She hesitated for a minute when she pulled into the Stantons’ driveway, worrying that she might encounter Fred instead of Mimi, then decided she was being silly. If anyone should be embarrassed it was him, for making nasty phone calls. It was too late to leave anyway; by now somebody would surely have noticed her car. She might as well see if Mimi was home and, if she was, politely remind her of the bake sale. She’d make it clear that Chris sent her, that she was in a sense following orders, and was in no way a busybody. Having decided on her approach, Lucy reluctantly got out of the car and immediately noticed the scent of burned sugar.
That explained it, she thought, walking up the drive. Poor Mimi had burned her cookies and was probably frantically mixing up a new batch. Though that would be a big problem for Mimi because making cookies from scratch wasn’t something you could rush. The butter and sugar had to be creamed, the batter had to be thoroughly mixed and you could only fit a couple of pans in the oven at one time. Poor Mimi, thought Lucy, as the scent grew stronger. This batch definitely seemed to be burning, too.
Her eyes were already stinging and she could hear the smoke alarm ringing when she got to the kitchen door. She opened it cautiously and was forced back by a noxious cloud of smoke. She was beginning to think she should go back to the car and call the fire department when the smoke began to thin, thanks to the open door, and she noticed Mimi slumped over the faux-granite island. Minutes, no seconds, counted in a fire and Lucy knew she couldn’t delay. She had to get Mimi out of there, into the fresh air, so she pulled her stretchy jersey T-shirt up over her nose and ran into the smoky room. She immediately began sputtering and coughing but, reassured by the fact she wasn’t hit by a blast of heat, she staggered onward until she reached the island. She bent over Mimi, intending to hook her arms under her armpits to drag her towards the door, when she felt something hard hit her chest. Taking a closer look she noticed Mimi’s eyes, half-open and sightless, and identified the object that had banged her chest. It was the wooden hilt of a large chef’s knife that was protruding from Mimi’s back.
Her mind simply didn’t take it in. Her body did, however, and instinct took over. She found herself outside, on the farmer’s porch, shaking and moaning. She’d wrapped her arms around herself and was rocking back and forth, fighting waves of nausea until, once again, her body took over and she threw up into a brightly colored Mexican pot of geraniums. Feeling marginally better, she sat down on the steps and called 9-1-1.
She knew Chris would expect her to call, she even had her cell phone number on the bake sale instruction sheet that was in the car, but she didn’t move. She sat, shaking and completely drained, concentrating on holding herself together until help arrived. In reality it was only minutes, but it seemed hours before she heard the screech of sirens and the deep honk of the town’s brand new hook and ladder truck. Soon Prudence Path was filled with fire trucks, police cars, and an ambulance.
There was very little for any of the helpers to do. EMTs rushed to Mimi’s aid, but there was no help to be given. She was obviously dead and they were not allowed to move the body of a crime victim. All the firefighters could do was turn off the oven and set up fans to clear the smoke.
There was no question Mimi had been murdered. As one EMT said, “She sure didn’t do that to herself.”
The rescuers all knew Mimi, who had been a colleague, after all, and a few were obviously struggling with their emotions. One female firefighter, dwarfed by her helmet, coat and boots, was in tears and several cops were stone-faced, staring straight ahead at nothing. Everybody kept a respectful distance, almost as if keeping vigil over her body. Outside, a couple of officers were stringing yellow crime scene tape from the bushes, but there was no crowd to keep back. Nobody was home on Prudence Path this Saturday morning.
Lucy, who had been instructed to wait for the arrival of the state police investigative team, had moved out of the way and was sitting on the deacon’s bench that Mimi had placed on the farmer’s porch just a few weeks earlier. Still feeling somewhat shaky, she was wondering who had done this terrible thing to Mimi. The first person who came to mind was Mimi’s husband. After all, everybody said Fred Stanton had a terrible temper. She remembered the conversation at the Hat and Mitten Fund meeting, when the Prudence Path neighbors had spoken about the way he used to abuse Mimi. Lucy had received some of his abuse herself when he called up and yelled at her to mind her own business that evening when she’d given Tommy that bottle of Gatorade.
“You’re looking very thoughtful. Have you decided who did it?”
Lucy looked up and saw the familiar face of State Police Detective Lieutenant Horowitz. Summer was almost over, but Horowitz wasn’t sporting a tan. He was pale as ever, dressed in rumpled shirt-sleeves and wrinkled gray pants. His thin brown hair was receding and he was wearing wire-rimmed bifocals.
“When did you start wearing glasses?” asked Lucy.
“When they said I’d have to have one contact lens for distance and one for reading. I couldn’t get the hang of switching from one eye to the other.” He sat beside her. “So tell me what happened.”
Lucy told him about Mimi’s absence from the bake sale and how she’d been sent to get her, only to find her with a knife in her back. “It must have been the husband, don’t you think?”
“I think it could have been anybody, including you,” said Horowitz.
“You’re joking, right?”
“Yeah. You’re a pain in the butt but I never knew you to actually commit murder.” He stood up. “Now I know this is a big news story and all, and I know you’re going to write about it, but I don’t want you starting some cockeyed investigation of your own, okay? Leave the investigating to the professionals.”
“But…” began Lucy.
“No buts. I don’t want to see you with a knife in your back. When you get that urge to stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong, just remember how that lady looked, okay?”
Lucy felt a tingling right between her shoulder blades. “Okay,” she said.
He turned to go back in the house, then paused, looking down the cul-de-sac. “Is it always this quiet around here?” he asked. “Where is everybody?”
Lucy considered. “Some of the women are at a bake sale, that’s where I’m supposed to be.” She sniffed. “Mimi, too.” She looked at the houses, neat as pins, each set in the middle of a square of lawn. “He’s a vet, he’s probably at his office and she teaches riding, Saturday morning’s a popular time for lessons,” she said, pointing to the Westwoods’. “Frankie LaChance is a single mom, she’s at the bake sale and her daughter’s at the football game. The Burkharts, they’re across from Frankie, well, he’s the football coach and I don’t know where she is. Maybe shopping for back-to-school clothes for the twins. As for the Cashmans, Chris is at the sale and her husband is probably chauffeuring their kids to computer class or something.” She paused, thinking. “Mimi’s youngest son is on the football team. Fred, that’s her husband, is probably there. His brother, too.”
“What about your family?” he asked, looking towards Lucy’s house.