Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(106)

The noise, she realized, had come from the house. Something had blown up inside the house. Toby was shrieking in the backseat, strapped into his car seat. She was still sitting in the car, hanging on to the steering wheel for dear life. But Bill was inside the house. She didn’t know what to do. She hopped out of the car and ran toward the house, then she ran back to the car, afraid the house might blow up with her inside, leaving Toby an orphan. She was standing, flapping her arms, torn between her husband and her son, when the door opened and a puff of smoke blew out, followed by Bill. She ran to him.

“Ohmigod, what happened?” she cried, taking in his sootblackened face, singed eyebrows and hair. He was holding his hands out in front of him, the sleeves of his shirt and sweater were burned off and the skin was red and black and blistered.

“I tried to fix the stove,” he said.

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“Get in the car,” she ordered.

“No, Lucy. Don’t start the car. Get Toby and we’ll go to the neighbors.”

“Right, right,” she said, yanking the door open and unsnapping the car seat straps with shaking hands. Bill was already halfway down the drive, walking like an automaton.

He must be in shock, she thought, hurrying to catch up to him.

They could hear the sirens before they even reached the road; the neighbors they didn’t even know must have called the fire department. So they stood there and waited as an engine and a ladder truck and, finally, an ambulance, screamed to a halt in front of their house. Forty minutes later it was all over. Bill’s burns were treated and wrapped in gauze, the gas was turned off, the house was vented, and they were given permission to go inside.

“You got off lucky this time, believe me,” said the fire chief. “The whole house coulda gone, you coulda been cooked.

So if I were you I wouldn’t attempt any more repairs. Leave the gas appliances to the professionals.”

“Right,” said Bill, thoroughly chagrined.

“Whew, that was a close one,” said Lucy, surveying the damage. The stove had opened and collapsed like a cardboard box, and everything else in the room was covered with a greasy gray film. That included the ceiling, the walls, the sink and refrigerator, the table and chairs, even the floor, which also had big, muddy footprints.

“Like the man said, it could have been worse,” said Bill.

Lucy remembered that awful moment after the boom, when she didn’t know if Bill was alive or dead. “I was so afraid,” she said, tears springing to her eyes.

“I know,” said Bill, enfolding her and Toby in his bandaged arms. “I didn’t see my whole life go before my eyes but I did see you, both of you,” he said. “And at that moment, I loved you so, so much. It was really, really intense.”

“How about now?” asked Lucy.

CANDY CANES OF CHRISTMAS PAST

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“Well, I still love you but I gotta admit I’d trade you both for a pain pill.”

“I’ll call Doc Ryder right away,” said Lucy. “He can call a prescription in to the pharmacy.”

When she finished talking to the doctor, Lucy carried Toby upstairs and settled him down in his crib for a belated nap.

The tired little boy was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Returning to the kitchen she found Bill staring at the remains of the stove.

“Lucy, what do you say we give each other a new stove for Christmas?”

“My thoughts exactly, Santa,” said Lucy, slipping into her jacket and reaching for the car keys. “But next time, try coming down the chimney, okay?”

“Very funny,” he said. “And hurry back with those pills.”

An icy drizzle was falling when Lucy left the house and had turned to snow by the time she got to town. She drove slowly and carefully down Main Street, which was slick with icy patches and, observing the signs that prohibited parking in front of the pharmacy, slid into a spot a few doors down.

The sidewalk was icy, too, and she was relieved when she made it to the door without falling.

Inside, at the prescription counter, the pharmacist greeted her and told her the prescription would be ready in a few minutes. Lucy was tired, so she decided to sit in the waiting area. Turning the corner to the secluded nook that held a few chairs and tattered magazines, she found Dora Boott crouching there with a baby in her arms.

“Hi,” she said. “Remember me? I bought the glass cane.”

Dora raised one hand to cover her face as she turned toward Lucy. “Hi,” she said, mumbling into her upturned collar.

Lucy wasn’t fooled. It was clear that Dora had recently suffered a severe beating, probably at the hands of her husband. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

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“Baby’s sick,” she said, avoiding meeting Lucy’s eyes.

“Doc said he’s got to have some medicine.”

Lucy’s eyes fell on the baby, who was lying listlessly in his mother’s arms. His face was quite flushed and his hair damp, he obviously had a high fever. “And what about you?” asked Lucy. “Did you have an accident?”

“Yeah,” growled Kyle, suddenly coming around the corner. “She walked into a door.”

“I don’t think so,” said Lucy, leveling her eyes at him. “It looks to me as if somebody hit her.”