Turkey Day Murder by Leslie Meier Page A

to the trouble of making that vegan brown rice and carrot casserole for supper, they’d gone on to Portland after stopping only briefly at the pep rally and hadn’t returned until around eleven. She hadn’t seen much of Toby, and the girls hadn’t seen him at all. They’d either been asleep or at school when he made his brief appearances. There was plenty of evidence of his and his friends’ presence, however, in the huge pile of sleeping bags and backpacks that practically filled the family room, in the wet towels left on the bathroom floor, in the litter of dirty snack dishes that filled the kitchen sink.
    Lucy didn’t know exactly what she wanted. Certainly not cozy family games of Monopoly, such as he used to enjoy when he was younger. But she had thought he would join the family at dinner. She’d thought he’d be around for a while in the evenings, perhaps watching a video with the rest of the family. And she had hoped to have a little time with him by herself.
    Now, she realized with a start, if she did get him to herself she’d like nothing better than to shake some sense into him. She would like to yell and scream and let him know he was behaving like a pig. She’d like to make him understand how much he was hurting her and how very angry it made her feel.
    No, she thought. That wouldn’t do. If he was the prodigal son, it was her job to set aside her petty little negative feelings and welcome him. To kill the fatted calf in celebration—or in her case, to cook the turkey and reheat the brown rice casserole.
    Doing a quick count, Lucy realized there would be twelve for dinner, instead of the eight she’d been figuring on, presuming Toby and his friends deigned to eat Thanksgiving dinner with them. She counted again. Herself and Bill and the three girls—that was five. Toby and his friends made nine. Add the Barths and Miss Tilley, the total came to twelve.
    That meant she would need some extra chairs. She’d have to round up all the strays from the bedrooms and Bill’s attic office. There were plenty of dishes, but her silver service only had eight place settings, so she’d have to use the kitchen stainless, too. So much for the elegant table she’d hoped to set. Oh, well, she told herself as the alarm sounded, Thanksgiving was about being grateful for what you had, not wishing you had four more sterling place settings.
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    A few hours later, Lucy was savoring the sweet satisfaction of revenge. The college kids weren’t sleeping late this morning thanks to Zoe, who wanted to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV. She had settled herself right in front of the TV, a bowl of cereal on the floor, a spoon in one hand, and the remote in the other. Any attempts to dislodge her—and there had been a few—had been repulsed with fits of noisy squealing. She had now solidified her position, calling on her sisters to act as reinforcements. The college kids had finally given up and had begun the hours-long ritual of morning showers.
    Busy in the kitchen, peeling potatoes and mixing up stuffing and arranging plates of condiments, Lucy thought smugly to herself that things had a way of working out. They hadn’t eaten the cassserole last night; they could jolly well eat it today. They didn’t want to behave like proper guests; the family didn’t have to act like gracious hosts.
    Glancing at the clock, Lucy saw it was almost time to leave for the football game. She turned on the oven and opened the door, preparing to slide the turkey inside so it could cook while they were gone, when Sara ran into the kitchen.
    â€œYou’ll never believe it, Mom.”
    â€œWhat won’t I believe?” asked Lucy, straightening up.
    â€œI saw Katie Brown on TV!”
    Lucy looked at her doubtfully. “How can you be sure it was her?”
    â€œ ‘Cause she was with her dad and her mom and her brothers. They