Christmas Cookie Murder #6 by Leslie Meier Page A

checked the family room and went upstairs to peek in Toby’s room.
    â€œHave you seen Toby?” she asked Elizabeth, who was reclining on the couch in the family room and flipping through channels with the remote. “By the way, don’t you have any homework?”
    â€œNope. Tomorrow is ‘Smart Kids, Smart Choices.’”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    Elizabeth pulled a wad of folded paper from her pocket. “Don’t read the back, OK?”
    â€œScout’s honor,” said Lucy, carefully prying the layers apart and studying the Xeroxed notice.
    â€œSmart Kids, Smart Choices,” she learned, was made possible by the Tinker’s Cove Police Department and the PTA. This traveling troupe of reformed alcoholics and drug abusers, none older than twenty-five, would present a “hard-hitting, graphic account” based on their own experiences. The rest of the morning would be spent in discussion groups and in the afternoon the entire school population would work together to create message murals that would be displayed in the halls.
    â€œThis is taking all day?” asked Lucy. “What about French and chemistry and algebra and…”
    â€œOh, Mom,” groaned Elizabeth in a world-weary voice. “If they actually taught us chemistry, we’d probably just cook up our own drugs. That’s what they think, anyway.”
    â€œWell, maybe if they taught you some solid reasoning skills, they wouldn’t have to indoctrinate you and you could figure out for yourselves that drinking and using drugs isn’t very smart.”
    â€œInteresting, Mom,” said Elizabeth. “Very interesting.” She studied her fingernails, which were painted light blue. “But hopelessly retro.”
    â€œThat’s me. Hopelessly retro,” agreed Lucy, who had received a solid prep-school education and could still conjugate her Latin verbs, even if her inability to comprehend percentages had been the despair of the entire math department. She resolved to call the principal for a little chat, in which the school’s declining SAT scores would definitely be mentioned.
    Failing to find the boys in the house, Lucy concluded that they must be outside. She stood in the kitchen doorway and yelled for them. Their heads popped out from behind the shed, only to disappear immediately.
    What are they up to? she wondered, pulling on her jacket. She marched across the yard, straight to the shed.
    â€œWhat are you guys doing? Are you smoking?” she asked, suspiciously.
    This last was met with gales of laughter. Laughter that didn’t stop, but rolled on, eventually forcing the boys to clutch their stomachs and sides. There was also a sweet, familiar scent in the air.
    â€œPot!” exclaimed Lucy. “You’ve been smoking pot!” Suddenly Toby’s odd behavior made sense, including the disappearance of her Dee-Liteful Wine Cake.
    â€œShhh, Mom. Not so loud.” Still shaking with laughter, Toby put a finger over his mouth to caution her.
    â€œI can’t believe it!” She shoved Toby in the direction of the house. “How stupid are you? Don’t you know you could get in big trouble?”
    Eddie and Toby glanced at each other and dissolved into giggles.
    â€œWhere did you get it?”
    â€œIt’s all over the school, Mom,” said Toby. “You can get whatever you want.”
    â€œYou can? Like what?”
    â€œUppers, downers, heroin, crack…”
    â€œCrack!”
    â€œYeah, Mom. Crack.”
    â€œYou’ve actually seen crack?”
    â€œWell, no,” admitted Toby. “But I’ve heard about it.”
    â€œAnd who’s the person who’s got all this stuff?”
    Now the boys weren’t giggling. Their glance was an agreement not to reveal any names.
    â€œOkay, okay,” said Lucy, backing off. She shook her head. “Boy, your dad is not going to like