Christmas Cookie Murder #6 (2 page)

16 days 'til Xmas

S
ue had been right, thought Lucy, pushing open the kitchen door and surveying the mess. Agreeing to host the cookie exchange had been a big mistake. It was almost five o'clock, the guests were due at seven, and she hadn't had a chance to do a thing with the house.

She'd been tied up at
The Pennysaver
all day; she'd spent the morning writing up an interview with Santa, instead of eating lunch she'd dashed out to the Coast Guard station to photograph the guardsmen hanging a huge wreath on the lighthouse and then had gone to the weekly meeting of the Tinker's Cove board of selectmen. The selectmen had been unusually argumentative, which made for good copy, but she wouldn't have a chance to write it up until tomorrow morning, just before the Wednesday noon deadline.

Congratulating herself on her foresight for baking the Dee-Liteful Wine Cake ahead of time, she shrugged off her coat and dropped her notebook on the pile of papers covering the round, golden oak kitchen table. It consisted mostly of financial-aid applications for her oldest child, Toby. He was a high school senior and was applying to several high-priced liberal arts colleges.

He wouldn't be able to go unless he got financial aid, and she had to fill out the complicated forms before January 1, the date recommended by the school guidance office. The thought of the forms was enough to make her feel overwhelmed—how was she supposed to know what their household income would be next year? Bill was a self-employed restoration carpenter, and his earnings varied drastically from year to year. So did hers, for that matter. Ted, the publisher of
The Pennysaver
, only called her when he needed her. She usually worked quite a lot in December, and in the summer months, but things were pretty quiet in coastal Maine in January and February.

First things first, thought Lucy, scooping all the papers into a shopping bag and stuffing it in the pantry. She had to come up with something for dinner, and the sink and counter were covered with dirty dishes.

She opened the door to the family room, and spotted her sixteen-year-old daughter, Elizabeth, stretched out on the couch with her ear to the telephone.

“Elizabeth!” she yelled. “Say good-bye and get in here.”

Then she pulled a big stockpot out of the cupboard and filled it with water. She was setting it on the stove when Elizabeth floated in.

“I wish you wouldn't yell when I'm talking to my friends,” she complained. “It sounds so low-class.”

Lucy gave her a sideways glance. This was something new, she thought. In the past, Elizabeth had concentrated on outraging her parents, insisting on cutting her dark hair into short spikes and threatening to get her nose pierced. Now, Lucy noticed, the black oversize sweater and Doc Martens were gone, replaced by a shiny spandex top with a racing stripe down the side and a pair of sneakers with blue stripes. Her hair was combed into a smooth bob.

“What's with the new look?” asked Lucy.

“Styles change,” said Elizabeth, with a shrug. “So what did you want me for?”

“Would you please do something with those dirty dishes? That's supposed to be your responsibility. It's not fair for me to work all day and come home to a messy kitchen.”

“It's not my fault,” said Elizabeth, demurely folding her hands in front of her. “Toby didn't clean out the dishwasher. It's full, so I had no place to put the dirty dishes.”

“Elizabeth, I don't have time for this.” Lucy bent down and pulled a can of dusting spray and a rag out from under the sink. “The cookie exchange is tonight; I have a dozen friends coming at seven. So do whatever you have to do, but get this mess cleaned up.”

“Okay,” said Elizabeth, in a resigned voice. “But it's not fair.”

Lucy sighed and charged into the dining room, intending to give the table a quick wipe with the dustcloth. Unfortunately, it was covered with Toby's college applications.

“Toby!” she hollered, aiming her voice in the direction of the hall staircase. “Get down here!”

“He can't hear you. He's got his earphones on,” advised eleven-year-old Sara, who was doing homework in the adjacent living room. “What's for dinner?”

“Spaghetti,” said Lucy, gathering up the applications and stuffing them in the sideboard. “Be a sweetie and make the salad?”

“Do I have to?” groaned Sara. “I don't feel very good. I think I might be getting my period.”

“Really?” asked Lucy, with a surge of interest. “Do you have cramps?”

“No,” admitted Sara, who was anxiously awaiting the day when she would join her friends who had already begun menstruating. “I just feel bloated.”

“Well, that's probably the stuff you've been eating all afternoon. There's enough dirty dishes in the kitchen to have fed an army. Now scoot and get started on that salad. I've got company coming tonight.”

“All I had was yogurt,” sniffed Sara, pushing open the door to the kitchen.

“And cereal, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and about a gallon of milk,” added Elizabeth, whose head was stuck in the dishwasher. “You're going to get fat if you don't watch it.”

“Well, that's better than…” began Sara, but the door shut before Lucy could hear the end of the sentence.

Finishing up in the dining room, Lucy flicked her dust cloth around the living room, plumped the couch cushions, and headed for the family room. There she found her youngest child, Zoe, deeply absorbed in a coloring book.

“What'cha doing?” asked Lucy, giving her a little pat on the head.

“Homework.”

“I didn't know they had homework in kindergarten, even all-day kindergarten.”

Lucy sent up a quick prayer of thanks for the all-day kindergarten program, which had just begun that year. It made it possible for her to work because Zoe now came home on the school bus with her older brother and sisters.

“Let me see that,” said Lucy, taking the book. She was amused to see that Zoe had neatly written her name in the upper left-hand corner of the picture, just as she had been taught in school. “Very nice letters.”

“The z is hard,” said Zoe, very seriously.

“You got it perfect,” said Lucy. “Now, would you do me a big favor and set the table for supper?”

“Sure, Mommy.”

Lucy sighed. If only they would stay this sweet and agreeable throughout adolescence.

“Thank you, honey,” she said, watching fondly as Zoe trotted into the kitchen.

She quickly straightened up the untidy newspapers and magazines, and scooped up a few stray glasses and dishes and carried them into the kitchen.

“How's the salad coming?”

“All done.”

“Great. You can help Zoe set the table, okay? Elizabeth, here's some more stuff for the dishwasher and…” Lucy stopped in the middle of the room and slapped her hand to her head. “What am I doing?”

“Dinner,” reminded Elizabeth.

“Right. Dinner. Did I defrost the hamburger?” She peered in the refrigerator. “No. Of course not.” She pulled a package out of the freezer, unwrapped it, and dropped it in the frying pan with a clunk.

“What? No meatballs?” It was Bill, home from work.

“Not tonight.” She tilted her cheek up for a kiss and smiled at the tickly feeling from his beard. “I'm kind of frantic, actually,” she explained, pushing the meat around with a spatula. “I had to work all day, and the cookie exchange is tonight.”

“I thought Sue did that,” said Bill, hanging up his coat on the hook by the door.

“I got drafted this year.”

“Well, it's a worthy cause—Christmas cookies!” Bill was settling down at the half-set kitchen table, with a cold beer in his hand.

“Since you feel that way, do you mind finishing up this sauce?” Lucy glanced nervously at the clock on the wall above the stove. “I'd like to set out the party refreshments in the dining room.”

“Sure thing.” Bill took the spatula from her, and Lucy scurried into the pantry, pulling out the ladder and climbing up to take the cake box off the top shelf. She carried it into the dining room and lifted off the top, expecting to see the festively decorated Dee-Liteful Wine Cake she had stored there.

Instead, she saw that only three-quarters of the cake was left.

Clenching her fists, she marched up the kitchen stairs and threw open the door to Toby's room.

“How could you?” she demanded, pulling off his earphones.

Startled, Toby looked up.

“How could I what?”

“You know what! Eat my cake!”

“What cake?” muttered Toby, grabbing for the earphones.

“The one with sprigs of holly and red candied cherries that was on the top shelf of the pantry.” Lucy's arms were akimbo, and she was drumming her fingers against her hips.

“Oh, that one,” said Toby, biting his lower lip. Then his face brightened as he turned on the charm. “It's pretty good, Mom.”

“Flattery isn't going to get you out of this, buddy,” said Lucy, implacably. “What were you thinking? I made a cake and decorated it for you to enjoy all by yourself?”

He lowered his head. “I'm sorry, Mom. I shouldn't have done it. But I was so hungry. It's all this pressure with the college applications and everything.”

“Give me a break,” muttered Lucy, disgusted. “I'm gonna get you for this—I don't know exactly how, but you'll pay.”

She thumped down the front stairs to the dining room and got a knife out of a drawer, cutting the cake into neat slices and arranging them on a plate. She opened a package of holiday napkins, unfolding one and laying it over the sliced cake and arranging the rest on the sideboard, along with her sterling-silver dessert forks and teaspoons, her best china plates and cups and saucers.

Stepping back, she glanced around the room. It wasn't as lavishly decorated as Sue's house, but it was festive. A bowl of holly sat on the sideboard, little electric candles stood on the windowsills, and there was a crystal bowl filled with silver and gold Christmas balls in the middle of the now gleaming mahogany table. She took a deep breath and went from window to window flicking on the candles. She dimmed the overhead chandelier and went into the kitchen to see how dinner was coming.

 

Bill was just setting a big pot filled with noodles and sauce on the table when Lucy pushed open the kitchen door and slipped into her seat next to Zoe. With impeccable timing, Toby thundered down the back stairs and thumped into his chair.

“Hey, did you hear?” he began, in an effort to deflect her attention from himself. “Richie got into Harvard.”

“He did?” Lucy stopped, serving spoon in midair. “How does he know already?”

“Early decision,” said Toby, passing the salad bowl.

“Bob and Rachel must be so pleased,” said Lucy, wishing that she felt a little more pleased with her own son.

“I bet it costs a pretty penny to go there,” said Bill, taking a piece of Italian bread and passing the basket to Lucy.

“I think they're all about the same,” said Lucy, busy buttering her bread. “Thirty thousand.”

“I just don't get it,” complained Bill. “When I went to college it was fifteen hundred a year, and that was everything. Tuition, room and board, the whole shebang. I had a five-hundred-dollar scholarship, and Mom got a part-time job to pay the rest.”

“Well, I've got a part-time job,” said Lucy. “But I sure don't make thirty thousand dollars. Most people around here don't even make that with a full-time job.”

“What's the matter with the state college? That's what I want to know,” demanded Bill, turning toward Toby.

“I'm applying there, too,” said Toby, shoveling a big forkful of spaghetti into his mouth. “But my guidance counselor says I should try some of these other schools, too.”

“I think we'll qualify for financial aid,” said Lucy, hoping to ease the tension that was building up between father and son.

“Well, frankly, before I break my butt trying to pay for a fancy education for the young prince here, I'd like to see a little more initiative, if you know what I mean.” Bill gestured angrily with his fork. “His room's a mess, if you let him he'll sleep until two or three in the afternoon, and when he borrows my truck he always brings it back with an empty gas tank.”

Toby didn't respond, but kept his head down, steadily scooping up his spaghetti.

“You know what I did today?” said Lucy brightly, changing the subject. “I interviewed Santa Claus!”

“The real Santa Claus?” Zoe was skeptical.

“I think so. It was the Santa at the Ropewalk. It didn't seem polite to ask for his credentials.”

“I don't suppose you need a driver's license for a sleigh and reindeer, anyway,” observed Elizabeth, who was the proud possessor of a learner's permit.

“What did he say?” asked Zoe.

“Well, he said it's very warm here, compared with the North Pole.”

Bill chuckled. “The North Pole is probably the only place colder than here.”

“That's exactly why I don't want to go to the state college! I want to get out of this freezing cold place where there's nothing to do,” exploded Toby, who had been on a slow simmer. He threw down his napkin and marched out of the room.

“I wish you wouldn't be quite so hard on him,” said Lucy.

“I wouldn't have to if you didn't spoil him, now would I?” said Bill.

“So, Sara, how was your day?” asked Lucy, determined to get through the meal with some semblance of civility.

“We had an assembly. A man came who used to be a drug addict. He told us how he ate food from garbage cans and…”

“Drugs are terrible,” said Lucy. “What made him decide to give them up?”

“Well, he had really hit bottom. He was lying with his face in a pool of vomit…”