“I don’t blame her,” said Lucy. “He’s bad news. She ought to make a clean break and start over.”
“I think she will,” said Sue. “She was pretty shook-up. Not quite the same Steffie. Said she was shifting her priorities, and now Will’s going to be number one.”
“Well, maybe some good will come out of this thing. But if you ask me, I can’t quite believe little Miss Goody Two-shoes didn’t know what her husband was doing all along. I still haven’t forgiven her for bringing those leaflets to the cookie exchange.”
“He was pretty controlling,” said Sue, with a shrug. “I suspected all along that he was abusive. She even had a restraining order out on him around Thanksgiving.”
Lucy’s chin dropped as she digested this information.
“You never told me.”
“Oops!” Sue’s hand flew to her mouth. “Time to go, kids. I hear the bells. That means it’s time for lunch.”
Lucy watched for a moment as the little procession made its way across the parking lot, recalling how sad the noontime bells had sounded on the day she’d learned of Tucker’s death. Today, she thought they sounded hopeful. Ringing out the old year and ringing in the new.
She turned and went inside the post office, pausing at the letter slot, to check that she had all of Toby’s college applications. She had just shoved them through the slot when she noticed Marge, also holding a handful of envelopes.
“College applications?” asked Lucy, noticing that Marge looked better than she had in a long time. There was color in her cheeks, and she seemed to have her energy back.
Marge nodded. “He got them done in the nick of time.”
“Same here,” said Lucy. “Did you have a nice Christmas?”
“Sure did.” Marge nodded. “Barney’s a lot happier these days. He says getting rid of Tom Scott was the best Christmas present he got!”
“I guess Tom will be going to jail for a long while—Ted says the Rousseaus are only too happy to cooperate and will testify against him. They want to clear the family name.”
Lucy pushed open the door and held it for Marge, who paused on the stoop to wave to a passing car.
It was the Cummings family: Steve, Lee, and the girls, driving by in their big sport utility. Lucy also raised her hand in a wave.
“Happy New Year!” shouted Lee, waving out the window. Steve beeped the hom.
“Happy New Year!” called out Marge and Lucy.
“Do you have any special plans for tonight?” asked Marge.
“Actually, the kids are all sleeping over at friends’ houses, so Bill and I are planning some cuddle-and-bubble time—he’s got a bottle of champagne chilling in the fridge.”
“Good for you!” laughed Marge, getting in her car. “Barney’s got a six-pack and a video called Rolling Thunder.”
“Happy New Year!” called Lucy, as she watched Marge back out.
When she pulled open the door to the Subaru, Elizabeth handed her another letter.
“I found it after you got out,” she said.
“You couldn’t have brought it in? You just sat here like a lump?”
“Oh.” Elizabeth looked at her blankly. “I was listening to my new tape—the Diskettes.”
Lucy sighed and took the envelope.
She had just bought a stamp when she noticed Franny Small standing in the corner clutching a letter to her chest, apparently in a state of shock.
“Franny, what’s the matter?” she asked. “Did you get bad news?”
“No.” Franny’s eyes were huge. “It’s good news. Really good news.”
Franny held out the letter and Lucy took it.
“It’s from Neiman Marcus!” she exclaimed, scanning the text. “They want ten thousand pieces of your jewelry!”
“Do you believe it?” Franny’s face was glowing. “That’s a hundred-thousand-dollar order.”
“Wow.”
“And the letter says they plan to put them in their catalog next year and anticipate placing further orders.”
“That’s great, but Franny, how are you going to do it? Can you make ten thousand pieces of jewelry all by yourself?”
“Don’t be silly.” Franny’s curls shook as she nodded her head. “I’m going to go right over to that economic development agency that’s opened in Cilead and get myself what they call a start-up loan. Then I’m going to hire some of those folks who lost their crafts businesses in the fire and put them to work. While they’re making the jewelry, I’m going to go out and see who else wants to buy it.”
She pointed to the letter.
“If you notice, Neiman Marcus didn’t mention anything about exclusive rights. That means I can sell to other customers.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“This could be the start of something big.”
She looked up.
“Listen, Lucy, I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to talk right now. I’ve got to make some phone calls.”
Openmouthed, Lucy watched as Franny bustled off. Then, remembering her errand, she looked down at the letter in her hand. It was the application to Toby’s first choice college, Coburn University. She attached a stamp and, crossing her fingers, slipped it through the slot. Then she returned to the car and, saying a little prayer, took her place in the passenger seat.
“Okay, Elizabeth. Look over your shoulder and make sure it’s clear. Then, put the shift in reverse, take your foot off the brake….”
“Mom, my foot’s not on the brake.”
Lucy pressed her hands together to stop the trembling and took a deep breath.
“We’ll start over. First, make sure your foot is on the brake. Then, look over your shoulder…”
* * *
Santa’s Thumbprints
Lucy always brings these cookies to the cookie exchange.
1 C shortening
½ C granulated sugar
½ C brown sugar
1 egg
½ t vanilla
½ t almond extract
½ t each baking soda, salt
1½ C uncooked oatmeal
2 C flour
6 oz semisweet chocolate chips
Beat shortening, add sugars, beat til fluffy. Add egg and extracts, mix well. Stir in flour, baking soda, salt, and oatmeal. Shape dough into small balls about the size of a walnut, place on baking sheet, and press hollow in top of each cookie.
Bake at 375 degrees for 10-12 minutes. Melt chocolate and spoon into center of each cookie. Chill until firm. Makes about 3 dozen.
* * *
* * *
Sand Tarts
My Aunt Helen, who was a lot like Miss Tilley, used to bake these cookies every Christmas. I always think of her when I make them.
Cream ½ C butter
Add:
1 C sugar
2 egg yolks (beaten)
1 T milk
½ t vanilla
Beat mixture until light.
Sift together:
1½ C flour
1 t baking powder
½ t salt
Add to first mixture and blend well. Chill for several hours. Roll dough very thin and cut with star cookie cutter. Place on buttered baking sheets and a split, blanched almond in center of each cookie. Brush with unbeaten egg white and sprinkle with mixture of 1 T sugar and ¼ t cinnamon. Bake at 375 degrees for 10 minutes.
* * *
Please turn the page
for an exciting sneak peek
of Leslie Meier’s
newest Lucy Stone mystery
TURKEY DAY MURDER
now on sale at bookstores everywhere!
On Thanksgiving day, Lucy woke up a half hour before the alarm was set to go off. It was a luxury she was unaccustomed to: time to herself. Careful not to disturb Bill, who was sound asleep beside her, she rolled on her back and stretched. Then she tried to work up some enthusiasm for the long day that stretched ahead of her.
Truth be told, Thanksgiving had never been her favorite holiday, co
nsisting as it did of football and food. Food that she had to cook and dishes—lots of dishes—that she had to wash. This year she’d been able to summon up more excitement than usual, but that was because Toby was coming home.
She sighed. Somehow Toby’s homecoming hadn’t gone at all as she’d expected. He and his friends seemed interested in using the house only as a place to sleep and leave their stuff. Yesterday, much to her irritation after she’d gone to the trouble of making that vegan brown rice and carrot casserole for supper, they’d gone on to Portland after stopping only briefly at the pep rally and hadn’t returned until around eleven. She hadn’t seen much of Toby, and the girls hadn’t seen him at all. They’d either been asleep or at school when he made his brief appearances. There was plenty of evidence of his and his friends’ presence, however, in the huge pile of sleeping bags and backpacks that practically filled the family room, in the wet towels left on the bathroom floor, in the litter of dirty snack dishes that filled the kitchen sink.
Lucy didn’t know exactly what she wanted. Certainly not cozy family games of Monopoly, such as he used to enjoy when he was younger. But she had thought he would join the family at dinner, she’d thought he’d be around for a while in the evenings, perhaps watching a video with the rest of the family. And she had hoped to have a little time with him by herself.
Now, she realized with a start, if she did get him to herself she’d like nothing better than to shake some sense into him. She would like to yell and scream and let him know he was behaving like a pig. She’d like to make him understand how much he was hurting her and how very angry it made her feel.
No, she thought. That wouldn’t do. If he was the prodigal son, it was her job to set aside her petty little negative feelings and welcome him. To kill the fatted calf in celebration—or in her case, to cook the turkey and reheat the brown rice casserole.
Doing a quick count, Lucy realized there would be twelve for dinner, instead of the eight she’d been figuring on, presuming Toby and his friends deigned to eat Thanksgiving dinner with them. She counted again. Herself and Bill and the three girls—that was five. Toby and his friends made nine. Add the Barths and Miss Tilley, the total came to twelve.
That meant she would need some extra chairs. She’d have to round up all the strays from the bedrooms and Bill’s attic office. There were plenty of dishes, but her silver service only had eight place settings, so she’d have to use the kitchen stainless, too. So much for the elegant table she’d hoped to set. Oh, well, she told herself as the alarm sounded, Thanksgiving was about being grateful for what you had, not wishing you had four more sterling place settings.
A few hours later, Lucy was savoring the sweet satisfaction of revenge. The college kids weren’t sleeping late this morning thanks to Zoe, who wanted to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV. She had settled herself right in front of the TV, a bowl of cereal on the floor, a spoon in one hand, and the remote in the other. Any attempts to dislodge her—and there had been a few—had been repulsed with fits of noisy squealing. She had now solidified her position, calling on her sisters to act as reinforcements. The college kids had finally given up and had begun the hours-long ritual of morning showers.
Busy in the kitchen, peeling potatoes and mixing up stuffing and arranging plates of condiments, Lucy thought smugly to herself that things had a way of working out. They hadn’t eaten the cassserole last night; they could jolly well eat it today. They didn’t want to behave like proper guests; the family didn’t have to act like gracious hosts.
Glancing at the clock, Lucy saw it was almost time to leave for the football game. She turned on the oven and opened the door, preparing to slide the turkey inside so it could cook while they were gone, when Sara ran into the kitchen.
“You’ll never believe it, Mom.”
“What won’t I believe?” asked Lucy, straightening up.
“I saw Katie Brown on TV!”
Lucy looked at her doubtfully. “How can you be sure it was her?”
“’Cause she was with her dad and her mom and her brother. They were all there. At the parade, like she said they would be.”
“Really? You saw them in New York?”
“Yeah, Mom. Isn’t that cool? She told me in school yesterday to look for her, and I did and I saw her! I can’t wait to tell her.”
“That is pretty cool,” said Lucy. “Is the parade almost over?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, because it’s almost time for the game. Would you tell the others so they can get ready to go?”
“Sure thing, Mom.”
A miracle. A small miracle. She’d asked one of her children to do something and she’d done it willingly. Treasure the moment, Lucy told herself as she checked the dining room table.
Everything was in place: the linen tablecloth and napkins, the cornucopia of fresh fruit and nuts, the twelve place settings with assorted flatware. Three pies—pumpkin, apple, and mince—were sitting on the sideboard along with dessert plates and coffee cups and saucers. It all looked very nice, she thought, pausing to admire the new wallpaper.
In the kitchen, the turkey was stuffed and roasting in the oven; it would be almost done when they got home. The brown rice casserole only needed a few minutes in the microwave; the potatoes were peeled and in the pot, covered with water and ready to cook. Cranberry sauce, pickles, and celery with olives were arranged on crystal dishes and covered with plastic wrap, cooling in the refrigerator. So was the wine, and the coffeepot was set up and ready to go.
And so was she. Ready to go and cheer for the home team at the football game.
Taking her place beside Bill in the Subaru, Lucy firmly pushed all thoughts of Toby and his friends from her mind. They had transportation. They could come to the game if they wanted to. She wasn’t going to worry about them. She and Bill and the two younger girls would have a lovely time on their own. Elizabeth, never a big football fan, had offered to stay home and keep an eye on the turkey. What a contrast to her thoughtless, irresponsible, selfish brother!
“It’s a perfect day for football,” said Bill, interrupting her thoughts.
Lucy considered. The sun was shining brightly in a cloudless blue sky, there was no wind to speak of, and there was just a slight nip in the air.
“It’s perfect,” Lucy agreed, hoping that Toby and his friends wouldn’t miss the game. It would be a shame, on such a nice day, to stay cooped up in the house.
Instead of going straight into town, Bill took the long way round on the shore road. There, big, old-fashioned, gray-shingled “cottages” stood on the bluff overlooking the cove. The trees were bare, and brown leaves had drifted into the road, but tall, pointed fir trees provided a touch of green here and there. Beyond the houses they could see the sea, deep blue with a scattering of tiny whitecaps. Farther out, on the horizon, they could see the humped shape of Metinnicut Island.
“See the seals!” exclaimed Sara, pointing to a small cluster of rocks.
Bill pulled off the road and stopped the car. Lucy took a closer look and saw several seals lounging in the sun. As she watched, one slid into the water.
“It’s not a bad place to live,” said Bill as they turned back onto the road.
“Not bad at all,” agreed Lucy, resolving to concentrate on her many blessings rather than dwelling on her problems with Toby. After all, he was in college. It wasn’t as if he were in jail or unemployed or working at a dead-end job somewhere.
Traffic grew heavier as they approached the field, so Bill decided to park alongside the road rather than try to find a spot in the parking lot. They climbed out and joined the crowd of walkers on the sidewalk.
As they marched along, Lucy kicked the dry brown leaves that covered the sidewalk and sniffed their sharp, musky scent. She grinned at the girls and slipped her arm through Bill’s. When they turned the corner, they could hear the band playing, and Lucy felt as if she were back in high school herself. She squeezed Bill’s arm. A roar went up from the crowd
already gathered in the stadium and Lucy guessed the teams were being introduced.
They took their places in the line at the ticket booth and soon were climbing up the stands to claim the few remaining seats near the top. Lucy held Zoe’s hand, but Sara insisted on going ahead of them.
They sat down just in time for the kickoff. The Warriors had won the toss and elected to receive the ball; Bill approved of their decision.
“Brian Masiaszyk, the kid who was on the state all-star team last year—he’s really fast. If he gets the ball they’ll gain a lot of yardage.”
Lucy thought she understood what he meant. Maybe. She held her breath as the ball soared through the air and landed in Brian’s arms.
“Yes!” said Bill, leaping to his feet.
Suddenly everyone was standing and cheering as the all-star player ran down the field, dodging and even slipping through the arms of the Giants to make a touchdown. The Tinker’s Cove fans roared their approval. On the other side of the field, the fans of the Gilead Giants sat silently, looking glum.
“What happened?” asked Zoe, tugging on Lucy’s sleeve.
“A touchdown, stupid,” said Sara.
Lucy’s eyes widened in surprise. “That was unnecessary,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” mumbled Sara.
Lucy knew that Sara often squabbled with her older sister, but she was usually sweet-natured toward Zoe. Lucy wondered if the fact that Toby had ignored her since he got home was upsetting her, causing her to vent her frustration on her little sister.
“Is something bothering you?”
“Nah.”
“Are you sure?” Lucy reached out and touched Sara’s arm.
“I’m sure,” said Sara, shaking herself loose.
“Okay.”
The Giants now had the ball and were making slow, steady progress down the field. Despite their brave showing at the beginning of the game, the Warriors seemed unable to put up much defense. By the half the Giants were leading thirteen to seven.
Christmas Cookie Murder #6 Page 19
