Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(87)

Chapter


! Two #

When she arrived at Miss Tilley’s neat little antique house Lucy began to feel hopeful that their old farmhouse might someday look like something. Taking in the polished wide plank floors, the windows with their tiny panes of hand-blown wavy glass and the smoothly plastered walls and ceilings she found herself sighing in admiration. “What a lovely house,” she said, setting Toby and her tote bag on the floor so she could take off her coat. She looked around eagerly taking in every detail as she pulled off his boots and mittens and unzipped his snowsuit: the gleaming antique pine furniture, the glowing colors of the Persian rug, the table top Christmas tree trimmed with tiny glass balls, the silvery sheen of the pewter plates displayed in a hutch, the portrait over the fireplace where a bright fire blazed merrily.

“My father,” said Miss Tilley, indicating the rather stern gentleman pictured in the oil painting. “He was a judge.”

“He does look judgmental,” said Lucy, quickly biting her tongue. “No, I didn’t mean that. Judicious. He looks quite judicious.”

“He was named after General William Tecumseh Sherman, you know, the Civil War general, and I was named after Julia Ward Howe.” She smiled, her eyes twinkling. “It’s a family tradition, naming people after relics of the past.”

Lucy scooped up Toby, who was heading for the fire, and 296

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perched him on her hip. “Toby was named after my great grandfather Tobias.”

“It’s a good old-fashioned name,” said Miss Tilley, leading the way to the kitchen.

“We were trying to avoid the Js,” said Lucy, using her free hand to grab the tote bag that was overflowing with toys, extra clothes and diapers, a bowl of cookie dough, a cookie press and baking tins. “Names like Jason, and Justin, and Jennifer are all the rage now.”

“I have noticed quite a few of them at the library.”

“Oh, my,” said Lucy, startled to see an enormous black and chrome Glenwood coal stove taking pride of place in the middle of the Miss Tilley’s kitchen. “That’s a beautiful stove but I don’t know how …”

“Never mind that old thing,” said Miss Tilley, dismissing the gleaming monster. “I have a modern electric stove, too.”

Indeed she did. A slim electric model was tucked into a bank of cabinets that was built against one wall and also included a double stainless steel sink set beneath a window with red and white gingham curtains. A porcelain-topped table sat in the middle of the room, on top of a cozy red and blue braided rug, and a hutch stood against the wall, filled with blue and white Canton china. Lucy felt as if she’d wandered into a Tasha Tudor book.

“I prefer the table for baking,” said Miss Tilley, reaching for Toby. “Now, young man, we need to let your mother get on with her cookies.”

Lucy expected Toby to resist but instead he smiled and reached out with his arms. The transfer was smoothly made and Miss Tilley carried him into the living room where she joined him on the rug and engaged him in building towers of blocks which they knocked down with a ball. Toby found this enormously entertaining and Lucy could hear him laughing as she set about the business of scooping dough into the press and squeezing out the shaped cookies onto the tins, then she decorated them with bits of candied fruit and col— CANDY CANES OF CHRISTMAS PAST

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ored sugar before popping them into the oven. Soon the whole house was filled with the buttery scent of baking cookies. Lucy was just sliding the last pan into the oven when Miss Tilley appeared, leading Toby by the hand.

“I think this young man is ready for a snack,” she said, pulling an antique oak high chair out of the corner and setting it by the table. Lucy hoisted him into the chair and put a couple of warm cookies on the tray while Miss Tilley poured a small glass of milk. “Those cookies smell absolutely delicious,” she said.

“Please, have some. I’m going to leave you some, too,”

said Lucy, with a nod to the overloaded wire cooling racks that were covered with dozens of perfect cookies, golden and brown around the edges. “I really appreciate …”

“Nonsense,” said the old woman, with a wave of her hand. “We’ve enjoyed ourselves, haven’t we, Toby?”

Toby took a bite of the cookie he was holding in his fat little hand. “Mmm,” he said.

“I agree,” said Miss Tilley, after taking a bite of cookie.

“Mmmm.”

Toby laughed and kicked his feet. “Mmmm.”

Lucy was amazed at how Miss Tilley could turn the simplest thing into a game, making sounds that Toby imitated, playing peekaboo, reciting “This Little Piggy” while wiping his fingers with a washcloth. Soon the last cookies were out of the oven and Toby was rubbing his eyes.

“Why don’t you put him down for a nap?” suggested Miss Tilley. “Then you could get off your feet for a bit while I wash up these pans.”

“Oh, I couldn’t let you …” protested Lucy, even though her feet and back were killing her.

“I insist,” said Miss Tilley, using the voice that had maintained quiet in the library for thirty-odd years. She nodded toward a little downstairs room, the borning room she called it, and Lucy settled Toby on a daybed, removing his shoes and covering him with a handmade crocheted afghan. A copy 298