Lucy said her goodbyes quickly, knowing she’d better get back to the Pennysaver office as fast as she could to check with Ted. She only hoped he’d be there. Thursday afternoon, after the paper came out, was typically a quiet time when he took care of personal errands like haircuts and dental appointments. When she arrived, however, she found he was still working and so was Phyllis. Both were talking on the telephone.
As Lucy hung up her jacket she wondered if Ellie had been right about her story. Maybe the voters were capable of outrage; maybe there was hope for the democratic system after all.
She sat down at her desk and booted up her computer. While she waited for it to complete whatever it was doing, the phone rang. Ted and Phyllis were still on the other lines, so she answered.
“I’m calling about the dog,” said a woman with a quavery voice. “That Kadjo.”
“If you have an opinion about that story, we’d welcome a letter to the editor,” said Lucy. “That way, we could print it.”
“I don’t think that dog should be allowed to run around. It’s a menace. My sister lived next to a man with a vicious dog, and that dog killed her cat.”
“That’s very interesting—”
“Not that the cat died right away. She got it to the vet and he did what he could but poor Misty never regained consciousness.”
“This was in Tinker’s Cove?”
“No, no, no. Maude lives in Chagrin Falls, Ohio.”
Lucy was confused. “I thought the cat was named Misty.”
“Misty is the cat.” The quavery voice was definitely getting a little testy. “Maude’s my sister.”
“Right. And could I have your name?”
There was no answer.
“Hello? Hello?” said Lucy, finally concluding the line was dead.
“That was funny,” she said to Ted and Phyllis. “A woman called about a dog that attacked her sister’s cat in Ohio.”
“It’s been like that all day,” said Phyllis, letting the phone ring. “The phones have been ringing off the hook. Everybody’s got an opinion about that dog story.”
“They’re calling about the dog?” Lucy’s eyebrows shot up. “What about the selectmen? Aren’t people mad that Bud Collier sleeps through the meetings and Howard White is a megalomaniac and Joe Marzetti is practically a fascist?”
Phyllis smiled. “Sorry. They’re calling about the dog.”
“Yeah?” Lucy was disgusted to find she was relieved. “What do they say?”
“It’s been about fifty-fifty,” Phyllis continued, ignoring the ringing phone and taking a moment to examine her manicure. Then she sighed and picked up the receiver. “Pennysaver.”
A sudden crash—Ted slamming down the receiver—made Lucy jump.
“No more dog stories, okay?” he snarled, glaring at her.
“No problem,” said Lucy. “Actually, I think I’m on to something big. Very big. Maybe a scoop.”
“Really?” Ted was skeptical.
“Maybe.” Lucy was suddenly hesitant. “It’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
“Well, what is it?”
“Ellie Martin told me the Metinnicuts want to build a casino on Andy Brown’s farm. They even have plans.”
Ted stared at her, forgetting the ringing phones. “You’re sure about this?”
“I’m not sure. It’s just what Ellie said. But she is part Metinnicut.”
“Yeah. She’s Bear Sykes’s niece.”
“So she said.”
“Well, I guess she’d know then.” He paused. “I suspected something like this, but I didn’t know it had gotten so far.”
Lucy shook her head. “I don’t know. A casino in Tinker’s Cove—it’s crazy.”
Ted snorted. “Crazy is right. It’s madness.” He tilted his head toward the still-ringing phone. “This is nothing,” he said. “When people in this town find out that the Metinnicuts want a gambling casino, all hell’s gonna break loose.”
CHAPTER 4
Thin November light filtered through the kitchen windows and fell on the big, round golden oak table in Lucy’s kitchen. It wasn’t bright enough to allow her to make out the tiny expiration dates on her coupons, so she had also lighted the milk-glass hurricane lamp that hung above the table. Spread out before her were a colorful array of magazines and coupon sections from the Sunday paper, the IGA flyer, and yesterday’s food section from the newspaper.
The town might be on the brink of a tremendous furor about the casino, but Lucy had other things on her mind. She stared at the blank sheet of paper in front of her and bravely wrote Thanksgiving Menu at the top. This year, she thought, she’d like to try something different. She flipped through the magazines until she found the article she was looking for: “A New-Fashioned Thanksgiving.”
Low in fat, rich in flavor, our easy-to-prepare Thanksgiving dinner is sure to please even the pickiest Pilgrims, promised the story, which was accompanied by artfully designed photographs.
She turned to the recipes with interest. Pumpkin soup served in hollowed-out pumpkin shells? She didn’t think so. It looked like something unspeakable to her and the kids would never eat it. Never, ever.
Come to think of it, she decided, there was no point in serving a soup or appetizer course. It would just spoil appetites for the feast to come.
She paused, doing a quick head count. How many would there be? Herself and Bill, the four kids, Toby’s roommate Matthew plus her elderly friend, Miss Tilley, who was practically one of the family. That made eight.
She smiled in satisfaction. Eight was a nice number. Her dining room, newly redecorated after a plumbing disaster last Christmas ruined the ceiling, could seat eight very comfortably; she had sterling for eight. There were even eight teacups remaining in the china service for twelve she’d inherited from her mother. Eight would be perfect.
But what to serve them? Turkey and stuffing, of course. Creamed onions—she liked creamed onions and only bothered with them once a year. She glanced at the magazine menu. There were no creamed onions; there were zucchini boats stuffed with corn kernels. What happened to “easy-to-prepare”? She checked out the other vegetable suggestion. Brussels sprouts?
She clucked her tongue and wrote peas on her menu. Her picky Pilgrims would never eat Brussels sprouts.
Oops, she forgot mashed potatoes. Bill loved mashed potatoes, especially with plenty of gravy, and there would be plenty of gravy. That reminded her. There
