Finally released from her duties on the reception line, Lucy glanced around the room, making sure everyone was all right. Bill had taken charge of his mother, and had led her to the buffet table, where he was filling a plate for her. The kids were gathered in a corner, taking advantage of this rare opportunity to hang together and catch up with each other. There was plenty of food and drink, there was a steady buzz of conversation punctuated with laughter, as was usual after the solemnities had been dispensed with and people took the time to reminisce, renew acquaintances and enjoy each other’s company. As she scanned the crowd, Lucy looked for the woman in the blue dress and pearls, but didn’t see her. She did see Bill, however, trying to catch her eye and she quickly joined him and Edna.
“Quite a nice turnout,” she said, taking Edna’s arm and leading her to one of the chairs that were lined up against the wall. “It’s good to know that Pop was appreciated by so many people.”
“I suppose so,” said Edna, pushing her potato salad around with a plastic fork. She sighed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself, now that he’s gone.”
“He was a force to be reckoned with, that’s for sure,” said Lucy, squeezing Edna’s hand. “But you’re not alone. We’re here for a few more days, Sara plans to stay for a week or more, and I hope you’ll come visit us in Maine very soon. There’s always a place for you at our house, you know.”
“I know,” said Edna, but she didn’t sound as if she really believed it.
* * *
A week later, the Florida sun was only a memory as Lucy was back at her job in late-winter Maine, working as a part-time reporter and feature writer for the Pennysaver, the weekly newspaper in the quaint coastal town of Tinker’s Cove, but she was having a hard time concentrating on the intricacies of the rather complicated changes being proposed to the town’s zoning laws. “What exactly is an overlay district?” she asked Phyllis, the paper’s receptionist, who was seated at her desk across the room, tucked behind the counter where members of the public filled out orders for classified ads, renewed subscriptions, dropped off Letters to the Editor, and occasionally complained.
“Beats me,” said Phyllis with a shrug of her shoulders. She was occupied with entering the week’s new batch of classified ads and was peering through the heart-shaped reading glasses that were perched on her nose and that matched her colorful sweatshirt, which was bedecked with hearts and flowers in contrast to the dreary reality of lingering dirty snow outside. “I don’t know where to put this thank-you to Sheriff Murphy,” she groaned. “Is it an announcement?”
Lucy perked up, her curiosity piqued. “What thank-you?”
“All about his help for some fund drive.”
“Who submitted it?”
“Uh, it’s right here.” Phyllis studied the slip. “Someone named Margaret Mary Houlihan, corresponding secretary of the Hibernian Knights Society. Do you know her?”
“No, can’t say I do. The Hibernian Knights present the big St. Patrick’s Day parade over in Gilead, but the thank-you is a new one on me.”
“Where do you think I should put it?”
“That I don’t know. Better ask Ted.” Ted Stillings was the publisher, editor, and chief reporter for the paper, which he’d inherited from his grandfather who was a noted regional journalist. Times had changed since his day, however, and Lucy knew that Ted was hard-pressed to keep the little weekly paper afloat. Like newspapers throughout the country, the Pennysaver was faced with a diminishing list of advertisers and subscribers, and constantly increasing production costs.
“Well, I would if he was here but he hardly ever is these days,” complained Phyllis. After a pause she added, “Is it me, or do things seem a bit weird around here?”
“Weirder than usual?” asked Lucy, who hadn’t really been paying much attention since she’d returned from Florida. She’d been focused on staying in touch with Edna and keeping Bill’s spirits up.
“Yeah. While you were gone Ted’s had a lot of meetings with, well, folks who aren’t from around here. Fancy types, in city slicker clothes.”
“Really?” Lucy’s interest was piqued. “Like who?”
“Well, there was a middle-aged man, with quite a big belly, dressed in a suit and tie. He was nice enough, made a lot of jokes and laughed a lot, but didn’t give his name or business. Then Ted arrived and whisked him off, took him out to lunch I think.”
“And when Ted got back from lunch did he offer any explanation?”
“Nope. I asked if he was buying life insurance, it kind of just popped out. I guess the guy seemed kind of like a salesman, but Ted just chuckled and gave me a big pile of listings for the Events column.” Phyllis paused to polish her glasses. “I definitely got the feeling he didn’t want to continue the discussion.”
“He is always complaining about the rising cost of newsprint . . .” said Lucy.
“And the declining number of subscribers,” added Phyllis. “And that’s another thing. He had me research all sorts of facts and figures, like ad revenue, classified ad revenue, production costs . . .” She let out a big sigh. “Not exactly my cup of tea, if you know what I mean.”
“How did the figures look?” asked Lucy, beginning to feel rather uneasy. Was it possible that Ted wasn’t just worrying out loud but that the Pennysaver was really in dire financial straits? Was he thinking of selling the paper, or even shutting it down permanently?
“Not good,” admitted Phyllis, “but I’m no accountant. I can’t even balance my checkbook.”
“Neither can I,” admitted Lucy. “I just cross my fingers and if the
