Chapter Fifteen
The next few days were increasingly hectic as the annual town meeting was approaching, at which the interested citizens of Tinker’s Cove gathered in the high school auditorium to vote on changes and additions to the town bylaws and, more importantly, approve the town budget. The meeting was always contentious and advocates for and against various articles all wanted to air their arguments, especially the school committee, which was advocating for a 5 percent increase in the school budget. That meant Lucy was busy dealing with a flood of phone calls at the same time she was trying to complete her weekly budget of stories. She was uneasy about some of her stories, worried that she hadn’t had time to do her usual fact-checking, so she wasn’t at all surprised when she got a call from Olga Skulsky, who taught Russian at nearby Winchester College.
“It’s just a little thing,” began the professor, “but the Easter eggs aren’t pisanica as you wrote, but are properly termed pysanky, that’s the plural, and the singular is pysanka. One egg is a pysanka, a basketful are pysanky.”
“Um, how do you spell that?” asked Lucy, glancing at the decorative egg on her desk and assuming she’d misunderstood Vesna. Or perhaps Vesna had mixed up a few letters in the translation. English was her second language, after all, and she admitted she’d been in the US for more than twenty years. Her Russian had probably got a bit rusty during that time.
Olga provided the proper spelling, and was quick to assure Lucy that she’d enjoyed the story. “Don’t get me wrong, I thought you did a great job. You caught the spirit of the Easter holiday, which means such a lot to the Russians and really all Eastern Europeans. It’s the time of year when the weather warms up and things start to grow and you can imagine what a relief that is after the long winter.”
“Or a Maine winter,” said Lucy, glancing out the window at the snow flurries that were blowing in off the ocean.
“Some weather we’re having,” agreed Olga. “I don’t know if it’s worth a correction. . . .”
“Of course it is, I’ll write one right up,” said Lucy. “It’s important to me to get things right and I don’t mind admitting when I’ve made a mistake.”
“That’s a very refreshing attitude,” said Olga. “I wish my students felt that way. Somehow when they get a poor grade it’s my fault.”
Lucy chuckled sympathetically. “I have four kids, so I know what that’s like. Thank goodness they’ve mostly flown the nest.”
“I know your Zoe, she’s terrific,” offered Olga. “I worked with her on the Take Back the Night demonstration. You should be very proud of her.”
“You’re too kind,” protested Lucy, who wasn’t about to admit how pleased she was. “She’s going through a difficult time, trying to get started in Portland.”
“She’ll be just fine,” promised Olga.
“Thanks,” said Lucy. “I’ll have that correction in next week’s issue.”
True to her word, Lucy quickly wrote up the correction, then grabbed her jacket and bag, pulled a wooly hat over her hair, wrapped a scarf around her neck, and headed into the ocean effect snow squalls to drive over to Heritage House for the Easter bonnet contest.
As soon as Lucy stepped inside the foyer at Heritage House she heard the buzz of excitement filtering down the curved floating staircase that led to the second-floor lounge area. She hurried up and paused at the top, taking in the scene. Folding chairs had been added to the usual upholstered furniture and almost every seat was filled, mostly by chattering women who were all holding hatboxes on their laps.
“Nice touch,” thought Lucy, noticing the Heritage House logo on the top of each hatbox, indicating they had been provided to the contestants to add a sense of drama as each entry was revealed. She looked about for Miss Tilley, but was not surprised to see she’d skipped the event, probably choosing instead to read or work on one of her crossword puzzles. A few men were scattered among the women and seemed to be there under duress, waiting impatiently for the event to start. Lucy found an empty chair at the back of the room and plopped her bag on it, then began to divest herself of her outdoor clothes. Once she’d arranged them to her satisfaction on the back of the chair, she picked up her bag and seated herself. First order of business was snapping some photos, which she did, then opened up her reporter’s notebook and waited for the contest to begin.
Exactly on the specified hour, CEO Peter Novak made his entry, and was greeted with a smattering of excited applause. “Well, well, it’s great to see you all here today,” he began, charming everyone with his handsome good looks and exotic foreign accent. “The weather outside is frightful, as the song says, but we know that Easter is on its way, a sure sign of the warm spring weather to come. I’m very pleased to see that so many of you are participating in our Easter bonnet contest this year and I can’t wait to see what you’ve all come up with. But first, Felicity is going to describe the prizes.”
“Thank you, Peter,” began Felicity Corcoran, stepping up to the mic. “If you will turn your heads to the left, you will see the giant chocolate rabbit generously provided by Fern’s Famous Fudge.”
The group obliged, oohing and aahing at the sight of the magnificent chocolate bunny, and Lucy hastened to snap a photo of the chocolate rabbit, which was at least two feet high.
“I want to remind you all,” continued Felicity, “that this is not one of those hollow, air-filled chocolate bunnies. Oh, no. This fellow is solid milk chocolate through and through. Plenty to share with your friends”—she paused, smiling, as some of the contestants shook their heads—“or not. It’s entirely up to the winner. But,” she continued, “Choco-Peter there isn’t the only prize. There are also gift cards from Country Cousins, everyone’s favorite emporium selling everything from fine local cheddar cheese to comfy flannel nightwear: one hundred dollars for first place, fifty dollars for second, and twenty-five dollars for third. Not too shabby.”
This announcement also got a healthy round of applause, which halted when Felicity held up her hand for quiet. “But the prize that I suspect most of you are most excited about is getting your picture, in your winning hat, on the front page of our local newspaper, the Courier.” This announcement got a hearty round of applause, which rather surprised Lucy, who thought Felicity must surely be exaggerating. “And our intrepid reporter is here today, ready to take that picture. Will you stand up, Lucy?”
Lucy got awkwardly to her feet, somewhat embarrassed by the attention. “Don’t despair, even if you don’t win,” she began, “I know my editor wants to run a two-page photo spread of the entire event, so chances are everyone will be included in the photos. Just to remind you, the Courier comes out on Thursday, but the photos will also run in the online edition.”
“Thank you, Lucy,” said Felicity, “and now I’m going to hand the mic over to our MC, Mr. Peter Novak.”
“Let’s get this party started,” said Peter, getting excited applause. “Perhaps this would be a good time to introduce our judges,” he said with a wave of his hand, indicating the three people seated at a nearby table. “First off, we have our dedicated social worker, Joyce Zimmer, who has judged all of our Easter bonnet contests. Next is one of our most esteemed residents, Howard White, a former prosecutor and judge. And finally, Elvira Hostens, our nursing supervisor.” The judges got a nice round of applause from the hopeful contestants, which ended when Peter raised his hand for silence. “So let’s begin. As usual, each contestant will have the opportunity to unveil her creation, and explain why she chose that design, and how she actually made it. So first up, we have in alphabetical order, Bess Abbott. Come on up, Bess, and tell us all about it.”
Bess, a tiny woman who barely came up to Peter’s chest, came forward and set her hatbox on the table provided for the purpose. Lifting off the lid, she displayed her hat, and leaned forward to speak into the mic. “My theme was an Easter basket,” she said, setting the hat on the head of the prepared dummy. “I took an old basket and cut away the bottom, so it would fit on my head. I sewed in a fabric liner, and as you can see, I’ve filled it with cello grass and plenty of real candy.”
Everyone applauded, and Bess offered one final word. “So even if I don’t win, I’ll have plenty of chocolate to share.”
That got plenty of laughter and more applause. “Thank you, Bess, and good luck. Next up is Bitsy Baker,” he announced. “Come on up, Bitsy.”
Bitsy was aquiver with excitement as she carried her hatbox up to the display table, where she paused to flutter her heavily mascaraed eyelashes at Peter. Lifting the lid with a flourish she produced a fascinator-style hat, which tied under the chin with wide pink satin ribbons. Perched atop was a large pink plastic egg that had cracked open, revealing a fuzzy yellow chick inside. “It was simple, really,” explained Bitsy. “My daughter sent me this big egg last year filled with candy and as soon as I saw it I thought, I can do something with this.” She lifted the hat up and set it on the display stand. “And this is what I came up with.”
Again, the crowd applauded and Bitsy beamed, making sure to give Peter a big smile as she replaced her hat in the box and went back to her seat.
“Moving right along,” said Peter, consulting his list, “we have Florida Dawkins. Let’s see what you’ve got, Florida.”
Florida was a plump Black woman, who seemed to bristle with energy as she made her way to the front of the room. “I took a different approach,” she began, lifting her hat out of the box and getting some oohs of surprise. “I grew up in the South, you see, and my father was a sharecropper who grew cotton. So this hat”—she pointed to the straw farmer’s hat trimmed with branches of actual cotton plants, all dotted with fluffy white balls—“is a tribute to my hardworking father. The band is actually from a bandanna that he wore when he was working in the fields.”
It took a long moment for the audience to absorb what Florida had said, but then Dorothy urged on Bitsy and Bev, and the crowd followed with a hearty round of applause.
“Wonderful, wonderful,” said Peter, as Florida packed up her hat. “It just goes to show the amazing creativity of our residents. And now . . .”
The demonstrations went on until each contestant had a chance to display her entry, and Lucy was careful to snap a photo of each and jot down the contestants’ names and stories. Time flew by and before she knew it, it was time for the highlight of the event, the Easter Bonnet Parade. Felicity got the music going, the ladies all donned their millinery creations, and they sashayed around the room proudly, for all to see. At their table, the judges were hunkered down, making careful notes and conferring with one another.
When the music stopped and all had returned to their seats, Peter asked the judges if they’d chosen the winners. Howard White stood up and said they had, prompting Felicity to play a drumroll on the music system.
“Third place,” began Howard, “goes to Florida Dawkins. We were very impressed with her cultural reference and her tribute to her father. Well done, Florida.”
“Step up and receive your prize,” said Peter, producing an envelope and a small cello-wrapped chocolate bunny.
“I can’t believe it,” said Florida as she advanced to the front of the room and accepted the prizes. “Thank you so much.”
When she had gone back to her seat, Howard prepared to announce the second prize winner. It was Helen Nowicki, whose creation Lucy had loved. She’d taken a straw boater with a broad brim and added three stuffed dachshunds, each with a small Easter candy in its mouth, chasing one another round and round. “As judges, and dog lovers, we found it hard to resist these adorable dachshunds,” said Howard.
Helen beamed with pride as she received her prize and a round of applause, then all fell silent in readiness for the big moment, the announcement of the first-prize winner.
Lucy had a feeling she knew who the winner would be, and she was right. When the drumroll ended Peter announced Bitsy Baker’s fascinator had taken first prize. “Oh my, oh my, I never thought . . .” exclaimed Bitsy, popping to her feet and rushing to meet Peter. “What a thrill, this is amazing,” she continued, batting her eyelashes furiously and hanging on to Peter’s hands when he presented her with the envelope. “You’re too kind, too fabulous,” she cooed, looking up at him. “Oh Peter, you’re the first one I’m going to share my chocolate with.”
“Ah, very nice, very nice,” said Peter, patting her on the shoulder. “Felicity, the rabbit, please.”
A photo was quickly arranged of Bitsy in her hat, proudly holding the giant chocolate bunny, with Peter and Felicity behind her. Lucy took another, of just Bitsy, with the bunny, but Bitsy didn’t look at the camera, her eyes were fastened on Peter Novak.
Preparing to leave, Lucy wanted to congratulate Howard on a job well done, but found he was surrounded by several residents Lucy recognized as the avid bridge players. No doubt lobbying for him to join them, she thought, looking out the window and discovering that the snow was still falling. Making her way to the door she paused to congratulate Bitsy, who was clearly delighted with her win.
“I can’t help it, I’m so excited. I’ve never won anything, and to receive my prize from Peter, well, that was just the icing on the cake.”
Bev and Dorothy shared an amused glance, but Bitsy continued. “I know he’s nice to everyone, but I think he really likes me.”
Bev smiled indulgently and said, “I think you might be right. He was certainly impressed by your hat.”
“It’s his job,” protested Dorothy. “Keeping us old biddies happy is all in a day’s work to him.”
Bitsy shook her head and turned to Lucy. “Sometimes I call her Dorothy Downer,” she whispered, pursing her lips and raising her eyebrows. Then she turned back to her friends. “Come on, ladies, we don’t want to be late for lunch. And don’t forget to wear your hats!”
The group slowed at the doorway, where Florida had paused to accept a friend’s compliments. “Such a clever idea,” cooed the friend.
“Well,” began a tiny, red-haired woman who was clearly frustrated at the delay, “you know she only won because she’s Black.”
“Like my grandson!” volunteered her companion, a rather plump woman with her gray hair scraped back into a tight little bun. “He was passed over for a job at the fire department because they wanted more diversity! They hired a Black guy who scored lower on the exam!”
“Typical,” agreed the red-haired lady.
Suddenly, Florida whirled around and confronted the two women. “What are you talking about? Do you really think your sorry old hat deserved to win?” She focused on the red-haired lady. “Why, yours was nothing but a bunch of fake flowers stuck on a paper plate!”
“Well, I never!” huffed the redhead.
“The nerve of you!” added the woman with the bun.
Sensing a disturbance, the two CNAs were quick to intervene. “Now, now, ladies,” said Juliana, inserting herself between the disputants, “it’s time to move along.”
“That’s right,” said Vera. “You don’t want your lunch to get cold. I understand it’s chicken pot pie today.”
“With ice cream sundaes for dessert,” added Juliana, stepping aside so the group could proceed through the doorway and on to the dining room.
Lucy, who was at the back of the scrum, paused to chat with the aides. “My goodness, racism rears its ugly head at the old folks’ home. Does it happen a lot?”
“It’s a funny thing,” said Vera. “They get set in their ways and lose their inhibitions. They’ve said some terrible things to me. One lady refused to let me help her dress, said she thought I’d try to steal her jewelry!”
“And I’ve heard comments about my English. They’re surprised I can speak it so well. I mean, my family brought me here when I was two. I can hardly speak Spanish.”
“They’re tough on each other, too,” said Vera with a chuckle. “There’s one lady here who’s kind of fat, and has a big bum . . .”
“They’re absolutely awful to her,” said Juliana, rolling her eyes. “They think they’re whispering but, I guess because they’re hard of hearing, they’re actually rather loud.”
“What have they been saying about Agnes’s death?” Lucy asked, truly curious. “Are they upset?”
“I haven’t heard much,” volunteered Vera.
“Yesterday’s news,” added Juliana. “They’re mostly interested in their next meal.”
“Have the police been questioning people?” asked Lucy, pressing the issue.
“Yeah. We’ve all been interviewed,” said Vera, “and the staff’s all been talking about it, but nobody seems to know much. It’s really kind of awful, we all feel terrible about it. I hope she wasn’t suffering in there for days before she died.”
“Poor lady. I always liked her,” said Juliana. “She seemed younger than the others, more interesting.”
“Do you remember anything out of the ordinary, in the days before she died?” asked Lucy.
“Well, now that you mention it, there was something that surprised me. I saw her in the hallway with those three ladies, Bitsy and her buddies. I never saw her with them before, I got the impression that she tended to avoid them.
“And that was the last time you saw her?” asked Lucy.
Juliana nodded. “I told the cops, but they didn’t seem to think it was important.”
“Nobody takes these old folks seriously,” said Vera. “If you ask me, it’s a big mistake. They can be trouble!”
“It sure sounds like it,” said Lucy, chuckling. “It’s been very interesting talking to you.”
“Time for us to get back to work,” said Juliana.
“Have a nice day,” said Vera as the two aides got busy tidying up after the departed contestants.
Lucy was considering waiting a bit in order to ask Bitsy and her friends about their meeting with Agnes, but she had no idea how long the three lingered at lunch. She suspected it might be a good while, since she didn’t imagine they had busy schedules. She was wandering in the direction of the dining room, just to see how the meal was progressing, when her phone rang. Checking the screen she saw it was Ted.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Bears, that’s what. Bears at the Quik-Stop.”
“Gassing up?” she asked facetiously.
“Probably dumpster diving,” said Ted. “But it’s worth a story.”
“I’m on it, boss,” she said, surprised to find herself somewhat relieved to leave Heritage House behind, at least for a while. Bears somehow seemed preferable to the quarrelsome, aging inmates of the senior residence.