Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(114)

“Liar,” said Bill.

“Well, at least I have the satisfaction of knowing I tried.”

“That’s something I guess. You’re a good daughter.”

“And you’re a bad son,” said Lucy, perching on his lap 376

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and stroking his hair. Bits here and there felt stiff and brittle, singed from the explosion. “You should call them.”

“You know that’s why you fell for me,” said Bill, changing the subject. “The good girls always go for the bad boys.”

And then he turned her face toward his with his bandaged hand and kissed her.

“Bad boys are the best kissers,” said Lucy, coming back for seconds.

A couple of hours later it really was beginning to feel a lot like Christmas. Now that the tree was decorated the living room’s half-finished sheetrock walls, stained ceiling and uneven floorboards weren’t so noticeable. Swedish meatballs were cooking in the Crock Pot, giving off a spicy, beefy aroma. When Toby woke from his nap Lucy got the popcorn popper going for a snack and popped a Christmas video in the VCR.

“Light the tree for him,” said Bill, settling beside them on the couch.

Lucy hopped up. “Good idea,” she said, crouching on all fours and reaching behind the tree to retrieve the end of the cord. She plugged it into the socket—and everything went black.

“What the hell!” exclaimed Bill. “This shouldn’t happen.

The first thing I did was have the house rewired.”

“Well I guess it wasn’t done right,” said Lucy.

“Maybe it’s a blackout,” said Bill. “Maybe everybody’s lights are out.”

“Maybe you ought to go down in the cellar and check the circuit breakers,” said Lucy.

“Maybe you could light a candle, in the meantime,” said Bill.

“We don’t have any candles,” said Lucy. “Get the flashlight.”

“The flashlight’s dead,” said Bill.

CANDY CANES OF CHRISTMAS PAST

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“Don’t we have any batteries?”

“I used ’em up.”

“Well you should’ve bought more.”

“You’re right, I should have, but I didn’t. They’re expensive and I’ve been trying to economize.”

Lucy’s jaw dropped. She had no idea things were this bad.

“I can’t do this, Bill,” she said, her voice steely. “We’re going to have a baby in a few months and I am not bringing that baby home to this.” She waved her arm. “Do you know there was snow in Toby’s crib this morning? Snow! Inside the house, in his bed, on our child. That is unacceptable.”

“I’ll caulk the window… .”

“No.” Lucy shook her head. “I’m not staying. I don’t know where I’m going—maybe my mother’s, maybe your folks’, maybe a friend, I don’t know—but I am taking Toby someplace where there are walls that keep out the weather and lights that work and a stove that cooks.”

Bill looked at her for a long time. “You’re right,” he finally said. “I’m a failure. I tried, and I can’t do it. I was kidding myself. I’ll never be a restoration carpenter. It’s time to go back to Wall Street.”

Lucy had wanted to hear those words for months, but now that Bill had actually said them she didn’t feel happy at all.

Instead she felt guilty and terribly sad. “I didn’t mean for you to give up your dream. You can finish up here and I’ll stay at my Mom’s and come back with the kids when the house is ready.”

Bill shook his head. “We’re broke.” He shrugged. “And besides, being with you and Toby means more to me than any stupid, unrealistic dream.”

“You worked so hard.”

“It wasn’t enough,” he said. “But I’m okay with it.” He looked out the window at the rapidly dimming sunlight. He opened his wallet and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. “This is 378

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it, the family fortune. I guess I’ll get some batteries, so we can get the lights back on.”

He left and Lucy sat in the darkening room, holding Toby in her lap and blinking back tears. This was not the way Christmas was supposed to be.





Chapter


! Ten #

Asharp rap on the door roused Lucy and she stood up, perched Toby on her hip, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before opening the door. It was Wilf Lundgren, the postman, with a package.

“This came in the last delivery and I thought I’d bring it along since it was on my way,” he said, looking for all the world like Santa with his red nose and cheeks. “Otherwise you wouldn’t get it until Tuesday, Christmas being on Sunday and all.”

“Thanks,” said Lucy, her voice still thick from crying.

“Have you got some trouble here?” asked Wilf, looking past her into the dark kitchen. “I see the lights are out.”

“I must’ve overloaded a circuit.” Lucy shifted Toby to the other hip. “My husband went to get some flashlight batteries.”

“Is that all? I’ve got a flashlight in the truck,” he said, turning and hurrying down the walk to the driveway. In a moment he was back carrying the biggest flashlight Lucy had ever seen and marching straight to the pantry and lowering himself through the hatch to the cellar. “Better unplug a few things,” he said, before ducking beneath the floor. “Ready?”