Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(93)

“That’s quite a coincidence,” said Bill, taking a slurp of tea.

“I know. And it gets weirder. She told me she’s always suspected her mother was killed by her father. He was a mean old character if ever there was one.”

“She told you all this while you were baking cookies?”

“Uh, well, Toby fell asleep and we drank some sherry,” admitted Lucy. “I only had a very small glass but Miss Tilley pretty much drained the bottle. I think it may have loosened her lips.”

“I guess so,” said Bill. “It doesn’t seem the sort of conversation you have with a new friend.”

“Not at all, but that’s the funny thing. It didn’t feel as if we were getting to know each other, it seemed as if we’d known each other forever. Like we were old friends, maybe in some earlier reincarnation or something.”

Bill looked at her skeptically. “I think you need to get out more, Lucy.”

“Well, I was thinking I might do a little investigating and see if I can’t find out how her mother really died. There were a lot of people in and out of the house and one of them might have been a murderer.”

“How are you going to do that? They’ve probably all been dead for years.”

Lucy looked down at her empty mug. “I don’t exactly know myself,” she admitted. “But people don’t live in a vacuum. There are bound to be records, newspaper accounts.

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After all, old cases do get solved from time to time. That’s what the mystery I’m reading is about.”

“That’s a book, this is real life,” he said. “And besides, you’re already overlooking an obvious clue.”

“I am?”

“Sure, the cane.”

“You’re right!” exclaimed Lucy, hopping up and running around the table to kiss him. “In fact, it just so happens that I bought the cane from some people named Boott, and the Tilley family had a handyman named Boott. And, get this, he was a trusty from the jail.”

“Sounds like a prime suspect to me,” said Bill, scratching his chin. “I’m thinking of growing a beard. What do you think?”

“I think you’d look like a real Mainer.”

He pulled her into his lap. “It will be scratchy at first,” he said, giving her a long, lovely kiss.

“Mmmm,” said Lucy. “I won’t mind.”

“MMMM!” hummed Toby, banging a pot with a wooden spoon.

Surprised, they jumped apart, laughing. “I guess I better get back to work,” said Bill. “That sheetrock isn’t going to hang itself.”

Lucy took the dirty dishes over to the sink and began washing them, looking out the window as she worked. She had a clear view of the rutted dirt driveway, the fence with its missing and broken pickets, and the road that nobody except the mailman ever seemed to use. And here he was now, in his little Jeep.

Checking to see that Toby was busy with his pots she threw her coat over her shoulders and ran down the driveway, hoping the day’s mail included something good. A big fat check would be best, maybe they’d overpaid their income tax and the IRS was sending them a refund. But she’d settle for a card from a friend, or a Christmas gift.

CANDY CANES OF CHRISTMAS PAST

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Opening the flap on the front of the box, she smiled to see a small package wrapped in brown paper and string along with the usual bills and junk mail. The return address indicated it came from her mother, which surprised her because she knew her mother was spending all her time at the hospital with her father.

Back inside the kitchen, she found Toby was still busy arranging the pots so she threw the coat over a chair and sat down at the table to open the package. She slipped off the string and paper and found a slim little book, an old and worn copy of O. Henry’s famous story, “The Gift of the Magi.” It wasn’t wrapped and there was no card but she didn’t need one, she knew it came from her father. It was his tradition to read the story every Christmas.

Now, she realized, he was sending it to her so she could carry on the tradition. It was his way of saying goodbye. She pressed the musty, brown volume to her chest and tears filled her eyes.

“Book!” said Toby, attempting to climb into her lap.

She wiped her eyes and hoisted him up onto her lap. Then she began reading aloud, expecting Toby to lose interest. But he didn’t. He was content to sit in her lap and listen as she read the familiar story of Della, who sold her beautiful hair to buy a gold chain for her husband’s pocket watch, and Jim, who sold his pocket watch to buy combs for Della’s hair. In the end, he had a watch chain and no watch and she had combs for her hair but no hair to hold them, but they had their love for each other which was the best gift of all.

Finishing the story, she set Toby in his high chair with a sippy cup of juice and a handful of Cheerios and reached for the phone, dialing the number she had learned as a child. Her mother answered.

“I got the book. Thank you so much.”

“He insisted. I told him I didn’t have time, it’s a long bus ride to Montefiore you know, but he kept after me and kept 316

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after me. You’re wasting your strength I told him, you should be thinking about getting well instead of worrying about a Christmas present for Lucy, but he wouldn’t listen.”