Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(112)

People die of it all the time.”

“So you think that’s what killed her?”

“Probably,” said Rachel, joining the boys on the couch as the familiar tune for Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood began to play. “Want to stay for Mr. Rogers? I love Mr. Rogers.”





Chapter


! Nine #

Lucy and Bill didn’t need an alarm clock: Toby woke them up every morning around six o’clock. On Christmas Eve he was reliable as ever but Lucy ignored his cries, hoping Bill would go so she could catch a few more minutes of sleep.

Then she remembered Bill’s burned and bandaged hands and got up. Bill hadn’t heard a thing, he was sleeping soundly.

Toby was standing up in his crib when Lucy went into the nursery. She shivered a bit in her in flannel nightgown but Toby was warm and toasty in a fleecy footed sleep suit. She picked him up and nuzzled his head with her chin, surprised to find that his hair was damp. He didn’t seem to have a fever so she couldn’t imagine where the dampness came from. She looked around the room for a leak and discovered a dusting of snow on his pillow. It had snowed during the night, she realized, and some of the snow must have blown through a crack in the wall. No wonder she was chilly, she realized, staring at the snow. The temperature in the unheated room must be below freezing, or the snow would have melted.

This was crazy, she thought, hugging Toby close and carrying him downstairs where it was somewhat, but not a whole lot warmer, and sat him in his potty seat. “We’re going to have a white Christmas,” she told him, listening for the tinkle. “It’s Christmas Eve and tonight… .” She bit her CANDY CANES OF CHRISTMAS PAST

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tongue. There was no sense getting the little guy all excited about Santa Claus because the truth was that Santa didn’t have much for him. Most of the fifty dollars she was going to spend on half-price toys at the IGA had gone for the electric frying pan and Crock Pot. That meant all Toby was going to find under the Christmas tree were the two packages Bill’s folks had sent him, and the $50 savings bond her mother had sent.

The tinkle began and ended and Lucy didn’t move. Really, all she wanted to do was go back to bed and sleep through Christmas.

“Up!” Toby, still perched on the potty seat atop the toilet was growing impatient. Lucy helped him down, zipped up his sleep suit and watched him run into the kitchen. Well, she thought, at least he didn’t know what Christmas was supposed to be like. Maybe the tree would be exciting enough for him.

The tree, she thought, her emotions taking a nose dive. Bill had cut the tree a couple of days ago and set it outside in a bucket of water, intending to bring it inside on Christmas Eve. Now he wouldn’t be able to do it, so she would have to cope with the bucket of ice and the eight-foot tree all by herself. Could she do it?

A clatter, alas not the “clatter and pawing of each little hoof,” but a clatter of pots spilling onto the floor brought her into the kitchen. Toby had found his favorite toys. Goodness knows she had no use for them, without a stove. But the Crock Pot, she discovered when she lifted the lid, did a fantastic job cooking oatmeal overnight. Too bad she couldn’t fit a turkey in there for Christmas dinner.

When Lucy and Toby finished their bowls of oatmeal there was still no sign of Bill so Lucy made a tray and took it upstairs to him. She found him sitting in bed, awkwardly holding a pencil and scratching away at a yellow legal pad.

“I thought you were asleep,” she said.

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“Just doing some figures,” he said, putting the pad aside so she could set the tray on his lap. “Oatmeal, again,” he said.

Lucy almost started to remind him that it was cheap and filling but caught herself. Christmas Eve was going to be hard enough this year and there was no sense dwelling on the negative. “It’s oatmeal à la Crock Pot,” she said, with a big smile. “Surprisingly good. I even put in some brown sugar and a few raisins.”

“Ooh, goody,” said Bill, rather sarcastically. “I hope you didn’t blow the budget.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” asked Lucy, glancing at the legal pad. “Budgeting?”

Bill shrugged. “Since I can’t work I thought I’d put together some financial projections, figure out what materials we need, see where we stand.”

Lucy was collecting clothes for herself and Toby, intending to take them downstairs where it was warmer to get dressed.

“Don’t take too long,” she said. “I’m going to bring in the Christmas tree so we can decorate it.”

“Can you manage? It’s pretty heavy.”

“Sure I can,” said Lucy, flexing her arms in a muscle-man pose. “‘I am woman. Hear me roar.’” She raised her chin and gave a wolf howl and Bill actually smiled for the first time since the explosion. Christmas presents didn’t have to be wrapped, she reminded herself as she went downstairs. Sometimes a smile would do.

Lucy was singing “Deck the Halls” when she and Toby went out to get the tree, and Toby was chiming in on the fa la la la las. Some six inches of snow had fallen, but it was light, fluffy stuff, and Lucy had no trouble shoveling it off the porch and making a path to the car. Toby had a little shovel, too, but he preferred to roll around in the snow like a frisky little puppy. Lucy knew it wouldn’t be long before he was wet and cold, so she immediately addressed the issue of the CANDY CANES OF CHRISTMAS PAST