by Joanne Fluke
And then the cop was running up the stairs to tackle her and snap on cuffs. And now he was leading her away, pulling her forward. But she held back to look down at the false bride and listen as she opened her mouth to speak the words that would seal his fate forever.
“Noooooo!” she shouted again. “Nooooo!”
“Hannah? Wake up, Hannah! You must be dreaming. Are you all right?”
It was Michelle, and Hannah sat bolt upright in bed. “Dreaming,” she repeated.
“Yes. I heard you thrashing around in here. And then you started moaning and crying. When I got to the doorway, you shouted, Noooo! like you were in terrible pain. That must have been a really awful nightmare!”
“Oh, it was,” Hannah said, remembering Norman’s wedding to Doctor Bev in full color, sound, and even smell.
Michelle walked over to sit on the side of the bed. “If you tell me about it, you probably won’t dream it again when you go back to sleep. How about it?”
Hannah didn’t say anything. She just shook her head. Perhaps Michelle was right, but she’d just have to take her chances. There was no way she was going to tell her baby sister that she’d been dreaming the final scene of The Graduate, and she’d botched the ending by going off to jail instead of running away with the man she loved and jumping on a bus in her bridal dress.
It was difficult to get out of bed the next morning and that wasn’t entirely the fault of the two cats who were sleeping on her chest. Hannah shooed them away, sat up in bed, and punched the alarm clock to shut it off. It was eight-thirty in the morning, but it was Sunday and she didn’t have to go to work.
It was odd to see lights on in the house when she emerged from her bedroom. It was also nice to see lights on in the house when she emerged from her bedroom. Michelle was up and Hannah could smell the welcome scent of Swedish Plasma in the air. There was another scent too, and it smelled like cinnamon and sugar.
“Coffee?” she asked, hoping it was ready as she shuffled through the kitchen doorway.
“Coming right up. Sit down and I’ll pour some for you.”
Hannah sat. Gratefully. And then she glanced over at Michelle. Her youngest sister’s cheeks were pink, her eyes were sparkling, and her hair was curling gently around her pretty face. Oh, to be young again! But Hannah knew she’d never looked as beautiful as Michelle did, even when she was young.
“You’re scowling.” Michelle set a mug of coffee directly in front of Hannah. “What’s the matter?”
“I was trying to figure out how you can look so good in the morning when I feel so dragged out.”
“Clean living. If you’d lay off the booze and drugs for a while, you’d probably start to look better.” Michelle burst into peals of laughter. “You should see your face. You look absolutely dumbfounded. I’m kidding, okay? It’s just a joke, Hannah.”
“Don’t joke with your elder in the morning or she may turn on you like a ravening beast.”
“Nicely put,” Michelle sat down and took a sip of her coffee, “but what’s a ravening beast anyway?”
“It’s too early for me to define a word. You’ll have to wait until I can remember my name.”
“Okay. Drink coffee. Get those brain cells dancing. I really want to know what it is.”
Hannah took a big swallow of coffee. It was hot, and it was good. There was nothing like coffee on a cold spring morning that still felt like winter.
“More,” Michelle said.
Hannah took another swallow. And then another. Caffeine was starting to work its magic on her tired brain.
“Name?” Michelle prodded her.
“Hannah.”
“Middle name?”
“Louise.”
“Last name?”
“Swensen.”
“Occupation?”
“Cookies.”
“Age?”
“I don’t want to think about that.”
“Weight?”
“Michelle! Cut that out!”
“Okay. Your brain seems to be working again now. What’s a ravening beast?”
“Ravening comes from the Middle French word raviner, which means to rush or take by force. It was first used in the sixteenth century. Ravening means to possess the ability to devour greedily, or to prowl for prey. In other words, I’ll crush you like a bug if you mess with me first thing in the morning.”
“Forewarned is forearmed. What are you doing today? Or is it too early to ask?”
“I’m finishing my coffee so that I can stay awake and not drown in the shower. And then I’m going to get dressed and see if I can find something for breakfast.”
“I’ve got that covered. I’ll make another pot of coffee while you shower. And then we can taste the bran cookies I baked this morning.”
“You baked this morning?” Hannah asked, and then she remembered smelling the sweet scent of cinnamon and sugar when she came into the kitchen.
“I was up early thinking about the cookies we promised to bake for Doc. And I had a brainstorm, so I got up and tried out a recipe.”
“What kind of a brainstorm?”
“I’ll tell you after you taste them. Now hurry up and take your shower.”
Less than ten minutes later Hannah came back into the kitchen. She was dressed in clean jeans and a long-sleeved sweater. She was wearing her moccasin boots, the ones with the fringe on the sides, and Moishe and Cuddles were on her heels, one on the left and the other on the right, trying to capture the fringe as she walked.
“How about one of those cookies?” she asked, refilling her coffee mug and then sitting down at the kitchen table.
“Do you like bran?”
“Not particularly. I don’t hate it, but I wouldn’t choose it.”
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“Because if you really loved bran you might love the cookies even though they weren’t that tasty. Let’s see if you like these.” Michelle walked over with a napkin containing two cookies.
Hannah took a bite and chewed. “Nice aftertaste,” she said. “These are really good cookies, and I love the cinnamon and the raisins. They remind me of something, but I don’t know what.”
“Think back to your childhood,” Michelle advised, “and try another bite.”
“With pleasure.” Hannah took another bite. Then she took another, bigger bite and the cookie was gone.
“Did you remember?”
“No.” Hannah picked up a second cookie. “These are definitely winners, Michelle. I like these as much as I used to love ...” She stopped and looked up at her sister in shock as the light dawned. “Grandma Ingrid’s bran muffins?”
“That’s right. I just made a couple of changes and baked her bran muffins as bran cookies.”
“That’s brilliant,” Hannah said, and then she looked puzzled. “Where did you get her recipe?”
“It was in one of those shoe boxes on your bookshelf.”
“Really? I didn’t even know I had it!”
“It was in the third box I tried.”
“Well, good for you! These are definitely great cookies, and Doc’s going to absolutely love them!”
“Shall I pack them up so we can take them out to the hospital today?”
“Sure. We should do a little more snooping around out there anyway. If we talk to the right person, maybe we can learn something new.”
The phone rang, and Hannah reached up, grabbed the wall phone over her head, and answered, “Hello?”
“Hello, dear,” her mother’s cheerful voice greeted her. “I’m here at the hospital and we wanted to know if you and Michelle would like to join us for Sunday brunch at the Inn.”
Hannah thought about it for a nanosecond. Two bran cookies, no matter how tasty, did not a breakfast make. “We’d love to. Thanks for asking, Mother. But who’s we?”
“Doc, Marlene, Vonnie, and me. I’m going to call Andrea, too. She said that Bill’s going out to the station today, and she loves Sally’s brunch.”
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“We all love Sally’s brunch,” Hannah said, and as she did so, visions of popovers swimming in butter and freshly made preserves danced through Hannah’s head. They were followed by crisp strips of bacon that twirled like prima ballerinas, succulent sausages strutting their stuff, pancakes as light as a feather wheeling up like doves toward the sky, and homemade crullers rolling like wheels on a path to her plate.
“Bring your murder book,” Delores reminded her. “Vonnie checked Buddy in, and she remembers something that might help you. And Marlene was with him part of the time in the hospital. She could have new information for us.”
“There’s Doc, too. He may know something new.”
“He doesn’t,” Delores said.
Her mother answered so fast, Hannah frowned. “How do you know that?”
“If Doc knew something new, he would have told me. He doesn’t have any secrets from me.”
“Really?”
“No. Well ... not unless it involves a patient. Then it’s confidential. Meet us at ten-thirty in the lobby, dear. And do dress up a little. It is Sunday, you know.”
DOC’S BRAN-OATMEAL-RAISIN COOKIES
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position.
¾ cup raisins (either regular or golden, your choice)
¾ cup boiling water
1 cup white (granulated) sugar
½ cup brown sugar (pack it down when you mea- sure it)
¾ cup (1 and ½ sticks, 6 ounces) salted butter, softened to room temperature
2 large eggs
½ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
¼ teaspoon grated nutmeg (freshly grated is best)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour (pack it down in the cup when you measure it)
1 and ½ cups dry quick oatmeal (I used Quaker Quick 1-Minute)
2 cups bran flake cereal
Place ¾ cup of raisins in a 2-cup Pyrex measuring cup or a small bowl that can tolerate boiling water without cracking.
Pour the ¾ cup boiling water over the raisins in the cup. Stir a bit with a fork so they don’t stick together, and then leave them, uncovered, on the counter to plump up.
Prepare your cookie sheets by spraying them with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray, or lining them with parchment paper that you also spray with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray.
Hannah’s 1st Note: This cookie dough is a lot easier to make if you use an electric mixer.
Place the cup of white sugar in the bottom of a mixing bowl. Add the half-cup of brown sugar. Mix them together until they’re a uniform color.
Place the softened butter in the mixer bowl and beat it together with the sugars until the mixture is nice and fluffy.
Mix in the eggs, one at a time, beating after each addition.
Add the salt, baking soda, cinnamon, nutmeg and vanilla extract. Beat until the mixture is smooth and well incorporated.
On LOW speed, add the flour, one-half cup at a time, beating after each addition. Continue to beat until everything is well blended.
Drain the raisins by dumping them in a strainer. Throw away any liquid that remains, then gently pat the raisins dry with a paper towel.
With the mixer running on LOW speed, add the raisins to the cookie dough.
With the mixer remaining on LOW speed, add the dry oatmeal in half-cup increments, mixing after each increment.
Turn the mixer OFF, and let the dough rest while you prepare the bran flakes.
Measure 2 cups of bran flake cereal and place them in a 1-quart freezer bag. Roll the bag up from the bottom, getting out as much air as possible, and then seal it with the bran flakes inside.
Squeeze the bran flakes with your fingers, crushing them inside the bag. Place the bag on the counter and squash the bran flakes with your hands. Once they’re in fairly small pieces, take the bag over to the mixer.
Turn the mixer on LOW speed. Open the bag and add the crushed bran flakes to your cookie dough, mixing until they’re well incorporated.
Turn off the mixer, scrape down the sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula, and give the bowl a final stir by hand.
Drop the dough by rounded Tablespoonfuls (use a Tablespoon from your silverware drawer, not one you’d use for measuring ingredients) onto your prepared cookie sheet. There should be 12 cookie dough mounds on every standard-size cookie sheet.
Hannah’s 2nd Note: Lisa and I use a level 2-Tablespoon scooper to form these cookies down at The Cookie Jar.
Bake Doc’s Bran-Oatmeal-Raisin Cookies at 350 degrees F. for 13 to 15 minutes, or until golden brown on top.
Remove the cookies from the oven, and let them cool on the cookie sheets for 2 minutes. Then remove them to a wire rack to cool completely.
Yield: 2 to 3 dozen delicious cookies, depending on cookie size.
Hannah’s 3rd Note: Doc had to warn the Lake Eden Memorial Hospital cooks not to let the patients have more than two cookies. Since they contain bran and bran is an aid to the digestive system, patients who eat a lot of these cookies could be spending a lot of time in the little room with the porcelain fixtures.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I hate pantyhose!”
Michelle looked over at Hannah and laughed. “They’re a necessary evil. And they do keep your legs warm in the winter.”
“So do long woolen socks,” Hannah grumbled, but she was smiling as she got out of her cookie truck in the parking lot of the Lake Eden Inn. They were being treated to Sally’s brunch and that, by itself, was a reason to embrace the whole dress-up-and-wear-pantyhose thing.
“How about a ride, ladies?” Sally’s husband, Dick, asked them as he pulled up behind Hannah’s cookie truck.
“Thanks, Dick. We’ll take it,” Hannah said, glancing down at Michelle’s dress flats. “I forgot to drop her off at the door and she’ll never make it up the hill in those.”
“But you’d make it up the hill,” Michelle said, eyeing Hannah’s moose-hide boots. “We should drop by the mall this afternoon and get you a pair of dress shoes.”
“No way! I never wear anything I can’t run in. And I can’t run in dress shoes. Unless I’m locked in my condo, it’s boots, tennis shoes, and moccasins for me.”
Dick laughed. “Knowing you, you’d probably wear boots or tennis shoes to your own wedding.”
Hannah had an uncomfortable feeling as she got into his tram. The dream she’d had early this morning was still with her, but she knew she had to make light of it in front of Dick. He was a kind man and he’d never knowingly hurt her feelings. “Boots to my own wedding? Really Dick! I’d never do that!”
“Well, that’s a surprise.” Dick looked down at her scuffed, secondhand moose-hide boots and smiled as he climbed into the driver’s seat.
“But tennis shoes to my own wedding? I might do that. They’d be a lot more comfortable than satin shoes. And most wedding gowns are so long, nobody can see the bride’s feet anyway.”
Luckily, Sally was mixing up a pitcher of mimosas at the bar. “Would you like a mimosa?” she asked.
“No thanks. I’m drinking plain orange juice today. Do you have a minute, Sally?”
“Sure.” Sally motioned for one of the waitresses to pick up the pitcher, and then she came out from behind the bar to slide onto the stool next to Hannah’s. “What gives?”
“I’ve got another mystery on my hands. The night you and Dick booked Cinnamon Roll Six at Club Nineteen, Buddy Neiman was seen arguing with a dark-haired woman.”
“And she figures into his murder somehow?”
“I don’t know. She could figure in, and that means I have to find out who she was. Did you or Dick happen to see a dark-haired woman with Buddy that night?”
Sally shut her eyes for a moment, and then she shook her head. “Not that I recall. Can you describe her?”
“Red sweater, black skirt, high-heeled boots, and a lot of makeup. She was s
itting near the stage. I have a picture, but it’s not very good.”
“That’s the understatement of the year!” Sally said as she glanced down at the photo Hannah placed on the bar. “Her own mother couldn’t recognize her. But I did see the woman you described. She was sitting near the stage watching the show. I thought she was ... never mind.” Sally looked down at the picture again. “What is this glitter on her wrist?”
“It’s a bracelet with silver snowflakes. It was sold at ...”
“That’s where I saw her before!” Sally interrupted. “When Norman brought her out here to dinner the first time, I knew I’d seen her somewhere. But she was dressed so differently then, and I didn’t realize it was her until now.” Sally tapped the photo with her finger. “That’s Doctor Bev!”
There it was! The confirmation of all her suspicions! Hannah drew a deep breath and asked, “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I know because I recognized her bracelet. She wore it out here the first time they came to dinner with Carrie and Earl.”
“Doctor Bev was the woman you saw at Club Nineteen?” Hannah asked again, just to be sure.
“Yes, she was. Of course she looked a lot different then, and that’s probably why I didn’t put it all together until you showed me that photo. It’s like Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Here in Lake Eden she’s Miss Goody Two Shoes. But that night at Club Nineteen, she was the Woman in Red.”
“Is it possible that you could be mistaken?”
Sally thought about it for a moment and then she shook her head. “No. It was Doctor Bev. I’m ninety-nine point nine percent positive of that!”
Michelle was eating an omelet from the special order breakfast bar when Hannah got back to their table. To Hannah’s way of thinking, ordering an omelet at one of Sally’s breakfast buffets was a waste. Not that they weren’t good. They were. It was just that anybody could make an omelet for breakfast, but it was unlikely that you’d make Swedish pancakes, blintzes, maple sugar glazed ham, and crullers with three different glazes for your own breakfast at home.