Valentine Murder by Leslie Meier Page A

with disapproval. There was no way around it, Lucy concluded, pushing the cart to the check-out: she was going to have to apologize to Miss Tilley.
    Â 
    Â 
    As she stood in line, Lucy regarded the woman in front of her. She was wearing a bright pink parka that certainly didn’t complement her green-and-brown plaid polyester pants.
    â€œMrs. Withers!” exclaimed Lucy.
    â€œYes?” The woman turned, revealing a round face with narrow lips, brightly outlined in fuchsia lipstick.
    â€œYou don’t know me,” began Lucy. “I’m Lucy Stone. I was the one who found Bitsy Howell yesterday.”
    â€œThe police said she was shot.” Mrs. Withers looked doubtful.
    â€œThat so?”
    â€œOh, yes.” Lucy nodded. “Do you have any idea who might have done it? Did she have a fight with her boyfriend or anything like that?”
    â€œNot likely. She didn’t have no boyfriend. No friends at all, far as I could tell. Kept herself to herself.” Mrs. Withers began unloading her cart onto the check-out conveyer.
    â€œThat was a terrible thing,” added Dot, the cashier.
    â€œIt’s really quite a loss for me,” confessed Mrs. Withers sadly.
    â€œYou were close?” inquired Lucy.
    â€œShe was my tenant.” Mrs. Withers’s penciled eyebrows shot up. “The police have sealed the apartment! I don’t know when I’m going to be able to move out her stuff and get it rented again.”
    â€œThat’s just normal procedure,” said Dot, ringing up a box of cookies.
    â€œWhat will happen to her things?” asked Lucy.
    â€œI spoke to her family, in New York someplace. I asked when they were coming and what to do with it all, and you know what they said? They said just give it all to the Salvation Army!”
    â€œEverything?” Lucy was shocked.
    â€œEverything! Imagine that.” Mrs. Withers’s numerous chins quivered in indignation.
    â€œDon’t they want anything of hers? Something to remember her by?” asked Dot. “That’ll be eight dollars and sixteen cents.”
    â€œNot a thing—said I should just get rid of it all,” said Mrs. Withers, pulling her wallet out of her imitation leather purse. “Doesn’t seem like they’ve got much family feeling, if you ask me.”
    â€œPoor Bitsy,” sighed Lucy, reaching into her basket for the bag of oranges.
    Â 
    Â 
    Back in the Subaru, driving down Main Street on her way to Kiddie Kollege, Lucy passed Hayden’s antique shop, Northcross and Love. In the window she noticed a tavern table, similar to Miss Tilley’s, with a couple of pewter tankards displayed on it. That was an idea, she thought. Miss Tilley might enjoy having a tankard similar to Josiah’s Tankard. Of course, she couldn’t afford one as old and valuable as Josiah’s Tankard but she might find something that was less expensive. Even a reproduction. She resolved to come back to the shop when she had more time.
    When she and Zoe got home, Lucy cut up some of the oranges and grapefruit and sprinkled a little dried coconut on top.
    â€œIt’s called ‘ambrosia’,” she told Zoe.
    Starved for vitamin C and sunshine, the two of them finished the entire bowl. Then Zoe scampered off to the family room, and Lucy got out her gambling notes. She put in a call to the state lottery commission for information and learned most of what she wanted was on the commission’s website. Then she made a second call and left a message with Gamblers Anonymous. After that she called Ted to discuss the illustration for the story.
    â€œWe need some good art,” she told him. “I was thinking of a photograph of discarded lottery tickets in a parking lot or something.”
    â€œI’ll see what I can come up with,” he said. “Any luck getting some quotes from a problem gambler?”
    â€œI’ve got a call in to Gamblers Anonymous,