Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(96)

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Leslie Meier

She enjoyed the reaction of the students she passed: the boys generally ignored Toby but the girls all smiled at him, probably imagining themselves as mothers some day. Good luck to them thought Lucy, whose back was beginning to ache.

Back at the museum, Lucy wheeled Toby inside, pausing to examine an Egyptian mummy that was displayed in the front hall. Wondering how it ended up in this backwater corner of Maine, she studied a directory posted on the wall and discovered the curator’s office was on the third floor. She took the elevator and when the doors slid open encountered a thirtyish man wearing the academic uniform of tweed jacket, oxford shirt and bow tie. “Can I help you?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Lucy assumed he didn’t get too many visitors, especially not mothers with toddlers in tow. “I’m looking for the curator,” she said.

“Well you found him,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Fred Rumford. What can I do for you?”

“I’m Lucy Stone,” she said, taking his hand and finding it pleasantly warm and his shake firm. “I’m looking for information about a glass factory that used to be here in town.”

“Come with me,” he said, ushering her back into the elevator and pressing the number two. “We have a display.”

The second floor of the museum was devoted to local industry such as fishing and farming, and a corner featured enlarged photos of the Brown and Williams Glass Company, as well as samples of the wares it produced such as bottles, oil lamps, and fancy dishes. There wasn’t a glass cane in sight, but the photos of workers caught her eye. One picture of office workers had a list of names beneath the rather glum group and she leaned closer for a better look. Sure enough, she realized with mounting excitement, there was Emil Boott standing in the back row, dressed as the others were in a dark suit. His face was round and bland and gave no hint that he was a criminal, headed for prison.

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She pointed him out. “See that fellow there, in the wirerimmed glasses? He did something very bad and was sent to prison for twenty years.”

“You don’t say,” said Fred. “He looks nice enough.”

“You never can tell, just by looking at someone,” said Lucy, thinking of the photos she’d occasionally seen in the newspaper of murderers and other criminals. She studied them, looking for a clue to what made them commit such evil acts, but they usually looked like anyone else.

“Back in the nineteenth century they used to think there was a criminal physiognomy, that you could identify criminals by the shape of their heads,” said Fred.

“If only it were that simple,” said Lucy, with a sigh. “I’m interested in a particular item, a glass cane,” she said.

“A whimsy.”

“A what?”

“Whimsy. They were items the workers made out of leftover glass at the end of the day to amuse themselves.”

“Would there be a record of who made them, or who bought them?”

Fred shook his head. “No. In fact, since they had to be left out overnight to cool, they were often appropriated by whoever got to work first the next morning.”

“So a fellow like this Emil Boott, an office worker, could have taken a cane or two if he got to work early, before the glassblowers.”

“Well, sure,” said Fred. “But I don’t think he went to prison for twenty years for taking a whimsy.”

Lucy bent closer and took another look at the man identified as Emil Boott and remembered Miss Tilley saying that her father only gave long sentences to the very worst criminals, like murderers. Had he misjudged Emil Boott when he put him to work around the house? Had Emil Boott killed Mrs. Tilley?

“You’re right. He must have been more than a petty 324

Leslie Meier

thief,” agreed Lucy, wondering how she could find out exactly what crime Emil Boott had committed to earn such a long sentence.

Fred cleared his throat. “I really have to get back to work,” he said, with a sigh. “Budget projections are due next week.”

Lucy’s face reddened. “Oh, don’t let me keep you. I really appreciate your help. Is it okay if I look around a bit?”

“Be my guest,” said Fred, pushing the elevator button.

“We don’t get too many visitors, except for school groups.”

The doors slid open and he stepped aboard. “Don’t miss the mummy,” he said.

Lucy started to ask how the museum came to possess a mummy, but before she could form the question the doors closed and Fred was gone. “Another mystery,” she said to Toby. “This town is full of them.”





Chapter


! Five #

When they lived in the city Lucy had always looked forward to the weekend when Bill didn’t have to go to work. That meant they could sleep a little later, and then enjoy a leisurely breakfast while deciding what to do with the rest of the day. Sometimes it would be a car trip out of the city, with a stop at a farm stand. Sometimes it would be an excursion to the zoo or the botanical gardens, or a museum.

And other times they would simply go for a walk, perhaps stopping for a big doughy pretzel or a hot dog from a street vendor. It didn’t matter what they did, really, because there was a special holiday feel to the weekend that made it special.