Part 3 (1/2)

”That one,” Phyllis told Ted, pointing with a finger tipped in Midnite Blue, ”is Mucho Macho.”

”Here goes,” he said, popping it in his mouth.

The two women watched closely to gauge his reaction.

”It's different,” he said, after swallowing. ”Okay. I'm not rus.h.i.+ng over there to buy a box.”

”Good thing, 'cause this box costs something like sixty bucks.”

”Sixty bucks!” Ted was running his tongue around his mouth, trying to extract every bit of expensive flavor.

”Five bucks a pop. Trey says it's an affordable luxury.”

”I've got to try one,” said Phyllis, picking a chocolate with a bit of crystallized violet on top. ”I'm going for Purple Pa.s.sion.” She popped it between her coral lips and closed her eyes, concentrating.

Lucy watched, amused, as Phyllis sucked and rolled the chocolate around in her mouth before swallowing and opening her eyes. ”Well?” she asked.

”I guess I'm not a goor-met,” admitted Phyllis, p.r.o.nouncing the final t. ”I like Fern's Famous dark chocolate with walnuts a lot better. And you can get a half-pound for six bucks-that's what I call affordable luxury.”

Leaving the chocolates on Phyllis's counter, Lucy went to her desk and started fiddling with USB cables so she could upload the photos. ”How long do you want this story?” she asked.

”I've only got room for ten inches-and don't forget to mention Fern's Famous,” said Ted. The fax went into action and he stood over it, pulling out the sheets of paper as they appeared. ”It's the ME's report,” he said.

Lucy's hand was on the mouse but she paused, finger poised. ”What does it say?”

Ted was scanning the tightly packed medical jargon, looking for something he understood. ”Ah, here, conclusion. Death due to drowning, indicated by presence of water in the lungs. Contributing factors: high blood alcohol level and cranial bruising ...”

”A blow to the head?” asked Lucy.

”Yeah, but the ME points out that there is no way of determining if the injury was the result of an attack by person or persons unknown or an accident.”

All three fell silent, imagining Max Fraser's final moments. ”I hope he went quickly, didn't feel any pain,” said Phyllis.

”That's likely, considering his blood alcohol level,” said Ted, ”and the knock on his head.”

”There's always at least one tragedy every winter,” said Phyllis. ”I hope this is the only one.”

Lucy nodded. It was true. Winter brought its own seasonal perils: people fell through the ice on frozen ponds, cars crashed on slippery roads, houses burned down due to the improper use of electric heaters, furnaces backed up and entire families died in their sleep of carbon monoxide poisoning. You tried to be careful, but accidents happened. That was life. Now, even though the image filling her computer screen was of Tamzin and Trey in the chocolate shop, she wasn't seeing them. She was seeing Max Fraser's ice-crusted face and that glittering silver lure dangling from his blue lips. An accident? She didn't think so, although the police certainly would. She was beginning to think Max's death was the work of a killer with a warped sense of humor. And it was up to her, she realized, to make sure the killer was caught. Max had helped her and she'd promised to return the favor. It was a promise she meant to keep.

Chapter Four.

”Just black coffee for me,” said Lucy.

Norine, the waitress at Jake's Donut Shop, crossed out the notation she'd started writing on her order pad. ”No hash and two eggs sunnyside up with whole wheat toast?”

Lucy shook her head, mourning the loss of her usual Thursday morning feast. ”I'm on a diet.”

”And about time, too,” said Sue, with a prim nod.

”Nonsense. You look great and breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” urged Rachel Goodman, a firm believer in the benefits of three meals a day. ”I'll have a cranberry m.u.f.fin.”

Norine was way ahead of her. ”Two black coffees, two regular coffees, one cranberry m.u.f.fin, and one crunchy yogurt. That about it?”

”That's it,” said Pam Stillings, Ted's wife, who was a bit of a health nut and always had the yogurt topped with granola. She turned to Lucy. ”Rachel's right. If you starve yourself, your metabolism shuts down and it takes longer to lose. Look at Sue.” She smiled at the fourth member of the group, Sue Finch. ”How do you think she survives on nothing but black coffee and red wine? She's got no metabolism at all.”

”And if you ask me, the lack of nutrition is making her rather mean,” said Rachel, unusually critical this morning.

”I eat.” Sue tucked a lock of midnight black hair behind one ear. ”I've found the perfect balance and I maintain it.” She took a sip of coffee. ”I simply don't see the point of eating calories I don't like, so I skip breakfast in favor of a gla.s.s of wine with dinner.”

”More than one gla.s.s,” sniffed Rachel. She'd majored in psychology at college, with a focus on addictive personalities.

”I had a cup of yogurt at home,” said Lucy, sounding like a child announcing she'd tidied her room.

”Good girl.” Pam nodded her approval and changed the subject, reporting on her work as a member of the Chamber of Commerce's publicity committee. ”It looks like the Love Is Best on the Coast promo is really taking off.” She paused, as Norine distributed the mismatched mugs that were a tradition at Jake's and filled them with coffee. ”A lot of businesses are signing up.”

”I suppose it's worth doing,” said Lucy, in a doubtful tone. She was looking out the window at the frozen harbor and the parking lot littered with shrouded boats beneath a milk-white sky. Snow was falling but it wasn't serious, just what the TV weathermen called 'ocean effect. ' It was funny, she thought, how you got to recognize different kinds of snow after you'd lived in Maine for a while. ”I can't see why anybody would leave the comfort of hearth and home and spend a lot of money for this.” She waved an arm at the bleak view, almost completely devoid of color.

”Are you kidding? Maine is beautiful in winter,” declared Pam, as Norine set her bowl of granola-topped yogurt in front of her.

”I guess you've never been to the Bahamas,” said Norine, sending a plate with a m.u.f.fin sliding across the table to Rachel. ”It's better in the Bahamas.”

”No, no, no.” Pam picked up her spoon. ”It's best on the coast.”

”You've been listening to Corney,” said Lucy.

”That woman is trouble,” said Sue, twisting her glossed lips into a scowl. ”Somehow she convinced me to organize a Valentine dessert contest.” She took a sip of coffee. ”I'm counting on you all to enter.”

”I'm awfully busy with the committee,” said Pam. ”I don't see how I'll have the time.”

”Me, too,” said Rachel, using her tongue to whisk a m.u.f.fin crumb from her lip. ”The Harbor Players are putting on A. R. Gurney's Love Letters and I'm directing.”

”That's a first for you,” crowed Lucy. ”Congratulations.”

”Yeah, I'm really enjoying it,” said Rachel. ”But the rehearsals are very time-consuming.”

”That leaves you,” said Sue, narrowing her eyes and pointing a perfectly manicured finger at Lucy.

Lucy shook her head. ”I told you. I'm on a diet.”

”You don't have to eat it,” said Sue. ”You just have to make it.”

Lucy switched to Plan B. ”I guess Sara and Zoe can whip something up.” She drained her mug and signaled for a refill. ”I b.u.mped into Barney Culpepper the other day. He said Eddie's coming home. Permanently. He's done with the marines.”

”That is a relief-now I won't have to worry about him.” Rachel let out a big sigh. ”They were so cute, weren't they? Those boys: Richie and Tim, Toby and Eddie. Remember how Eddie was the catcher, at Little League? That funny squat he had, with one leg stuck straight out?”

Pam nodded, smiling nostalgically. ”They were so cute in those Cub Scout uniforms. Remember, Lucy?”