Free Star Spangled Murder by Leslie Meier

“Mother always warned about girls who jiggled when they walked.”
    Amused by this exchange, Lucy was smiling to herself as she got a cart and headed for the paper goods aisle. There she bought jumbo packages of paper towels and toilet paper, which she balanced precariously on top of each other. She picked up a few basic cleaning supplies, then went on to the coffee aisle where she picked up a dozen cans of this week’s special as well as a few jars of nondairy creamer. She never used the stuff herself but Phyllis loathed black coffee. A five-pound bag of sugar completed her purchases and she headed for the checkout where she found Miss Tilley and Rachel waiting in line.
    Julia Ward Howe Tilley was the town’s oldest resident and had reluctantly agreed to retire from her position as town librarian only a few years earlier. She was as strong-minded as ever and although a few telemarketers made the mistake of calling her by her first name, no one in town dreamed of doing so. She had always been Miss Tilley and always would be, even to Rachel, who helped her with daily tasks like shopping and preparing meals. Rachel’s influence only went so far, however. Today Miss Tilley was wearing a track suit with racing stripes down the legs and the latest in high-tech athletic footwear.
    Lucy greeted them with a smile. “What do you think of all these goings-on?” she asked.
    â€œNot much,” said Rachel. “I don’t know how we’re going to get out of the parking lot and home in time for lunch.”
    â€œLunch can wait,” said Miss Tilley, a naughty gleam in her bright blue eyes. “I’m hoping one of these protesters will strip—while it’s still legal.”
    â€œShe’s been like this ever since she heard about Pru Pratt’s proposed bylaw,” said Rachel, clucking her tongue in disapproval.
    â€œI’ll never understand why people who claim to worship the good Lord and all his works find the human body so objectionable,” said Miss Tilley, as Rachel began unloading their groceries onto the conveyor belt.
    â€œYou have a point,” said Lucy. “What do you think about the fireworks?”
    â€œI think Jonathan Franke is running out of projects. APTC got the town to set up a recycling center, they got that real estate surtax for buying up open space land, they’ve put up bluebird houses and poles for osprey nests all over town. Worthy projects all but not very exciting so he decided to make a big deal about the lichen, which seems to be doing fine without his help and despite the annual fireworks show.” Miss Tilley snorted. “It’s a lot of fuss over nothing, if you ask me.”
    â€œThat’ll be forty-seven dollars and fifty-six cents,” said Dot Kirwan, the cashier.
    They all waited patiently while Miss Tilley got out her rusty black purse and counted out the amount to the penny, then took her receipt and carefully folded it before tucking it into her purse. Then she and Rachel proceeded out to the parking lot at a stately pace, her silver sneakers giving off flashes of light with every step.
    â€œHi, Lucy,” said Dot. “Big doings in town today.”
    â€œIt all seems peaceful enough,” said Lucy, unloading her cart onto the conveyor belt. “They’re very well-organized.”
    â€œI haven’t got any problem with them, as long as they stay out by the pond and don’t go wandering around town in their birthday suits,” said Dot, waving a can of coffee over the scanner. “And business has been up since they started coming. Joe says there’s been a big jump in deli sales over last year. A lot of them take picnics out to the pond. Not to mention bug spray and suntan lotion.” She raised an eyebrow. “Well, it figures, doesn’t it? After all, some parts are more sensitive than others, if you get my drift.”
    â€œAre they mostly day-trippers, or do they