Christmas Cookie Murder #6

by Meier, Leslie

  Rachel’s hand flew to her mouth as she rose to her feet. “Don’t tell anybody, okay? I’m not supposed to know about this—client confidentiality and all that.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me,” said Lucy, now standing and scanning the table for the brochures. She finally found them under Franny’s Chinese noodle cookies. Making sure no one was watching, she lifted the plate and scooped up the brochures, wadding them into a ball along with the sodden napkins. Then she turned, intending to throw the whole mess into the kitchen garbage.

  “Oh my goodness, Lucy,” said Lee, suddenly appearing at her elbow. “Who brought those awful Chinese noodle cookies? Can you imagine making something as unhealthy as that in this day and age? What could she have been thinking? Those things are full of saturated fat and all sorts of preservatives. Talk about empty calories!”

  Lucy looked across the table toward the sideboard, where Franny was refilling the teapot, and saw her hurt expression.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Lucy, catching Franny’s eye. “I can’t resist them myself—and it’s only once a year.”

  That’s right, she told herself. Christmas only comes once a year, thank goodness. And with any luck, she’d never have to have this blasted cookie exchange again. How could she have forgotten? It was the same thing every year. Somebody always went home with hurt feelings. Of course, this year looked to be something of a record in the hurt-feelings department. It was all Sue’s fault, she decided. If she’d gotten to the party on time, she could have helped keep the combatants apart. As it was, if she didn’t arrive soon, thought Lucy, blood would probably be shed.

  In the kitchen, Lucy tossed the pamphlets into the bin under the kitchen sink. The last thing she wanted was for Andrea to see them; remembering her swollen eyes when she arrived, Lucy was sure she was enormously upset about Tim’s arrest. All that bragging about the MCU scholarship was her way of putting on a brave front.

  Of course, nobody was more competitive than Andrea when it came to kids. As much as Lucy sympathized with her, and dreaded finding herself in the same situation, she couldn’t help feeling just the teeniest bit that Andrea was getting her just desserts.

  Lucy was far too superstitious ever to brag about her children; the most she would do was modestly accept a compliment on their behalf. That wasn’t Andrea’s way. Ever since Tim caught his first Wiffle ball, gently lobbed by his father, she had hailed him as a superb athlete. Her friends had listened patiently through the years as she had provided a play-by-play narration of his achievements. In his mother’s eyes, Tim could do no wrong. He was perfect. He was, thought Lucy, too good to be true.

  Returning to the dining room, Lucy poured herself a cup of coffee and propped a slice of cake on the saucer. Then she followed the group into the living room, where they had settled to enjoy their refreshments. Lee was making the most of this opportunity to reap her friends’ sympathy by making sure they all knew the details of Steve’s latest transgressions.

  “He told his lawyer that there’s no reason for me to get the stove because I never lifted a hand to cook a home-cooked meal in the entire seven years we’ve been married—can you believe it?”

  Receiving clucks and murmurs of sympathy from the group, she continued. “I mean, we entertained at least once a week and I thought nothing of whipping up beef Stroganoff or coq au vin for his dental-society colleagues and their incredibly boring wives, not to mention chicken wings and homemade pizza—with sundried tomatoes, I might add—for his annual Super Bowl bash. This stuff didn’t all just appear, you know. I spent hours cutting and chopping and stirring and sweating over a hot stove—the very stove he says I never touched. Can you believe it?”

  “It’s funny. If people don’t do something themselves, they don’t understand how much work it is,” said Pam. “Ted doesn’t have a clue about housework. I’m sure he thinks the rugs vacuum themselves while I lie on the couch all day watching soap operas.”

  The women chuckled and nodded in agreement.

  “Don’t even mention rugs,” moaned Lee. “You know my beautiful Kirman, the one my parents gave us for a wedding present?”

  “He wants that?” asked Lydia.

  Lee nodded, and the women sighed and shook their heads in dismay.

  “That’s terrible,” said Juanita.

  “I’d tell him exactly what he could do with it,” said Pam.

  “Well, he’s not going to get it,” said Lee. “I’m going to make sure of that. That’s why I went with the Boston lawyer. He says he always goes right for the jugular!”

  “And I bet he charges Boston prices, too,” said Rachel, who was standing next to Lucy.

  “Like the hair-dye commercial says, ‘I’m worth it,’” said Lee, defending her choice. “Besides, I have my girls’ futures to think of, too.”

  This was received with another murmur of approval, and Lee paused to take a bite of cake.

  Rachel turned to Lucy. “She’s making a big mistake,” she whispered. “A local lawyer like Bob would try to get them to reconcile, or at least work out an amicable agreement. That would be a lot better for the kids, believe me.”

  Lucy nodded in agreement. She tended to think people were often too quick to opt for divorce and didn’t consider the consequences, especially for the children. “I don’t know—even if she gets everything she wants, she isn’t going to be able to keep the same lifestyle. Whatever he makes, now it’s got to support two households instead of one.”

  “That’s right,” said Rachel. “Except for a handful of very wealthy people, divorce is a one-way road to poverty.”

  “Yoo-hoo,” halloed Sue, sailing through the front door. “Sorry I’m late…”

  “It’s about time you got here,” complained Lucy, who had been wondering if Sue had abandoned her.

  “Nice shirt—and so subtle, too,” joked Sue, blinking at Lucy’s bright Santa sweatshirt. “I would have been here hours ago except my battery died. So, how’s it going?”

  “Touch and go,” said Lucy, with a little shrug. “No fatalities—yet.”

  “I’d say you’re doing great,” said Sue. Then, raising her voice, she announced, “Now, listen everybody. I know you can’t wait to start grabbing cookies but I want you to meet someone. This is Tucker Whitney, my new assistant at the center.”

  Tucker, Lucy saw, could be trouble. She was a strikingly attractive twentysomething. Tall and slender, she had long, naturally blond hair.

  “Hi, Tucker,” chorused the group, without much enthusiasm. Realizing she was no longer the center of attention, Lee decided to pour herself a second cup of coffee.

  “Hi, everybody,” said Tucker, smiling broadly. Although she was the youngest person there and didn’t know most of the others, she was one of those rare people who are comfortable wherever they go.

  She turned to Lucy and indicated the stack of platters and tins in her arms. “What should I do with these? I hope I made enough. Sue didn’t tell me how many to bring so I have these twelve dozen but if you need more, I’ve got another six dozen in the car.”

  “Oh, my goodness. You didn’t need to do all that,” said Lucy. “You only needed to bring six dozen.”

  “Oh, well, you can keep the extras,” said Tucker. “Sue told me you’ve got four kids.” She looked around at the house, obviously impressed. “You’re so lucky. Someday I want to have a big family and a house just like this.”

  Lucy started to protest politely, but changed her mind. “You’re right. I am lucky. Thanks for reminding me. Sometimes I take too much for granted.”

  “Don’t we all,” said Tucker. “Now, I hope everyone likes these cookies. It’s a new recipe I got from a magazine, and it sounded too good to be true. They’re supposed to be low in fat and sugar…”

  “That can’t be!” exclaimed Lee, glaring at Tucker from the other side of the table.

  “Well, that’s what it said,” insisted Tucker.

  “They’re the same as my cookies!” Lee pointed an acc
using finger at Tucker. “You stole my recipe!”

  Tucker didn’t reply, she just shrugged her shoulder apologetically.

  Lucy felt a little bit like a firefighter, rushing to put out yet another flare of temper.

  “It just goes to show that good recipes get around,” she said. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Toby heading upstairs, looking like a young man with a mission, but before she could remind him to use the downstairs bathroom she was distracted by Tucker’s request to borrow something to put her cookies in.

  “I didn’t think to bring an extra container,” she confessed.

  “Not a problem,” said Lucy, pulling a bread basket out of the sideboard and giving it to her. “Don’t mind Lee,” she added. “She’s involved in a messy divorce.”

  “I know. Her little girl, Hillary, comes to the day-care center. She talks about it a lot. She’s pretty upset about Daddy leaving home.”

  “That’s too bad,” responded Lucy automatically, her attention drawn to the living room.

  There, as if in slow motion, she saw Franny approaching Andrea, holding out something. Oh my God, she thought, realizing that Franny, dear, well-meaning Franny, had saved one of the MADD pamphlets and was intending to give it to Andrea. No doubt expecting her to be grateful for this show of concern.

  Lucy immediately started across the room, hoping to intercept Franny before the exchange could take place. In her haste, her foot slipped out of her loafer and she began to fall. She caught herself by grabbing the doorjamb and quickly shoved her foot back into the shoe.

  “What is this? A joke?” exclaimed Andrea, glaring at Franny.

  Lucy hurried to explain. “Steffie brought these pamphlets. Her husband is…”

  “I know exactly who her husband is,” hissed Andrea.

  “Well, if I’d known about Tim, I never would have let her put the pamphlets out. And as soon as I heard, I threw them away. I’m sure Franny was only trying to be helpful.”

  “That’s right,” sniffed Franny.

  To Lucy’s dismay, Steffie joined their little group and placed her hand on Andrea’s arm.

  “It’s very normal to feel angry about Tim’s arrest, but it’s for his own good,” she said. “My husband has seen too many terrible accidents where kids, kids like Tim, have been killed. Isn’t it better for him to learn that drinking and driving is unacceptable? I mean,” she continued with the bright certainty of the mother of a blameless three-year-old, “I would much rather spend a morning in court with Will than a night in the emergency room.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be so confident, if I were you,” said Andrea, pulling her arm free of Steffie’s grasp. Her voice rang out shrilly, and the other women dropped their conversations and turned toward her.

  “I know what you’re thinking, all of you,” continued Andrea, her eyes flashing with anger. “You’re all positive that something like this will never happen to you because you’re good mothers. It’s only bad mothers whose kids get in trouble. And you’ve done everything right. You’ve cooked dinner every night. OK, so once in a while you order pizza, but that’s as bad as it gets. Right?”

  Pam and Juanita chuckled nervously.

  “You don’t let the kids watch too much TV—it’s not good for them. And you don’t let them eat too many sweets because you want them to have strong teeth. You go to church every Sunday, and you make sure the kids go to Sunday School.”

  Franny dabbed at her eyes, which were filling with tears.

  “Most of all, you’ve been good examples. You don’t drink and drive, and your kids would never dream of doing it. Oh, no. You’ve spoken with them and told them that if they need a ride home, they should call you. No matter what the time. You’ll get them, no questions asked. Right?”

  A few heads around the room nodded, including Lucy’s. She and Bill had had that very talk with Toby just a few weeks ago.

  “Well, you know what?” demanded Andrea, who was shaking with rage and shame. “I am a good mother. I’ve done all those things. And my son was arrested. The lawyer tells me he’ll have a criminal record for the rest of his life. So don’t be so sure it can’t happen to you.”

  Stunned, the women were silent, staring at Andrea, who was wiping tears from her face. Nobody seemed to know what to say. Realizing she had a social disaster on her hands, Lucy hurried to Andrea, proffering a napkin printed with holly. She gave her a little hug and turned to face the group.

  “Come on, everybody. It’s time to swap those cookies. Remember, you can only take a half dozen of each kind. Okay?”

  The women picked up the empty baskets and cookie tins they had brought and formed a loose line that wrapped around the table. Only Andrea remained in the living room, being consoled by Tucker.

  “Have you ever seen anything like this?” cooed Juanita. “The cookies this year are better than ever.”

  “They’re absolutely wonderful,” agreed Pam.

  “I don’t know how I’m going to keep them hidden until Christmas Eve,” confessed Lucy. From upstairs, she thought she heard the sound of the toilet flushing. Then she remembered Toby, hurrying upstairs with an especially purposeful expression. She held her breath, willing the aged pipes to cooperate, just this once.

  “We have ours on Christmas Day with hot cocoa,” said Pam, counting six Chinese noodle cookies into a sandwich bag.

  “I take mine to my folks’ house,” said Lee. “We always have Christmas with them.”

  Lucy reached across the table to take some of Tucker’s cookies when she felt a drop of water on her hand. She looked up and, horrified, saw the dining-room ceiling beginning to sag, the plaster bulging with water.

  “I felt a drop,” said Lee. “Lucy, I think you have a leak…”

  Lucy was standing openmouthed, transfixed by the sight of the bulging plaster bubble growing even larger.

  “Quick! Pick up the table!” ordered Sue, taking in the situation. “We can carry it…”

  The women hurried to obey, struggling to lift the solid mahogany table Bill and Lucy had bought at an estate sale. But as Lucy watched, the drops of water began coming faster and faster, rapidly forming a trickle that in only a few moments more became a stream. Finally, just as the women were beginning to shift the heavy table, the plaster let go. It fell on the cookie-covered table with a thump, followed by a deluge of water that poured onto the table and then cascaded onto the floor, splashing everyone.

  “Wow,” said Sue, wrapping an arm around Lucy’s shoulder and giving her a squeeze. “You sure know how to give one heck of a party.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  15 days ’til Christmas

  Wednesday morning, it took every bit of Lucy’s willpower to drag herself out of bed. All she wanted to do was to pull the covers over her head and forget everything—especially the cookie exchange.

  Once the flooding started, time had seemed to switch to slow motion. She remembered the horrified faces, and the polite assurances that “it didn’t matter one bit, we had a wonderful time, anyway” as the women departed, leaving her to face the sodden mess. Franny had offered to help clean up, but Lucy had sent her on her way, preferring to handle it herself.

  Bill had helped, holding a big trash bag open for her so she could dump the ruined cookies into it. It almost made her cry, thinking of all the work the soggy cookies represented, all those expensive ingredients gone to waste.

  She groaned, turning over and burying her face in her pillow.

  “You’ve got to get up,” said Bill, nibbling on her ear.

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Tough,” said Bill, whacking her bottom with a pillow.

  Lucy didn’t get up, she burrowed deeper under the covers, but she knew she was just postponing the inevitable. Bill was right. She had to get up. She had to get the lunches made and the kids off to school, then, she had to go straight to The Pennysaver and write up the selectmen’s meeting in time for the noon deadline. Ted was counting on her. She rolled over and got out of b
ed.

  “Thanks, Lucy, you did a real nice job with this,” said Ted, after he had given the story a quick edit. He scratched his chin and smiled slyly. “I guess the real story was your cookie exchange. Pam said you had quite a flood.”

  “Don’t remind me,” said Lucy, buttoning up her coat. “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.”

  “These things happen to everyone,” said Ted. “Don’t forget the kindergarten Christmas party on Monday, okay?”

  “I’ll have it for you Tuesday,” promised Lucy.

  She took his nod as a dismissal and left the office, scowling at the cheery jangle of the bell on the door. Crossing Main Street to her parked car, she consulted her mental list of things to do. She could pick up a few presents, she could tackle the Christmas cards, she could get started on Zoe’s angel costume for the Christmas pageant…the list went on and on.

  Nope, she decided, shifting the list to a mental “do later” file. Right now, she needed some tea and sympathy. She climbed in the car and started the engine, driving down the street to the rec building.

  Sue’s reaction, when she looked up from the sand table where she was helping two little boys build a racetrack for their Matchbox cars, was not what Lucy had hoped for.

  “That was some party last night,” said Sue, giggling. “If you could have seen the look on your face when the water started dripping—I never saw anything so funny in my life.”

  “Well, I’m glad somebody had a good time.” Lucy plopped herself down in a child-sized chair. She glanced around the room, where another boy was busy building a tower of blocks and a group of little girls were playing in the dress-up area, and asked, “Where’s your helper?”

  Sue shrugged her shoulders. “No phone call, no nothing. It’s a heck of an inconvenience. I had to call the moms of the three infants and have them make other arrangements. You know, I really thought Tucker was different. Mature. Responsible.” She shook her head. “Sooner or later, they all revert to form. She’s only a kid, after all. I don’t know what I was thinking.”