Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(103)

“Great,” said Lucy, who was already looking forward to their get-together. “Gee,” she added, in a burst of candor, “this is pathetic. I can’t tell you how excited I am about actually having some place to go and getting out of the house.”

“I hear you,” said Sue. “Sometimes I just pack my bag and head to my mother’s for a night, just to get some time to myself.”

Lucy felt a stab of jealousy. “Does she live nearby?”

“Boston. Close enough, but not too close, if you know what I mean. The drive’s long enough that I have time to decompress, get rid of that ‘I’d like to kill my husband’ feeling.”

Lucy was a bit shocked by Sue’s frankness. “Doesn’t your husband mind when you leave?”

“No. To tell the truth, I think he enjoys it. I mean, he prob— CANDY CANES OF CHRISTMAS PAST

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ably wants to kill me sometimes, too, impossible as that seems.”

“Not that impossible,” said Lucy. “I think that if anybody was counting they’d discover that lots more wives are killed by their husbands than vice versa.”

“I know,” agreed Sue. “And I can never quite understand.

Take that awful guy in Boston who shot his wife and killed her and then shot himself to make it seem like they were attacked by some entirely innocent black man—all that fuss when he could have just filed for divorce.”

“Divorce is no picnic, either,” said Lucy. “Imagine thinking you’re in a perfectly happy marriage and then one fine day, your husband looks at you over the morning paper and says ‘Honey, it’s been great, but I’ve found this hot little chick and I like her much better than you, she never nags me about taking out the trash like you do, so what do you say we get a divorce?’ ”

Sue laughed. “I see your point. If he shoots you, well, he’s a real bastard and all, but at least you can go to your death without feeling like a failure because he’s having an affair.”

“Yeah,” agreed Lucy, thinking of Judge Tilley’s insistence on maintaining appearances. “Like it was a perfect marriage right up to the moment he killed you.” From the distance, she heard Bill calling her. “Gotta go save my marriage by stripping the wallpaper in the front hall.”

“Honey, you’d do better to strip yourself.”

“Point taken,” said Lucy. “See you tomorrow.”





Chapter


! Seven #

Lucy knew she couldn’t leave Toby with Bill when she met Sue for coffee so she didn’t even ask. She was as big a believer in women’s liberation as anyone, but it was unrealistic to expect anyone to keep an eye on an active preschooler while working with dangerous tools to perform tasks that required a great deal of concentration. Bill had explained this to her so many times that she’d come to believe it, though she did wonder why it didn’t apply to her.

After all, she managed to keep an eye on Toby while she chopped up chicken with a cleaver, or used pins and needles to mend a tear, or boiled up a kettle of water to cook pasta.

Those were every bit as dangerous as his work with saws, and hammers and nails.

She explained it all to Sue when she joined her at a table in the back corner of Jake’s Donut Shack. As Sue had predicted, the place was quiet, with only a scattering of retirees who had time to linger over their morning papers.

“Bill,” she told Sue, “has a male brain. He can only concentrate on one thing at a time, which makes it impossible for him to mind a child at the same time he’s cutting a board.

I, on the other hand, have a female brain, which we know is larger and generally superior in that it can accommodate several thoughts at once.”

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“Right,” said Sue. “Like how there’s a designer handbag sale at Filene’s Basement and a coat sale at Jordan Marsh.”

“Exactly,” said Lucy, smiling and nodding.

“I fundamentally agree with you,” said Sue, tearing open a pink packet of low-calorie sweetener and stirring it into her coffee, “but what I can’t quite figure out is how, if we’re so smart and all, we always seem to get stuck with the kids.”

“It’s because,” said Lucy, taking a sip of coffee, “we remember the fact that we actually have a child. Men’s brains can’t handle that information, which is why they tend to lose the children on the rare occasions that they take them anywhere.”

“I think you’re on to something,” said Sue. “My husband, Sid, completely forgot he was supposed to pick up Sidra from nursery school the other day.”

“Nursery school,” said Lucy, wistfully, watching as Toby ripped open a sugar packet and poured the contents all over the table. “I wish we could afford nursery school.”

“You know,” said Sue, setting down her cup, “you’re not alone. I bet there are a lot of people here in town who need child care but can’t afford it. Maybe we could get some sort of cooperative going or something.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” said Lucy, watching as Toby licked his finger and then dipped it into the sugar. For some reason the repeated licks and dips reminded her of a video she’d seen at the American Museum of Natural History. “If he used a spoon, he’d be as smart as a chimpanzee,”