Mother's Day Murder by Leslie Meier Page A

Ashley’s favor. But that, she decided, would mean that Bar was seriously unbalanced, and that did not seem to be the case at all.
    Approaching the turn onto Red Top Road, Lucy sped up. She was eager to reach the safety and security of home, but as she tooled along the wooded road, she had a sudden mental replay of the shooter fleeing through a similar landscape. All she’d seen, really, was that blond head of hair and a blur of white shirt, and once again, she thought it was an odd outfit for an assassin to choose. It was almost as if the shooter had wanted to be seen and identified. But why? Was Bar hoping that the jury would buy the argument that she would never have behaved so stupidly, especially right after the Gun Woman of the Year Award was announced? Or, thought Lucy, turning into her driveway, had Bar been set up by someone else?
     
    “Gee,” observed Bill as she entered the kitchen, “I thought you’d come home glowing and relaxed. You look like you’ve just witnessed a train wreck.”
    “Kind of,” said Lucy, slipping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his chest. “Tina Nowak got shot on the tennis court at the spa.”
    Bill jerked away. “What?”
    “Molly and I had a lovely time, we both felt great, and we were on our way home, driving past the tennis courts, when we heard shots. She was down. Lenny was holding her. She was bleeding….”
    “Oh my God.” Bill pulled her closer. “That’s terrible.”
    “Molly tried to give her CPR, but the EMTs don’t think she’ll make it.”
    “Shot, right out in broad daylight?”
    “Yeah. We even saw the shooter running away.”
    “Could you tell who it was?”
    “I’m not sure, but it looked a lot like Bar Hume.”
    “Wow!” exclaimed Bill, shaking his head. “I mean, everybody knew they hated each other, but this is crazy.”
    “What’s crazy?” asked Sara, coming into the kitchen and staring at her mother. “I thought a facial was supposed to make you look better.”
    “Your mother had a bit of a shock,” said Bill.
    Sara was opening the refrigerator door. “Like what?”
    “Tina Nowak got shot on the tennis court,” said Lucy.
    “By Bar Hume,” added Bill.
    Sara dropped the bottle of tomato juice she was holding, and it began to flow onto the floor, oozing across the wide wooden planks.
    Lucy stood watching as the red liquid pooled on the floor, just like Tina’s blood had spread beneath her on the tennis court, and felt herself getting very dizzy.
    “Whoa there,” cried Bill as she slumped against him in a dead faint.
     
    Sunday morning was like Mother’s Day all over again. Bill ordered Lucy to stay in bed while he made waffles for breakfast. Zoe delivered the tray, which had been decorated with a little bunch of pansies from the garden, and Bill followed with the morning paper.
    “The shooting made the front page,” he told her.
    Lucy stared at the headline, which announced FATAL SHOOTING SHOCKS SMALL TOWN , then set the paper aside. It wasn’t exactly a shock; she hadn’t expected Tina to live, but she had hoped for a miracle. “I can’t face reading that just now,” she said, taking a sip of orange juice. Before she knew it, she’d polished off her entire breakfast of blueberry waffles with maple syrup, bacon, orange juice, and coffee.
    She had set the tray aside and was perusing a glossy home and garden special section when the phone rang. It was Ted. “I guess you heard that Tina’s dead,” he began.
    “I saw the headline,” she admitted. “It wasn’t really a surprise. Any new developments?”
    “Police are still investigating,” he said.
    “No arrest?”
    “Not yet. They’re waiting for forensics.”
    “Oh,” said Lucy. She could hear voices in Sara’s room. Sassie and Renee had slept over the night before, and it sounded as if they were beginning to wake up.
    “I’m shooting for…uh, sorry about that. I want to put out a special edition, so I need you to come in this afternoon.