Authors: Leslie Meier

Chocolate Covered Murder (20 page)

BOOK: Chocolate Covered Murder

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Lucy was following her out the door when her cell phone rang, so she sat on the droopy, slipcovered sofa to take the call, afraid it was one of the kids. That whole awful episode with Eddie was stuck in her mind. No matter how well you thought you knew your kids, how much you trusted them, there were always surprises and experience had taught her that trouble always came when you were least expecting it. Wasn't that always the way? When she and Bill finally got a rare night out together, some emergency invariably seemed to come up. But when she glanced at the phone, she saw it was Corney who was calling.

“Hi!” she said, wondering what had kept Corney from the ball. “Where are you? I thought you'd be dancing the night away.”

“I wish,” whispered Corney. “I think I'm being held against my will.”

“What do you mean?”

“Trey suggested we have a little, you know, before going to the ball and I foolishly agreed. I read in a magazine that sex gives you a terrific glow, much better than makeup.”

“I read that, too,” said Lucy.

“It didn't exactly work out.”

“What do you mean?”

Corney's voice got even lower. “He suggested handcuffs, said they'd be fun.”

Lucy resisted the temptation to laugh. “And?”

“Well, here I am, stark naked and handcuffed to my bed. Thank heavens the cell phone was on the night stand. I could just manage to reach it, kind of shoved it along with my nose until I could grab it.”

“Where's Trey?”

“That's why I'm calling. He left me here. I need you to come and free me.”

“He left?”

“Yes.”

Lucy didn't understand. “He handcuffed you and then left? Left the house?”

“Yes! I begged him to unlock them but he just laughed and walked out.”

“What a bastard!”

“Yeah.” There was a pause. “So will you come?”

“What he did is against the law,” said Lucy, primly. “This is a matter for the police.”

“Are you crazy? I'm naked. This is Tinker's Cove! Do you think I want the Kirwan kids and Barney Culpepper seeing me like this?”

“You have a point,” said Lucy. “But what can I do? I don't have the keys.”

“They're right here. They're on the dresser. I can't reach them.”

“Okay,” said Lucy, finally accepting the fact that she was going to have to leave the party to help Corney. “I'll be there in ten minutes.”

“I'll be here,” said Corney. “I'm sure not going anywhere.”

Chapter Seventeen

W
hen Lucy returned to the ball she found Bill standing with a group of friends near the bar. They were all holding glasses of beer and were engaged in a loud, play-by-play discussion of the Superbowl. Lucy didn't want to interrupt them, they were all in high spirits with plenty of laughing and backslapping and she didn't want to be a ball-and-chain sort of wife. Instead she caught Bill's eye and held up her car keys, then tapped her watch. She hoped he'd take her sign language to mean she was leaving the party for a few minutes.

He didn't. Looking puzzled, he left the group and crossed the room. “What's going on?”

“I have to leave for a few minutes ... ,” she began.

“Why? Is one of the kids in trouble?”

“No, no,” she hurried to assure him. “It's Corney.” She paused, trying to come up with a reason why Corney needed her. “It's her car. It won't start and she needs a ride.”

“Want me to come? I've got jumper cables, maybe I can get it started.”

What was it with men? she wondered. She'd been after Bill for weeks to replace the toilet seat in the powder room. She'd even bought a new seat and tried to do the job herself but wasn't strong enough to loosen the bolts that held the broken one in place. Somehow he wasn't interested in a little job that would take him two minutes, but now when she didn't want his help he was suddenly Dudley Do-Right.

“Don't be silly,” she said. “You're having a good time with your buddies and I'll be back in no time.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I don't mind going. It's cold and you're not really dressed for it.”

Lucy realized he had a point. Unused to walking in heels, she'd had to hang on to his arm just to cross the icy driveway. She hadn't wanted to mess up her hair by wearing a hat and her good black coat wasn't nearly as warm as her parka.

Lucy was about to give up and confess the truth when Sid, who had loosened his collar and stuffed his tie into his jacket pocket with one end dangling out, joined them and punched Bill in the arm. “Whassup, buddy?” he asked.

“Lucy needs me... .”

“No, I don't,” said Lucy, interrupting him with a smile. “I can handle this.”

“Well, that's good because the Bruins game is on the TV in the bar and Montreal's got two players in the penalty box.”

Bill was clearly torn. “Go on,” she said. “I'll be back before those Canadiens are back on the ice.”

“Okay,” he said, as Sid clapped an arm around his shoulder and dragged him off to join the crowd of men gathered in front of the TV.

Buttoning her coat as she stepped outside, Lucy had second thoughts about her mission. The temperature had dropped while they were inside, and a stiff breeze had blown up. The cold air hit her like a slap in the face and she hurried to pull on her gloves. Her ears were already burning from the cold and she covered them with her hands as she slipped and slid across the icy parking lot. She almost fell when she reached out to open the car door but saved herself by grabbing the roof.

Finally in place behind the steering wheel, she realized the car wasn't any warmer than the parking lot. At least she was out of the wind, she told herself, as she started the engine and cranked the heat up as high as it would go.

The roads were deserted as she drove along under the star-filled sky. There was no moon but the stars were very bright. Orion was hanging so low she felt as if she could reach out and touch the archer's belt; the Big Dipper pointed to the North Star, just as it had in the days when escaping Southern slaves followed it to freedom in the North. In fact, a number of houses in town were said to have been stops on the Underground Railroad that led to Canada.

Corney had recently moved into a brand-new house on Shore Road and Lucy remembered how she'd proudly showed off all the modern advancesâgas fireplaces that turned on with the touch of a remote, jacks in every room for phones, TVs and computers, a dream kitchen with granite countertops and energy-saving stainless steel appliances, even a heated toilet seat.

Lucy wasn't jealous; she loved her antique home with all its quirks. But at this moment, driving through the dark and silent streets, she wouldn't mind a heated car seat. She was shivering in her short silky skirt and lace blouseâeven under her coat they felt cold against her skin. Why hadn't she dressed like Rachel, in a long skirt and sweater? She suspected Rachel had worn warm boots under that long skirt, too. Which reminded her, she kept an old pair of boots in the car for emergencies, along with a blanket.

Warm air was finally beginning to blow from the vents when she turned onto Shore Road and approached Corney's house, which sat on a double lot overlooking the ocean. It was a gorgeous spot in summer, when you could sit on the porch and watch the sailboats tacking back and forth, but winter was a different story. Tonight, the ocean was angry and she could hear the waves rhythmically pounding the rocks below. Lucy was wondering if Corney regretted her choice of location when she noticed that Trey's Range Rover was parked in the driveway.

What did this mean? she wondered, as she braked and came to a stop in front of the house. All the windows were dark but Lucy knew Corney had expensive, custom-built window coverings that blocked the light. Inside, every light could be on and you'd never know it from the outside if the shades were drawn.

Lucy sat there a minute, wondering what to do. Corney had said Trey was gone, but if he had left, he was back. Or maybe he'd just left the bedroom and was lurking inside. Perhaps he'd even gone back to the bedroom and picked up wherever he'd left off with Corney. Lucy was tempted to leave; she certainly didn't want to interrupt the pair in a romantic moment.

Maybe romantic wasn't exactly the word, she thought, considering the handcuffs, and maybe Trey was a kinky guy who got off by abusing women. Sometimes that sort of thing went too far. Corney had called for help, she couldn't drive away without making sure everything was okay.

She couldn't just walk up and ring the bellâwhat should she do? Time was passing, pretty soon Bill would start to worry. She had to do something and do it fast, she decided, turning into the driveway opposite Corney's. Nobody was there this time of year; the Whittleseys were summer people.

Bracing for the shock of cold air, she opened the door and went around to the back of the car, where she opened the hatch and found her emergency stash. She draped the blanket over her head and wrapped it around her shoulders and shoved her feet into the boots; then she clomped across the street feeling like a Muslim woman in a chador. Except that she doubted any devout Muslim woman would be out alone at night trying to peep into her neighbor's windows.

Reaching Corney's porch, Lucy looked for a gap in the blinds or curtains, without success. That meant she'd have to walk around the house, on the lawn, where the snow wasn't shoveled. She stepped off the porch, expecting to sink into deep snow, but found instead that a crust had formed that supported her, though it occasionally broke through. Even so, her feet went down only a few inches when that happened, so she soon reached the rear porch, where a patch of light on the snow revealed an uncovered window. She hurried across and peered inside, discovering the kitchen.

It was empty, and so was the adjoining dining area and family room. Lucy stood there, noticing that nothing was out of place. The counters were bare, the farmhouse sink was empty, only one pot, a large cast-iron frying pan, was sitting on the stove. There was no sign of a struggle, no evidence that anything was wrong.

There was also no sign that anything was right. If only she could catch a glimpse of Corney, alive and well. Opening a bottle of wine, perhaps, or settling down on the couch to watch TV. Snuggling up beside Trey, even.

The silence was beginning to worry her. She decided she had to find out what was going on inside the house, even if it meant discovering Corney and Trey in an embarrassing situation. Corney had called her for help and hadn't canceled the request, she reminded herself, reaching for the doorknob. She had a responsibility to make sure her friend was safe.

To her surprise, the door opened, and she stepped inside. She'd been there many times and knew the layout. A formal dining room was just beyond the kitchen and a central hallway led to the living room and study, which were separated by another hall that led to the guest bath and the master suite beyond. There was no sign that anyone was in the house besides her; it was absolutely quiet. The windows were shut tight against the cold; you couldn't even hear the roar of the ocean waves.

The warm air inside the house was making her nose run so she reached for a paper towel from the roll on a decorative black wirework holder. She was just blowing her nose, as quietly as possible, when she heard a piercing scream.

She stopped, frozen in place as adrenalin surged through her body, ready to fight or flee. Fleeing definitely seemed the best option but she couldn't leave Corney. She remained in place, trying to decide if the scream was one of pain or pleasure, fear or delight. Unsure what to do, she considered calling for help. But Corney had specifically said she didn't want the police. Too embarrassing, she had said.

You couldn't die of embarrassment, thought Lucy, only too aware that a double murderer was still on the loose. Before she could change her mind, she dialed 9-1-1 and told the dispatcher there was an intruder at Corney Clarke's on Shore Road.

No sooner had the dispatcher said she'd send a unit right over than Lucy regretted making the call. She decided the best thing would be to go outside and explain the situation. It would be awkward, but she knew all the officers on the force and they knew her. They'd probably just think it was a big joke and everyone would have a good laugh. If they insisted on checking out the house, well, the flashing lights and radio noise would give Corney and Trey time to make themselves decent. And if Corney was angry with her, well, darn it, she shouldn't have called her in the first place. She was supposed to be dancing the night away, not standing in somebody else's kitchen, listening to the hum of the refrigerator and waiting for the cops.

She was about to go outside when another scream ripped through the nighttime silence.

This time Lucy was sure. That was a scream of pure terror. She looked around for a weapon, anything, but Corney's counters were bare. She yanked a drawer open, but all she found were rolls of wrap. Another drawer held silverware. Where were the knives? Her eyes fell on the stove where that hefty black cast-iron frying pan was sitting on a burner. Better than a knife, she decided, grabbing it. She could use it as a shield, too.

Holding the pan in front of her with two hands, she started down the darkened hall, toward the bedroom. As she proceeded she heard muffled sounds, moans and whines that could have come from a cat. She reached the door and paused, listening, trying to figure out what was happening on the other side. She reached for the knob, then decided it was too risky to go into a situation blind, and withdrew. What if it was a home invasion like the recent one in nearby Gilead, and Trey was a captive, too? Those guys, two strung-out drug addicts, had been armed with a gun and a machete. She was simply not prepared to face something like that. She'd be better off going back outside, where she could try to peek through a bedroom window.

Hurrying back down the hall to the kitchen, she stepped outside onto the porch. The cold hit her like a hammer and she drew the blanket more tightly around herself. Clutching the frying pan to her chest, she stepped off the porch into knee-deep snow. Scrambling awkwardly, as quickly as she could in the snow that clung to her boots, she headed for the one window where she saw a crack of light. Her teeth were chattering and she was shivering as she peered inside the bedroom, all aglow from the pink light bulbs Corney insisted were most flattering to her skin.

The gap in the curtains was small and Lucy didn't see much skin, only Corney's bare pink legs, only one leg really. Trey Meacham was kneeling, fully dressed, between her legs and it looked as if she was trying to kick him.

Just then, Lucy was caught in a bright light and a male voice ordered, “Police! Drop it and raise your hands over your head.”

Lucy whirled around, squinting against the powerful beam of light and trying to decide who was holding the flashlight. “He'sâhe's killing her!” she yelled, pointing at the window.”

“I'm armed. Drop the frying pan and raise your arms over your head.”

“Okay, okay,” said Lucy, complying. “I made the call. I'm not the intruder. Corney called me. She's in trouble.”

“Walk slowly.” The flashlight beam indicated the direction he wanted her to take, around the side of the house to the front yard. “Keep your hands above your head.”

“For Pete's sake!” declared Lucy, frustrated beyond belief. “I'm Lucy Stone. I'm not a peeping Tom. There's a murder going on inside ... at least I think it's a murder.”

“What's going on here?” Lucy recognized Todd Kirwan's voice, coming from behind whoever was holding the flashlight.

“What's going on is this guy thinks I'm a peeping Tom and meanwhile Trey Meacham is attacking Corney inside the house.”

BOOK: Chocolate Covered Murder

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