Excerpt of Star Spangled Murder by Leslie Meier

Chapter One

Lucy Stone wasn’t usually a clock watcher. Time didn’t
pass slowly for her; it galloped ahead of her. As a part-
time reporter—not to mention feature writer, listings
editor and occasional photographer—for the Pennysaver, the
weekly newspaper in Tinker’s Cove, Maine, and the mother
of four, her life sometimes seemed to her an endless chase
after a spare minute. She was always late: late for
meetings she was supposed to cover, late for doctor’s
appointments, late for picking up the kids. But not today.

Today her eyes were fixed on the old electric kitchen
clock with the dangling cord that hung on the wall behind
the receptionist’s desk in the Penny- saver office. If
only she could stop the minute hand from lurching forward,
if only she could stop time, then she wouldn’t have to go
to the Board of Selectmen’s meeting at five o’clock.

“Is there something the matter with my hair?” asked
Phyllis, whose various job descriptions included
receptionist, telephone operator and advertising manager.
She gingerly patted her tightly-permed tangerine do. “You
keep staring at it.”

“Your hair’s fine,” said Lucy. “I’m looking at the clock.”

Phyllis peered over her rhinestone-trimmed cat’s-eye
glasses and narrowed her eyes. “Have you got the hots for
Howard White? Can’t wait to see him,” she paused and
smoothed her openwork white cardigan over her ample
bosom, “wield his gavel?”

Howard White was the extremely dignified chairman of the
Board of Selectmen, a retired executive who was well on in
years.

Lucy laughed. “Howard’s not my type,” she said.

Phyllis raised an eyebrow, actually a thinly penciled
orange line drawn where her eyebrows used to be. “Why not?
He’s not bad looking for an old guy, and he’s rich.”

“He also has a wife,” said Lucy. “And I have a husband.”

“Details.” Phyllis waved a plump, manicured hand, nails
polished in a bright coral hue.

“I don’t want to go to the meeting. I wish Ted would cover
the Board of Selectmen until this dog hearing is over.”

Ted was the owner, publisher and editor-in-chief of the
Pennysaver.

“Did I hear my name?” he inquired, sticking his head out
of the morgue where the back issues going all the way back
to the Courier & Advertisers printed in the 1800s were
stored.

“Ted? Do me a favor and cover the selectmen’s meeting?
Please?”

“Trouble at home?”

“You could say that,” said Lucy. “It’s Kudo. He’s been
going after Prudence Pratt’s chickens and I got a summons
yesterday for a dog hearing. I just feel so awkward trying
to cover the meeting with

this thing hanging over me.”

“Is the hearing tonight?”

“Next meeting.”

“Sorry, Lucy, but I don’t see a conflict of interest
tonight. I’ll cover the next hearing though.”

“Do you have to?” asked Lucy, picturing her name in the
headline. That darned dog was such an embarrassment. She
felt like a criminal. “Couldn’t we just skip that meeting?
Pretend it never happened?”

“No,” said Ted, flatly. “And if you don’t get a move on,
you’re going to be late for today’s meeting. It’s five,
you know.”

Lucy checked the clock. It was five minutes to five.

“They never start on time,” she said, slowly gathering up
her things. “And town hall’s just across the street.
There’s no hurry, really.”

“You better get a move on.”

Lucy hoisted the faded African basket she used as a purse
on her shoulder and drifted towards the door.

“I’m not going to miss anything. Bud Collins is never on
time and they always have to wait for him.”

Ted yanked the door open, making the little bell
jangle. “Go!”

“See you tomorrow,” said Lucy, walking as slowly as a
convict beginning the last mile.

The door slammed behind her.

Selectmen’s meetings were held in the basement hearing
room of the town hall. The walls were concrete block
painted beige, the floor was covered in gray industrial
tile, and the seating was plastic chairs in assorted
colors of green, blue and orange. One end of the room was
slightly elevated and that’s where the board members sat
behind a long bench, similar to the judge’s bench in a
courtroom.

What with the flags in the corner and a table and chairs
for petitioners, the room was quite similar to the
district court, thought Lucy. It wasn’t a comforting idea
and she tried to put it out of her mind as she took her
usual seat, smiling at the scattering of regulars who
never missed a meeting.

Scratch Hallett, a gruff old fellow who had a plumbing and
heating business and was active in veteran’s affairs, was
a particular favorite. She also recognized Jonathan
Franke, the former environmental radical who was now the
respected executive director of the Association for the
Preservation of Tinker’s Cove, and several members of that
organization. They were exchanging friendly nods when
Lucy’s attention was drawn to a newcomer. Tall and gaunt,
with her skimpy red hair pulled back into a straggly
ponytail, it was none other than her neighbor Prudence
Pratt, dressed in her customary summer outfit of baggy
blue jeans and a free Blue Seal T-shirt from the feed
store.

Lucy’s heart sank. She hoped Pru hadn’t gotten the date
wrong, and thought the dog hearing was today. Or maybe she
wanted to file an additional complaint. Kudo had gotten
loose again the other day, and had come trotting home with
a chicken feather stuck in his teeth. The memory made Lucy
wince. She was at her wit’s end; she’d tried everything
she could think of to restrain the dog but he was some
sort of escape artist. And whenever he got out, he went
after her neighbor’s chickens.

Lucy tried to catch Pru’s eye, hoping to start some kind
of dialog. Maybe if she apologized for the dog’s behavior,
or offered to pay for the damages, they could work
something out and avoid the hearing. But Mrs. Pratt stared
straight ahead, pointedly ignoring her.

A little flurry of activity announced the arrival of the
board members, who filed into the room accompanied by
their secretary, Bev Schmidt, who kept the minutes. They
always came in the same order, with IGA owner Joe Marzetti
going first. He was a bundle of energy, tightly focused on
the task at hand.