Leslie Meier - Fathers Day Murder

W ouldnt you like to kill him when he does that? Phyllis was referring to her boss, Ted Stillings, editor-in-chief and publisher of the weekly Tinkers Cove Pennysaver, who had just announced his arrival in the office by throwing his head back, pounding his chest, and yelling like Tarzan. Behind him the little bell on the door jangled merrily, and dust motes danced in the stripes of afternoon sunlight that streamed through the old-fashioned brown-wood Venetian blinds covering the plate-glass windows.

Only if I can torture him first, replied Lucy Stone, the papers investigative reporter, feature writer, listings editor, and photographer. Quick, pass me the handcuffs and the duct tape.

Phyllis, whose various job descriptions included receptionist, telephone operator, and advertising manager, smoothed her pink beaded cardigan over her ample bust and began searching in her desk drawer.

Darn. I must have loaned them to somebody, she said, shaking her head. Not a single tangerine lock escaped from the hair spray shed liberally applied that morning.

Enough with the sarcasm, admonished Ted. Ive got big news.

Uh-oh, said Phyllis in a resigned tone. That probably means more work for us.

Not today it doesnt, insisted Lucy, who as the mother of four had learned early on the importance of setting limits. I have to get Zoe to ballet, and Sara has horseback riding. I absolutely, positively have to leave at three. Not a minute later.

Will you two shut up? demanded Ted. I have an announcement to make.

Phyllis rolled her eyes. So whats the problem? Cat got your tongue? Spit it out.

Were waiting, said Lucy, drumming her fingers impatiently on her computer keyboard.

I get no respect here, fumed Ted. I might as well be home.

He sat down at the antique rolltop desk hed inherited from his grandfather, a legendary New England newspaper editor, and put his head in his hands.

This is the biggest thing to happen to the Pennysaver sincewell, I dont know when, and nobodys interested. Nobody cares.

We care, chorused Lucy and Phyllis.

Please, pretty please, cajoled Lucy. Please tell us.

Ted lifted his head.

Only if youre really interested.

Were really interested, said Phyllis with a big sigh.

You dont sound interested. Ted was pouting.

Lucy checked her watch. I dont have all day, Ted, she reminded him.

Okay. Ted straightened up. Drumroll, please.

Lucy tapped two pencils against the edge of her scarred wooden desk.

Today, began Ted, making a little bow and displaying a sheet of paper with an impressive engraved letterhead, I have the honor of informing you that the Tinkers Cove Pennysaver has been named Community Newspaper of the Year in Category Five, Circulation Less than Five Thousand by the Trask Trust for Journalism in the Public Interest.

Youve got to be kidding, said Phyllis, raising the rhinestone-trimmed reading glasses that dangled from a chain around her neck and holding her hand out for the official letter.

Wow, said Lucy, honestly impressed. Congratulations. She knew how Ted had struggled through the years to keep the Pennysaver, which had a lineage reaching back over a hundred years to the yellowed and crumbling Couriers and Advertisers in the morgue, a going concern. Only someone with a genuine dedication and commitment to local news would have continued to soldier on in such a difficult economy against TV, the Internet, and numerous slick and sophisticated competitors.

It gets better, said Ted, passing the letter to Phyllis. The award includes a grant to attend the Northeast Newspaper Association conference in Boston.

Its true, said Phyllis, lowering her glasses. Just my luck, the conference is for editorial staff only. She sucked in her heavily powdered cheeks and pursed her Frosted Apricot lips. I suppose that leaves me out.

Sorry, said Ted, not bothering to sound too sympathetic. Someone has to watch the store. But Lucy, I think you should definitely go. Its a great opportunity to polish up your writing and reporting skills and to meet other journalists. Opportunities like this dont come along every day, you know.

Lucy knew. She couldnt remember the last time shed left the little Maine town. And shed hardly ever left her family for more than a day, and then only to give birth or tend to her ailing parents.

Where is it? And when is it? she asked.

Boston. The second week in June.

Oh, Id love to go to Boston, she admitted. But June? I cant get away in June. Elizabeth and Toby will be home from college. Sara and Zoe will be finishing up the school year. It would mean missing the middle school awards ceremony and the ballet recital

Thats not what I call a problem, said Phyllis, cutting her short. Id call it a gift from God.

In spite of herself, Lucy laughed, recalling long hours spent perched on uncomfortable bleacher seats in the stifling gymnasium watching an endless procession of students receive awards for everything from perfect attendance and positive attitudes to the Zeiger Prize for Improved Penmanship.

It means a lot to the kids, she said lamely.

They have a father, dont they? continued Phyllis. He can go.

Youre right, said Lucy. Bill will go. She sighed.

Theres some problem with Bill?

Phyllis was sharp; there was no denying it, thought Lucy.

Its just thatwell, you know Toby is going to be working for his father when he gets home from college.

Bill Stone, Lucys restoration carpenter husband, was still recovering from a nasty fall. It had been decided that Toby, who was struggling in college, would take a year off from his studies and assist him on the job.