by Leslie Meier
Lucy shook her head sadly. “You have to fess up,” she said, “you can’t let Elfrida go to jail for life for something she didn’t do.”
“I know.” He nodded. “I’ve been trying to work up my courage. That’s what I was doing, talking to Karl. He said he was with me one hundred percent, and I had to do the right thing.”
“No way!” It was Ross, stepping out from behind the trailer, where he’d apparently been eavesdropping. “Nobody would believe that crazy story! And I’m not going to lose my leading man, we’ve gone too far in this project.”
“What are you saying?” demanded Lucy. “You can’t really believe this film of yours is more important than people’s lives, can you? Elfrida has five kids, and you’d let her go to jail, even though she’s innocent.”
“Happens all the time,” said Ross, dismissively. “But who says she’ll go to jail? If she’s innocent, she’ll get off. It will be another unsolved case, and the movie will get a boost from all the publicity and be a huge hit.”
Lucy couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and neither could Chris.
“It will take more than sensational publicity to make this piece of crap a hit,” he said. “Frankly, I’d rather go to jail than play one more scene in this pathetic travesty of a film.”
“Oh, yeah?” snarled Ross, taking a swing at Chris.
Chris swung back and the two men exchanged a few tentative punches. Lucy watched, horrified, not sure what to do. It almost seemed like they were playacting, practicing a scene, until Chris landed an uppercut that sent Ross reeling. Chris lunged at him and they both fell to the ground, rolling and grunting as each tried to gain the advantage. Fearful that the struggle was getting serious, Lucy yelled for help and two passing crew members pulled the two men apart. Ross marched off, nursing his jaw, and Chris apologized and expressed thanks to the two grips. Left alone, he turned to Lucy. “What now?”
“A trip to the police station?”
“Okay,” agreed Chris.
When they arrived at the Tinker’s Cove police station, Officer Sally Kirwan was seated at the front desk. Her face brightened when she recognized the movie star and she gave him a big smile. “What can I do for you?”
“Arrest me,” said Chris, giving her the smile that made millions of hearts beat faster.
“I couldn’t do that,” she said, practically drooling. “You’re Chris Waters.”
“Not anymore, I’m not. I’m Geoffrey Christopher Waterstone and I’m here to confess that I accidentally caused the death of Bobbi Holden.”
Sally gave Lucy a questioning look, getting a nod in return.
“I’d better call Uncle Jim,” said Sally, crestfallen. “I mean the chief.”
* * *
“That’s one heck of story,” said Ted, when Lucy called him from her car as she drove home. “Good work, Lucy.”
“I think he’ll get off pretty easily. . .” she said, sounding hopeful.
“That’s if his story about it being an accident holds up,” said Ted. “The important thing is that Elfrida is off the hook, and Phyllis can get back to work. And you, too,” he added. “I want to see you in the office bright and early first thing tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s Christmas, boss.”
“Uh, right. Wednesday, then. Have a happy holiday.”
“You too. I’ll see you Wednesday,” promised Lucy, eager to leave Pine Point and get back to her real job and normal life. Although, she admitted to herself as she started the climb up Red Top Hill, things weren’t really normal with Toby’s family at the house, along with that awful hound, Skittles. Try as she might to understand and forgive her daughter-in-law, she was still angry with Molly over her plan to abandon Patrick and Toby, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain a cordial relationship. Fortunately, she remembered that Toby’s family had gone to the show in Portland with Molly’s parents, so it would be a quiet evening with Bill, Sara, and Zoe. Maybe they’d even be able to find time to Skype Elizabeth in Paris.
Lucy’s mood lifted as she turned into the driveway and saw her beloved house all lit up for the holidays; she was so happy that she failed to notice Skittles wasn’t barking to announce her arrival. The driveway was rather crowded with extra cars, but it was dark and she assumed they belonged to Zoe’s and Sara’s friends, visiting after the caroling. Therefore she was quite surprised when she encountered Toby in the kitchen, along with Patrick, arranging holiday cookies on a plate.
“I thought you were going to The Nutcracker with the Moskowitzes,” said Lucy, shedding her parka and hanging it up on the hook by the door.
“There’s been a change of plan,” said Toby, pouring eggnog into a number of glass punch cups. “We’re all here instead.”
“Jim and Jolene, too?” asked Lucy.
“Everybody!” said Patrick. “We’re going to have cookies.”
“Do you all want dinner?” asked Lucy, who had a ham in the fridge, which only needed to be heated up.
“Not sure,” said Toby, lifting the tray of cookies and eggnog and carrying it into the family room.
Lucy followed and found everyone gathered around Jolene, who was sitting on the sectional sofa with a heavily bandaged leg propped up on pillows.
“What happened to you?” exclaimed Lucy.
“It was Skittles,” said Patrick, in a very serious tone. “He bit Grandma.”
“Oh, no,” said Lucy, horrified. “How did it happen?”
“Well, you know, we were all going out together, so I brought Skittles along,” Molly said. “Dad loves dogs and I thought he’d enjoy playing with Skittles. Their yard is fenced, too, so Skittles could get off the run and get some exercise.”
“It was fine at first,” said Jim. “Molly had one of those Chuckit! gizmos and I was throwing a tennis ball, and the dog was running and leaping, catching them right out of the air. But then Jolene came out and yelled something . . .”
“I wanted to tell him that it was getting late and we really had to leave, and the dog just went for me,” declared Jolene, finishing her husband’s sentence.
“It was really scary,” said Toby. “He just turned and sprung at her and we couldn’t get him to let go.”
“He’s never done anything like that before,” insisted Molly.
“That’s pit bulls for you,” said Jim. “Once they bite, they just hang on.”
“Oh, my God,” said Lucy, her eyes wide. “How did you get him off?”
“Dad got a big pot of water and threw it at the dog,” said Patrick.
“And Molly threw a blanket over him and we were all able to get into the house,” added Toby. “He was pretty calm by the time the animal control officer came.”
“So he’s going to be put down?” asked Lucy.
“Oh, no. We can bring him home tomorrow, but he has to be confined for ten days, to make sure he doesn’t have rabies,” said Toby.
“It’s really crazy because his shots are all up to date, so there’s really no possibility that Mom will get rabies,” said Molly.
“Better safe than sorry,” said Jolene. “I told the doctor I’d like to have the shots, but she said I can have them after the ten days, if it turns out that I need them.”
“It’s a state law,” said Jim. “I’m not usually one for excessive regulation, but I think this one is a good idea.”
“Ten days,” said Lucy, thoughtfully. “But isn’t Molly leaving for Germany in a few days?”
“I was going to, but it’s clear to me that I can’t go now. I’m going to have to stay home and work with a pro to train poor Skittles. He needs me.”
Across the room, for the first and possibly last time, Lucy’s and Jolene’s eyes met. The two grandmothers were in perfect agreement.
Sue Finch’s Yule Log
Use a jelly roll pan lined with wax paper.
Cooking time 35–40 minutes. 300 degree oven
Ingredients:
4 eggs separated
¾ cup sugar
>
1 cup flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
teaspoon salt
¼ cup oil
⅓ cup orange juice
¼ teaspoon cream of tartar
Mix all together except for the egg whites and cream of tartar, beat whites and tartar till stiff, fold into mixture.
Pour into ungreased jelly roll pan.
Bake.
Have a clean dish towel ready, sprinkled with sugar. Turn cake onto towel, peel off wax paper and roll up.
When cooled and ready to frost, unroll and spread frosting.
Frosting:
1 pint heavy whipping cream
½ cup confectioners’ sugar
Cocoa to color
Combine and whip till peaks form.
Roll up Yule log.
Place on plate, finish frosting.
Grate a chocolate bar to finish it off.
Dear Reader,
Through the years I’ve written several Lucy Stone Christmas mysteries, and explored the various ways the Stone family celebrates the holiday. Christmas is always a special time for me and I try to express this in my books by including some of my favorite family traditions. For my family, and also for Lucy’s, Christmas really begins when the tree goes up and is decorated with precious ornaments. Just like Lucy, I have saved those kindergarten treasures made by my children, who are now grown. We bake cookies, of course, and go caroling, and we go to church for the candlelight service. Stockings are hung, there are presents under the tree, and the whole family gathers for Christmas dinner.
Yule logs are not part of my family tradition, however, so when I was asked to write Yule Log Murder I had to reach a bit, and came up with a new twist for Lucy and her family. This time, Lucy finds herself struggling to connect with her family because of her newspaper work, which involves investigating a murder, and also because she finds herself at odds with family members. A surprise visit by her son, Toby, with his wife, Molly, their son, Patrick, and their pet dog, Skittles, throws Lucy into a tailspin. I think we’ve all had holidays that turned out to be challenging, but in the end Lucy manages to keep Christmas rather well, and solves the murder, too!
I hope you enjoyed reading Yule Log Murder and that you will seek out other Lucy Stone Christmas mysteries. Mistletoe Murder was the first, when Lucy is a young mother moonlighting at a catalog store and begins her career in crime. Through all the books, now numbering more than twenty-five, I have followed Lucy’s family through many holidays and family events, chronicling the kids’ growth and evolving relationships. The fictional Stone family really seems like part of my own family, and I hope they will become part of yours.
Wishing you a joyous holiday,
Leslie Meier
DEATH BY YULE LOG
Lee Hollis
Chapter One
As Hayley stood in her kitchen, a glass of red wine in one hand, and her cell phone in the other, which was pressed to her ear, she found herself fighting back a flood of tears. She was desperately trying to stay strong and pretend everything was perfectly fine, but she knew deep down in her gut why her son, Dustin, was calling. Her bottom lip quivered as she listened to him fill her in on the awesome blizzard that was raging right now over the Iowa plains and the city of Des Moines, stranding him at his dad’s house, where he was spending the first few days of his holiday break. As he breathlessly explained how they were currently snowbound and without power or cell service and even, God forbid, Internet; as he marveled at how he had to call her on his father’s landline like the old days before he was even born, because it was the only means of communication still working; as he reported that the Des Moines Airport had been shut down for the foreseeable future, since the most recent weather reports called for at least twelve more inches of snow before the storm would finally subside; as he explained all of this, the bitter truth had slowly come into focus.
Hayley’s son would not be coming home for Christmas. “Mom, are you still here?”
“Yes, Dustin, I’m here.”
“Anyway, it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to get out of here for at least five or six more days, which means . . .”
“I know . . . ,” Hayley said, sniffing.
“Mom, are you crying?”
“No, of course not.”
“It’s fine if you are,” he reassured her.
“I’m not crying,” Hayley insisted as a tear suddenly streamed down her right cheek. “It’s just . . . this will be the first Christmas that we haven’t spent together.”
“I know, but we can celebrate when I finally make it home.”
She heard someone talking in the background on the other end of the call.
“I’m on the phone with Mom,” Dustin said. “I told her I’m going to miss Christmas and she’s an emotional mess.”
“Let me talk to her,” Hayley heard her ex, Danny, say.
“No, Dustin, don’t put him on—”
“Merry Christmas, sugarplum!”
“Don’t call me ‘sugarplum,’ Danny. I’m upset enough already.”
“Aw, you always were the sentimental type. Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of the kid and make sure he gets home in time for New Year’s.”
“Just don’t let him gorge on too much—”
“We have plenty of supplies. I stocked up on frozen pizza and I got a whole pantry full of potato chips and pretzels I picked up at Costco.”
“Junk food.”
“Don’t worry, I picked up a bag of veggie chips, too, for a little balance.”
“Ever hear of a produce section, Danny?”
“It’s the holidays, babe. No one is supposed to eat healthy.”
“And don’t let him play too many video games.”
Dustin grabbed back the phone. “Hey, Mom, guess what? Dad let me open one of my presents early! He got me Resident Evil 7: Biohazard! Can you believe it? We’ve been playing it all day!”
Before she could respond, Dustin handed the phone to Danny again.
“So, did Gemma arrive yet?” Danny asked.
“She called from the Bangor Airport when she landed. She was going to pick up her rental car and drive straight home. That was about an hour ago. She should be here any minute.”
“I hear she’s not coming alone.”
“That’s right. I’m finally going to meet the boyfriend.”
“Dustin says it’s serious.”
“From what I can gather, it appears to be. She hasn’t told me too much about him,” Hayley said, grimacing.
Ever since Gemma dropped out of vet school and moved to New York City to find herself, Hayley’s relationship with her daughter had been slightly strained. They still talked on the phone every other day, but their conversations were mostly confined to the subject of Gemma’s job, waiting tables at a Chelsea eatery, and how she had been dabbling more in cooking and was considering applying to a Manhattan culinary school. Gemma couldn’t decide if she wanted to be a chef at a restaurant or write a food column, like her mother did. Her ambitions far exceeded Hayley’s, however. Hayley was comfortable and happy just writing her daily column for the local Island Times newspaper in Bar Harbor, Maine. Gemma was eyeing her own column in Bon Appétit magazine or starring in her own Barefoot Contessa–style TV show on the Food Network, with a global Twitter following. But whenever Hayley broached the subject of her daughter’s personal life, Gemma made it clear that topic was strictly off-limits.
She did spill a few minor details on occasion about making new friends at her job and going out to nightclubs on the weekends with “a couple of girlfriends.” There was also her roommate, with whom she shared an apartment in Astoria, Queens. She was Greek and an insomniac, so she was usually up all night making her grandmother’s homemade hummus recipe and blasting the television, watching gooey romantic-comedy movies on Netflix.
But when it came to dating, Gemma had remained mum.
Until recently.
About a month ago, while discussing her weekend
plans, she casually mentioned she had met someone at the restaurant where she worked. A guy who came in with some buddies for dinner. He had flirted shamelessly throughout the meal as she waited on them, and scribbled his number on the back of his credit card receipt after paying the bill. She was debating whether or not she should call him. Well, by their next conversation, she apparently had, because she told Hayley they had met on the previous Sunday afternoon. He had taken her to an East Village Film, Performance, and Art exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art, and then they had spent hours getting to know each other over espressos at a nearby coffeehouse. After that, Hayley was able to squeeze out a few more details, but unlike when she dated in high school, Gemma resisted the urge to gush freely about her new beau.
And Hayley found that incredibly frustrating.
“Dustin tells me he’s an actor,” Danny said.
And then there was that.
Hayley had nothing personal against actors. But she had read enough magazines and watched plenty of E! Entertainment Television to know dating an actor was the equivalent of walking through a minefield. Inflated egos, innate self-centeredness, unchecked vanity, any one of those could blow up at a moment’s notice. But Hayley hadn’t even met him yet, so she was working hard in her mind to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“I always thought I’d make a good actor,” Danny said.
Hayley pictured him saying that with a straight face. “You’re always acting, Danny. You just don’t get paid for it.”
