Christmas Cookie Murder #6

by Meier, Leslie

  “Oh, Lucy,” wailed Sue. “It was awful.”

  “What was?”

  “Tucker’s parents came.”

  Lucy sat down on the bed, remembering how worried Sue had been on Friday afternoon. It seemed like eons ago.

  “That must have been sad. Were they real emotional?”

  “That was the worst part. They’re terribly polite, you know, and very stiff-upper-lip and all that. But you could tell they were all ripped up and torn inside. They should have been beating their breasts and sobbing, but instead they were telling me they didn’t want to intrude and would only take a minute but they did want to gather up Tucker’s belongings and by any chance, if it wasn’t too much trouble, could I tell them a little bit about her work at the center?”

  “What did you say?”

  “What I told you. That she really seemed to enjoy her work and that I don’t know what I’ll do without her.” Sue paused. “They wanted to know if she’d seemed troubled or anxious—they really seemed to want to know about that.”

  “Of course they would.”

  “I couldn’t bring myself to tell them anything about Steve—I just said I hadn’t noticed anything wrong. I should have noticed something, shouldn’t I?”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” said Lucy. “What could you have done? You didn’t even know about Steve until she told you on the way to the cookie exchange.”

  “If only she’d confided in me sooner. I could have advised her, warned her to be careful. I don’t know.”

  “Well, Steve is the last person you’d think to warn her about,” said Lucy, matter-of-factly.

  “You think it really was him?”

  “I’m not convinced, myself, but I think it’s just a matter of time until he gets arrested. What I can’t figure out is what’s taking the police so long.”

  Sue was silent for a minute. Finally, she spoke. “Well, at least then the Whitneys will know what happened to Tucker. They say that the trial brings a sense of closure to the victim’s family.”

  “I wish I believed that,” said Lucy, remembering Tucker’s bright presence at the cookie exchange. “I don’t think parents ever get over the death of a child. Oh, they go on living, but they’re never the same. It’s like they’re walking wounded.”

  “You’re right.” Sue’s voice was so sad that Lucy struggled for some way to console her.

  “You gave her something wonderful, you know. You gave her the job at the center and she discovered her vocation—that she wanted to work with kids. She loved working at the center, everybody says so. And she was perfect for it. She was bright and happy and full of energy.” Lucy paused, hearing the kids arriving home from school in the kitchen downstairs. “That’s how I’m going to remember her. Now, I’ve got to go. It sounds as if the Mongol hordes have found the refrigerator.”

  “I better let you go, then.” Sue sniffled. “Thanks for everything, Lucy. Talking to you really helped.”

  “Anytime. Now, for my next challenge: preventing World War III.”

  In the kitchen, Lucy found Eddie and Toby with their heads buried in the refrigerator. Elizabeth was perched on the counter, legs crossed, doing her best to catch Eddie’s eye. Sara was prying open a yogurt carton, not having bothered to remove her coat, and Zoe was precariously balanced on a kitchen chair trying to reach the cookies in the cabinet high above the stove.

  “Hi, Eddie,” began Lucy. “Elizabeth—off the counter. Zoe, don’t climb on chairs, it’s dangerous. Sara, hang up your coat. Toby, reach that bag of gingersnaps for me.”

  Lucy set out a plate of cookies and poured big glasses of milk for the boys. Elizabeth didn’t want any; she fled from calories like a vampire avoided the rays of the sun. Sara took the yogurt into the family room and Zoe renewed her efforts to scale the kitchen cabinets, this time looking for the chocolate syrup.

  Lucy pried her loose and joined the boys at the kitchen table, planting Zoe in her lap.

  “So, are you going to work on those college applications today?” she asked. She turned her gaze on Toby. “As I remember, you owe me one, and today’s a good day to make good.”

  Toby grimaced and popped a cookie in his mouth. Eddie shifted his bulky frame in the chair and leaned back, brushing his crew cut with his hand. Lucy was struck yet again by how much he resembled his father, Barney.

  “You don’t want to be a cop, like your dad?” Lucy realized she had spoken without intending to.

  Eddie’s face reddened; he looked uncomfortable. “Nah,” he finally said, reaching for another cookie.

  “He just likes to eat—that’s why he wants to go to cooking school.” Toby punched Eddie’s shoulder.

  Lucy shook her head. They might be bigger, she thought, but they behaved just like the little Cub Scouts who used to cluster around her kitchen table every week.

  “Did you bring the applications?”

  Eddie nodded and pulled a thick sheaf of papers from his backpack.

  “Well, it looks as if you guys have your work cut out for you. Why don’t you get started—just jot down some ideas for those essays. I’ll see how you’re doing in about half an hour, OK?”

  “Sure thing, Mom,” said Toby, pulling his own pile of papers toward him and opening the top folder.

  “Call me if you get stuck,” she said, heading downstairs to the washer and dryer.

  From time to time Lucy peeked in the kitchen and saw the boys bent over the table, apparently deeply immersed in the applications. When she noticed it was beginning to get dark, she decided to ask Eddie to stay for dinner. But when she went into the kitchen she found the boys had disappeared, leaving the papers behind. Leafing through the printed forms she saw that only the most basic questions had been answered; there was no sign of any progress on the questions that required essays.

  “January 1. These are due January 1,” she muttered to herself, looking out the window.

  There was no sign of the boys in the yard, so she checked the family room and went upstairs to peek in Toby’s room.

  “Have you seen Toby?” she asked Elizabeth, who was reclining on the couch in the family room and flipping through channels with the remote. “By the way, don’t you have any homework?”

  “Nope. Tomorrow is ‘Smart Kids, Smart Choices.’”

  “What’s that?”

  Elizabeth pulled a wad of folded paper from her pocket. “Don’t read the back, OK?”

  “Scout’s honor,” said Lucy, carefully prying the layers apart and studying the Xeroxed notice.

  “Smart Kids, Smart Choices,” she learned, was made possible by the Tinker’s Cove Police Department and the PTA. This traveling troupe of reformed alcoholics and drug abusers, none older than twenty-five, would present a “hard-hitting, graphic account” based on their own experiences. The rest of the morning would be spent in discussion groups and in the afternoon the entire school population would work together to create message murals that would be displayed in the halls.

  “This is taking all day?” asked Lucy. “What about French and chemistry and algebra and…”

  “Oh, Mom,” groaned Elizabeth in a world-weary voice. “If they actually taught us chemistry, we’d probably just cook up our own drugs. That’s what they think, anyway.”

  “Well, maybe if they taught you some solid reasoning skills, they wouldn’t have to indoctrinate you and you could figure out for yourselves that drinking and using drugs isn’t very smart.”

  “Interesting, Mom,” said Elizabeth. “Very interesting.” She studied her fingernails, which were painted light blue. “But hopelessly retro.”

  “That’s me. Hopelessly retro,” agreed Lucy, who had received a solid prep-school education and could still conjugate her Latin verbs, even if her inability to comprehend percentages had been the despair of the entire math department. She resolved to call the principal for a little chat, in which the school’s declining SAT scores would definitely be mentioned.

  Failing to find the boys in the house, Lucy c
oncluded that they must be outside. She stood in the kitchen doorway and yelled for them. Their heads popped out from behind the shed, only to disappear immediately.

  What are they up to? she wondered, pulling on her jacket. She marched across the yard, straight to the shed.

  “What are you guys doing? Are you smoking?” she asked, suspiciously.

  This last was met with gales of laughter. Laughter that didn’t stop, but rolled on, eventually forcing the boys to clutch their stomachs and sides. There was also a sweet, familiar scent in the air.

  “Pot!” exclaimed Lucy. “You’ve been smoking pot!” Suddenly Toby’s odd behavior made sense, including the disappearance of her Dee-Liteful Wine Cake.

  “Shhh, Mom. Not so loud.” Still shaking with laughter, Toby put a finger over his mouth to caution her.

  “I can’t believe it!” She shoved Toby in the direction of the house. “How stupid are you? Don’t you know you could get in big trouble?”

  Eddie and Toby glanced at each other and dissolved into giggles.

  “Where did you get it?”

  “It’s all over the school, Mom,” said Toby. “You can get whatever you want.”

  “You can? Like what?”

  “Uppers, downers, heroin, crack…”

  “Crack!”

  “Yeah, Mom. Crack.”

  “You’ve actually seen crack?”

  “Well, no,” admitted Toby. “But I’ve heard about it.”

  “And who’s the person who’s got all this stuff?”

  Now the boys weren’t giggling. Their glance was an agreement not to reveal any names.

  “Okay, okay,” said Lucy, backing off. She shook her head. “Boy, your dad is not going to like this.”

  “Mom—you’re not gonna tell Dad, are you?”

  “Of course I am. And Eddie’s dad, too.”

  “You can’t do that, Mom,” begged Toby. “Dad’s already pissed off at me.”

  “And my mom’s sick and all—this’ll kill her,” added Eddie.

  Lucy took a deep breath. “Okay,” she finally said. “I won’t tell anybody, but you have to promise not to do this again. Ever. OK?”

  The boys nodded.

  “Now, inside. I’m going to make some coffee.”

  It was all she could think of that might counteract the effect of the marijuana and return the boys to their normal state. Not that they seemed to be out of control. They were content to sit at the table, watching her scoop instant coffee into mugs with bemused expressions on their faces.

  “I can’t believe you’re this stupid,” she hissed at them. “Especially after what happened to Tim Rogers. He got himself into a mess of trouble, and you could, too, if you get caught with marijuana.”

  She poured hot water into the mugs, set them in front of the boys, then made one for herself.

  “And you’ve wasted the whole afternoon,” she couldn’t help adding, glancing at the unfinished applications. “Don’t you want to get this over with and get those darned things in the mail?”

  Toby shrugged and shoveled several spoonfuls of sugar into his mug. “I don’t know, Mom. I don’t know if it’s worth it.”

  “What do you mean?” Lucy was puzzled. “You have wonderful opportunities ahead of you.” She glanced at Eddie. “Both of you. You’re lucky you have families that will help you get the educations you want.”

  “Dad’s not so keen,” said Toby, stirring his coffee.

  “My dad isn’t either,” admitted Eddie.

  “That’s not exactly true,” said Lucy, with a flash of insight. “They just don’t want to admit that you’re growing up.”

  Toby sook a slurp of coffee. “Really good, Mom. Reeelly good. Taste it, Ed.”

  Eddie gulped down half a cup and smiled. “Yeah, man. Good.”

  Lucy sighed. “Well, I guess you’re not going to finish these today.” Lucy gathered up the papers.

  “What’s the point?” asked Toby. “Look what happened to Tim.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Eddie. “He trained all year long. Made All-State and MVP. And then they took away his scholarship. Over nothing.”

  “He lost his scholarship? Because he was arrested?”

  “Bastards took it back,” fumed Eddie.

  Lucy was seized with the desire to grab the two boys by the scruffs of their necks and knock their heads together. Instead, she counted to ten. Then she spoke.

  “You don’t get it, do you? Tim broke the law, that’s why he lost the scholarship. He got drunk and he drove the car and he got caught. It’s nobody’s fault but his own. Get that straight.”

  But looking at them, she knew they didn’t believe her. To them, Tim was just proof that the harder you tried, the more you had to lose. Therefore, you might as well not try in the first place.

  Finishing her coffee, she revised her earlier opinion of “Smart Kids, Smart Choices.” Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. It certainly couldn’t hurt, she thought, watching as the boys finished off the last of the gingersnaps.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “You’ll ruin your appetites.” Lucy couldn’t help saying it, even though she didn’t think it mattered much to the boys whether they had room for dinner or not.

  Dinner, she realized with a start. She’d forgotten all about it. She had to get the chili cooking, and then she had to do something about getting Eddie home. Normally, Toby would drive him home in her car, but she couldn’t let him do that while he was still feeling the effects of the pot. She would have to do it herself.

  “I’m really angry with you,” she told Toby. “Now I have to rush to get dinner made because I have to drive Eddie home. I can’t believe you boys are so inconsiderate, so irresponsible.”

  “Don’t mean to be, Mom,” said Toby, brushing away a tear. He was clearly coming down from his high, ready to wallow in depression.

  “Get out of here,” said Lucy, losing patience. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to go.”

  The boys thumped up the back stairs to Toby’s room, and soon Lucy heard the repetitive thumps of a rap CD. Scowling to herself, she pulled a pan out of the cupboard and began browning a couple of pounds of ground turkey. While it cooked, she chopped up some onions, then added them to the meat along with some chili powder. She dumped in a few cans of beans and tomatoes, gave the whole mess a stir and covered the pot, setting the heat on low. Then she went in the family room to assign one of the girls to watch the pot.

  Before she could ask Sara to keep an eye on the chili, Toby and Eddie thundered into the room.

  “You can’t stop us, we’re so tough we’ll drop ya…” they chanted together in rap style, hunching up their shoulders and leaning forward, stepping from side to side in unison.

  “Mom, Eddie and Toby are acting weird,” said Sara.

  “They’re just fooling around,” said Lucy.

  “Toby was crying—I heard him.” The expression on Sara’s round little face was serious. “And they ate all the cookies.”

  Lucy didn’t know what to say. She certainly didn’t want to give Sara the true explanation for the boys’ mood swings and extraordinary appetites.

  “They’re worried about getting into college,” she finally said, glancing at the dancing duo. “Stress can make you do strange things. Listen, Peanut. I have to get some milk, so I’m going to take Eddie home. Will you watch the chili for me? Give it a stir now and then and if it looks like it’s cooking too hard, just turn the stove off. OK?”

  “OK, Mom.”

  “C’mon boys—it’s time to go.” Lucy herded the two gangsta rappers out of the family room and into the kitchen, where she handed them their jackets.

  “Have you got all your stuff?” she asked Eddie.

  “Yeah. I think so,” said Eddie, taking his backpack from her.

  She was sure he didn’t have a clue. In fact, neither did Toby. The two were standing in the kitchen, waiting to be told what to do next.

  “Car.”

  They nodded and shuffle
d out the door. She followed, shaking her head. It must be true, she thought. Pot today must be stronger than it was when she was in college. She’d smoked it a few times herself back then, but she didn’t remember it having much of an effect.

  Getting the seat belts fastened seemed to be quite beyond both boys so Lucy helped strap them in. Just like when they were little, she thought. Only then they were cute; now they were really beginning to get on her nerves. She climbed in behind the wheel and started the car. Her favorite classical radio station came on and the boys groaned, so she switched to WRPP, their favorite, to pacify them.

  A song, or something like a song, was just ending, and the five o’clock news was next. After a string of commercials for cars, soft drinks, and a record store, they heard the familiar voice of deejay Fat Fred.

  “We start tonight’s news with a live report from Tinker’s Cove, where state police have arrested dentist Steve Cummings, charging him with the murder of Tucker Whitney last Wednesday. State police Lieutenant Horowitz made the announcement just moments ago.”

  Lucy’s right hand left the steering wheel and rested on her lips, she used her left hand to pilot the car down the driveway and on to Red Top Road. As much as she expected this turn of events, it still shocked her. She listened to the sound bite with Horowitz’s voice.

  “The swift conclusion of this investigation was possible largely due to the efforts of the Tinker’s Cove Police Department; in particular the crime-scene management of Lieutenant Tom Scott made possible the preservation of crucial evidence.”

  Then it was back to Fat Fred, who said Dr. Cummings would be arraigned in superior court the next morning.

  Wow, thought Lucy. She’d never known Horowitz to share credit for an arrest. Wasn’t Barney always complaining that while the local cops did much of the grunt work in criminal investigations the state police always acted as if they’d done everything?

  “Say, man, isn’t that your dentist?” Toby asked Eddie.