Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(110)

She was a bit disappointed to discover the Goodmans lived in a modern ranch, part of a small development tucked behind the school complex. The houses were all variations on a single theme featuring a picture window with three rather stunted rhododendron bushes beneath. The Goodmans’ house was gray with white trim.

When Rachel opened the door, however, Lucy was enchanted by the vibrant Persian rug on the living room floor and the curvaceous Victorian settee that sat beneath that picture window. “This is lovely,” said Lucy, as Rachel took their coats and hung them in the hall closet.

A hall closet, she realized, was something you took for granted in a modern house but was definitely lacking in her own antique farmhouse. Modern houses certainly had their advantages. She was pretty sure Rachel had a working stove, too.

Following her into the kitchen, she noticed that Rachel not only had a stove and a side-by-side refrigerator, she also had a dishwasher. But the modern appliances were offset by cheery gingham curtains, a pot rack holding baskets and 364

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bunches of herbs, and a gorgeous golden oak table and chairs.

“I have to admit I’m dying with jealousy,” said Lucy, stroking the table’s gleaming surface. “What a find.”

“It didn’t look like that when we bought it, believe me,”

said Rachel. “It was painted pea green.”

“Who refinished it?”

“Bob. It’s a hobby of his.”

“Make yourself comfortable,” said Rachel, setting the kettle on the stove. “I’ll get Richie. He’s a little shy.”

When she returned, Richie was clinging to her hand and holding a sad looking binky against his cheek. But when Rachel spilled a basket of Fisher-Price trucks and little people on the floor the two boys were soon absorbed in play.

“Have you lived here in Tinker’s Cove for long?” asked Lucy, accepting a cup of tea.

“A couple of years,” said Rachel, taking a pressed oak chair opposite Lucy’s.

“What brought you here?”

“Bob answered Sherman Cobb’s ad,” said Rachel, stirring some milk into her tea. “He saw an article about Maine in the Mother Earth News.”

Lucy laughed. “So did my husband! And do you know Sue Finch? I met her the other day. Her husband read that article, too.”

“That article has a lot to answer for,” said Rachel, in a rather dark tone. She sipped her tea. “Sue Finch? She’s that woman with the Farrah Fawcett hair and high heels?”

“That’s her,” said Lucy.

“Fashion’s not really my thing,” said Rachel, smoothing the sleeves of her orange sweater. “That’s one of the things I like about Tinker’s Cove. But I am glad to see more young people moving in. I mean, I went to a Women’s Club meeting when we first moved here and there wasn’t a single woman under fifty. And all they wanted to talk about was their most recent operations.”

CANDY CANES OF CHRISTMAS PAST

365

“Miss Tilley—the librarian—isn’t like that at all,” said Lucy. “In fact, I’m helping her solve a family mystery.”

“She’s a character,” said Rachel, watching as the two little boys headed down the hall to Richie’s room. “They seem to be getting along well.”

“Yeah. I’m sure Toby really misses his playmates from the city. I used to take him to the park almost every day.”

“So tell me about this article you’re working on,” coaxed Rachel.

She listened intently as Lucy recounted her investigation.

“It’s interesting that Miss Tilley never married, don’t you think?” she said, when Lucy had finished.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it seems she had an unresolved conflict about marriage and the role of women, probably because of her parents’ troubled relationship.”

“You sound like a psychiatrist,” said Lucy.

“Actually, I was a psych major in college.”

“So tell me, doctor,” began Lucy. “Was it a psychosis or a neurosis?”

“I’m not sure,” said Rachel, “but I think something was definitely not right in the Tilley household. So what’s your next step?”

“Well, I want to get over to the county jail to look for information about Emil Boott.”

Rachel glanced at the clock on the wall over the sink. “It’s only three, why don’t you go now? I’ll keep an eye on the boys.”

Lucy couldn’t believe it. “Really? You’d do that?”

“Sure. They’re happy as clams and if they get tired I’ll let them watch Sesame Street.”

“I’ll be back before Sesame Street is over, I promise,” said Lucy, grabbing her bag.

It only took Lucy about fifteen minutes to make the drive over to the neighboring town of Gilead, and before she knew 366

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it she had parked the car and was climbing the hill to the fortresslike county jail. Built of gray stone, it looked like a medieval castle with towers and turrets, but instead of a moat it had a tall chain-link fence topped with vicious looking coils of razor wire. Once inside, however, she was pleasantly greeted by a rather plump uniformed guard.

“I’m sorry but visiting hours are on Mondays, Thursdays, weekends and holidays,” he said, folding his chubby pink hands on the counter. “I can take a message if you want.”