Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(88)

Leslie Meier

of The Night Before Christmas was lying on the bedside table so she sat on the side of the bed and read him a few pages, closing the book when he was settled into a deep sleep and going out to the living room. There she found Miss Tilley waiting for her by the fire, along with two glasses of golden sherry and a plate of cheese twists.

“I think we both deserve a bit of a treat,” said Miss Tilley, lifting her glass.

Lucy was about to protest that she rarely drank alcohol, and never in the morning, but the scene was so inviting that she changed her mind. “This looks lovely,” she said, sinking into the down couch cushions.

“It is,” said Miss Tilley, taking a sip and smacking her lips.

“Dry Sack. Yummy.”

The sherry was delicious and Lucy finished hers before she remembered the glass cane which she had left out in the car.

She jumped to her feet. “I almost forgot,” she exclaimed.

“There’s something in the car I need to get.”

She hurried out and came back with the cane, awkwardly wrapped in white tissue with a big red bow. “I have a Christmas present for you.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” protested Miss Tilley, stretching out her hands to take the gift.

“I hope you like it,” said Lucy. “When I saw it I thought of you.”

“That is intriguing,” said Miss Tilley, examining the oddly shaped package. “May I open it now?”

“Please do,” said Lucy, eagerly anticipating the joyful reaction she was certain the cane would evoke.

But when Miss Tilley tore off the tissue there were no smiles, no raptures, no expressions of thanks. There was only shock and stunned silence as a single tear traced a path down the old woman’s wrinkled face until it reached the corner of her mouth and she quickly licked it away with a flick of her tongue.

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Lucy was dismayed at her reaction. “I didn’t mean to distress you,” she said.

“Forgive me,” she said, as if coming out of a trance. “I was just overcome. This is wonderful. So thoughtful of you.

An antique glass cane.”

“I’ll take it back. I’ll get you something else,” said Lucy. A bottle of Dry Sack came to mind. It would be expensive, but at least she could be sure Miss Tilley would enjoy it.

“Not at all.” Miss Tilley got to her feet and laid the cane on the mantel. “This is remarkable, a wonderful find. And so festive.” Her voice became soft and reflective. “I haven’t seen one of these in years.”

“So you know what it is. You’ve seen one before?”

“Oh, yes. There used to be a glass factory in town many years ago and canes like this turned up frequently. But of course they’re fragile and I suppose a lot of them got broken and now they’re quite rare. This one is a real find.” She looked at Lucy. “Do you mind telling me where you got it?”

Lucy blushed, embarrassed. “Actually, well, it was at a yard sale.”

“A yard sale,” mused Miss Tilley, reaching for the sherry bottle. “Would you like a bit more?”

“None for me, I have to drive home,” she said, watching the old woman refill her glass, setting the bottle on the table beside it.

“Where was this yard sale?” asked Miss Tilley, emptying the glass of sherry and refilling it.

“Out on Packet Road.”

“Ah,” she said, nodding. “Kyle and Dora. How interesting.”

“That’s right,” said Lucy, who continued to be surprised at the way Miss Tilley seemed to know everyone in town.

Miss Tilley sighed. “I suppose I owe you an explanation.”

“Not at all,” said Lucy, wishing desperately that Toby would wake up and she could get out of there, away from her 300

Leslie Meier

embarrassing gaffe and back home. But Miss Tilley was not about to be deterred.

“It was Christmas Eve,” she began, taking another sip.

Her eyes had lost their focus and she was looking inward, seeking the past. “I was just a girl. I’d been out skating on Blueberry Pond and when I got home the house was quiet.

Very quiet, which was unusual, because my mother was an invalid and there were usually people around, a nurse, a cook, a maid. There was always someone in the kitchen, people going up and down the stairs. It was the stairs, you see.

She’d fallen down the cellar stairs. Mama was there at the bottom, crumpled in a heap, and there was a glass cane, red and white like this one, on the floor beside her. Smashed to smithereens.”

Horrified, Lucy’s hand flew to her mouth. “I had no idea,”

she said.

“Of course not. How could you have known?” Miss Tilley’s voice was thoughtful. “Nobody knew, really. It was all kept very quiet. Papa didn’t want people to know the details, that Mama was wandering about the house as if nobody was taking proper care of her. He let people assume that she died a respectable death in bed, surrounded by her loving family.”

Lucy’s mind was full of questions but she wasn’t at all comfortable asking them. She sat, trying to think of something appropriate to say, and watching as Miss Tilley refilled the glass yet again.

“It was horrible. He made me help, you see. He made me help carry Mama upstairs to her bed.”