Tippy Toe Murder (12 page)

“She hasn’t had an easy time,” continued
Fred. “Dad wasn’t an easy man to get along with. Believe me, I know.” He seemed
about to enlarge on this theme when he caught himself. “I guess I’d better get
back to work keeping those glasses filled, Lucy. Thanks for coming.”

Fred had no sooner gotten up than Tatiana
slipped into his chair. The ballerina was as chic as ever in a simple black
sheath that emphasized her slender shape, but she looked tired and fidgeted
nervously with her fingers.

“Tatiana,” Lucy greeted her. “It was sure
lucky for me that you canceled that rehearsal. I never could have made it.” “That’s
right. That’s when you found the body! How awful for you!”

“It was.” The image of Slack’s battered
head surfaced in her consciousness, but Lucy refused to dwell on it. “Will there
be a rehearsal on Tuesday?”

“I’ve decided to carry on,” said the dance
teacher, smoothing back her glossy black hair. “Rehearsals Tuesday and
Thursday, show on Friday. That’s what Caro would want. Besides, it isn’t fair
to the kids to keep putting it off. I’m hoping she’ll turn up this week. She
never misses the show, you know. I can’t imagine having it without her.”

“Have you had any news of her?”

“Yes and no. I call the police every day
and Barney says there have been reports from all over. One man insists he saw
aliens abduct her from a highway rest area. Somebody else saw her at Graceland.
She was spotted at the Macy’s in White Plains, New York, and at an ice cream
stand in North Conway.” “Graceland?”

Tatiana shrugged. “It makes about as much
sense as the others. Barney’s wonderful, though. He keeps a list of every
sighting and follows up when he has a free moment. He says something will turn
up. I keep hoping she went off on a cruise or something and forgot to let
anyone know.”

“Maybe.” Lucy smiled encouragingly. Across
the room she noticed Miss Tilley among the group of chatty old women gathered
around Slack’s widow. “You know,” she said, “Miss Tilley told me she thinks
Caro is missing in action. What do you think she meant?”

“Like a spy mission? Going undercover?”
Tatiana was doubtful.

“I’m not sure what she meant,” admitted
Lucy. “Maybe that Caro is off on some business of her own. Barney told me the
police don’t think any crime was involved.”

“I know. That ought to make me feel better,
but it doesn’t. It all seems so out of character.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was dependable, she didn’t break
commitments.” “Maybe this was more important.”

“More important than my show?” Tatiana was
incredulous. “An emergency or something. Who did she care about the most?”

“Her students,” answered Tatiana with no
hesitation. “She never married or had children. Her students were her family.”

Lucy leaned forward. “Can you keep a
secret?”

Tatiana nodded.

“I took some albums from Caro’s house.”
Lucy felt her face growing warm. “I didn’t steal them. I borrowed them and I’m
going to return them. But before I do, would you like to look at them with me?”

“You mean, look for a clue?” Tatiana’s eyes
were bright. “I’d love to. Today?”

“I can’t.” Lucy thought guiltily of Bill,
who was home watching the kids. “Tomorrow afternoon?”

“At the studio? I’m free until three.”

“Good.” Lucy looked around the room. The
drinks and refreshments had definitely had an effect on the mourners.
Conversation was no longer hushed, voices had risen, and bursts of laughter
were heard. “This is turning into a terrific party.”

“Especially for a funeral.”

“Old Morrill must be furious, wherever he
is.”

“Perhaps his present companion is keeping
him busy,” said Tatiana, smiling wryly.

“And who might that be?” said Lucy,
mimicking the Church Lady on
Saturday Night Live.

Tatiana laughed, and together they chorused,
“Satan?”

No radios or tape players
at rehearsal.

Throughout Tinker’s Cove Sunday dinner was
over and children were taking advantage of the last hours of weekend freedom as
dusk settled in. Boys of a certain age formed small packs and prowled the town
on bicycles, hunting for something to do. These long evenings gave them plenty
of time to get into mischief.

“What the devil are those boys up to?”
muttered Barney Culpepper. He was talking to himself as he made a routine
patrol around the elementary school. Sunday evening, he knew, was prime time
for pre-adolescent vandals. Barney wondered what that little group was up to at
the far end of the parking lot, where the principal and other school officials
parked their cars in neatly marked spaces. He turned off his headlights and proceeded
very slowly and quietly toward the group.

What Barney saw, as he got closer and his
vision became clearer, astonished him. Four boys, all sons of upstanding Tinker’s
Cove families, were busy painting a message for the principal on the gymnasium
wall.

“Stop where you are, don’t move, this is
the police,” he announced over the speaker, at the same time flicking on the
cruiser’s powerful lights. Startled by the sudden bright light and the
amplified voice of authority, the boys froze. Barney hauled his considerable
bulk out of the car and firmly grabbed two of the miscreants by their collars,
but the other two hightailed it across the parking lot and escaped into the
woods. Barney started to pursue them, but stopped, realizing it was hopeless. “Can’t
catch me, fat man!” heckled one of the escapees. “Mebbe,” growled Barney, “but
I know who you are, Tim Rogers.”

He turned and waved his flashlight at the
two captives. “Into the cruiser,” he ordered.

“Just once,” complained Eddie Culpepper to
Rickie Goldman, “just once I wish I could get away with something. It’s awful
having a cop for a father.”

By Monday morning the wheels of justice
were in full grind and four sets of parents had been invited to discussions
with the principal at the elementary school: the Culpeppers, the Rogerses, the
Goldmans, and the Stillingses. Soon after, Pam called her friend Lucy to vent
her frustration.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she confessed. “This
is the sort of thing that happens to other people, not me.”

“Think how Barney must feel. Catching his
own kid.”

“He looked pretty grim. We all did. Those
boys weren’t brought up to vandalize public property. I can’t believe Adam
would do a thing like that.”

“Are you sure he did? How do they know it
was Adam? Barney only caught Eddie and Rickie.”

“The principal took one look at the wall
and knew Adam was involved. Ted tells me the F word is always spelled with a ‘u.’
“

“How was it spelled on the wall?” asked
Lucy.

“F-O-C-K,” answered Pam.

“Isn’t that better? At least it wasn’t an
obscenity,” reasoned Lucy.

“I guess the meaning was clear enough.
Anyway, Adam admitted the whole thing. He said it was Tim Rogers’ idea and he
dared the rest of them to do it.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. Bill says he’d gladly
trade him for a ‘player to be named later.’ Any player,” said Lucy. “Don’t feel
so bad. The only reason Toby wasn’t there is that we live too far out of town
for him to bicycle in. There’s not enough for kids to do around here—that’s why
they get into trouble.”

“I know it. Barney said those boys who were
in that car crash—you know, Ben Slack and his friends?—Barney said they were
going to set off sticks of dynamite out in some field just for the hell of it.
They could have blown themselves to kingdom come!”

“Maybe getting caught now will teach Adam a
lesson. It’s too bad nobody caught Ben Slack before he got into so much
trouble.”

“Adam and the others have to clean off the
wall and repaint it. That’ll keep them busy for a while. This summer I’m
signing Adam up for swimming lessons, sailing lessons, and tennis lessons. Plus
he’s going to be tutored in spelling.”

“Sounds expensive,” said Lucy.

“It’ll be worth it if it keeps him out of
jail,” said Pam. “That reminds me. I’d better get a move on. I’m going over to
Wilton this morning to see Franny.”

“At the jail? Oh, Lucy, you’re a saint.”

“No, I’m not. I just feel guilty about all
that Austrian ravioli in my freezer. Whenever I needed a hand, Franny was
always the first to come. Now she’s in trouble, and the least I can do is
visit.”

“I’m sending her a card. Wild horses couldn’t
drag me to that place.”

“Thanks for the encouragement,” said Lucy
sarcastically, hanging up the receiver.

Once she was on the road to Wilton, after
depositing Sara at Kiddie Kollege, Lucy began to wonder if going to the prison
was such a good idea. She hadn’t told Bill about her plans for the day; she
knew he wouldn’t approve. In fact, she wasn’t sure if she would tell him
tonight. She could just imagine his reaction. If he had his way, she would
spend her entire life at home cooking and cleaning with occasional trips to the
grocery store for good behavior. Sometimes he would tease her by saying the
best way to handle a woman was to keep her barefoot in the winter and pregnant
in the summer. It was supposed to be a joke, but it came awfully close to
reality.

Set high on a hill over the little town of
Wilton, the brick prison overshadowed everything around it. A complex of
buildings, including the Superior Court and offices for county agencies such as
the agricultural extension service and the health department, was situated at
the bottom of the hill. A large parking lot separated it from the prison
building, which was surrounded by a chain link fence topped with rows of barbed
wire.

Lucy parked the Subaru and climbed out,
then on second thought she struggled back in and locked all the doors. After
all, she wouldn’t want to help some desperate character escape. There were no
trees shading the parking lot, so Lucy was grateful for the gray, overcast sky.
It was hot and humid and she was panting slightly when she reached the fence
surrounding the prison. A sign indicated the way to the women’s facility, so
Lucy followed the walkway that ran alongside the fence.

She was uncomfortably aware of a group of
male inmates standing idly inside the fence, smoking, and felt their eyes
following her as she walked along.

“That one’s got a bun in the oven,”
remarked one inmate, just loud enough for her to hear. Lucy ignored him and
kept her eyes straight ahead, but she heard the snickers of the others.

He raised his voice and called after her: “Hey,
little mama, you like doing the wild thing? Wanna do it with me?”

The other inmates found this very amusing,
and he was rewarded with a chorus of laughter. Another prisoner whistled and
yelled out to her: “Don’t listen to him. I’ll show you a better time!”

Lucy was mortified as hoots of laughter
followed this remark, but she refused to turn her head or quicken her pace. Her
face felt very warm, however, and her hair was damp with perspiration. She
heard a guard order the men to be quiet, and she made straight for the safety
of the entrance just ahead, beyond the fenced comer of the yard. A lone figure
stood in the comer, dressed in the regulation navy blue jumpsuit. He, too, was
smoking a cigarette, and he had several days’ growth of beard. His eyes
glittered dangerously and his gaze caught hers as she passed, separated from
her by the chain link fence.

“I could make you scream,” he said flatly,
his voice gruff and his eyes hypnotically holding hers.

Lucy quickly shifted her gaze past him to
the door of the women’s wing of the prison and hurried toward it. A large,
motherly matron opened the door when she rang, welcoming her with a big smile. “Don’t
mind them, honey. They get kinda funny, being cooped up.”

“I guess they would,” said Lucy, relieved
that a thick brick wall now protected her from the men. “I’m here to see Franny
Small. I called earlier and they said it would be all right.”

“It sure is,” the matron told her. “Sign
here, give me your purse, and walk through that metal detector.” After checking
Lucy’s bag the woman returned it to her and unlocked a gate made of heavy wire
mesh. “Go on in. Franny’ll be down in a minute.”

Lucy found herself in a rather bare
reception room. Chairs and sofas upholstered in sturdy vinyl lined the walls;
the color scheme was faded mustard and avocado. The walls were covered with a
thick coat of cream-colored high-gloss paint; a few amateurish landscapes,
their tones oddly flat, hung on the walls. The windows were covered with heavy
wire mesh, and a second doorway was also blocked with a gate. It was here that
Franny suddenly appeared, accompanied by a second matron.

“Lucy, it’s wonderful to see you. Thank you
so much for coming,” she exclaimed, polite as ever, when the gate was opened
for her.

“Oh, Franny,” she said, unable to conceal
her dismay when the gate was slammed shut and locked. Grasping both of Franny’s
hands she asked, “How are you?”

“It’s not so bad, honest. See? I can even
wear my own clothes. Everyone’s real nice. The people who work here, I mean. I
haven’t met anybody else. They keep me separate from the other prisoners
because I haven’t been tried yet. I’m still officially not guilty.” Franny sat
down on one of the Naugahyde couches and neatly crossed her ankles. She might
have been at an afternoon tea party.

“I’m glad you’re not in with the criminals,”
said Lucy.

“Not yet, anyway,” said Franny. “There’s
only a handful of women here. Very few women commit crimes. And when they do,
they usually hurt a relative. Least that’s what Verna says. She’s my favorite
matron.”

“They hurt their relatives?”

“Husbands, generally. In self-defense.
Verna says one lady here drowned her kids—all three of them. One was a baby,
the oldest was four.”

“Why did she do such a terrible thing? Was
she crazy?” “Kind of, I guess,” admitted Franny. “She said it was the only way
she could think of to keep them safe from their father. I never talked to her
myself. I just know what they tell me.” “Have you had many visitors?” asked
Lucy, eager to change the subject.

“Mom, of course. She’s pretty upset. You
can imagine. And Reverend Churchill, from the church. He told me not to worry
because I’m in the Lord’s hands. And Fred called and said he got me a lawyer
and I’ll probably be out on bail tomorrow after the arraignment.”

“That’s good news.”

“ ‘Course, there’s still the trial.” Franny
was philosophical. “Oh, Franny, you’ll get off. No jury could convict you. You’re
innocent!”

“I think I am. I don’t remember killing
him. But I wanted to, lots of times. In a way, that’s the same thing.”

“No, it’s not.” Lucy was definite on that
point.

“Maybe. I’ve been thinking a lot lately.
That’s really all you can do in a place like this. It’s like Reverend Churchill
told me. ‘ “The Lord works in a mysterious way / His wonders to perform.” ‘ We’re
all part of a big plan, and as it unfolds we each get what we deserve. It all
works out in the end.”

“I’m sure it will,” agreed Lucy. “But I don’t
see why you have to be in jail now.”

“I don’t mind. I should be in jail. I’ve
done terrible things.” “We’ve all done things we shouldn’t have,” began Lucy.

“I killed my husband.”

“No,” Lucy said. “Barney said . . .”

“Barney said everybody thought I killed
Darryl but they couldn’t prove it.”

“He said Darryl got what he deserved,” corrected
Lucy. “Barney said everybody knew he was abusing you, but they didn’t know how
to stop it. You kept insisting your injuries were from accidents.”

Franny turned away from Lucy and stared at
the wall; tears were welling up in her eyes and she brushed them away with her
hands.

“All I wanted was for Darryl to stop
hitting me. I used to beg him to tell me what made him so mad so I’d know not
to do it. He made lists for me. Pages and pages. ‘Don’t cry in front of me,
speak to me in a respectful tone of voice, don’t talk on the phone for more
than three minutes.’ I studied the lists, I tried to remember, but I always
forgot something and then he’d have to punish me. It was all my fault.”

“How was it your fault? He was hitting you.”

“He had to, because I wouldn’t pay
attention. ‘If you won’t pay attention,’ he’d say, ‘then I’ll have to
make
you.’ He’d slap me and I’d try so hard to listen but I couldn’t. I was so
scared all I wanted to do was get away.”

Lucy got up from her chair and sat down on
the couch beside Franny. She put her arms around her and hugged her close, as
if she were comforting one of her children.

“When I banged up the car I knew I was in
big trouble. I wasn’t usually allowed to drive, but my leg got hurt.”

“He broke your leg?”

“No, it was just bruised, but I couldn’t
walk very well. I was wearing one of those neck collars, too, and I couldn’t
turn around to see when I backed up. I hit something and broke the tail-light.
I knew he’d be real mad.”