Free Christmas Carol Murder (A Lucy Stone Mystery) by Leslie Meier

other. “Trying not to,” he said. “It’s out of our control. There’s nothing we can do about it. It’s like that bomb that I delivered to Marlowe. It coulda gone off in my bag—lucky for me it didn’t. Maybe we’ll get lucky and keep our jobs. Maybe we won’t.”
    “Oh, don’t talk about it!” Phyllis exclaimed, with a shudder. “It makes me crazy just to think about that thing going off.”
    “Yeah,” Lucy agreed. “It’s scary to think anybody could wrap up an explosive and mail it.”
    “You said it. It looked like a Christmas present. Even had a Do Not Open Till Christmas label.” Wilf shoved out his lower lip. “He should’ve waited; he’d still be alive if he hadn’t been such a greedy bastard.”
    “This isn’t the first time there have been mail bombs,” Lucy said. “And there was that anthrax scare. People don’t realize that being a postal worker is so risky.”
    “It’s the first time we ever had a package bomb here in Tinker’s Cove and I sure hope it’s the last,” Wilf said, glancing at the regulator clock on the wall and heading for the door. “I gotta get going. I’m behind my schedule.” He tipped his hat to Phyllis and added a wink. “See you later, babe.”
    Lucy was laughing; she’d thrown her head back and sent her wheeled desk chair scooting backward. “He’s wild about you, Phyllis!” she hooted.
    Phyllis pursed her lips primly, but her cheeks had gone quite pink. “Our anniversary’s coming up.”
    “How long is it now?” Ted asked.
    “Four years.”
    “And you’re still like newlyweds,” Lucy said.
    “It’s true,” Phyllis said, as the fax machine went into action with a whirring sound. “I think it’s because we married late. I don’t think either one of us ever thought we’d find the right one.”
    “I guess you were smart to wait,” Lucy said, as Phyllis handed her the fax.
    “It’s from the funeral home. Marlowe’s memorial service is Friday afternoon.”
    “I don’t imagine there’s much of a body since he was already cremated in the fire,” Ted said, causing the two women to groan.
    “Who’s paying for it?” Lucy wondered. “I don’t think Marlowe had any family and I can’t imagine Scribner would spend a penny he didn’t absolutely have to.”
    “Unlikely,” Ted agreed.
    “There won’t be much of a spread,” Phyllis predicted. “Probably nothing but tea punch and lemon cookies. I don’t know if it’s worth going. There probably won’t be much of a turnout. Marlowe wasn’t very popular.”
    “Maybe not,” Lucy said, “but chances are whoever sent that bomb will be there, and I’m going to be there, too.”
    “I don’t think the bomber will be wearing a sign, Lucy, and your week is filling up,” Ted said, going through his e-mails. “The state fire marshal’s holding a press conference tomorrow morning, in Augusta. I’ve got that publishers’ conference, so you’ll have to cover it.”
    “What time?” Lucy asked, thinking she would need at least an hour to drive to the state’s capitol.
    “Ten.”
    “That’s not too bad, but it will take most of the morning. I don’t think I’ll have time for those feature stories.”
    “Next week, then,” Ted said, uncharacteristically accommodating.
    On Tuesday, Lucy was on the road by eight-thirty, which turned out to be a very good thing. She made good time on the drive to Augusta, but her GPS completely failed her when she got to the office park where the state fire marshal’s office was located. It was a maze of confusing roads and it took her some time before she located the public safety building, where the office was located. Once there, she encountered strict security and had to provide her credentials and allow her bag to be searched; only then was she allowed to pass through the metal detector.
    It all seemed to be a lot of fuss about nothing. When she got to the press room she found only a handful of reporters had bothered to show up. The room