Chapter One The holidays are murder, I tell you." I smiled through the steam rising off my tea and lowered the cup back to its saucer. "Can I take that to mean you won''t be out caroling this year?" I said to Dr. Seth Hazlitt across the table at Mara''s Luncheonette. "Have you ever heard me sing, Jess?" "As a matter of fact-" "Question answered then, ayuh. But there is the matter of the annual Christmas parade." "Please tell me I don''t have to play Mrs. Claus again.
" "If I have to play Santa, you have to play Mrs. Claus. That''s the deal." "When exactly did I agree to that?" "The first time you said yes." "That was five years ago." "Just one more year, Jess. I promise." "That''s what you said last year .
and the year before." "Did I?" Seth mused, fingering his chin. "Must''ve slipped my mind. No surprise, given that I''m a year older. That''s the best thing about aging: It gives you an excuse to ask people to do what you know they don''t want to. Tell you what-you find someone to replace me as Santa this year and you''re off the hook. At least, according to the forecast, we won''t be dealing with any snow. Seasonal temperatures and clear skies-that''s what the weatherman says, ayuh.
" "It''s weatherperson these days, Seth." "Is it, now? And who exactly made that rule? Is it written down anywhere? Because I''d love to see it. In my mind, there are weathermen and weather ladies and they''re both weather people." Just then Sheriff Mort Metzger ambled through the door and joined us at the table, taking his usual seat. "I miss anything?" "We were just exchanging Christmas wishes," Seth told him. "In that case, here''s mine," he said, tilting his gaze toward me. "A holiday season free of murder. How''s that sound, Mrs.
F.?" "Works for me, Mort." "Are you still going to visit your nephew Grady in New York?" "Now that I''m back home, we decided to move the festivities here." I''d long ago stopped counting the days since the fire that had nearly cost me my life forced me from my beloved Victorian at 698 Candlewood Lane. I''d been staying in a suite at Cabot Cove''s swanky Hill House hotel, weathering any number of setbacks encountered by the construction crew. The fire had spared the old home''s structure and I''d done my utmost to preserve as many of the original period detail as possible. With a healthy insurance payout aiding the restoration, my instructions had been to spare no expense. Three words I shall never speak again.
I had witnessed any number of fitful stops and starts, do-overs, and alterations to the original reconstruction plans. I had remained steadfast in my desire to preserve as much of the house as possible and create a precise replica of what I''d lost, instructions that had proven impossible to comply with for several random, and often conflicting, reasons. I was forced to compromise and then compromise some more, leading to all those dreaded delays and cost overruns. The end result was an exterior beautifully true to its original form, but a newly minted interior with fresh character it would take some time for me to get used to. The final and most recent setback, which had followed my being granted a provisional certificate of occupancy so I could move back in, was the need to replace the property''s septic system after the current one failed final inspection. "Why?" I''d asked the inspector, Carl Cragg, my fisherman friend Ethan''s cousin. "Because it''s old." "So am I.
Should I be replaced, too?" "Inspecting you isn''t in my job description, Mrs. Fletcher. And the system''s no longer up to code." "It was up to code before the fire," I told him. "Grandfathered," Carl Cragg explained. "The reconstruction of your home changed that status." For the first time, I found myself wishing our quaint town had a more modern sewer system. In any case, the crew had begun digging this morning, with an additional few days'' work in the offing.
Today being Monday, with any luck they''d be done before Christmas Day on Sunday. Across the table at Mara''s, Seth Hazlitt shook his head, grinning warmly. "Grady Fletcher . It''s been forever and a day since I''ve seen that boy." "That boy is in his mid-thirties now with an eight-year-old boy of his own." "About the age Grady was when he came to live with you, right, Mrs. F.?" Mort asked me.
"When you were still living in Appleton." I nodded. My late husband, Frank, and I had taken on the responsibility of raising Grady following a tragic accident that claimed the lives of his parents. Frank and I had stepped up, not hesitating to volunteer our efforts, which became the best decision we ever made. I often tell people that the happiest day of our lives was when we brought him home and the saddest was when he left for college. The proudest day of my life was when I played the role of parent at Grady and his beloved Donna''s wedding. And they''d even named their son Frank after my beloved husband. "The timing couldn''t be better," I noted.
"Celebrate my first Christmas back home with family." "Does that mean I''m not invited?" Seth asked lightly. "That depends." "On what?" "Are you bringing the pie?" Seth nodded. "So long as you promise not to tell it was baked right here by Mara." "Why?" Mort asked him. "As I recall, Doc, your own baking efforts didn''t exactly win any ribbons." "How do you know?" "Because I was one of the judges at the Founders Celebration the year you entered.
Enough said?" Seth frowned. "I suppose. Baking is women''s work anyway." Which drew a broad grin from Mort. "Did you hear that, Mrs. F.? We''ve got us a genuine dinosaur here. Wake up and smell the new century, Doc.
It sure beats the scent of your strawberry rhubarb, from what I recall." Mort cast me a wink, as Seth''s features crinkled in a fashion typical of our very own town curmudgeon, who happened to still serve as primary care physician for a large chunk of Cabot Cove. Seth seemed to enjoy nothing more than pointing out, when we were out for a walk, all the folks he''d delivered as babies. It left me wondering if there was anyone native to our town he hadn''t delivered. "Anyway," I said to Mort, "I''d like to invite you and Adele over for Christmas dinner, too." "That''s mighty kind of you, Mrs. F., but .
" "But what?" The sheriff of Cabot Cove seemed to be struggling for words. "It''s just that, well, Adele isn''t exactly the most sociable sort, you know." "I know that''s what you always say when I suggest inviting her to anything. Maybe I should give the woman a call, issue a personal invitation." Mort looked less than enamored of the prospect of that. "Just don''t let her bring any food, please. For your own good." "That bad?" Seth asked him.
"Bad doesn''t begin to describe it. Let me put it this way, Doc. Adele''s first job was in the kitchen of a Howard Johnson''s." "That chain pretty much went out of business years ago." "My point exactly." My phone rang, an incoming call from the all-too-familiar number of my contractor, Ben McMasters. "Don''t spoil my breakfast," I greeted him. "We''ve got a problem, Mrs.
Fletcher." "Oh no. What is it this time, Ben? Don''t tell me you found a sinkhole when you dug out the old septic system." "Actually, ma''am, we found a body." It had been a body. Judging by the condition of the bones, though, that had been a long time ago. "I feel like I''m dressed up for Halloween," Seth Hazlitt told Mort and me. Seth''s worn woolen suit and loafers were hardly conducive to an examination of those bones and an accompanying wooden chest, six feet down in a trench Ben McMasters''s crew had dug to lay the fresh piping that would be connected to my new septic system.
Ben had provided Seth a pair of coveralls, which he pulled over his clothes before donning the extra pair of work boots Ben always kept in his truck. "They don''t fit," Seth groused. "Too big or too small, Doc?" Ben asked him. Seth showcased the freedom his feet had to roam inside the worn lace-up boots. "What does it look like?" "Hey, too big is better than too small." "Not by too much." As Cabot Cove''s de facto coroner, Seth would perform a preliminary examination of the skeletal remains. We''d have to wait for a Maine State Police crime scene team to remove both the bones and the old wooden box the construction team''s efforts had revealed.
I watched Seth move awkwardly toward the ladder, appraising it the way one might a trip to a root canal specialist, as a pair of Cabot Cove deputies who''d arrived ahead.