Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(84)

She stood there, looking at the dry little brown square of cracker, and burst into tears.

“What’s the matter?” Bill was at her side in a flash, his hammer still in his hand. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m not okay at all. I can’t live like this. Look at us! We’re living in a wreck!” Her voice rose and she went on, unable to stop herself. “This is a big mistake. You’re never going to be able to turn this dump into a house. You don’t know what you’re doing. It’s been months and we don’t have walls, or electric 286

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outlets or hot water. We’re freezing and it’s only December. I hate to tell you buddy but there’re two, three more months of winter to get through.” She marched over to the stove and pulled out the cookie sheets with her bare hands, slamming them onto the table and raising a little cloud of flour. “And the oven doesn’t work!” she shrieked, shaking with sobs.

“That’s simple,” he said, taking the box of matches off the shelf and dropping to his knees, where he lit a match and reached into the broiler producing a satisfying whoosh. “See, all fixed,” he said, leaning back on his heels and giving her a satisfied smile.

“It’s not fixed,” she said. “It’ll go out again, next time the wind blows through these pathetic excuses for walls.”

“Mo’,” mumbled Toby, holding out his sippy cup for a refill.

Bill stayed in place, head bowed, while Lucy got the milk container out of the refrigerator. “I know it’s tough, Lucy, but I’m really making progress.”

“Great. That’s terrific,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “And what are Toby and I supposed to do in the meantime?”

Bill got to his feet and picked up Toby, hoisting him high above his head and making him shriek with delight. Then he settled him on his shoulders. “We’re managing. We’re doing okay. You’re just feeling overwhelmed right now.”

Lucy looked at him, at his sweet sincere face and his sparkling blue eyes. He needed a haircut and a hank of brown hair kept falling into one eye; he shook it back and grinned at her. She couldn’t resist that cocky grin. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“I know you’re working hard.” The oven, which had been hissing, fell silent as the pilot light went out again. “I just wanted to make my mom’s Christmas cookies.”

“We’ll get it fixed, I promise. I’ll call Sears right away.

Meanwhile, you need to get out of the house. You should take some time to yourself, go into town, do a little shopping. Toby and I will hold the fort, right Toby?”

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Toby giggled. He loved sitting on his father’s shoulders.

Lucy considered. It had been quite a while since she’d had any time to herself. “Okay,” she said. “That’s a good idea.

Thanks.”

“No problem,” he said, swinging Toby down to the floor and taking his hand. “Come on, buddy. Let’s find your tools.

We’ve got some hammering to do.”

When Lucy left the house, she could hear them both banging away. Bill was nailing up sheetrock and Toby was imitating him, pounding the pegs on his toy workbench. I wonder how long that will last, she thought, closing the door behind her.

She slid behind the wheel of Auntie Granada, the secondhand Ford they’d bought for her to drive. It was another expense they hadn’t anticipated. Coming from the city they’d been shocked to discover there was no public transportation in rural Maine and that everyone had to provide for themselves. But Auntie Granada was one of the few things in their new life that actually worked and Lucy enjoyed cruising along the country roads with the radio blasting oldies. “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” was playing as she turned out of the driveway onto Red Top Road and headed for town.

But where to go in town, she wondered, as she hummed along to the tune. There was no Bloomingdale’s in Tinker’s Cove, just a quaint little country store called Country Cousins that sold duck boots and rugged plaid shirts and corduroy pants. They had nothing at all for children, and only a few decidedly unstylish items for women. Definitely not the sort of place you went to spend your mad money.

Proceeding down Main Street she passed the newspaper office and the police and fire stations, eventually coming to Jake’s Donut Shack. She considered stopping there and treating herself to a hot chocolate, but dismissed the idea. The few times she’d gone inside she’d felt uncomfortable, as if Jake’s was some sort of exclusive club. Everybody seemed to know 288

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everybody else and regarded outsiders with suspicion. It was the same, Bill had told her, at the local fisherman’s bar down at the harbor. The Bilge had a faithful clientele of regulars who were practically hostile to newcomers.

Reaching the end of Main Street, Lucy turned down Sea Street to the town pier, where she circled the parking lot.

Nothing going on there, just a lot of boats sitting on shore and a lot of ice covering the harbor.

Well, so much for my afternoon out, thought Lucy, I might as well go home. So she headed back along Main Street where she noticed lights glimmering through the arched windows of the squat gray stone building that housed the Broadbrooks Free Library. Maybe they’ll have some new magazines, she thought, turning into the parking lot. Or maybe even a new mystery.