Candy Cane Murder (Hannah Swensen #9.5)(98)

said Emily, noticing her interest.

“Did your members do the restoration work, too?” asked Lucy, keeping a watchful eye on Toby, who was fascinated by the fire.

“Most of it. We also hired some craftsmen. We got a lot of advice from the state historical commission.”

“I see,” said Lucy, eager to see the rest of the house. She took Toby by the hand and together they explored the kitchen, with its enormous hearth, the buttery where food was stored, the pantry where dishes were kept, and climbed the cramped little staircase to the tiny bedrooms tucked under the eaves. Pulling Toby away from a display of antique toys she went back downstairs to the dining room, where blackand-gold Hitchcock chairs surrounded a cherry drop-leaf table that held a crystal punch bowl with a silver ladle and enough cookies for an army.

“Would you care for some punch?” asked Emily, popping through the door. Or was it Ellie, wondered Lucy, afraid she’d mixed up pink and blue.

“Be sure to taste the mincemeat cookies,” advised Ellie, or was it Emily?

“Thank you,” said Lucy, holding the crystal cup so Toby could drink from it, then handing him a cookie. “It’s a beautiful house,” she said, taking a bite of a lemon bar. “It must have taken a lot of work.”

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“A labor of love,” said Emily.

“That’s right,” said Ellie, nodding along.

“I wonder,” said Lucy, excited by an idea that was taking shape in her mind, “does the society have information about the early residents of Tinker’s Cove? I’m thinking of census records, genealogies, wills, things like that.”

The two Miller sisters exchanged a glance.

“We used to,” said one.

“Before the fire,” said the other.

“It was all lost.”

“We were lucky to save the house and the furniture.”

“Oh, dear,” said Lucy, feeling extremely disappointed.

The sisters exchanged another glance.

“Would you like to sit down, dear?” asked one.

“Is there something in particular that you want to know?”

asked the other. “Because most people in town have deep roots. Their families have been here for a very long time.”

“A long time, that’s right.”

Lucy sat down and the sisters refilled her cup and passed her a plate of cookies. She sipped and nibbled and thought.

She was reluctant to admit that she was investigating Mrs.

Tilley’s death, which might or might not have been murder, but she didn’t want to pass up this opportunity, either. So far, the Miller sisters were her only lead.

“Well,” she began, “I’m doing some research on a household. Sort of a social history, if you know what I mean. A well-off family and their helpers.”

The sisters nodded. “Like that TV show.”

“Upstairs, Downstairs.”

“Right,” agreed Lucy. “I have all the information I need about the upstairs family, but it’s the downstairs folks I’m having trouble tracking down.”

The sisters nodded.

“I need information about a man named Emil Boott.”

They shook their heads. “There’s a family named Boott out on Packet Road,” said Emily.

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Leslie Meier

“Oh I don’t think she wants to visit them,” said Ellie, with a sniff.

“Oh, I’ve met them,” said Lucy. Seeing the sisters shocked expressions she quickly added, “At a yard sale.”

“I’d steer clear of that lot, if I were you,” said Emily.

“Oh, yes. Oh, dear yes,” chimed in Ellie. She lowered her voice. “Kyle’s a bit, um, unpredictable.”

“So I gathered,” replied Lucy, with a nod. “Is there a violent streak in the family?”

The ladies exchanged glances but didn’t reply. Lucy sensed she’d gotten all she was going to get from them concerning the Boott’s and pressed on. “Angela DeRosa?”

They shook their heads.

“Katherine Kaiser.”

The sisters exchanged glances, again, and sighed in unison.

Lucy had the distinct feeling they knew something but weren’t going to share it with her. She continued down her list. “Helen Sprout.”

The two broke into smiles and giggles. “There are lots of Sprouts around,” said Emily.

“Old Hannah Sprout, she must be going on eighty herself, lives over in Gilead.”

“I bet she’d love to talk to you.”

“I bet she would, too.”

Lucy was about to ask how she could contact Hannah Sprout when she suddenly remembered Toby. He’d been right there, eating cookies, and now he was gone. She jumped to her feet. “Where’s Toby?”

“He can’t have wandered far,” said Ellie.

“No, no, no,” agreed Emily.

But Lucy was imagining the worst as she searched frantically through the maze of little rooms. He might have fallen in the fire. He might have fallen down the stairs. He might have wandered out a back door. He might have been abducted.

Then she heard one of the sisters sing out, “I found him.”

Lucy hauled herself up the crooked little staircase as fast as CANDY CANES OF CHRISTMAS PAST