Mother's Day Murder (9 page)

The door opened and Heather jumped out, the phone still pressed to her ear, but when she saw Lucy, she lowered her head and clicked the phone shut. “Hi, Mrs. Stone,” she said, her voice flat.

“I’m so sorry about your mom,” said Lucy, wondering who Heather had been talking to. She knew all sorts of messages were flying around and hoped it had been someone supportive.

“I can’t believe it,” said Heather, pulling a tissue out of her jeans pocket and dabbing her eyes.

“We’re all in shock,” said Lucy, her heart going out to the poor child. It took all her willpower not to burst into tears herself. She couldn’t begin to imagine what Heather must be going through. “I was just interviewing your father for the obituary,” she said, speaking softly. “If there’s anything you want to add…”

Heather shook her head. “Just say she was the best mom in the world.”

Lucy blinked back tears as she scribbled down the quote. “I know how hard it is to lose someone you love. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know. Just give me a call,” she said, giving her card to Heather. “And by the way, be extra careful when you drive, okay?”

Heather raised her face and met Lucy’s gaze with red-rimmed eyes. She sniffled and quivered. “Thank you so much,” she said. Then she turned and, walking stiffly, as if the very act pained her, went into the office.

Lucy watched, thinking of her own girls and how anxious she was for them to grow into responsible, caring adults. What was going to happen to Heather without her mother to guide her? Who would help her with her prom dress? Who would tell her she’d look good in bangs? Nobody would ever love her as much as her mother had. Lucy was sure of that. Sure, mother-daughter relationships were complex and difficult, especially during the teen years, but as much as girls sometimes resented their mothers’ interference in their lives, these resentments usually faded, and they came to appreciate their mothers. But for Heather and Tina, that rapprochement would never be possible, thought Lucy, reaching for her car door. It was just too sad.

“A
loving wife and mother, Tina will be remembered for her zest for life,” wrote Lucy. “Politics was her passion, and she was the longtime chairman of the Democratic town committee and enjoyed attending both state and national conventions. In 2004 she had the honor of nominating John Kerry to be the party’s candidate for president at the Democratic State Convention. She was particularly devoted to protecting a woman’s right to choose and was a board member of the NARAL Pro-Choice America. She was an enthusiastic sportswoman who enjoyed playing golf and tennis; she served several terms on both the town’s recreation and golf committees. She was also a past president of the Tinker’s Cove Parent Teacher Association and, until her death, cochair of the After-Prom Party Committee. She was a member of the American Association of University Women (AAUW), Emily’s List, and the National Organization for Women (NOW) and served on the editorial board of
Ms
. magazine.”

Finally finishing the list of surviving relatives and noting that “in lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the Save Darfur Coalition,” she sat back in her chair and sighed.

“Just writing about Tina makes me tired,” she told Phyllis, who had come in to man the phones. The murder had already been picked up by the national media, and calls for information were coming in from everybody, from
Inside Edition
to
Tennis Magazine.

“Well, I’m just happy I come from a regular family,” said Phyllis.

Lucy considered Phyllis’s cousin Elfrida, who’d gone through several husbands and produced six children before her thirty-fifth birthday, hardly regular, but she didn’t say so. “Me, too,” she said. “I don’t understand what makes women like her tick.”

“They’re overachievers,” said Phyllis in the same tone she might have used for sex perverts, drunk drivers, or animal abusers.

“The sad part was that she was pushing her daughter to be an overachiever, too,” said Lucy. “It’s fine to have high expectations, but you have to let your kids know that it’s not a tragedy if they don’t get the highest score on every test.”

“These kids today are under so much pressure,” agreed Phyllis. “Why Elfrida had to go talk to little Charlie’s teacher because he doesn’t know his multiplication tables is beyond me. He’s only in fifth grade, for pete’s sake!”

“Maybe she should get some flash cards. They worked great for my kids,” said Lucy, who remembered drilling her children on their tables much earlier than fifth grade.

“Oh, right, like Elfrida has time to sit around holding up flash cards.”

“Charlie could do them by himself. Just have him set the timer for five or ten minutes every day, maybe before his favorite TV show,” suggested Lucy, sharing a tactic she had used with Toby. “No flash cards, no MTV, or whatever they watch now.”

“Well, I told her that she’d be smarter to concentrate on teaching him his addition and subtraction. That comes up more in life, anyway.”

“Good idea,” said Lucy, somewhat dismayed about poor Charlie’s future prospects. She was also wondering if she dared leave and go home, since she’d finished the obituary and really wanted to work in the garden, when Ted arrived, yanking the door open and setting the little bell to jangling as he bustled in.

“Bar’s been arrested,” he declared, tossing his Red Sox cap on the coatrack, followed by his jacket. “She’s already in the county lockup, awaiting arraignment first thing tomorrow.”

“That was fast,” said Lucy.

“What? No bail?” asked Phyllis.

“No way. It’s a capital crime, and the evidence is damning. Numerous eyewitnesses identified her, her Escalade was spotted leaving the scene of the crime, her gun matches the bullet that killed Tina, and her gloves have gunpowder residue. If there was ever an open-and-shut case, this is it. The DA is not giving an inch on this one.”

“That’s pretty ironic,” said Lucy. “Bar worked hard to get him elected.”

“As I recall, she insisted that Democrats are too soft on crime,” observed Phyllis.

“Well, that came back to bite her, didn’t it?” said Ted. “Look, Lucy, I want you to do a sidebar on moms who kill other moms, killer moms, whatever you can find.”

Lucy thought of the little radish seedlings that were crowded together in their row, and the tiny, tender lettuce leaves that nobody but she would bother to pick for supper, and sighed. “Okay, boss.”

She turned to Google and discovered there were plenty of violent moms. There were moms who killed their own kids. There were moms who killed their husbands and boyfriends. There was a Texas mom who wanted her daughter to be a cheerleader so badly that she hired a hit man to create a vacancy on the squad. While lots of moms killed on purpose, there were also careless moms who killed by accident, like the two soccer moms whose SUVs collided, killing a toddler. There were even the killer mom chimpanzees of Senegal, who hunted other primates and ate them.

But by far the most common killer moms were the ones who killed their own kids, more than a thousand of them in the nineties alone. Psychiatrists who studied the phenomenon concluded that they tended to be young and inexperienced mothers, generally poor or experiencing financial difficulties, who had recently suffered a death or loss. They usually believed they were taking their kids to a better place, or at least getting them out of a bad place, and generally planned to kill themselves, too, although they didn’t always follow through on that part of the plan.

Lucy found it all very interesting in a morbid way, but none of her research shed much light on Bar’s case. She was not young and inexperienced, she didn’t have any financial difficulties, and she was happily married to her cardiac surgeon husband. The only case that seemed at all similar was the Texas cheerleader murder, but Lucy felt it would be unfair to compare Tina’s murder with that case before all the facts were in.

“Gee, Ted, I’m not really coming up with much,” she said. “These killer moms generally take it out on their kids.”

“Or their husbands,” offered Phyllis. “Like that Bobbitt woman, who cut off his thingy.”

“Good point,” said Lucy. “All indications seem to confirm that Dr. Barton Hume’s thingy is still intact.”

Ted was not amused. “Very funny,” he snarled. “What about that Texas cheerleader mom?”

“I have a problem with that one,” admitted Lucy.

“What’s the problem?” demanded Ted. “It’s almost exactly the same. Pushy mother, in this case Bar, wants her kid to be valedictorian and kills to destroy the competition.”

“If that’s the case, why didn’t she kill Heather?” asked Lucy.

Ted shrugged. “This way she gets rid of her own rival, Tina, and she probably figures that little Heather will be so upset about her mother dying that she’ll crack up.”

“You’re assuming a lot, Ted. What if Bar’s innocent?” replied Lucy.

“Or maybe she killed Tina for another reason entirely,” said Phyllis. “Like maybe because she was pro-choice and Bar is pro-life, or because Tina was a Democrat and she’s a Republican, or because her husband is a doctor and Tina’s husband is a malpractice attorney.”

“That’s brilliant!” exclaimed Ted, beaming at Phyllis.

Phyllis suddenly became very subdued. “What did I say? You’ve never called me brilliant before.”

“Well, it’s long overdue,” insisted Ted. “Lucy, maybe you could stop by at the courthouse and see if Lenny Nowak has filed any suits against Dr. Hume.”

“Sure,” agreed Lucy. “I’ll go tomorrow.”

“Righto. Meanwhile, see what you can do with that sidebar.”

“Okay, boss,” muttered Lucy, grudgingly turning back to her keyboard. “You call the shots.”

“Oh, I hope there’s no more shooting,” said Rachel, who had just come in and caught the tail end of the conversation. “We’ve had quite enough.”

“There’s never enough,” declared Ted. “Crime sells papers.”

“You don’t really mean that,” said Rachel, looking shocked.

“Oh, yes, he does,” said Lucy. “So what brings you to this dank and dark sweatshop on such a beautiful day?”

“Actually, I was hoping I could drag you away for a quick cup of coffee.”

Lucy cocked her head in Ted’s direction. “Ask Ted.”

Rachel perched on the chair next to his desk and gave him a big smile. “You don’t mind, do you? You’re such a kind, generous boss. Lucy says so all the time.”

Lucy and Phyllis watched with amusement.

“I’m sure you appreciate how a little break would help Lucy work even more brilliantly for you than she already does,” Rachel added.

“I’m the brilliant one,” said Phyllis. “How about taking me?”

“Sure,” agreed Rachel. “How about it, Ted?”

“You can have Lucy for fifteen minutes—on condition that she brings back coffee for Phyllis and me.”

“Why can’t I go?” protested Phyllis as the phone started ringing again.

“Because I need you to answer the phone, that’s why.” He turned to Lucy. “Cream and two sugars.”

Phyllis sighed. “Black with no-cal sweetener for me.”

“You got it,” said Lucy, jumping up and grabbing her bag.

When they were outside on the sidewalk, Lucy tilted her head back to feel the sun on her face and took a deep breath, as if she could absorb the beautiful day and take it back inside with her. “So what’s up?” she asked.

“Bar has asked Bob to defend her,” said Rachel, referring to her lawyer husband.

“From what I hear, he’s going to have a difficult time. Ted says the prosecutor thinks it’s an open-and-shut case.”

“I know that’s how it looks,” said Rachel as they walked along Main Street. The stores were mostly closed, and few people were around, except for a cluster of TV trucks around the police station. “But Bob says Bar insists she’s innocent, that she was home taking a nap when the shooting occurred.”

“Is there anyone who can confirm that?”

“Uh, no. She was alone. She didn’t get any phone calls or anything.”

“What about Ashley?”

“She was at Heather’s house. They were taking practice SAT tests.”

“What a shame,” said Lucy.

“I know. Bar could go to jail for life.”

Lucy pulled open the door to Jake’s Donut Shack. “That wasn’t what I meant. I was thinking it was a shame for those two young things to be cooped up inside with SAT books on a gorgeous May weekend. Those girls ought to have been outside.”

Stepping inside the coffee shop, Lucy and Rachel had their choice of tables. The place was nearly empty, except for a table full of out-of-town reporters. It seemed odd to Lucy, who usually went there in the morning, when every table was full, all the stools at the counter were occupied, and there was a line of people waiting for takeout. They decided to sit at the counter, as far away from the reporters as they could.

“Two coffees for here and two to go,” Lucy told Jake.

“Don’t usually see you in here on Sunday,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Big story,” said Lucy. “Ted’s putting out a special edition.”

“I thought I’d pick up more business,” complained Jake. “Town’s full of TV people.”

“Give ’em time. They’ll eventually find you,” said Rachel.

“They’re reporters, after all. They’ve all got inquiring minds,” added Lucy.

“I’m afraid they’ve got closed minds,” said Rachel. “Listen.”

“I pity her lawyer, whatsisname, Bill Goodman,” one beefy fellow in a CNN T-shirt was saying. “How’s he gonna defend her?”

“Insanity?” offered a pert young blonde.

The group at the table laughed. “Never works,” declared a guy with glasses, wearing a TruTV jacket. “Good thing this isn’t Texas. There they’d already be getting the death chamber ready.”

Rachel’s face had gone very white, and Lucy wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “They’re just gossiping,” she said. “They don’t know what they’re talking about. They didn’t even get Bob’s name right.”

“Fools,” sputtered Jake, setting the mugs in front of them. “What do they know?”

“If only they were fools,” said Rachel, lifting her mug and taking a sip. “The problem is that they’re right. There’s a whole lot of evidence against Bar. Bob’s afraid they’ll convict her in the media before she ever goes to trial.”

“He could get a change of venue,” suggested Lucy.

“Where? Antarctica? The Amazon? China?”

“China’s out. We already had a call from the New China News Agency.”

“Well,” said Rachel, “at least I can count on you and Ted to keep open minds and to remember that Bar is innocent until proven guilty.”

“Well, you can count on me,” said Lucy. “I’m not so sure about Ted. The police press conference made a strong impression on him. He said they were very confident they would get a conviction.”

“Bob thinks Bar is telling the truth,” said Rachel. “He’s convinced that she’s innocent, and that isn’t usually the case. He’s naturally pretty skeptical of most of his criminal clients, but not this time. He says his gut feeling is that she’s been framed.” She paused. “He wants me to tell you that he’s put you on the visitor list in case you want to interview Bar.”

“I might just do that,” said Lucy, glancing at her watch and getting up. “I’ve gotta go.” She picked up the bag Jake had ready for her and started digging in her purse for her wallet. “You know,” she said thoughtfully. “Ted’s been awfully bossy lately, more than usual. And Pam had a meeting or something last Thursday. Remember?”

Rachel’s face was a mask. “So?”

“Well, Bob is Ted’s lawyer. I wonder if he’s mentioned anything to you? Like maybe about selling the paper, something like that?”

“Bob hasn’t said anything to me,” said Rachel, quickly picking up the check. “My treat.”

“Trying to buy influence,” laughed Lucy.

“If I could, I would,” said Rachel.

“Take heart,” said Lucy. “I was there. I saw the shooter. The police asked me for a description. And even as I was saying she looked like Bar, I felt that wasn’t right.” Lucy paused, thinking. “Well, that’s exactly it, I think. She did look like Bar, but I didn’t think it really was Bar, and I still don’t.”