Peach Cobbler Murder

by Joanne Fluke

  “No big wedding for me!” Hannah said, heading to the walk-in cooler to get the wedding cakes. But she’d taken no more than a step before the phone rang again. It was probably Lisa, calling back to find out if she absolutely, positively had to accept Shawna Lee’s peach cobbler.

  Hannah lifted the receiver and said, “Yes, you have to accept the cobbler. Your wedding consultant, an authority on matters of good taste, will tell you the same thing.”

  “What!”

  Hannah laughed as she recognized the voice that had uttered the bewildered comment. It was Andrea, not Lisa. “Sorry about that. I thought you were Lisa.”

  “What’s all this about good taste?”

  “Lisa wanted to know if she had to accept a wedding present, even if she didn’t want it. And I said she did. What can I do for you?”

  “I just found out that I can’t use white doves and I don’t know what to do!”

  “Why were you going to use them?” Hannah asked, envisioning a flock, or whatever you called the dove group, of white doves flying to the top of the church and cooing at the people.

  “They’re a symbol of the transition between girlhood and womanhood. When Lisa steps out of the church as Herb’s wife, the handler was supposed to set the doves free.”

  “What happens to them after they fly off?”

  “Oh, they don’t. They’re trained to circle around until they find their cage again and get back in. There’s food in there and the handler makes sure they’re hungry.”

  “Okay. I get it. Why can’t you use them?”

  “Because it’s below zero and the handler won’t let them out in such cold weather.”

  “That’s reasonable.”

  “I know. I don’t want to see them catch a bird cold, or whatever might happen if he brought them. But I need something else to take their place. Can you think of anything I could use to symbolize the transition between girlhood and womanhood?”

  “Oven cleaner,” Hannah replied promptly, but Andrea didn’t laugh. Her sister was really upset about the doves. “Forget that. What’s wrong with using little bags of rice? People always throw rice at a wedding.”

  “But that’s supposed to symbolize children, and Lisa and Herb don’t want children right away.”

  “Mother will bring rice anyway. She always does.”

  “I know, but I can’t control Mother. I just want something else, something nice.”

  “Let me think,” Hannah said, kicking her brain into high gear. “How about flower petals? They’re nice to handle, they’re clean, and they’re environmentally friendly.”

  Andrea was silent for a moment while she thought it over. “That would be wonderful,” she said at last. “I can just see all those bright flower petals against the snow. But what do they symbolize?”

  “The natural progression from a rosebud to a bloom exactly parallels the rite of passage from a girl to a woman,” Hannah said, making it up as she went along. “The petals mingle as they fall together and that signifies the union of marriage.”

  “That’s beautiful!” Andrea breathed.

  “I thought so. Do you think it’ll work?”

  “I don’t see why not. You just made that up, didn’t you?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, it’s brilliant. I’ll call Father Coultas and ask him to mention it during the ceremony. Thanks, Hannah. You saved me.”

  “Anytime,” Hannah said and hung up the phone, wishing someone would save her. If there were any more phone calls or knocks on the door, she’d never get anything done. She headed for the pantry, and this time she got almost all the way across the kitchen before she heard a knock at the back door.

  Should she answer it, or shouldn’t she? Hannah debated that question for a moment. And then she called out, “Who is it?”

  “Norman. Let me in, Hannah. It’s cold out here!”

  Hannah wasted no time unlocking the door and ushering Norman to a stool at the workstation. “You look half frozen. Coffee?”

  “Please. Maybe it’ll thaw me out. The sun’s shining, but it hasn’t warmed up yet, and I didn’t drive the car far enough to take off the chill.”

  “If it doesn’t get any warmer than this, people had better use the plug-ins on the poles in the church parking lot. Father Coultas tends to get wordy at weddings.”

  Norman clasped both hands around the mug of coffee that Hannah brought him and after a moment he flexed his fingers. “They’re working again.”

  “Yes, but can you hold a drill?”

  “I don’t have to. I just finished my last appointment of the day.” Norman reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box wrapped in shiny pink paper. “This is for you. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

  “Thanks!” Hannah reached out for the box with pleasure. “You didn’t have to, Norman.”

  “I didn’t? Then maybe I’d better take it back.”

  “Over my dead body,” Hannah announced, tearing off the pink paper in one well-placed swoop. And then she was perfectly silent as she gazed at the blue velvet-covered jeweler’s box she’d unwrapped.

  “Open it,” Norman urged her. “If you don’t like it, you can exchange it. I got it at the jeweler’s in the mall.”

  Hannah gripped the hinged lid with shaking fingers. What if there was an engagement ring inside? She did love Norman, there was no doubt in her mind about that, but did she love him enough to marry him?

  “Go ahead. I want to find out if I guessed right.”

  Hannah steeled herself for what was about to come and lifted the lid. Inside, on a pillow of white satin, rested the most exquisite heart pendant she’d ever seen. She gave a relieved smile, half glad and half sorry that it wasn’t an engagement ring, and took a closer look. The pendant was made of brushed gold and it was attached to a thin gold chain. In the center of the heart was an incredibly beautiful, elaborately faceted, dark red stone.

  “Do you like it?” Norman asked and Hannah thought she heard a slight note of anxiety in his voice.

  “It’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen! But it must have cost a lot of money and I shouldn’t accept something that expensive as a gift. That’s not a real ruby, is it?”

  “Would you feel better about accepting it if I told you it was synthetic?”

  Hannah thought about that for a moment. “I think I would.”

  “It’s not a real ruby. Put it on, Hannah. I’ve been imagining you wearing it ever since I bought it.”

  Hannah took the pendant from its bed of satin and grinned when she noticed the length of the chain. It was just long enough to slip over her head, eliminating the need for a clasp, and just short enough so that it wouldn’t get in the way when she was working. Either Norman had gotten lucky at the jewelers, or he’d put a lot of thought into buying the perfect present. Knowing Norman, it was the latter rather than the former.

  “It looks perfect on you,” Norman said. And then he grinned as Hannah leaned across the stainless steel surface of the workstation and gave him a grateful and enthusiastic kiss. “If I’d known you’d kiss me like that when I gave it to you, I would have tried for a twofer.”

  Hannah laughed and kissed him again, and this time he kissed her back. The moment was perfect until the phone started to ring.

  “Are you going to get that?” Norman asked.

  “I suppose I should. It’s probably Sally, wondering what time I’m going to get there. I promised her I’d drive out before noon with the wedding cakes.”

  “If it’s Sally, I’ll drive you.”

  Hannah was about to say that she could handle it when she recalled her long, cold trip into town. The interior of her Suburban was so cavernous there were areas that never seemed to warm up. And her left foot, only inches from the heater vent, was directly exposed to a draft of freezing air from a hole that Cyril Murphy and his chief mechanic at the garage had never been able to plug.

  “Thanks, Norman. I’ll tell her we’re coming out together,” Hannah said, reaching
for the phone. Norman was generous, considerate, thoughtful, and timely. And even more important on this frigid winter’s day, the heater in his car worked perfectly.

  STRAWBERRY FLIP COOKIES

  Preheat oven to 375 degrees F., rack in the middle position.

  1 cup melted butter (2 sticks)

  1 cup white (granulated) sugar

  2 beaten eggs (just whip them up with a fork)

  1/3 cup seedless strawberry jam

  1 teaspoon strawberry extract (or vanilla, if you can’t find it)

  1 teaspoon baking powder

  ½ teaspoon soda

  ½ teaspoon salt 1½ cups chopped walnuts (or pecans)

  3 cups flour (not sifted)

  small bowl of powdered (confectioner’s) sugar

  1 bag frozen strawberries for garnish***

  Melt the butter and add the white sugar. Then add the eggs and the strawberry jam. When the jam is fully incorporated, add the strawberry extract, baking powder, soda, and salt. Then add the chopped walnuts and the flour, and mix well.

  Roll dough balls with your hands about the size of unshelled walnuts. (If the dough is too sticky, chill it for a half hour or so and then try it again.) Roll the dough balls in the powdered sugar and place them on a greased cookie sheet, 12 to a standard sheet. Make a deep thumbprint in the center of each cookie.

  While the strawberries are still partially frozen, cut them in half lengthwise. (If your berries are too large to fit on your cookie balls, cut them in quarters instead of halves.) Flip the cut piece over and place it skin side up in the thumbprint you’ve made on top of each cookie.

  Bake at 375 degrees F. for 10 to 12 minutes. Cool on the cookie sheet for 2 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack to finish cooling. Dust the cookies with powdered sugar and place them on a pretty plate before serving.

  Yield: 7 to 8 dozen cookies.

  The tart strawberry pieces are wonderful with the sweet cookie. Carrie Rhodes just adores these.

  As a variant, you can also makes these with seedless raspberry jam and whole fresh raspberries on top.

  Chapter Seven

  Hannah arrived at the front door to St. Peter’s Catholic Church out of breath. Her lungs felt like they were on fire from breathing in the frigid air while racing up all twenty-seven steps to the massive carved wooden door. She pulled it open, dashed inside, and slipped out of her boots on one of the long woven mats that had been placed in the foyer for that purpose. Except that it wasn’t called a foyer when it was in a church. It was called—Hannah frowned, trying to remember—narthex. That was the correct word, but she’d never actually heard anyone call it that.

  There was a bench just inside the door, and Hannah switched to the shoes that were dyed to match her dress. It was an indigo blue knit that her downtown neighbor, Claire Rodgers at Beau Monde Fashions, had chosen for her.

  After several gulps of the warm air inside the narthex, Hannah pushed open the double doors that led to the nave, and glanced around for her sister. Andrea had called Hannah at the condo, begging her to come to the church early. Hannah had complied, dressing in a flash, changing the gravel in Moishe’s litter box to prevent any acts of feline disobedience that might occur if it wasn’t pristine, and rushing out the door. She wasn’t sure what Andrea needed, but her sister had sounded at the edge of panic.

  “Andrea?” Hannah called out, shivering slightly. The sun had fled while Hannah was getting dressed and the skies had turned to slate gray. Even though it was still daylight, the interior of the church was full of shadows. The lights were off and the muted stained glass windows in the nave didn’t add much illumination. Being alone in a cavernous church without lights was grist for the horror movie mill.

  “Andrea?” Hannah called out again, jumping slightly as she heard footsteps above her.

  “I’m up here in the choir loft, putting some finishing touches on the garlands. Go out and close the door. And then wait for me to call you in again. I want you to get the full effect.”

  “You want me to wait in the narthex?”

  “The who?”

  “The narthex. That’s what they call the foyer in a Catholic church.”

  “Oh. Yes, wait in the whatever-it-is. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

  Hannah did as she was told. Andrea sounded very serious. She stood outside the door for a minute or two, until she heard Andrea calling her name.

  “I’m coming,” Hannah called back and pushed the door open. She took one step inside and stopped in her tracks as the full effect her sister had mentioned hit her. The interior of the church flickered with light from dozens of candelabras holding multiple candles in every conceivable shade from snow white to deep blood red. They sat on wrought-iron pedestals along the church walls and they were interspersed with tall white wicker baskets of pink, white, and red roses.

  “Incredible!” Hannah murmured, breathing in the heady scent of the entire rose garden that had given up its blooms for her sister. “It’s just gorgeous, Andrea!”

  “I know. It would have been even more impressive if I’d used real candles, but Father Coultas didn’t want to take the chance with all the old wood in here.”

  “The candles aren’t real?” Hannah was surprised when she stepped closer and saw that the candelabras were plugged into a power strip on the floor. “You fooled me, and I bet you’ll fool everybody else, too.”

  “I hope so, and that’s why I needed you to come early. The lights are on a dimmer switch and I need to get the level just right. If they’re up full, people are going to see the power cords, but if they’re too low, they won’t see the flowers or the rest of the decorations. I’d do it myself, but the dimmer switch is in the office and I have to keep running back and forth.”

  It took a few minutes to get it just right, but at last the dimmer switch was set to Andrea’s satisfaction. Hannah raided the office to find supplies and taped the knob in place so that no one would mistakenly change the level of lumens they’d taken such pains to achieve.

  “I’m going to run home and get dressed,” Andrea said, slipping into her coat. “Do you want to come along? Immelda’s coming in early to run through the music, but nobody else should be here for at least forty-five minutes.”

  “I’ll stay here and admire your decorations. It’s like sitting in the middle of a rose garden and I’m enjoying it too much to leave.”

  Once Andrea left, Hannah headed to the ladies’ room to repair the damage the winter wind had done to her appearance. That didn’t take long. All she had to do was shake her head back and forth a couple of times, fluff her curls up with her fingers, and pat them into some semblance of shape again. As she headed back into the main part of the church and took a seat in the back pew, Hannah realized that there was an advantage to having unruly curls. Her coiffure looked the same whether she’d stepped out of a gale-force wind, or just finished brushing it.

  The church was dim and restful, and the electric candles really did look real. Hannah closed her eyes to more fully appreciate the illusion of a garden and breathed in the perfume of the roses. She imagined it was summer, not winter, and the air was heavy with promise. The furnace, far below her in the basement of the church, gave off a faint hum that reminded her of the lazy droning of honeybees as they meandered from blossom to blossom.

  Hannah smiled as she imagined a brightly colored butterfly flitting between tall stocks of holly-hock, pausing to alight on one for a moment and then fluttering away. She could feel a light breeze blowing, just enough to make the tendrils of hair at her temples quiver and tickle the skin on her arms.

  Time passed and Hannah’s imaginary garden changed with it. As dusk approached, long shadows made the sunflowers seem to sway on their stems, their large open blossoms too heavy for the thinner, cooler night air. Their petals furled, tips gathering to the center as the last rays of sunlight faded to darkness and the moon replaced the sun.

  Fireflies came out to play and Hannah glanced down to find that she was dressed fo
r a garden wedding under the stars. The familiar strains of Mendelssohn floated up toward the sparkling stars that dotted the heavens and guests began to arrive to sit on white cushions on the carpet of smooth grass. Hannah was in bridal white, a vision of loveliness in her spotless baker’s apron. She held a lace-covered cone of cookies, each one resembling a flower, and Tracey was there with a similar cone, passing out cookies to the guests as they arrived. There was a circlet of baked meringue on her head to hold her gossamer veil in place, and the veil itself was made of spun sugar that shimmered in the moonlight. And then the music swelled and it was time for her to walk to the latticework gazebo that was made of gingerbread to join her groom.

  Hannah took her place and glanced to the side to see the face of the man she was about to marry. But her veil had turned translucent and although she could see his form, she couldn’t make out his features. As she squinted, desperately trying to see who it was, the music grew soft and the ceremony started.

  It was a strange ceremony. The familiar phrases were indistinct and more like the music of muted horns than any language she recognized or recalled. The officiate wasn’t anyone she knew, not Reverend Knudson, or Father Coultas, or Reverend Strandberg from the Bible Church. It wasn’t even a male, as Lake Eden tradition practically dictated. Instead, the minister was a girl, a mere child, and she said, “And I now pronounce you man and…Aunt Hannah.”

  Aunt Hannah? Even in Hannah’s dream state, she knew that wasn’t part of the ceremony. But then, as she was about to supply the correct phrase, the child minister said it again.

  “Aunt Hannah.”

  Hannah jerked fully awake and blinked as she found herself looking up into her niece’s anxious face. It had been a tough week and she must have dropped off to sleep.