Mother's Day Murder by Leslie Meier Page A

opening the mail when Lucy got to the office. She still dyed her hair bright orange and polished her nails in wild colors, but Lucy thought she looked older since she’d lost so much weight. Her cheeks had lost their roundness, and her chin sagged, but she often said she had more energy and felt younger than she had in years. Lucy wondered if it was true, or if she was trying to convince herself the weight loss had been a good idea.
    “What’s new with the girls?” she asked, slitting open an envelope.
    “Not much. We talked about Corinne Appleton.”
    “You and everybody else,” said Phyllis. “We got three letters to the editor about her.”
    “What do they say?”
    “Gun nuts. If she’d only had a gun, she would have been able to defend herself.”
    “She was sixteen,” said Lucy. “Do they really want sixteen-year-olds running around with guns?”
    “They want everybody to have guns,” said Phyllis. “Issue them at birth. Give ’em a rattle in one hand and a shotgun in the other.”
    “By the way, where’s Ted?”
    “Said he’d be a bit late. Has a meeting at the bank.”
    Lucy’s investigative mind began to make connections, remembering Pam’s comment that she couldn’t linger over breakfast. What were they up to? She knew a lot of small newspapers were being bought by giant news conglomerates. Was Ted ready to cash in?
    “Might as well start on the listings,” said Phyllis, interrupting her train of thought.
    Ted arrived about half an hour later, marching straight to Phyllis’s counter and plucking a copy of the paper off the pile that was sitting there. His first look at the new issue was always rather tense as he looked for typos they had missed. Lucy and Phyllis watched anxiously as he hung up his jacket and settled down at his desk.
    “Looks good,” he said, scanning the front page. “I put your interview with the bird guy right on page one.”
    “I noticed,” said Lucy, watching as he flipped through the pages.
    “Any irate phone calls?” he asked Phyllis.
    “No. It’s been quiet,” said Phyllis.
    “Well, good,” said Ted, folding the paper and setting it in front of him. Lucy and Phyllis each let out a sigh of relief. “Let’s get started on next week. Lucy, I’ve got an idea.”
    Lucy groaned inwardly, putting on an eager smile. “What is it?”
    “You know the prom’s coming….”
    “Do I ever,” said Lucy, with a sigh.
    “Some parents are planning one of those after-prom parties, where they have all sorts of fun activities and prizes to keep the kids from driving around and getting drunk and killing themselves.”
    “Do kids actually go to these things?” asked Phyllis. “I thought the whole point of the prom was to get drunk and lose your virginity.”
    Lucy and Ted both looked at her in surprise.
    “What’s gotten into you?” asked Lucy. “Did you eat a cookie?”
    “Two actually,” admitted Phyllis. “You have no idea how good a chocolate chip cookie tastes if you haven’t had one in a year.”
    “As I understand it, there’ll be cookies at the after-prom party, but no booze and no sex. Good, clean fun,” said Ted, with a shrug. “I admit it, in my day, nobody would have been caught dead at a thing like that, but times are different. Last year’s party was a big success, and they’re hoping this year will be even better.”
    “So you want me to write a puff piece about it?” asked Lucy.
    “Yes, I do. I’ve received a special request from the organizers.”
    “Who are?”
    “Barbara Hume and Tina Nowak. They’re cochairs,” said Ted.
    Lucy couldn’t believe it. “You’re sending me into the cross fire? Those women hate each other.”
    “Maybe so, but they seem to have put their differences aside in this worthy cause. They sent me a very nice letter, and they both signed it.” He flourished a piece of flowery notepaper.
    “Okay,” said Lucy, doubtfully. “I’ll go, but only if you equip me with body armor.”
    “I’m sure that