Blackberry Pie Murder (A Hannah Swensen Mystery)

by Fluke, Joanne

  Mike smiled at her and Hannah knew he was thinking something like, What a babe in the woods you are! “They make fake birth certificates and they’re good forgeries,” he told her.

  “I know they do,” Michelle said. “I have one. That’s how I got my fake driver’s license.”

  “I didn’t hear that,” Mike said, and then he turned to Lonnie. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Lonnie asked. “I didn’t hear anything.”

  Delores turned on her youngest daughter so fast that Hannah almost burst out laughing. “Why do you have a fake birth certificate and a fake driver’s license?”

  Michelle didn’t quite meet her mother’s eyes. “Oh, just to see if I could get them. I had to do some research for a psychology class I took last year.”

  “They told you to get a fake birth certificate and a fake driver’s license?” Delores looked shocked.

  “Not exactly. But I had to get into a club to do the research and they carded at the door. It was twenty-one or older.”

  Delores looked up at the ceiling and Hannah suspected she was thinking, Where did I go wrong?

  “I wrote a really good paper and I got an A in the class.”

  Hannah watched her mother alternate between worry and pride. “Well . . . I guess it’s all right as long as you didn’t use it for anything illegal. You didn’t drink, did you?”

  “Only iced tea, Mother. And I don’t mean Long Island Iced Tea.”

  Everyone laughed, even Delores, at Michelle’s little joke, and Hannah knew it was time to change the subject before her mother started asking Michelle about more illegal activities.

  “So did Keith Branson have a rap sheet?” Hannah asked Mike.

  “No. All they had on him were a couple of traffic tickets he paid right away, and one charge of misdemeanor indecent public exposure.”

  “What was that?” Delores asked him, and Hannah knew her mother was imagining the worst.

  “Nothing serious. A highway patrol officer happened to come along when he was urinating by the side of a gravel road in a wooded area of Anoka.”

  Delores didn’t say anything to that and Hannah wondered if her mother wished she hadn’t asked the question.

  “Stella did find one charge that was disturbing,” Mike said. “The vice squad worked with Stella’s detectives to get Branson on aggravated assault or attempted murder, but they couldn’t gather enough evidence to turn it over to the district attorney.”

  Hannah noticed that Lonnie didn’t look surprised. “Was it that prostitute Stella told us about? The one who died in the condemned building?”

  “Yes. All they had was the phone call from her friend, claiming that Branson was the one who beat her. And the friend didn’t show up at the station to give a statement.”

  Hannah wasn’t sure if she should feel good or bad about that. It seemed the man she’d killed had been a pimp, an abuser, and perhaps even a murderer. She noticed that Delores was leaning toward her and she quickly framed another question before her mother could ask her again how she felt about that. “Did Keith Branson have any relatives that we should notify?”

  “Not that the MPD knows of. Don’t forget, we don’t even know, for certain, that Branson is his real name.”

  “Are you going to try to find out more about him?” Andrea asked Mike.

  “I was going to drive down there tomorrow to see if any of the girls on Munsington Street knew him.”

  “You were going to?” Hannah noticed the qualifier in Mike’s statement. He hadn’t said, I’m going to drive down. He’d said, I was going to drive down, which meant he no longer planned to go. “Why aren’t you going?” she asked him.

  “Stella advised me not to try it. She said too many people on the street remembered me from when I worked Vice. And then she made a suggestion that I immediately rejected.”

  “What was it?” Delores asked him.

  “Stella wants Hannah to go down to talk to one of Keith’s girls. None of them have ever seen her and Hannah wouldn’t pose a threat, especially if she tells them she’s visiting from Wisconsin or something like that. Stella thought Hannah would get a lot more information than I could.”

  “Stella’s probably right,” Delores said, “but I can get even more information than either one of you.”

  Hannah just stared at her mother. “You want to go with me?”

  “Yes. I’m very good at talking to people.”

  “Mother!” Andrea looked properly shocked. “You want to go along to talk to a bunch of prostitutes?”

  “Not a bunch, dear. Just one. It would be interesting.”

  Andrea still looked astounded. “But, Mother! What about Doc?”

  “Oh, Doc can’t go, dear. He’s far too busy at the hospital. And even if he wasn’t busy and could go, the girl might think he was a . . . a customer, and I wouldn’t like that at all!”

  Andrea gave an exasperated sigh. “That’s not what I meant and you know it! If you’re going along with Hannah, I can’t stop you, but I’m going along, too. Someone has to keep you two from getting into trouble.”

  “The child becomes the mother,” Hannah quipped, winking at Delores. “How about you, Michelle? Do you want to join the family party?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve driven past that area and it’s not exactly a scenic delight. I’d much rather stay here and help Lisa in the coffee shop.”

  “That’s fine, dear,” Delores said, smiling at Michelle.

  Michelle looked as if she were uncertain about saying something because she took a deep breath before she said, “Just for your information, when you drive through that area you’d better keep the windows rolled up and the doors locked.”

  “It’s that bad?” Delores asked her.

  “Not during the daytime. Then it’s just this rundown, dilapidated, and filthy area with graffiti sprayed on every building left standing. But I wouldn’t want to walk there alone at night. The creatures of the night come out when it gets dark, and I’m not talking about werewolves and vampires.”

  “Are we going to be there at night?” Delores asked Mike, and Hannah could tell that she was worried.

  “No. You’ll be out of there long before nightfall. Stella wants you to come to her office at three. I’ll give you directions. She’s going to send an undercover vice unit with you, but they’ll lay low and stay in their car. They’ll just be there if you need them. She said the girls go out about four o’clock, so that they can meet up with the guys who get off work at the insecticide factory a couple of blocks down the street.”

  “Lovely,” Delores said. “Is there a restaurant around there? Or shouldn’t I ask?”

  “You’ll have to ask Stella when you see her. That area changes frequently. There’s a soup kitchen, or there used to be one, and every other month or so some local church group opens a storefront coffee shop that makes it for a few weeks and then goes under for lack of funds. There’s a bar, of course. There’s always a bar close to a factory. Little Dingo’s has been there forever. And in this neighborhood, two years counts as forever.”

  Hannah glanced at Andrea, who was staring at Mike open-mouthed. It was the only time in Hannah’s life when she hadn’t seen her middle sister confident that she could handle everything and still look like she stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine.

  “Andrea?” Hannah reached out to touch her arm.

  “Yes?” Andrea’s voice was a bit shaky, even uttering that one-syllable word.

  “You’re out, Andrea,” Hannah said, hoping she sounded both firm and loving.

  “But . . . why? I’m perfectly willing to go with you.”

  Hannah thought fast. “It’s your sheriff’s wife persona. You’ve been paired with Bill in the press one too many times. If only one of these girls reads the papers, or if anyone working the same area has seen your photo with Bill’s in the paper, word will get out and they’ll know you’re the wife of the Winnetka County Sheriff.”

  “Oh,” Andrea said.
“I didn’t even think about that.”

  Hannah sat back and hoped that someone else would pick up on her cue. She’d laid the groundwork and that was all she could do.

  “Hannah’s right, dear,” Delores chimed in so quickly that Hannah was amazed. “If you’re with us, you could blow our cover. And then not only would we fail to get the information we needed, we might be in danger.”

  “Oh, dear!” Andrea looked horrified. “I never thought of that. But I don’t think Bill and I were ever photographed together in any of the . . .”

  “Yes, you were,” Hannah interrupted her. “How about that election night photo?”

  Andrea sighed. “You’re right, Hannah. I even have the clipping. Our photo was in the St. Paul Pioneer and one of my high school friends sent it to me.” Andrea turned to Delores. “I’m sorry, Mother. I never thought of that when I offered to go along. I was only trying to help.”

  “I know you were, dear.”

  “Is there anything else I can do?”

  “I’m sure there is,” Hannah replied quickly as her mind raced to find something else, anything else, that Andrea could do to feel helpful. “I know,” she said, giving her mother a warning glance. “If you have time, you could pack us some sandwiches.”

  “You want me to pack sandwiches?” Andrea asked, looking delighted at the prospect.

  “Yes, dear,” Delores said, interpreting Hannah’s warning glance correctly. “Both Hannah and I will be working tomorrow and I doubt we’ll have time for lunch.”

  “That’s right,” Hannah agreed. “If you could pack some sandwiches for us to take with us, we won’t have to stop on the way for food.”

  “I can do that! How about some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? Bill says I make the best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the world.”

  “That would be great,” Hannah said, maintaining her pleasant expression by deliberately putting all thoughts of her sister’s peanut butter and jelly sandwiches out of her mind. She’d eaten Andrea’s sandwiches before and while there was nothing really wrong with them nutritionally, Andrea’s special combination of peanut butter and mint jelly on cinnamon raisin bread was one culinary experience she didn’t really care to repeat.

  “How about after you make the sandwiches? Are you free then?” Michelle asked Andrea.

  “Yes, I’m free. Tracey’s in Vacation Bible School, and Bethie’s going shopping with Grandma McCann right after she wakes up from her nap.”

  “Good. Do you think you could help me out at the coffee shop?”

  “I could do that. Do you want me to wait tables?”

  “Yes, until we close. And after that, if you want, you can help us bake.”

  “You want me to help you bake?”

  “Yes. We need to make some more whippersnapper cookies. Lisa and I were talking about that yesterday, after we locked up at the shop. People have been asking for them.”

  “They have?” Andrea looked inordinately pleased when Michelle nodded. “Oh, then of course I’ll help. Maybe I can even think up a new whippersnapper cookie when I get back home tonight.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “You’re right, dear,” Delores said, closing the bag with their lunch tightly and reaching back to drop it on the back seat. “It’s mint jelly.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I don’t think I’ve ever seen any other jelly that’s bright green.”

  “Neither have I. It’s got to be mint. Was it on cinnamon raisin bread?”

  “Yes. Shall I throw the sack out the window?”

  “No!”

  “You mean . . . you’re actually going to eat the sandwiches?”

  “No, but I don’t want to get pulled over for littering. We can always pass out the sandwiches to any homeless people we meet.”

  “But, dear . . . they’re already homeless. Would it be fair to make them eat Andrea’s sandwiches, too?”

  Hannah laughed, but she kept her hands on the wheel and her eyes on the road. This was the first time she’d driven since the accident that had killed Keith Branson and she was being extra careful. “You’re right, Mother. We’ll just drop them in the first trash can we come to.”

  “Do you think we should write a warning on the sack?”

  “No, Mother. They’re not poison or anything like that. And they’re not unhealthy. They’re just . . . unpalatable.”

  “That’s a very nice way to put it, dear. And they were beautifully wrapped. Andrea used the prettiest foil with little pine trees all over it. She must have picked it up at Christmas. I don’t think they make printed foil any other time of the year. What do you have in the little bakery boxes?”

  “Butterscotch Brickle Bar Cookies. One box is for the two officers we’re going to meet, and the other box is for the woman you’re going to interview.”

  Delores looked slightly dubious. “I can understand bringing the officers something, but why are you going to give bar cookies to a streetwalker?”

  “Because everybody likes cookies and it might make her trust us a bit more.”

  “Oh. I guess that makes sense, especially since I doubt that any of the men she meets bring her anything. It’s certainly a nice gesture, dear.”

  They rode in silence for a few minutes and Hannah thought about what a good morning she’d had. It had started out beautifully when she’d walked down the hall to the kitchen at a quarter to five and found the coffee ready and Michelle just removing the piping hot Bacon, Egg, and Cheddar Toast Cups from the oven.

  After a delicious breakfast, Hannah had turned on the exercise machine and set the treadmill at a speed that wouldn’t be too exerting for her. She hadn’t gone more than five steps before Moishe jumped up to prance in front of her. He appeared to really enjoy the exercise and she’d stayed on the machine for longer than she had intended. Then she’d taken a quick shower while Michelle did her workout, dressed for work, and the moment Michelle had showered and dressed, they’d driven to The Cookie Jar for the daily baking.

  At eight-thirty sharp, a half hour before they were due to open for business, both Andrea and Delores had joined them in the kitchen. Hannah had been dreading this wedding planning meeting, but Delores had kept her word. She’d chosen the flowers, yellow roses, and decided that the bridesmaid dresses should be ice blue, a shade lighter than the brushed satin suit she planned to wear. The wedding colors would be yellow and blue, two of Doc’s favorite colors. She’d even decided on the tableware, invitations, place cards and decorations, and the menu for the reception dinner. All this had taken less than ten minutes. It seemed that Delores had planned it all out right after Hannah had concluded their mother-daughter talk. Everything was set in stone. Delores had sworn to that. And the pressure was off for the Swensen-Knight nuptials as far as Lisa and all three of the Swensen sisters were concerned.

  Hannah was smiling as she drove down the city streets. Everything had gone beautifully so far. She could only hope that this afternoon with one of Keith Branson’s prostitutes would go equally well.

  “I think this is the place, dear,” Delores said, interrupting Hannah’s happy thoughts. “Yes! I’m sure it is!”

  “Where?” Hannah asked, slowing the car.

  “Over there on the left, right next to the car wash. Do you think that’s the green Chevy van that Stella told us about?”

  “It could be. Let’s drive by and see. If they pull out and follow us, we’ll know it’s them and they picked us up.”

  Hannah drove by slowly, as if she were looking for a parking spot. They hadn’t gone more than a few yards before the green van backed out of its spot and began to follow them. “It’s them,” she said to Delores, slowing so that the van could pass them.

  “How do you know?”

  “They’re too polite. Any other driver would have honked at me for going so slow.”

  Hannah followed the van for about a mile before they pulled over and stopped. Stella had told them to drive forward half a bloc
k and park. Then they were supposed to wait while the two officers drove past the block where Keith Branson’s girls worked and came back to reconnoiter with them.

  “I don’t look too prim and proper, do I, dear?” Delores asked, flipping down the mirror on the visor and glancing at her reflection.

  “Prim and proper?” Hannah turned to look. Delores was wearing a pair of designer jeans and a silk blouse. “No, Mother. You don’t look prim and proper at all. But you may look a little too . . .” She paused to think of exactly the right word.

  “Too what, dear?”

  “Too . . . fashionable.”

  “But I deliberately dressed down!”

  Hannah laughed. “Yes, but your idea of dressing down is most people’s idea of dressing up.”

  “Oh.” Delores was silent for a moment. “Would it help if I changed shoes?”

  Hannah glanced at her mother’s shoes. They were perfectly plain, but quite obviously expensive black flats. “No, but I would lose the watch and the bracelet.”

  “But what shall I do with them?”

  “Put them in your purse. We’re not going to take our purses anyway. We’ll give them to the officers in the van to watch.”

  “But what if I need my credit card?”

  “You can’t use it, anyway. We’re going by fake names, remember?”

  “Of course. You’re right, dear. But what shall we do for money?”

  “I’ve got cash in my pocket.”

  Delores considered that for a moment. “That’s probably wisest, considering the neighborhood. It’s certainly not very . . . genteel.”

  Hannah was about to laugh at what she thought was an attempt at humor on her mother’s part, but then she noticed that Delores was shivering slightly. The temperature inside the car was on the warm side since the air-conditioning wasn’t all that efficient. Why was Delores shivering if she wasn’t cold?

  Reality dawned for Hannah and she came very close to gasping in surprise. Coming here was completely out of her mother’s sphere. Delores had lived in Lake Eden all her life and she’d always been surrounded by family and friends. She knew about the homeless, and drug dealers, and gangs. You couldn’t live in the world of today without hearing about the underbelly of society, but experiencing it firsthand was another matter entirely.