Part 4 (2/2)
”Which means they will need rides,” said Frankie. ”I am hoping we can carpool. What do you think?”
”You're a lifesaver,” said Lucy. ”What is your schedule like?”
”It's all over the place, but I can commit to Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”
”That gives me Tuesday, Thursday, and Sat.u.r.day,” said Lucy. ”Not good, but better than every day.”
”Good.” Frankie nodded. ”I must run. I've got a couple who want to buy a house.”
”Good for you!” exclaimed Lucy, who knew Frankie was a real estate agent. ”Does this mean the market is turning around?”
”I wish,” moaned Frankie. ”They're older, a retired couple, I think they have money. Very cultured, they talk about art and music. Awfully particular. I've showed them a lot of places already, but nothing has been quite right. They have excellent taste; they're staying at the Queen Vic while they look.”
Frankie started to go but Lucy caught her arm. ”I have to write a story about an older couple who've made love last-do you think they'd be good subjects?”
Frankie broke into a broad grin. ”Absolutely!”
”You say they're at the Queen Vic?”
”Yes. Roger and Helen Faircloth are their names. You can say I suggested them to you.”
”Thanks,” said Lucy, vowing to call them as soon as she got back to the office.
The heavy blue tarp was still hanging in the doorway when she arrived, as Bill had set the door on sawhorses and was working away at it with a plane. Phyllis, who was bundled up in her winter coat, took the hot cup gratefully, and so did Bill.
”I'm almost finished,” he said, taking a long swallow and setting his cup aside.
”Can I help?' asked Lucy.
”Nope,” he said, running the plane over the edge of the door a few more times and then rehanging it on its hinges. He pushed it shut, and the latch clicked easily. ”All done.”
”Good work,” said Lucy, seating herself at her desk and sipping her coffee. ”What are you doing next?”
Bill had settled in Ted's chair, enjoying his coffee break. ”I'm going to see about a job on Parallel Street, a bathroom remodel. What about you?”
”I've got to set up some interviews,” said Lucy. ”And I've got to pick up Sara and Renee.”
Bill nodded and began packing up his tools.
When he was gone, Lucy reached for the phone and called the Queen Victoria Inn. Helen Faircloth did indeed sound quite charming on the phone, but she and her husband were not available this afternoon or Friday since they would be house hunting. Lucy set up an appointment for Sat.u.r.day afternoon, at the inn. Then she got to work on the birth announcements, one of the paper's most popular features, noticing a decided uptick in the number of unmarried parents. She sent an e-mail to Ted, suggesting they do a feature story on the trend, and at five o'clock she left for the day, heading over to Fern's Famous to pick up Sara and Renee.
Parking in front of the fudge shop, she had a clear view through the plate gla.s.s windows. There was no sign of Sara or Renee, who she guessed must be busy in a back room, but she saw Lily, Max and Dora's daughter, standing by the cash register, staring off into the distance. Then she turned and smiled and Lucy saw the girls, pulling on their jackets and coming toward the door, so she gave a quick honk to let them know she was waiting.
”How'd it go?” she asked, as they piled into the car.
”We got to make fudge,” said Sara. ”It's easy.”
”We can eat as much as we want,” said Renee.
”Better watch that,” advised Lucy. ”It's very fattening.” She pulled out into the road. ”Did I see Lily working there?”
”Yeah,” said Sara.
”I thought she was at college in Rhode Island,” said Lucy. ”Did she come home because of her dad's death?”
”She's taking a semester off,” said Renee. ”She wanted to go back, but her parents weren't able to manage the tuition so she's working and saving.”
Lucy sometimes thought she could drive the route home blindfolded, she'd done it so many times, so her mind was free to ponder this new information, wondering how Max's death would change Lily's situation. There might be a small estate; n.o.body died absolutely penniless. There might be a life insurance policy, a bit of property, even a stamp or coin collection. But even if Max didn't leave much behind, Lily would qualify for more financial aid now that she was fatherless and would probably be able to resume her education.
Lucy knew that money, especially the lack of it, was a frequent bone of contention between divorced couples. She'd never seen Max's name on the lists of deadbeat dads that the paper received from time to time, but Barney had said he was worried about money that night he'd spent in the lockup. No wonder; the recession was. .h.i.tting lots of people, and Max was probably no exception. But if Max suddenly had had a reduced income, it could mean that he was worth more dead than he was alive. And that, she thought, as she braked for a stop sign, was a dangerous situation to be in.
Chapter Five.
The Queen Victoria Inn was a survivor from an earlier, more gracious time, when the wives and children of prosperous Boston and New York businessmen would spend the entire summer at the coast, enjoying the cooling breezes and languid atmosphere. Back then the rocking chairs on the front porch would be filled with gossiping matrons, fanning themselves and keeping an eye out for their children's matrimonial prospects. Those days were gone and now most of the guests could manage to get away from their high-pressure jobs for only a weekend and spent much of their vacation barking orders into cell phones or pecking away at laptop computers.
The Faircloths were different, Lucy discovered, when she met them in the inn's s.p.a.cious dining room for afternoon tea on Sat.u.r.day. Unlike the handful of others scattered at the cloth-covered tables, they weren't hunched over any electronic devices whatsoever. They were simply sitting and chatting and obviously enjoying each other's company.
”Hi! I'm Lucy,” she said, joining them.
Roger Faircloth immediately leaped to his feet and pulled out a chair for her. He was tall and moved easily despite his age, which Lucy guessed must be close to seventy. His abundant hair was snow white, his face was tanned, and he was beautifully dressed in gray flannel slacks, ta.s.seled loafers, and a camel cloth blazer. His blue oxford-cloth s.h.i.+rt was topped with a jaunty striped bow tie.
”Thank you,” murmured Lucy as she lowered herself onto the chair Roger slid beneath her. She wasn't used to this sort of treatment and was frankly relieved when she found she'd succeeded in connecting with the moving chair.
”Allow me to introduce my wife, Helen,” he said, taking his seat and signaling to the waitress.
”I'm so pleased to meet you,” said Helen, who was every bit as good-looking as her husband. Her shoulder-length blond pageboy was streaked with gray, but her subtly made-up face exhibited only a few well-moisturized lines. She was wearing a blue twinset, which matched her eyes, a pearl necklace, and a tailored pair of slacks. A rather large diamond glittered on her finger, along with a broad gold wedding band.
”Well, I'm very grateful to you for agreeing to this interview. Tea is on me, of course,” said Lucy, eager to get that detail out of the way.
”Absolutely not,” said Roger, as the waitress, Caitlin Eldredge, appeared to request their preferences. Roger chose a hearty Lapsang souchong, but Helen and Lucy opted for Earl Grey. Moments later, Caitlin arrived with a steaming silver pot for each of them as well as a tiered silver stand containing scones, a.s.sorted cakes, and tiny sandwiches.
”Please, help yourself,” invited Helen. ”A young person like you must have a hearty appet.i.te.”
”Not so young,” replied Lucy, ”and I'm trying to lose a few pounds.”
”It's a struggle, isn't it?” agreed Helen. She turned to her husband with a twinkle in her eye. ”I'm afraid you're going to have to eat for both of us.”
”I'll do what I can,” he said, piling the little triangular sandwiches on his plate.
”Roger can eat as much as he wants and never gains a pound,” said Helen. ”It's so unfair.”
”My husband, too,” said Lucy, opening her notebook. ”I understand you're here in town looking for a house.”
”Yes,” said Roger, polis.h.i.+ng off a salmon sandwich and reaching for another. ”We definitely are. Tinker's Cove is a beautiful town and we think, no, we know it will suit us perfectly.”
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