Mother's Day Murder. Leslie Meier

they were on MySpace, posed ear to ear and smiling, even Libby.

      When it came to personal information, Lucy learned her daughter liked “pretty much all music,” didn’t watch much TV but was addicted to Grey’s Anatomy, and didn’t drink or smoke. So far, so good. She hoped to go to college and become a veterinarian. Even better. She admitted to being straight, but that was all. She wasn’t looking for love on the Web. It all seemed pretty harmless. So what was Elizabeth making such a fuss about?

      Just to be thorough, she typed in a couple of Sara’s friends, with similar results. She even looked up Ashley Hume and Heather Nowak, again learning little more than that Ashley never missed Survivor and Heather loved Sudoku, before Ted marched in and she had to switch back to the listings.

      Phyllis was right; there were a lot. Now that the weather was warming up, every club and organization in town seemed to be planning a yard sale or rummage sale or silent auction. It made Lucy wonder if there was some giant pool of unwanted items that were circulated from one event to another, from sale to sale, year after year. And if they weren’t selling you old junk, they wanted to feed you ham and beans or barbecued chicken or roast beef. The VFW was even holding a pig roast. Those who still had some cash after the sales and dinners could see a show. The Tinker’s Cove High School Players were selling advance tickets to their upcoming production of Grease, the Comedy Club was putting on Sylvia, and the Wentworth College Drama Club was presenting Titus Andronicus.

      Just thinking about all this activity was tiring, and Lucy was glad when the clock finally read four thirty and she could leave.

      “Any chance you could stay late tonight?” asked Ted. “We’re swamped this week.”

      “I’ve got to pick up Sara,” replied Lucy. “But I can come in early tomorrow morning.”

      “I suppose that’s okay,” he said, grumbling.

      It was only a short drive over to the ball field behind the high school, where Lucy was supposed to pick up Sara. Today the boy’s baseball team was playing archrival Gilead, and there was a lot of interest. Quite a crowd had gathered to watch the game, and she could hear groans as a Tinker’s Cove player struck out, ending the game with a loss. She stood by the gate as people left the field, exchanging greetings with many of them. As the crowd thinned, and there was no sign of Sara, she began asking if anyone had seen her.

      “She was here,” recalled Wilf Lundgren, the letter carrier. “I saw her with a couple of other girls.”

      “When was that?”

      “Second, mebbe third inning. Bases were loaded, and that Gilead kid everybody’s talking about hit one right over the fence. It was a grand slam.” He sighed. “Gotta give it to the kid. He’s a phenom.”

      “But you didn’t see her after that?”

      Wilf shook his head.

      As Lucy followed the last of the stragglers to the parking lot, she checked her cell phone, just in case she’d missed a call. She hadn’t. She clicked the phone shut, unpleasantly aware of a tightening in her chest. Darn it, she thought angrily, everybody was all sweetness and light on Mother’s Day, but what about the rest of the year? Sara knew she was supposed to check in with her mother if she changed plans.

      The thought stopped Lucy in her tracks. The truth was, Sara was very good about calling. What if something had happened that made calling impossible, like an accident?

      No, if there had been an accident, she would have heard. There would have been sirens, at least.

      The tightening feeling in her chest was getting worse, and now she was aware of a sinking feeling in her gut as Elizabeth’s words came back to her. Sexual predators prowl MySpace, looking for unhappy, vulnerable kids. And Sara had been crying under the covers last night. Maybe she had a secret life on the Internet; maybe she had foolishly agreed to meet some weirdo at the game. Or somewhere else. She could already be miles from home, at the mercy of some serial killer who preyed on young girls. Lucy screwed her eyes shut. “Please, oh please don’t let Sara be the next Corinne Appleton,” she prayed. Opening her eyes, she realized she was all alone. Everybody was gone. She hurried to the car and drove home as fast as she could, trying to think what she should do. Call Bill? Call the police? She had decided to start with Sara’s friends when she pulled into the driveway and hurried up the porch steps. When she opened the kitchen door, the first thing she saw was Sara, standing in front of the open refrigerator, looking for a snack.

      She stood a moment, waiting for the pounding in her heart to slow down.

      “There’s nothing to eat,” complained Sara, shutting the refrigerator door. “Not even a piece of fruit.”

      “Elizabeth took it.” Lucy remembered she’d meant to stop at the grocery store, before she’d been distracted by Sara’s disappearance. “Where were you? I was worried sick when I couldn’t find you at the game!”

      “Oh, sorry, Mom,” said Sara, leaning casually against the refrigerator. “I got a ride home.”

      “Well, I wish you’d called and told me. I got so worried that I completely forgot we don’t have anything for supper. Elizabeth cleaned us out.” She thumped down in a chair, her purse in her lap. “And who gave you this ride, anyway? You’re not supposed to accept rides from strangers.”

      Sara crossed her arms across her chest and hugged herself, a dreamy expression on her face. “It was Chad Mackenzie, Mom, the most popular boy in school!”

      Chapter Three

      Sara was still giddy over her social triumph at breakfast the next morning. Instead of the usual moans and groans, she was positively bubbly as she poured herself a glass of orange juice.

      “Would you like an egg? Some toast?” asked Lucy. She hadn’t wanted to ruin Sara’s mood last night by confronting her about the text-messaging, and now there wasn’t time, but she hadn’t forgotten the matter, either. She intended to bring it up when the time was right.

      “No thanks,” replied Sara, practically singing. “Just juice.”

      “You need more than that to get through the morning.”

      “I want to lose a few pounds.”

      “She wants to get skinny for Chad,” offered Zoe in a singsong voice.

      “That might be a mistake,” said Lucy. “He probably likes you the way you are. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have bothered to give you a ride.”

      “He probably felt sorry for her, standing there all alone like a little lost lemon drop, waiting for her mother to come,” declared Zoe.

      Lucy gave her youngest a sharp look.

      “I was just joking, Mom,” Zoe added.

      “I guess I will have a yogurt,” decided Sara. “It’s got calcium, and that’s supposed to help you lose weight.” She smiled dreamily. “You know what Renee and Sassie think? They think Chad might ask me to the prom.”

      “Oh, my,” said Lucy, who wasn’t sure how she felt about her freshman daughter going to the prom. She was about to add, “Don’t get your hopes up,” but managed to bite her tongue before uttering the fatal phrase. There was no sense spoiling Sara’s happiness, however brief it might be. Especially since her change of mood had infected the whole house; even the dog was wagging her tail more enthusiastically than usual when the girls ran down the drive to catch the bus.

      Lucy, too, felt especially chipper as she drove to work. She was the first to admit it wasn’t easy to have a daughter in high school. It brought back her own memories of adolescent insecurity, to the point that she suffered sympathy pains whenever Sara’s feelings got hurt, and shared in her joy when she scored a coup. It was a real roller coaster, but today, at least, spirits were high.

      Until, that is, she got to work. There was a very different vibe at the Pennysaver, where Phyllis was sniffling and dabbing at her eyes,