Chapter Seventeen
L
ucy's opinion of her profession wasn't improved the next morning when Bill left for work only to stomp angrily back into the house, instructing her to look out the window. She was shocked to see a couple of vans and a handful of reporters parked on the grassy verge opposite the driveway.
“I don't believe this,” she said, but Bill was busy dialing the phone.
“This is Bill Stone on Red Top Road,” he said. “I want to complain about some reporters parked on the road outside my house.”
Lucy assumed he was calling the police department. She didn't think he'd get very far.
“Well, no, they're not obstructing the road,” he said. “They're not trespassing on my property, either. But they've got no business to be here. They're harassing my familyâwe have no privacy.” He listened, growing redder in the face by the minute, until he snapped. “It's great to see my tax dollars at work!” he snarled, slamming down the phone.
“There's nothing they can do, right?”
“The road's open to everyone, it's public property,” said Bill. “They're not even going to send a cruiser. Apparently, there's media all over town and everybody's calling and complaining. They don't have the manpower, she says.”
“Bob warned us this might happen. He said we should just ignore them, but try to keep a pleasant expression. Try not to look guilty.”
Bill looked at her. It wasn't a pleasant expression. Then he left.
When it was her turn to leave the house to take the girls to day camp, she promised herself she would follow Bob's advice. She'd stay cool, she wouldn't get rattled as she ran the press gauntlet. When she braked at the end of the driveway and signaled her turn onto the road, several reporters approached the Subaru, snapping photos and shouting questions.
“Did you hate Prudence Pratt?” “Have the police questioned you?” “Has your son been arrested?” “Will you make a statement?” “Can I interview you? We'll pay.”
Trying not to look flustered, Lucy drove carefully and deliberately until she'd worked her way free of the reporters. She was breathing a sigh of relief when she spotted a couple of cars following her. She was being tailed!
“I can't believe this,” she muttered.
“Believe what?” asked Zoe.
“Nothing,” said Lucy, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror.
At least they couldn't follow her onto the camp property, and the drop-off area was at the far end of the parking lot, blocked from the road by bushes. Nonetheless, she felt uneasy as she let the girls out.
“Remember, don't talk to strangers. If you see anybody who shouldn't be on the camp property be sure to tell Melanie right away.”
“Okay, Mom,” grumbled Sara. “We get it.”
Driving home, Lucy was tempted to stop the car at the driveway and tell those reporters the real story. About the lobster poaching and the way Pru Pratt had made enemies of everyone in town. She'd like to give them a piece of her mind. Then she remembered Ted, cackling merrily when a controversial story prompted a flurry of irate letters to the editor.
“It's a win-win situation,” he'd told her. “We get 'em mad and they write us letters which get more people mad so we get more letters.”
Yeah, she thought bitterly, it was a win-win situation for the media, but a lose-lose situation for her family. The only thing that would end it would be the discovery of the real murderer. Then this supposed feud would be quickly forgotten. Yesterday's news. The faster the better, she decided, resolving to do everything she could to speed the investigation along. Even if she had to solve the murder herself.
But how was she going to do that, she wondered, when she got back to the house. Her home was under siege by the media and she was followed whenever she left. How could she possibly investigate if she couldn't get out of the house?
She was pondering this problem when the phone rang. It was Sue.
“It's so great to hear a friendly voice,” said Lucy, feeling as if Sue had thrown her a lifeline.
“What do you mean?”
“Didn't you see the news last night?”
“I never watch the news. It's depressing and it gives me frown lines. I figure I may not be wellinformed, but I'm saving a ton on Botox.”
“Oh.” Sue's attitude was a revelation to Lucy. “Really?”
“Really. So what was on the news?”
“Toby. They made him out like the prime suspect in Pru Pratt's murder.”
“That's ridiculous,” said Sue.
It was like a breath of fresh air to Lucy. “You don't know how much it means to me to hear you say that.”
“Right,” said Sue, not getting it. “Listen, I have to do some shopping today and I was wondering if you'd come along and help me.”
“You need help shopping?” This time Lucy didn't get it.
“It's not that kind of shopping,” said Sue. “I'm organizing a Fourth of July picnic and I need to buy paper plates and stuff like that. I'm going to that warehouse store. It's a drive but I figure the savings are worth it. So, want to come along? I'll buy you a hot dog for lunch.”
“Uh, sure,” said Lucy. “But I'm kind of stuck in the house. There's a bunch of reporters on the road and I don't want to face them.”
“No problem. I'll pick you up. See you in ten.”
Sue was as good as her word and came barreling up the drive minutes later in her huge black SUV. She was dressed for action in a jaunty baseball cap, black shades and a shorts outfit styled like a track suit. Her slender arms and legs were perfectly tanned and gleaming with moisturizer; all that work on the sun deck had paid off.
When Lucy took her place in the passenger seat, well-protected by the rhino guard, she began to see the advantages of the gas-guzzling monster. For one thing, the rabble of reporters stood back respectfully as Sue made the turn onto the road. A few cars did attempt to follow them, but Sue quickly lost them by turning off the paved road onto one of the old logging roads that criss-crossed the region. Lucy hung on to the grab bar above the door for dear life as they bounced through ruts and pot holes.
“Yee-ha!” yodeled Sue as they became momentarily airborne, going over one of the humps in the road Lucy called “thank-you-ma'ams.”
They were definitely more fun when you were a kid, thought Lucy, and didn't have to worry about the fillings in your teeth shaking loose. There was no sign of the followers, however, when they picked up the town road a few miles from the interstate.
“This picnic sounds like a great idea. Who's invited?” she asked.
“The whole town.”
“You're kidding, right? I mean, that's a whole lot of paper plates.”
“I'm figuring on a thousand people.”
“Wow,” said Lucy. “How are you paying for it?”
“I talked to Marge and she got the parade committee to give me their money. If there's no parade, they don't need it, right?”
“But what about the naturists?”
“What about 'em?”
“What if they come?”
“I hope they do. The more the merrier,” said Sue.
Maybe that old saying was right, thought Lucy. Ignorance was bliss. She knew entirely too much about the naturists, the environmentalists, the fishermen, the Revelation Congregation and others pushing the anti-nudity bylaw. In her view the town was splitting apart, driven by these warring factions. Sue, on the other hand, didn't see the problem. The Fourth of July was days away and they had to have a celebration. If there couldn't be a parade, and there couldn't be fireworks, there was jolly well going to be a picnic. And if anyone could pull it off, it would be Sue.
“So tell me, who do you think killed Pru?” asked Sue, swerving suddenly and accelerating up the ramp to the interstate.
“My favorite suspect is Wesley,” said Lucy, checking that her seatbelt was fastened. “After all, he was driving hell for leather down the road when he hit Kudo.”
“You mean he ran his mother down with the truck and fled the scene?” Sue was doubtful. “His own mother?”
“I don't think it was a happy family,” said Lucy, taking a peek at the speedometer. The needle was hovering around eighty. “The girls were over there and they heard Pru calling Wesley all sorts of bad names. And Wesley gave it right back.”
“What were your girls doing visiting the Pratts?” Sue was rapidly gaining on a Mini Cooper, but couldn't pass because a tractor-trailer truck was in the fast lane. She slammed on the brake and flashed her lights, but the driver of the Mini continued at a stately pace.
“They were uninvited guests. They were upset about the dog hearing so they wanted to find evidence that Pru mistreated her chickens.”
The tractor-trailer advanced and Sue shot into the passing lane, apparently oblivious to a second tractor-trailer that was making the same move. Now the SUV didn't seem quite so large, sandwiched between the two trucks.
“Ooh, they are their mother's daughters, aren't they?” The first truck moved into the traveling lane and Sue shot ahead.
This time Lucy didn't want to see the speedometer; she didn't want to know how fast they were going. “Sometimes the end justifies the means,” she said, checking her seatbelt. “But in this case, I don't think it helps. The cops say Pru died after ten and Wesley was long gone by then.”
“I wouldn't give up on him, yet,” said Sue, switching on the radio and searching for a station. “Those times of death are always pretty approximate, aren't they?”
A road sign warned of a steep incline ahead and urged reducing speed.
“I'll do the radio,” she offered, nervously. “You watch the road.”
“Calm down, Lucy. If this baby can tame the Kalahari it can certainly handle the Maine Pike.”
Sue had found her favorite oldies station and was tapping the steering wheel, singing along with the BeeGees. “Who else is on the list?”
“Well, Cal, of course. Poor guy was probably the original hen-pecked husband.”
“I know the husband's always the first suspect, but Cal? You've got to be kidding. He's afraid of his own shadow.”
Sue was now weaving between lanes. Lucy wrapped her hand around the grab bar and tried to think of an appropriate prayer.
“They're the ones to watch out for,” said Lucy, deciding to say something. “Are we in a big hurry or something? You're going awfully fast.”
“It just seems like that,” said Sue, hitting the brakes to avoid slamming into a horse trailer. “I don't know why they let these things on the road. And campers! Gosh, I hate those things! They're supposed to be seeing the country, but I don't think most of them ever get more than fifty miles from home, and it must take them two weeks considering how slow they go.”
Well, she'd tried, thought Lucy, as Sue hit the accelerator and passed, only to swing abruptly onto the exit ramp.
“There was no love lost between Pru and the naturists. I suppose one of them could have done her in,” speculated Lucy. “If they got rid of Pru they wouldn't have to worry about the bylaw. Chances are it would die with her.”
“Are you serious? They seem pretty peace-loving to me.”
“I'm not saying they did it as a group or anything like that. All it takes is one loony, somebody who feels threatened by the bylaw. And then there's the folks they attract. I've heard there have been some suspicious characters hanging around the pond.”
“That's just local prejudice,” exclaimed Sue, tapping the brake at the stop sign at the end of the exit ramp and zooming in front of a battered pickup truck. “Who else?”
“I have a theory,” began Lucy. “You've heard about the lobster poaching, right? How everybody is convinced it's Calvin and Wesley?”
Sue nodded.
“Well, I have noticed that Pru and Wesley look an awful lot alike, especially from behind. If one of the fishermen came to even things up with Wesley he might have gone after Pru by mistake.”
“That makes sense to me,” said Sue, cutting off an oncoming station wagon and turning into the superstore parking lot. “Those fishermen have a code of their own when it comes to poaching. Whoever it was might have only wanted to scare Wesley, figuring he could jump out of the way, but Pru wasn't so quick and agile. It could have been some sort of tragic mistake.”
“You don't like to admit that there could be a cold-blooded killer among us, do you?”
“No, I don't.” Sue was cruising the lot, looking for a parking spot.
“What about Mel Dunwoodie? The guy with the campground? He had a lot to lose financially if Pru's bylaw went through. Maybe he did it.”