Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(111)

“I’m not here to visit anyone,” said Lucy, feeling slightly offended. “I’m looking for information about a former prisoner named Emil Boott.”

“Never heard of him. Must’ve been before my time.”

“Around 1930, I think.”

“That was some time ago,” he said, scratching his smooth chin. “Was he a relative of yours?”

Lucy was about to protest, then thought better of it. “Actually, yes. Emil was the black sheep of the family. I’m writing a family history, you see, and I want to include him. Do you have records going that far back?”

“Don’t get much call for ’em but I s’pose we do, down cellar.”

“Could I look?” asked Lucy.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” said the guard, shaking his head.

Lucy bit her lip in disappointment. “Is there some way … ?”

“I’ll jes’ run down and see what I can find. You keep an eye on things up here for me, okay? If anybody comes lookin’

for me tell ’em I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” said Lucy. She’d never been in a jail before but she had the distinct impression they were generally somewhat stricter than this. If she were so inclined, she realized, spotting a big metal hoop filled with keys, she could let everyone out.

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She wasn’t so inclined, however, and was sitting on a convenient chair when the guard returned carrying a dusty cardboard box. “You’re in luck,” he said. “I found a big, thick file. Emil Boott must have been here for quite a while.” He set the box on the counter and took out a fat manila folder, which he opened. “Yup. Twenty years for embezzlement,” he said, closing the file and sliding it across the counter to her.

Lucy’s heart was beating fast as she took the file. What secrets did it hold? But when she’d gone through every page she wasn’t much wiser. As the careful notations documenting his days in the prison showed, Emil Boott was a model prisoner. His photo, a close-up much clearer and larger than the group shot in the museum, revealed a rather ugly, pockmarked face and Lucy could well imagine why Miss Tilley was afraid of him, but his records showed he was the mildest of men. He never denied embezzling several hundred thousand dollars from his employer, the Brown and Williams Glass Company, but he claimed he planned to give the money to workers who had been cheated out of overtime wages due them.

The jury hadn’t been convinced, and even if they had been sympathetic, Judge Tilley’s instructions made it clear that if they believed Boott had broken the law he must be found guilty. Embezzlement, he told them, was not a minor crime but an assault on the very foundations of civilized society. As for Boott, he accepted his punishment without bitterness, according to Sheriff Cobb’s notes, and was soon assigned to the prison’s woodworking shop. From there he moved on to a work-release program and was eventually assigned on a permanent basis to Judge Tilley’s household. Upon his release, after serving his sentence of twenty years, he wrote a remarkable letter to the Sheriff.

Dear Sheriff Cobb, he wrote, It is with great sadness that I will soon depart these walls that once appeared so forbidding but within which I found a true home. It is here that I 368

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learned the good Lord above forgives us all if only we ask for forgiveness. It is here that I learned the value of work and friendship. And it was through my work here that I met that most remarkable of women, Mrs. Leonora Tilley, whose kindness toward me, a vile criminal, I shall always remember. If anyone is certain of admission to Heaven it is certainly she and I hope that by following the pure path of virtue which she has showed me that I will someday join her there. Your most grateful and humble servant, Emil Boott.

Lucy sat for a long time, reading and rereading the letter.

Finally, the guard asked, “Lady, are you all right?”

“Yes I am,” she said, folding the paper and returning it to the file. “I’m fine.”

And so was Emil Boott, she decided, as she left the prison.

He may or may not have been a Depression-era Robin Hood who stole from the rich and gave to the poor, but she was convinced he would never have harmed a hair on Mrs.

Tilley’s head.

“So how’d it go?” asked Rachel, opening the door for her.

The two little boys were sitting side by side on the couch, apparently under Big Bird’s spell.

“I found the information I was looking for,” said Lucy, recounting her discovery of the letter, “but it only proved Emil Boott didn’t kill Mrs. Tilley.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Rachel. “Maybe he had a guilty conscience and was trying to prove his innocence.”

“Ah, Dr. Freud, thank you for that insight. I never would have thought of that.”

Rachel smiled and shook her head. “You would assume, though, that with his criminal record he would have been a suspect if there was any indication of foul play.”

“There was never an investigation,” said Lucy. “After all, she’d been sick for a long time. Her death was not unexpected.”

“I saw a lot of TB when I was in the Peace Corps,” said CANDY CANES OF CHRISTMAS PAST

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Rachel. “I was in Haiti and it’s practically epidemic there.