Mother's Day Murder. Leslie Meier
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Название: Mother's Day Murder
Автор: Leslie Meier
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Ужасы и Мистика
Серия: A Lucy Stone Mystery
isbn: 9780758260123
isbn:
“Does she want to go, or does her mother want her to go?” asked Bill, making the turn onto Red Top Road.
“I think Mr. Berg wants her to go,” said Sara, naming the high school principal.
“Getting a student into Harvard would be a feather in his cap,” said Lucy. “Nobody’s been accepted there since Richie Goodman, have they?”
“Not that it did him much good,” said Bill. “What’s he doing? Still in school, isn’t he?”
“He’s pursuing a doctorate in ancient Greek ceramics or something like that,” said Lucy, who was friends with his mother, Rachel. “But he’s taking a break this semester to build houses in New Orleans for people who lost their homes in Hurricane Katrina.”
“You sure don’t need a Harvard degree to do that,” said Bill.
“So how do these girls act at school?” asked Elizabeth. “Are they friends?”
“Yeah, pretty much,” said Sara. “They both belong to the same clique, you know, the popular kids. They all sit together at lunch, and they’re mean to everyone else.”
“Oh, I’m so glad I’m out of high school,” sighed Elizabeth.
“My friends don’t like them very much,” said Sara, with a shrug. “Even though they’re the most popular, they’re mean to each other, too. They’re always saying nasty things about each other, even when they’re ganging up on somebody else.”
“I noticed they couldn’t keep their eyes off of each other,” said Elizabeth.
“Probably checking out their outfits,” guessed Lucy.
“Maybe it’s like Machiavelli said,” mused Elizabeth.
“Who is Macaroni?” asked Zoe, joining the conversation.
“Machiavelli. He’s a fifteenth-century Italian philosopher. He said you should keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”
Lucy nudged Bill. “And you were saying Chamberlain’s too expensive. Look at the stuff she’s learning.”
“Well,” muttered Bill, turning into the driveway, “let’s see what sort of job she can get when she graduates.”
Mother’s Day was definitely over, thought Lucy, surveying the kitchen as she poured her first cup of coffee on Monday morning. The pan Bill had used to fry himself a couple of eggs was still on the stove, coated with grease and burned-on egg. One of the girls had slopped milk on the counter when she fixed herself a bowl of cereal, the table was covered with toast crumbs, and the dog had gotten into the garbage, scattering soggy tea bags, empty cans, and bits of empty food packages across the floor.
Lucy was reaching for the sponge when Elizabeth appeared and asked if she could do a load of wash before leaving for Boston.
“I don’t think there’s time,” said Lucy. “I have to get to work by nine.”
“But my bus isn’t until eleven. Can’t you come home and take me then?”
“I guess so,” grumbled Lucy, thinking of her boss Ted’s reaction. He’d been acting like a bit of a Tartar lately, becoming a real stickler for punctuality and keeping a close eye on Lucy’s time card. Unable to think of any other explanation, she’d chalked it up to male menopause.
Two and a half hours later, it went exactly as she had imagined. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he demanded as she headed for the door, with her keys in hand.
Phyllis, the receptionist, who also handled classified ads and events listings, gave her a look. “The listings are especially heavy this week,” she said.
“I have to take Elizabeth to the bus. I’ll be back in a flash,” promised Lucy.
“Make sure you are,” warned Ted.
Lucy shrugged it off; she was already late, but she wondered what exactly he had in mind. Was he threatening to fire her?
When she got home, Lucy found Elizabeth dressed and waiting impatiently for her ride, the clean clothes packed in a duffel. The kitchen, which she had tidied before leaving for work, was once again a mess, with the stove and countertop filled with dirty pots and mixing bowls. The fruit basket, which she had filled on Saturday, was empty.
“I hope you don’t mind. I made some food to take back. Healthy stuff, like brown rice salad and grilled vegetables and fresh fruit.”
“No problem,” said Lucy, a bit grudgingly but unwilling to end Elizabeth’s brief visit with an argument. Now, of course, she’d have to stop at the grocery on her way home from work, something she hadn’t been planning to do. Lucy sighed and grabbed the cooler Elizabeth was “borrowing” to carry the food back to Boston.
“I thought you’d be glad I won’t be eating fast food,” said Elizabeth, grabbing the duffel and following her mother out the door.
“Sorry. I’m just distracted,” said Lucy, starting the car. That was a fancy cooler she’d snagged at an end-of-season sale last fall; she’d never be able to replace it for what she’d paid.
“Yeah, I’m worried about Sara, too,” said Elizabeth, fastening her seat belt.
Lucy’s head snapped around. “Why are you worried about Sara?”
“She was up half the night, text-messaging her friends.”
This was news to Lucy. “What is she doing that for?”
“It’s what kids do now. Instead of talking on the phone, like we used to do, they use their cell phones to send text messages. That way nobody can overhear them. Nobody knows what they’re saying. It’s more private.”
Lucy considered this as she turned out of the driveway. Come to think of it, the phone in the house hardly ever rang anymore. Thanks to the family plan, they all had cell phones, even Zoe. The days when the kids would scramble to get to the household phone whenever it rang were over; they knew it was only likely to be a telemarketer or one of their parents’ friends.
“But why do they send these messages at night?” asked Lucy.
“Because that’s when they’re alone. There’s nobody looking over their shoulders, nobody watching them, nobody noticing.”
“Okay, I guess I understand that. There’s nothing the matter with a few messages before she gets tired and turns the phone off.”
Elizabeth turned and faced her mother. “Mom, they’re not exactly telling each other to sleep tight.”
“No?”
“No. They play these mind games with each other. They start fake rumors. They tear each other apart.”
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