Lucy couldn’t believe that was right; she was used to buying Thanksgiving turkeys at the IGA for fifty-nine cents a pound. But when she checked the sign behind the counter, she saw that O’Brien’s hormone-free, free-range turkeys were a dollar seventy-nine a pound. “Do you take checks?” she asked, deciding that O’Brien’s Turkey Farm could certainly absorb the loss of the onesie.
* * *
Lucy was late for breakfast with the girls, having detoured to drop off the turkey at the food pantry. They were already seated at their usual table in Jake’s when she arrived. Norine, the waitress, came and filled the mug that was waiting at Lucy’s place while she seated herself and shrugged out of her jacket.
“Interesting choice of color, Lucy,” said Sue, studying her new sweater. “I know orange was very big last year, but I think it’s a tricky color for most people, and if you’re going to go with orange I wouldn’t combine it with blue. Brown or beige, maybe, even a creamy white, and, sweetheart, while I certainly appreciate the fact that you’re wearing lipstick, nude would have been much better than that oh-so-sweet pink.”
“It’s my favorite lipstick and it’s the only one I wear,” said Lucy, who was used to Sue’s critical comments and wasn’t bothered in the least. Sue, she noticed, was immaculately turned out in a nubby white sweater and white wool slacks. “It’s called Gentlemen Prefer Pink . . . and I got the sweater on sale.”
“Cute name,” said Rachel. “I think orange and pink together is very Lilly Pulitzer.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Lucy, who didn’t have a clue what or who Lilly Pulitzer was and wouldn’t have recognized the company’s colorful resort-wear designs.
“That sweater’s the perfect color for this time of year,” said Pam. “It’s really more of a rust than orange, and they’ve done research that indicates warm colors like reds and oranges actually make you feel warmer and happier and thus more open to positive interactions with others.”
“I had a very interesting interaction this morning,” said Lucy, pausing to let Norine take their orders.
“Usual all round?” she asked, pen poised over her pad. Receiving nods she ambled off toward the kitchen, writing as she went.
“Who did you interact with in an interesting way?” asked Sue, who was running a perfectly manicured finger around the rim of her coffee mug.
“Eudora Clare,” said Lucy, lifting her mug for that delicious first sip of coffee.
“Ed Franklin’s first wife?” asked Rachel with a puzzled expression.
“The very same,” said Lucy, setting her cup down. “It was at the turkey farm. She was acting kind of weird, talking about buying a Baby’s First Thanksgiving onesie for Mireille’s baby.”
“Those onesies are really tacky,” said Sue.
“I think they’re cute,” said Pam.
“In what way was she acting weird?” asked Rachel.
“She seemed kind of out of control, barely holding it together,” said Lucy. “Her husband intervened and dragged her out of the store. She ended up shoplifting the onesie, but I don’t think she meant to. She was pretty upset.”
“Well, that’s understandable. She must be grieving for her daughter and her ex-husband. I know they were divorced, but it’s still traumatic when someone close to you is murdered,” said Pam.
“Pam’s right,” said Rachel as Norine arrived with their breakfast orders. “She could be suffering from post-traumatic stress.”
Norine plunked down a bowl of yogurt with granola for Pam, a sunshine muffin for Rachel, and hash and eggs for Lucy, then glared at Sue. “Anything I can get you?” she asked in a challenging tone.
“Just top off my coffee, thanks,” said Sue, who, as far as anyone knew, existed on a diet of black coffee and white wine.
Norine went off to fetch the coffee pot, tut-tutting and shaking her head in disapproval.
“Just think about it,” said Rachel. “Her husband left her for a younger woman then he divorced her, which research shows is every bit as stressful as a death. Then her daughter dies—that’s a second stressor—her ex-husband is murdered, and to top it all off, the new, young wife is very visibly pregnant. That’s a lot for anyone to deal with.”
“I can’t work up too much sympathy,” said Sue, giving Norine a big thank-you smile as she added more coffee to her mug. “She’s remarried, after all, and her son and the new husband seem very devoted to her, plus she’s got plenty of dough. That’s one thing she doesn’t have to worry about.”
“I guess she is worried, though,” said Lucy, piercing the yolk of her sunny-side up egg with her fork. “She’s contesting Ed’s will, which leaves everything to the new baby.”
“Going to court. That’s another stressor,” said Rachel, peeling the paper off her muffin.
“Well, I’ll say this,” said Lucy. “After seeing how she acted in the turkey store, I can understand why Alison went to live with her father and Mireille.”
“That would be hard for a mother to take,” said Pam. “It would be a real slap in the face.”
“No rush. Any time you’re ready,” said Norine, tucking the bill between the salt and pepper shakers.
Sue picked it up and her eyebrows rose. “Talk about a slap in the face. Jake’s raised the price of a cup of coffee.”
CHAPTER 13
When Lucy stopped by at the office to pick up her check, Ted was doing a little jig.
“What’s gotten into him?” she asked Phyllis, who was resplendent in a sweatshirt featuring a bejeweled Tom turkey in full display, his chest and neck covered with sequins and his tail dotted with faux diamonds, emeralds, and rubies.
“It’s your story about the lawsuit,” she said, peering over the granny glasses perched on her nose. “He says AP and Gateway are picking it up and paying for the privilege.”
“That’s right, Lucy,” he said, giving her a huge smile. “You got us a gen-you-wine scoop!”
“How about a little bonus for me?” she suggested, giving him a sideways look as she opened the envelope that was lying on her desk
