Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(45)

“Seymour,” I said, “what on earth happened?”

He took a swig of Maalox and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“One of my customers was putting up Christmas decora-160

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tions on his roof last week and fell. He landed on the driveway. Cracked his skull and died instantly.

“And now,” he groaned, “they’re blaming me.”

“But why?”

“I’d just finished re-roofing his house. And apparently some of the shingles were loose. They say that’s why he fell.

His wife is hitting me with a wrongful death lawsuit. I might even be arrested on criminal charges.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

“The police are conducting an investigation,” he said, “but they’re just going through the motions. They’re pretty much convinced it was my fault.”

“Any chance one of your workmen screwed up?” I asked, wondering if maybe the cops were right.

“No way. I personally inspected the job when they were through.

“Oh, Jaine!” he said, mopping his scalp with an alreadydamp hankie, “I’m going to be ruined.”

“Don’t you have insurance for things like this?”

He let out a big sigh.

“That’s just it. Maxine’s been distracted lately. Our daughter’s getting married, and she’s been so busy planning the wedding, she forgot to mail in the last two premiums.”

Holy Tarpaper. Poor Seymour was in deep doo doo.

“I swear, Jaine, when I left that roof, every shingle was nailed down tight as a drum. Something fishy’s going on here and I want you to investigate.”

“You think somebody was trying to kill your client?”

“That’s exactly what I think. The only way those shingles could’ve gotten loose was if somebody went up there and loosened them.”

Now those of you who picked up this book for Hannah Swensen’s latest recipes are probably wondering: Why was Seymour Fiedler asking a freelance writer to investigate a murder? Shouldn’t he be talking to a private eye?

Well, it just so happens I’ve solved a few murders in my THE DANGERS OF CANDY CANES

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time. It’s a life-threatening hobby, I know, but it adds zest to my days and breaks up the monotony of writing about NoLeak Roof Warrantees.

“Of course, Seymour,” I said. “I’ll be happy to investigate.”

“How can I ever thank you, Jaine?” His eyes shone with gratitude.

Money might be nice, I couldn’t help thinking.

“Of course, I’ll pay you your going rate,” he said, as if reading my thoughts.

Now my eyes were the ones shining with gratitude. My job docket was a tad on the empty side, and I desperately needed the money for Christmas gifts.

“In fact,” Seymour said, “let me pay you something right now.”

He whipped out his checkbook and wrote out a check with a heartwarming number of zeroes.

I was sitting there thinking of the lavish gifts I could buy my parents and, not incidentally, a new cashmere sweater I’d been lusting after at Nordstrom, when Seymour broke into my reverie.

“I, um, wouldn’t try to cash that check right away.” He looked at me sheepishly. “I don’t exactly have enough in my account to cover it. Between our daughter’s wedding and my lawyer’s retainer, I’m sort of strapped.”

Bye-bye, cashmere. Hello, polyester.

“But I’m sure the check will clear some time in February,”

he added hopefully. “Or March. Maybe April.”

I told him not to worry and scooted out of his office before he had me cashing the check in July.

I stopped at Maxine’s desk on my way out to say goodbye.

“So long, Judy,” she sniffled, her Kleenex by now pulverized in her palm.

“Try not to worry.” I gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m sure everything will be okay.”

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I was sure of no such thing, but she looked so damn pathetic sitting there with mascara tracks down her cheeks, I had to say something.

“I hope so. I don’t know what I’d do if they ever arrested Seymour.”

My attention was momentarily diverted from Maxine’s grief by the sight of an untouched cheeseburger at her side.

Gosh, it smelled good.

“Would you like my cheeseburger?” she asked, following my gaze.

“Oh, no, thanks,” I said, eyeing the cheese oozing out from the sides.

“You sure? I’m so upset about what happened with those insurance premiums, I’ve totally lost my appetite.”

One thing I’ve never lost is my appetite, and that burger smelled like heaven on a bun. But I couldn’t possibly say yes, not if I expected to squeeze into a bathing suit by Christmas.

And squeezing into a bathing suit was definitely on my Holiday To Do List. That’s because every year I spend Christmas with my parents in their retirement condo in Tampa Vistas, Florida—much of that time on display at the Tampa Vistas pool. True, I’m not rich or wildly successful like some of the other kids on display, but I’m all they’ve got, and my parents are determined to show me off.

It’s a trip I dread every year. And not because I don’t love my parents. I do. If it were just the three off us, I’d be fine.