Wedding Day Murder by Leslie Meier Page B

up the kids.
    First stop was the day camp, where the girls were part of a group of kids waiting for their rides. Sara and Zoe were cheerful and relaxed as they scampered into the car; Lucy noticed they had each gotten a little sun on their faces.
    â€œYou better wear sunscreen tomorrow,” she told them at the same time she was thinking how healthy that little touch of sunburn made them look.
    At the Queen Vic Inn, Elizabeth was waiting for her on the porch. From her sullen expression, Lucy didn’t think the day had gone well.
    â€œTough day?” she asked as Elizabeth took the front seat beside her.
    Elizabeth grunted.
    â€œWant to talk about it?” Lucy asked dutifully.
    Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Mrs. McNaughton was all over me today. Said I wasn’t working fast enough. I’m only supposed to take twenty-five minutes per room, but I don’t see how I can do it that fast. I have to change the sheets, dust and vacuum, clean the bathroom, give them fresh towels—and some of these people are pigs. One couple left a slice of pizza on the rug—cheese side down! And there’s this guy who’s got all sorts of papers and a computer and a fax and doesn’t want me to touch anything, and then there’s the people who put ‘Do Not Disturb’ signs on their doors all the time. When am I supposed to clean their rooms?”
    Lucy was tempted to mention the present state of Elizabeth’s room, where so many dirty clothes were strewn on the floor that it was impossible to vacuum, but she bit her tongue. Instead she said, “It’s always hard to get used to a new job.”
    â€œNow I know how it feels to be a slave,” said Elizabeth.
    Again Lucy bit her tongue.
    â€œGive it a chance,” she said. “You really need the money for college.”
    â€œIt’s just so unfair. Toby gets to mess around on a boat all day and I have to clean disgusting toilets.” She shuddered.
    As soon as Lucy turned into the parking lot at the harbor, she realized something was up. A group of fishermen had gathered by the harbormaster’s shack, and from their attitudes Lucy understood that they weren’t there for a friendly chat. She automatically reached for her notebook and camera.
    â€œCan we go on the swings?” asked Zoe.
    Hearing the men’s raised voices, Lucy came to a quick decision. “No, you better stay in the car.” Seeing Elizabeth reaching for the door handle, she added, “You, too, Elizabeth.”
    â€œWhat is this? Now I’m a prisoner? Why can’t I come, too?”
    Lucy didn’t have time to argue. “Later,” she said, hurrying across the parking lot.
    When she reached the harbormaster’s shack, she saw Wiggins leaning in the doorway, smoking a cigarette. Considering the group’s collective anger, his casual attitude seemed out of place.
    â€œYou can’t do this to me,” Geoff was complaining. “A mooring won’t work. I’ve got too much equipment to load and unload.”
    â€œThat’s right,” agreed one of the others. “Whose harbor is this, anyway? Does it belong to us, who live and work here, or some rich guy?”
    This last was met with enthusiastic agreement from the others.
    It was then Lucy noticed Ron Davitz, who was standing next to Geoff but a few feet away, as if keeping a safe distance from the fishermen. He looked out of place at the harbor, thought Lucy, noticing how white his skin was—especially his legs, which were well covered with dark hair. His shorts were too short, and he was again wearing black socks with his sandals.
    Wiggins cocked an eyebrow at him and flicked his ashes on the ground.
    â€œTry to look at it from my point of view,” said Davitz. “People are constantly coming and going at all hours; there’s engines and yelling and banging; and if that isn’t bad enough, I tell you the stench from . . . something