Tippy Toe Murder (7 page)
“Black is for grown-ups, and even grown-ups
don’t wear it after Memorial Day,” advised Lucy. “Unless they’re tourists from
New York.”
“Mom, you have all these little rules that
nobody’s ever heard of except you.”
“Yeah, Mom. I’m not gonna wear this shirt,”
Toby chimed in. “I’ll look like a geek.”
“You already do,” Elizabeth said cattily.
“That’s enough,” repeated Lucy, losing her
patience. “Now, what’s the matter with that shirt?” she asked, turning to Toby.
“It’s got an alligator. Nobody wears those anymore.”
“No?” Lucy remembered Lydia Volpe, her
friend who taught kindergarten, relating how she used to teach the children to
salute the flag by telling them to put their hands on their alligators.
“No. It’s all wrong. Can’t I wear a T-shirt?”
“No, you can’t. It’s this or your
long-sleeved button-down oxford.”
“I guess I’ll wear this, but everybody will
laugh at me.” “You’ll be surprised. Everybody will be dressed just like you.
Take these off for now and change, and you can go out and play.”
Checking her watch, Lucy hurried downstairs
to set the table and start supper. She had just switched on the oven when she
heard Bill’s truck.
“Hey, Lucy, I was thinking,” he began as he
came through the kitchen door. “We ought to tape the ceremony. Where’s the
video camera?”
“Bill, you’re not serious, are you? We’ve
got so much tape of the kids, and besides, it’ll embarrass Toby.”
“What do you mean? We have hardly any
videos of the kids, thanks to you. You’re too cheap to buy blank cassettes, and
when you do break down and decide to invest two ninety-nine, you push the wrong
button.”
“That was just once,” Lucy said. “I got
confused.”
“And I never got to see Sara in her
starring role as the Easter Bunny,” reproached Bill, wrapping his arms around
her.
“I’m sorry,” said Lucy, slipping out of his
embrace and opening the freezer. “You’ll just have to rely on your memory
tonight. I loaned the camera to Franny.”
“What? Why’d you do that?” demanded Bill.
“It’s complicated. But she promised to give
it back before the dress rehearsal tomorrow.”
“I wish you’d checked with me first,”
grumbled Bill. “After all, it was
my
parents who gave us
that camera. Are those fish sticks?”
“Yeah. Fish sticks, potato puffs, and
coleslaw. Homemade coleslaw.”
“You know I hate fish sticks.”
“It won’t kill you to eat them this once,”
snapped Lucy. Realizing the conversation was in real danger of becoming a
fight, she took a deep breath and explained, “I needed something quick and easy
for dinner. The ceremony’s at six. You better take your shower now if you want
one.”
Bill turned to go, but then he stopped in
the doorway and turned to face her. “You know, Lucy, you’re really pushing it,”
he said. There was just the hint of a threat in his tone, but it made Lucy
uncomfortable and she didn’t answer. She avoided his eyes and busied herself
opening the packages of fish sticks. A moment later she heard him stomping up
the stairs.
Conversation at dinner limped along as Lucy
and Bill avoided speaking to each other by questioning the kids about their day
at school. For once Lucy didn’t have much of an appetite, but she noticed that
Bill managed to eat an awful lot of fish sticks for someone who claimed to hate
them. When the phone rang, she welcomed the reprieve and ran to answer it. “Hi,
Lucy, it’s Franny.”
“Hi, there. What’s up?”
“Lucy, I don’t know how to tell you this,
but Mr. Slack caught me with the video camera, and he confiscated it.”
“What?”
“He took it. He said I couldn’t possibly
afford it unless I’d been stealing from him and therefore the camera must
rightfully be his.”
“Didn’t you tell him it belongs to me?”
exclaimed Lucy, then bit her tongue as Bill looked up.
“I did, but he didn’t believe me. I’m so
sorry. I never thought this would happen. He fired me.”
“Oh, Franny, I’m so sorry. Don’t worry
about the camera. I’ll just drop by the store tomorrow and tell him it’s mine.
I hope he believes me, I have to tape the dress rehearsal.”
“I think that’s the best thing to do. He’ll
probably come to his senses by then. I’m awfully sorry.”
“Never mind.”
No sooner had Lucy hung up than Bill began
questioning her. “What was that all about?” he demanded.
“Kids, you’d better get changed,” she told
them, and waited until they were safely upstairs before explaining.
“This is too much,” he exploded angrily. “You
didn’t even check with me before loaning it to someone we hardly know.”
“Bill, half of that camera’s mine and I
loaned it to one of my friends.”
“You didn’t loan half of it, you loaned the
whole thing, and she’s lost it.” Bill’s voice grew louder and he pounded the
table with his fist. “Tomorrow you’d just better get the whole thing back.”
“I will. Now calm down. This is supposed to
be Toby’s big night,” pleaded Lucy. “I have to get dressed.”
By the time everyone was buckled in place
in the car, the kids had realized their parents were fighting. They were
unnaturally quiet in the back seat; Lucy and Bill didn’t speak in the front
seat.
Lucy clamped her hands tightly together and
wished the butterflies in her stomach would settle down. She couldn’t resist
glancing anxiously at Bill from time to time. He was clearly angry, and he
expressed it by driving too fast, turning too sharply, and tailgating the car
ahead of him. Lucy didn’t say anything, afraid she would only make matters
worse.
No jewelry.
Driving briskly along Route 1, Caro Hutton
felt, well,
exhilarated
was really the only word for it. After the boring daily routine, the rut she’d
fallen into, she was finally having an adventure. It was about time, she thought.
How had she settled so easily for a life in which walking the dog was the high
point of the day?
The problem was that once she retired,
every day was the same. She rose early in the morning, did some stretching
exercises, and walked George. Then she visited with Julia, drove home, and
tidied the house. Once those chores were completed, the day stretched emptily
before her except for the occasional meeting or luncheon.
When she was teaching she used to look
forward to having unlimited time to visit with friends and pursue her
interests, but now that she actually did have the time, she found herself
making excuses. She couldn’t call a friend right now, she would reason;
everyone was probably busy and would resent an interruption. Projects she had
planned now seemed too ambitious. Building a gazebo, for example, seemed such a
big job. What if she fell off the ladder? Wouldn’t she feel like a fool then!
So she would read the newspaper, and then
probably she would pick up a book. When she tired of reading, she would turn on
the TV. She refused to watch soap operas, but some of the talk shows were
really quite interesting. People who communicated with the spirit world, people
who had sex-change operations, women who had other people’s babies—this was a
strange new world indeed. Caro found she couldn’t resist the tearful
confessions and scandalous revelations that filled the afternoon airwaves.
Perhaps one day she would be on one of
those shows, she thought, glancing at her small companion. I was a kidnapper,
she would tell the audience. I chose to disappear and start a whole new life, a
life I never thought I could have, she would say to Oprah, or Phil, or even
Geraldo. Their eyebrows would rise in astonishment as she outlined the plans
she had made and the precautions she had taken.
It was simple, she would tell them. I first
got the idea when I read about a woman who went into a shopping mall and never
came out. She just disappeared, leaving her husband waiting in the parked car.
It’s easy for a woman of a certain age to disappear, she would explain, because
no one is really interested in finding her.
Of course, her young companion was a
different case. Someone was very interested in finding her, but if everything
went according to plan, he wouldn’t. Glancing at the little girl seated beside
her, with her blond bangs and freckled nose, and skinny, knobby knees, Caro
felt a stab of emotion so sharp that it was almost physically painful. Even
though it had been a very long time since she’d felt a similar sensation, she
recognized it as love. Oh my, she thought.
“Are we almost there?” asked the little
girl, stirring restlessly.
“Almost,” she answered, flipping the turn
signal and heading off the highway. “Now, what’s your name?”
“Lisa,” recited the child obediently.
“Good. And who am I?”
“You’re my grandmother.”
“And why aren’t you with your parents?”
“My parents are taking a vacation in
Europe, so I’m spending the summer with you in Maine.”
“Perfect. Be sure to say it exactly like
that. Any mistakes will mean big trouble.”
The little girl nodded soberly. Then she
shivered. She was dressed only in shorts and a thin shirt.
Caro pulled the car over to the side of the
road and braked. She reached for the stadium blanket she kept in the back seat
and arranged it over the little girl.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“I’m seven.”
“Somehow you seem older,” she said. “Is
that better? It’s not much farther, I promise.”
She pulled back onto the road and followed
the familiar route, surprised that even though she hadn’t been in this part of
the state for many years, very little had changed. She felt reassured. The plan
was good. She had gone over it time and time again. It would work, it had to
work.
She brushed aside thoughts of George—the
dear, stupid, doggy beast. She knew her absence would shatter him, temporarily,
until he forgot her. But the neighbors were all kind, and she didn’t doubt for
a minute that someone would adopt him. Besides, who was more important—an
animal or a person? Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel and she glanced
at Lisa. She smiled. The little girl was fast asleep.
Hair in bun with
hair net.
At ten to nine, Kitty Slack was already
tired. She’d been up since five and was beginning to run out of energy, so she
sat herself down for a minute on the hall stairs. She perched Morrill’s straw
hat on her knees and waited.
As soon as she heard the latch on the
downstairs bathroom door click, she jumped to her feet. Morrill emerged, took
his hat and set it on his head, gave her a formal peck on the cheek, and
marched stiffly out the door. Watching from behind the velvet drapes in the
front parlor as he proceeded down the walk, Kitty wondered what life would be
like without him. It wasn’t the first time she’d entertained such thoughts.
From her vantage point at the bay window,
she watched Morrill shrink smaller and smaller as he proceeded down the street.
Soon she couldn’t see him at all. Then her attention was drawn to a silver
Subaru, which was being parked on Main Street, right in front of the old granite
mounting block. She saw Lucy Stone get out, and rubbed her own aching back
sympathetically when Lucy bent over awkwardly to release a small child from the
back seat.
Lucy stood for a moment on the sidewalk and
regarded the house. Then, her decision made, she took the child by the hand and
began walking up the drive to the back door. Kitty met her there.
“Lucy Stone, what a nice surprise!”
exclaimed Kitty as she opened the door. “And who’s this?”
“This is Sara,” said Lucy. “Sara’s four.”
“Well, do come in and visit,” urged Kitty. “I
hope you don’t mind sitting in the kitchen. It’s really the coziest room in the
house.”
From what Lucy had seen through the heavily
draped windows as she walked up the drive, she didn’t doubt it. “The kitchen is
the heart of the home,” she said, taking a seat on a battered old wicker sofa.
The sofa was arranged, along with a rocking
chair, in a sunny comer of the kitchen. Geraniums lined the windowsill, a
basket of knitting sat next to the rocker, and a pile of well-thumbed magazines
and travel brochures rested on a lamp table.
“Are you going on a trip?” asked Lucy.
“No, just dreaming,” said Kitty as she
lifted an aluminum percolator off the stove. “Would you like some coffee? I
usually have a cup around now.”
“No, thanks,” said Lucy, eyeing the inky
brew. Sara had cuddled up beside her and was looking about curiously.
“There’s a basket of toys under the settee,”
said Kitty. “Why don’t you pull it out and see what’s there.” She nodded
approvingly when Sara jumped down, seated herself on the braided rug, and began
investigating the basket. “How many children do you have?” she asked Lucy.