Peach Cobbler Murder

by Joanne Fluke

  Hannah opened her mouth to answer in the affirmative, but she’d never been able to lie to her mother. “Not exactly.”

  “Did you at least break even?”

  “Not quite.”

  There was a long silence on her mother’s part and then Delores spoke again. “Maybe it’s a passing fad. I just read a report that said most bakeries are suffering because everyone’s counting carbs. People just aren’t eating as much bread or as many sweets right now.”

  “I don’t think that’s got anything to do with it, Mother. Customers are still streaming in across the street at the Magnolia Blossom and they’re not featuring low-carb desserts.”

  Delores was silent again and when she spoke she fairly hissed the words. “Those two lightskirts!”

  “Mother!” Hannah was shocked. She knew precisely what the phrase meant in the Regency romance novels that her mother liked to read.

  “I’m sorry, dear. But Shawna Lee’s been trouble ever since she set foot in Lake Eden and her sister’s no better. If I don’t miss my guess, all this has to do with Mike.”

  “Mike!”

  “Yes. Shawna Lee wants him and you’re in the way. She opened her bakery to discredit you and drive you out of business.”

  Hannah considered that for a moment. Could her mother possibly be right? Jealousy was a powerful motive. “Maybe I should march right over there and tell her that if she wants him, she can have him.”

  “Oh, don’t do that, dear,” Delores said quickly. “She’d just deny it.”

  “Then what do you think I should do?”

  “Just announce your engagement to Norman, and that’ll leave the field clear for her with Mike. I bet that within two weeks she decides the bakery is too much work for her and she closes it.”

  Hannah laughed. She couldn’t help it. Accepting her mother’s advice was a bit like accepting Moishe’s offer to baby-sit for a lizard. It was bound to end up in disaster. “Forget it, Mother. For one thing, Norman hasn’t asked me to marry him. And for another thing, I’m not sure I’d accept if he did. The best thing for me to do is hang on and hope for the best.”

  “I suppose you’re right”—Delores gave a little laugh—“but it was worth a try. I’d love to see you married to Norman. Mike’s all wrong for you. But I do wish there was something I could do to help you stay in business. Can you think of anything?”

  “Nothing that’s not illegal.” Hannah gave a short laugh. “Don’t worry, Mother. Things’ll work out, one way or another.”

  Once Delores had signed off, Hannah hung up and returned to her now-lukewarm coffee. The situation at The Cookie Jar was dire, but she didn’t want her mother to know precisely how dire.

  In desperation last night, Hannah had placed a call to a lender she’d seen advertised on television. OneDay Lenders promised cash within twenty-four hours if you had equity in a house or a condo, and all Hannah had to do was call back after nine o’clock this morning and OneDay’s automated system would tell her whether it was a go, or a no. If it was a go, they could hang on for a while longer. If it was a no, Hannah had enough savings to keep them afloat for another two weeks and then they’d have to close shop.

  Hannah sipped her coffee and watched the clock. Eight fifty-six. Four minutes to go. She turned to survey the row of empty glass cookie jars on the counter, wishing they were full of freshly baked cookies and there were customers to eat them. Then she glanced back at the clock again. It was still eight fifty-six. Her Grandma Ingrid had been fond of saying that a watched pot never boiled. Was it also true that a watched clock never ticked? And if time flew when you were having fun, did it stall out when you were miserable?

  “Oh boy!” Hannah muttered, getting up to pour fresh coffee in her mug. Pondering weighty questions like this before downing at least four cups of coffee was risky. On her way back to her stool, she glanced up at the clock again. Eight fifty-eight. Time was passing. All she had to do was kill two more minutes and she could call.

  The next two minutes seemed to pass with the speed of epochs, but at last the big hand was on the twelve and the small hand was on the nine. Hannah waited until the second hand had clicked off another thirty and then she dialed the number for OneDay Lenders. The moment her call connected, a recorded voice resounded in her ear. Your call is very important to us. Our automated loan approval line is in use at the moment, but please remain on the line and your call will be connected in the order in which it was received.

  While Hannah waited for her turn to come, she thought about that recorded voice. Was it true that some grandmother in Iowa had recorded almost all of the messages that companies used on their automated telephone services? And if it was true, did she get residuals like actors whose shows were rerun on television? What would she have carved on her tombstone, Please hold and a representative will be with you shortly?

  At four minutes past nine, her call was connected and Hannah punched in the number she’d been given the night she called. And the same recorded voice spoke in her ear, I’m sorry, but your loan has not been approved. More documentation is needed before OneDay can process your request. Please call the following toll-free number for a detailed explanation.

  Hannah jotted down the number and dialed. This time she was connected immediately, but the voice on the phone sounded as if he were reading a script. “Are you a real person?” Hannah asked.

  “I like to think I am,” the male voice answered, and he actually chuckled. “My name is Perry and I’m your personal loan expeditor. Could I have your application number, please?”

  Hannah rattled off her number and waited. And while she waited, her pulse raced at break-neck speeds and her blood pressure reached new heights.

  “Miss Swensen?”

  “That’s me,” Hannah said. “What did you find out for me, Perry?”

  “We need a recent profit and loss statement before we can process your loan.”

  “You do? They didn’t say anything about that when I applied over the phone last night.”

  “I know. It’s just that since you’re self-employed, we need more information.”

  “Okay,” Hannah said, wondering if she could get Stan Kramer to come in on the weekend and prepare one. “From when to when?”

  “From the first of January to the current date.”

  “Uh-oh,” Hannah said under her breath.

  “What was that, Miss Swensen?”

  “Never mind. This profit and loss statement is supposed to show a profit, right?”

  Perry paused for a moment; he’d obviously never been asked this question before, and then he answered, “That’s right.”

  “Well, it won’t,” Hannah said, frowning as her last hope circled the drain and went down. “If it showed a profit, I wouldn’t be applying for this loan. But how about my equity in the condo? Is that enough to get any money at all?”

  “Not much. Your down payment was minimal and your loan is only two and a half years old. It’s a thirty-year and you’re paying mostly interest at this point.”

  “So I’m dead in the water?”

  “Pretty much,” Perry answered, and then there was a long silence. “You should drop it, Miss Swensen. Go to someone you know and ask for a loan. You sound like a nice person and I don’t want to offer you the high-interest loan from OneDay.”

  “What high-interest loan?”

  “When an applicant doesn’t qualify, we’re supposed to offer a loan that you can’t possibly pay off because the payments are too steep. Then, when you default, OneDay takes your property and you end up with nothing.”

  “Thanks a lot for telling me,” Hannah said, and she meant it. Perry had gone out on a limb for her. “So tell me, Perry…is OneDay a good place to work? Or can’t you tell me?”

  “It’s horrible. I can tell you that because I just decided to quit and go back to college.”

  “Good for you!”

  “It’ll mean moving back in with my parents to save on expenses, but it’ll be worth it.
For the rest of the day, when anyone calls in, I’m going to tell them the secret of high finance.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If you really need a loan, you won’t qualify. And if you don’t need a loan, all the lenders will line up to give you money.”

  Hannah thanked Perry and hung up the phone. She had the feeling she’d learned an important truth, but it didn’t help her in her current situation. Unless Shawna Lee curled up and died before the next week was out, or Vanessa decided to suddenly pull the plug on her sister’s financing, the Magnolia Blossom Bakery was going to drive The Cookie Jar out of business.

  Chapter Six

  Hannah was about to take the peaches out of the freezer when there was a knock at the front door. She ignored it. Everyone in town knew they were closed. But the knocking persisted and after a few more seconds of the noise, Hannah headed for the swinging door to the coffee shop to see who was pounding on the door.

  The sight that greeted Hannah’s eyes made her smile. There was a deliveryman standing at the front door and he was holding a bouquet wrapped in gold paper. His bright blue truck had a familiar logo painted on the side and Hannah knew he was from Bouchard’s Bouquets, the florist based out at the Tri-County Mall.

  As Hannah headed for the door to let him in, she wondered if she ought to tell him to move his truck. Main Street had nose-in parking and he was parked parallel with the curb, occupying three full spaces. Then she remembered that Mayor Bascomb and the Lake Eden city council had given Herb a full day off to get ready for the wedding and he wouldn’t be giving out traffic tickets today. Since they hadn’t hired anyone temporary to fill in for Herb, the deliveryman was safe.

  Hannah made short work of opening the door. It wasn’t often that anyone sent her flowers. “Come in and warm up. Are those for me?”

  “If you’re Hannah Swensen, they are.” The deliveryman stepped inside and handed her the bouquet. “The guy that called in the order said you were closed today, but you’d be here anyway.”

  “Which guy was that?”

  “Kingston. It’s on the card.”

  Hannah’s smile grew wider as she reached for the card, but she didn’t open it. She’d wait until she didn’t have an audience. “How about a cup of coffee, Kyle?” she asked, reading the name that was embroidered over the florist’s logo on the breast pocket of his parka. “I’ve got a pot on in the kitchen.”

  Once Kyle had been seated at the workstation and taken his first sip of coffee, he gazed around the kitchen. “Nice big place you’ve got here. My wife, Judy, would go crazy for ovens like that. She’s always saying hers is too small. You’re not baking?”

  “Not today. I’ve got some cookies from yesterday if you don’t mind eating day-olds.”

  “I don’t mind,” Kyle assured her. “I’ve never been in here myself, being from Elk River and all, but a lot of people say you’ve got the best cookies. When the Lake Eden Gulls played the Elks last Friday night, your coach brought our coach a bag of your Walnuttoes.”

  “I didn’t know that!” Hannah was pleased and she made a mental note to thank Jordan High’s new head coach, Drew Vavra, the next time he came into The Cookie Jar. “Do you like strawberries, Kyle?”

  “They’re my favorite fruit.”

  “Good,” Hannah said and headed for the walk-in cooler. “We made Strawberry Flips yesterday. Let’s see how you like them.”

  The light coating of powdered sugar had melted into the cookie during the refrigeration process, and Hannah dusted the cookies a second time. It made them a little sweeter, but Kyle looked as if he had a sweet tooth. Then she carried the plate to the table and waited for Kyle to taste them.

  “Mmm, good!” Kyle said after his first bite. “These look like the strawberry tarts my mother used to bake, but they’re smaller and they taste a lot better.”

  “Better not let your mother hear you say that!” Hannah warned him, prompting a discussion of how mothers always wanted their children to like their cooking best.

  Kyle had a second cup of coffee and ate another three cookies as time ticked away. Hannah knew she had to get to work soon. Once the peach cobbler was baked, she had to run out to the Lake Eden Inn to deliver the wedding cakes and consult with Sally about when to frost them.

  “Would you like to take the rest of these cookies with you for the road?” Hannah asked him in an effort to nudge him out the door.

  “You bet!” Kyle took the hint and stood up while Hannah packaged the cookies. “I’d better get a move on or the truck’ll cool off and the rest of my flowers will freeze. That bakery across the street is open, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Good. I’ve got a delivery for the lady that owns it.”

  Hannah almost stopped in her tracks as an extremely unpalatable possibility occurred to her. She’d have to be careful how she phrased her question so that Kyle didn’t realize he was telling tales out of school, but suspicious minds needed to know.

  “It’s a good thing he got flowers for Shawna Lee this year.” Hannah put on a big smile for show. “Last Valentine’s Day all he did was send a card and she wouldn’t speak to him for at least a week.”

  “Yeah, the ladies expect more than a card. And let me tell you, a dozen roses don’t come cheap this time of year, especially when they’re a color we don’t normally stock. Kingston wanted yellow, because they’re her favorites. And they’re twice as expensive as your red ones.”

  Hannah gritted her teeth and managed to hold on to her smile until Kyle had left. If she’d known he was carrying a bouquet for Shawna Lee in his truck, she would have kept him talking until her rival’s expensive yellow roses turned into ice cubes. She had half a notion to dump the bouquet Mike had sent to her in the trash, but that was a waste of good flowers.

  Even though she was upset, Hannah found a vase for her roses. They were beautiful, and their lovely scent wafted out to permeate the whole kitchen. Perhaps Mike hadn’t known that Shawna Lee’s flowers would be more expensive than hers. He’d probably just rattled off his credit card number and assumed that all roses were equal, even in the off-season. But why had he sent Shawna Lee roses in the first place? Was it merely a friendly gesture toward the woman who’d once been his secretary? Or did it mean more than that?

  Hannah reached for the little white envelope that had come with her bouquet. She pulled out the card, read the message, and immediately felt a whole lot better. The card was a preprinted one that proclaimed Happy Valentine’s Day in flowing red script, but Mike had dictated a note on the back that said, I volunteered to work during the wedding, but I can make the reception. Save the first and last dance for me? I’ve got something special for you and I’ll follow you home.

  At least Mike wasn’t taking Shawna Lee to the wedding. Hannah let out a relieved sigh. And it was nice of him to volunteer to work so the deputies who’d known Lisa and Herb all their lives could attend the ceremony. The second half of his note pleased her even more. It meant that he wasn’t taking Shawna Lee to the reception either, since he wanted to dance the first and last dance with her and follow her home. And what was the something special he was going to give her?

  Hannah gave a little shiver of excitement as she considered the possibilities, none of which she would have discussed with anyone other than herself. Then, rather than spend her morning speculating on something that might or might not come to pass, as pleasant as that speculation might be, she headed to the freezer to get the peaches.

  She’d taken all of two steps before the phone rang. Hannah turned around to glare at it balefully, but she reached out to answer. It could be Mike and if it was, she wanted to thank him for her roses.

  “Hannah? I’m so glad I caught you!” It was Lisa and she sounded panic-stricken. “You haven’t made your peach cobbler yet, have you?”

  “Not yet. What’s the matter?”

  “We’ve got a problem. I just found out she’s bringing her peach cobbler.”

  “Who is?�
�

  “Shawna Lee. She called the Lake Eden Inn to tell Sally she wanted to bring us three pans for a wedding present, but Dick answered the phone. And when she asked him if there was room for her cobbler on the dessert table, Dick checked the diagram of the table that Sally drew up and he said there was a spot for peach cobbler right in the middle of the table.”

  “And it was my spot?” Hannah asked, guessing the rest.

  “You got it. I just got off the phone with Sally. She offered to throw out Shawna Lee’s peach cobbler and serve yours instead, but yours looks different and Shawna Lee’s bound to notice. Do you think I should just bite the bullet and call Shawna Lee, and tell her not to bring her peach cobbler?”

  “You can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s a wedding present,” Hannah said, remembering her mother’s advice to be gracious about accepting gifts, even if you didn’t want them. “If you want to be polite, you’re going to have to accept her peach cobbler with a smile and thank her. I haven’t started baking yet, so I’ll just forget about bringing mine.”

  “But we like yours better!”

  “I know and I’ll bake it for you any time you want it…just not today. There’s enough trouble at big weddings without asking for more.”

  “That’s true. Aunt Ruth’s called three times to complain about the seating arrangements. She thinks she should be at the head table.”

  “But that’s just for the wedding party, and the bride and groom’s immediate family.”

  “I know, but she doesn’t think Dad should be sitting with Marge. She said it’s bad enough that everyone knows they’re going to be living in the same house, and appearing at the head table as a couple is just rubbing it in.”

  “I think your Aunt Ruth needs a nose-ectomy. Then she couldn’t stick it where it doesn’t belong.”

  “That’s funny!” Lisa said, and promptly burst into giggles. “Just wait until I tell that to Herb.”

  Hannah felt good as she signed off and hung up the phone. She’d given Lisa good advice about the cobbler, and she’d made her laugh in the midst of what sounded like crisis mode at the Herman residence. As far as Hannah was concerned, big weddings were more trouble than they were worth. You could think things out very carefully and do your best to plan for any contingency, but some guests always ended up with hurt feelings before the day was over.