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.
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As she stood in line, Lucy regarded the woman in front of her. She was wearing a bright pink parka that certainly didnât complement her green-and-brown plaid polyester pants.
âMrs. Withers!â exclaimed Lucy.
âYes?â The woman turned, revealing a round face with narrow lips, brightly outlined in fuchsia lipstick.
âYou donât know me,â began Lucy. âIâm Lucy Stone. I was the one who found Bitsy Howell yesterday.â
âThe police said she was shot.â Mrs. Withers looked doubtful.
âThat so?â
âOh, yes.â Lucy nodded. âDo you have any idea who might have done it? Did she have a fight with her boyfriend or anything like that?â
âNot likely. She didnât have no boyfriend. No friends at all, far as I could tell. Kept herself to herself.â Mrs. Withers began unloading her cart onto the check-out conveyer.
âThat was a terrible thing,â added Dot, the cashier.
âItâs really quite a loss for me,â confessed Mrs. Withers sadly.
âYou were close?â inquired Lucy.
âShe was my tenant.â Mrs. Withersâs penciled eyebrows shot up. âThe police have sealed the apartment! I donât know when Iâm going to be able to move out her stuff and get it rented again.â
âThatâs just normal procedure,â said Dot, ringing up a box of cookies.
âWhat will happen to her things?â asked Lucy.
âI 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
âEverything?â Lucy was shocked.
âEverything! Imagine that.â Mrs. Withersâs numerous chins quivered in indignation.
âDonât they want anything of hers? Something to remember her by?â asked Dot. âThatâll be eight dollars and sixteen cents.â
âNot a thingâsaid I should just get rid of it all,â said Mrs. Withers, pulling her wallet out of her imitation leather purse. âDoesnât seem like theyâve got much family feeling, if you ask me.â
âPoor Bitsy,â sighed Lucy, reaching into her basket for the bag of oranges.
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Back in the Subaru, driving down Main Street on her way to Kiddie Kollege, Lucy passed Haydenâs antique shop, Northcross and Love. In the window she noticed a tavern table, similar to Miss Tilleyâs, with a couple of pewter tankards displayed on it. That was an idea, she thought. Miss Tilley might enjoy having a tankard similar to Josiahâs Tankard. Of course, she couldnât afford one as old and valuable as Josiahâs 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.
âItâs called âambrosiaâ,â 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 commissionâs 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.
âWe need some good art,â she told him. âI was thinking of a photograph of discarded lottery tickets in a parking lot or something.â
âIâll see what I can come up with,â he said. âAny luck getting some quotes from a problem gambler?â
âIâve got a call in to Gamblers Anonymous,
Tim Curran, Cody Goodfellow, Gary McMahon, C.J. Henderson, William Meikle, T.E. Grau, Laurel Halbany, Christine Morgan, Edward Morris