But, she realized with surprise as she blew her nose, she had liked him. And why not? There was something awfully attractive about a man who was so comfortable in his own beliefs that he wasn’t afraid to stand up for them. Not to mention the fact that he was good with animals and children.
Then her heart felt heavy as she thought of Ellie. She was already a widow, and losing Curt would be another terrible loss for her. Even more difficult, in a way, because the death of a good friend didn’t elicit the same sort of sympathy that the death of a husband did. It was an awkward situation and people wouldn’t know what to say or even if they should say anything at all.
Making the situation worse, thought Lucy, was the fact that Curt Nolan had been murdered. Tinker’s Cove was a small town where nearly everybody knew everybody else. There was no random crime here as you would expect to find in a big city. Whoever killed Curt Nolan had done it deliberately, for a reason.
Why? wondered Lucy. Why kill him? It hardly seemed that the murderer would have taken such a huge risk, assaulting him at a crowded football game, just because Curt was occasionally obnoxious. There had to be a reason, thought Lucy, flicking on her turn signal and pulling back into traffic. A reason worth committing murder.
* * *
Arriving at Miss Tilley’s little antique Cape-style house, Lucy leaned hard on the doorbell. She knew Miss Tilley—whose age was a secret but who had been old for the twenty-odd years Lucy had known her—was hard of hearing. She also moved slowly these days, so Lucy waited patiently, giving her plenty of time to answer the door.
After it seemed at least five minutes had gone by, Lucy gave the doorbell a second try. When this ring also failed to bring Miss Tilley to the door, Lucy began to worry. Perhaps her old friend had fallen or had taken sick. It happened to frail elders all the time and sometimes they weren’t found for days.
Lucy swallowed hard and tried the door. It opened and she went in, preparing herself for the worst.
“Hello,” she called out loudly. Then she paused a moment in the little entry hall, listening for a reply.
“No need to yell,” said Miss Tilley. “I’m right here.”
She spoke slowly, without her usual snappish tone. Lucy thought she sounded tired.
“Is everything okay?” Lucy asked, entering the front parlor.
Miss Tilley was seated in her usual rocking chair by the fireplace but there was no fire in the hearth. The electric lights hadn’t been turned on either, making the room dim.
“No. It’s not all right. It’s dreadful.”
“Are you ill?”
“Oh, no. I’m fine. A horrid, decayed old wreck like me is perfectly fine and a big, strong young fellow like Curt Nolan is dead. Is that all right?”
“No, it’s not all right.” Lucy sat on the footstool and put her hand on Miss Tilley’s knee. She sat quietly for a moment, then spoke. “How did you hear about it? It only happened a few hours ago.”
“The radio. I was listening to the game.”
This was a new side to Miss Tilley that Lucy hadn’t suspected.
“I didn’t know you followed football.”
“Just the high school team. I like to keep track of the youngsters.” Miss Tilley had been the town librarian for many years and knew everyone. “Curt played, you know. He was a very good player.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Lucy, spying something in Miss Tilley’s hand. “What have you got there?”
“A little change purse.” Extending her wrinkled claw of a hand she held it out for Lucy to see. “Curt made it for me many years ago.”
Lucy took the little deerskin purse and examined the fine beaded design and the fringe decoration.
“It’s lovely.”
“I’ve always treasured it.” Even in the poor light Lucy could see her eyes brighten at the memory. “He was such a sweet child, so interested in Indians. He read everything in the library, then asked me to get him more books from the interlibrary loan. By the time he graduated from high school, he must have been quite an expert. I hoped he’d go on to college to study anthropology or archaeology, but he didn’t.” She sighed. “He gave this to me just before he left for the army. It was the Vietnam war and he was drafted. Imagine. He survived all that and came back to Tinker’s Cove, only to die at the Thanksgiving football game.”
It was later, when they were in the car, that Miss Tilley finally asked how Curt died.
“Didn’t they say on the radio?” asked Lucy.
“No. Just that his body had been discovered.”
Lucy didn’t want to tell her. It would only upset her, but there didn’t seem any way around it. She drove carefully, watching the road, trying to think of the best way to say it. Finally, she came to the conclusion there was no good way.
“He was assaulted with the Metinnicut war club.”
Miss Tilley drew in her breath sharply. “You mean he was murdered?”
“I don’t see how it could have been an accident,” said Lucy.
“That’s awful!”
“I know.”
For a few minutes, they drove on in silence. It was when they were turning into Lucy’s driveway that Miss Tilley challenged her.
“You have to find out who did this, you know.”
“It’s not that easy,” said Lucy, braking. “Bill’s already made it very clear he doesn’t want me getting involved. And I’m sure the police won’t want me poking my nose into their investigation. I can just imagine what Lieutenant Horowitz would say.”
“You’re a reporter, aren’t you? Asking questions is your job and they can’t stop you. Freedom of the press is a constitutional right.”
Lucy was sympathetic, but she wasn’t going to be bullied.
“You know perfectly well that means newspapers can print what
