St. Patrick's Day Murder (17 page)

“You said it,” agreed Lucy. “Starting tomorrow, the girls can make their own breakfast and get themselves off to school, Bill can make his own lunch, and the dog can let herself out. I’m going to catch up on my sleep.”

“Right,” said Pam, clearly not believing a word of it.

“You’ll see,” insisted Lucy. “Tell Ted I’ll be in around noon.”

“You tell him yourself,” said Pam. “I’m not going—”

“Ladies! Do you mind?” snapped Frank, fixing his eyes on them. “We’ll start with ‘Something Sort of Grandish’ with Og and Sharon, and then we’ll segue right into ‘Necessity.’” He raised his voice. “Sharon. We need you.”

Moira, who had drifted backstage, ignored him, deeply engrossed in conversation with Dave Reilly.

“Moira!” Frank called again. “You need the practice, dear, and since Og is doing ‘Something Sort of Grandish,’ you might as well sing along, too.”

Moira shrugged and turned slowly, swiveling her hips. “If you say so, Frank.” All eyes were on her as she walked across the stage, right into the path of Tatiana, who was practicing turns. The collision was inevitable.

“Bitch! You did that on purpose!” shrieked Moira, shoving Tatiana, who landed awkwardly on her bottom.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you, really,” said the dancer, scrambling to her feet and dusting herself off.

“Liar!” said Moira. “Face it, you can’t stand the fact that Dave likes me better than you. You’d do anything to get me out of the way.”

“Face it yourself, Moira. Dave doesn’t like you at all. He’s just being polite,” said the dance teacher, coolly. “You’re the last person I would be jealous of, believe me.”

“Well, if you’re not jealous, why do you always have it out for me?”

“Look who’s talking! I’ve been working on this combination for at least fifteen minutes, right here. You walked right into my path.”

“You went out of your way to knock into me,” said Moira. “Ask anyone.”

The chorus members cast their eyes in a dozen different directions, all avoiding eye contact with Moira. In Pam’s case, it didn’t work.

“You saw, didn’t you, Pam?” said Moira. “She changed direction and ran right into me.”

“Don’t ask me,” said Pam. “I didn’t actually see what happened.”

“Well, what about you, Harry?” demanded Moira, selecting the harbormaster to press her point.

Harry shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Can we get on with the rehearsal?” he asked. “I’ve got to get up at four tomorrow to catch a plane.”

“Right,” said Frank, banging out a chord. “From the top.”

Relieved to finally be doing something, the chorus members put their hearts into their singing, winning approving nods and smiles from Frank, until Moira missed her cue.

“Moira, dear,” he hissed, “you’re supposed to come in here.” He pounded out the chord on the piano.

“Oh, right,” she said, singing the wrong lyrics in the wrong key.

Frank slammed down the lid on the keyboard. “Enough! I’ve had it!” he yelled at Dylan. “What is the point? She won’t learn the words; she won’t practice the songs; she doesn’t even pay attention!”

Dylan, who had been sitting along the side of the room, with his knees crossed, studying the script, slowly got up. He nodded slowly, a benign smile on his face, and spoke slowly, as if speaking to an idiot. “True talent like Moira’s needs nurturing. It needs tender care, respect, and admiration in order to blossom.”

“How about some respect for me? For everyone here?” demanded Frank.

“I think it would be best if we called it a night,” said Dylan, with a shrug. “Everyone’s tired.”

“Call it a night! We haven’t even got through the second act, and there’s only two more rehearsals before opening night!” said Frank.

Dylan shrugged. “We’ll schedule some extra rehearsals,” he said. “Meanwhile, I have an important announcement.”

They all stood in place reluctantly, shuffling their feet and eager to be on their way.

“I know how very frustrating and tiring rehearsals can be,” he began, “but I want to assure you that all your hard work and sacrifice will be rewarded on opening night, when we will have a very special guest.”

He paused, letting them speculate for a few moments.

“I have just received word that Lieutenant Governor Cormac O’Donnell will attend himself, in person.”

Moira clapped her hands together in excitement, but the rest of the cast showed little reaction.

“I thought there’d be more enthusiasm,” said Dylan. “He is the lieutenant governor, after all. And from what I hear, he’s very proud of his Irish heritage.”

“Well, if you want excitement, you’ll have to get Mikey O’Donnell,” said Harry, getting a big laugh.

“Good one, Harry,” said Frank.

“Who’s Mikey?” asked Dylan. “How do we get him?”

“That’s what a lot of people want to know. Cormac’s brother Michael is on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list,” said Frank.

“I don’t believe it,” said Moira, casting a look at her husband. “The lieutenant governor’s brother is a criminal?”

“A gangster,” said Frank. “Every once in a while, you read something about him in the paper, turning up in Italy or London. They never seem to be able to catch him, though.”

“What do they want him for?” asked Moira.

“Racketeering, murder, extortion, you name it,” said Harry.

“So one’s a politician and the other is a criminal?” asked Moira.

“Not really that different, after all,” said Harry, getting another big laugh.

Lucy was laughing along with the rest when her cell phone rang, and she scurried across the room to the chair where she’d left her coat and purse. After a few awkward moments, she found it in her coat pocket and flipped it open.

“Mom?” said Toby, his voice shaky, through the static.

Lucy immediately knew something was the matter. “I’m here,” she said, moving toward the window. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m at the hospital with Molly,” he said.

Lucy did a quick calculation. Molly wasn’t due for another six weeks.

“She started bleeding,” added Toby.

“How’s she doing?”

“I dunno, Mom.” His voice trailed off, his words lost, then came back. “I’m really worried.”

“I’ll be right there,” said Lucy.

Breaking her rule not to talk on the phone while driving, she called Bill as she speeded straight for the Tinker’s Cove Cottage Hospital. There she found Toby sitting on an orange vinyl chair in the emergency-room waiting area. He was a strapping kid, well over six feet tall, but he looked small and frightened sitting there all alone.

“Any news?” she asked, and he stood up, shaking his head. “It will be okay,” she said, giving him a big hug. “She’s in good hands.”

It was at least another hour before Doc Ryder finally came out to talk to them. He was not only the family doctor; he had delivered all four of Lucy’s babies, including Toby.

“Sorry to keep you waiting so long,” he said. “We’re shorthanded tonight.”

“How’s Molly?” asked Toby.

“We’ve got the bleeding stopped, but I don’t like her blood pressure,” said Doc Ryder.

None of this made any sense to Toby. “How’s the baby?” he asked.

“So far, so good,” said Doc Ryder.

“Can I take Molly home?” asked Toby.

“Son,” said the doctor, putting a hand on his shoulder, “I’m afraid not. Not until we get her blood pressure under control.”

“How long will that take?” asked Toby.

“As long as it takes,” said the doctor.

“Can I see her?” Toby asked.

“If you promise not to upset her.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

The doctor nodded. “And make it quick.”

“I will,” replied Toby.

When Toby was gone, the doctor told Lucy to take a seat. He sat down heavily next to her and shook his head. Lucy waited with dread to hear what he had to say.

“It’s not good,” he said. “Even if we manage to get her blood pressure down, she’ll have to stay on bed rest.”

“For how long?”

“The longer the better. Toxemia’s a waiting game. We want to keep her from going into labor as long as we can, get that baby as close to term as we can.”

Lucy didn’t know much about toxemia except that it didn’t sound good. “But if her blood pressure stays up?”

“We’ll have to take the baby, even if it’s early.”

“How big is the baby now?”

“Not as big as I’d like. Maybe four pounds. That’s my best guess.”

Lucy thought of the premies she’d seen in photos and on TV. Little tiny creatures with wizened faces and stick arms and legs, covered with thin, wrinkled red skin. They had the unfinished, prehistoric look of newly hatched birds, before their feathers came out.

“Don’t worry,” he said, patting her knee. “If it’s just a question of the baby being early, we’ve got excellent facilities right here.”

“And if something is wrong?”

“Well, there’s the neonatal unit in Portland. They can do amazing stuff nowadays. They can even repair heart valves, all sorts of stuff, with the baby in utero.”

“This is supposed to reassure me?” asked Lucy.

“I just want you to be prepared, that’s all. Those kids will be looking to you for support,” he said, getting to his feet slowly and stretching. “I guess he’s been in there long enough.”

He walked off stiffly, as if his back was bothering him. A minute or two later, Toby came out of the treatment room and sat beside her. He didn’t look much happier than when he went in.

“How’s she doing?” asked Lucy.

“She’s scared, Mom.” He sat with his elbows resting on his knees and looked down at his hands. “I’m scared, too.”

“It will be okay,” she told him, echoing the doctor’s words. “They have good facilities here and even better in Portland, if they’re needed. Right now the doctor says it’s a waiting game. All we can do is wait.”

And wait they did, all through the night. Molly’s condition was unchanged when Lucy left the hospital at six in the morning. She wanted to make breakfast for Bill and the girls and get their day off to a good start. Then she planned to catch an hour or two of sleep and take a shower before going back to the hospital. She shook her head ruefully, thinking of her flippant assertion the night before that she was going to sleep for ten hours, like Moira.

The house was quiet when she entered. Only Libby, the dog, greeted her, rising from her doggy bed in the kitchen and sticking out her front legs in a stretch, yawning and shaking before beginning her usual tail-wagging, wiggly welcome. Lucy gave her a pat and let her out, then got the coffeemaker started. She called the dog back into the house, filled her bowl with kibble, and then went upstairs to wake the family.

Back downstairs, she poured herself a cup of coffee and sipped at it while she got some bacon cooking and made lunches for Bill and Zoe. Sara insisted on buying the school lunch, but Lucy suspected she skipped it and saved the money. Too much caffeine and worry had made her feel shaky, and since she had more time than usual this morning, she decided to make French toast. She needed a hearty breakfast, and it would be a treat for Bill and the girls.

“Mmm, that sure smells good,” said Bill, the first one to appear. “So how’s Molly?” he asked as Lucy filled a mug with coffee and gave it to him.

“Her blood pressure is dangerously high, and they can’t seem to get it down.”

“What does that mean?” he asked, sitting at the table.

Lucy kept it simple. “Bed rest if they can get it down, an emergency caesarean if not.”

Bill took a swallow of coffee. “When will they know?”

“By noon. Doc Ryder promised a decision by then.” She took a deep breath and let out a qua-very sigh, which caught Bill’s attention. She covered with a yawn. “I’m going to nap for an hour or so, then go back to the hospital.”

“How’s Toby?”

“Really scared.” This time her voice did crack, and she made herself very busy filling a pitcher with maple syrup.

“Poor guy.”

Lucy set a platter full of bacon and French toast on the table and yelled up the stairs, calling the girls. They came clumping down together. Lucy felt like scooping them up in a big hug but restrained herself. They’d think she’d lost her mind.

“Ooh, yummy,” said Zoe, spotting the French toast.

“Just juice for me,” said Sara.

“Do me a favor and have a piece,” said Lucy, seizing on the distraction. Arguing with Sara was better than worrying. “It’s not that many calories if you skip the butter and syrup. Dab some yogurt on instead.”

“Half a piece,” said Sara.

“How’s Molly?” asked Zoe. “Can I go there after school?”

“Sorry, honey. She’s still in the hospital,” said Bill.

“How come?” asked Zoe, her mouth full of French toast.

“She’s sick, and they have to take special care of her and the baby,” he answered.

Sara, Lucy noticed, was reaching for a second piece of French toast. “But everything’s going to be okay, right?” she asked.

“We hope so,” said Lucy, her throat catching again.

The girls caught it and looked at her anxiously, watching as she filled her plate. Her hand shook, and she dropped a piece of bacon on the floor. Libby, who had been waiting for just such an opportunity, gobbled it up.

“Sally Henderson’s mom had a high-risk pregnancy, but everything turned out all right,” said Sara. “She just had to stay in bed at the end.”

“That’s what Molly should do,” said Zoe. “If she stays inside, the wee folk won’t be able to get her baby.”

Lucy dropped her fork, and it clattered to the floor. “It’s not wee folk that are making Molly sick,” she said, through clenched teeth. “I don’t want to hear any more about fairies or selkies or leprechauns, do you understand? Molly is sick, that’s all there is to it, and she’s going to get better and have a healthy baby.”

Zoe said, “But Deirdre told me that the fairies can make mothers sick….”

“Enough!” screamed Lucy, jumping to her feet. “I don’t want to hear any more of this!” She picked up her plate and took it over to the counter, where she began filling the dishwasher.

“Zoe,” said Bill, his voice calm, “we talked about this before. There is no such thing as fairies. People get sick for lots of reasons, but fairies have nothing to do with it. They’re imaginary. Make-believe. And your mother and I don’t want to hear another word about them.”