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Authors: Leslie Meier

BOOK: Birthday Party Murder
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“What am I going to do?” wailed Mama.
Julia heard her father coming down the stairs. “Ask Papa to get something at the bakery,” she suggested.
“I will!”
Mother jumped to her feet and ran down the hall, but she was too late. The front door had closed and Papa was proceeding down the front walk. Mama would never call to him from the porch; she couldn't run after him. Such conduct was unthinkable in public.
Mama's steps were slow as she returned to the kitchen.
“I'll just make some cookies,” she said, reaching for the bread knife and slicing the homemade loaf so she could make sandwiches.
“I wish I'd been born a man,” she declared, waving the knife. “Then I could put my hat on and walk out the door!”
“I hope Harriet stops crying before the ladies get here,” said Julia.
“I'd like to wring that girl's neck,” said Mother.
 
 
Miss Tilley's eyes flew open. She wasn't ten years old, she was close to ninety. She wasn't sitting in her mother's kitchen in the big white house on Main Street, she was sitting in the Boston rocker by the fireplace in the little grayshingled house she had bought after her parents had both died.
“You had a nice little rest, didn't you?” It was Shirley, smiling at her from the couch. In the corner, the TV was on.
Miss Tilley looked at the TV as if it were an ugly spider that had come crawling out of a crack.
“I was just watching
Norah!”
said Shirley, turning it off. “I hope you don't mind.”
“Not at all.” Her tone indicated that while she didn't mind, she didn't quite approve, either.
“Would you like something? Can I get you some of that sherry?”
“That would be very nice,” admitted Miss Tilley.
“I'll just be a jif,” said Shirley, scooting into the kitchen. “A lot of people have color, now, you know,” she called from the other room. “I'm surprised you still have black and white.”
Miss Tilley waited for her to return to the living room before she answered.
“I only watch the evening news,” she said.
“But you don't know what you're missing,” insisted Shirley. “Why, take Norah, for example. She looks different in color. That skin. That hair. She's a gorgeous woman.”
“I don't need a TV to see Norah in living color. She has a summer home right here in Tinker's Cove.”
“She does?” exclaimed Shirley, obviously starstruck.
Miss Tilley was enjoying Shirley's reaction so much that she went even further. “Stick around,” she said, casually. “I'll introduce you sometime.”
“Actually,” said Shirley, seizing the moment, “it's getting rather late for me to drive all the way back to Auburn—that's where I've been staying with some friends. I didn't want to leave while you were asleep and I didn't want to wake you up, so I stayed. But I don't think I'd get back before dark if I leave now.” Shirley paused for breath. “Aunt Julia, would you mind very much if I stayed the night?” she finally asked.
“That would be just fine.”
Shirley gave the old woman a quick hug, concealing her satisfied smirk.
Chapter Fourteen
I
t was a slim lead, but it was all she had, so Lucy decided she would call Officers Kodak and Wickes as soon as she got to the office. There was no answer at the vacationing Wickeses' house, however, so she left a message. She'd already started dialing Howie Kodak when she remembered he would probably be sleeping since he was working the night shift. Waking him up would be a bad way to start an interview, so she jotted his name and number down on a yellow sticky and slapped it onto her computer so she wouldn't forget.
“What did we do before stickies?” she asked Phyllis.
“I believe people tied a string on their finger, but I'm not exactly sure how it worked,” said Phyllis, greeting Ted with a smile.
He didn't smile back. “Have you got that story you promised me?” he asked Lucy.
“You'll have it in half an hour,” promised Lucy, waiting for her computer to boot up.
She quickly polished off the elder abuse story and began working on a summary of last night's finance committee meeting. Phyllis was busy putting the classified ads together, so when the phone rang Ted answered it. It was a reader who took great exception to a letter to the editor that ran the previous week.
“Ma'am, that letter does
not
represent my viewpoint or the viewpoint of the paper—only the views of the person who wrote it.”
Lucy's and Phyllis's eyes met and they shared a chuckle as Ted's tone became more exasperated.
“Well, if the letter upsets you so much, why don't you write a response? I'd be happy to print it.”
Lucy's phone rang and she picked it up, hoping it wasn't another angry reader. It wasn't.
“Listen, Lucy,” said Sue, by way of a greeting, “Sidra called again and they've absolutely got to have more info if they're going to put Miss T on the
Norah!
show. You've got to get over there today and get some more material.”
“Whoa,” said Lucy, fingering the stack of papers on her desk. “No can do. I have a job, you know.”
There was a pause while Sue considered this. “There must be some way.”
“Tomorrow afternoon,” suggested Lucy. “After deadline.”
“Sidra wants it today.”
“Well, Sidra will just have to wait,” said Lucy.
“I'll call her back and tell her we can absolutely, definitely have great, fantastic material for her tomorrow.”
“You tell her that,” agreed Lucy, wondering how she could possibly deliver on such a promise. “I've got to go.”
She hung up the phone and it immediately rang again.
“How am I supposed to get anything done?” she asked Phyllis, as she picked it up.
“Mom?”
“Toby?” Lucy's heart skipped a beat. Toby hardly ever called home from college, unlike his younger sister, Elizabeth, who checked in every Sunday evening, and he never called her at work. She knew something must be wrong. “Is everything okay?”
“Sure, Mom. I just called to see how you're all doing.”
“We're fine,” said Lucy, seriously doubting he was telling the truth. “Sara's birthday is coming up next Saturday.”
“Uh, really? Thanks for reminding me.”
“Maybe you could send her a present. Maybe a Coburn U T-shirt or something?”
“I'm kind of low on cash, Mom.”
“A card?” persisted Lucy, rolling her eyes for Phyllis's benefit.
Phyllis was enjoying the conversation; her shoulders were heaving with laughter.
“Sure. I could do that.” He paused. “It would need a stamp, wouldn't it? Uh, where do you get those?”
Lucy shook her head in disbelief. “The post office!”
Phyllis was now laughing so hard she was clutching her stomach.
Lucy wasn't seeing the humor in the situation. “You know, Toby, I have work to do. Maybe I could call you tonight?”
“Actually, I kinda wanted to ask your advice.”
Lucy braced herself.
“See, I'm kinda worried my grades aren't going to be very good this term.”
“What's the problem? You're a smart kid—you got 1400 on your SATs. Are you going to classes?”
“Pretty much.”
Lucy's temper flared. “Well, that's not good enough. That's what you're there for. There's really no excuse for skipping classes.”
“I know,” admitted Toby. “It's just that economics is at eight o'clock, and even though I set my alarm I sometimes sleep through it.”
“Get a louder alarm, or get a friend to wake you up.”
“I'm going to do that, Mom. I really am. But I don't know if it will be enough. I got some pretty bad midterm grades.”
“In economics? Maybe you can talk to the professor about getting some extra help.”
“In all my courses actually.”
Lucy's ears were beginning to ring. Phyllis, she noticed, was no longer laughing but looked serious.
“Toby, this is unacceptable. You know how expensive college is. We really expect you to take it seriously and do your best. It sounds to me like there's too much beer and partying and not enough studying going on.”
“You're right, Mom. I'll try harder.”
Lucy was out of patience. “Don't say you'll try harder. Do it. Right now. Grab your books and go over to the library. It's open. Go.”
She slammed down the receiver.
Both Ted and Phyllis were staring at her.
“I can't believe it,” she exclaimed. “He's a smart kid—what's he been doing all term?”
“Drugs,” suggested Phyllis.
“Girls,” offered Ted.
“Not on my dime. I'm not sending him to college to waste his time.”
They nodded in agreement.
“Bring him home and put him to work,” said Phyllis.
“There's always the army,” added Ted.
Lucy rubbed her temples. She was getting a headache.
“Here. Take these,” said Phyllis, handing her two aspirins and a paper cup full of water.
“Thanks.”
Lucy swallowed the tablets and tried to relax her tense muscles by picturing a quiet mountain lake. Instead, she saw a clutter of yellow reminders stuck to her computer screen. She decided she'd better call Officer Kodak before his sticky became as old as the others. A woman answered.
“Mrs. Kodak? Lucy Stone at
The Pennysaver
. Could I have a quick word with your husband?”
“He's asleep right now and I don't like to wake him. He's working the night shift this week, you know.”
“Oh, no, don't wake him. Could you just ask him to call me at his convenience? It's kind of important.”
“Why don't you just stop by at the house around five or so? He'll be up by then.”
It was a little after five when Lucy pulled into the Kodaks' driveway, carefully avoiding an asortment of bikes and Big Wheels.
“Come on in,” invited Mrs. Kodak, who turned out to be every bit as blond and perky as Doris Day. “My name's Bonnie and this is Trevor,” she said, pointing to a chubby five-year-old, “and his little brother, Hunter.”
“I'm three,” said Hunter, holding up four fingers.
“That's four, this is three.” His older brother was quick to correct him.
Lucy smiled. They reminded her of Toby and Elizabeth, when they were younger and the problems were simpler.
“What can I do for you?” Howie Kodak was seating himself at the table, giving each boy a high five. With his crew cut, he looked like an overgrown kid himself.
“Lucy, sit down,” invited Bonnie. “Can I give you something to eat? A Coke?”
“No, no. I'll only be a minute. I don't want to hold up your dinner. It's just that I've been asked to look into Sherman Cobb's death—Bob Goodman doesn't believe it was suicide, you know.”
“I know,” said Howie. He didn't bother to hide his disapproval.
Lucy plunged ahead. “Anyway, I know you were on patrol the night he died and I wondered if you saw anything unusual.”
“You could say that,” replied Howie, and Lucy's hopes rose. “I won't forget that night any time soon.”
This was much better than she had expected. “What happened?” she asked eagerly.
“That's the night that tractor trailer slid off the exit ramp out on the interstate. What a mess. Eggs everywhere. I was called out there to help direct traffic.”
Lucy tried not to show her disappointment.
“So you weren't even here in town?”
“No, ma'am. I was out there all night while they cleaned up the mess. It was one hell of a night.”
Lucy rose to go. “What about Bob Wickes? He started at eleven. Do you think he might've seen anything?”
Howie shrugged. “You'd have to ask him, but you can't talk to him until Monday. He's in Orlando with the whole family.”
“Thanks for your help.” She smiled at Trevor and Hunter. “Bye, boys.”
“Now, what do you say?” prompted Howie.
“Good-bye. Thanks for coming,” they chorused.
Lucy's smile vanished as soon as she was out the door. Another lead fizzled, another dead end in this investigation that was going absolutely nowhere. No wonder the police were calling it a suicide.
And even worse, she was going to have to tell Bill about Toby's difficulties at college. What she wouldn't give, she thought as she started the car, to go back in time about fifteen years. Back when Toby and Elizabeth were five and three—and she was every bit as pretty and perky as Bonnie Kodak.

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