Trick or Treat Murder Page 9

  When Bill slipped his arms around her from behind and nuzzled her neck with his beard, she was momentarily startled.

  "What if my husband sees us?" she teased, covering his hands with her own.

  "I don't care. I love you more than he does. I have to have you, Lady Dolores."

  "Lady Dolores? Can't you do better than that?" teased Lucy. Actually she was delighted by his playfulness. Lately, it seemed he was either installing fire extinguishers or studying those darned zoning bylaws.

  "I'm just a poor, humble carpenter," he said with mock humility. "So, what do they want me to do?"

  "You better check with Sue. She said something about making sure the stairs are safe."

  "Sounds like a good idea. Have you got anything to eat?"

  "Sandwiches. PB and J, or tuna?"

  "Tuna."

  Lucy produced a couple of sandwiches, and a can of soda, and he settled on the way-back to eat while she changed the baby's diaper. That job finished, she sat down beside him to nurse the baby and eat her own lunch.

  "Have you ever been unfaithful to me?" asked Lucy.

  "What?" sputtered Bill, spraying soda. "What kind of question is that?"

  "I just wondered. What makes a man have an affair?"

  "Don't ask me. I'm a good boy."

  Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

  "Really. It isn't that I haven't been tempted, it's just that I'm usually too tired."

  Lucy gave Bill a light punch on the arm. "Thanks a lot."

  "Serves you right. Say, don't we have some children? Don't they want lunch?"

  "There's a ton of donuts and soda and snacks inside. They probably pigged out as soon as they got here."

  "Oh." Bill knew that a steady diet of balanced meals featuring whole grains and plenty of fresh vegetables had left his children extremely susceptible to the attractions of junk food.

  "I'm worried about Toby." She looked up at Bill.

  "He seems pretty healthy to me, but you could give him vitamins or something."

  "Not his diet," said Lucy, smiling and shaking her head. "I'mworried he's going to get into trouble. Serious trouble. Last year he pulled that toilet paper stunt, and Mrs. Phipps told me he and the other boys have been playing cruel tricks on Stubby. I just wonder if he's getting a little wild. And Halloween's the time for it."

  "I'll talk to him," said Bill, standing up and stretching. "Well, I guess the faster I get that staircase fixed, the faster I can get home and watch the game."

  That will be nice, thought Lucy, watching him trudge up the hill with his heavy toolbox. He'd been so down in the dumps since the fire. Maybe he'd watch with Toby, and they'd drink sodas and eat chips and roar their approval when Notre Dame or Florida State got a touchdown.

  Lucy stayed at the car, nursing the baby. Zoe was in no hurry, so Lucy made herself comfortable and reached for another oatmeal cookie.

  Looking up at the mansion, Lucy thought how different it looked today. No longer empty and deserted, it seemed to be coming to life once again, thanks to the vitality and energy of the vol¬unteers. Windows were thrown open, voices were heard in the empty rooms, doors slammed as people came and went.

  The whole town seemed to have turned out for the cleanup. The ladies from the women's club had arrived early, bringing donated baked goods. "Just something in case people get hungry," said Irma Stout.

  All the scouts were there, as well as the high school soccer team and the Alpha club. "The football team had a game," explained Karen Baker, whose oldest son was a defensive end, "or they would have been here, too."

  A lot of local businessmen had donated their services; Sue could be very persuasive. Lucy saw the Baxter Electric truck; Larry Baxter must be setting up temporary wiring, she guessed. Harry Potts had stopped by, too, checking out the best location for his Porta-Potts. Ted Stilling had been busy all morning, snapping pictures and getting quotes.

  There must be some way to save this building, thought Lucy. A theater? A restaurant? A bed and breakfast? Maybe the party would attract some entrepreneur, someone who would see the won¬derful potential of the old place. Some fresh paint and wallpaper could do wonders.

  "Enjoy Victorian elegance at the Hallett House," thought Lucy, picturing a tasteful magazine advertisement, complete with a pen and ink sketch of the Italianate tower. She looked up to the roof, where a flight of curving steps round the tower led to an octagonal platform, where eight pillars supported a roof topped with eight decorative wooden urns.

  "Bats in the belfry," was probably more like it, she thought, taking a closer look. A few minutes later, her attention was drawn to the arrival of the fire chief when he pulled up in his bright red sedan. Rearranging her clothes and strapping the baby pouch back in place, Lucy hurried up the hill to hear the results of his inspection.

  Entering the hallway once again, she joined the group of anxious volunteers. "He better pass it," whispered Karen Baker. "I hope I didn't get this backache for nothing."

  "Yeah," agreed Lucy. "It would be a shame if we couldn't have the party after everyone did so much work."

  They all watched as Chief Pulaski came down the stairs. There was a hush as the volunteers waited for his announcement.

  "I don't have any problem issuing a temporary occupancy permit," he said, "for one night only—October thirty-one."

  The group joined in a collective sigh of relief.

  "But," he added, raising a cautionary finger, "there will be absolutely no open flames—no candles, no jack-o'-lanterns, nothing like that. I'm satisfied with the temporary wiring—so let's use it. The last thing we need is another tragedy." Everyone nodded agreement.

  "That said, looks like it's gonna be a great party." He signed the certificate with a flourish, and presented it to Sue.

  "Happy Halloween, everybody!" she exclaimed, waving it high above her head in triumph. The mothers and fathers, the high school kids, the scouts all smiled and cheered and congratulated one another.

  "Party on, dudes!" shouted Rickie Goodman, and everybody laughed, even Stubby Phipps. Stubby, Lucy couldn't help noticing, had abandoned his bow tie, and was clutching a walkie-talkie. Not a toy like Rickie's; this was an official police issue hand radio. It looked like Barney had made his first move in the campaign to make Stubby socially acceptable.

  Lucy rounded up the kids and herded them toward the car, thinking of the chores that awaited her at home.

  "Girls, how would you like to bake some cupcakes this afternoon?" she asked, as she made sure everyone was safely strapped in.

  "Yeah," said Sara, her eyes brightening at the thought of licking the icing bowl.

  "Do we have to?" protested Elizabeth.

  Lord, give me strength, prayed Lucy silently, as she started the engine. Backing the car around, she glanced up at the Hallett house one more time. If that psychology book was right, she thought, the towering mansion would present an irresistible temptation to a pyromaniac. Steering the car down the dusty driveway, she couldn't help wondering if the old house would still be stand¬ing for the party next weekend.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Lucy was juggling the baby and a cup of coffee on Monday morning when the phone rang and Bill answered upstairs. He was grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat when he appeared in the kitchen a few minutes later.

  "We won the lottery?" she asked.

  "Not quite—but almost. That was Shelburne Village."

  "No." Lucy's tone was suitably reverent; Shelburne Village was the premier restoration project in New England, maybe the entire country.

  "Yeah. That was them. They saw my letter in Architectural Heritage magazine, and they want me to take a look at a door. They want to know if it's as old as they think it is."

  "Wow. That's great. What an honor."

  "They want me to come today. It's awfully short notice and I'll have to spend the night. Can you manage all alone?"

  "Sure. I'm a big girl."

  "Three kids and a baby—it's an awful lot."
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  "I'll manage just fine," insisted Lucy. She would never have admitted it, but she secretly enjoyed Bill's rare absences. It was a chance to relax the rules a bit—instead of cooking meat and potatoes for supper she was already planning to mix up big bowls of macaroni and cheese for the kids to eat in front of the TV. After the hurly-burly of the weekend she was looking forward to having the house, and the baby, to herself.

  So, after the kids left for school, and Bill finally finished pack¬ing and left for his trip to Vermont, and Zoe settled down for her morning nap, Lucy fixed herself a cup of decaf mocha and tackled the bills. If only the kids would turn off the lights once in a while, she thought, writing out a check for $87.73 for the electric company. The phone bill wasn't too bad, only $37.16 including the weekly long-distance chat with her mother in New York. The heat bill, $154-65 on something mistakenly called the budget plan, sent her scurrying to turn down the thermostat. If they wore sweaters and drank hot liquids, sixty-two degrees would be plenty warm enough.

  Preparing to write out a $390 check for homeowner's insurance, thankful that it came only once a year, she noticed the house was valued at $165,000. That was a lot of money, she thought.

  Insurance fraud, she remembered Barney saying, was a possible motive for the fires. Certainly not for the barn, or the powder house. Possibly for the theater, though Lucy doubted the very respectable members of the board of trustees at Winchester College would stoop to such a thing. That left the Homestead.

  It must have been insured for a pretty penny, she guessed. If replacement value was the guide used by insurance companies, it would certainly be very expensive to accurately reconstruct an antique house like the Homestead.

  She knew it represented a sizable investment on the part of Dr. Mayes, something in the neighborhood of a quarter million dollars. That was a lot of money, especially if you weren't getting any return on it. Lucy knew that Dr. Mayes had little interest in the house, it had been Monica's project from the start. She hadn't even referred to it as "theirs" remembered Lucy, it was always "her" house.

  Suddenly Dr. Mayes seemed to have plenty of reasons to burn down the house. Not only would he get rid of Monica, and conveniently dispose of her body at the same time, but he would also get back the money he had invested in the house. Add to that the fact that he wouldn't be faced with a messy and expensive divorce, and it seemed more than likely that Dr. Mayes was responsible for the fire.

  That meant the fire was premeditated; he had to have carefully planned the whole thing. Maybe the three earlier fires had given him the idea. What an opportunity—investigators would assume the Homestead fire was just another arson, not a murder. All he had to do was lure Monica to the Homestead. Then, once she was there, it would be simple enough to set the fire. End of Monica.

  Lucy shivered, suddenly chilly, and wrapped her arms across her chest. He had lived with Monica for thirty odd years. They had raised a family, they had shared the same bathroom, eaten meals together, slept side by side. And then at some point, perhaps when she was leafing through a magazine or sipping her morning cup of coffee, he had decided to kill her.

  Lucy reached for the phone and dialed the police station. She asked for Officer Culpepper and was surprised when she was connected; usually she had to leave a message and wait for him to call back.

  "Barney, why aren't you out keeping the streets of Tinker's Cove safe for honest citizens?"

  "Paperwork," he grumbled.

  "Listen, Barney, I've got an idea about the fires."

  "I'm listening."

  "Well, it just occurred to me that Dr. Mayes had an awful lot of reasons to burn down the Homestead. One, he could get rid of his wife without paying alimony; two, he would be free to do whatever he wants with Krissy; three, he would get insurance money for the Homestead ..."

  "Who's Krissy?"

  "Don't you know? She opened that new fitness studio in town—she's the other woman in Dr. Mayes's life, and he's part-owner of the studio."

  "Where'd you hear this?" asked Barney.

  "You mean you didn't know?"

  "Of course we know," said Barney, defending the department. "What I asked is how did you find all this out?"

  "I've heard things here and there."

  "Lucy, you better mind your own business. I'd hate to see you end up like Mrs. Mayes."

  "Barney, you're just trying to scare me. I'm not going to end up like Monica if you guys do your job and arrest Dr. Mayes."

  "It's not that simple." Lucy heard Barney sigh.

  "How much more do you need? He's got motives on top of motives!"

  "That's not enough. Just 'cause he's got a motive doesn't mean he murdered her. Lots of people have got motives—all sorts of motives. That doesn't make them criminals." "Oh."

  "And besides, there are the other fires. The modus was the same. This is basically an arson case."

  "Maybe he set all the fires, to cover up the murder," suggested Lucy.

  "Lucy, I gotta go," said Barney, running out of patience. "And remember what I said. This is one case you should leave to the professionals."

  "Okay, okay," said Lucy, tired of the same old refrain. "Bye now."

  As she replaced the receiver Lucy wondered if Dr. Mayes had set all the fires. He was a surgeon, a methodical man. One fire resulting in a death would have been considered murder. A rash of fires, on the other hand, would make it seem as if poor Monica was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. But could he have done it? Barney had said something about an alibi—he was supposed to be in surgery or something.

  What about the other fires? She remembered seeing him at the Fourth of July parade, wondering what had brought him to Tinker's Cove. While Monica always attended, she had usually come with a group of houseguests, Lucy had never seen Dr. Mayes with them. The movie theater had burned that weekend, on July 5. Perhaps that was what brought him to town.

  And the second fire, on August 28? Could he have set that one, too? Checking the calendar, Lucy saw that August 28 was a Friday. Was he in his office, she wondered, or was he skulking around Bumps River Road, setting a fire in the old barn?

  Grabbing the phone, she called information and got his number. She dialed, then waited for his receptionist to answer.

  "Dr. Mayes office."

  "This is Gloria at Blue Cross/Blue Shield. I need to verify a patient claim for a D and C supposedly performed by Dr. Mayes on August 28."

  "Patient's name, please."

  "Kenmore, Joyce," improvised Lucy, happening to spot the brand name on the refrigerator. "Birthdate, June 6, 1963. Social security number ..."

  "That won't be necessary. I'll just check the book." After a pause, she continued. "There must be some mistake. The office was closed that day. I checked our files, too. We have no patient by that name."

  "I suspected as much. I knew there was something funny about this one. Thank you for your cooperation. Fraudulent claims cost us all money."

  "You're welcome," replied the receptionist. Something in her voice made Lucy wonder if she'd gone a bit over the top. It was so hard to get these impersonations just right.

  Encouraged by her discovery, Lucy checked the calendar. September 26, the day the powder house burned, was also a Friday. But how could she find out if Dr. Mayes had an alibi? She could hardly call the office again.

  Hearing Zoe fussing upstairs, Lucy reluctantly abandoned playing detective. Besides, she realized, as she climbed the stairs, Dr. Mayes would hardly shut his practice so he could set fires. Most likely he hired a professional. Much less risky. Especially when you considered how the Medical Society deplored scandal.

  Back to the drawing board, thought Lucy, settling down in the recliner to nurse Zoe. Where did I leave off, she asked herself, opening up the psychology book and propping it on Zoe's hip.

  "Sexual malfunction is almost always associated with the development of the arsonous personality," she read. "Impotence, in particular, often plays a contributing role."

  Somehow
, she thought with a sigh, that just didn't sound like Dr. Mayes.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  After lunch, Lucy had planned to take her aerobics class, but first she stopped by at Doug Durning's real estate office on Main Street. She had promised to pick up some information about the upcoming gas station hearing for Bill. Fortunately, there was an empty parking spot right in front.

  As Lucy hurried up the front walk, carrying Zoe in her arms, she noticed how similar this building was to the Hathorn-Pye house. Another big, four-square Georgian with a huge center chim¬ney. Opening the front door, however, she was momentarily taken aback. Instead of the big center hallway she had expected, she found herself in a cramped entry, confronted with three doors.