Leslie Meier - Mothers Day Murder

T he photo on the front page of the Sunday paper was familiar. NO MOTHERS DAY FOR CORINNES MOM read the headline above the plump, sad-eyed woman holding a photo of her pretty teenage daughter. Lucy Stone didnt have to read the story; as a reporter for the weekly Pennysaver newspaper, she knew all about it. Corinne Appleton, who had a summer job working as a counselor for the town recreation program in nearby Shiloh, had disappeared minutes after her mother dropped her off at the park. The story had been front-page news for weeks, then had gradually slipped to page three and, finally, to the second section as other stories demanded attention. But now, ten months later, Corinne was still missing.

How come youre looking so glum? demanded her husband, Bill, as he entered the room. Arent you enjoying Mothers Day?

Lucy quickly flipped over the paper, hiding Joanne Appletons reproachful face.

My mother always said Mothers Day was invented by the greeting card companies to boost sales, she said, beginning the struggle to get into a pair of control-top panty hose.

I always heard it was a creation of the necktie manufacturers, complained Bill, who often declared he never regretted giving up suits and ties and Wall Street for the T-shirts and jeans he wore as a restoration carpenter in the little Maine town of Tinkers Cove. I finally found this in the coat closet downstairs, he said, holding up a rather rumpled tie, the only one he possessed.

If you think a tie is torture, you ought to try panty hose, said Lucy, who usually wore jeans and running shoes, practical attire for her job. Today she was squeezing into heels and a suit for a Mothers Day brunch at the fancy Queen Victoria Inn. I dont want to seem ungrateful, but I liked it better when the kids gave me homemade cards and plants for the garden.

And Id cook breakfast, and youd get to eat it in bed.

Eventually, laughed Lucy. Id be starving by the time it actually arrived.

Thats because they had to pick the pansies and make the place mat and decorate the napkin, said Bill. It was quite a production. And then theyd fight over who got to carry the tray. He looked across the bed at his wife, who was standing in front of her dresser, putting on a pair of earrings. Those were the days, he said, crossing the room and slipping his arms around her waist and nuzzling her neck.

His beard, now speckled with gray, tickled, and Lucy smiled. Those days are over, she said. Our little nest is almost empty.

It was true. Only Sara, a high school freshman, and Zoe, in fifth grade, remained at home. Toby, their oldest, lived with his wife, Molly, and their son, eight-week-old Patrick, on neighboring Prudence Path. Elizabeth, their oldest daughter, was a student at Chamberlain College in Boston.

Can you believe were grandparents? continued Lucy, tickling Bills ear.

Youre still pretty hot, said Bill, appreciatively eyeing her trim figure and cap of glossy dark hair.

Its a battle, sighed Lucy, leaning forward to smooth on her age-defying makeup.

Bill grabbed her hips and pressed against her, but Lucy wiggled free. Well be late, she said, reaching for her lipstick. Besides, now that Im actually in these panty hose, theres no chance theyre coming off.

Bill sighed and headed for the door.

But I appreciate the gesture, she added.

Out in the hallway Bill was knocking on the girls bedroom doors. Bus leaves in five minutes, he said. She heard him go downstairs, followed by the clatter of the girls in their dressy shoes.

Lucy was the last to join the group in the kitchen. Bill was handsome in his all-purpose navy blazer, the girls adorable in flowery dresses that bared their arms and shoulders. Theyd freeze but there was no point telling them; theyd been planning what to wear for weeks, ever since Toby came up with the idea of treating his wife and mother to the Mothers Day brunch. Its Mollys first Mothers Day, hed said. We should do something special.

Unspoken, Lucy suspected, was his concern for Molly, who was making a slow recovery from a difficult pregnancy that ended abruptly on St. Patricks Day, several weeks earlier than expected. Little Patrick hadnt appreciated his sudden entry into the world and was a cranky and fussy baby, demanding all his exhausted mothers attention. Lucy helped as much as she could with household chores and meals, but only Molly could breast-feed the hungry little fellow, who demanded a meal every couple of hours, day and night. Toby did his best to help, too, but he was putting in long hours on the boat, getting ready for lobster season.

The new parents were already seated when they arrived at the inns sunny dining room. Patrick was propped in a baby seat between them, sound asleep.

What an angel, cooed Lucy, stroking his downy cheek. Even in his sleep, his lips made little nursing motions.

More like a barracuda, complained Molly. She was still pudgy from her pregnancy, her face was splotchy, and she needed a haircut. Nevertheless, shed made an effort, and although she was still wearing maternity pants, shed topped them with a pretty pastel sweater. Seeing her, Lucy was reminded of the terrifying days after Tobys birth, when she was afraid of dropping him on his head or sticking him with a diaper pin or starving him or over-feeding him and thereby proving her incompetence as a mother.

The first three months are the hardest, said Lucy. But youre obviously doing something right. He looks great.

Hes much too skinny, said Molly. Even though I nurse him constantly, I dont think hes 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. Hes positively chubby.

Thats what Ive been telling you, chimed in Toby.

Hes the cutest baby Ive 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. Im 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 couldnt miss brunch at the Queen Vic, Elizabeth said, taking the last seat. I used to work here, remember? Today theyre waiting on me!

Well, now that were all here, announced Bill, lets 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 didnt see that often, and the new baby, that was most precious to her.