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“Not at all,” he said, sounding eager to vent his frustration with the Chamber. “That whole promo is dumb, if you ask me. Who wants stickers and a big fat stupid egg?”
“Well, someone did,” laughed Lucy, pulling her notebook out of her bag and flipping it open. “Let’s leave that off the record and start over, shall we?”
“Mom said never to speak before you think,” he said, shaking his head and brushing back a floppy lock of hair with his hand. Unlike most of the male population in Tinker’s Cove, who favored sweaters and jeans, Des was a sharp dresser and usually wore a sport coat over a turtleneck, along with tailored slacks and polished ankle boots. He didn’t patronize Cal, the town’s barber, who gave everybody the same cut, but was reputed to get his hair styled in a unisex salon in Portland. “What I meant to say is that it’s unfortunate, especially since the money spent on the promo, now lost, could have been used to better effect.”
“How so?” asked Lucy.
“We live in a global economy, we need to look at the big picture. I’d like to see the Chamber exert pressure on our congressmen, invest in supporting candidates that are pro-business. The Chamber’s got terminal myopia.”
“You’ve got a point,” admitted Lucy. “I can’t remember the last time any of our state or national officeholders paid a visit to Tinker’s Cove.”
“They only respond to money. Donations. That’s how you get influence, and believe me, we need it.”
“True enough,” said Lucy, thinking there was absolutely no chance whatsoever that the Chamber’s membership would agree to meddling in politics. Strictly non-partisan, that was a founding tenet of the organization. “So, off the record, any ideas who might’ve taken the egg?”
Des shrugged and reached for the door. “It must’ve been someone with a motive, right? As well as somebody no one would suspect.”
“Are you thinking of anyone in particular?”
“Well, Randy Lewis was sure miffed when they voted down his insurance.” He laughed and pushed the door open. “Could’ve been an I told you so kind of thing.”
Lucy laughed, too. “You’re right about one thing, he’s the last person anyone would suspect.”
“Those are the ones to watch,” he said, with a little nod, as he headed on outside.
Lucy stepped up to the cash machine and slid in her card, hit the quick pick for a hundred dollars and waited as the machine went through its paces, eventually producing her cash. She took her card and left, pausing on the outside steps to tuck her wallet in her bag. Hearing raised voices, she glanced in the direction of the parking lot.
There she saw Des standing on the driver’s side of his Corvette, glaring at his wife, who had her hand on the passenger side door handle. “What were you doing?” yelled Cathy, angrily. “Thanks to you we’re going to be late!”
“It’s always me, is it? Where were you?”
“For your information, I was in the back of the hardware store, trying to keep warm while I waited for you!”
“Well, get in,” he snapped.
“I would if you’d unlock the door!” Lucy heard the click of the lock and Cathy yanked the door open. “If I’d had a key . . .” she snarled, lowering herself into the car and slamming the door. No sooner had the door shut than Des floored the accelerator, causing the sports car to fishtail as it zoomed out of the parking lot. Lucy could just imagine Cathy’s reaction to Des’s driving as they sped off into the distance.
Not a happy marriage, she thought, heading back to the office. It did seem weird that Des didn’t allow Cathy to have a key to his car, but then again, some couples liked to keep things separate. She and Bill had joint accounts, joint ownership of their house and vehicles, they’d never thought to do it any other way. She knew they were probably hopelessly old-fashioned and couldn’t imagine her daughters happily depositing their paychecks into joint accounts. She remembered hearing of some socialite married to a millionaire who had famously declared, “His money is our money and my money is mine.” Crossing the street, she concluded that Des saw it somewhat differently, his car was his car. What about their money? Was that all his, too?
Chapter Six
Interesting, thought Lucy, continuing on her way to the office. She knew from her own experience that stress at work, especially financial pressure, could seep into the most solid marriages and cause all sorts of friction. Was that what was going on with the Jaspers? If Des was anxious about his business could he be taking that frustration out on Cathy? Or was Cathy resentful because he wasn’t turning out to be the breadwinner she expected? Or was it a bit of both?
She remembered lean years when the economy was in recession and demand for Bill’s restoration carpentry skills dropped off. Sharply. The high flyers weren’t flying high, those huge bonuses weren’t coming, and they had to postpone their dreams of fabulous second homes on the coast. Bill hated being idle so he offered his services for free, helping folks insulate and repair their homes, but while that would allow him to build up treasure in heaven it had made paying the bills rather difficult. Lucy became a coupon-clipper and a bargain-hunter, but with the payments due outstripping their diminished income, the mood at home became rather tense. Lucy remembered suggesting to Bill that he ask his father for a loan, “just to tide us over,” and his angry reaction when she told him it was either that or applying for food stamps. He was deeply hurt and the worst of it was when he admitted defeat and made the call to his father.
They were in a much better position now, she thought with relief, as she crossed the street. Real estate was booming and those newly purchased houses needed to be updated so demand for Bill’s services was higher than ever. The kids were grown and flown, they were empty nesters, and there was much less pressure on the family purse. For the first time in her married life Lucy was discovering she occasionally had money left over at the end of the month.
Yanking the door open and hearing the familiar jingle of the little bell, Lucy saw that Ted’s desk was now empty; after checking in at the Tinker’s Cove office he usually went on to the Gilead office for most of the week. Breathing a sigh of relief, she gave Phyllis a big smile. “Guess what? I’ve already got five stickers!”
“I’m way ahead of you,” boasted Phyllis. “I’ve got seven.”
“You have? What’ve you been doing?” asked Lucy, teasing. “Spending like a drunken sailor?”
“No. Just an average weekend,” began Phyllis, ticking off her errands on a hand boasting a fabulous manicure featuring five different Easter egg colors, a rainbow on each hand. “Bought paint at the hardware store, picked up Wilf’s cholesterol medicine at the drug store, got a birthday present for one of Elfrida’s kids at the Toy Chest, got seeds and starter mix at the hardware store, splurged on some breakfast sausage for Wilf at the Smokehouse, collected the dry cleaning, and, oh yeah, bought a birthday cake at the bakery. Arthur insisted he didn’t want homemade, he wanted a Darth Vader cake.”
“Whew!” exclaimed Lucy, impressed, as she shrugged off her jacket and hung it up. “You must be made of money.”
“No, Lucy. I work here.”
