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

Nevertheless, it seemed a shame to be stuck inside on such a fine day. She’d rather be out in the woods behind her house with Libby, cutting greens to decorate the house and searching for the perfect balsam Christmas tree.
    The kettle whistled and Lucy filled the mugs; she was just giving Phyllis her cocoa when the police scanner went off. Lucy didn’t recognize the code but she knew the address.
    Once again it was Downeast Mortgage.
    Abandoning her tea, she grabbed her jacket and headed out the door. The fire trucks were already racing down Main Street, and she followed on foot, figuring the car would only be an encumbrance.
    She was out of breath when she joined the small crowd of bystanders that Barney Culpepper was urging to step back. The reason was clear: a gaily wrapped package with a Do Not Open Till Christmas label was lying on the sidewalk in front of the Downeast Mortgage office. She stared at it, eyes wide with terror, aware of the terrible damage it could inflict if it was what it seemed to be: a second bomb.
    “We don’t want a tragedy,” he was saying, as a couple of firemen began unrolling a bright yellow Do Not Cross tape, creating a spacious perimeter around the package and moving the bystanders some distance down the street. “You don’t want to be anywhere near that thing if it goes off.”
    “How long before the bomb squad gets here?” Lucy asked. The details she’d learned that morning about the bomb that blew up Marlowe’s house were all too fresh in her mind and she eyed the package warily.
    “Any time now. Lucky for us they were at a training session in Knoxport.”
    Lucy studied the package, a rectangular shape wrapped in red and green Christmas paper. “How’d it get here? It doesn’t look like it was mailed.”
    “It wasn’t,” Barney said. “Elsie found it hanging from the knob in a plastic grocery bag—you know how people do, when the door is locked.”
    Lucy knew. She’d often done the same thing, leaving a requested book or returning a potluck dish, when nobody answered the door. “Do you really think it’s a bomb?” she asked. “The bomb that killed Marlowe was sent in the mail.”
    “We’re not taking any chances,” Barney said, as the bomb team’s special van arrived with a containment trailer in tow. The team, which consisted of four extremely fit-looking young men in blue uniforms and one German shepherd dog, assembled outside the vehicle. Soon one member was dressed in bulky protective padding, and the dog was also togged out in a flak jacket. Lucy snapped photos as the dog and its handler cautiously approached the suspect package.
    It was a tense moment and everyone who was watching seemed to be holding their breath. When the dog froze, keeping his eyes fixed on the package, there was a general inhalation followed by a burst of panicked chatter. “It’s the real thing,” said one woman. “Oh my God,” said another, white-faced with tension.
    Then the dog and its handler withdrew to the van while another bomb squad member conferred with fire chief Buzz Bresnahan. Moments later the crew opened one of the van’s doors and pulled out a metal ramp, allowing a remote-controlled robot to descend. All eyes were on the robot, watching as it approached the package.
    Lucy worked her way through the crowd until she was beside Buzz. “That’s quite a gadget,” she said.
    “They call it Andros,” he said. “They got it with Homeland Security money. It’s got an extendable arm and four video cameras.”
    Lucy studied the mechanical marvel, which ran on four wheels, had one arm, and a video camera for a head. “It looks like something a kid could make out of Legos,” she said.
    “No way. This is highly sophisticated machinery. It was just luck that the squad was so close today,” Buzz said. “Otherwise we’d have had to wait for them to make the trip from Bangor.”
    “Pretty lucky.” Lucy noticed Ben Scribner and Elsie, standing in a tight group along