Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(95)

She was explaining this to Miss Tilley when the pot began to steam and the lid rattled. “Oops, got to go,” she said, “before the pot boils over.”



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Next morning it was the diaper pail that was demanding attention. Now that Toby was becoming more interested in using the toilet, the pail filled more slowly and had plenty of time to ripen. She sniffed the familiar odor and decided something had to be done. Fortunately, the septic system hadn’t been giving much trouble lately, the sink and bathtub drained nicely, the toilet flushed properly without even a hiccup, so Lucy decided to risk running the washer. She filled it with hot water, added detergent and bleach, and dumped in the diapers. The machine chugged and swished and Lucy enjoyed the sense of virtue that came from knowing she wasn’t polluting the planet with disposable diapers. Not that she wouldn’t, of course, if she could have afforded them. But that didn’t lessen the fact that she had made the ecological choice.

The cycle had almost finished and she was considering running a second load when she heard an ominous bubbling sound in the kitchen sink. She went into the bathroom and discovered the toilet was burping, a sure sign that the cesspool was nearing capacity and needed time to drain. That second load would have to be done at the Laundromat.

Lucy put the diapers in the dryer and got it going, then she packed up the dirty laundry, zipped Toby into his snowsuit, and advised Bill not to flush unless absolutely necessary. She didn’t mind having to go to the Laundromat. It got her out of the house, and she planned to make a second stop at the Winchester College museum to inquire about the glass factory.

A light snow was falling as she steered Auntie Granada toward Main Street, passing the large old sea captains’ houses that had been built in the town’s nineteenthcentury heyday.

Back then there were huge fortunes to be made at sea, taking ginseng to China, and bringing back tea, and porcelain, and furniture. Those days were gone but the substantial houses had endured and were decked in holiday greenery, with wreaths and swags and garlands. A few even had decorative 320

Leslie Meier

arrangements of fruit—pineapples, and oranges, and apples— fixed above their doors. Continuing on past the Community Church she spotted the traditional creche on the lawn and decided to show it to Toby.

She parked right in front of the church and climbed the hill to the creche, holding Toby by the hand. Another woman was already there, with a little girl a few years older than Toby.

“Hi!” said Lucy. “What a charming creche.”

She wasn’t exaggerating. The creche featured a collection of large plaster figures depicting Mary and Joseph, the shepherds, and the animals. In a wooden manger filled with straw a plaster baby Jesus lay with his plump arms and legs in the air.

“If that’s a newborn baby, Mary is a better woman than I,” said the woman.

Lucy looked at her, taking in her smartly tailored black coat with padded shoulders, her Farrah Fawcett hairdo, her red lipstick and her high-heeled platform boots. The little girl was also beautifully dressed, in a red wool coat with leggings, and a matching hat that screamed Saks Fifth Avenue’s children’s department. “Pardon me for saying so, but you don’t look as if you’re from around here,” she said. “I’m Lucy Stone and this is Toby. We just moved here a few months ago from New York.” Then she added, “City,” just to be clear.

“Sue Finch, and this is my daughter, Sidra. We’ve been here about a year.” She sighed meaningfully “We used to live in Bronxville but my husband, Sid, didn’t get tenure so he decided to become a carpenter.”

“That’s too bad,” said Lucy, expressing heartfelt sympathy. “My husband wanted to get back to the land and work with his hands. He used to be a stockbroker.”

“Why Maine?” asked Sue.

“Bill read an article years ago in Mother Earth News… .”

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“I think Sid read the same one! So here we are.” Sue held out her hands. “Strangers in a strange land.”

Lucy laughed. “Look, I have to get going, but would you like to exchange phone numbers? Maybe we could get together for tea and sympathy?”

“You’ve got a deal,” said Sue, scribbling on a piece of paper and giving it to Lucy.

Lucy tore off the bottom half and wrote her number on it.

“Call anytime,” said Lucy, visualizing the calendar full of empty white squares that hung on the kitchen wall.

“I will,” said Sue. “By the way, do you think you could give us a lift to the IGA? My car got a flat and Mike at the garage said it won’t be ready before noon.”

“No problem,” said Lucy, as they walked down the hill together. Sidra, she noticed, was making faces at Toby and he was clearly fascinated.

But when they got to the car, she was embarrassed by the mess of toys and papers, not to mention the dirty laundry, and began to try to clear the passenger seat for Sue.

“Never mind,” she said, seating herself on top of some crumpled junk mail.

But Lucy did mind. She figured her new friendship was over before it began. Who would want to hang out with a slob like her?

Lucy had a laundry basket full of neatly folded clothes sitting beside her on the front seat and Toby was nodding off in his car seat in the back when she pulled into the museum parking lot at Winchester College. The college’s venerable brick buildings and quad reminded her of her own college days and she felt a bit wistful as she maneuvered Toby out of the car seat and into the umbrella stroller. She decided to take Toby for a little walk around the quad before going to the museum, hoping that the motion would lull him to sleep and the little toddler dozed off before she was halfway around.