Christmas Cookie Murder. Leslie Meier

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 it, and dropped it in the frying pan with a clunk.

      “What? No meatballs?” It was Bill, home from work.

      “Not tonight.” She tilted her cheek up for a kiss and smiled at the tickly feeling from his beard. “I’m kind of frantic, actually,” she explained, pushing the meat around with a spatula. “I had to work all day, and the cookie exchange is tonight.”

      “I thought Sue did that,” said Bill, hanging up his coat on the hook by the door.

      “I got drafted this year.”

      “Well, it’s a worthy cause—Christmas cookies!” Bill was settling down at the half-set kitchen table, with a cold beer in his hand.

      “Since you feel that way, do you mind finishing up this sauce?” Lucy glanced nervously at the clock on the wall above the stove. “I’d like to set out the party refreshments in the dining room.”

      “Sure thing.” Bill took the spatula from her, and Lucy scurried into the pantry, pulling out the ladder and climbing up to take the cake box off the top shelf. She carried it into the dining room and lifted off the top, expecting to see the festively decorated Dee-Liteful Wine Cake she had stored there.

      Instead, she saw that only three-quarters of the cake was left.

      Clenching her fists, she marched up the kitchen stairs and threw open the door to Toby’s room.

      “How could you?” she demanded, pulling off his earphones.

      Startled, Toby looked up.

      “How could I what?”

      “You know what! Eat my cake!”

      “What cake?” muttered Toby, grabbing for the earphones.

      “The one with sprigs of holly and red candied cherries that was on the top shelf of the pantry.” Lucy’s arms were akimbo, and she was drumming her fingers against her hips.

      “Oh, that one,” said Toby, biting his lower lip. Then his face brightened as he turned on the charm. “It’s pretty good, Mom.”

      “Flattery isn’t going to get you out of this, buddy,” said Lucy, implacably. “What were you thinking? I made a cake and decorated it for you to enjoy all by yourself?”

      He lowered his head. “I’m sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have done it. But I was so hungry. It’s all this pressure with the college applications and everything.”

      “Give me a break,” muttered Lucy, disgusted. “I’m gonna get you for this—I don’t know exactly how, but you’ll pay.”

      She thumped down the front stairs to the dining room and got a knife out of a drawer, cutting the cake into neat slices and arranging them on a plate. She opened a package of holiday napkins, unfolding one and laying it over the sliced cake and arranging the rest on the sideboard, along with her sterling-silver dessert forks and teaspoons, her best china plates and cups and saucers.

      Stepping back, she glanced around the room. It wasn’t as lavishly decorated as Sue’s house, but it was festive. A bowl of holly sat on the sideboard, little electric candles stood on the windowsills, and there was a crystal bowl filled with silver and gold Christmas balls in the middle of the now gleaming mahogany table. She took a deep breath and went from window to window flicking on the candles. She dimmed the overhead chandelier and went into the kitchen to see how dinner was coming.

      Bill was just setting a big pot filled with noodles and sauce on the table when Lucy pushed open the kitchen door and slipped into her seat next to Zoe. With impeccable timing, Toby thundered down the back stairs and thumped into his chair.

      “Hey, did you hear?” he began, in an effort to deflect her attention from himself. “Richie got into Harvard.”

      “He did?” Lucy stopped, serving spoon in midair. “How does he know already?”

      “Early decision,” said Toby, passing the salad bowl.

      “Bob and Rachel must be so pleased,” said Lucy, wishing that she felt a little more pleased with her own son.

      “I bet it costs a pretty penny to go there,” said Bill, taking a piece of Italian bread and passing the basket to Lucy.