swallowed. “Nope,” he said.

Interesting, thought Lucy. She suspected word of last week's confrontation had reached some of the board members. Would they challenge Wiggins, or would they accept his word?

“That's fine, then,” said Wilfred. “I have a motion to accept the harbormaster's report. All in favor?”

Everyone was in favor.

“We have one other order of business,” began Wilfred. “As you all know, Friday is the Fourth of July and we always have a fireworks display in the harbor. Is everything set for that?”

“All set,” replied Frank, nodding his head and blinking rapidly.

“Do I have a motion to adjourn?”

Lucy checked her watch. At barely fifteen minutes, it was the briefest meeting she'd ever covered. Maybe nepotism wasn't all bad, she thought as she stuffed her notebook in her purse and made her way through the rows of folding chairs.

More chairs than usual, she thought, surveying the room. Maybe the janitor had outdone himself, or maybe the commission had been expecting a larger turnout. At the door, she paused. She knew the fishermen had been planning something at the Bilge, but not a single one had shown up at the meeting. What were they going to do?

Chapter Eleven

I
ndependence Day was always celebrated in grand style in Tinker's Cove, and the parade was as big a highlight of the day as the fireworks display in the harbor. Preparations were well underway; Lucy noticed that flags and bunting had appeared on many of the Main Street stores when she went to work on Tuesday. The town certainly had a festive air, but Lucy didn't think that could account for Ted's cheerful attitude. He was whistling a happy little tune, sitting in his usual spot at the enormous rolltop desk he'd inherited from his grandfather.

“You seem awfully chipper today,” she commented as she waited for her computer to boot up. The groans and clicks emanating from the aged machine seemed to indicate she was asking it to do an awful lot.

“Biggest issue everâforty-eight pages,” he replied.

Lucy knew it was advertising, not news, that determined the size of the paper.

“Business must be good.”

“You betcha. And it looks like next week will be just as good. How did the meeting go?”

“Fast. It went very fast. It was over before it began.”

“The fishermen didn't show up?”

“No,” said Lucy slowly. “But I've heard rumors they've got some sort of protest planned.”

Ted snorted. “That'll be the day. Those guys couldn't organize a protest if they tried. They're all captains, if you know what I mean. When everybody's giving the orders and nobody's taking them, it's hard to get much done.”

Lucy laughed. “Not to mention the fact that they all spend way too much time in the Bilge.” She paused. “Now Toby's discovered the place.”

Ted shook his head sympathetically. “You better warn him. He'll get in trouble if he hangs around there.”

They both knew that the Bilge appeared frequently in the police log they printed every week.

“I told him, but I don't think he listened.”

“They gotta learn the hard way.”

Lucy nodded and glanced at the clock. It was after nine and there was no sign of Phyllis.

“Is Phyllis off today?”

“No.”

“Then she's late.”

“Impossible.”

“Maybe she's sick.”

“She hasn't called, and she was fine yesterday.”

“Maybe she had car trouble,” speculated Lucy, opening her notebook and starting her report on the meeting. She was almost done when the door flew open and Phyllis marched in, nearly an hour late, looking rather flustered.

“What happened?”

Phyllis didn't pause for breath. “I was just driving along minding my own business when I saw my cousin Elfrida coming the other way. She was on South Street and there wasn't any traffic to speak of, so we stopped to chat a minute.”

Lucy knew that folks in Tinker's Cove thought nothing of pulling their cars alongside for a conversation. If she herself came upon two motorists so engaged and blocking traffic, she didn't mindâas long as the chat didn't last too long.

“Well,” Phyllis continued, “Elfrida was just starting to tell me about Aunt Effie's new boyfriend whenâbam!âsomebody drove smack into my car. Rear-ended me! Can you believe it?”

“Are you hurt?”

“I'm all rightâmy back is stiffening up a bit, but I'm okay.”

“What about the car?”

“My Buick? Just fine, thank you. But you should see the other car, the car that hit me. It's one of those rice burners. The fender was hanging off and the bumper was all screwed up.” Phyllis's tone was triumphant. “I guess he got what he deserved, driving like that.”

“Who was it?”

“That magazine writer. The one who was in here last week. Doing the story on the next Bill Gates.”

“Dorfman?”

“That's it. And wasn't he fit to be tied! Acting like it was my fault or something. Said he never heard of people just stopping in the middle of the road. Imagine!”

“He does come from New York.” Lucy didn't think New York drivers would tolerate traffic delays while motorists stopped to gossip. “So, who's Aunt Effie's new boyfriend?”

“I never did find out!”

Lucy chuckled and went back to work on her story, quickly finishing it up. Since she had plenty of time, she was also able to work on her lobster story.

“You know, if you've got a lot of room in the paper, I think I can have the story on the lobster project ready by tomorrow,” she told Ted.

Ted was cautious. “I don't want to rush you.”

“Really, it's almost ready.”

“Well, I could use it.”

“It's all yours.”

“That story you wrote about Geoff Rumford's research project was nice work.”

Lucy, who was sitting on one of the rocking chairs on the front porch at the Queen Vic Inn, looked up and saw Andy Dorfman. It was the Fourth of July. She'd brought a resentful Elizabeth to work and was sitting for a few minutes, watching the crowds of people gathering for the parade.

“Thanks.” Lucy was genuinely pleased at this praise. After all, Dorfman worked for a national publication. “How's your car?”

“You heard about that? News really travels fast in this town.”

“Phyllis, the woman you hit, works at the paper.”

“Oh.” He stood for a moment with his hands shoved in his shorts pockets. “Beats me how people can just stop in the middle of the street.”

“Local custom,” said Lucy. “How's your story going? The one about the next Bill Gates.”

“The subject's not cooperating,” said Dorfman.

“I saw him throw a fit in the doughnut shop.” Lucy paused. She was dying to get the inside scoop on Davitz, but she knew she couldn't be too direct without trespassing on Dorfman's research. “I bet his mother wasn't pleased,” she ventured with a little chuckle.

“Turns out he's not quite the mama's boy he appears to be.” Dorfman grinned wickedly. “The mouth on that boy! I was shocked.”

Lucy laughed, hoping to encourage him to elaborate. “Personally, I'm glad to hear it. It's my opinion that that woman has too much influence over her son.”

“Never fear,” said Dorfman, declining to respond and adroitly changing the subject. “Are you staying to watch the parade?”

Lucy leaned back and rocked in the comfortable chair. “I wish. Unfortunately, Mrs. McNaughton has already given me the evil eye once or twice. I'm related to the help, you see. My daughter works here.”

“Not that cute little chambermaid with the bad attitude?”

“You got it. Getting her here this morning was quite a struggle. I'm just resting here for a few minutes, trying to summon the energy to find the rest of the family.” She narrowed her eyes mischievously. “Tell you what. I'll give you a real good deal on this chair. Just tell me how Davitz got a great girl like Sidra to fall in love with him.”

“That's simple,” he said. “Money talks.”

“She's not that kind of girl,” protested Lucy.

“Trust me, they're all that kind of girl.”

“Not Sidra,” insisted Lucy.

She stood up and offered him the chair with a flourish, then hopped down the porch steps and sauntered down the street, keeping an eye out for Bill and the girls. As she walked she also looked for Toby, who'd said he would be watching with his friends, but she didn't see any sign of him. The parade was supposed to begin in just a few minutes, and the sidewalk was full of observers, most of them dressed in variations of red, white, and blue. Many were holding small flags or sporting straw hats with patriotic ribbons. Small children had little flags painted on their cheeks.

When she found her family, Lucy was dismayed to see they'd staked out viewing territory right in front of the
Pennysaver
office.

“I can't ever get away from this place,” she moaned, but her complaints were cut off by the siren of a police car announcing the beginning of the parade.

Riding behind the cruiser, in an open convertible, was the grand marshal, Franny Small. Franny was an old friend of Lucy's who had managed the hardware store for years, until it was driven out of business by competition from a national chain. Franny had started making jewelry out of the remaining stock of nuts and bolts and had been hugely successful. She was now one of the town's top employers.

“Hi, Franny!” screamed Lucy, waving her arm.

Franny turned and, spotting Sara and Zoe, tossed a handful of hard candy their way, setting off a scramble among the children in the vicinity.

The grand marshal's car was followed by a group of girl scouts holding signs announcing the theme of the parade: liberty and justice for all.

“Pretty controversial,” joked Bill, standing at attention as the boy scouts' color guard passed by, followed by a girl dressed as the Statue of Liberty.

Even though she had covered her body with green paint, her toga was revealing, and Lucy wondered if his attention was entirely patriotic.

Several Scottish pipers were next, prompting Sara and Zoe to join in an impromptu jig. Their dance was rewarded with more candy, tossed their way by a clown on a unicycle. A float created by the local nursery came next: a garden had been created on a flatbed trailer, and several employees were lounging in hammocks and lawn furniture. “
LIBERTY AND JUSTICEâAND SUNSHINEâFOR ALL
,” read a placard on the side of the float.

It was definitely popular with the crowd. Everyone clapped as it passed, and Lucy thought it had a real chance of winning the chamber of commerce's trophy for most creative entry.

A group of aged veterans, in bits and pieces of uniform, followed the float. They were no longer the trim, young fellows who had marched off to fight in World War II, but they were still standing tall despite potbellies and stiff joints.

Again Lucy and Bill were on their feet, showing respect to these veterans who had saved the world from fascism.

The veterans were followed by a pickup towing a dory on a trailer. The antique wooden dory, beautifully refinished, was filled with kids enrolled in the sailing program at Point Quisset Yacht Club. Mostly the children of wealthy summer folk, the kids were all dressed in matching PQYC polo shirts and blue shorts. With their sun-streaked hair and tans and white teeth, Lucy suspected the sun shone a little brighter on them than on some local children.

This suspicion was confirmed with the appearance of the high school marching band. It was a poor showing since many of the kids couldn't get away from their summer jobs, and the few who had shown up were dressed in worn and faded polyester uniforms. Sweat was pouring down their faces. But even though the band was offtempo and out of tune, they got an enthusiastic welcome from the crowd.

That welcome turned to silence, and then bursts of raucous laughter, as the next float appeared. Perched on a flatbed trailer towed by a shiny truck tractor was a huge, gleaming white model of Ron Davitz's yacht. Two men were on the yacht: a yachtsman dressed in a cap and a blue blazer with money bulging from every pocket, and a caricature of Frank Wiggins dressed in a harbormaster's uniform and a red clown's wig. The harbormaster figure was on all fours, carrying the yachtsman on his back. Standing by and applauding were five more figures, supposedly the members of the waterways commission. A sign along the side of the trailer read: “
LIBERTY AND JUSTICE FOR ALLâIF THEY CAN PAY
.”

Bill nudged Lucy. “Is that Toby?”

Lucy took a closer look, and sure enough, it was Toby under the costume and makeup of the yachtsman.

“So that's what he's been up to all those nights at the Bilge.”

“If you ask me, it's pretty funny,” said Bill.

BOOK: Wedding Day Murder

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