Chapter One
#4076 A set of the most frequently used kitchen knives,
including two carving knives, a filleting knife, and a
paring knife. All with carbon steel blades and rosewood
handles. Our best quality. $57
"Do you have any really sharp knives?" asked the tremulous
voice. "Something that will cut through bone and gristle?"
Lucy Stone stifled a yawn, adjusted her headset, and typed
the code for "knives" on the computer keyboard in front of
her. Instantly the screen glowed with the eleven varieties
of knives sold by Country Cousins, the giant mail-order
country store.
"What kind of knives were you thinking of?" Lucy inquired
politely. "Hunting knives, fishing knives, pocket knives,
kitchen knives... ?"
"Kitchen knives, of course," snapped the voice. "Homer
hasn't been out of the house for forty years."
Lucy hit the code for "kitchen knives," and the screen
listed six sets of kitchen knives.
"I'm sure we have something that will do. How about a set
of four carbon steel knives with rosewood handles for
fifty-seven dollars?"
"What is carbon steel? Is it really sharp?" insisted the
voice.
"Well, some cooks prefer it because it's easy to sharpen.
However, it doesn't hold an edge as long as stainless
steel. We also have the same set in stainless steel for
fifty-seven dollars."
"I don't know which to get. Homer loves to cut and carve.
He's really an artist at the dinner table." The voice
became confidential. "I've always believed he would have
been a gifted surgeon. That unfortunate incident in
medical school simply unnerved him."
Lucy stifled the urge to encourage further
confidences. "Then carbon steel is probably your best
bet," she advised. She then mentioned a related product, a
technique her sales manager insisted upon.
"You could also get him a sharpening steel. He would
probably enjoy using it." "You mean one of those things
you draw the blade against before carving? Seems to me
Poppa had one of those. I think you're fight; I'm sure
Homer would enjoy doing that. It would add a touch of
drama. How much are those?"
"We have one with a rosewood handle for eighteen dollars."
"I'll take the knives and the steel."
"All right," said Lucy, smiling with satisfaction. "I need
some information from you, and we'll ship them right
away." She finished typing in the woman's name, address,
and credit card number. "Thank you for your order. Call
Country Cousins again, soon." She arched her back,
stretched her arms, and checked the clock. Almost ten.
Three hours until her shift ended at one A.M.
Lucy didn't mind working at Country Cousins. Like many of
the tourists who came to Tinker's Cove in the summer, she
was fascinated by the quaint old country store on Main
Street. Inside, there were crockery, kitchen utensils,
penny candy, and sturdy country clothes as well as
fishing, hunting, and camping equipment. The porch with
its ten-foot-long deacon's bench, the sloping floors of
scuffed, bare wood, and the huge potbellied stove were all
authentic, they just weren't the whole story. For the
truth was, most of Country Cousins' business came from
catalog sales and was conducted at a mammoth steel
warehouse on the outskirts of Tinker's Cove. There, state-
of-the-art telephone and computer systems enabled hundreds
of employees like Lucy to sell, pack, and ship millions of
dollars' worth of merchandise twenty-four hours a day,
three hundred and sixty-four days a year. Country Cousins
was closed on Christmas Day. All merchandise was sold with
an unconditional guarantee: "We're not happy unless you
are."
"It's quiet tonight, isn't it, Lucy?" said Beverly
Thompson: the grandmotherly woman who had the computer
station next to Lucy.
"It sure is. And only ten days until Christmas."
"Are you all ready for Christmas?"
"Not by a long shot," Lucy said. "I haven't finished the
fisherman's sweater I'm making for Bill, I still have to
make an angel costume for Elizabeth to wear in the church
pageant, and I have to bake six dozen cookies for Sue
Finch's cookie exchange. And," she continued, "I still
have quite a bit of shopping to do. How about you?"
"Oh, I'm pretty well finished. Of course, now that the
kids are scattered from Washington to San Francisco there
isn't so much to do." Beverly's voice was wistful. "I just
have something sent from the catalog."
"Don't knock it," advised Lucy. "I have my mother and
Bill's folks coming. Christmas is an awful lot of work. I
like Halloween, myself. All you need is a mask and a bag
of candy."
"Why don't you all pack up and spend Christmas at
Grandma's?" asked Beverly. "'I'd love to have my brood
back for the holidays." Beverly sighed as she thought of
the neat stack of presents waiting in her closet, which
she would open all by herself on Christmas morning.
"Oh, we started having Christmas at our house back in the
granola years when we had chickens and goats and
woodstoves. We couldn't leave or the animals would starve
and the pipes would freeze! Now everyone expects it." Lucy
shrugged, pausing to take an order for a flannel
nightgown.
"I don't know how you girls do it," said Beverly, picking
up the conversation. "You work half the night, and then
you take care of your families all day."
"It isn't so bad. I like it a lot better than cashiering
at the IGA or working at the bank. When I did that my
whole check went for day care."
"But when do you sleep?" asked Beverly, yawning.
"Oh, I usually nap when Sara does. She's only four,"
answered Lucy, stretching and yawning herself. "It isn't
sleep I miss, it's sex. How about you, Ruthie?" Lucy asked
the woman on her other side. "Are you getting any lately?"
Ruthie whooped. "Are you kidding? He works all day, I work
all night, and the baby wakes up at five." She lowered her
voice and spoke in a confidential tone to Lucy and
Beverly. "I've asked Santa for a night in a motel."