Mother's Day Murder. Leslie Meier

much too skinny,” said Molly. “Even though I nurse him constantly, I don’t think he’s getting enough.”

      Lucy sat beside Molly and took her hand. “He just looks skinny to you, believe me,” she said. “Look at those little creases on his wrists. He’s positively chubby.”

      “That’s what I’ve been telling you,” chimed in Toby.

      “He’s the cutest baby I’ve ever seen,” declared Zoe. “When will he be old enough to play?”

      “Around six months,” said Sara, causing everyone at the table to look at her in surprise. “What?” she responded defensively. “I took that baby-sitting course, remember?”

      “I remember. I’m just surprised you do,” said a familiar voice.

      Lucy turned around and saw Elizabeth, city chic in tight black jeans, stilettos, and streaked hair. “I thought you were in Boston,” she exclaimed, jumping up to hug her daughter.

      “I took the bus. I couldn’t miss brunch at the Queen Vic,” Elizabeth said, taking the last seat. “I used to work here, remember? Today they’re waiting on me!”

      “Well, now that we’re all here,” announced Bill, “let’s hit the buffet.”

      It was really a moment to savor, thought Lucy when she returned with a plateful of favorite foods: fruit salad with melon and berries, eggs Benedict, smoked salmon, and a croissant. And that was just to start. The buffet featured a raw bar with shrimp and oysters, stuffed chicken breast, ham, roast beef sliced to order, vegetable medleys, and salads, plus a lavish tiered display of desserts, set up in the middle of the elegant dining room. But while the food was delicious, there was only so much a body could eat. It was spending time with her family, especially Elizabeth, whom she didn’t see that often, and the new baby, that was most precious to her.

      Seeing them like this, with clean faces and dressed in their best clothes and minding their manners, was priceless. She couldn’t help but be proud of them. Toby, with his broad shoulders and easy smile; Elizabeth in her sophisticated clothes and city haircut; Sara, who had shed her baby fat and emerged as a graceful will-o’-the-wisp; and Zoe, with her sweet round face and big blue eyes. And they didn’t just look good: they were good citizens. Toby was recognized by the other fishermen as a hard worker and a capable seaman, Elizabeth not only had top grades but had been chosen by her college to be a resident advisor, Sara was an honor student and cheerleader who also volunteered at the local animal shelter, and Zoe was the delight of her teachers and a keen member of the youth soccer team.

      She looked across the table at Bill, who was about to eat an enormous piece of sausage, and smiled at him. She was a good mother, but she couldn’t have done it without him.

      “What are you smiling about?” he asked, spearing a piece of bacon with his fork.

      “I’m just happy. It’s really special to be here with you all,” replied Lucy.

      “I can’t believe the baby is sleeping,” said Molly. “I was afraid he’d scream his head off. This is special.”

      Toby made eye contact with his father and, receiving a nod, pulled two pink envelopes out of his jacket. “Dad and I wanted to make it even more special,” he began, “so we got these for you.”

      Lucy opened the thick envelope, which was lined with glossy pink paper, and withdrew a card printed with raised letters: PURE BLISS. Opening it, she found a gift certificate entitling her to a facial, body wrap, massage, manicure, and pedicure at the fabulous new spa everybody was talking about that had recently opened at the ritzy Salt Aire Resort and Spa.

      “You shouldn’t have,” she said. She was about to add that the gift was too expensive but bit her tongue just in time. This present, this Mother’s Day, wasn’t about her. It was for Molly, and she realized that her gift certificate came with a string attached: to make sure Molly got to the spa. “This will be fun, won’t it, Molly? A whole day of pampering.”

      “I can’t leave the baby for an entire day,” Molly said, shaking her head.

      “Sure you can,” said Toby. “I’ll take care of him.”

      Sara chimed in. “We’ll help, too, won’t we, Zoe?”

      “I can’t wait,” agreed Zoe.

      Molly shook her head. “You can’t feed him….”

      “They can, if you pump in advance,” said Lucy. “And you won’t be gone all day, especially if we tell them to put us on the fast track.”

      “Well,” Molly said, sighing, “it does sound fabulous.”

      “I can’t wait. Let’s book our appoint—,” began Lucy, but she was interrupted in midsentence by a strident, complaining voice that cut through the hum of conversation and the tinkle of silverware to silence the entire room.

      “This is unacceptable, simply unacceptable. When I made the reservation, I specifically requested the table in the corner with two windows.”

      Lucy recognized Barbara Hume, who was standing in the doorway with her husband, Bart, and her sixteen-year-old daughter, Ashley. Today, as usual, the family projected an image of perfection. Bart, actually Dr. Barton Higginson Hume, was a noted cardiac surgeon. Tall and reedy, he towered over his petite wife. Barbara, who preferred to be called Bar, “just like Mrs. Bush, the first Mrs. Bush,” never seemed to have a single shellacked hair out of place. Today she was as trim as ever, in a pale green suit and bone pumps with matching bag. Ashley was standing behind her parents, and even though she was perfectly turned out in a pink, pleated miniskirt and matching jacket, she was slouching awkwardly, with her toes turned in.

      “I demand to see Jasper,” continued Bar, her voice growing even louder and more authoritative. Everyone in the room turned to watch as the inn’s longtime maître d’ hurried over.

      “Is there a problem?” he asked.

      “I’ll say there’s a problem. I was promised that the corner table, that one with the two windows,” said Bar, raising a perfectly manicured hand and pointing with her pink-tipped finger, “would be reserved for us.”

      Lucy also recognized the family occupying the table, the Nowaks, who were making a point of ignoring the fuss. At least Tina was. She was a large, sporty woman and was shoveling in forkfuls of food, intent on getting her money’s worth out of the buffet. Her husband, Lenny, a slight, serious man with a mop of curly gray hair, who wore oversize tortoiseshell eyeglasses, was staring at his plate and pushing his food around with his fork, looking distinctly uncomfortable. In contrast, their sixteen-year-old daughter, Heather, was staring contemptuously at Bar, just as you might expect from a talented figure skater who competed regularly and wasn’t afraid of a challenge.

      “It’s a family tradition,” continued Bar in a voice that carried to the farthest corners of the room. “We come here every year for Mother’s Day, and we always sit at that table.”

      Jasper cleared his voice and folded his hands. “I am so sorry. There must have been some confusion. We have some new staff members from Ukraine….”

      “The person I spoke to was not Ukrainian. She spoke perfect English.”

      “I regret the mistake,” continued Jasper, “but as you can see, the table is occupied. I will be happy to seat you someplace else.”

      “I did not reserve a table ‘someplace else,’” snapped Bar. “I demand that you move those Nowaks from the table that should have been reserved for us and reseat them.” Bar glared at Tina. “Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if somebody hasn’t done this on purpose, just to slight me.”

      If she was hoping to get a response from Tina, she was disappointed.

      Bart, however, cleared his throat, perhaps signaling his wife to cease and desist. If he thought such a subtle hint would calm Bar, he was mistaken.

      She