Mother's Day Murder (19 page)

O
n Sunday morning, Lucy was on her hands and knees, delving into the back of the closet to find her good black pumps, which she’d last worn at the Mother’s Day brunch.

Bill found her like that, rump up. He stood for a moment, enjoying the view, before he spoke. “What on earth are you doing?”

Lucy’s voice was muffled by the clothes hanging above her. “Looking for my good shoes.”

“Why? It’s Sunday.”

Sundays at the Stone house were relaxing affairs, beginning with coffee and a leisurely perusal of the papers, followed by a big breakfast, which was worked off in the garden or on a long walk or bike ride.

“Exactly,” said Lucy, emerging triumphantly with the shoes. “I’m going to church.”

“What brought this on?” he asked. “You’re not usually much of a churchgoer.”

It was true. The family usually went to church only at Christmas and Easter.

“I don’t exactly know,” said Lucy, who was flipping through the hangers, trying to decide on something to wear. She was still a bit stiff and had a few bruises from her confrontation with Heather and Ashley at the cabin. “I guess I just want to hear that good is stronger than evil, something like that.”

He stepped close and wrapped his arms around her waist. Lucy leaned back and relaxed against his broad chest, secure in his embrace. “Everything’s okay,” he said.

She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him close. “I know, but it could have turned out a lot differently. Maybe I just need to say thank you,” she said.

Out in the hallway, she bumped into Sara, sleepy-eyed and still in her pajamas. Her face and arms still bore red marks from the duct tape, and she was limping slightly due to sore, strained muscles.

“How come you’re all dressed up?” she asked, squinting at her mother and scratching her head.

“I’m going to church,” explained Lucy.

“Oh,” said Sara, stepping into the bathroom. She turned and leaned against the doorjamb. “Can I come, too?”

“Sure,” said Lucy, surprised. “But you’ll have to hurry. I’m leaving in ten minutes.”

Sara didn’t make it in ten, so the church bell was ringing when Lucy found a parking spot on Main Street. As they hurried along the sidewalk, which tilted this way and that due to tree roots and frost heaves, Lucy began to have second thoughts. She and Sara had been in the news—they were part of a sensational story that had dominated the media for days—and she wondered how they’d be received. If she’d been alone, she probably would have turned right around and gone home, but she wanted to set a good example for Sara, so she marched on. Reaching the uneven granite steps that led from the sidewalk to the church, she instinctively reached for Sara’s hand, just as she used to do when the kids were little and they needed help climbing up. When that happened, Sara usually snatched her hand away, but today she didn’t do that. They were still holding hands as they approached the American Gothic arched door.

When they stepped inside, Lucy immediately saw that the church was crowded, but no heads turned, and the murmured conversations continued. The usher smiled warmly, welcoming them and giving them each an order of service. Only a few seats were left, and they slipped into a pew at the back and waited for the service to begin.

Soon the organist began playing the prelude, a variation on the old Shaker hymn “Simple Gifts.” As Lucy listened to the familiar tune, the words came to her.

That simple affirmation, combined with the moving organ music, was too much for Lucy, and tears sprang to her eyes. Embarrassed, she dug around in her purse for a tissue until Sara supplied one.

It had all come out right, she thought, gratefully. She and Sara both had some cuts and bruises and aches and pains from their ordeal in the cabin, but those were minor. It was the emotional scars that Lucy feared would be much slower to heal.

She simply couldn’t understand why things had gone so very wrong. Why had two talented and privileged girls behaved so wickedly, throwing their brilliant futures away like so much trash? What happened? Was it their parents’ fault? Had Heather and Ashley simply erupted in reaction to their parents’ relentless pressure to succeed? Or was society to blame, in all its crassness and materialism? Or had they been possessed by some demonic, evil force? She was hoping the church would provide some answers.

The procession was a welcome distraction from her thoughts, and Lucy sang along as the choir made its way down the aisle, singing “Faith of Our Fathers.” It was a favorite she remembered well from her youth. Then came readings from the Old and New Testaments, a responsive reading, and recitations of the Apostles’ Creed and the Lord’s Prayer, both familiar and comforting to Lucy, who’d learned them as a child in Sunday school.

Then Rev. Sykes took the pulpit to deliver his sermon. He didn’t begin immediately but stood, gazing out at the congregation and gripping both sides of the carved wooden lectern, which held the pages of his sermon.

“I see we’re rather crowded,” he finally said, prompting a ripple of laughter. “Perhaps so many of you came because you are troubled by recent events in our town. I am troubled, too, and as I prepared my sermon this week, I thought I would talk about the problem of evil. But when I began to gather my thoughts on the subject, I realized I don’t understand evil very well. Not many people do. In fact, when I did some research and looked the word
evil
up in the dictionary, I found a notation that the word is rarely used anymore. Evil apparently doesn’t fit well with the modern consciousness.

“So I decided instead to talk about goodness, about love, but that subject also eluded me. I finally decided to speak about truth, because it seems to me that truth is the essence of God. Some say God is love, but unless there is truth, there cannot be love. And I would also venture to say that truth recognizes and banishes evil. And as we all know from the terrible tragedy that has rocked our town, evil does exist, even if we don’t want to talk about it and call it by name. Evil thrives in the dark. It flourishes and grows in the hypocrisy and confusion created by lies. Evil withers when it is exposed to the bright, searing, healing light of truth.

“So I ask you to look into your hearts and root out the lies and half-truths you may find there. Now, more than ever, after all that has happened, we must be honest with ourselves and with each other. God’s unconditional love is the greatest truth of all. I can’t promise you nothing bad will happen to you, I can’t promise that good will always triumph over evil, but I can tell you that no matter what, God loves you. And when we recognize that truth—that every being on this earth is valuable to God, is loved by God—we understand that we must also love one another, as God loves us. That is what we were put here to do. That is what God wants us to do, to simply love one another.”

As she gathered up her things, Lucy pondered the minister’s words. His sermon hadn’t answered all her questions, but it had given her a place to start, she decided, resolving to put his words into action in her own life.

“Thank you for that sermon,” she told the reverend when it was her turn to greet him at the door. “I was very troubled when I came here this morning, and you really helped.”

“That’s good to hear, Lucy,” he said, grasping her hand in a hearty shake. “And it’s good to see you when it’s not even a holiday. I hope you’ll come again.”

“I will,” said Lucy.

But Sara challenged her when they got back to the car. “Did you mean what you said?” she demanded. “Are you really going to start going to church?”

The question brought Lucy up short. “Probably not,” she admitted, checking over her shoulder before pulling out and making a quick U-turn.

“You listened to a sermon about telling the truth, and you lied!”

“I think he knew I was fibbing. It was a social lie,” said Lucy, driving along.

“Or maybe he believed you! Maybe he’ll be standing at the pulpit next week, in an empty church, looking for you because you promised to come.”

“I get your point,” snapped Lucy, rather irked. But as she followed the familiar route toward home, she faced the unpleasant truth that she hadn’t exactly been honest with Sara. She’d snooped in her room, checked her phone messages, and even searched her backpack. If Sara had kept a diary, Lucy admitted ruefully to herself, she would have read it.

“Okay,” said Lucy, pulling up to a stop sign. “I have a confession to make. I’ve been worried about you, and I’ve done some things I shouldn’t have, but I was afraid you were heading for trouble.”

Sara looked surprised. “What exactly did you do?”

When Lucy had finished recounting her transgressions, Sara had just one simple question. “Why?”

“Elizabeth said you weren’t sleeping, because of the phone. Zoe said you had laxatives….”

“Mom, I tell you everything,” protested Sara.

“Not true. What about the booze party?”

“I thought we were going to the movies. Honest. And about the rest, I told you about the photo and the rumors about me and Chad….”

“What about the laxatives?”

Sara rolled her eyes. “They were for a report I had to do in health class on binging and purging.”

Behind her, somebody honked.

“Oh,” said Lucy, accelerating. “That’s a load off my mind.”

“You could have just asked me.”

Lucy was chagrined. “From now on, I will,” she promised, turning onto Red Top Road.

At work on Monday Lucy decided to follow Sara’s advice. Instead of speculating and worrying about Ted’s intentions, she came right out and asked him.

“Ted, are you planning to sell the paper?”

Across the room, Phyllis’s severely plucked eyebrows shot up over her harlequin glasses.

“Why do you think that?” he asked.

“Well, I know a number of small weeklies have been bought up by big chains recently. And you’ve been gone a lot, and when you’re here, you’re very…”

“Picky,” said Phyllis.

“That’s the trouble with this business,” he grumbled. “It’s impossible to keep a secret.”

“So you
are
selling the
Pennysaver?
” asked Lucy.

“No.” He paused. “But I was.”

“What happened?” quizzed Lucy

“Not enough money?” speculated Phyllis.

“Plenty of money.”

“They weasled out of the deal,” suggested Phyllis.

“Nope. I did.”

“How come?” asked Lucy.

Ted looked around at the office, with its old-fashioned wood venetian blinds hanging in the plate-glass windows on either side of the door, the old Regulator clock on the wall, and the scarred vinyl tile floor, until his gaze finally settled on the rolltop desk he’d inherited from his grandfather, a legendary newsman.

“I guess what it came down to,” he said, speaking thoughtfully, “is that I didn’t want a corporation telling me what to do—what stories I could print, what ads I could or couldn’t take. I want people in Tinker’s Cove to know that the
Pennysaver
prints the truth, or as close to the truth as we can get.”

Lucy and Phyllis were silent for a long minute.

“I was kinda hoping for health insurance,” complained Phyllis.

“I think you made the right decision,” said Lucy.

“Thanks,” said Ted. “And since you’re such an enthusiastic newshound, I know you’re going to love your next assignment. It’s a real investigative report involving fiscal mismanagement, wasted taxpayer dollars. It’s a real stinking mess. Citizens are outraged and demanding action.”

Lucy braced herself; this didn’t sound good. “What exactly am I supposed to investigate?”

“The new sewage treatment plant. It’s giving off foul odors, and the neighbors are furious.”

“Yuck,” said Lucy, grimacing.

Everything was ready at the community center for the after-prom party. The Claws had set up their amps and mikes and were tuning up their guitars. The gym had been turned into a carnival, with games of all sorts. Video games were in one corner, trampolines in another; there was even a volleyball net. Refreshments had been set out: soft drinks, chips, and sandwiches were arranged on long tables, and pizzas were warming in the oven. There was even a make-your-own sundae bar, homemade cakes and cookies, and bowls of candy.

It was all ready, except for the chaperones. They were fading fast.

“This is past my bedtime,” sighed Lucy. “Way past.”

“I should never have let you talk me into this,” said Sue, peering into a tiny purse-sized mirror, licking her finger, and smoothing her eyebrows. “I’m going to look absolutely awful tomorrow.”

“Tell me again why I’m doing this,” demanded Rachel. “I don’t have a kid in high school.”

“Yeah,” said Pam, chiming in. “I finally got Tim out of the house. Why am I sitting up all night, waiting for teenagers?”

“Because somebody had to take over where Tina and Bar left off, and because you’re all wonderful, community-spirited people, solid citizens, and…” Lucy paused, letting out a big sigh. “I couldn’t get anybody else.”

“I understand Tina couldn’t make it,” said Sue. “After all, she can hardly rise from her grave, as much as she’d probably like to. But what’s Bar’s excuse? She’s out of jail. She’s a free woman, isn’t she? And this party was her idea.”

“She’s been keeping a very low profile ever since Ashley’s arrest,” said Lucy, turning to Rachel. “What’s going to happen to those girls? Is Bob defending Ashley?”

Rachel shook her head. “The Humes fired him when he suggested that Ashley accept a plea deal. They want to go to trial, and they think they can win since Heather is cooperating with the prosecution. They’ll say it was all her idea, and now she’s trying to put the blame on Ashley.”

“But what about Ashley’s notebook?” asked Lucy. “She had it all planned out, down to the last detail. She even had a list of things she planned to do once her parents were out of the way. She was going to move to New York, take a trip to Paris, and never, ever play tennis again.”