Birthday Party Murder Read Free Page A

twentieth century.”
    â€œThat’s a great idea,” exclaimed Sue. “Are you all with me? May twentieth will be Miss Tilley Day!”
    She raised her water glass in a toast and they all joined in. “To Miss Tilley Day!”
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    A brisk March wind was blowing when Lucy left the restaurant, but solar heat had warmed her car. She slid behind the steering wheel and held her face up to the sunshine as she started the engine. What a great idea, she thought. Miss Tilley Day.
    As a reporter for The Pennysaver, she knew better than most how the pressures of modern life were negatively impacting the town. A recent proposal to build a casino had been highly controversial and divided neighbor from neighbor, the town’s fishermen were struggling to maintain their traditional livelihood against increased regulation and diminishing stocks of fish, and an influx of second-home builders had driven real estate prices higher than locals could afford. The school committee was struggling to meet new, higher standards imposed by the state; the volunteer fire department was under pressure to become professional; and the town budget simply could not meet all the demands placed upon it without a hefty tax increase.
    Miss Tilley Day was just what the town needed, Lucy thought. A day for year-round residents to come together before the annual onslaught of tourists and summer people and enjoy themselves. A day to celebrate their town, its history and its heritage. A day for Tinker’s Cove to celebrate itself. She could hardly wait to get to work and tell Ted all about it.
    But first, she had an errand. She switched on the blinker and made a right into the drugstore parking lot. Leaving the engine running, she dashed inside and went straight to the hair care aisle where she was temporarily baffled. So many choices. Scanning the rows of boxes she found a familiar brand she had seen advertised. She chose the color that seemed closest to hers and went around the corner to the skin care section. Her positive personal paradigm, she decided, did not include getting old without a fight.

Chapter Three
    A nother sunny day. Blustery, but that was expected in March. Bob Goodman zipped up his jacket on Tuesday morning and opened the front door, hanging on to the knob so the wind wouldn’t catch it, and carefully closed it behind him.
    Climbing into his brand-new compact SUV, he inhaled the new-car smell. Gosh, life was good, he thought, as he waited for the motor to warm up. He patted the steering wheel fondly. He loved this car. It was irrational, he knew, but it had been love at first sight. And fortunately, he was now in a position where he could indulge himself. Not that he was a millionaire or anything, but the law practice was doing very well. The family finances were on a sound footing, even with the hefty tuition he was paying Harvard College to educate his son, Richie.
    It was worth it, of course. Richie was a smart kid and he was doing very well, showing no sign of a sophomore slump. His grades were good but, even more important to Bob and Rachel, he seemed happy and engaged in his studies. He had even undertaken an independent project, cleaning and cataloging a dusty collection of Greek vases he had discovered in the basement of his dorm. Probably collected and abandoned by some nineteenth-century rake, thought Bob, with a chuckle.
    He slipped the car into gear and purred down the driveway. This car was so sexy, he thought, smiling with satisfaction. Not only did he have a sexy car, he had a sexy wife. Rachel was so beautiful, and last night she had been in a particularly affectionate mood. He remembered running his hands down her long back, her soft lips parted to receive his kiss, the way she moaned with pleasure when he lifted her hips.
    Hearing an angry beep, he firmly put those thoughts out of his mind. He had better pay attention to the road. But honestly, who could blame him for loving his wife? And he did