Free Valentine Murder by Leslie Meier

got a jar at home I put all my spare change in. Last year I had enough to buy a new sofa.”
    â€œYou’re a smart girl.”
    â€œYeah, too smart to stay in this job. I’ve got my name in at the bank. As soon as there’s an opening, I’m outta here.” The bell jangled and she turned to help a customer.
    â€œThanks for all your help,” said Lucy, concluding the interview so Lois could get back to work. “Good luck with the bank job.”
    â€œHey,” said Lois, turning to tear off a handful of scratch tickets. “You make your own luck, know what I mean?”
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    Lucy gave her notebook a satisfied little pat as she left the store. Thanks to Lois she had gotten some good quotes she could use in her story. She’d love to talk to the owner, George, to find out exactly how much of his business came from the lottery but doubted he’d cooperate. In her experience, small-business owners tended to be close-mouthed when it came to facts and figures.
    She climbed in the car and started the engine. If only she knew someone who was a compulsive gambler, she thought, or a recovered compulsive gambler. That would give the story a face, someone the readers could identify with.
    At least she had a good start, she thought, backing the car around and turning onto Main Street. The next step was to get some information from the lottery commission. But before she tackled that, she wanted to pay a little visit to Miss Tilley.
    It was the least she could decently do, she rationalized. After all, she had been friends with the former librarian ever since she and Bill first moved to Tinker’s Cove nearly twenty years ago. Furthermore, both she and Miss Tilley were members of the library board of directors. Paying a visit to a fragile and elderly colleague who was undoubtedly distressed by this violent turn of events could hardly be construed as attempting to investigate Bitsy’s murder.
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    â€œI suppose you’re investigating Bitsy’s murder,” said Miss Tilley, when Rachel Goodman admitted Lucy to the little antique Cape Cod house. Rachel worked mornings for Miss Tilley, taking care of the housekeeping and laundry and preparing a substantial midday meal for her.
    â€œCan you stay for lunch?” asked Rachel. “I’m making fish chowder.” Rachel’s son Richie was good friends with Toby, and she and Lucy were well acquainted.
    â€œIt smells delicious,” said Lucy, inhaling the rich fragrance. She guessed that Rachel would welcome some relief from Miss Tilley. “But I can only stay for an hour or so. I have to pick up Zoe at twelve.”
    â€œHow about some tea, then?” offered Rachel, taking Lucy’s coat.
    â€œI’d love it. Thanks.”
    â€œSit right down,” invited Miss Tilley, who was ensconced in her favorite wing chair by the fireplace. She made a cozy picture, sitting beside the glowing fire with a colorful crocheted afghan warming her legs. “It’s about time you got here. You have to get to the bottom of this.”
    â€œI’ve been told not to meddle,” Lucy informed her dutifully. “Lieutenant Horowitz doesn’t want me interfering in his investigation.”
    â€œNonsense. You’re in a far better position to discover who killed Bitsy than anyone else.”
    â€œI don’t know about that,” demurred Lucy, taking the tea from Rachel.
    â€œI have work to do in the kitchen, so I’ll leave you two to visit,” said Rachel. A cloud seemed to pass over her usually sunny face. “It’s just awful about Bitsy. I can hardly believe it really happened.” She dabbed at her nose with a tissue and returned to the kitchen.
    â€œI can believe it,” said Miss Tilley. “I would have liked to strangle her a few times myself.”
    â€œWell, thinking about it and actually doing it are two separate things. There are times when we’d all like