New Year's Eve Murder. Leslie Meier

Cove, Maine, Bill was self-employed. Over the years he had built a solid reputation as a restoration carpenter, renovating rundown older homes for city folks who wanted a vacation home by the shore. Last year, when the stock market was soaring he had made plenty of money, which was probably why the financial aid office had decided they could afford to pay more. But even last year, Bill’s best year ever, they had struggled to meet Elizabeth’s college expenses. Now that the Dow was hovering well below its former dizzying heights, Bill’s earnings had dropped dramatically. The economists called it a “correction” but it had been a disaster for vacation communities like Tinker’s Cove, as the big city lawyers and bankers and stockbrokers who were the mainstay of the second home market found themselves without the fat bonus checks they were counting on.

      The sensible course would be to return the earrings to the store for a refund, but that was out of the question. She remembered how excited Bill had been when he gave her the little box and how pleased he’d been at her surprised reaction when she opened it and found the sparkling earrings. All she’d hoped for, really, was a new flannel nightgown. But now she had diamond earrings. He’d also written a private note, apologizing for all the years he’d taken her for granted, like one of the kids. But they had surprised her, too, with their presents. Toby and Molly had given her a pair of buttery soft kid gloves, Elizabeth had presented her with a jar of luxurious lavender body lotion from a trendy Newbury Street shop, Sara had put together a tape of her favorite songs to play in the car and Zoe had found a calendar with photos of Labrador puppies—all presents that had delighted her because they showed a lot of thought.

      So how was she repaying them for all their love and thoughtfulness? In just a short while she was going off to New York City with Elizabeth and leaving the rest of the family to fend for themselves. Really abandoning them for most of their Christmas vacation. The bags were packed and standing ready in the hallway; they would leave as soon as Elizabeth returned from saying good-bye to her friends.

      She had been thrilled when Elizabeth announced she had entered a Jolie magazine contest and won winter makeovers for herself and her mother. Not only was she enormously proud of her clever daughter but at first she was excited at the prospect of the makeover itself. What working mother wouldn’t enjoy a few days of luxurious pampering? But now she wished she could convert the prize into cash. Besides, how would Bill manage without her? What would Zoe and Sara do all day? Watch TV? That was no way to spend a week-long holiday from school.

      Also, worried Lucy, checking to make sure the earrings were still firmly in place, what if the supposedly “all-expense paid” makeover wasn’t quite as “all-expense paid” as promised? Traveling was expensive—there were always those little incidentals, like tips and magazines and mints and even airplane meals now that you had to buy them, that added up. What if it turned out to be like those “free” facials at the make-up counter where the sales associates pressured you to buy a lot of expensive products that you would never use again?

      Lucy sighed. To tell the truth, she was a little uneasy about the whole concept of being made over. There was nothing the matter with her. She stood up and looked at her reflection in the mirror that hung over the couch. She looked fine. Not perfect, of course. She was getting a few crow’s feet, there were a few gray hairs and that stubborn five pounds she couldn’t seem to lose, but she was neat and trim and could still fit in the sparkly Christmas sweatshirt the kids had given her years ago. And since she only wore it a few times a year it still looked as festive as ever.

      Now that she was actually giving it a critical eye, she could understand why her friend Sue always teased her about the sweatshirt. It was boxy and didn’t do a thing for her figure. Furthermore, it was the height of kitsch, featuring a bright green Christmas tree decorated with sequins, beads, and bows. Not the least bit sophisticated.

      She sighed. She hadn’t always been a country mouse; she’d grown up in a suburb of the city and had made frequent forays with her mother, and later with her friends, to shop, see a show, or visit a museum. It would be fun to go back to New York, especially since she hadn’t been in years. And she was looking forward to a reunion with her old college buddy, Samantha Blackwell. They had been faithful correspondents through the years, apparently both stuck in the days when people wrote letters, but had never gotten in the habit of telephoning each other. Caught in busy lives with numerous responsibilities, they’d never been able to visit each other, despite numerous attempts. Lucy had married right out of college and moved to Maine, where she started a family and worked as a part-time reporter for the local weekly newspaper. Sam had been one of a handful of pioneering women accepted to study for the ministry at Union Theological Seminary and had promptly fulfilled the reluctant admission officer’s misgivings by dropping out when she met her lawyer husband, Brad. She now worked for the International AIDS Foundation, and Lucy couldn’t wait to see her and renew their friendship.

      Which reminded her, she hadn’t had a chance yet today to call her friends to wish them a Merry Christmas. That was one holiday tradition she really enjoyed. She sat back down on the couch and reached for the phone, dialing Sue Finch’s number.

      “Are you all ready for the trip?” asked Sue, after they’d gotten the formalities out of the way.

      “All packed and ready to go.”

      “I hope you left room in your suitcase so you can take advantage of the after-Christmas sales. Sidra says they’re fabulous.” Sidra, Sue’s daughter, lived in New York with her husband, Geoff Rumford, and was an assistant producer of the Norah! TV show.

      “No sales for me.” Lucy didn’t want the whole town to know about the family’s finances, so she prevaricated. “I think I’ll be too busy.”

      “They can’t keep you busy every minute.”

      “I think they intend to. We’re catching the ten o’clock flight out of Portland tonight so we can make a fashion show breakfast first thing tomorrow morning, then there are numerous expert consultations, a spa afternoon, photo sessions and interviews, I’m worried I won’t even have time to see Sam.” She paused. “And if I do have some free time, I’m planning to visit some museums like the Met and MOMA….”

      Sue, who lived to shop, couldn’t believe this heresy. “But what about Bloomingdale’s?”

      “I’ve spent quite enough on Christmas as it is,” said Lucy. “I’ve got to economize.”

      “Sure,” acknowledged Sue, “but you have to spend money to save it.”

      It was exactly this sort of logic that had led her into spending too much on Christmas in the first place, thought Lucy, but she wasn’t about to argue. “If you say so,” she laughed. “I’ve got to go. Someone’s on call waiting.”

      It was Rachel Goodman, another member of the group of four that met for breakfast each week at Jake’s Donut Shack.

      “Did Santa bring you anything special?” asked Rachel.

      Something in her tone made Lucy suspicious. “How did you know?”

      “Bill asked me to help pick them out. Do you like them?”

      “I love them, but he shouldn’t have spent so much.”

      “I told him you’d be happy with pearls,” said Rachel, “but he insisted on the diamonds. He was really cute about it. He said he wanted you to wear them in New York.”

      This was a whole new side of Bill that Lucy wasn’t familiar with. She wasn’t sure she could get used to this sensitive, considerate Bill. She wondered fleetingly if he was having some sort of midlife crisis.

      “Aw, gee, you know I’m really having second thoughts about this trip.”

      “Of course you are.”

      Lucy wondered if Rachel knew more than she was letting on. “What do you mean?”

      “Haven’t you heard? There’s this awful flu going around.”

      “What flu?”

      “It’s an epidemic. I read about it in the New York Times. They’re advising