The Saucy Lucy Murders (26 page)

She’d just finished the temporary repair job when the bell on the front door tinkled. Hearing someone’s muffled footsteps in the hallway; she immediately remembered she hadn’t put up the CLOSED sign.

Could Eva be home? She’d agreed to keep an eye
on Aunt Gladys tonight. But no, Eva always parked in the old garage out back and entered through the door in the kitchen. Had Barnard Savage dropped by to harass her? Maybe he’d decided to brave her wrath and would try and squeeze out a story.

“Hullo?” Lexie put down the tape.

A middle-aged man and a woman stood there scowling. Maybe they weren’t pranksters, but they looked angry. They were, however, quite well dressed. He was tall and wore a black, expensive-looking suit, and silk tie. The woman, who was slightly taller than Lexie, wore a dress and a fur coat, and her shoes looked as pricey as the man’s clothing. Lexie felt inadequate in her jeans and simple top. The white apron with the ruffles she also wore didn’t make her feel better.

“May I help you?” Lexie asked. For some reason, she got the impression they weren’t paying The Saucy Lucy Café a visit because they’d heard about her good coffee and wanted to sample it.

The man, who towered intimidatingly over Lexie, cleared his throat and fixed her with a hard stare. “We’re looking for a Ms. Alexandria Lightfoot.”

Uh, oh, Spaghettios.

His tone wasn’t friendly. Lexie nearly lied and told him she didn’t know where Ms. Alexandria Lightfoot was. Unfortunately, she was too honest and accommodating for her own good, thanks to the Reverend Castleton’s strict upbringing, so the fib wouldn’t work. “I’m Lexie Lightfoot,” she
responded in an unnaturally high voice. Her throat had gone dry and her knees developed an annoying watery sensation.

“I am Dr. William Briarhurst and this is my wife, Olivia. I assume you know who we are?”

Yes, she did. They were Elton Briarhurst’s very rich and influential
and
torqued off parents. “Yes,” Lexie said with a nod. “I am so sorry about Elton’s accident and I feel terrible about it. Would you like to sit down?”

She gestured at a room off to the right which she’d restored to an original old-fashioned parlor, complete with period antiques such as brocade settees, fern stands, statues, and an iron fireplace ensemble. A Persian carpet covered the polished wooden floorboards and replica velvet-flocked paper from the turn of the century adorned the walls along with a several old oil paintings.

The Briarhursts didn’t answer, and William Briarhurst’s nostrils flared. This was not good. Panic seeped through Lexie’s pores and she began to ramble to fill the awkward silence.

“It’s actually very comfortable in the parlor, you know. Some of my customers like to come in here and relax with their coffee and newspapers. It’s a nice room, sunny and pleasant …” She hoped Mr. and Mrs. Briarhurst wouldn’t notice how nervous she was. “I, ah—”

“You need to realize, Ms. Lightfoot, that we are not here to pay you a social call,” Mrs. Briarhurst said
sharply, raising a haughty brow as she glanced at the bandage on Lexie’s forehead.

Oh, really?
Lexie folded her arms across her chest, an ominous feeling creeping over her. “How may I help you, then?”

“We’re here to talk about Elton,” Dr. Briarhurst said.

Ah. Maybe they just wanted to find out what happened. So did she.

“Again, I’m so sorry. How is he? I’ve been worried.” Lexie didn’t think it would be a good idea to tell them the hospital had gotten wise to her and refused to give her any more updates on Elton’s condition.

“He’s finally on the mend, no thanks to
you,”
his mother said with a sniff.

Lexie blinked. “I hope you don’t think I had anything to do with the accident.”

“Well, you certainly did not behave in a responsible manner with our son. How you could run over him? I don’t understand,” Dr. Briarhurst rumbled angrily.

“Run over him? What are you talking about? It was a hit and run. No one knows who did it.”

“Don’t try and cover for yourself, Ms. Light-foot. Elton told us everything once he came out of his coma. Due to your irresponsibility, he will now need weeks of therapy in order to walk again,” Dr. Briarhurst insisted.

Olivia Briarhurst began to sob softly and took out a flowered hankie to dab at her eyes.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Lexie protested.
“This is all a mistake.”

“You, as his employer, should have known better than to have him repair your roof without the proper equipment,” Dr. Briarhurst stubbornly persisted. “Why, it’s outlandish and you know you’re responsible.”

Lexie’s mouth dropped. “Elton told you he was repairing my roof?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Briarhurst said with another indignant sniff. “And we’d like you to know we expect you to pay all his medical expenses. You’ll be lucky if my husband doesn’t file a lawsuit against you.” She hooked her arm possessively through Dr. Briarhurst’s.

Lexie was stunned. She figured Elton didn’t want his high society parents to know he was moonlighting as a male stripper. She understood why he used her as the fall guy. She imagined the Briarhurst’s gave their rich and spoiled son plenty of money to go to college and live on, but he apparently enjoyed doing something completely against his strict upbringing.

No surprise he’d kept his questionable employment a secret. It most likely would have raised his parents’ gently born eyebrows as well as their hackles and they’d no doubt sever his allowance. Maybe even remove him from the family will.

“Mr. and Mrs. Briarhurst, please understand— I’m sorry about Elton’s accident. But you have been misinformed about a couple of things. One of them is that I wasn’t the person who ran over him, and another is that he wasn’t here to repair my roof.”

“Don’t try to project blame,” Dr. Briarhurst growled. “You are responsible for this tragic event and you know it. By the time I’m through with you, you will no longer have a business and you will suffer for your lack of foresight. You will have to forever live with the fact Elton might never walk again or could possibly have brain damage—”

“Or die.” Mrs. Briarhurst sobbed, her furry shoulders heaving. She produced the delicate hankie again and dabbed at her watery eyes.

“All you need to know, Ms. Lightfoot,” Dr. Briarhurst said, eyes flashing, “is that you will hear from our lawyer.”

Dr. Briarhurst pulled his sobbing wife down the hall and out the door, shutting it with a loud bang.

Dumbfounded, Lexie stared at the entrance for a few numb minutes, during which time her mind replayed over and over the conversation with the Briarhursts. Was this really happening, or was it a dream? Pray God it’s a dream, she told herself, pinching her arm.

“Ouch!” It was no dream.

Lexie’s head was thumping like a washing machine that hadn’t been loaded correctly.
Ka-thunk, ka-thunk.
Had the Briarhursts thrown the grenade through the window? No, that didn’t seem like their style at all. But they could have hired someone to do it for them.

Despite Lexie’s racing thoughts and her ballooning head, she knew one thing. If she didn’t lose the
café because small-minded and ill-informed people were afraid she was a murderess and refused to eat here any more, she could very well loose it to the Briarhursts’ no doubt sharp-looking, smooth-talking and well-paid legal expert.

Time to go lawyer hunting.

Lexie finally managed to shuffle to the front door, flip over the CLOSED sign, then found her way into the parlor and sat down on a gold brocade sofa that had belonged to Grandmother Castleton. Her in-sides trembled and a dull roar of disbelief echoed in her brain. How could people be so cruel and thoughtless?

She glanced around. The room had once been a favorite family gathering place. During the Christ-mases of her youth, her favorite time of year, the large stone fireplace had been draped with festive swags and a large decorated fir tree dominated the northeast corner by another large bay window.

The parlor reflected a sense of warmth and comfort, from the knick-knacks her mother and father had placed around the room to the furniture and gilt-framed pictures her grandparents had arranged so lovingly when the home belonged to them. Lexie closed her eyes and reminisced about her childhood when all seemed right with the world, when her grandparents and parents had been alive and they’d
enjoyed good times together.

She could almost smell the rich chocolate scent of Grandma Castleton’s special cocoa and remembered how they used to make popcorn in an old-fashioned pan over the open fireplace. Her memories were a pleasant place to let her troubled mind dwell and they acted like a healing balm on her aching soul. She opened her eyes to the empty room that had once been filled with life and happiness, but now was full of memories and scents of days gone by. She rarely set foot in here except when townspeople reserved the room for meetings and events such as birthday parties and anniversary celebrations.

Even Lucy’s book club, which typically rotated from one member’s house to another’s, had held meetings here on several occasions. Lucy hadn’t scheduled one lately and Lexie imagined the persnickety literary ladies didn’t want to discuss the latest book they’d been reading in the house of a suspected murderess.

Lexie felt like running away. She wanted to go somewhere—maybe an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean—where no one knew her. It would be wonderful to disappear and leave all her troubles behind.

That was impossible. How could she up and disappear when her daughter needed her? Sister Lucy would be beside herself. It would be wrong.

She was left with the wreck that had become her life. Her business was going down the toilet because
people stupidly believed she was capable of murder. She wanted to pay Lucy a salary this month, but was short on cash.

Then there were Eva’s expenses.

The car payments on her Ford Escort still needed to be paid and spring tuition at the university would be due soon. Lexie also needed to buy food and gas and pay utilities and, unfortunately, her savings would only stretch so far.

Cousin Bruce’s money had mostly gone to pay for the renovation on Aunt Gladys’ attic quarters. She decided she’d better try to call his hotel in Singapore and see when he was coming to pick up his mother, or if he’d wire a little more
dinero.
There’s only so much blood you can squeeze out of a turnip. It didn’t seem very promising.

She could go down to MacGreggor’s Pub and see if she could get a job waitressing. Maybe they needed help slinging hash. She doubted it, but she could give it a shot. Rats! She’d have to find someone to sit with Aunt Gladys while she worked. That could be a problem.

There was no excuse why she couldn’t ask The Undertaker for help with at least Eva’s tuition, but she refused to be humiliated again. He would repeat what he’d said many times before: I
paid my own way through college and Eva can too. It’ll teach her what the real world’s all about.
He’d make Lexie feel foolish for asking and remind her he had a new family to provide for.

The dimwit.

How could a man completely disown a child from a previous marriage like she never meant anything? Even if Eva was over eighteen, she was still his daughter. She still needed him. Lexie shook her head. The man was such a lost cause.

To top things off, the Briarhursts were acting like she had hurt their son, as though everything were her fault. They had even got her halfway believing it. Maybe there
was
something she could have done to prevent Elton’s accident.

Lexie leaned back against the sofa and closed her eyes. Warm tears oozed from under her lashes and rolled down her cheeks. She hated to cry. Only silly women cried. Here she was, doing it. So be it.
She was a silly woman.
Finally a numb acceptance of her circumstances spread through Lexie’s limbs and she relaxed enough to doze.

“Mom, wake up.”

Lexie’s eyes immediately flew open and she readjusted herself on the sofa, her neck kinked from the uncomfortable position she’d slept in.

Eva stood in front of her, hands on her hips. “What’s with the duct-taped window? And your head!” She winced. “What happened?”

With a mouth as dry as dirt, Lexie explained about the old grenade being thrown through the window, hitting her in the head and upsetting Aunt Gladys so badly she had to be sedated. She explained how the Briarhursts had shown up, threatening to sue her.
“Nobody’s coming to the café to eat any more because they’re afraid. I’ve still got bills to pay and I can’t afford an attorney. I’m in a real pickle, sweetie.”

Eva sat next to Lexie on the sofa and laid a hand on her arm. “Remember, Mom, I’ve got part-time work. I can make my car payment and cover insurance.” Eva knew better than to suggest they ask her father for help. Mother and daughter had gone that route too many times before and been burned.

“I hate you have to work,” Lexie said. “How do you keep your grades up?”

“I’m fine, Mom. I’m a big girl. Besides, lots of my friends have jobs.”

Lexie swallowed a sob. No matter how bad things got during the divorce and afterward, Eva had always managed to keep up her spirits, even through her ornery teenage episodes.