Christmas Cookie Murder. Leslie Meier

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СКАЧАТЬ up an interview with Santa, instead of eating lunch she’d dashed out to the Coast Guard station to photograph the guardsmen hanging a huge wreath on the lighthouse and then had gone to the weekly meeting of the Tinker’s Cove board of selectmen. The selectmen had been unusually argumentative, which made for good copy, but she wouldn’t have a chance to write it up until tomorrow morning, just before the Wednesday noon deadline.

      Congratulating herself on her foresight for baking the Dee-Liteful Wine Cake ahead of time, she shrugged off her coat and dropped her notebook on the pile of papers covering the round, golden oak kitchen table. It consisted mostly of financial-aid applications for her oldest child, Toby. He was a high school senior and was applying to several high-priced liberal arts colleges.

      He wouldn’t be able to go unless he got financial aid, and she had to fill out the complicated forms before January 1, the date recommended by the school guidance office. The thought of the forms was enough to make her feel overwhelmed—how was she supposed to know what their household income would be next year? Bill was a self-employed restoration carpenter, and his earnings varied drastically from year to year. So did hers, for that matter. Ted, the publisher of The Pennysaver, only called her when he needed her. She usually worked quite a lot in December, and in the summer months, but things were pretty quiet in coastal Maine in January and February.

      First things first, thought Lucy, scooping all the papers into a shopping bag and stuffing it in the pantry. She had to come up with something for dinner, and the sink and counter were covered with dirty dishes.

      She opened the door to the family room, and spotted her sixteen-year-old daughter, Elizabeth, stretched out on the couch with her ear to the telephone.

      “Elizabeth!” she yelled. “Say good-bye and get in here.”

      Then she pulled a big stockpot out of the cupboard and filled it with water. She was setting it on the stove when Elizabeth floated in.

      “I wish you wouldn’t yell when I’m talking to my friends,” she complained. “It sounds so low-class.”

      Lucy gave her a sideways glance. This was something new, she thought. In the past, Elizabeth had concentrated on outraging her parents, insisting on cutting her dark hair into short spikes and threatening to get her nose pierced. Now, Lucy noticed, the black oversize sweater and Doc Martens were gone, replaced by a shiny spandex top with a racing stripe down the side and a pair of sneakers with blue stripes. Her hair was combed into a smooth bob.

      “What’s with the new look?” asked Lucy.

      “Styles change,” said Elizabeth, with a shrug. “So what did you want me for?”

      “Would you please do something with those dirty dishes? That’s supposed to be your responsibility. It’s not fair for me to work all day and come home to a messy kitchen.”

      “It’s not my fault,” said Elizabeth, demurely folding her hands in front of her. “Toby didn’t clean out the dishwasher. It’s full, so I had no place to put the dirty dishes.”

      “Elizabeth, I don’t have time for this.” Lucy bent down and pulled a can of dusting spray and a rag out from under the sink. “The cookie exchange is tonight; I have a dozen friends coming at seven. So do whatever you have to do, but get this mess cleaned up.”

      “Okay,” said Elizabeth, in a resigned voice. “But it’s not fair.”

      Lucy sighed and charged into the dining room, intending to give the table a quick wipe with the dustcloth. Unfortunately, it was covered with Toby’s college applications.

      “Toby!” she hollered, aiming her voice in the direction of the hall staircase. “Get down here!”

      “He can’t hear you. He’s got his earphones on,” advised eleven-year-old Sara, who was doing homework in the adjacent living room. “What’s for dinner?”

      “Spaghetti,” said Lucy, gathering up the applications and stuffing them in the sideboard. “Be a sweetie and make the salad?”

      “Do I have to?” groaned Sara. “I don’t feel very good. I think I might be getting my period.”

      “Really?” asked Lucy, with a surge of interest. “Do you have cramps?”

      “No,” admitted Sara, who was anxiously awaiting the day when she would join her friends who had already begun menstruating. “I just feel bloated.”

      “Well, that’s probably the stuff you’ve been eating all afternoon. There’s enough dirty dishes in the kitchen to have fed an army. Now scoot and get started on that salad. I’ve got company coming tonight.”

      “All I had was yogurt,” sniffed Sara, pushing open the door to the kitchen.

      “And cereal, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and about a gallon of milk,” added Elizabeth, whose head was stuck in the dishwasher. “You’re going to get fat if you don’t watch it.”

      “Well, that’s better than…” began Sara, but the door shut before Lucy could hear the end of the sentence.

      Finishing up in the dining room, Lucy flicked her dust cloth around the living room, plumped the couch cushions, and headed for the family room. There she found her youngest child, Zoe, deeply absorbed in a coloring book.

      “What’cha doing?” asked Lucy, giving her a little pat on the head.

      “Homework.”

      “I didn’t know they had homework in kindergarten, even all-day kindergarten.”

      Lucy sent up a quick prayer of thanks for the all-day kindergarten program, which had just begun that year. It made it possible for her to work because Zoe now came home on the school bus with her older brother and sisters.

      “Let me see that,” said Lucy, taking the book. She was amused to see that Zoe had neatly written her name in the upper left-hand corner of the picture, just as she had been taught in school. “Very nice letters.”

      “The z is hard,” said Zoe, very seriously.

      “You got it perfect,” said Lucy. “Now, would you do me a big favor and set the table for supper?”

      “Sure, Mommy.”

      Lucy sighed. If only they would stay this sweet and agreeable throughout adolescence.

      “Thank you, honey,” she said, watching fondly as Zoe trotted into the kitchen.

      She quickly straightened up the untidy newspapers and magazines, and scooped up a few stray glasses and dishes and carried them into the kitchen.

      “How’s the salad coming?”

      “All done.”

      “Great. You can help Zoe set the table, okay? Elizabeth, here’s some more stuff for the dishwasher and…” Lucy stopped in the middle of the room and slapped her hand to her head. “What am I doing?”

      “Dinner,” reminded Elizabeth.

      “Right. Dinner. Did I defrost the hamburger?” She peered in the refrigerator. “No. Of course not.” She pulled a package out of the freezer, unwrapped СКАЧАТЬ