Part 7 (2/2)
”Barney!” she called, running to catch him.
”Hey, Lucy,” he replied, turning to greet her. ”What's up?”
”Got a moment for a man-in-the-street question? I just want to know what your plans are for Valentine's Day. Are you getting something for Marge?”
”Sure am. I always get her a big bunch of pink roses.”
”Not red?” asked Lucy, snapping his photo.
”She doesn't like red. She likes pink.”
”Because of the breast cancer?” Lucy knew Barney's wife, Marge, was a breast cancer survivor and pink was the color a.s.sociated with efforts to raise money for a cure.
Barney's bulldog face crumpled, which Lucy knew was an indication of deep thought. ”I don't think so. I think she just likes pink roses.”
”Pink roses are lovely,” said Lucy, writing it all down. ”She's a lucky lady.”
”No, Lucy.” Barney was shaking his head. ”I'm the lucky one. I don't deserve a wife like Marge.”
”She must be thrilled to have Eddie home, safe and sound.”
To her surprise, Barney's thoughtful expression deepened. ”You know how it is with kids-you never stop worrying.”
”I saw him at the Quik-Stop,” continued Lucy. ”He looks so handsome and fit.”
”I'm just glad he's got all his arms and legs,” said Barney. ”A lot of these kids coming home are missing 'em.”
”How's his mental outlook?” asked Lucy.
Barney shrugged. ”It's hard to tell. He doesn't say much.”
Barney looked so worried that Lucy didn't know what to say and resorted to the usual cliche. ”It's a big adjustment, it's bound to take time.” She noticed Barney's eyes following Max's old pickup, driven by Lily with Eddie in the pa.s.senger seat.
”Are they dating?” she asked.
Barney shrugged. ”Don't ask me. He doesn't tell me anything.”
Par for the course, thought Lucy, remembering how sullen and uncommunicative Toby had been before he met Molly.
”She's a nice girl,” said Lucy. ”He could do worse. Which reminds me, how's the investigation going?”
Barney looked confused. ”What investigation?”
”Max Fraser, of course.”
”Oh, that,” he said, adjusting his gloves. ”That's over and done. The guy drank too much and got himself in a pickle. The surprise is it didn't happen sooner.”
Lucy s.h.i.+vered, which was her usual reaction whenever she thought of Max drowning in the freezing pond water. ”There must have been some sort of follow-up. The ME's report said he had been knocked on the head.”
Barney s.h.i.+fted from foot to foot. ”Yeah, but he said there was no way of telling if it was intentional or accidental.”
”Which left it open for an investigation,” said Lucy.
Barney sighed. ”We questioned a few people, didn't come up with anything suspicious. The last person who admits seeing him alive is Dora, his ex, but she says that was in the evening, well before he went through the ice.”
”Where did she see him?” asked Lucy.
”At home. She says she was having trouble with her car and he stopped by to take a look and see if he could help.”
Lucy nodded. ”He was like that, he got me out of a fix when I got stuck in a s...o...b..nk.”
”Problem is, he never did look at the car. She admitted they got in a fight; she wanted money for Lily's schooling. Last she saw him, he was driving off in a huff.”
”Bill says Max was up against it lately and owed a lot of people money. That could be a motive for murder.”
”If you're saying Max had a lot of enemies, I'd say that's a lot of hooey. Like I said, he drank too much and got careless. We found an empty bottle of Southern Comfort in his truck.” He paused, making eye contact. ”And if he did have a falling out with somebody, and I'm not saying he did, well that somebody isn't anybody you want to tangle with, Lucy. You'd better stick to asking folks how they're going to celebrate Valentine's Day.”
”Point taken,” said Lucy, her teeth chattering. The mist was beginning to solidify, turning to sleet. ”Have a good day.”
”You, too, Lucy.” Barney opened the door of his cruiser and Lucy dashed across the street to the liquor store.
Stepping inside, she gave a little shake.
”Pretty nasty out there,” said the clerk, a fellow in his forties with oversize eyegla.s.ses and a shock of graying hair that fell over his forehead. ”What can I do for you?”
”I'm Lucy Stone, with the Pennysaver. I'm interviewing people about their plans for Valentine's Day.”
”You want to know how I'm going to celebrate?” he asked, with a grin.
”If you don't mind.” Lucy produced her camera. ”And I have to take your picture, too.”
He shrugged. ”Well, as you might expect, I'm going to bring home a nice bottle of champagne and drink it with my wife.”
”Say bubbles,” said Lucy, snapping his photo. ”What's your name?”
”Cliff Sandstrom.”
”Any particular brand?” asked Lucy, noticing a display of Southern Comfort bottles by the cash register.
Cliff grimaced. ”I wish I could go for the Veuve Clicquot but I think it's going to be Freixenet this year,” he said. ”Business is down, due to the economy.”
”You'd think people would drink more, to forget their troubles.”
”Oh, they do, but they buy the cheap stuff. Not much profit in that.”
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