Free Star Spangled Murder by Leslie Meier Page B

and as a place to store garbage cans and dumpsters.
    â€œWant some help with those bundles?” asked Phyllis.
    â€œNo, I can manage,” said Lucy.
    She was out the door and back in a minute with the toilet paper. A third trip to get the bags of cleaning supplies and coffee completed her mission. Phyllis helped her unpack everything into the storage closet.
    â€œStore-brand creamer?”
    â€œYou sound like my kids,” said Lucy. “I don’t think you appreciate what I went through to get this stuff. It’s like a war zone out there, with the boys from the Bilge attacking the pious folk from the Revelation Congregation.”
    â€œIs that what happened? I heard the sirens and wondered what was going on.” Phyllis was arranging cans of coffee on the shelf. “Anybody hurt?”
    â€œI hope not.” Lucy was picturing the encounter in her mind, wondering at the violence exhibited by the fishermen.
    Phyllis voiced the same thought. “What do they have against the Revelation Congregation anyway?”
    â€œI don’t know,” said Lucy. “Frankly, I’m kind of amazed that nudity is turning out to be so controversial. It’s sure turned this town upside down.”
    â€œI wouldn’t read too much into it,” said Phyllis, with a knowing nod. “After a few boilermakers, those boys’ll punch anything that moves.”
    â€œYou’ve got a point,” agreed Lucy, heading for the door. “See you Monday.”
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    The hot weather held during the weekend and there was more traffic than usual on Red Top Road as naturists driving cars with license plates from all over New England and beyond gathered at the pond. Elizabeth spent every spare minute there, ignoring her parents’ objections.
    â€œYou’re asking for trouble,” warned Bill, passing a platter of corn on the cob, the first of the season. They were all gathered around the picnic table for a barbecue dinner.
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous, Dad,” replied Elizabeth. “The naturists are all polite and respectful.”
    â€œIt’s not the naturists I’m worried about,” said Bill.
    â€œDad does have a point,” said Toby. “A lot of the guys are going down to the pond to check on the action there.”
    â€œWell, I can’t be responsible if they’re pathetic and immature, can I?” countered Elizabeth.
    â€œI hope you’re using sunscreen,” fretted Lucy. “Take it from me, sun can really damage your skin.”
    â€œYou could get cancer,” said Zoe.
    â€œIt’s not fair,” grumbled Sara, wiping her brow with a paper napkin. “Because of these nudists, we can’t go swimming at the pond.”
    â€œNaturists,” corrected Elizabeth. “And it isn’t their fault. It’s Mom’s and Dad’s. They’re the ones who won’t let you go.”
    â€œWell, maybe I don’t want to go,” snapped Sara, who was self-conscious about her developing body. “Maybe I’m not a show-off like you.”
    â€œThat’s enough, girls,” said Lucy, determined to keep peace at the dinner table.
    But keeping peace was no easy task, at the table or anywhere else for that matter, as the temperature soared and the humidity climbed. Frustrated by the unusual amount of traffic when he made his usual Sunday morning dump run, Bill finally slammed his hand on the horn and pulled into the road in front of a line of cars, prompting a flurry of honks in return. Toby made himself scarce, and when Lucy casually asked him what his plans were on Saturday night he was unusually evasive. There was no question about what Elizabeth was doing—she continued to go down to the pond and was so defensive about it that no one dared to say a word to her because she’d snap their heads off.
    Finally, on Sunday afternoon, Lucy and the younger girls settled in the gazebo to make the crepe