“Sam Miller’s only been dead for two days, and already things are going to pot around here.”

“What do you mean?” asked Bev.

“With Sam gone, guys like George Higham are going to have more power,” Lucy said, ripping open the cellophane package.

“Sam was a nice man to work for,” Bev agreed. “He had a smile for everybody, and then he left you alone to do your job.”

“Those days are over, Bev. George Higham will be looking over our shoulders and poking into everything. He won’t be able to pass up a chance to flex his managerial muscles.”

“You’re probably right, Lucy. But there’s nothing you can do about it. Take a word from a survivor and watch your step. Higham’s real friendly with Tom Miller. He’s the one to watch these days.”

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

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As she climbed awkwardly into Sue’s big Jeep the next morning, Lucy lamented her friend’s knack for looking perfect. Her gray tweed coat and black beret were just right for a Tinker’s Cove funeral, where too much black would be considered excessive.

“I thought I’d just put this scarf over my shoulder when we go to Portland,” said Sue, pulling a piece of red paisley out of her enormous shoulder bag. “I don’t want to look as if I’ve been to a funeral.”

That was just the sort of thing Sue would do, thought Lucy, who was making do with a castoff coat of her mother’s. There was no point in being jealous; no matter how hard she tried she would never have Sue’s sense of style. Lucy would much rather spend an afternoon reading the latest P. D. James than studying the latest Vogue. She loved shopping with Sue, though, because no one had a surer nose for a bargain.

Arriving at the white clapboard church with its tall steeple, they paused for a second and looked up at the weather vane. It was a gilded rooster, and Lucy loved the way it sparkled against the clear blue sky.

Neither woman was surprised at the large turnout. They managed to squeeze their way through the crowd to the balcony, where they found two vacant seats behind the clock. They would have to crane their necks to see, but at least they had seats.

Looking around, they saw that everyone in Tinker’s Cove seemed to be there—from the selectmen right on down the social ladder to Sol Smith, the man who owned Sol’s Septic Service.