by Joanne Fluke
Lucy took the box and opened the top, hoping he was wrong. He wasn’t. Inside was a gold and brown tin with MOTHER’S TRADITIONAL HOLIDAY FRUITCAKE printed on the top. “There’s a note,” she said, handing him a cream-colored envelope.
“You open it,” said Bill, whose hands were still bandaged. “It’s probably just a printed card. ‘Holiday Greetings from the Stones.’”
“So it is,” said Lucy, “but there’s something else.” She unfolded a piece of notepaper and a blue check fell out onto the table.
“Is that a check?” asked Bill, who had seen it out of the corner of his eye.
“It is,” said Lucy, sitting down.
“The usual fifty bucks?”
“Not exactly,” said Lucy, who was holding the little slip of paper in trembling hands. “More like fifteen thousand.”
Bill’s jaw dropped. “Say that again.”
“It’s for fifteen thousand dollars,” repeated Lucy. “And there’s a note.”
Bill took the check. “I can’t believe it. What possessed him?”
“Read the note,” said Lucy, handing the folded piece of paper to him.
Bill’s eyes quickly scanned his father’s neatly printed, squarish letters.
“Out loud,” prompted Lucy.
He cleared his voice. “‘Dear Son, Your mother and I figured this might come in handy about now. We’ve had some experience with home renovations and we know they always cost more than you expect.’” Bill snorted in agreement. “‘We also want to wish you well in your new endeavor which we’re sure will be successful.’ Mom must have twisted his arm,” said Bill, pausing.
“Give your father some credit,” said Lucy. “Is that all?”
“No. He goes on. ‘I have to confess, now that I’m facing retirement and looking back on my career, I wish I’d had your courage and pursued my dreams instead of a paycheck. Love, Dad.’”
“Wow,” said Lucy.
“Wow,” echoed Bill. “I guess I’d better give him and Mom a call.”
Later that night, while Bill snored gently beside her, Lucy was still too excited to sleep. She knew people always said Christmas was a time of miracles, but this was the first time she had actually experienced it. For the most part, truth be told, Christmas had always been a bit of a disappointment, never quite living up to the hype. But this, this was amazing. Now Bill would be able to finish the house and start his new career. And, even better, the ruptured relationship with his parents that had hung over them like a dark cloud had been cleared. Now they could look forward to family gatherings, and Toby would once again have grandparents to shower him with love and attention.
Lucy smiled and turned over, spooning her body against Bill’s. She would never forget the way her new Maine friends and neighbors had given them such a wonderful Christmas. Living in Tinker’s Cove certainly had its advantages; she couldn’t imagine her neighbors in New York City behaving like this. There, people gave to charity, but they didn’t concern themselves with their neighbor’s misfortunes. In fact, she realized, she herself had never given a thought to little Miss Delaporte down the hall in 12G, who was at least eighty and never had a visitor. Maybe she could have dropped in with a plate of cookies, but she’d never bothered to take the time.
From now on, she resolved, she would be more like Miss Tilley. She would take an interest in her neighbors and if she saw someone in need, she would try to help. In a way, that’s what she had tried to do when she attempted to solve the mystery of Mrs. Tilley’s death. But it hadn’t gone the way she’d hoped. Her eyes were heavy and her breathing was becoming regular, she was sinking into sleep, and her last thought was regret that she had failed to bring peace of mind to Miss Tilley.
Christmas dawned clear and bright, the sunlight magnified by the fresh snow that had fallen during the night. Outside was a glittering white wonderland and inside was the usual chaos as Toby opened his presents: new clothes and books and a go-cart from Bill’s parents, and an impressive assortment of marked-down plastic trucks and balls and a super-sized teddy bear Bill had picked up when he bought the batteries. When they added the recycled toys that Sid Finch had brought, it added up to quite a pile and Toby was happily investigating his haul, playing first with one and then another. Lucy and Bill took advantage of the moment to exchange their gifts for each other.
“You go first,” said Lucy, handing him a cheerfully wrapped present.
“I thought we’d agreed….” protested Bill.
“It’s little enough,” said Lucy, smiling as he unwrapped a Walkman cassette player.
“This is great,” he said. “How’d you know I wanted one?”
“I didn’t. I just thought you might like to listen to music while you work.”
“I do. This is perfect. Thanks. Now you go,” he said, handing her a drugstore bag tied with a big red bow. “Sorry about the wrapping.”
“I guess I’ll forgive you this time, since your hands are burned.”
“Right,” he said. “Open it.”
Lucy withdrew a paperback book, a compendium of New England crimes. “This is great,” she said, delighted. “How’d you think of it?”
Bill blushed. “Well, I knew you were interested in what happened to Miss Tilley’s mother, and you’ve been reading mysteries.”
“That was very thoughtful. Thank you,” she said, opening the book and scanning the table of contents. One listing immediately caught her eye: The Angel of Death. Settling back into the corner of the couch she turned the pages and began reading, fascinated by the story of a nurse who was thought to have killed more than twenty of her patients using a variety of hard-to-detect methods such as drug overdoses, poison and smothering. “Oh my God,” she breathed, her eyes glued to the page.
“I didn’t think you’d like it this much,” complained Bill, who was feeling ignored.
“You won’t believe this. This woman, this nurse, she’s the one who killed Mrs. Tilley. It fits, exactly. It all fits.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. It’s all here. Even her name. Well, her aliases. Anne DePasquale, Andrea Dale, Anita DeSouza. Always a first name beginning with A and a last name beginning with D. Angela DeRosa, that was the name she used when she was supposedly caring for Mrs. Tilley. Everybody thought she was an angel, but she was actually killing off her patients.”
“How’d they figure it out?”
“People started getting suspicious when none of her patients ever seemed to recover,” said Lucy. “One man who happened to be a chemist analyzed the medicine she was giving his wife and found it was arsenic and went to the police.”
“Did they arrest her?”
“They tried,” said Lucy, reaching the end of the chapter, “but she killed herself before they could take her into custody. A lethal dose of strychnine.”
“She must have been nuts,” said Bill, lifting Toby onto his lap and opening a picture book.
“I’ve got to call Miss Tilley,” said Lucy, heading for the phone.
Miss Tilley answered the phone with a cheerful “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you,” replied Lucy. “And thank you for yesterday. It was a wonderful surprise.”
“I think everyone enjoyed themselves,” said Miss Tilley. “I put quite a bit of brandy in the eggnog, just to help things along.”
“So that’s your secret,” said Lucy. She paused. “I think I’ve found your mother’s murderer—and it wasn’t your father.”
“Who was it?”
“The nurse. Angela.”
“No, no. She was so kind….”
“It’s in a book. She killed at least twenty of her patients, maybe more.”
“She was convicted?”
“No. She killed herself before there could be a trial. There was an investigation, though, and some of her victims were exhumed and their bodies contained poison.”
“I can hardly believe it.”
“Nobody could. That’s how she had so many victi
ms.”
“Papa never liked her.”
“He had good instincts.”
“He was innocent!” announced Miss Tilley, joyfully.
“Absolutely,” said Lucy. “I just wanted you to know, but I’ve got to get back to my family….”
“Thank you. This was a wonderful Christmas present. The best Christmas present I ever had.”
“But I still don’t know where the cane came from,” said Lucy. “Maybe it was a gift from Emil Boott.”
“Or maybe my mother planned to give it to my father as a Christmas gift.”
“We’ll never know,” said Lucy.
“No, that will have to remain a mystery,” said Miss Tilley. “Merry Christmas!”
CHRISTMAS SPRITZ COOKIES
Lucy’s mother always made these cookies every Christmas. They require a cookie press, which is a gizmo rather like a caulking gun that is available in kitchen supply stores.
1¼ cups sugar
2 cups butter
2 eggs
5 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon almond extract (or vanilla)
Cream butter, adding sugar gradually. Add unbeaten eggs, then sift dry ingredients and extract. Dough will be stiff.
Fill cookie press and press cookies out onto cookie sheet and decorate. (Lucy sprinkles colored sugar on the long strip cookes and puts bits of candied cherry in the center of the flower shapes.)
Bake at 375 degrees for 10–12 minutes, remove to rack to cool. These cookies keep well in a tightly sealed tin, but you’ll have to hide it well if you want to save them for Christmas.
SAND TARTS
These cookies are named for the dusting of cinnamon sugar that looks like sand. They’re delicious and not very well known anymore. Lucy remembers them from her childhood, when her grandmother used to make them. This is her recipe, written in her style.
Cream ½ cup butter.
Add:
1 cup sugar
2 beaten egg yolks
1 tablespoon milk
½ teaspoon vanilla
Beat mixture until light.
Sift together:
1½ cups flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
Add to first mixture and blend well. Chill for several hours. Roll dough very thin and cut with a star or circle cookie cutter. Place on buttered baking sheet and put a split blanched almond on each cookie. Brush with unbeaten egg whites and sprinkle with mixture of 1 tablespoon sugar and ¼ teaspoon cinnamon.
Bake at 375 degrees for 10 minutes. Cool on racks.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
850 Third Avenue
New York, NY 10022
“Candy Cane Murder” copyright © 2007 by Joanne Fluke
“The Dangers of Candy Canes” copyright © 2007 by Laura Levine
“Candy Canes of Christmas Past” copyright © 2007 by Leslie Meier
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 0-7582-3688-3
***If you and your guests are on a diet, you can substitute Half ’n Half for the heavy cream, but it won’t be as good!
***If you can’t find Gruyere, use really sharp white cheddar and that’ll be fine. And if you can’t find white cheddar, use really sharp yellow cheddar.
***If you and your guests are on a diet, you can substitute Half ’n Half for the heavy cream, but it won’t be as good!
***If you use the kind of stuffing mix that’s made of croutons, crush them a bit before you measure out one cup. The stuffing mix is necessary because it soaks up the liquid given off by the bell peppers as they bake.
***A Word of Warning about COCOA
***Brown sugar is nothing more than white sugar with added molasses. All you have to do to make 1 cup brown sugar is to measure out a cup of white sugar and drizzle in 2 teaspoons of molasses, and then mix well. You can mix it with a fork and a little muscle, or with an electric mixer and a little electricity. It’s your choice. Knowing this little trick eliminates the necessity of keeping brown sugar, the kind that develops hard lumps, on hand in your pantry.
Table of Contents
Candy Cane Murder
Joanne Fluke
The Dangers of Candy Canes
Laura Levine
Candy Canes of Christmas Past
Leslie Meier
