Easter Bunny Murder by Leslie Meier

breezes and to go outside without putting on bulky jackets, hats, and gloves. Lucy was itching to work in her garden, she wanted to get the peas and lettuce planted, she was looking forward to pulling those crisp and lovely French breakfast radishes.
    Her garden tended to be on the wild side, she admitted to herself. She enjoyed the planting and the picking a lot more than the weeding and cultivating. She thought of the once perfect garden at Pine Point, where perennials sprouted where they were meant to be instead of the willy-nilly way they came up in her garden, and where weeds were dealt with promptly instead of when she got around to it. For years, she had envied VV’s garden, viewing it every summer when it was part of the annual garden tour benefiting the cottage hospital. She always left wishing she had the skill and energy to emulate even one of those ravishing perennial borders that bloomed gorgeously from spring right through September, but now the garden’s beauty seemed pointless, with no one to appreciate it.
    And when you came to think of it, the perfect garden and the gorgeous house they had all so admired was really a bit of a sham. Somehow, you assumed that a beautiful house meant the people in them lived beautiful lives, but now she knew that wasn’t the case. VV’s house was a showcase, her garden an inspiration, but her family was a dysfunctional mess.
    Zoe thunked into the kitchen in her green and white polka-dot mud boots and opened the refrigerator door. “I need something quick,” she said. “Today’s the pet parade.”
    Sara was behind her; her boots were a jolly pink and green plaid. “Grab a couple of those yogurt drinks,” she said. “We’ve got to get going.”
    â€œI can cook you some eggs,” offered Lucy. “It won’t take a minute.”
    â€œWe’ve got to be at the shelter in fifteen minutes,” said Sara. “We’ve got to get all the animals in their costumes and over to the nursing home by eleven.”
    Lucy felt a little glow of pride. Sara and Zoe had been stalwart volunteers at the Friends of Animals shelter for years, donating hundreds of hours of time and not shrinking from the unpleasant jobs, either. They were both honor-list students and Sara had received a merit scholarship to the state university where she planned to study veterinary science.
    The girls were zipping up their jackets, almost ready to go, and Lucy popped into the pantry where she grabbed a couple of granola bars. “Here you go,” she said. “I’ll see you later at the home.”
    â€œYou’re coming?”
    â€œIt’s an assignment. I’m covering it for the paper.”
    â€œDon’t take any pictures of me, okay? I didn’t do my hair,” said Sara, sporting a ponytail.
    â€œOr me,” said Zoe. “I’m wearing one of Dad’s hardware store sweatshirts.”
    â€œI’ll just take pictures of the animals,” promised Lucy. “Now, scoot. You’ll be late.”
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    The pet parade was an Easter tradition at Heritage House Retirement Center, known to everyone in Tinker’s Cove as “the old folks’ home” despite the owners repeated campaigns to convince people to adopt the institution’s new corporate identity. It had always been “the home” and that’s what it would stay, but the new owners had made a lot of improvements. The rather grim old place had been remodeled and freshened up and the staff was more professional; on the other hand, the kitchen no longer served the buttery, creamy fish chowder that had clogged so many arteries in the past.
    Today, most of the residents had gathered in the dining room, where they were watched over by a covey of nurses’ aides. Some were seated in wheelchairs, others were resting in an assortment of chairs: a wing chair here, a plastic dining chair there. A few seemed engaged, chatting and