by Leslie Meier
A sudden yelp from Sue, who was pulling a tray of baked cookies from the oven, startled her.
“You okay?” she asked as Sue dropped the cookie sheet on the stainless-steel counter, making a clatter.
“The darn pot holder has a hole,” muttered Sue, holding up the ragged scorched square of fabric.
“That is one sad pot holder,” Lucy said, thinking she would have thrown it out long ago. She remembered that Elfrida had complained about the poor quality of the kitchen fittings, and this seemed to support her complaints. So did the limited counter space, which had Lucy and Sue vying for room to work. Sue’s cookies were encroaching on Lucy’s sandwiches, which meant they had to carry filled platters of food all the way across the kitchen and set them on a table. The very same table, thought Lucy, where she and Elfrida and Ross had been questioned by the police chief.
As she made the long trek for the fifth—or was it the sixth?—time, Lucy tried to picture the scene on the night Bobbi died. Elfrida had said they were making cookies, just like Sue was this morning. As she watched Sue plopping the dough onto the cookie sheets and shoving them into the oven, pulling out the hot sheets of cookies and setting them on the wire racks to cool, and then transferring the cooled cookies onto a serving platter, Lucy thought she looked busier than a one-armed paper hanger. No sooner would she pop a sheet into the oven, and then the beeper would sound, and she’d have to pull out the baked cookies.
Elfrida must have been even busier, scrambling to get finished so she could get home to her kids. Lucy knew what it was like to be focused on something, only to be interrupted by some sort of distraction. No doubt she would have been annoyed when Bobbi announced she needed to use the bathroom, and would have seen red when she saw her taking the Yule log cake from the fridge and took the knife.
It seemed obvious that Bobbi was taking advantage of the fact that Elfrida was very busy in order to pursue her own agenda, which involved the cake. She had either been planning to eat it herself, or, more likely, intended to share it with someone else. But who? Chris Waters came to mind, as Bobbi had been seen flirting with him. Had she hoped to surprise Chris with a treat, a special sweet snack? Thinking back to that evening, Lucy remembered that everyone, including Chris, had been involved in filming the big crowd scene. He wouldn’t have been able to get away, but Lucy doubted that Bobbi would have thought so far ahead. She seemed to have been an impulsive sort who went full speed ahead, an unfortunate trait that hadn’t worked out very well for her.
Bobbi hadn’t even made it upstairs with the cake, which meant she must have encountered her killer in the hallway. The only person Lucy knew who’d actually been in the hallway was Ross, who had responded to Elfrida’s scream. Elfrida claimed she’d screamed because she’d slipped on a butter wrapper when she attempted to follow Bobbi, which Lucy knew was definitely possible. That meant Ross might not have been quite as woozy after hitting his head as he claimed, and could have encountered Bobbi in the hallway, holding the cake and the knife. It would have taken only moments to seize the knife and use it.
But why? How much trouble was Bobbi, really? Sure, she had an unfortunate penchant for pranks, but that was hardly a motive for murder. There must have been something else, thought Lucy, but what? Blackmail? Willis had seen Ross behaving inappropriately with Bobbi; maybe Bobbi had threatened to go public with an accusation? That would have been no idle threat; these days the balance of power was shifting and a woman’s claim of sexual misconduct could end a man’s career.
“Lucy, what are you doing?” demanded Sue. “We need six dozen sandwiches.”
Lucy realized she was just standing there, sandwich spreader in hand, instead of making sandwiches. “Oops, sorry,” she said, getting on with her task.
Once lunch was prepared, Sue and Lucy were free for the day. Sue was planning to head over to the food pantry to help distribute holiday toys, and Lucy was planning on attending the visiting hours for Bobbi at McHoul’s Funeral Home. Funerals were very popular in Tinker’s Cove, combining the opportunity for fellowship and gossip with the added bonus of a generous collation afterward. Lucy couldn’t stay for the service or the food and drink afterward, but that didn’t matter to her. She was interested in the gossip.
As she expected, there was quite a crowd of people gathered at McHoul’s, including many young people who had been classmates of Bobbi’s at Tinker’s Cove High School. Small groups of kids who’d gone to school with Bobbi were clustered outside, in the chilly December air, many puffing away on cigarettes. Older folks were inside, scattered about in the various tastefully decorated rooms, chatting mournfully. A few were studying photo collages featuring Bobbi with family and friends, leafing through family scrapbooks and signing the guest book.
Lucy joined the line of people waiting to express their condolences to the family and to view the body, lying in the open casket. This was something Lucy dreaded, but knew full well was the price of admission to the gathering. Harriet and Dick Holden were standing together, just in front of the enormous wooden casket that contained the body of their only child. As the line inched slowly forward, Lucy avoided looking at the body, but focused instead on the bereaved couple. Harriet was a full-figured, busy woman known for bringing cheer and home-baked cookies to the elderly residents of Pinewood Manor, but today she was dressed in pearls and a black dress, tearfully accepting the hugs and stilted words of her friends and neighbors. Dick, who was a heavy-equipment operator for the town highway department, was a large man with a booming voice, who held court at Jake’s every morning when he dropped in at ten o’clock for coffee and two jelly donuts. Dick was the sort of man who would rather die than shed a tear in public, but his body language and choked voice made it clear he was holding a huge ball of grief inside that barrel chest.
When it was Lucy’s turn, she gave Harriet a hug and mumbled how sorry she was; then she moved on to Dick and took his huge hand in hers, sharing a sad expression and a nod. Then she had to face the body, and paused beside the coffin. Bobbi was inside, and there was no doubt that this was Bobbi, except that her eyes were closed and she wasn’t smiling and bouncing about. She was still, horribly still, which made her not at all like Bobbi after all. Suddenly overcome with emotion, Lucy turned away and struggled to compose herself.
“She was in my kindergarten class,” said Lydia Volpe, giving Lucy’s arm a comforting squeeze. “She was a little dynamo, so full of herself.”
“It’s awful when a young person dies,” said Lucy, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue she pulled from her pocket.
“And it happens too often these days,” said Lydia. “Opioids and guns, it’s a killing field out there. I can’t tell you how many funerals for former students I’ve attended lately. Such a waste.”
“It is shocking, isn’t it?” said Lucy. “And it affects so many people. If Elfrida goes to jail . . .”
“I know.” Lydia nodded, her big brown eyes full of concern. “I had Angie, and Albert was in my last class, the year I retired. They’re really good kids.”
“It’s not their fault their mother is a murderer,” declared Sarah Walsh, joining the conversation. Sarah was Nanette’s mother, and Bobbi’s aunt, and bore a strong resemblance to her sister, Harriet. “Of course, even if Elfrida’s in jail, she’ll still be alive. They’ll be able to visit and telephone, they won’t lose her, like we’ve lost Bobbi.”
“It’s a terrible thing,” said Lucy.
“You said it. It’s terrible, and I know that Dick and Harriet want to see that justice is done. The whole family is behind them, you know. We’ve written to that judge, we don’t think Elfrida should have gotten bail.”
“I’d like to string her up myself,” declared Nanette’s brother, Donald, who was standing nearby with a couple of his friends. They were all young guys bursting with testosterone, spoiling for a fight, and Lucy could imagine them as part of a lynch mob.
“Well, Maine wisely did away with the death penalty over a century ago,” said Lu
cy. “Let’s calm down and see what develops. It may be that Elfrida is innocent.”
“Innocent until proven guilty, that’s how it’s supposed to be,” said Nanette, joining the conversation. “But believe me, if she’s guilty, we’re going to make sure Elfrida gets put away for life.”
“I understand how you feel,” said Lucy. “But I think the police may have been too quick to arrest Elfrida. They didn’t really investigate anybody else.”
“Like who?” asked Nanette, sounding rather doubtful.
“Well, Ross Rocket? Did Bobbi have a crush on him?”
“She was hoping he’d recognize her talent,” said Nanette. “But I don’t think she had a crush on him. Not like Chris Waters. She was wild about him. . . .”
“Everybody’s wild about him,” said Lydia, getting a few restrained chuckles.
“But what about Ross?” persisted Lucy. “They were seen together.”
“She said he was her mentor,” said Nanette. “She said he understood she was a creative personality, like he is, and he was interested in helping her develop her creativity. She also said that Ross told her his wife wasn’t truly creative and didn’t understand his needs, and that’s why he liked talking to Bobbi.”
“That’s really interesting,” said Lucy, thinking that Ross’s primary need as a creative was Juliette’s money, and that he wouldn’t hesitate to commit murder to keep it flowing.
“Yeah, so I think you can cross Ross Rocket off the list of possible suspects,” said Nanette. “He liked Bobbi and he wouldn’t have killed her, would he?”
“I’m sure you’re right,” said Lucy, who wasn’t sure at all.
Drifting away from the group, she stopped to peruse one of the collages of Bobbi’s life, struck by the number of photos picturing her in costume after costume. There was no doubt that Bobbi had loved performing, beginning at a young age and continuing right up until her death.
“She was in the Little Theatre production of The Sound of Music with Molly,” said Jolene, stepping beside Lucy and pointing to one of the photos. “Molly was the oldest sister, I can’t remember her name, and Bobbi was the cute little one. She stole the show.”
“I didn’t know Molly acted,” said Lucy, turning to Jolene. Molly’s mother was impeccably turned out, as usual, with silver-tinted hair and a black coat trimmed with fur.
“Just that once,” admitted Jolene. “She had terrible stage fright. But little Bobbi loved performing, even back then.” She glanced at the casket. “I just feel so bad for her folks.”
“It makes you think,” agreed Lucy. “We’re awfully fortunate to have the kids home for Christmas, aren’t we?”
“It’s a real treat, and quite a surprise,” said Jolene. “Showed up out of the blue, wanting a late lunch. Wouldn’t you know, I sent their presents off to Alaska weeks ago, so I don’t have anything to put under the tree for them.”
“Good thing you were home that afternoon,” said Lucy, feeling a certain satisfaction that she’d bested Jolene at her own game; she’d procrastinated and failed to ship the presents. “Nobody was home at our house.”
“You are a busy lady, I’ve been trying to track you down,” Jolene said as they made their way through the crowded rooms to the exit. “I’ve been wondering how we should divide up Christmas.”
“I haven’t really thought about it,” Lucy said as they stepped outside into the cool, fresh air. “They’re sleeping at our house, so we could open presents in the morning and have a nice breakfast. . . .”
“Then they’d come to us for Christmas dinner.”
Lucy suddenly felt a big hole inside; she knew she couldn’t monopolize Toby’s family, but sharing wasn’t going to be easy, especially since she’d had so little time with them.
“Maybe we could all do something together,” suggested Lucy, knowing this was really a nonstarter. Bill didn’t get along with Jim Moskowitz at all, and she suspected the feeling was mutual.
“That would be lovely, if only we could,” said Jolene, smoothly. “We’re going to have quite a full house with my brother and his family, and our dear friends who always come to us on Christmas. . . .”
“I understand,” said Lucy, already shifting gears and planning to cook a special dinner for the whole family on Christmas Eve. Then she could have a relaxed Christmas Day with Bill and the girls, having leftovers for supper.
The two women had left the funeral home and were walking toward the parking lot when Jolene stopped and took Lucy’s arm. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Molly,” she said, all in a rush, as if plunging into a cold swimming pool.
“Molly?”
“Yes. What do you and Bill think about this plan of hers to go to Germany?”
Lucy wasn’t about to criticize her daughter-in-law, especially not to her mother. “Well, I don’t think it’s my place to think about it at all. Toby is fine with it.”
“Is he? That’s not good, is it?”
“He told me that Molly has always supported him, and now it’s his turn to let her pursue her dreams.”
“I don’t buy it,” said Jolene. “I know for a fact that she hated those Grimm fairy tales, wouldn’t let me read them to her.”
“People grow and change. I didn’t know I’d like working for the newspaper until I started, and now I love it.”
“And that awful dog. I don’t trust him, especially around Patrick.”
“Toby built a run for Skittles, so he’s pretty much confined.”
“Well, that’s a mercy,” declared Jolene.
“Maybe you could have a little talk with Molly,” suggested Lucy, as they approached her car. “You’re her mother after all.”
“I’ve tried,” said Jolene. “Believe me, I’ve tried, but once Molly has decided on something, well, that’s it. She’s very strong-minded.”
“You should be proud of her,” said Lucy, conscious of doing her best to spread good cheer. “She’s a modern woman who knows what she wants.”
“I suppose,” admitted Jolene, warming to Lucy’s praise. “And who knows, maybe she’ll come to her senses, though I doubt it.”
“If I don’t see you, Merry Christmas,” said Lucy, opening her car door.
“Isn’t it great that we can say ‘Merry Christmas’ again?” enthused Jolene, jiggling her car keys.
“Absolutely great,” said Lucy, who’d never signed on to the notion that there was a war on Christmas. On the contrary, she thought Christmas was a glittering, red-and-green, pa-rum-pum-pum assault on the budget that began before Halloween and didn’t end until the last deeply discounted rolls of wrapping paper were replaced by cuddly teddy bears and heart-shaped boxes of candy for Valentine’s Day. You couldn’t escape it—the best you could do was to try to enjoy it.
Chapter Nine
Returning home, Lucy’s arrival was announced by Skittles, who was barking his head off and straining against the lead that connected him to the new wire run. A Christmasy scene greeted her as Toby and Bill, both dressed in wooly plaid shirt-jacs, were busy stringing up tiny white lights on the porch roof. It was dusk and a light snow was falling, brightened by the glowing strings of old-fashioned colored lights that were wrapped around the bushes and were already shining. Inside the kitchen Zoe and Sara were baking spritz cookies under Libby’s watchful eye, while Molly and Patrick were trimming a huge tree that filled at least half of the living room.
“Grandma! Look at the tree! Dad and I went to the woods and cut it down!”
“It’s beautiful,” said Lucy. “I’ve never seen such a full Christmas tree.”
“It’s so tall, I don’t know how we’re going to get this angel on top,” said Molly, when Lucy joined them in the pine-scented room. She was holding a rather battered golden-haired angel whose halo was missing and whose gauzy wings were bent out of shape. “Maybe we should find something else?”
“We’ve had that angel since Toby was a baby,” said Lucy, taking it and attempting to straighten the wings. She stud
ied the tree, noticing that the top branches of the tree were indeed grazing the ceiling. Lucy considered clipping them, then decided to tie the angel to the topmost branch with a bit of string. She climbed up on a chair to perform this bit of magic, then stepped down to admire her work. “What do you think Patrick? How does she look?”
“Beautiful, she’s all white and silver.”
“You can’t see the dings from down here,” agreed Lucy. “What other treasures have you found?”
Molly was sorting through the plastic bin of ornaments wrapped in tissue. “This looks like something Toby made,” she said, holding up a scallop shell painted silver that framed a school photo, probably made in first or second grade. “Gosh, Patrick looks just like him.”
“He sure does,” agreed Lucy. “So, Patrick, maybe you could make some ornaments like this tomorrow? I have the school photos you sent in the fall and you could use some of them. You could make one for me and one for Grandma Jolene.”
“That’s a great idea, Lucy,” said Molly. “But we’re going to be busy tomorrow. My folks are taking us to the holiday brunch at the Queen Vic, and then we’re taking Patrick to see The Nutcracker ballet in Portland. Mom’s been freaking out because she sent the presents to Alaska, so she came up with the idea of giving us a special treat. We won’t be back until late, so we’ll probably grab a fast-food supper on the way home.”
“Wow, that is a busy day,” said Lucy, dumbstruck that Jolene hadn’t shared this information with her and abandoning her plan for a festive family dinner on Christmas Eve. She’d been bested once again, she thought, carefully hanging the shell ornament on a prominent branch. If only she hadn’t been so busy with the movie and her job, she could have made similar plans for special holiday treats. As it was, she thought resentfully, she couldn’t even get a day off. “I’m sure you’ll have a good time.”
Leaving Molly and Patrick in the living room, Lucy went back to the kitchen, where Zoe was popping the last tray of cookies into the oven, and Sara was already washing the bowls and cookie press. Dozens of the little buttery cookies were cooling on wire racks, others were piled on a platter. Lucy plucked one from the platter and nibbled on it, unleashing a flood of memories.
