Read Christmas Cookie Murder #6 for Free Online Page A

noodle cookies? Can you imagine making something as unhealthy as that in this day and age? What could she have been thinking? Those things are full of saturated fat and all sorts of preservatives. Talk about empty calories!”
    Lucy looked across the table toward the sideboard, where Franny was refilling the teapot, and saw her hurt expression.
    â€œOh, I don’t know,” said Lucy, catching Franny’s eye. “I can’t resist them myself—and it’s only once a year.”
    That’s right, she told herself. Christmas only comes once a year, thank goodness. And with any luck, she’d never have to have this blasted cookie exchange again. How could she have forgotten? It was the same thing every year. Somebody always went home with hurt feelings. Of course, this year looked to be something of a record in the hurt-feelings department. It was all Sue’s fault, she decided. If she’d gotten to the party on time, she could have helped keep the combatants apart. As it was, if she didn’t arrive soon, thought Lucy, blood would probably be shed.
    In the kitchen, Lucy tossed the pamphlets into the bin under the kitchen sink. The last thing she wanted was for Andrea to see them; remembering her swollen eyes when she arrived, Lucy was sure she was enormously upset about Tim’s arrest. All that bragging about the MCU scholarship was her way of putting on a brave front.
    Of course, nobody was more competitive than Andrea when it came to kids. As much as Lucy sympathized with her, and dreaded finding herself in the same situation, she couldn’t help feeling just the teeniest bit that Andrea was getting her just desserts.
    Lucy was far too superstitious ever to brag about her children; the most she would do was modestly accept a compliment on their behalf. That wasn’t Andrea’s way. Ever since Tim caught his first Wiffle ball, gently lobbed by his father, she had hailed him as a superb athlete. Her friends had listened patiently through the years as she had provided a play-by-play narration of his achievements. In his mother’s eyes, Tim could do no wrong. He was perfect. He was, thought Lucy, too good to be true.
    Returning to the dining room, Lucy poured herself a cup of coffee and propped a slice of cake on the saucer. Then she followed the group into the living room, where they had settled to enjoy their refreshments. Lee was making the most of this opportunity to reap her friends’ sympathy by making sure they all knew the details of Steve’s latest transgressions.
    â€œHe told his lawyer that there’s no reason for me to get the stove because I never lifted a hand to cook a home-cooked meal in the entire seven years we’ve been married—can you believe it?”
    Receiving clucks and murmurs of sympathy from the group, she continued. “I mean, we entertained at least once a week and I thought nothing of whipping up beef Stroganoff or coq au vin for his dental-society colleagues and their incredibly boring wives, not to mention chicken wings and homemade pizza—with sundried tomatoes, I might add—for his annual Super Bowl bash. This stuff didn’t all just appear, you know. I spent hours cutting and chopping and stirring and sweating over a hot stove—the very stove he says I never touched. Can you believe it?”
    â€œIt’s funny. If people don’t do something themselves, they don’t understand how much work it is,” said Pam. “Ted doesn’t have a clue about housework. I’m sure he thinks the rugs vacuum themselves while I lie on the couch all day watching soap operas.”
    The women chuckled and nodded in agreement.
    â€œDon’t even mention rugs,” moaned Lee. “You know my beautiful Kirman, the one my parents gave us for a wedding present?”
    â€œHe wants that?” asked Lydia.
    Lee nodded, and the women sighed and shook their heads in dismay.
    â€œThat’s