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.