Gobble, Gobble Murder Page 7

  “ ‘No problem, Mom,’ ” said Lucy, imitating her son’s laidback attitude. “ ‘We’ll just crash in the family room.’ This, mind you, comes after weeks of delicate negotiations to convince Elizabeth to move out of his room and back in with her sisters. I mean, I could’ve used Madeleine Albright!”

  Phyllis laughed, and even Ted gave a weak chuckle.

  “How are you going to feed them all?” asked Phyllis.

  “Don’t ask me. That was my next stop. After dropping this story off, I was going to get some groceries—with my Visa card.” She looked at Ted. “What am I going to do about the story?”

  He shrugged. “Go the official route. We don’t have time for anything else. Get the police to give you the arrest report. Court’s still in session, so you can’t get the DA—I’ll call the clerk’s office and see if Mabel remembers those chocolates I gave her for her birthday.”

  * * *

  While Lucy waited for the computer to boot up, she tried to get control of her emotions. It was tempting to blame the whole mess on Toby. After all, if he’d come home when he was supposed to, she wouldn’t have been worried about him and wouldn’t have hurried out of the meeting and wouldn’t have missed the fight. Now, thanks to his inconsiderate behavior, she’d missed the biggest story that had come her way in a long time.

  No, she thought. Shifting blame was the sort of thing kids like Toby did. She had every reason to be angry and disappointed with Toby, but she’d chosen to leave the meeting and she would have to live with her decision. Maybe she could still save the story. She reached for the phone and dialed Ellie Martin’s number.

  “Ellie,” she began, “this is Lucy Stone. I guess I missed all the excitement last night. Can you tell me what happened?”

  Ellie was cautious. “Is this for the paper?”

  Lucy sighed. “You can talk off the record. I won’t quote you. I’m just trying to find out what happened after I left. I heard that Curt took a swing at O’Hara. Did you see it?”

  “I wish I hadn’t,” said Ellie. “I mean, if he has to lose his temper, why does he have to do it in front of a roomful of witnesses? I think he really hurt O’Hara—they called the ambulance. Curt’s in big trouble.”

  “Do you know why he was so mad?” asked Lucy, making a note to check with the hospital on O’Hara’s condition.

  “He felt O’Hara had tricked the tribe. They’d been promised a museum and the casino was supposed to have a traditional design.” She paused. “I think Curt really thought the casino was a way to recapture the Metinnicut legacy.”

  “Does he have a lawyer?”

  “I don’t know.” Ellie sighed. “This morning I was all set to go down to the courthouse to bail him out. Then I thought, if he’s so good at getting himself in these messes, maybe it’s time he figured how to get himself out.”

  Lucy understood completely.

  * * *

  An hour later, Lucy had finished the story. Thanks to Mabel, Ted had learned that Nolan had remained in police custody overnight and had been arraigned on assault-and-battery charges. He’d been assigned a court-appointed lawyer and released on his own recognizance. The hospital hadn’t been willing to release any information about O’Hara but Phyllis checked with her sister, who was a nurse in the emergency room, and learned he had been treated and released.

  Lucy didn’t linger in the office after finishing the story. She told Ted to call her at home if he had any questions and headed straight for the Quick Stop. There she picked up extra gallons of milk and orange juice, a dozen eggs, and a pound of bacon so she could give Toby and his friends a decent breakfast. Well, brunch, since they were probably still asleep after their late night.

  As she expected, the house was quiet when she got home. Lucy peeked in the family room and saw the kids were dead to the world in a tangle of couch cushions, sleeping bags, and blankets. She closed the door and stood staring at it, wondering what to do.

  It was almost one. Surely they didn’t want to sleep the entire day away.

  In the kitchen, Lucy brewed a pot of coffee and whipped up some blueberry muffins. While they were baking, she got some bacon started in her big cast-iron skillet.

  “ ’Morning, Mom.”

  She smiled at hearing Toby’s voice and turned to greet him. Her jaw dropped. He was standing there in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts.

  “Toby! Put some clothes on!”

  “What’s the hig deal?” he asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee and sitting down at the table.

  Lucy stared at him. Who was this person with the shaggy hair and wispy little beard and mustache?

  “You can’t sit there like that. I won’t have it. Go and put some clothes on.”

  “Okay, okay,” muttered Toby, heading upstairs.

  Lucy poked the bacon with a spatula and wished she didn’t feel quite so miserable. She’d looked forward to Toby’s homecoming for such a long time and now nothing seemed to be going right.

  Hearing the rattle of hot water pipes that announced the shower was being used, she opened the door to the stairs.

  “Don’t use all the hot water,” she yelled. “The others might want showers, too.”

  She was turning back to the stove when Toby’s roommate, Matt, appeared. He, she was relieved to see, was wearing jeans and a shirt. The same ones he’d been wearing last night. Lucy suspected he’d slept in them.

  “Toby’s taking a shower,” she told him. “There’s coffee.”

  “Coffee,” he repeated, making it sound like some sort of rare and exotic drink. “That’s great.”

  She poured a mug for him and set it on the table with the cream and sugar.

  Matt sat down and stared at his coffee.

  “So how was your trip? Was there a lot of traffic?”

  “No,” said Matt, obviously a man of few words.

  Lucy turned over a piece of bacon. “We expected you much earlier.”

  Matt noisily slurped his coffee.

  “Was there a reason why you were so late?” persisted Lucy.

  “Late?”

  Lucy gave up. “Would you like some bacon and eggs?”

  That got a more positive response.

  “Sure.”

  * * *

  Toby and Matt were just finishing their meal when the two girls appeared in the kitchen.

  “Mom, this is Amy and Jessica,” said Toby, tilting his head in their direction.

  Lucy looked from one to the other.

  “I’m Amy,” said the plump, dark-haired one. “That’s Jessica.”

  Jessica had light brown hair and was tall and extremely thin.

  “Would you like some breakfast?’”

  “Maybe just some juice,” said Amy.

  “How about a blueberry muffin?” offered Lucy.

  “No, thanks. I’m a vegan. I don’t eat animal products.”

  “You can’t eat a muffin?” Lucy was incredulous.

  “Made with eggs, right? Listen, I don’t mean to be any trouble. A glass of juice is all I want, really.”

  “And what about you?” Lucy turned to Jessica, who was watching with a horrified expression as Toby mopped his plate with a piece of muffin, lifted it dripping with egg yolk, and popped it in his mouth.

  “Just some water,” she said.

  “Okay,” said Lucy brightly. “That’s easy.”

  What wasn’t going to be easy, she thought, was coming up with something for supper that the entire group would eat. She’d been planning to serve beef stew, but that obviously would not do.

  “So what are your plans for the day?” asked Lucy, joining the group at the table to eat a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich.

  “I don’t know,” answered Matt. “Say, Toby. What’s doing in this burg?”

  “Not much.”

  “There’s the pep rally,” said Lucy. “Or you could help out at the pie sale.”

  “Pie sale?” Amy was intrigued.

  “They have it every year. To raise mon
ey for the Boot and Mitten Fund.”

  “Don’t ask,” said Toby. “It’s so poor kids can have winter clothing.”

  “You don’t want to miss the pep rally, Toby,” said Lucy. “All your friends from high school will be there. Besides, don’t you want to support the team? The Thanksgiving game is the biggest game of the year.”

  Toby rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah. The Tinker’s Cove Warriors against the Gilead Giants. I wouldn’t want to miss that.”

  “Toby, I’m surprised,” said Lucy. “You always used to enjoy it.”

  No sooner had she spoken than she realized she’d said the wrong thing. Toby didn’t want to be reminded of his youthful enthusiasms in front of his college friends.

  “Well, it’s up to you,” she said, picking up her plate and carrying it to the sink, “but this is the country. There isn’t a heck of a lot to do.”

  “How about a movie?” asked Amy.

  “Only on the weekends,” admitted Toby.

  “I bet there’s an arcade,” said Matt.

  Toby shook his head.

  “A mall?” asked Jessica in a hopeful voice.

  “Nope.”

  “Well,” said Amy, “we might as well go to the pep rally.”

  “Rah, rah,” said Jessica in a slow drawl.

  Lucy had been listening to them as she loaded the dishwasher. She had to hustle, she realized. It was past two and she was late for the pie sale. She was just turning the machine on when the phone rang.

  “For you, Mom. It’s Dad.”

  “Sweetheart,” he began.

  Lucy new he wanted something. “What is it? I’m running late.”

  “This’ll only take a minute. You know my clients, the Barths?”

  “Um-hmm,” said Lucy. “The old Tupper place?”

  “Right. Well, they’re having a little trouble with their car. It’s a Range Rover and the garage says they can’t get the part before Friday at the soonest.”

  “Bill, we have a full house,” she protested. “We can’t put them up.”

  “No, I know that. Matter of fact, they’re staying at the Queen Vic,” he said, referring to a very posh bed-and-breakfast on Main Street. “I was wondering if we could invite them for Thanksgiving dinner. It seems a shame for them to have Thanksgiving in a restaurant, especially since any decent place has been booked for weeks.”

  “I guess two more won’t matter,” said Lucy, glancing anxiously at the clock.

  “Great! Thanks, honey.”

  * * *

  By the time Lucy got to the pie sale, which was held in the fellowship hall of the community church, it was in full swing. Several long tables at the front of the room were covered with an impressive array of homemade pies, which customers could buy whole or by the slice. More tables were set up in the rest of the room, where people could eat their pie along with a cup of coffee or tea. As always, business was brisk and the room was crowded and noisy. Lucy finally found Pam in the kitchen, filling a coffeepot from a huge urn.

  “Looks like you got a crowd,” said Lucy by way of greeting. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “No problem,” said Pam, giving her a big smile. “Did you bring your pies?”

  “Sure did,” affirmed Lucy, pleased to have gotten something right. “Six pumpkin.”

  “Bless you. I’ve been worried about running short. Patty Wilson came down with the flu and you know she always makes a dozen.”

  “What can l do to help?” asked Lucy.

  “Here, take this coffee around and see if people want refills,” said Pam.

  “Aye, aye, Captain. Will you save an apple for me and a mince one, too, if you have it?”

  “Sure thing.”

  As she made her way among the tables, Lucy saw many people she recognized. Oswald Crowley, the chief of police, gave her a wave and she went over to his table. As she went, she heard snippets of conversation. Everybody seemed to be talking about the same thing: the casino.

  “Here you go,” she said as Oswald held out his cup to be filled. “Who else wants some more coffee?”

  She looked at the faces gathered at the table and fought the impulse to flee. It seemed the entire board of selectmen, minus Sandy, was sitting there.

  “If it isn’t our own little newshound,” said Joe Marzetti.

  “I just write it the way I see it,” said Lucy, keeping her voice light. “More coffee?”

  “I’ll have some,” said Bud Collier, looking at her somewhat curiously. It suddenly dawned on Lucy that he didn’t know who she was; he hadn’t connected her face with her byline, which was the way she wanted to keep it.

  “I’ve got no complaints about Lucy,” said Howard, surprising her so much that she almost dropped his cup. “She’s a good reporter. And I’m sure we can count on her to cover all sides of this casino issue fairly.” He put great emphasis on the word fairly.

  “Absolutely,” said Lucy, passing his cup back to him. She gave Bud a big smile, just in case he was following the conversation. “And anything I hear today is off the record.”

  “So, Howard,” she heard Fred Smithers ask as she filled his cup, “is it true that town zoning regulations don’t apply to the Indians?”

  “That’s nonsense,” said Howard, setting his fork down. “We have very strong zoning regulations in this town. I don’t think the Metinnicuts are going to find they can just ignore our bylaws.”

  “That’s right,” said Jonathan Franke, who was sitting at the same table. “The zoning bylaws were revised just last year and passed with a large majority at a town meeting. It was a long, hard battle but I think we finally have an effective tool for controlling development.”

  “Any court is going to have to take that vote into account,” agreed Bob Goodman, dropping a lump of sugar into his coffee and stirring it with a spoon. “I’ve noticed in quite a few recent decisions that the courts have given community character quite a bit of weight.”

  Someone snorted at the far end of the table. Lucy was surprised to see Curt Nolan digging into a big wedge of blueberry pie.

  “It’s amazing,” he said, hoisting his fork and popping a piece in his mouth. “You see what you want to see.”

  “Out of jail so soon?” asked Jonathan Franke, glaring at him.

  “On my own recognizance,” said Nolan. “It’s a nice place to visit but I wouldn’t want to stay there.”

  “I wouldn’t be so cocky,” said Crowley, giving him a nod. “You might be going back . . . for a while.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” said Nolan, looking at Franke.

  “I’d like nothing better,” replied Franke, shoving away his empty plate.

  “Now, now, don’t get all excited,” said Nolan, looking over the rim of his cup. “I’m just as against that Mulligan proposal as you guys are, but I don’t see how you can stop it with the zoning bylaws. Not when you let Andy Brown put up electric signs and that mechanical talking pumpkin. And a train ride. How come the association didn’t have any problems with Mrs. Lumpkin, the Talking Pumpkin?”

  As Lucy watched, Howard White’s face grew quite red. “I can assure you that Mr. Brown went through all the proper channels,” said White. “He obtained variances for those improvements.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Just hold on,” said Franke. “You saw that model, and there was no sign of any museum. It looks to me like Canaday and Mulligan Construction are taking the tribe for a ride.”

  Lucy held her breath, waiting for Nolan’s reaction.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you,” he said, clenching his fist.

  “If I were you, I’d listen to him,” said White. “What he’s saying makes sense.”

  “We don’t need him to explain things to us,” said Nolan, pointing at Franke and rising to his feet. “We’re not a bunch of dumb Indians who can’t look out for own interests, you know.”

  “Now, now, I didn’t say that—” began White.

  “Well, I’ll say this,” said Frank
e, standing and facing Nolan. “The tribe used to be strong advocates for the environment. In fact, quite a few were APTC members. But now that you all stand to make a lot of money from the casino, well, I guess the environment takes a backseat to the almighty dollar. It’s pretty hypocritical if you ask me.”

  “You have a lot of nerve, talking like that,” said Nolan. “You haven’t exactly been working for the environment for free, have you? What do you make as director? Fifty, sixty thousand? You know what the average Metinnicut income is? It’s under the poverty line. Being environmentalists hasn’t been quite as profitable for us as it has for you.”

  Franke glared at him, facing off. Lucy fully expected them to come to blows. Then, suddenly, Franke turned and stalked off.

  Nolan laughed, then sat down. He looked at Lucy, who was standing speechless, coffeepot in hand.

  “How about some more of that coffee?” he asked, giving her a big grin.

  “Sure thing,” she said, wasting no time in filling his cup.

  * * *

  Lucy stayed until the last cup had been washed and put away, the tables wiped, and the chairs neatly stacked in a corner. Then she bought her pies, said good-bye to Pam, and headed over to the football field to meet the girls. Remembering the trouble she’d had finding a parking spot last year, she put her pies in the car and left it at the church parking lot, walking the few blocks to the high school.

  As she walked down the tree-lined street, where bare limbs reached up to the blank gray sky, she wondered what made Curt Nolan tick. He’d only gotten out of jail that morning and he had been arraigned on assault-and-battery charges, yet only a few hours later, he almost got in a fight with Jonathan Franke. He seemed nice enough, she thought, admitting to herself that she actually found him rather likable. But he always seemed to be involved in some kind of confrontation. In fact, he seemed to make a habit of provoking and angering people. Why did he do it? What satisfaction could he possibly get out of it? It seemed a terrible waste of energy to her, an exhausting way to go through life.

  Stopping at the corner to let a car go by before she crossed the street, she realized how tired she was. No wonder. She’d gotten only a few hours of sleep; then she’d spent the morning baking pies and working on her story. Then there’d been the stress-filled hour or two at the Pennysaver office, the rush home to cook for Toby and his friends, topped off by the pie sale, where she’d spent a couple of hours on her feet running around with the coffeepot.