The Saucy Lucy Murders (2 page)

“They are always with us in spirit,” Lucy insisted. “And they would want me to give you solid guidance. Please, stop by my book club picnic tomorrow and meet Henry. He’s divorced, like you, and has two children a few years younger than Eva.”

In her mind’s eye, Lexie imagined a roller coaster ride headed for hell on a flaming track. Sure, she
wanted
to help raise more teenagers.
Uh, huh.
Just like she wanted to have all her fingernails pulled out. Slowly. One by one.

Eva had been tough enough at sixteen, especially after ex-husband, Dan Lightfoot, aka, The Undertaker, had made a fool of himself by running off with Davina Blakely, recent widow and resident rich bitch of Tidewater, California. That left Lexie to teach Eva the following lessons for the last twenty-four months—
All About Driving, All About Boys, and All About Why Your Father Ran Off with a Redhead with Blond Roots.
Of course, Lexie had red hair, just a shade lighter than Davina’s, but her roots weren’t blond. She came by her red hair naturally. Honest.

“Don’t you have something else to do besides harass me, Lucy? Surely there’s some juicy gossip you need to spread with your church cronies.” In a burg the size of Moose Creek Junction, it wasn’t difficult to know everyone’s business. And Lucy, respectable churchwoman that she was, made it her business to know.

Lucy folded her arms and tapped her toe. “There is no need to be hateful, baby sister.”

Why did Lucy have to try and fix everything in her life? Maybe because she had attained such a perfect little life for herself. Things were too comfortable for Lucy, comfortable and
predictable.
On the other hand, Lexie’s life was like riding a warped seesaw. Nothing ever stayed the same. Two years ago, it had turned into a soap opera.

Lexie knew it was her own fault her life had turned out so crazy. Choices. It all boiled down to choices. But growing up in Moose Creek Junction,
the daughter of a preacher at a church where everybody knows your name had been difficult.

Reverend Castleton’s family was expected to set an example for the local citizens and behave with religious decorum. Lexie, the reverend’s wild-child daughter, never fit the mold.

Lord have mercy on a sinner born to saints. Amen.

Lucy, however, was the perfect angel. Always a good girl, she’d done what was expected. She’d been active in sports and community groups, graduated from high school at the top of her class, then had gone off to college. Afterward, she’d come home and married a local boy, Otis Parnell, now town sheriff, and started a family.

In typical fashion, the more Lucy conformed to society’s expectations, the more Lexie rebelled. Impulsive and headstrong, she started dating Dan Lightfoot against her parents’ wishes when she was sixteen. She’d gotten pregnant at seventeen and barely graduated high school.

She and Dan got married, despite both of their parents’ protests. In order to get away from everyone’s disapproval, Lexie and Dan took off for California with baby Eva. There, he’d managed to finish enough college to get into the funeral home business. Unfortunately, in the end, Dan turned out to be truth-challenged and developed a wicked eye for the ladies.

Lexie played dumb to the truth for too long and it bit her hard in the end. In retrospect, she realized
there were many things she should have done differently. No use crying over spilled milk, her mother used to say. Lexie had begun a new life and she had yet another choice in front of her.

Piss off her sister, or not? Lucy had a good heart and meant well, after all. How could Lexie fault her for that? She glanced at the clock again.

Ten to twelve. The doors will be banging open any minute.

Lexie’s stubborn resolve melted. “Does this guy at least have a cute butt?”

“For Pete’s sake, Lexie—”

“Well, does he? That would at least be one compensation.”

Lucy shook her head. “Honestly, dear. You do have a crude streak in your soul. I have no idea what type of derriere Henry Whitehead has.”

“So what’s the point in me meeting him?”

Lucy tapped her sturdy, solid, gold band. “You know the church says the only way you can get into heaven is through the sanctity of marriage. You have to at least
try
to find a soul mate.”

“Damn, you never give up, do you?”

“For Pete’s sake, quit swearing,” Lucy complained. “And quit making faces at me. It isn’t ladylike. Remember what Mother always told us? It makes the wrinkles around your eyes set prematurely. You don’t want to look like the Crypt Keeper, do you?”

How amazing that a 47-year-old-woman still
heeded her mother’s voice, even if it was all in her head. Of course, Lexie still heard Lucille Castleton’s voice in her head, too. No matter where you went, your mother was always with you. And Lucy did have a point.

Lexie pressed her palms against her hot cheeks, as if by holding them taut, she could smooth out any potential wrinkles, and maybe even salvage her thirty-six-year-old complexion from the damage of free radicals in the environment.
Am I stupid, or what?
Pulling her hands away, Lexie eyeballed one of the cellophane bags of veggie chips stacked on the counter. She had a nasty urge to bonk Lucy over the head with them.

“Look, Lucy. We don’t have time for this. It’s almost noon and the lunch stampede will be here any minute.”

“You’re putting me off.”

Lexie glanced at the clock.
Five to twelve.
The front doorbell tinkled. Through the order window, she noticed a couple of teenage boys wearing dog collars, scrubby T-shirts and backward baseball caps atop mops of purple and yellow hair shuffle in and stare at the lunch menu written on a dry erase board.

Lexie tried desperately to fish for an excuse to refuse meeting this Henry guy. “Don’t we need to finish the soups?”

“They’re all finished and warming in the crock pots, and all the sandwich fillings are mixed and in the refrigerator.”

“Can’t we talk about this later?” Lexie pleaded with her eyes.

“I refuse to let my baby sister dry up and wither away in this …” Lucy waved her hand toward the café on the other side of the order counter. It was filled with plastic molded aqua-colored chairs and bistro tables, tie-die wall hangings, beaded curtains and trailing plants in macramé hangers. “… hole-in-the-wall, hippie-retro eatery. You need a life again.”

“I like this hole-in-the-wall, hippie-retro eatery of which, might I remind you, you are part owner. I have a lovely apartment upstairs, I’m putting my daughter through college, and I keep plenty of home-grown bean sprouts on my table, so I’ll never go hungry again. What more could a girl ask for?”

“A companion. You’re lonely.”

“I am?”

“You are.”

Lexie blinked. “Thanks for telling me since I’m so clueless I couldn’t figure that out myself. I could always buy a goldfish for company, you know. At least they don’t flake out on you like men do.”

“Not all men are flakes, dear.”

“Sure could’a fooled me.”

“Be nice.” Lucy wore a cautionary expression, standing there so prim and proper as she patted down a stray hair that had come loose from her serviceable brown bun. “And you might try dressing a little nicer. It’s as if you try to hide your attractiveness by wearing unflattering clothing.”

Lexie glanced down her faded jeans, old blue T-shirt, and checkered apron. With her pony-tailed, frizzy, ginger-colored hair, she knew she must look like Little Orphan Annie. Well, she was definitely no Cindy Crawford. So what?

Just then two farmers in coveralls, plaid shirts, and green, John Deere ball caps walked into the café and stood behind the punk-rocker boys to read the menu. The boys, obviously having made their choice of sandwich, walked purposefully toward the counter.

Twelve o’clock. High noon. Showdown time.

Desperation shot like a jolt of lightening through Lexie. “OK, I’ll go to your damn picnic and meet what’s-his-name! Eva doesn’t have any classes tomorrow so she’ll be home tonight. I’m sure she won’t mind covering for us at the café. Now will you please leave me alone?”

Lucy’s brows rose. “Honestly, Lexie. Your language is atrocious. If Mother and Father could hear you—”

“That line is getting old, Lucy. How many times do I have to tell you to quit worrying about me?”

“You always were an ungrateful, spoiled brat and, unfortunately, you still are.” Lucy sighed heavily. “However, if it is my lot in life to lead you into the fold, then I will. Even if it takes me until the end of my days.”

“Oh, brother. Now who’s being Scarlet O’Hara?” Lexie opened the refrigerator and pulled out several plastic tubs of sandwich fillings, stacked them one
atop the other, and set them down by Lucy who was slicing crusty loaves of bread.

She stepped over to the counter, picked up a pad and pencil, and looked at the punk-rocker boys standing on the other side. One of them had so many piercings in his eyebrows and lips and nose that she hurt all over just looking at him. She suppressed a shudder and forced a smile. “May I take your order?”

The next morning, Lexie shuffled downstairs through the empty sandwich shop, and into the kitchen, eyes still glazed with sleep.
Coffee, coffee,
her mind chanted to a primitive rhythm known only to man, and she vaguely made out the Mr. Coffee machine beckoning to her on the counter. But when her toes recoiled at something cold and wet, she looked down.

“Holy mother-of-pearl!” An inch of water and soapsuds arched across the yellow and blue linoleum, as if the Great Lakes had taken residence in her kitchen overnight. Lexie’s gaze instantly traced the pool of water back to its source. One of the dishwashers. “Eva!” She shouted over her shoulder, hoping her voice would carry up the stairs.

“What, Mom?” Eva called a few seconds later.

“I need your help. ASAP.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Just hurry. And bring every bath towel we own.”

“Be right there.”

While Lexie waited for Eva and the bath towels, she dragged out every dishtowel, tablecloth, and rag in the joint and threw them on Lake Superior. Then she grabbed a mop, sopped up the water and squeezed it into the sink. Lord, this was going to take all day.

Lexie struggled to figure out what in the heck must have gone wrong with the dishwasher. It’ll probably cost an arm and a leg for the repairman to fix it. Just what she needed—another repair bill.

Eva finally appeared in the kitchen door, arms loaded with towels. “Eeeeewwww, what happened?” Her faded pink flannel bathrobe had obviously been flung on in a hurry, and her long, brownish-auburn hair was knotted in a loose bun atop her head. She sloshed across the floor toward Lexie. Having inherited her father’s height, she was nearly a head taller than Lexie’s petite five-foot-tall frame.

“I have no idea. But at least the floor will be squeaky clean when we’re through,” Lexie told her. “Throw down the towels then wring them off the back porch.”

An hour later, Lexie stood to iron out the crick in her back. Finally, the floor was dry. Mom would have been so upset to think her linoleum could have been ruined. And heaven help the individual caught up in her wrath.

Wondering what in the world she could have done
to make the dishwasher go on the fritz, Lexie glanced over at the guilty beast. Then it all came flooding back. Eva had loaded it. A bottle of dishwashing liquid sat strategically close to the loading zone, with the jug of dishwasher soap nowhere in sight.

Eva walked in from the back porch, the screen door slamming behind her. “Phewww, what a mess. You’re lucky I was here to pitch in. It’s going to get hot outside so the towels should dry pretty quick.”

Lexie nodded. “Hey, tell me something. When you loaded that dishwasher last night, what soap did you use?”

Eva walked over and picked up the dishwashing liquid. “This.” Her brows quirked innocently. “Why?”

Despite her annoyance, Lexie checked her temper. Eva was completely clueless sometimes, but she’d meant well. “That’s used for washing dishes by hand, sweetie.” Lexie shuffled over, feet and toes withered beyond recognition now, and withdrew the jug of dishwasher soap from under the sink. “This is what we use for the dishwasher. OK?”

“Oops.” Eva winced. “Sorry.”

“Not a biggie.” Lexie said. “I’m just glad to know the dishwasher only had a bad case of indigestion.”

“Right,” Eva said. “I’m gonna go hit the shower. Can I help you do anything else?”

“No,” Lexie responded too quickly, then decided to change the subject so Eva wouldn’t guess she was afraid of her help right now. “Say, how’s your new
roommate working out?”

“She’s cool. College is cool … at least in the three weeks since I started. The cafeteria food sucks, though. Yours is much better.”

Lexie warmed at the unexpected compliment from her self-absorbed teenager. “I suppose they do their best.”

“Mom, it’d gag a maggot. And their mystery meat is totally disgusting. Like, it’s not fit for human consumption.” Eva brushed past Lexie and went upstairs.

“Kids,” Lexie muttered to the sparkling clean kitchen. “Gotta love ’em.”