Free Tippy Toe Murder by Leslie Meier Page A

out the door. Watching from behind the velvet drapes in the
front parlor as he proceeded down the walk, Kitty wondered what life would be
like without him. It wasn’t the first time she’d entertained such thoughts.
    From her vantage point at the bay window,
she watched Morrill shrink smaller and smaller as he proceeded down the street.
Soon she couldn’t see him at all. Then her attention was drawn to a silver
Subaru, which was being parked on Main Street, right in front of the old granite
mounting block. She saw Lucy Stone get out, and rubbed her own aching back
sympathetically when Lucy bent over awkwardly to release a small child from the
back seat.
    Lucy stood for a moment on the sidewalk and
regarded the house. Then, her decision made, she took the child by the hand and
began walking up the drive to the back door. Kitty met her there.
    “Lucy Stone, what a nice surprise!”
exclaimed Kitty as she opened the door. “And who’s this?”
    “This is Sara,” said Lucy. “Sara’s four.”
    “Well, do come in and visit,” urged Kitty. “I
hope you don’t mind sitting in the kitchen. It’s really the coziest room in the
house.”
    From what Lucy had seen through the heavily
draped windows as she walked up the drive, she didn’t doubt it. “The kitchen is
the heart of the home,” she said, taking a seat on a battered old wicker sofa.
    The sofa was arranged, along with a rocking
chair, in a sunny comer of the kitchen. Geraniums lined the windowsill, a
basket of knitting sat next to the rocker, and a pile of well-thumbed magazines
and travel brochures rested on a lamp table.
    “Are you going on a trip?” asked Lucy.
    “No, just dreaming,” said Kitty as she
lifted an aluminum percolator off the stove. “Would you like some coffee? I
usually have a cup around now.”
    “No, thanks,” said Lucy, eyeing the inky
brew. Sara had cuddled up beside her and was looking about curiously.
    “There’s a basket of toys under the settee,”
said Kitty. “Why don’t you pull it out and see what’s there.” She nodded
approvingly when Sara jumped down, seated herself on the braided rug, and began
investigating the basket. “How many children do you have?” she asked Lucy.
    “This will be my fourth,” said Lucy,
patting her tummy.
    “Four! Aren’t you lucky! I didn’t have Fred
until rather late in my marriage. I was thrilled to finally have a baby.”
    “And a son, too. Your husband must have
been pleased.”
    “I think he was, in his way,” recalled
Kitty. “Of course, like many people his age he didn’t believe in showing
affection. He was afraid that sparing the rod spoiled the child. People don’t
think that so much anymore.”
    “Sometimes things change for the better,”
observed Lucy, wondering how to broach the subject she wanted to discuss. “I
don’t quite know how to begin,” she said, leaning forward, “so I guess I’ll
just plunge in. I came here to ask you to tell your husband that the video
camera he took from Franny Small yesterday really is mine. I need it back to
tape my daughters’ ballet rehearsal. Tatiana only allows cameras at the dress
rehearsal, and it’s today. At three-thirty.”
    Kitty’s face was blank. “I don’t know what
you’re talking about.”
    “My video camera,” said Lucy, taking a deep
breath. “Franny borrowed it to prove to Mr. Slack that she isn’t the one
stealing from the store. He caught her with it, and fired her. He also
confiscated the camera, and I want it back.”
    “He fired Franny? When did all this happen?”
    “Yesterday,” said Lucy. She could
practically hear the wheels turning in Kitty’s head as she put two and two
together.
    “Thank you for telling me, Lucy. This explains
why Morrill was so upset last night.”
    “Didn’t he tell you what happened?”
    “He did say something about it being
Annemarie’s fault. That’s all.”
    Lucy was amazed at this lack of
communication between husband and wife. “How long have you been