Authors: Leslie Meier

Wedding Day Murder (15 page)

BOOK: Wedding Day Murder

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“Oh,” said Elizabeth.

“She said Lance is here with her.”

“That's interesting,” Elizabeth said in a carefully neutral voice.

“I thought you'd be more excited. I thought you and he kind of have a thing, maybe, sort of. You know.”

“He's okay, but he's so immature. And I'm not going to be able to see much of him, anyway, since I'm working. I can't spend my time lying around the pool or riding a jet ski like he can.”

“You make it sound as if you're in a penal colony. You do have days off, you know.”

“I'm volunteering to help with the lobster project on my days off,” Elizabeth said, surprising her. “I thought it would be good for college.”

Lucy nodded, not quite sure what to think. Maybe Elizabeth was interested in turning over a new leaf, or maybe she had come up with a way of getting closer to Geoff.

Seeing Toby approaching the dock in a dinghy, Lucy honked her horn and checked her watch. Once again, she was going to be late picking up Zoe and Sara.

Chapter Seventeen

I
t was the top story on the local TV news Friday night: Ron Davitz's death had been ruled a homicide by the medical examiner. Autopsy results had revealed there was no water in Davitz's lungs, which meant he had been dead when he hit the water. Further examination had revealed bruising and lacerations consistent with a blow to the head. The time of death had not yet been determined.

“I wonder how they can be so sure it was a homicide,” said Lucy. “Maybe he hit his head accidentally on something on his way into the water.”

She and Bill were sitting together in the family room, drinking their after-dinner coffee and catching up on the day's news.

“It's amazing what these forensic guys can figure out just from the body,” said Bill.

“I'm so glad he wasn't shot.”

“What do you mean? What does it matter how he was killed?”

“Because,” said Lucy, “Sue found a gun in the house, and considering how much Sid disliked Ron, it seemed possible he might have shot him.”

“Sid?” snorted Bill. “That's crazy.”

“Not so crazy, especially since he's left town.”

“The man went fishing. He goes this time every year.”

Lucy didn't like Bill's tone.

“Well, it did seem pretty suspicious,” said Lucy, defending her thinking. “Especially with the wedding coming up. But now that Ron wasn't shot, it couldn't have been Sid.”

“I don't follow your logic at all,” said Bill, leaning back in the recliner and opening the sports section of the paper. “Sid could have hit him on the head with the gun.”

Lucy's jaw dropped. “You think Sid did it!”

“No, I don't.” Bill lowered the paper. “If you ask me, I think it's unlikely his death had anything to do with Tinker's Cove. This guy had connections all over the world, and you know what they say, you don't get to be that rich without stepping on a few toes.” Bill narrowed his eyes. “Lucy, you're not getting involved in this thing, are you?”

“Of course I'm involved. Sue's my best friend. I work for the newspaper. How can I not be involved?”

“You know what I mean, Lucy. You're not conducting a private little investigation of your own, are you? Because if you've got time for something like that, you could be taking care of some things around here.” He disappeared behind the paper.

“What, exactly, do you think I've been neglecting around here? You've got clean clothes; the house is relatively clean; you get a hot meal every night.”

“Well, if you don't see what's wrong, there's no point talking about it. We'd just fight.”

“So we're going to play Twenty Questions instead of discussing this like mature people?”

Bill's only reply was to turn a page of the paper.

Disgusted, Lucy picked up her coffee and carried it out to the gazebo. Sometimes the man could be so infuriating. What was going on? Okay, she hadn't asked his permission for the wedding; well, there wasn't going to be a wedding now. And so far, she'd been covering all the bases despite working extra hours. The girls were enjoying summer camp; Elizabeth and Toby were getting to work on time; the house was running pretty much as usual. What did he have to complain about?

She sat there, looking out at the distant mountains, wondering what to do. Bill did have a point: she had been accused often enough of poking her nose into police investigations and muddling up the evidence. Lt. Horowitz had threatened more than once to charge her with obstructing an investigation.

But this time, she didn't have a choice. Ron's murder was a big story and Ted would expect her to help cover it. Furthermore, her best friend and her family were directly involved. She couldn't pretend the whole thing wasn't happening, she thought, glumly resting her chin on her hand. Kudo settled down beside her and she idly scratched the top of his head. If only she could be as certain as Bill that Sid wasn't the murderer.

Come to think of it, she realized, Bill could have been on to something when he'd said Ron's death probably had nothing to do with Tinker's Cove. She had been foolish to think that, just because Davitz had died in Tinker's Cove, that meant the primary suspects had to be locals. That wasn't necessarily the case, considering that Ron had been such an important businessman. He had only been visiting in Tinker's Cove; he didn't live here. He would naturally have a wide circle of friends and acquaintances and business contacts stretching far beyond this little town.

There were, for instance, the muscle-bound men in white polo shirts she'd seen at the coffee shop. They had definitely been interested in Davitz. Who were they, she wondered. She had assumed they were bodyguards, but could they have been hired killers? She had to write an obit anyway; she might as well do a little extra research and see what she could turn up about Davitz and his possible enemies. She swallowed the last of her coffee and stood up.

But what, she asked herself as she paused to examine the tomato plants in her garden, would she do if she discovered that Sid, or even Sue, had really killed Davitz? Not intentionally, of course. She didn't think either one was capable of planning a murder. But what if there had been an argument that led to a fatal blow? What would she do then?

Noticing nothing but a stem where a leaf used to be, Lucy looked closer and spotted a plump tomato hornworm industriously munching his way along another leaf. In its way, with its bright green body and black-andcream stripes and spots, it was a magnificent creature, and for a second she was tempted to leave it alone. Then she remembered the damage a single hornworm could do to an entire bed of tomato plants and plucked it off, dropped it on the ground, and stepped on it.

Remembering her instructions from Ted, Lucy spent several hours over the weekend on the Internet, researching Ron Davitz. Although she turned up plenty of information for the obit she had been assigned to write, she didn't come up with anything that would suggest he had enemies in the business world.

She also called Sue several times with offers of help but was politely rebuffed.

“Thanks, Lucy, but we're doing fine,” was all Sue would say.

From Elizabeth, who had changed her mind about spending time with Lance, she learned that Norah had taken Thelma under her wing. She'd also invited the bridesmaids to stay with her at her enormous summer “cottage” on Smith Heights Road.

On Monday she hurried into work, eager for the latest news on the police investigation.

Ted shook his head. “Nothing, nada, zip. No press conferences, not even a statement.” He paused. “Did you do the obit?”

Lucy gave him the floppy disk and sat down at her desk, where an enormous pile of press releases awaited her attention. It was almost lunchtime, and she was deeply immersed in the details of a silent auction when Ted got around to editing the obit.

“Nice work,” he said after reading it. “You did a good job of explaining what
Secure.net
actually does.”

“I'm not sure I really understand it,” Lucy confessed, “but greater minds than mine seem to think it's the greatest thing since sliced bread. Do you know the stock was initially offered at twenty-five dollars a share, rose to forty-seven, and settled at forty-two dollars on the first day of trading? They say Ron made millions in that one day alone.”

Ted shook his head. “Do you have the feeling that we're missing the party? People are making fortunes in the stock market, and I can't even fund my IRA to get the tax break.”

“I've got a mutual fund,” said Phyllis.

Ted and Lucy were impressed.

“How's it doing?” asked Ted. “Are you going to be retiring soon?”

“Not likely. It's been losing money.”

Lucy was surprised. “Losing? I thought everyone was making money.”

“Everyone but me,” said Phyllis, watching as Lucy took a tin out of her tote bag. “Are those homemade cookies?”

Lucy peeked inside, then closed the lid. “Sorry. I'm taking them to Thelma.”

“You are an angel,” said Phyllis.

“Want to come with me?”

“Uh, I would,” began Phyllis, “but I'm spending my lunch hour at the beach.”

Lucy chuckled. “I'll pass along your condolences,” she said.

When she stepped out into the sunshine, Lucy was tempted to forget about visiting Thelma. It was a gorgeous summer day, and this was no way to spend her precious lunch hour. She sighed and headed for the harbor.

Passing the town hall, she met Chuck Swift, dressed in his working clothes of rubber overalls and heavy rubber boots.

“Aren't you warm in that getup?” she asked.

“You bet, but I was in a hurry. Came straight here from my boat.”

“What's up?”

“Plenty,” he said. “That check that Davitz gave the town for docking privileges is no good.”

“How do you know?”

“My mom works in the town hall, you know. She told me. It kind of puts the waterways commission's policy on transients in a new light. A pretty questionable light, if you ask me, since town residents have to pay for the entire season in advance. And if your check bounces, you lose your slip. They give it to the next guy on the list.”

“They didn't make Davitz pay in advance?”

“Nope. He just waved his checkbook and they couldn't do enough for him.”

“So the town's out more than ten thousand dollars?”

“Closer to twenty now.” He snorted. “And you know what's really crazy about this? With all the news coverage and all, they're not going to make the boat move, either. I just talked to Chairman Wiggins. He says they can't add to a grieving mother's distress. What do you think of that?”

“I think some people are going to be wearing egg on their faces for quite a while,” said Lucy, chuckling. “But you know, this happens a lot with rich people. I've heard Dot at the IGA complaining about how those rich summer people on Smith Heights Road run up huge charges at the store and never seem to be in much of a hurry to pay their bills. I even heard the dry cleaner has cut off some of those people. Refuses to take their dirty clothes unless they pay up front.”

“Maybe the waterways commission should do the same thing,” suggested Chuck. “You can be sure the commercial fishermen's association is going to be out in force at the next meeting, and I think we can get some support from the taxpayers' association, too. Let's face it, nobody in this town gets away with paying taxes or fees late. You're late, the penalties start to mount, and pretty soon they've got a lien on your property.”

“He only rented the yacht, so they can't exactly put a lien on it.”

“Too bad.” He cocked his head. “Say, where are you headed? I've got the truck around back. Can I give you a lift?”

“No, thanks. I can use the exercise. See you later.”

When Lucy got to the yacht, she paused at the gangway. Without a doorbell or knocker, she wasn't sure how to announce herself. Maybe she should yell “Ahoy, there” or something.

Her steps on the rubber-coated sheet metal made quite a lot of noise, and when she stepped onto the boat she gave a yell.

“Hi, there.”

Nobody answered.

She stood, holding her tin of cookies, and waited a few minutes. She knew the yacht had a huge staff. Sooner or later, someone would appear. There was no shade where she was standing, so she took a few steps farther until she was under an awning. She considered poking her head into the saloon, but decided against it. If Thelma was sitting there, grieving, she didn't want to burst upon her unannounced. She waited.

Still no one came. Finally, she decided a little walk around the deck might be in order. She would be sure to bump into a crew member then. A circuit of the lower deck revealed no one, however, so she decided to climb to the upper deck, where the bridge was located. Surely someone would be there.

Sure enough, as she drew closer to the bridge, she heard voices coming through the open windows.

“. . . hell of a spot,” she heard a male voice complain. “The company wants me to oust her and set sail for Boston tomorrow. They've got a late booking, wants to cruise the coast for two weeks. I asked them, what am I supposed to do with her?” He snorted. “They said to jettison her unless she comes up with some cash.”

This was met with laughter from someone else, and Lucy thought this would be a good time to make herself known.

“Ahoy!” she called, feeling slightly ridiculous.

A member of the crew appeared at the door. “Can I help you?”

BOOK: Wedding Day Murder

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