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.