Trick Or Treat Murder. Leslie Meier

on, lazybones,” said Sue, extending a hand. She looked fresh as ever, much to Lucy’s disgust.

      Lucy took Sue’s hand and pulled herself to her feet. Her legs felt wobbly underneath her. But, standing in the shower a few minutes later, she had to admit she felt better than she had in a long time. As the hot water poured over her tired body, soothing her aches and pains, she was aware of herself in a new way. There were muscles under that flab. She decided to sign-up for a membership.

      Refreshed and dressed, checkbook in hand, she approached the front desk.

      “Hi, I’m Krissy. May I help you?” asked another bright blonde, displaying a dazzling smile.

      “I’d like to sign up for the introductory special,” said Lucy, glancing at a banner hanging on the brick wall.

      “Super! You won’t be sorry—it’s an investment in yourself. Now, if you’ll just fill out this form…sorry, I better get that phone.” She slipped a sheet of paper in front of Lucy, handed her a pen, and picked up the phone, all in one smooth motion.

      Lucy began filling in the blanks, while Krissy took the call.

      “Body Shop…where fitness is fun. Oh, hi.” From the change in tone, Lucy guessed this was someone special.

      “What news? I’ve been so busy with opening the studio that I haven’t had time to read the paper or anything. A fire?”

      Curious, Lucy glanced at Krissy in time to see an expression of satisfaction flicker across her features. Then, she heard her murmur, “I just can’t believe it. I’m so sorry. I’m here for you, you know that.”

      Krissy hung up the receiver and turned her attention to Lucy. “Sorry about that—my business partner just lost his wife. In a fire. Absolutely awful.”

      “That’s too bad. It wasn’t Monica Mayes, was it?”

      “Did you know her?” Krissy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

      “A little,” said Lucy.

      “Of course. Everybody knows everybody in a town like this. I’m not used to it—I’m from the city. Now, that’ll be twenty-nine dollars, and the membership is good for a month. You can take any regularly scheduled classes, use the showers. There is an extra charge for sessions with a personal trainer, massage, things like that. Child care is included. Any questions?”

      “No,” said Lucy, handing over her check. She was struck by the sudden change in Krissy’s attitude. The smile was gone and she was all business. Lucy wondered if she was imagining it, or if Krissy really couldn’t wait to get rid of her.

      Turning to go toward the nursery, she saw Sue coming out of the dressing room.

      “This was a good idea—I got a membership,” she said, flashing her brand-new card. “How about you?”

      “Me? I’m going to think it over. I’m not sure exercise is for me.” Sue puckered her face with distaste and lowered her voice. “It made me sweat.”

      “That’s the point. You’re supposed to sweat.”

      “Oh.” Sue tapped her pearly pink lips with a perfectly manicured finger, polished to match, then tucked a lock of her shining black Dutch-boy hair behind one ear. “I’d like to keep you company, Lucy, but I don’t really think I have the time. I’ll let you know.”

      Lucy watched as her friend hurried out the door. If Sue wasn’t so nice, it would be easy to hate her. She always looked terrific, and she never gained a pound no matter how much she ate. Lucy shook her head and gave a little shrug, then headed for the nursery to retrieve Zoe. She didn’t think Sue would have to think it over for very long—she seemed to have already made up her mind.

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      A tapping at the kitchen door startled Lucy. Exhausted by the workout, she had been dozing in Bill’s recliner chair. The psychology book lay on the floor, where it had fallen. She rubbed her eyes and stretched, then hurried to the door. She blinked in surprise, recognizing Monica’s husband.

      Dr. Roland Mayes was the sort of man who always wore a suit and tie, and looked uncomfortable in casual clothes. On his infrequent visits to Tinker’s Cove his polo shirts were obviously brand new, straight out of the package, and his casual slacks were crisply creased. Today, however, Roland didn’t look band-box fresh. His suit was rumpled as if he’d worn it for several days, and he had a dark five o’clock shadow.

      “Come in, come in,” said Lucy. She gave him her best smile, hoping he wouldn’t realize how desperately she wished he hadn’t come. She had never liked him very much. On the rare occasions when she had spoken with him she had gotten the distinct impression that she was boring him. But now, she told herself, the poor man was bereaved. She had a duty to try and comfort him.

      “Take a seat,” invited Lucy.

      Roland staggered slightly as he headed for the chair, causing Lucy to look at him more closely. His face was pasty gray; he looked as if he was going to faint.

      “When did you eat last?”

      “I don’t remember,” he said, sitting down heavily at the table and placing a package in front of him. “I’m not hungry.”

      “You have to eat,” she said. “You need to keep up your strength. How about a sandwich?”

      “I could use that,” he said. Lucy busied herself mixing up some tuna fish and laying slices of bread out on the counter.

      “Bill and I both want you to know how sad we are about Monica,” said Lucy. Once again, tears were welling up in her eyes. Fortunately, she had her back to him and was able to brush them away. It wouldn’t do to inflict her own grief on this unfortunate man.

      “It never should have happened,” he said, shaking his head as Lucy set a plate and mug of tea in front of him. “Tuna salad,” he said, looking up. “I haven’t had this in years.”

      “Tuna’s a staple around here,” said Lucy, taking a sip of her own tea. “I suppose you’ve been to see the police and all. Are they making any progress in the investigation?”

      “None, none at all,” he answered, taking a bite of his sandwich. “They’re absolute incompetents as far as I can tell. I’ve lost my house, and my wife, and they don’t seem to care.” His tone was belligerent, almost angry.

      “I’m sure that’s not true,” said Lucy, in a soothing voice.

      “Then why did that idiot police chief, Growley or Crowley or whatever his name is, keep me waiting forty-five minutes before he’d see me? And then he gave me the brush-off.” Outrage burned in his eyes.

      Lucy ventured to guess that Roland knew a brush-off when he encountered one. As a successful doctor, he certainly knew the value of his time. He was most likely an experienced practitioner of the very tactics he deplored in Chief Crowley.

      “He’s just a small-town cop,” said Lucy. “The state police are probably in charge of the investigation.”

      “I don’t care who’s in charge. I want some answers. Somebody’s gonna have to pay for this,” he asserted, slamming his fist on the table and making the crumbs on his plate jump.

      “This must be absolutely horrible for you,” sympathized Lucy.

      “Horrible doesn’t begin to describe it.” He shook his head. “And it couldn’t have come at a worse time. My nomination for the Danforth prize was announced last week, you know.”

      “I didn’t know. Congratulations.” She paused. “I’m not familiar with the Danforth. What’s it for?”

      “The medical society’s most prestigious award. It’s between me and Feldman, the gastroenterologist. This won’t do me much good, I can tell you. The society are a pretty conservative group. They simply