Bake Sale Murder Read online

  “She’s very protective,” said Lucy.

  “Whatever,” said Renee, with a huge sigh. “Anyway, Preston isn’t on the team but his little brother, Tommy, is on the JV team. And Preston says Tommy tells him there’s all kinds of weird stuff going on, especially at that summer training camp they have.” She leaned closer to Lucy. “He makes them play Twister—naked!” She giggled. “I’m going to get the game and take it to France next summer. The cousines will adore it. But there’s other stuff, mean stuff. He says Tommy got pretty upset about it.”

  A little idea popped up in Lucy’s brain. “Did you tell anybody about this?” she asked.

  Renee shrugged. “Just my mom.” She waggled a finger at Lucy. “And that’s another thing that’s different in France. Girls are a lot closer to their mothers there, they tell them everything, and their mothers don’t give them a lot of grief like Sassie’s mom. She wants to keep Sassie a baby forever. Not like my Tante Marie. She accepts that her daughters are growing up and gives them helpful advice.” She paused. “And birth control pills.”

  Just then the door flew open and Frankie marched in. “Can you believe it? After all that, the guy was a no-show!” She stamped her foot. “I hate it when that happens.”

  “Well, Mom, you were late. Maybe you missed him.”

  Lucy wondered who was the mother and who was the child in the LaChance household. Frankie soon set her straight.

  “That’s enough from you, Miss Smarty-pants,” she snapped. Then her tone softened. “Were you able to help Mrs. Stone?”

  “She was terrific,” said Lucy. “You should be very proud of her.”

  “Oh, I am,” said Frankie, slipping an arm around her daughter’s waist and kissing her on each cheek.

  Amazingly, Renee didn’t push her away but returned the gesture. Lucy was so impressed by the open and affectionate atmosphere between mother and daughter that she decided to throw caution to the wind.

  “Listen,” she said, making eye contact with Frankie, “you don’t have to tell me, and everything here stays here like it’s Las Vegas, but I can’t help wondering if you’re the person who’s been sending anonymous letters to the Pennysaver?”

  “Oui, c’est moi.” Frankie grimaced and added a little shrug.

  “Mom!”

  “The hazing seemed so terrible and I wanted to do something to stop it.” She shook her head. “I thought people would be outraged, but so far, nothing. The paper never printed my letters.”

  “We never print anonymous letters. If you’d signed them, we could have witheld your name.”

  “Oh.” Frankie nodded, as if making a note for next time. “But then there was the meeting and I was hopeful but nobody would admit anything. I wanted to jump to my feet and yell at them but I knew it wouldn’t do any good, so I left.”

  “My husband says it’s because they’re having a winning season.”

  “I guess that’s why I’m divorced,” said Frankie. “I never could stand that macho male attitude.”

  Lucy nodded agreement, but as she left the LaChance household she couldn’t help thinking a macho male might be exactly what was needed right now. A tough guy who would get the coach’s attention.

  Chapter 20

  When Lucy left Renee and Frankie, she was planning to arrange a meeting with Coach Buck, the Superintendent of Schools, and Preston. She thought Preston, as Tommy’s guardian, would have credibility. But the more she thought about it, the less she thought it was a good idea. Preston also had a reputation as a troublemaker with a bad attitude. He wasn’t exactly an honor student. Add that to the family’s other troubles and she could just imagine Superintendent Sabin’s reaction. Such a meeting would just mean more problems for Tommy and Preston, she decided, halfway down Prudence Path. Instead of continuing to the end of the cul-de-sac she turned around, intending to go home. She changed her mind when she saw Coach Buck pull into his driveway. She quickened her pace and met him at his mailbox.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked.

  “Sure,” he said, pulling a pile of catalogs and bills out of the box and flipping through it. “Is this in your capacity as neighbor or reporter or concerned parent?”

  Lucy considered. As much as she wanted the hazing story for the Pennysaver she wanted Sara’s happiness even more. “As a parent,” she said. “This is off the record.”

  “Good. Do you want to come in?” he asked, tucking his mail into his briefcase.

  Lucy hesitated, despite the darkening clouds overhead which threatened rain. She was well aware that the neighbors kept a close eye on each others’ comings and goings. The presence of Bonnie’s Caravan in the driveway, indicating she was home, reassured her. “Okay,” she said.

  She followed Coach Buck down the short drive to the kitchen door, which he politely held for her. She stepped into the kitchen, which was identical to Frankie’s without the charming French accents. Bonnie’s kitchen was purely utilitarian, with a Formica dining set and cheap discount-store cubbies for the twins’ schoolbags. It had a sterile, unwelcoming atmosphere, more like a laboratory than a family kitchen. Bonnie herself was standing at the sink, wearing rubber gloves and scrubbing away at the stainless steel rim with a toothbrush.

  “Oh,” she said, looking up with a surprised expression. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

  “I’m not company,” said Lucy.

  “Lucy has some concerns about her daughter,” said Buck. “We’ll go in my office.”

  Bonnie shrugged and started rinsing out the sink. Lucy followed Buck through the all-beige living room, which looked like a neatly arranged furniture store display, and down the hall to the tiny third bedroom which he had fitted out as a home office. This room, in contrast to the rest of the house, seemed to reflect the Coach’s personality. Plaid curtains added a touch of color, there was an un-tidy pile of papers on the faux fruitwood assemble-it-yourself computer desk and hutch, and a matching bookcase filled with trophies and photos. Buck sat in his black vinyl desk chair and swiveled to face her, indicating she should sit in a captain’s chair with the Boston University seal on the back. She sat down, realizing too late that she didn’t know where to begin.

  “What’s the problem?” he asked. Despite the touch of gray at his temples and the crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes, Coach Buck’s pinkish face had an innocent, boyish look, as if his mother had just finished scrubbing behind his ears.

  “I think you know what the problem is,” said Lucy, suddenly angry. “It’s the hazing. I know what happened on the bus to the Lake Wingate game. The players are harassing the cheerleaders, the varsity players are hazing the JV boys, and you not only tolerate it, you encourage it.”

  “Whoa,” he said, holding up a hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not aware of any incident on the bus.” He shrugged. “I must have been studying the play book.”

  “Napping is more like it from what I hear,” snapped Lucy. “Or pretending to, while the players tease the girls. Don’t tell me you weren’t leering with all the rest when Renee flashed her breasts…”

  “Like I said, I was studying the play book.” He gave her a rather weak smile. “From what I hear, she’s a bit loose, if you know what I mean.”

  “Oh, so it’s her fault that she and the other cheerleaders are constantly harassed by the players. It began with talk, then it progressed to groping and now it’s flashing. And I’m supposed to believe you’re unaware of all this, when there have been meetings and discussions about hazing. It’s intolerable and it has to stop.”

  “Teenagers are very sneaky, I’m sure you know that. They manage to defy our best efforts…”

  “Don’t give me that. You’re not making any effort at all to stop it. There are plenty of schools that control this sort of thing. It doesn’t have to happen. But for some reason you’re not only tolerating it, you’re encouraging it.” She narrowed her eyes. “Some of the players are starting to talk.”

  “Are you t
hreatening me?” he asked, just as Bonnie appeared in the doorway, still wearing the rubber gloves and holding a tray with two mugs and a Tupperware sugar and cream set.

  “Coffee?” she asked, with the bright intonation of a flight attendant. “I thought you might like some.”

  “Isn’t that thoughtful? My wife is a treasure,” said Coach Buck.

  His saccharine tone was just about making Lucy sick to her stomach. In fact, there was something about this whole meeting that was making her uncomfortable. She was beginning to feel trapped, like Hansel and Gretel in the witch’s house. Maybe it was the small room, maybe it was the sense of falseness that was beginning to unsettle her.

  “None for me, thanks. I’m probably overreacting,” she said, getting to her feet. “Making a mountain out of a molehill.”

  Coach Buck shook his head and rolled his chair closer to her, blocking the doorway. “Not at all. You’re concerned about your daughter and it’s very understandable.”

  “Not just my daughter,” said Lucy, unable to stop the flow of words. “All the cheerleaders and the players, too. They’re at a very vulnerable age and this sort of thing is very damaging. It’s important they develop healthy self-images, that they learn to treat others with respect.” Feeling trapped, her eyes darted all around the room, looking for a way out. Spotting a photo of a bearded young man in a BU sweatshirt, she seized on it. “Is this you?” she asked, leaning over for a better look. As she’d hoped, Buck got out of his chair and joined her by the bookcase.

  “It’s no secret I went to BU,” he said.

  “My dad did, too,” lied Lucy. “On the GI Bill. Class of forty-nine. What year were you?”

  “Seventy-five.”

  “Turbulent times on college campuses,” she said. “You look as if you might’ve been a bit rebellious yourself.”

  “The beard was as far as it went,” he said quickly. “And it didn’t last long. Too itchy. I shaved it off right after this picture was taken.”

  Lucy was thinking that the young man in the photo looked a lot like the fugitive getaway car driver from the bank robbery in which Mimi’s father was killed, but dismissed the thought. Men with beards tended to look alike.

  “I stayed clear of all that political stuff,” continued the coach. “I focused on sports. Never read the paper.”

  “Right.” Lucy smiled. “Let’s work on this together,” she said, trying another tack. “Maybe we can get the parents together with you and the athletic director and try to figure out a solution. Not a big public meeting but just a quiet little get-together, completely off the record. I’m sure we can come up with something if we all put our heads together.”

  “That’s an excellent idea,” he said, extending his hand.

  Lucy took it, finding it surprisingly moist and limp. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you,” she said, stepping into the hall.

  The narrow space felt claustrophobic, with the coach following her, and she found herself hurrying for the open space of the great room. Bonnie wasn’t there and Lucy assumed she was with the twins. She could hear their voices coming from another part of the house. They’d probably converted the basement into a playroom, she decided, stopping at the kitchen door.

  “Thanks for everything,” she said.

  “No problem,” said Buck, opening the door for her. “Coaching isn’t a nine-to-five job.”

  “I appreciate that,” she said, stepping outside. “I feel much better now that we have a plan.”

  “Me, too,” he said, closing the screen door behind her.

  Outside, in the fresh air, Lucy did feel better, and she was optimistic that she could round up a group of parents who would be interested in working on a committee to develop a more positive sports program. Renee would help, and she was pretty sure Willie would, too. She would call the JV players’ moms, too. She was sure some of them would be willing to help. Raindrops began to plop down, dotting the ground with spots of damp and Lucy hurried along the cul-de-sac to the little path through the lilacs, hoping to get home before the rain started in earnest. Like everything else in the garden, the lilacs were definitely looking droopy and needed the rain. They were also a bit hoary with mildew and she reminded herself to put some lime on their roots as she raised her arm to push aside a leafy bough.

  That’s when she saw Bonnie, still wearing those yellow rubber gloves, holding her carving knife.

  Chapter 21

  “I tried to warn you,” hissed Bonnie, her eyes glittering. Her jaw was clenched, revealing the cords in her neck, and she was gripping the knife handle so tightly that the yellow vinyl of the glove was stretched taut across her knuckles. “But you had to keep sticking your nose in.”

  Lucy felt suddenly cold as the rain pattered down, plastering her hair to her head and soaking her shirt. She began to shiver and wrapped her arms protectively across her chest. She couldn’t believe it. Bonnie, the perfect housekeeper and mother of those adorable twins, was the last person she would suspect of murder.

  Bonnie stepped closer, waving the knife dangerously. “Who do you think you are, threatening my husband?” she hissed.

  “I didn’t threaten him,” said Lucy, taking a step backwards, feeling the ground growing slick beneath her feet and struggling to keep her voice calm and reasonable. She was beginning to regret letting the lilacs grow. If she’d cut them like Mimi had wanted, she wouldn’t be in this predicament, hidden from view and at the mercy of a mad-woman. She was convinced Bonnie was out of her mind. Only an insane woman would run around attacking neighbors with a kitchen knife.

  “Oh, yes you did.” Bonnie stepped closer to Lucy, raising the knife. Her face was a mask of certainty. She was right and Lucy was wrong. “I heard you.”

  “Bonnie, we were talking about the football team,” said Lucy, who was rapidly putting two and two together.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve been out to get my husband from the day we moved in. Snooping around, just like that Mimi.”

  Lucy had a sudden image of Mimi, with a knife very like the one Bonnie was holding sticking out of her back. She felt herself swaying, almost blacking out and forced herself to focus. Her life depended on it.

  “Bonnie, I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now put the knife down and go home and we can forget all about this,” she said. She was the voice of reason, even though she was shaking with terror; her heart was pounding so hard she thought it must be visible through her T-shirt and her mouth was so dry she could barely get the words out. “Think of your girls, Belle and Belinda. They need their mother.”

  “That’s who I am thinking of,” snapped Bonnie. “They need a mother and a father.”

  “Don’t you think you should get back to them? It’s almost lunchtime,” said Lucy.

  “First I have to take care of you.” Bonnie raised the knife and Lucy ducked just as it came slashing past her shoulder, tearing the sleeve and missing her skin by millimeters.

  Lucy jumped back and crouched, staring at Bonnie, incredulous. She couldn’t believe this was happening. The woman was really attacking her with a carving knife. The blade was at least ten inches long. Lucy’s first instinct was to run, but she didn’t dare turn her back on Bonnie. So she began inching backwards along the path, feeling her way among the slippery rocks and roots while maintaining a defensive crouch, holding her hands in front of her face. If only she could get out of the bushes and into the open, she’d have a chance. She didn’t think Bonnie would actually stab her to death in broad daylight, in front of the neighbors. That’s when her foot slid out from under her and she tumbled onto her back. Bonnie was over her in a flash, pressing her knee against Lucy’s middle. Lucy could see glints of sun reflecting off the blade as she brought it down.

  Flat on her back, with Bonnie pressing her against the ground, Lucy’s only option was to catch her wrist and try to flip her over. Bonnie had the advantage, being on top, but Lucy managed to use her leg for leverage. Bonnie rol
led backwards, and Lucy rolled on top of her, still holding onto the arm with the knife. On her back, Bonnie was able to deliver a good enough kick to Lucy’s diaphragm that she lost her grip. Gasping for air, Lucy tried to roll over enough to get her hands beneath her so she could push herself upright. Realizing that she had left her shoulder vulnerable, Lucy tried to scramble to her feet but lost her footing and fell face downwards, slamming her cheekbone into a rock. The pain felt like a knife driving into her face; she struggled to keep from passing out and knew she had to get back on her feet but her body just wouldn’t cooperate. She felt as if she was drowning in freezing water—she knew how to swim but she couldn’t make her arms and legs do what she needed them to do. She couldn’t save herself, Bonnie was going to kill her. Tears sprang to her eyes.

  “Bonnie, enough. Put the knife down.”

  It was Coach Buck.

  “No. She knows. I have to kill her.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s over. I called the police. I’m going to turn myself in.”

  “You can’t do that!”

  “I can’t not do it,” he said. “I can’t live like this anymore.” He held out his hand. “Now, give me the knife.”

  Bonnie’s eyes darted from Lucy to her husband and back again. “It’s just you and me. Nobody knows. We can kill her and everything will be all right again.”

  “Bonnie, it’s not all right. Because of me three people are dead. That’s too many. It’s over. I’ve been living a lie and I can’t do it anymore.”

  From the distance Lucy heard a siren approaching, then several more. The cavalry was coming. She passed out.

  Chapter 22

  HOUSEWIFE CHARGED IN DOUBLE SLAYING

  By Edward J. Stillings, Staff Writer

  GILEAD—Prudence Path housewife Bonnie Burkhart’s days were filled with carpooling, homemaking, and baking until yesterday when the mother of six-year-old twin daughters was arraigned in Gilead District Court on two counts of first-degree murder. Prosecutors charge that Burkhart, 35, was responsible for the stabbing death of Mary Catherine (Mimi) Stanton, 39, on September 3 and the drowning death of Thomas Preston O’Toole, 41, on September 12. She was also charged with the attempted murder on September 26 of Lucy Stone, a reporter for this newspaper.