Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(86)

But this yard sale didn’t really deserve the name. There was only one small card table of household goods, with a carton beneath. And the items for sale verged on the pathetic: a stack of empty margarine tubs, a plastic ice cube tray, a few tattered copies of Family Circle magazine, and a plastic Christmas wreath that had faded from green to beige. Lucy was turning to go when the door opened and a young woman popped out.

“Hey!” she yelled. “I didn’t hear your car.”

“That’s okay,” Lucy yelled back. “I was just leaving.”

The woman was zipping up her jacket, a dirty white parka that had long ago lost its puffy look and had gone flat. She tucked her dirty blond hair behind her ears and shuffled across the dirt yard in leopard-print fuzzy slippers. She wasn’t wearing socks and her bird-thin ankles were blue from the cold.

“Did you see the box?” she asked, taking Lucy’s arm.

“There’s some good stuff in there.”

Lucy knew she was stuck. The woman, actually really only a girl, now that she had a good look at her, wasn’t going to let her go unless she bought something and Lucy didn’t blame her. For the first time in her life she was experiencing poverty and she recognized this woman as a longtime sufferer. The woman turned her head quickly, looking over her shoulder, and Lucy spotted two little children peering out of the broken window. She realized that this pathetic excuse for 292

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a yard sale was probably an effort to raise some money for Christmas.

“Well,” said Lucy, reaching for her wallet. “I guess you can never have too many containers for leftovers.”

The woman smiled, revealing a few missing teeth. “These work great,” she said, nodding enthusiastically and reaching for the pile of margarine containers. “Fifty cents?”

“Sure,” said Lucy, plucking two quarters from her purse and reminding herself that she wasn’t getting rooked, paying a ridiculous price for something she didn’t need, but should consider it charity.

Encouraged by the sale, the woman pulled out the cardboard box from under the table. “Take a look,” she said.

“Some of this stuff is old.” She paused. “Real old. Like antique.”

Lucy planned to take a cursory look and then make a quick escape, but her eye was caught by a gleaming flash of red and white. She leaned closer, to investigate, and pulled out a giant candy cane made of … of what? She thought it was plastic but now that she was holding it she thought it was glass.

“What’s this?” asked Lucy.

“A glass cane,” said the woman, shrugging. “Go figure.”

“There must be some story behind this,” said Lucy, intrigued.

The woman didn’t answer. She was looking down the drive where an aged blue pickup truck was lumbering towards the house. “Do you want it?” she asked, obviously nervous. “You can have it for a dollar.”

“Okay.” Lucy pulled out a dollar, the last of her week’s grocery money.

“Thanks,” said the woman, stuffing it in her pocket. She tilted her head toward the truck. “You better go now.”

Lucy turned and saw a heavyset man with a bushy red beard getting out of the truck. Like nearly every man in CANDY CANES OF CHRISTMAS PAST

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Maine, he was wearing a plaid wool shirt-jacket, blue jeans, and work boots. “What’s going on here?” he demanded, clumping across the yard and grabbing the woman by the wrist. “Didn’t I tell you, didn’t I say no way?”

“C’mon Kyle, you’re hurting me,” whined the woman, trying to twist away.

“I don’t really … I mean, I’d be happy to give this back, if it’s a problem,” said Lucy, eager to defuse a situation that seemed to be getting out of control.

“You get out of here,” snarled Kyle, spraying her with spittle. “This is between Dora and me.”

Lucy looked questioningly at Dora, who nodded her head in quick little jerks.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“GET OUT!” bellowed Kyle. “I got a shotgun, if you need convincing.”

“No,” said Lucy, backing away. “I’m convinced.”

She was shaking when she got back behind the wheel of the car. She started the engine and backed around, catching sight of Kyle and Dora in the rearview mirror just as Dora broke free of his grip. Kyle raised his hand, and for a minute Lucy thought he was going to hit Dora, but instead he turned and waved at her, giving her a big gap-toothed smile.

Lucy stuck her hand out the window and waved back, signaling that she’d gotten the message. Everything was cool.

He wasn’t abusive, not at all. She’d just witnessed an unfortunate misunderstanding and the sooner she forgot all about it, the better. It was none of her business, was it?

Or was it? Lucy wasn’t sure, as she bounced down the dirt track. She was certain Dora was a victim of domestic abuse but she hadn’t seen enough to go to the police, and she doubted there was much they could do in any case. From what she’d read, most abused wives declined to press charges against their abusers for fear of even worse violence in retaliation.

But one thing was certain, she decided, trying to quell the 294

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queasy feeling in her stomach. She wasn’t feeling sorry for herself any longer. There were people a lot worse off than she was, and it was time to count her blessings: a gentle husband who loved her, an adorable baby boy, a new friend. And if the glass cane was really an antique, it would make a great Christmas present for Miss Tilley.