Trick or Treat Murder (13 page)

"You're not doing me any favor," he shouted angrily. "Who do you think you are ? I can do what I want with my land. You can't stop me. It's mine. I can do whatever I damn well please with it. Ain't that right?"

Lucy jerked to attention. What was that Lenk had said? You can't stop me.

Miss Tilley banged down her gavel. "Do I hear a motion to adjourn?"

Wasn't that what the anonymous phone caller had said? While the board went through the business of voting to adjourn, Lucy studied Randolph Lenk. Was he the one who made the phone call?

She grimaced with distaste as he ran his black, grimy fingers through his greasy hair and shook his fist at the board members. "It's my property," he yelled, revealing uneven broken teeth. "I can do what I want!"

"Meeting adjourned," announced Miss Tilley, pointedly ignoring him and banging down the gavel.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Driving home after the meeting, Lucy turned to Bill. "I think Randy Lenk made that anonymous phone call."

"I think so, too. Seems he called the other commission members. Said the same thing to everyone. "You can't stop me."

Lucy shook her head. "What a weird thing to do."

"He's a pretty weird guy. You know that ugly sandpit on Bumps River Road."

"Mmm."

"That's his. It didn't used to be a pit like that. It was a nice piece of woods. He cut all the trees and stripped off the soil."

"Why would he do that?"

"Sold the timber and the top soil. Made a pretty penny, I guess. But he made the town so mad they passed a tree-cutting bylaw at the next town meeting. Now you have to get a permit from the conservation commission before you can clear-cut your property."

"That's good," Lucy said, nodding.

"Most people think so. But not Lenk. He was so mad he went out to another piece of land he owns—his family's been around forever and he's got a lot of land—and he ringed all the trees so they'd die. You've seen it, that sick-looking woods behind the dump."

"I thought it was toxic runoff from the dump or something."

"Nope. Lenk, making a point."

"Seems kind of crazy to me," Lucy said.

"Miss Tilley says it runs in the family," explained Bill. "According to her, his father was a pervert who got sent to jail and got himself killed. Apparently he set his bedding on fire as some sort of protest but nobody noticed until it was too late and he died. She said he died of stupidity."

"That's awful," Lucy said, wrapping her arms across her chest.

"Miss T. said it was the nicest thing he could have done for his family."

"She would." Lucy chuckled. "I wonder if he was a mental masturbator."

"You don't get sent to jail for crimes of the mind," said Bill, turning into the driveway and braking. He reached over and took Lucy's hand. "What did you think of your husband, the commissioner?"

"I thought you looked very handsome and important." Lucy squeezed his hand. "I was proud of you."

"I saw you, sitting next to Sue."

"Oh, yeah?" Lucy tilted her head. "What did you think?"

"I thought you looked pretty cute." He bent down and kissed her.

When they went into the house a few minutes later, they found Jennifer sitting in the rocking chair with Zoe sound asleep in her arms.

"How did everything go?" asked Lucy.

"Fine. She took a little bit of the milk you left, but she didn't seem very hungry."

"She's still not quite herself. Did you give her the medicine?"

"Yup. Went down with no problem."

"You're amazing, Jennifer. It's wonderful to be able to go out for an evening and know the kids are in such capable hands."

"I love kids, especially babies," she said, carefully passing Zoe over to her mother.

"Can you sit for us a week from Saturday? I'll call with the details," asked Lucy, handing her a ten-dollar bill.

"Sure. I'll look forward to it," said Jennifer, bouncing out the door.

"Isn't she cuter Lucy asked Bill. "She just got her driver's license—she's got a little car of her own. Wouldn't it be great to be sixteen again?"

"I remember my first car. It was a big old Dodge Dart. Gosh I had good times in that thing, until I hit an icy patch and slid into a light pole. I thought my father was going to kill me." He paused, and put down a stack of papers next to his chair. "There's something I want to check in the bylaws. I'll be up in a minute."

"Okay," said Lucy, taking the baby upstairs and gently plac¬ing her in her bassinet. Thoughtfully, she stroked Zoe's soft, fuzzy head with her index finger. She traced the roundness of her baby's head, and her cheek; she sniffed the sweet baby smell.

We all start out the same, she thought, how does a perfect little baby turn into a pathetic specimen like Randy Lenk? Once upon a time he must have been a lovely little baby. Though with a father like that, he certainly didn't get off to a very good start.

A pervert. Trust Miss Tilley to use a horrible word like that. An old-fashioned word. Today he'd be what? A child molester. An abusive parent. Lucy shuddered.

Suddenly, she wondered if Lenk could be the arsonist. Didn't he fit the profile in the psychology book? According to the learned author, arsonists frequently had difficulty accepting authority. They were often survivors of childhood sexual abuse. They also indulged in other antisocial behaviors, such as making anonymous telephone calls and writing hate letters. And even if he didn't have a justification for his behavior in the beginning, he certainly did now. He could have burned Doug's place as a warning to the other members of the historic commission.

Now that she thought about it, it seemed unlikely that Dr. Mayes was responsible for the fire at Doug's place. Having already achieved his objective, it would have been foolish and risky. Maybe Krissy did it, she thought, remembering how angry she had been with Dr. Mayes. Setting another fire would let him know that he couldn't control her, that she was dangerous when she didn't get what she wanted.

Lucy rubbed her temples. No doubt about it, she was getting a headache. She had been so sure that Dr. Mayes had set the fires but now she had her doubts. Instead of becoming clearer, this situation was getting murkier by the minute. She headed for the bathroom, thinking of a commercial for a painkiller she had seen on TV. "Yes," she said out loud to herself as she opened the medicine cabinet and reached for the familiar bottle, "I do get really tough headaches."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The next morning, as soon as she had the house to herself, she picked up the phone and dialed. While it rang, she looked out the window at the red and yellow trees bordering the yard. She ioved the way the garden looked in the fall, a bit tousled and blowsy, the sharp edges of summer blurred by frost. Brown leaves blew this way and that, the flowering annuals that had been so green and bright a few months ago now sprawled black and exhausted in their beds. She really needed to get out there with a rake and tidy up.

"Barney? I had an idea."

A low groan came through the receiver.

"Don't be like that. I think I may be on to something."

"Okay, shoot."

"Well, I think Randy Lenk might be the arsonist."

"Congratulations. You and everybody else."

"He was already a suspect?" Lucy was disappointed.

"You could say that. A prime suspect. Suspect number one."

"Well, how come he hasn't been arrested?" Lucy pulled chair out from under the kitchen table and sat down, leaning he elbows on the table.

"He's been brought in for questioning, but we always had t let him go." "Why?"

"Not enough evidence."

"Can't you stake him out or something?"

"We've been watching him, but somehow he always manage to slip away."

"That doesn't say much for the Tinker's Cove P.D.," Lucy teased, sliding down in the chair. "He's supposed to be real dumb."

"Dumb like a fox. It's like a game with him. He knows he' being watched, y'see. So he sets up little decoys and distractions Took the boys a while to figure out he's got his lights on a timer It looks for all the world like he's watching TV, then the down stairs lights go out and the bedroom light goes on for about fifteen minutes. Then it goes off. We thought he was sound asleep till an off-duty cop spotted him at the pool hall in Gilead. And I'l tell you somethin', Lucy. The more I know about this guy, the creepier he gets."

"Really?" Lucy sat up straighter.

"Yeah. We tried searching his house, but it was pretty near impossible. He's got stuff piled up all around, and little pathways in between to get from room to room. He could have anything in there, buried under the boxes of newspapers and crap.

"And the kitchen. Lucy, I thought I'd seen dirty, but I wa wrong. His was the worst I've ever seen." Barney's disgust cam through the telephone line. "Except for his bathroom. I'm not sure he doesn't wash engines in his bathtub. Or keep pigs there. Gives the word filth new meaning."

"Couldn't the board of health condemn it or something?"

"Turned out they couldn't. DA said the ACLU'd be on it faster'n a tick on a dog. Individual rights, or some nonsense or other."

"Oh. What about Monica's rights ?" Lucy was indignant. "The rights of the people whose property he burned."

"I guess the ACLU doesn't care about them. Don't worry, Lucy. We're keepin' an eye on him. Sooner or later he'll screw up. Lab says he's using alcohol to start the fires and it's a piss-poor accelerant. If it hadn't been so dry lately, the buildings wouldn't even've burned. We'll get him. It's just a matter of time."

"I guess you're right. You know, Barney, every time I talk to you I get this nagging feeling that there's something I should tell you."

"About the kids?"

"No, that's not it. It'll come to me, but it's driving me crazy. I just haven't been the same since the baby. I keep forgetting things."

"I guess that's to be expected," said Barney indulgently. "You've got a lot on your mind. If you think of it, give me a call. Okay?"

"Yeah. Bye."

Lucy lifted the last sack of groceries from the cart and put it in the wayback, then slammed down the hatch. She returned the cart, then slipped Zoe out of the corduroy carrier and strapped her into the safety seat. Relieved to be unburdened, Zoe seemed to be gaining so fast, she slipped behind the wheel of the Subaru and turned the key in the ignition.

Checking the gas gauge, she decided to stop and fill the tank before going home. Lenk's Northstar, she remembered was just down the road.

Pulling into the rather ramshackle station, she wondered what the Northstar people saw in it. The paving was old and worn, the two pumps were dented, and the building needed paint. Of course, they planned to replace all that. But why this station? Did they really think Lenk would keep the new station up to their standards?

Not likely, she decided. Most probably they were using Lenk as a front man, while the project gathered the necessary permits and approvals. Local boards would find it harder to turn down one of their own, where they wouldn't hesitate to refuse a big corporation eager to cash in on the tourist economy. Once the project was approved, Lucy guessed, Northstar would buy out Randy Lenk. No wonder he got so mad at the hearing. He probably stood to gain a lot of money from this deal.

"Fill it up, please," said Lucy to the kid manning the pump. "Do you mind if I look around?" she asked, waving a hand at a pile of junk next to a shed. "I lost the cap to the tank on my snowblower. Maybe you've got one that'll do."

"Sure," said the kid with a shrug.

He looked up as Miss Tilley zoomed into the space on the other side of the pump, and rolled down the window of her huge Chrysler Imperial.

"Nice car," Lucy heard him say in an admiring voice as he went to wait on her.

She lifted Zoe out of the baby seat, and zipped her into the corduroy carrier she wore on her chest. Not quite sure what she hoped to find, Lucy began sifting through the pile. There were bits and pieces of all sorts of machinery, car parts, a snowplow, even a sewing machine. Just the sort of stuff that might come in handy, she thought wryly, especially if you were going to be very rich.

I wonder what he'll do with his money, she thought. Buy a big mansion and surround it with odds and ends in his best back' woods fashion. Maybe better grade car parts, she chuckled to herself. BMW hubcaps. Mercedes-Benz mufflers. Rhino guards from Range Rovers; also handy for moose.

Standing on tiptoe, she grasped the windowsill and tried to peek in. The window was filthy, and the sun was too bright. She couldn't make out a thing. The shed could be filled with cans of alcohol and she'd never know.

Why alcohol, when he had all this gas? she wondered. Why not? It was probably supposed to fool the cops. Just the sort of reasoning someone like Lenk would use.

"Whaddya think you're doin?"

Lucy jumped and wrapped her arms protectively around the baby. She turned slowly, reluctant to face Randy Lenk. His dirty hair fell into his eyes and he had a three-day stubble of beard. His teeth, she was appalled to see, really were green.

"What the hell do you think you're doin'?" he growled.

"By any chance," she said politely, "do you have a cap that would fit the gas tank of a Toro snowblower? I somehow lost mine."

"Nope." His voice was flat.

"Could I just take a peek in the shed?" persisted Lucy. "You've got so much stuff around here—I bet you've got something I could use. I'd be happy to pay for it."

Lenk narrowed his eyes and stepped closer. Lucy could smell his sour scent.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll get outta here," he snarled.

"Fine. No problem," said Lucy, stepping backward. Not too hasty, she told herself. Stay calm. Don't panic. Back to the car.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked the attendant once she reached her car.

'Ten," said the kid.

"Here you go. Thanks."

Lucy repeated the business of strapping Zoe into the car seat. Then she started the ignition and pulled up behind Miss Tilley, who was signaling to turn left.

That Chrysler certainly was some car, she thought, as she waited her turn to exit. Acres of solid black hood and trunk were trimmed with massive chrome grilles and heavy bumpers. There was no plastic on this baby. Everything was shining, gleaming metal. It was easily twice as big as her Subaru. What had Bill told her? It was the favorite model of demolition derby drivers.

"Those things are built like tanks," he'd said. "They just don't make 'em like that anymore."

Too bad, thought Lucy. That car had certainly given Miss Tilley good service. She'd had it forever. Of course, she had taken good care of it. There wasn't a speck of rust on it

Sensing movement ahead, Lucy automatically flipped the signal stick, and shifted into first, ready to follow the Chrysler. Instead of accelerating gradually, however, Miss Tilley's Chrysler suddenly lurched ahead, apparently out of control.

Careening wildly into oncoming traffic, the huge black car smashed head on into a tiny red Toyota Tercel.