Birthday Party Murder Read online

  “How about a little glass of sherry?” suggested Lucy. “In honor of the occasion.”

  “Oh, yes, I should have thought of that,” fretted Miss Tilley. “Is sherry all right? Is there something else you would prefer?”

  “Sherry would be lovely,” said Shirley, taking the chair and slipping her coat off her shoulders.

  Except for the thirty-year difference in age, Shirley could have been Miss Tilley’s twin, thought Lucy. She was dressed in a gray tweed skirt topped with a blue twinset; her legs were encased in support hose and sturdy black pumps. A cameo brooch was perched on one shoulder and abundant white curls framed her round face. Like Miss Tilley, her cheeks were plump little red apples.

  “I’m Lucy Stone,” said Lucy, extending her hand.

  “I’m just delighted to meet you,” gushed Shirley, clasping Lucy’s hand in both of hers.

  “And I’m Rachel Goodman, Miss T’s helper,” said Rachel, holding out a tray with four sherry glasses.

  “Lovely to meet you,” said Shirley, taking a glass and holding it up to admire the amber liquid.

  Her nails, Lucy saw with a bit of a shock, were painted purple. Not quite what she expected, knowing how Miss Tilley loathed nail polish. But lots of women did wear nail polish, Lucy reminded herself. Some women considered it a necessary part of grooming.

  “Shall we have a toast?” inquired Miss Tilley, raising her glass. “To long-lost relatives!”

  “To long-lost relatives!” they all chorused.

  Rachel kept a watchful eye on Miss Tilley as she drank her wine. When her high color began to subside and her breathing became more relaxed, Rachel slipped away to the kitchen to fix lunch.

  Miss Tilley didn’t notice her absence; she couldn’t keep her eyes off Shirley.

  “Do you mind if I take a picture? For the local newspaper?” asked Lucy, producing her camera.

  “The newspaper?” Shirley seemed taken aback.

  “This is big news in Tinker’s Cove, you know. And I’ll make sure you both get copies.”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice?” urged Miss Tilley.

  “Okay, then,” said Shirley, “but the flash bothers my eyes. Cataracts, you know. Just let me put on my sunglasses.”

  Lucy waited while she slipped on a pair of very dark, oversize sunglasses.

  “Say cheese.”

  Lucy snapped several photos, then took out her notebook.

  “Now, I need your full name, Shirley,” she said, waiting with her pen poised. “For the caption.”

  “Why, it’s Henderson. Shirley Henderson.”

  “Can you tell me how you found each other?” she asked.

  “There was really nothing to it,” said Shirley, smoothing her skirt. “I knew that Mama had been born in Tinker’s Cove, of course. I just called nationwide directory assistance and they gave me Auntie’s number.”

  Miss Tilley beamed at Shirley, as if she’d done something remarkably clever.

  Lucy was scribbling it all down in her notebook. “And if this isn’t too personal, what prompted you to contact your aunt after all these years?”

  “Well,” said Shirley, adopting a mournful expression, “after Mother died, I found myself pretty much alone. It just seemed natural to try and find family, if I could.”

  Miss T beamed her approval.

  “The best part was when I dialed her number and she actually answered the phone.” Shirley clasped Miss T’s hand in her own and gazed into the old woman’s eyes. “I can’t tell you how exciting it was for me to hear your voice at last. Mama always talked about you and how much she missed her family.”

  At this, Miss Tilley pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.

  “I don’t know why I didn’t try to get in touch myself,” she said, sniffling. “I had a dream, you know, that Harriet was angry with Papa for disowning her. I’ve had it many times through the years, but I never did anything. I should have, when Harriet was still alive.”

  “Well, better late than never, that’s what I say,” said Shirley, nodding so hard that her curls bounced.

  “She’s right,” agreed Lucy. “Would you mind telling me what it was all about originally? Why did your father disown Harriet?”

  “Because she married a Democrat, of course.” Miss Tilley made it sound as if this were normal behavior.

  Lucy’s eyebrows shot up, but Miss Tilley didn’t notice her surprise. She was gazing at the bronze bust of Lincoln that sat on the mantel.

  “He never forgave her for deserting the party of Lincoln.”

  “Well, don’t you worry,” said Shirley. “I always vote Republican myself.”

  “You don’t say?” Miss Tilley was beaming at her.

  “I do say. Didn’t Florida vote for George W. Bush in the last election?”

  Lucy was tempted to say something, but held her tongue as the two women sat together, holding hands, enjoying their reunion. This was no time to talk politics. In fact, Lucy was perfectly willing to bask in the sentimental glow the two long-lost relatives were generating. Reluctantly, she pulled herself away.

  She was still floating on a happy little cloud of family feeling when she finally got to the office straight from the while-you-wait film-developing machine at the drugstore.

  “Ted told me to tell you not to bother getting the police log today. He’s over there anyway and he’ll pick it up,” announced Phyllis, peering over her half glasses.

  “What did I do to deserve this?” asked Lucy, stunned by her good fortune. To tell the truth, she’d forgotten all about the darn thing. She’d goofed up, and been spared the consequences. She handed Phyllis the packet of photographs. “Take a look at these, will you?”

  “Good God! As if one Miss Julia Ward Howe Tilley isn’t enough. Where’d you find the other one?”

  “She’s her niece. Never met her, never even knew she existed until she called up one day, out of the blue.”

  “Kind of scary, if you ask me.” Phyllis frowned at the photo. “I hope none of my long-lost relatives start crawling out of their trailer parks to come a-calling.”

  “I don’t think Miss Tilley’s niece comes from a trailer park. Look how nicely she’s dressed. And I’ve got to tell you, I’ve never seen Miss T look so happy. We had to give her some sherry just to calm her down.”

  Phyllis wasn’t impressed. “What’s with the sunglasses? Is she in the witness protection program or something?”

  “They’re the kind people wear after cataract surgery,” replied Lucy.

  The bell on the door jangled and they both looked up as Ted came sailing in, clutching a handful of papers.

  “Clear the way. I’ve got the ME’s report.”

  “On Monday morning? They’re really getting careless over there,” observed Lucy. “Don’t they usually schedule press conferences for Wednesday afternoon, about an hour after deadline?”

  “It was a rare slipup.” Ted’s tone became sarcastic. “Darn! Now I won’t have all week to work on the story.”

  Lucy chuckled. “I’ve got breaking news, too. A touching family reunion. Miss Tilley reunited with her long-lost niece. And I’ve got photographs.”

  Ted grabbed the packet and flipped through the pictures.

  “Good work. Can you give me ten inches?”

  “I’ll give you ten inches if you tell me what the ME’s report says about Cobb’s death.”

  “You’ve got a deal. ‘Not inconsistent with suicide.’”

  Lucy’s spirits sank. “That’s it?”

  Ted shrugged. “Pretty much.”

  “You know, I don’t buy it,” said Lucy, sitting down at her desk and waiting for her computer to boot up. “I was over at his house. Bob Goodman asked me to take a look around, you know?” Lucy paused for emphasis. “I found a pork chop.”

  “A pork chop?”

  “Yup. Sitting on the counter, like it had been put out to defrost. Cobb wasn’t planning to kill himself; he was planning to eat a pork chop for dinner.
A nice thick one.”

  “Probably got it at Dunne’s,” suggested Phyllis, naming a specialty butcher in the neighboring town of Gilead.

  “He might have,” agreed Lucy.

  Ted was already clicking away on the keyboard. “Maybe he changed his mind.”

  “No way,” said Phyllis. “He’d never waste a Dunne’s pork chop!”

  “My thoughts exactly,” said Lucy, opening a file and starting to type. “ ‘Papa never forgave her for deserting the party of Lincoln. . . .’ ”

  It was a couple of hours later and Lucy was eating a nonfat yogurt for lunch when Ted looked up from his Chinese takeout and said, “Tell me about the pork chop.”

  Lucy looked longingly at his egg roll, as yet untouched, and licked the last drop of strawberry custard off her plastic spoon. “It was on his counter, like people do, you know. He probably took it out of the freezer in the morning, planning to cook it up that night for supper.”

  “You’re not supposed to do that, you know,” said Phyllis, peering suspiciously into her container of wonton soup. “You’re supposed to defrost meat in the refrigerator. It’s safer.”

  “Do you do that?” challenged Lucy.

  “Naw. It takes too long. I can’t think that far ahead.”

  “Me either,” said Lucy. “And if you defrost meat in the microwave, it gets half cooked.”

  “ ‘Not inconsistent with suicide’ isn’t very definitive,” said Ted, taking a big bite of egg roll.

  Lucy’s stomach gave a painful twist.

  “I mean, it could just as easily mean ‘not inconsistent with homicide,’ ” continued Ted.

  “Except that if he said that, then they’d have to investigate,” said Lucy. She knew that the bottom line tended to drive a lot of decisions.

  “Horowitz said they’re leaving the case open, but that there wasn’t enough evidence to warrant an investigation at this time.”

  “So they’re waiting for something to come up?” asked Lucy, aware that she was salivating like one of Pavlov’s dogs.

  “That’s the impression I got.” Ted chewed the last of his egg roll.

  Lucy got up and walked over to the water cooler and filled her mug.

  “Who inherits his money?” asked Phyllis, chasing down a dumpling.

  “Did he have much money?” asked Ted.

  Lucy remembered Cobb’s desk, which she hadn’t been able to search.

  “He was a lawyer. Of course he had money,” said Phyllis. “It was on Matlock last night. Cooey-boney or something like that. It means ‘who benefits.’ ”

  “Cui bono,” said Ted. “It’s Latin.”

  “I know what it is,” muttered Lucy. “It’s a really good idea. I’m going to call Bob up right now and find out who gets the dough.”

  Bob answered himself; Anne Shaw was probably taking her lunch hour.

  “Hi, Lucy. How’s it going? I’ve got the medical examiner’s report, if you want it.”

  “Thanks, but I know all about it. Ted and I don’t think it means much.”

  “That’s what I thought,” agreed Bob.

  “I’ve got a question for you. Can you tell me about Cobb’s will? Who’d he leave his money to?”

  Bob groaned. “This is embarrassing. I’m actually one of the beneficiaries, along with the hospital and a bunch of other worthy causes. There’s an adoption agency, the Legal Aid Society and, of course, his Civil War group.” He paused. “Some people are in for a nice surprise. I found some stock certificates with his stuff, and when I checked them out, I discovered they were much more valuable than I would have guessed.”

  “You know what this means, don’t you?” asked Lucy, adopting a teasing tone. “Now I’m going to have to consider you a suspect.”

  “Ah,” said Bob, slowly. “Cui bono. That’s not a bad idea, Lucy. I’ll fax the will right over. Add me to the list of suspects, if it helps. Do whatever you need to. Just find out who killed my partner.”

  “You’ve got a deal. You’re on the list,” said Lucy. But as she replaced the receiver, she realized she didn’t have a list of suspects. Not yet anyway. She looked at Phyllis. Maybe it was time to call for reinforcements.

  “Phyllis? How about taking a lunch hour today?”

  “Lucy, I hate to point out the obvious, but I’ve already eaten.”

  “Actually, I was thinking of checking out Sherman Cobb’s place. Want to come?”

  Phyllis was on her feet in a flash. “You bet.”

  “Let’s park around the corner and cut through the backyard,” suggested Lucy. “He’s got some nosy neighbors.”

  “Tell me about it.” Phyllis sighed. “We’d just be getting a little romantic, if you know what I mean, when Snell would come knocking at the door.”

  Lucy smiled. “So Cobb was a passionate sort of guy?”

  “He had potential,” said Phyllis, stepping out of the Subaru.

  Lucy led the way through a patch of woods, pausing at the edge and studying the back of Sherman Cobb’s house and the adjacent Snell home. Both appeared to be deserted.

  “I think we’re in luck,” she said. “There’s no car in the Snells’ driveway.”

  “Let’s hurry,” urged Phyllis. “Before they get back.”

  In a matter of seconds they were on the back porch, and Lucy was unlocking the door. She turned to look over her back as they entered the house and saw the curtain at the Snells’ kitchen window twitch. Or was it her imagination?

  “We better make this fast,” she told Phyllis.

  Phyllis was standing in the kitchen, a sad expression on her face. “It hasn’t changed a bit,” she said. “I used to think, back in the days when I thought we had a future, that I would paint the kitchen yellow and put up gingham café curtains.”

  “I like gingham in a kitchen,” agreed Lucy, wondering if it had been a mistake to bring Phyllis. “Listen, you stand by the front window there and be the lookout, okay?”

  Phyllis’s hand fluttered to her chest. “Who am I watching out for? We’re not doing anything wrong, are we?”

  “Technically, no,” said Lucy, “but I’d prefer not to have to explain that to the police.”

  Phyllis swallowed hard. “Got it.”

  Lucy went straight to Cobb’s home office and began going through his desk. The wide center drawer contained only stationery, with pens and pencils neatly lined up in the wooden tray provided for them. There was also a small cardboard envelope with a number written on it that contained a key, probably the key to a safe deposit box. Lucy pocketed it and pulled open the tall file drawer. It was neatly organized with hanging folders. She pulled out the one labeled “mutual funds” and flipped through the statements. Phyllis was right; Cobb had been a wealthy man with nearly a half million dollars worth of mutual funds. She was reaching for the “bonds” folder when Phyllis called her name.

  “We’ve got company,” she said.

  Lucy ran to the front window, where she saw a police cruiser pulling up.

  “Out the back!” she hissed, watching as a heavy woman in a housecoat came out of the Snells’ house and waddled slowly down the front path in her bedroom slippers, waving her arm at the officer.

  “Thank goodness she’s not in better shape,” said Lucy, pausing to lock the door while Phyllis headed for the woods. She soon caught up to her at the Subaru. The cops were just entering the house, they saw, as they drove by.

  “That was close,” said Lucy.

  “That was a hoot,” said Phyllis, fanning herself with her gloves. “Better than hormone replacement therapy.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Ted was definitely not amused when Phyllis and Lucy returned to the office, giggling like two high school girls cutting a class.

  “This is a place of business,” he admonished them. “The public expects us to behave in a professional manner.”

  Lucy didn’t dare look at Phyllis for fear of setting off another laughing fit. Chastened, she went straight to her desk and was just sittin
g down when Phyllis let out an explosive snort of laughter. Lucy was soon roaring with laughter and clutching her stomach.

  “What exactly is so funny?” demanded Ted.

  “Nothing—it’s just nervous tension,” sputtered Lucy. This didn’t seem the time to explain their escapade, especially their close shave with the police.

  “Overwork,” offered Phyllis, who believed a strong offense was the best defense. “Just letting off steam.”

  “Uh, well, that’s all right then,” said Ted, withdrawing to the safety of his desk. He was never quite comfortable with the role of boss.

  “Aw, gee,” moaned Lucy, studying her calendar desk pad. “I’ve got a finance committee meeting tonight.” Lucy adopted a pleading tone. “I don’t suppose you’d let me skip the meeting and listen to the secretary’s tape recording tomorrow?”

  Ted shifted his weight in his grandfather’s chair, making it creak.

  “Will you have time tomorrow?” he asked. “I thought you had an interview. That new elder abuse program.”

  “Oh, right.” Lucy sighed, looking ahead at her calendar. “That means I’ll have two stories to write tomorrow.” She reached for the ever-present stack of announcements. “I guess I’d better get busy.”

  “That’s what I like to hear,” said Ted, beaming at her.

  Lucy and Phyllis groaned.

  Lucy was running late when she finally left the office. She had to stop and pick up some milk, get home, make dinner and be back in town by seven for the finance committee meeting. Intent on her agenda, she was driving too fast.

  Exactly how fast she didn’t realize until a police cruiser drew up behind her with lights flashing. She immediately slowed the car, but a quick glance at the speedometer showed she was going at least ten miles an hour above the speed limit. And that was after she hit the brakes.

  Much to her relief, the officer who got out of the cruiser was Barney Culpepper.

  “Hi, Barney,” she said brightly, giving him a big smile as she rolled down the window. “How ya doin’?”

  Barney didn’t return her smile. “Aw, Lucy,” he said. “I was afraid it was you. I thought I recognized the car.” He sighed. “License and registration.”