Bake Sale Murder Read online

  “Even the JV team,” announced Sara.

  “Wow.” Lucy was amazed. Wins were few and far between for the Warriors and she couldn’t remember when the JV team had won a game. Their losing record had assumed legendary proportions.

  “You had a good time?” asked Lucy, starting the car.

  “It was awesome, Mom. Awesome.”

  Sara’s enthusiasm was almost enough to make Lucy forget the terrible scene she’d witnessed at the Stanton house—until she spied Tommy Stanton, standing quite alone on the sidewalk, obviously looking for his ride. A ride she doubted would be coming.

  “Who picks up Tommy?” she asked the girls.

  “His mom. Sometimes his dad.”

  Lucy knew that Mimi wouldn’t be coming, for sure, and she suspected that Fred was otherwise occupied. She’d have to give the kid a lift, it was only decent. She drove over and stopped in front of him, leaning out the window. “We’re headed your way—want a ride?”

  Tommy looked around at the rapidly emptying parking lot. “Sure.” He ducked into the front seat. “Thanks.”

  “I hear your team had a big win,” said Lucy. In the backseat the girls giggled.

  “Yeah.” Tommy nodded proudly. “I made a forty-yard run.”

  “All that running’s paying off,” said Lucy, her heart aching for him.

  “Yeah.” He couldn’t stop smiling. “Did you see Mikey Meehan’s touchdown?” he asked, turning around to face the girls.

  “Sorry. We didn’t watch the JV game,” said Sassie. “You guys never win.”

  “We did today,” he said, practically singing.

  “Maybe we’ll watch next time,” said Sara, erupting into giggles.

  Lucy was tempted to delay the return to Prudence Path. “You guys want to stop for some ice cream or something?” she asked.

  “Thanks, but I’ve got to get changed and get to my job,” said Tommy. “I’m a bagger at Marzetti’s.”

  “Good for you,” said Lucy, finding it hard to swallow because of the lump in her throat. In truth, a giant lump seemed to be forming around her heart and it was pressing against her stomach, growing heavier with every mile that brought them closer to Red Top Hill. As they began the climb she came to a decision—she couldn’t take Tommy home without telling him what had happened.

  “Girls, I’m going to drop you at our house. You can walk home from there, Sassie.”

  Something in her tone brooked no protest and the girls got out meekly when she stopped at the end of the driveway. She turned to Tommy.

  “There’s something I have to tell you,” she said. “I have some bad news. Very bad news.”

  Tommy looked puzzled. What did this woman, practically a stranger, know about him?

  “I went to your house today, to get your mother for the bake sale.”

  He nodded. He knew all about the bake sale.

  “When I got there she was…” Lucy’s voice failed her. “Not well,” she finally said.

  “She said she thought she was coming down with a cold,” he said, looking concerned.

  “It was worse than that.” Lucy put her hand on his. “She was dead.”

  “Dead?” Tommy repeated the word, as if he didn’t know its meaning.

  “I’m afraid so.” Lucy waited for his reaction, not knowing what to expect. Tears? Hysterics? Angry accusations? But nothing came. Tommy sat, hunched over, staring at his knee. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you,” she said, wondering if she’d made a big mistake. Maybe it would have been better for him to hear it from his father. But she didn’t know if his father was home, if anybody was home. She didn’t know what he was going to walk into and she wanted him to be prepared. Maybe the cops were still there, or a gaggle of relatives. “I just thought it would be better if you knew.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, pulling his hand out from under hers. “I better get home.”

  “I’ll drive you,” said Lucy. “It’s just around the corner.”

  He didn’t protest so she made the short trip to Prudence Path, stopping in front of his house at the end of the cul-de-sac. “Uh, thanks for the ride,” he said, climbing out of the car.

  Lucy waved, unable to speak. She was blinking back tears, determined not to break down in front of him. Eyes glistening, she gave him a sad little smile and watched as he began the climb up his driveway. As he approached the porch she couldn’t hold the sobs in any longer and she let herself cry, holding on to the steering wheel with two hands and letting her head fall. She sat there, shaking with sobs, until she was all cried out. Then she lifted her head, wiped her face with the back of her hands, and slid the gear shift into drive. She looked around, checking that the way was clear, and noticed Fred Stanton standing at the kitchen door. She hesitated, wondering if she should go to him, but something in his expression warned her off. He was looking at her, she thought, as if he wanted to kill her.

  Chapter 8

  Sunday morning dawned bright and sunny. The cloudless blue sky, always a rare treat in New England, promised a perfect day on this holiday weekend marking the end of the summer season. On such a day Prudence Path would normally be a hive of activity as faithful residents drove off to church and the unfaithful mowed their lawns, hooked up boat trailers to their SUVs, or revved up the gas grill for a barbecue. But this morning an eerie silence hung heavily over the little cul-de-sac, broken only by the muted voices of churchgoers, careful not to slam their car doors.

  The only exception was Preston’s Harley, which roared to life around ten-thirty as he departed on some errand. At least, that’s what Lucy presumed, giving him the benefit of the doubt. He could hardly be joyriding the morning after his mother’s death, could he? No, he must be fetching groceries and newspapers, or tending to the myriad details that accompanied a death. There were funeral arrangements to be made, food and flowers to be ordered, clothing to be delivered to the funeral home, and then there were the ordinary necessities of life to be gotten because life went on. Prescriptions to be picked up, gas tanks to be filled, trips to the ATM to get cash, on and on it went.

  Apart from Preston’s trip, there was no sign of life at the Stanton house. By mid-afternoon all of the neighbors had taken the short walk to the end of the cul-de-sac to deliver covered dishes and express their condolences, but no one was admitted. The door opened, the dish was passed inside, and the door closed. Fred Stanton remained alone with his sons; there was no gathering of friends and family to share the grief and the memories. Even Mimi’s colleagues from town hall were turned away.

  Labor Day was usually one of Lucy’s favorite holidays. Unlike Memorial Day and the Fourth of July, which brought hordes of summer people and vacationers to Tinker’s Cove, Labor Day was more subdued. Summer people were closing up their houses and heading home early to avoid the traffic, families with kids had already taken their vacations and were replaced by older couples taking advantage of the last warm days of summer, dubbed the “shoulder season” by the Chamber of Commerce. The big rocks bordering Blueberry Pond, the popular freshwater swimming hole, would be empty save for a few late-season sun worshippers. So would the town beach on the ocean, which had been so crowded just last weekend that you couldn’t find a single empty place in the parking lot. Instead of the shrieks of children, the only sound would be the occasional call of a herring gull; there would only be the fresh smell of the sea—and a faint, lingering whiff of fried clams—now that the snack bar had closed because the college-age staffers had all gone back to school.

  But instead of packing up her sunglasses and towel and joining the family for one last lazy afternoon on the beach, Lucy found herself staying in the house, unable to give up her vantage point on the scene of the crime. She didn’t know what she expected to see, but she kept peering out the windows overlooking Prudence Path, checking on the activity there. The fact that there wasn’t much activity at all didn’t discourage her. It was a compulsion, like a scab you had to pick even though you knew it would bleed. When the phone
rang she leaped on it, beating Sara and Zoe.

  “I couldn’t believe it when Ted told me,” said Pam. “Poor Mimi.”

  “You can say that again,” said Lucy. “She was stabbed with a big old kitchen knife. It was horrible.”

  “That’s right. You found the body. That must have been awful.”

  “It was.” Lucy didn’t want to go into it. “I’m trying not to think about it.”

  “Of course.” Pam sounded a little disappointed. “Well, I do have some good news. The bake sale raised over twelve hundred dollars.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. Honest. Isn’t that amazing?”

  “Just from our cookies and stuff?”

  “Well, I suspect a lot of it came from the coffee and cold drinks. Chris is going to do an analysis.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” said Lucy.

  “She was pretty frantic when you didn’t come back and she couldn’t get you on your cell phone. She ended up calling me around ten and I went in to help.”

  “There wasn’t anything I could do. I had to stay and wait for the police. I couldn’t call and tell what had happened because I knew the police wouldn’t want the news spreading all over town before they started investigating.” Lucy paused. “You must’ve been short-handed, though.”

  “We were busy, that’s for sure. In fact, we closed early because we ran out of cold drinks. We still have some leftover baked goods—they’re in my freezer. I was thinking of giving them to the football team, after their next game.”

  “I wouldn’t do anything without checking with Chris,” warned Lucy.

  “Oh, right.” She giggled. “I don’t want to end up like Mimi.”

  “No,” said Lucy. “Chris wouldn’t have killed her before she finished baking those Yummy Pumpkin Kisses.”

  They fell silent. “I’m sorry I said that,” said Lucy.

  “Me, too,” said Pam. “This isn’t something to joke about.”

  “No, it sure isn’t. I don’t know why we’re so cocky. Maybe there’s some knife-wielding serial killer running around. Maybe we’re next.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” said Pam. “I’m going to go lock my doors.”

  Lucy hung up and considered locking her doors, but quickly gave up the idea as impractical. The kitchen door might as well have been a revolving door, considering how often they all came and went. The dog alone was in and out several times a day and she couldn’t use a key, though she could nose the screen door open.

  While Lucy was amusing herself with the idea of stringing a key around the dog’s neck the phone rang and this time it was Chris. Speak of the devil.

  “I just got the word from Pam that the sale made twelve hundred dollars,” crowed Chris. “More than ever before.”

  “I think you can take credit…” began Lucy.

  “Oh, no. It’s really due to everyone’s hard work. Including you, Lucy. It was a team effort and we all played a part. You really came through with those dog biscuits and you deserve a big thank you.”

  “I was glad to do it,” said Lucy. “I hope you understand about yesterday, why I couldn’t let you know what was going on.”

  “Of course,” said Chris. “And how absolutely terrible for you. I feel guilty about sending you.”

  “You couldn’t have known,” said Lucy.

  “No. But I should’ve guessed something was seriously wrong. Mimi was such a stickler for doing everything right.” A note of resentment was creeping into Chris’s voice. “I mean, if she said she was going to do something, she did it.”

  “That’s for sure,” said Lucy, thinking of her lilacs. Had they gotten a reprieve or had Mimi already set the wheels in motion for their execution?

  “If you ask me,” continued Chris, “I think she must’ve pushed somebody too far.”

  Lucy was surprised. “I heard her husband was abusive…”

  “He’s no peach, that’s for sure, but he wasn’t home that much. They seemed to go their separate ways a lot.” She paused, then continued in a whisper. “I used to see him over at Frankie’s place a lot, especially on the nights Mimi worked. He’d park in his own driveway and hotfoot it through my back yard.”

  “Oh.” Lucy was thoughtful. “Maybe Mimi found out and they had a big fight and he lost his temper and stabbed her.”

  “She didn’t mind a fight, that’s for sure. You know she reported me to the town for running a home business?”

  “You have a home business?”

  “Not really. I have a handful of clients from my days as an investment banker, mostly widows who felt they were in good hands with me and didn’t trust anyone else to handle their stocks and bonds. It’s really more of a favor than anything else, I don’t make much money from it, I just felt bad for the old dears. I’d be in big trouble with the bank, though, if they thought I was stealing customers.”

  “How did she find out about it? It isn’t like you’ve got a line of old ladies on your front lawn.”

  “The postman accidentally delivered my outgoing mail to her box,” said Chris. “She saw my business name on the return address and questioned me when she brought the letters over. Like a fool I told her all about it when I should’ve told her to mind her own business. I finally got so ticked at her I told her about Fred and Frankie and you know what she told me? She said he was repairing her closet doors.” Chris snorted. “Like anybody would believe that! I’ve called, we’ve all called about one thing or another not working and he doesn’t do a thing to help. These houses could fall down and I swear he’d walk right by, insisting it wasn’t his responsibility.”

  “What did the zoning board do?” asked Lucy. “About the home business.”

  “I don’t know. The meeting is next week,” said Chris.

  “I hope it goes well,” said Lucy.

  “Me, too,” said Chris.

  Lucy was fidgety on the ride over to Sue’s house; she hadn’t exactly been looking forward to the annual Labor Day cookout that had been a shared tradition for the two families ever since she and Sue were young mothers. In those days, it was a potluck affair, and Lucy would bring a big bowl of potato salad along with hot dogs and hamburgers to be cooked on the grill. But now that Sue and her husband Sid were empty-nesters—their only child Sidra was a producer on the “Norah! Show”—Sue liked to do all the cooking herself and experimented with recipes from Gourmet and Bon Appetit magazine.

  With nothing to hold in her lap, Lucy found herself nervously kneading her hands together. She tried to tell herself there was nothing to be anxious about, but she knew Sue too well to think that she wouldn’t be getting back at her for supporting Chris’s ideas for the bake sale. She also hoped Sue hadn’t forgotten that Zoe and Sara were coming and hadn’t gone too overboard with the gourmet stuff. The girls, especially Zoe, weren’t adventurous eaters and would turn up their noses at anything unfamiliar. Last year’s gorgonzola hamburgers—and the girls’ reaction—was something Lucy would prefer to forget. The one bright spot, she reminded herself, was the fact that Sue had invited Toby and Molly. Now that the couple had moved in together Lucy didn’t see much of her only son and she was looking forward to catching up with him—and Molly, too, of course.

  The young couple was already seated on the Finches’ back deck when Bill and Lucy arrived with the girls. Toby jumped up and gave her a big hug and Lucy marveled all over again that her little seven-pound baby had grown into this handsome six-footer. Even more amazing, thought Lucy as she embraced Molly, was the fact that he’d managed to snag such a genuinely lovely girl. Toby was working on a frosty Sam Adams and Molly was sipping at a Green Apple Martini. Lucy hoped she knew how much alcohol the drink contained and wouldn’t give in to pressure from Sid to have another and another and another. He was justifiably proud of his bartending skills, but tended to forget that not everyone had Sue’s ability to handle booze. Though, from the look of things, Sue had started drinking in advance of the party.

  “Well, you’re h
ere at last,” she said, making it sound more like an accusation than a welcome.

  “Oh, you know us. We’re never on time,” said Lucy. “Bill tries but it’s hard to get three females out of the house. There’s always somebody who needs a last peek at the mirror.”

  “I can see you went all out,” said Sue, checking out Lucy’s white pedal pushers and striped top. “You wore lipstick.”

  As usual, Sue was dressed to the nines in a flowing caftan and heeled sandals. Her glossy black hair was combed into a perfect pageboy, she was dramatically made-up with plenty of mascara and dark red lipstick and her manicure was flawless. Lucy didn’t have a clue how she managed to wear all that makeup and still look human; she felt like a clown whenever she experimented with eyeliner or blush.

  “As always, you look lovely,” she said, hoping to charm her with flattery.

  Sue smiled. “Sid, Lucy and Bill need drinks,” she called, sounding as if she were addressing a hired waiter. She turned to Sara and Zoe. “Girls, there’s soda and snacks in the TV room, and I got the new Hilary Duff video for you.”

  Zoe, Lucy was happy to see, made a polite display of enthusiasm but Sara looked disgruntled as she clumped into the house. “She’s at an awkward age,” she told Sue, by way of apology.

  “Too old for Hilary Duff?”

  “She certainly thinks she is,” said Lucy, taking a sip of the cocktail that had miraculously appeared in her hand. “She thinks R ratings are ridiculously unfair.”

  “Talk about ridiculously unfair—I can’t believe you managed to get out of working at the bake sale.”

  “I found Mimi’s body,” Lucy reminded her. “It wasn’t exactly a picnic.”

  “Oh, right, I forgot,” said Sue, drifting into the kitchen.

  Put off by Sue’s callous attitude, Lucy didn’t follow her but took a chair on the deck, next to Toby. “So what are you guys up to?” she asked, setting her drink down on a little white plastic table. It was too sweet for her taste.

  “We started house hunting,” said Molly, tucking her long blond hair behind one ear. “Toby’s had a really good summer fishing and we’ve saved enough for a down payment.”