by Joanne Fluke
“But I love you anyway,” he said, silencing her with a kiss.
When they arrived at the little white Community Church with the tall steeple they found it was bursting at the seams but people cheerfully slid down the pews and squeezed together to make room for everyone. Lucy assumed the crowd was made of folks her mother called “Christmas and Easter Christians,” people who only came to church on holidays, a group which Lucy had to acknowledge she and Bill had joined. But a quick perusal of the bulletin revealed that the usual sermon would be replaced by the Sunday School’s annual pageant, a local tradition which brought entire families out in force. She nudged Bill, who was holding Toby in his lap, and pointed out the notation.
“It ought to be really cute,” she whispered.
“Hmph,” said Bill.
But even he was smiling when the children, dressed as shepherds, advanced down the aisle, some holding stuffed lambs and other animals, including a few neon colored Care Bears, and arranged themselves in a tableau vivant around the teenagers playing Mary and Joseph. Mary was keeping a nervous eye on baby Jesus, who was a real baby, and Joseph seemed ready to flee; Lucy wondered if they were presenting a more accurate version of the actual events than they knew. The arrival of the youngest children, dressed as angels in white robes and homemade wings, with tinsel haloes, was greeted with coos from the congregation, and everyone joined in singing “Away in a Manger.” Then came the Three Wise Men, a trio of high school girls with fake beards, robes, and turbans made out of upholstery material (Lucy recognized the pattern as one her mother had chosen years ago for a slip cover) accompanied by the singing of “We Three Kings,” which was followed by Lucy’s favorite, “Silent Night.” When it was over the entire congregation burst into applause. This was new to Lucy, and an indication that it had indeed been some time since she had been to church and things had changed while she’d been away.
When the service was over most people trooped down the aisle to the front of the church where there was a door leading to the parish hall where coffee was served. Bill started to go in the opposite direction, but Lucy stopped him.
“Let’s get a cup of coffee,” she pleaded. “Maybe we’ll meet some people.”
Bill was less than enthusiastic. “Aw, Lucy….”
She cut him off. “It won’t kill you to be sociable, you know,” she said, taking Toby by the hand and marching down the aisle. Bill followed, a glum expression on his face.
The parish room was crowded and there was a happy buzz as adults greeted each other and children, still dressed in their shepherd and angel costumes, dashed around and helped themselves to more cookies than was wise before lunch. Appetites would certainly be spoiled, thought Lucy, accepting a Styrofoam cup of rather weak looking coffee. She chose a plain sugar cookie for Toby and looked around for a familiar face. Bill, she noticed, was already deep in conversation with a man she recognized from the lumber yard. She was sipping her coffee and feeling rather hurt that he hadn’t thought to include her in the conversation when she saw the Miller twins approaching her.
“So nice to see you, Lucy,” said Emily.
“And Toby, too,” said Ellie. “Maybe he can be in the pageant next year. He’ll be old enough to be an angel.”
“He will have to be quite an actor to pull that off,” said Lucy, remembering the previous day’s tantrum.
The two ladies’ eyebrows shot up in surprise, then Ellie smiled. “It’s a joke, dear,” she told her sister. “Just look at that angelic little face.”
Lucy looked at Toby, trying to see him through another’s eyes. He was angelic looking, she realized, with his blond curls and pink cheeks. “Thank you,” she said. “It was a lovely pageant. I really enjoyed it.”
“They do it every year,” said Emily. “It’s always the same.”
“And it’s always wonderful,” said Ellie. “We were in it, years ago.”
“Ellie got to be Mary,” complained Emily. “It wasn’t fair.”
“Emily was supposed to be Joseph,” said Ellie. “She wasn’t happy about it.”
“No, I wasn’t. I got Hannah Sprout to take my place. Oh, my goodness, here she comes.”
Lucy watched as a tall, gray-haired woman in a bright red suit with a Christmas brooch pinned on the shoulder crossed the room. “Good morning, ladies,” she said, looking curiously at Lucy. “Wonderful pageant, wasn’t it?”
“We were just telling Lucy here, oh, this is Lucy Stone and her little boy Toby. They moved into the old farmhouse on Red Top Road.”
“Nice to meet you, Lucy. I’m Hannah Sprout.”
“We were telling Lucy about the time you had to play Joseph in the pageant because Emily wouldn’t wear that beard.”
“I don’t blame her one bit,” said Hannah. “That thing was scratchy. But, my word, that was a long time ago. We were just kids.”
“Actually, Lucy’s interested in the old days,” said Emily. “She was asking about your mother.”
Hannah turned to face Lucy. “Mother? What do you want to know about her?”
Toby was pulling on Lucy’s hand so she picked him up and balanced him on her hip. She was beginning to put one and one together. Hannah Sprout, she realized, must be Helen Sprout’s daughter.
“Was your mother a cook? Did she work for Judge Tilley?” asked Lucy.
“She sure did. But why do you want to know about that? That was ages ago. Before the World War.”
“I’m doing a bit of research. I’m trying to write a sort of Upstairs, Downstairs sort of thing.”
“For TV?” Hannah’s eyes were big.
“Possibly,” said Lucy, relieved to see Bill coming toward her. Toby was squirming in her arms and her back was beginning to hurt. She greeted him with a big smile, handing over Toby as she introduced him to the ladies.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked, perching Toby on his shoulders.
“Actually, I’d like to chat a bit more. Would you mind taking Toby outside to play?”
“Take him to the general store,” suggested Emily.
“They have penny candy,” said Ellie.
“You have to go to Country Cousins after church,” added Hannah. “It’s the Eleventh Commandment.”
Bill knew when he was beat. “Okay,” he said, nodding at Lucy. “I’ll meet you at the car in ten minutes.”
“Every mother deserves a break now and then,” said Hannah, nudging Lucy.
“A break, that’s right, a break,” chorused Ellie and Emily.
“So tell me about your mother,” said Lucy. “Did she ever talk to you about Judge Tilley and his wife?”
“All the time,” said Hannah. “It was so sad, you see. ‘That poor woman,’ she used to say. ‘How she suffers!’ She was talking about Mrs. Tilley, of course. She was very ill and nobody, really, was taking care of her. The judge was occupied with important matters and the two daughters, well, Mother always said she thought Mrs. Tilley kept her true condition from them, didn’t want them to worry or fuss. Not that it did her a lot of good, considering how that wicked Harriet ran off with that labor union fellow, eloped she did, and I don’t think she was ever heard of again. But it wasn’t until the judge finally hired that nurse that things began to improve. A blessing that was, at least that’s what Mother used to say.”
“Did your mother ever talk about Mrs. Tilley’s accident?”
“Did she? She talked about nothing else for the longest time. She was devastated, you see, because she wasn’t there. The cellar stairs were right off the kitchen, you see, and if she’d been there she could have stopped her from going down. She never would have let her attempt those stairs, not if she was there, but it was Christmas Eve and the judge told her to go home to her own family.”
“Was the judge usually that considerate of the staff?” asked Lucy.
“Now that you mention it, he certainly was not. He made sure he got every cent’s worth he could out of them, and more.” Hannah leaned closer. “Mother didn’t think much of him
,” she whispered. “Not that she actually came out and said it in so many words but I got the idea that the judge was having an affair with that secretary of his.”
Emily and Ellie nodded and chimed in, encouraged by Hannah’s frankness. “She was a fast one,” said Ellie.
“Put on airs,” sniffed Emily.
“I heard she went to the beauty salon every morning to get her hair combed,” said Lucy.
“She did worse than that,” crowed Hannah.
“She did?” Emily and Ellie were all ears.
“Now, remember, this was a long time ago, when people felt differently about what we call single mothers nowadays. They used to be called unwed mothers and that was most certainly not a term of approval.” Hannah nodded knowingly. “But a week or so before poor Mrs. Tilley finally got her blessed release and went to her heavenly reward, that secretary left town for six months or more to care for a sick relative.”
“Ooh,” said Emily, her mouth round with shock.
“I never,” added Ellie, with a sharp intake of breath.
“So you think she was pregnant, with Judge Tilley’s child?” asked Lucy.
Hannah winked. “Oh, I never said that.”
“Oh, no,” said Emily, shaking her head.
“No, not at all,” said Ellie, pursing her lips.
“I see,” said Lucy, understanding that in this case no meant yes. Then she remembered Bill, who was waiting for her outside, in the cold. “I’ve got to get going, but thanks for all the information. It’s been very interesting.”
“Oh, yes, interesting,” said Emily, nodding.
“Very interesting,” said Ellie, licking her lips.
Lucy took her time walking around the church to the lot where Bill had parked the car. She rarely had a moment to herself and she was determined to make the most of it. A couple of inches of snow had fallen overnight and the reflected sunlight made everything bright. It wasn’t too cold, though, and she was enjoying the fresh air and the quiet, as the snow muffled sounds.
She was thinking how strange it was that Judge Tilley’s affair with his secretary was still a delicate subject, almost as if it had happened yesterday instead of fifty or more years ago. And even stranger, that their love child had remained a secret to many people for all those years. She was especially curious about the fact that even though Katherine Kaiser’s child was born around the time of Mrs. Tilley’s death, the lovers had not gotten married. Why not? They could have waited for a decent interval, tied the knot, and then added the child to their family claiming it was adopted. But the fact that hadn’t happened seemed to indicate the need to continue keeping their relationship a secret. And that, Lucy thought, could have been because the judge didn’t want people talking and speculating about his wife’s death. It might have appeared a bit too convenient, and might have drawn attention to the judge and his mistress as possible murderers. And then there was the fact that he had dismissed Mrs. Sprout early on Christmas Eve. Did he want her out of the way?
Lost in thought, Lucy would have walked by the car if Bill hadn’t honked. Startled, she jumped, then climbed in beside him. Toby was sitting in his car seat, contentedly nibbling on a long pretzel stick. “Two cents at the general store,” said Bill, with an approving nod.
“Quite a bargain,” said Lucy.
Bill shifted into reverse and backed out of the parking space. “So what were you thinking about? Christmas? The baby? You were miles away, you know.”
“Both,” said Lucy, smiling at Bill and rubbing her tummy. She hardly wanted to admit she was thinking about a scandal and murder. “Weren’t those kids cute?” she asked.
Back home, Lucy decided to leave the pea soup in the fridge and splurged by making tuna-melt sandwiches for lunch. Toby could barely keep his eyes open to finish his and Lucy gratefully settled him down for what she hoped would be a long nap. Then, ignoring Bill’s suggestion that she strip the ugly old wallpaper in the hall, she picked up the phone and called Sue.
“Sorry I missed your call yesterday, I was napping,” said Lucy.
“Good for you. I was wondering if you’d like to grab some coffee tomorrow morning. At Jake’s, maybe?”
“Sure,” said Lucy. “Ten? Eleven?”
“Let’s make it ten-thirty,” said Sue. “The place quiets down around then.”
“Great,” said Lucy, who was already looking forward to their get-together. “Gee,” she added, in a burst of candor, “this is pathetic. I can’t tell you how excited I am about actually having some place to go and getting out of the house.”
“I hear you,” said Sue. “Sometimes I just pack my bag and head to my mother’s for a night, just to get some time to myself.”
Lucy felt a stab of jealousy. “Does she live nearby?”
“Boston. Close enough, but not too close, if you know what I mean. The drive’s long enough that I have time to decompress, get rid of that ‘I’d like to kill my husband’ feeling.”
Lucy was a bit shocked by Sue’s frankness. “Doesn’t your husband mind when you leave?”
“No. To tell the truth, I think he enjoys it. I mean, he probably wants to kill me sometimes, too, impossible as that seems.”
“Not that impossible,” said Lucy. “I think that if anybody was counting they’d discover that lots more wives are killed by their husbands than vice versa.”
“I know,” agreed Sue. “And I can never quite understand. Take that awful guy in Boston who shot his wife and killed her and then shot himself to make it seem like they were attacked by some entirely innocent black man—all that fuss when he could have just filed for divorce.”
“Divorce is no picnic, either,” said Lucy. “Imagine thinking you’re in a perfectly happy marriage and then one fine day, your husband looks at you over the morning paper and says ‘Honey, it’s been great, but I’ve found this hot little chick and I like her much better than you, she never nags me about taking out the trash like you do, so what do you say we get a divorce?’”
Sue laughed. “I see your point. If he shoots you, well, he’s a real bastard and all, but at least you can go to your death without feeling like a failure because he’s having an affair.”
“Yeah,” agreed Lucy, thinking of Judge Tilley’s insistence on maintaining appearances. “Like it was a perfect marriage right up to the moment he killed you.” From the distance, she heard Bill calling her. “Gotta go save my marriage by stripping the wallpaper in the front hall.”
“Honey, you’d do better to strip yourself.”
“Point taken,” said Lucy. “See you tomorrow.”
Chapter Seven
Lucy knew she couldn’t leave Toby with Bill when she met Sue for coffee so she didn’t even ask. She was as big a believer in women’s liberation as anyone, but it was unrealistic to expect anyone to keep an eye on an active preschooler while working with dangerous tools to perform tasks that required a great deal of concentration. Bill had explained this to her so many times that she’d come to believe it, though she did wonder why it didn’t apply to her. After all, she managed to keep an eye on Toby while she chopped up chicken with a cleaver, or used pins and needles to mend a tear, or boiled up a kettle of water to cook pasta. Those were every bit as dangerous as his work with saws, and hammers and nails.
She explained it all to Sue when she joined her at a table in the back corner of Jake’s Donut Shack. As Sue had predicted, the place was quiet, with only a scattering of retirees who had time to linger over their morning papers.
“Bill,” she told Sue, “has a male brain. He can only concentrate on one thing at a time, which makes it impossible for him to mind a child at the same time he’s cutting a board. I, on the other hand, have a female brain, which we know is larger and generally superior in that it can accommodate several thoughts at once.”
“Right,” said Sue. “Like how there’s a designer handbag sale at Filene’s Basement and a coat sale at Jordan Marsh.”
“Exactly,” said Lucy, smiling and nodding.
“I fundamentally agree with you,” said Sue, tearing open a pink packet of low-calorie sweetener and stirring it into her coffee, “but what I can’t quite figure out is how, if we’re so smart and all, we always seem to get stuck with the kids.”
“It’s because,” said Lucy, taking a sip of coffee, “we remember the fact that we actually have a child. Men’s brains can’t handle that information, which is why they tend to lose the children on the rare occasions that they take them anywhere.”
“I think you’re on to something,” said Sue. “My husband, Sid, completely forgot he was supposed to pick up Sidra from nursery school the other day.”
“Nursery school,” said Lucy, wistfully, watching as Toby ripped open a sugar packet and poured the contents all over the table. “I wish we could afford nursery school.”
“You know,” said Sue, setting down her cup, “you’re not alone. I bet there are a lot of people here in town who need child care but can’t afford it. Maybe we could get some sort of cooperative going or something.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start,” said Lucy, watching as Toby licked his finger and then dipped it into the sugar. For some reason the repeated licks and dips reminded her of a video she’d seen at the American Museum of Natural History. “If he used a spoon, he’d be as smart as a chimpanzee,” she said.
Sue looked at her oddly. “I’m going to talk to some people, see if we can’t get some start-up money from the Seaman’s Bank. Maybe the church. Maybe the town, even. There’s definitely a need here.”
Toby was squirming, trying to get out of the high chair. “I guess it’s time to go,” said Lucy, reluctantly. “We ought to do this again. It’s been great to have an adult conversation.”
Sue smiled. “Men don’t count, do they?”
“No,” said Lucy, grinning. “But they are good for killing spiders, opening jars, and heavy lifting.”
“I’ll call you,” promised Sue.
Toby seemed to have lots of energy so Lucy decided to take him for a little walk before putting him back in the car seat for the ride home. It was a typically gray December day, the temperature was around the freezing mark and the snow lingered on lawns and was piled alongside the cleared roads and sidewalks. She held Toby’s little mittened hand tightly as they walked along Main Street, careful not to step on any cracks, just like in the A.A. Milne poem. They played the name game as they walked along, naming the colors of cars, the kinds of stores and the items displayed in their windows, the shapes of the signs. But all the while, Lucy’s mind was busy mulling over the information she’d uncovered in her investigation. Everything she’d learned so far pointed to two suspects: Judge Tilley himself and Emil Boott. Mrs. Sprout, the cook, was out for the simple reason that Lucy liked her daughter, Hannah, and found her account of life in the Tilley household entirely believable. She was also inclined to cross the nurse, Angela DeRosa, off the list of suspects. Nobody seemed to have a bad word to say about her. And then there was Miss Peach, Katharine Kaiser. Nobody seemed to have a good word to say about her, but Lucy didn’t have a sense that anybody suspected her of murdering Mrs. Tilley. Lucy was inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt, especially since she’d been pregnant at the time. She found it hard to believe that a woman could be both a creator and a destroyer of life, especially at the same time. But maybe that was a fallacious assumption, she told herself, especially considering Miss Kaiser’s self-indulgent and independent lifestyle. But there was an even more compelling reason to cross her off the list: Miss Kaiser had been out of town, purportedly caring for a sick relative, when Mrs. Tilley died.
