Part 12 (1/2)
”Watch it, Ted,” warned Phyllis.
Lucy decided she'd better not say what she was thinking and instead marched over to the coat tree and pointedly lifted Ted's jacket off the hook and dropped it on the floor, in the exact spot it had been before she'd picked it up for him. Then she stomped over to her desk, plopped herself into her chair, and clicked on the solitaire game.
”I'm sorry, Lucy,” said Ted, stooping to retrieve his clothing.
Lucy was staring at the screen, clicking her mouse and moving cards.
”I'm really, really sorry. I don't know what I was thinking.”
”Hmph,” said Lucy, starting a fresh game.
Ted seated himself in the spare chair next to Lucy's desk. ”The thing is, Lucy, I need you to do something for me. I need you to take some photos at Chanticleer Chocolate for the ads.”
Lucy was moving cards, pretty sure she was going to win this game. ”Why can't you do it?” she asked.
”Uh, this is embarra.s.sing.”
”I knew it!” crowed Lucy. ”Pam won't let you!”
Ted was staring at the scuffed floor. ”That's right.”
The little cards were dancing around on the computer screen, celebrating Lucy's win. She smiled at Ted. ”Can't do it today. I left my camera home.”
”You should always bring it,” said Ted, unable to resist putting Lucy in the wrong. Lucy c.o.c.ked an eyebrow in his direction and he backtracked. ”Tomorrow will be fine.”
”Good,” said Lucy, reaching for the phone. Darn it, she'd called the place so often in the past few days that she'd memorized the number, which was taking up way too much precious brain s.p.a.ce. She winced, hearing Tamzin answer with ”Chanticleer Chocolate” in a phony French accent.
”Hi, Tamzin, Lucy Stone here at the Pennysaver,” she began, in a tone that was all business. She certainly didn't want to get into a discussion about Zoe's need for a leave of absence after only one day on the job; she'd leave that to Trey. ”Ted wants me to take some photos for the ad campaign.”
”Great!” From her enthusiastic tone, Lucy guessed Tamzin was also eager to avoid the subject of Zoe. ”When do you want to come?”
Lucy considered her schedule. She sure didn't want to go out of her way for the woman. ”Maybe tomorrow morning, on my way to the office. Eight-thirty?”
”We don't open until nine.” Tamzin made it clear she was doing Lucy a favor. ”I'm happy to come in early for you, though.”
”Well, thanks, Tamzin,” said Lucy, happily. She was on a winning streak today. ”See you then.”
Friday was the sort of day that would send any sensible person diving back under the covers. It was well after sunrise when Lucy drove down Main Street, but the streetlights were still lit which meant the sun was not providing enough light to trip the sensors that turned them off. In other words, it was dark as night at eight-thirty in the morning.
The gloom wasn't the worst of it, though. Sleet, frozen rain, whatever you wanted to call it, was coming down hard, plopping on the winds.h.i.+eld of Lucy's car faster than the wipers could get rid of it. The road was filling with the slushy stuff, too, and every now and then the rear wheels would start to fishtail. The car's automatic all-wheel drive caught it every time, but it was still unnerving and Lucy's stomach lurched when she felt the car start to slip.
Maybe, she thought, swallowing down the coffee and bile taste that filled her mouth once again, maybe she should have had something more than black coffee for breakfast. Of course, she reminded herself, she hadn't had time to eat anything because she'd put off getting out of bed to the very last minute. Behavior like that wouldn't win her the mother-of-the-year award, or the wife-of-the-year award, either. She usually got up and made breakfast for Bill and the girls, but this morning she simply hadn't had the energy. Even now she had to resist the urge to turn the car around and go back home and back to bed, just like the snoring old man in the nursery rhyme who went to bed and b.u.mped his head and couldn't get up in the morning.
Really, there was something to be said for opting out, especially on a day like this when she had to photograph Terrible Tamzin. Talk about adding insult to injury. If there were ever a day she'd like to skip, a day she'd like to pretend never happened, it was this Friday, actually the twelfth, but it felt like an unlucky Friday the thirteenth. There was nothing to look forward to even after the photo session. When she finished at Chanticleer she had to go back to the office to write up the water commission's meeting, the highlight of which was the superintendent's a.s.surance that the town had plenty of water.
Sure they did, thought Lucy, remembering last summer's floods and casting her eyes at the dark clouds filling the sky. Water in all its forms-ice, snow, rain, sleet, salty ocean, freshwater ponds, and streams-was one thing they had plenty of and, frankly, she could do with less of it.
She remembered a commercial for Aruba she'd seen on TV last night and pictured the suns.h.i.+ne, the sandy beach and turquoise Caribbean water. Boy, what she wouldn't give to be there. Now, that would be a great way to celebrate Valentine's Day: in a swimsuit, pale white skin slathered with sunscreen, sipping a pina colada, while Bill nibbled on her toes.
Not that Bill would ever do such a thing, she thought resentfully. Some men had foot fetishes, but Bill could truly be said to have a foot phobia. He didn't even like to see her barefoot. And instead of her being the focus of his adoring attention on Valentine's Day, this most personal of holidays had turned into a marathon. She had a to-do list that was a mile long. She had to make a dessert for the contest, pick up Bill's suit, jolly him into wearing it, and somehow find a way to stuff herself into her tight black skirt. Maybe skipping breakfast hadn't been such a bad idea after all, she decided, patting her now almost-flat tummy.
There was no problem finding a parking spot today. Main Street was practically deserted and Lucy thought of her old friend Miss Tilley's a.s.sertion that there was so little traffic when she was a girl that she and her friends used to play tennis in the road right in front of Slack's Hardware. Lucy parked in front of Chanticleer Chocolate and sat for a minute, lost in thought.
She was thinking of how things had changed even in her lifetime. When she and Bill first came to Tinker's Cove, the town had been more self-sufficient-you could get everything you needed right in town. There was a grocery store, drugstore, post office, liquor store, hardware store, a five and dime, and even a small department store with household linens and clothes to fit everyone in the family from newborn babies to grandmas. Through the years many of those old, established businesses had vanished, one by one, replaced by national chains. Now, if you wanted a new set of sheets or some pot holders, good luck to you. You had to travel to one of the big box stores that had sprung up out by the interstate or else you had to take your chances and order from the Internet.
Holidays were simpler, too. They were primarily family events, n.o.body thought of capitalizing on a holiday to bring tourists to town. Lucy remembered the kids making valentines for friends and family out of lace doilies and red construction paper. She'd make cupcakes for dessert, with pink icing and conversation hearts on top. Bill would bring home a box of Whitman's chocolates for her, which she shared with the kids after she'd plucked out her favorite caramels (easily identified from the chart on the inside of the box top), and that was that.
Sighing, she decided she'd put it off long enough, it was time to face the music. Or rather, Tamzin, with her fake b.o.o.bs and false eyelashes, the glistening lips and the jeans that were so tight you wondered how she ever got them on, not to mention tucked inside those thigh-high boots.
Lucy pulled the fur-lined hood of her parka over her head and climbed out of the car. Ducking her head to avoid the sleet that pelted her face, she ran around the car and onto the sidewalk, seeking the shelter of the yellow Chanticleer awning. She was reaching for the door handle when the door flew open and Roger Faircloth barreled into her.
The man was obviously upset. He grabbed her by the shoulders with shaking hands and Lucy grabbed his sides, afraid he would fall. Noticing his pale face, s.h.i.+ny with sweat, and his panicked expression, Lucy thought he was having a heart attack.
”Roger, what's wrong? Shall I call the rescue squad?”
He couldn't manage to speak but nodded. Lucy needed to be able to reach inside her purse for her cell phone but she was still supporting Roger, she couldn't let go of him for fear he would fall. She decided the best thing would be to go inside the shop, where they would be out of the weather, Roger could sit on one of those oh-so-cute cafe chairs, and Tamzin could make the call.
But when she suggested going inside the shop to Roger he became frantic, shaking his head and saying no over and over. Lucy didn't know what to do, all that came to mind were those old black-and-white westerns where the cowboy hero was always slapping some hysterical woman. She couldn't slap Roger, she had to get help for him.
”Come on, Roger,” she said, ”we can't stay out here in the weather.”
The man was sobbing and shaking, but he finally allowed her to guide him toward the door. Pulling it open, she heard the musical chimes ring once again and her nostrils were filled with the heavy scent of chocolate. Chocolate and something else. But what?
”Tamzin, I need help,” she yelled. ”Call nine-one-one.”
There was no answering cry from Tamzin, which Lucy figured was typical. The woman was so self-absorbed, she was probably putting on fresh lip gloss or something and was too busy to make the call. She looked around the shop, past the tables stacked with blue-and-yellow boxes of chocolates and behind the counter, searching for the phone. It was then Lucy suddenly understood why Roger was so upset. At first, she thought it was just some sort of promotion, a giant chocolate displayed on the marble table behind the counter. A giant chocolate in the shape of a naked woman, a ”s.e.xsational Chocolate” bigger and fancier than anything Dora ever dreamed of. But when she took a closer look, she realized it was Tamzin; her naked body had been stretched out on the table and coated with chocolate.
Lucy's stomach heaved and, dragging Roger with her, she ran out of the store and stood on the sidewalk, gasping for fresh air. Tamzin was dead, somebody had killed her. Somebody with a wicked sense of humor.
Chapter Twelve.
Lucy's car was parked right outside the shop so she helped Roger across the slippery sidewalk and opened the door for him. He made no attempt to seat himself, but stood, obviously in shock, leaning heavily on her arm and unaware of the globs of icy sleet that were falling on their heads and sliding down their faces. Lucy wasn't feeling too good herself. She was shaking and nauseous and realized a dark shadow was falling across her vision. She knew she had to sit down and lower her head or she'd faint and then she'd be no good to anyone.
”Come on, Roger,” she said, coaxing him. ”You've got to get in the car. We'll sit here and I'll call nine-one-one.”
A glimmer of understanding flitted across his blank, staring eyes. Lucy turned him 'round and, imitating the maneuver she'd seen Rachel use with Miss Tilley, she guided him into the seat and lifted his legs one by one until he was properly seated. Bending down to seat him cleared her head, but she still felt dizzy and queasy when she took the driver's seat and started rooting in her big purse for her cell phone.
Finding it, she rested her head on the steering wheel and pressed the numbered keys. The dispatcher answered right away and Lucy told her she'd found Tamzin Graves's body at Chanticleer Chocolate.
”Is the victim conscious?” asked the dispatcher.
”No.”
”Is the victim breathing?”
”No.”