Wedding Day Murder by Leslie Meier Page A

one’s on me—but it’s the last time I go out to lunch with a millionaire’s mother!”

Chapter Eight
    W ednesday afternoon, when the deadline was past and it was too early to start on next week’s issue, was the day Lucy liked to do her big grocery shopping and catch up on her errands. So, after leaving the Greengage Inn, she headed for the IGA. First, however, she had to cash a check at the drive-through.
    As she sat in line in her car waiting for a woman in a huge SUV with New Jersey plates to finish her transaction, her mind went back to the lunch. A glance at her checkbook’s shrinking balance, and an uneasy awareness of her Visa account’s ever-growing balance, made her regret taking the check. Over a hundred dollars for lunch! How was she going to explain this to Bill when he saw the statement?
    She had acted on impulse, hoping to lighten some of Sue’s burden. Poor Sue certainly had her hands full, she thought. As if coping with Thelma weren’t enough, now Sid had to start behaving strangely. What was he doing with a gun? And why hadn’t Sue confronted him and asked him about it? It certainly wasn’t good for couples to keep secrets from one another, she thought, vowing to tell Bill that the wedding would be in the gazebo. She amended the thought: might be in the gazebo.
    The large SUV finally moved on and Lucy pulled up to the window.
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    Back at the house, Lucy spent the next half hour or so unloading the car and putting the groceries away. When she’d finished, she grabbed a peach and the copy of CyberWorld magazine she’d picked up at the checkout counter and headed for the gazebo. Kudo trotted along beside her; in his mind any change of location required an escort. When she stretched out on the chaise longue, he took up his usual sentry position on the top step.
    Lucy took a bite of peach, caught the juice with the back of her hand before it dripped down her chin, and opened the magazine. She hoped to learn about this new economy everybody was talking about. She flipped past the ads, which were mostly for computers and companies she had never heard of, and started reading a story about the “Hundred Hottest Start-Ups.”
    Previously she’d thought of Internet companies in terms of retail sales. Nowadays, instead of filling out an order form and sending a check when you ordered from a catalog, you could place your order with the computer. It had made shopping a lot easier—especially if you needed something in a hurry, like Mother’s Day flowers for your mother-in-law.
    To Lucy’s surprise, however, most of the companies in the article didn’t sell products—they sold know-how to other companies. They maximized and utilized; they generated and organized; they managed and prioritized; and they all guaranteed results. And right up there in the top fifty was Ron Davitz’s company, Secure.net . Lucy read the description, but the only part of it she understood was the thumbnail-sized photo of a smiling Ron. He looked better in miniature, she thought.
    He was also, she learned, soon going to become a lot richer than he already was. Analysts agreed the stock would soar to stratospheric heights when the promised software hit the market. As founder of the company, Ron would reap enormous rewards.
    Lucy let the magazine drop to her lap and looked up at the roof of the gazebo, where Bill had cut the boards so they all radiated out from a center point. It had been a labor of love that had taken him hours, and it hadn’t netted him a cent. As she studied Bill’s handiwork, she wondered if Ron had felt the same sense of purpose when he created Secure.net , the same sense of satisfaction when all the pieces came together just right.
    It was four-thirty when Lucy awoke with a start. Leaping over the startled dog, she ran to the house and splashed water on her face, combed her hair, and grabbed her purse. It was time to pick