Blueberry Muffin Murder hsm-3

by Joanne Fluke

  "I knew it. I'm right! And you didn't even see it!"

  "See what?" Hannah was puzzled.

  "Mike's in love with you, Hannah. That's the reason he suspects Norman."

  "That sounds like something Doctor Love would say." Hannah referred to the psychologist who answered callers' questions on KCOW talk radio. "Have you been listening to her show?"

  "Of course not. I don't have any reason to listen. I have a very happy marriage."

  "I'm glad to hear it," Hannah said, and she was, especially since she suspected that her sister's family was about to increase by one.

  "It's like this, Hannah. Men in love behave irrationally. Since Mike is behaving irrationally, he must be in love in you. That's simple logic."

  "That's bad logic," Hannah corrected her. "You're affirming the consequent."

  "I'm doing what?"

  Hannah thought about explaining, but this wasn't the time to give her sister a lecture in Logic 101. "Never mind. But if Mike is in love with me, why didn't he just send me a valentine?"

  "Because Valentine's Day is over and maybe he wasn't in love with you then. He might have just realized it this morning. I know I'm right, Hannah. Mike is definitely in love with you."

  Hannah made a face. "If that's love, I don't need it. Telling me that Norman was a suspect was an awful thing for Mike to do. He lied to me."

  "Mike didn't lie. Norman is a suspect, at least in Mike's mind. I'm sure he believes he has some kind of case against Norman."

  "But Norman didn't kill Connie Mac."

  "I know that, and you know that, but Mike doesn't."

  Hannah frowned as the full implication of her sister's words sunk in. "But Mike's a good cop. I can't believe that he would make up a case against Norman."

  "Of course he wouldn't, but he's going into this investigation with a bias. Innocent people have been convicted be- fore, you know. And police work is so objective."

  "Subjective."

  "Okay, subjective. I always get those two mixed up. I tell you, Hannah, Mike doesn't even know he's biased against Norman. It's totally unconscious."

  "Subconscious."

  Andrea rolled her eyes at the ceiling. "Stop correcting me. I'm trying to make a point here. I'm sure Mike will come to his senses eventually, but Norman could find himself in a lot of hot water in the meantime."

  Hannah thought about that for a moment and then she sighed. "I hate to admit it, but you could be right. We'd better find out if Norman has an alibi."

  "Hi, you two." Lisa breezed into the kitchen. "I dropped Dad off at the seniors' center and Tracey's in the dining room with Bill and Mike. They're having breakfast and she's snitching their bacon."

  "That's fine." Andrea nodded absently.

  Lisa walked over to join them, but she stopped short as she noticed their serious expressions. "What's wrong?"

  "Mike thinks Norman's a suspect," Hannah told her.

  "Norman Rhodes?"

  "That's right," Andrea confirmed it. "Did you happen to see him last night between ten and midnight?"

  "Not me," Lisa replied, sitting down next to them, "but I'll ask Herb. He bowled last night and then he came over for night lunch."

  "What's night lunch?" Andrea asked her.

  "That's what Herb's mother calls the little snack you have before bedtime so you won't get hungry in the middle of the night. She told me to try it with Dad and it's working just great. He never wakes up and wanders around in the dark anymore."

  Hannah tried to keep her mouth shut, but she just had to ask. "How is Marge getting along with your dad?"

  "They're just great together," Lisa said with a smile. "Marge is always offering to come and sit with him when Herb and I want to go out. They used to date in high school, you know. Now that Mom's dead and Herb's father is gone, I keep thinking that Marge and Dad might have gotten together again, if only. . . you know."

  Hannah understood what Lisa wasn't saying, and she reached out to give her arm a sympathetic pat. Marge Beeseman had never been credited with being a martyr, and it was unlikely that she'd choose to marry a man who'd been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. "A lot of times life isn't fair."

  "I'd better let you two get to work," Andrea said, rising to her feet. "I'm going up to talk to Francine and I'll take Tracey along. She adores babies, and she hasn't seen little Danny yet. I'll check in with you right afterwards, Hannah."

  Lisa waited until Andrea had left, and then she turned to Hannah. "I didn't want to say anything in front of your sister, but Tracey might have gotten us into trouble."

  "What happened?"

  "We ran into Edna Ferguson when I dropped Dad off at the seniors' center, and she was in a panic about what to serve for dessert at the banquet."

  Hannah groaned, guessing the rest. It wasn't the first time her precocious niece had volunteered her services. "Did Tracey promise Edna that we'd bake the Winter Carnival cake?"

  "I'm afraid she did. She told Edna that her Aunt Hannah could do anything."

  Hannah laughed. "I guess I should be flattered, but there's no way we can replace Connie Mac's cake. We could bake it, no problem, but cake decoration isn't my long suit."

  "Mine, either. I can decorate cookies, but doing a cake is a huge project. Do you want me to call Edna and tell her that we can't do it?"

  Hannah shook her head. "We'll just give her buckets of Little Snowballs for dessert."

  "Snowballs?" Lisa looked shocked. "You're joking, aren't you?"

  "I'm perfectly serious. The snowballs I'm talking about are cookies that my Grandma Ingrid used to bake. We'll present them in the crystal ice buckets Sally uses to chill champagne, and they'll fit right in with the Winter Carnival theme."

  "They sound just perfect." Lisa glanced over at the swinging door as it opened. "Here comes Alex. Sally introduced us when I came in through the dining room."

  Alex spotted them sitting at the counter and hurried over. "Sally said to tell you that you could use anything in the pantry, and she sent me in to help you bake."

  "That's great," Hannah told her. "We can use all the help we can get. Just let me check my recipe file and I'll give you a list of what we need."

  While Lisa and Alex retrieved the bowls of cookie dough from the cooler, Hannah found her grandmother's recipe and made a list of the ingredients. When she was through, she handed it to Alex. "Could you gather these up for us? We'll bake the cookies for the Winter Carnival first, and then we'll start in on the Little Snowballs."

  "Go do what you have to do, Hannah," Lisa said after Alex had left them. "I'll handle the baking with Alex."

  "Are you sure?" Hannah felt a little guilty. Every time she got involved in an investigation, Lisa ended up doing all the baking.

  "I'm positive. The faster you solve Connie Mac's murder, the faster we can get back into our own kitchen." Lisa gestured toward the bowls of dough they'd set on the counter. "I should have these ready for you by noon."

  "Great. I'll drop them off at the venues. You shouldn't have to do everything."

  "Okay, but only if you want to."

  "I do. I have to go out there anyway. Norman's a judge at the dogsled competition, and I need to warn him that he's a suspect."

  "I hope he's got an alibi, and I won't forget to check with Herb. Is there anything else I can do?"

  Hannah started to shake her head, but then she thought of something. "See if you can get Alex talking about her background. I need to know everything I can about her."

  "I can do that," Lisa said, and then she began to frown. "Do you think Alex killed Connie Mac?"

  "No, but everyone's a suspect until we can eliminate them. And there's something about Alex that puzzles me. She was really upset when she found out that Janie was missing, and they only met a couple of days ago. I thought she overreacted, and I'm wondering why."

  "Okay. I'll find out everything I can for you," Lisa promised. "Working with you, I've learned how to get people to spill their guts."

  Hannah went out t
he door with a smile on her face. Perhaps some people wouldn't regard what Lisa had said as a compliment, but she did.

  * * *

  "Look, Aunt Hannah. Isn't Danny wonderful?" Tracey looked up and smiled. "He's got all his toes. Francine took his booties off so I could count."

  Hannah laughed. She'd been keeping Tracey occupied while Andrea spoke to Sally's stepmother, an attractive silver-haired lady whose smile seemed to be a permanent fixture on her face. "Does Danny have all of his fingers?"

  "Oh, yes. He has eight and that's just right."

  "Not ten?" Hannah couldn't resist teasing her niece a bit.

  "Of course not, Aunt Hannah. You know that people have only eight fingers. The other two are thumbs."

  "That's right. I was just testing you. Thumbs aren't fingers."

  Tracey nodded. "But they're really important. They're opposable and we couldn't pick up things if we didn't have them. Watch and see how Danny does it." Tracey picked up a rattle and dangled it front of Danny. The baby reached up to grab it, and Tracey leaned down to kiss the top of his head. "Good boy, Danny. You did that just fine."

  "Did Miss Cox teach you that in school?" Hannah asked, wondering how Janice Cox, Tracey's teacher at Kiddie Komer, was managing to cope with such a bright four-year-old.

  "No, Mr. Herman told me about it when we looked at his animal collection. Monkeys and gorillas have opposable thumbs, and there was another animal, too. I think it had something to do with oranges."

  "Orangutans?"

  "That's it."

  Hannah reached out to ruffle Tracey's blond hair. "You liked Mr. Herman?"

  "Oh, yes. He knows lots of things, but he told me that sometimes his memory turns into a butterfly."

  "A butterfly?"

  Tracey nodded solemnly. "He has to sneak up on it if he wants to catch it and there's a trick he uses. If he can't re- member something right away, he makes himself think of something else. Then it flutters straight into his mind."

  "Ready, Tracey?" Andrea came over to take her daughter's hand. "Thank Francine for letting you play with Danny."

  After Tracey had thanked Francine, Andrea herded her toward the door. Hannah lagged behind to take one last peek at Danny. He'd fallen asleep with his fist in his mouth, and as she stood there, she found herself wishing that her life had taken a different turn. If she'd married, she'd probably have children by now.

  "He's a very good baby," Francine said softly, reaching out to straighten his blanket. "Sally and Dick are so lucky."

  "Yes, they are. I'd better go. I'll see you later, Francine."

  Hannah walked out and shut the door softly behind her. Danny was sweet and he'd definitely awakened her maternal instincts.

  "What took you so long?" Andrea called out from the end of the hallway.

  "I was just looking at Danny." Hannah hurried to catch up with her sister and her niece. They had a murder to solve, and she could think about her lack of progeny later.

  -13- It was only five miles to the Quick Stop, and Hannah negotiated the icy roads with a practiced ease. Once she'd reached a straight stretch of highway, she glanced at her sister. "Did you find out anything interesting?"

  "A couple of things." Andrea swiveled in her seat to look back at her daughter. "We can talk about it. Tracey's got one of her books and she never listens to anyone when she's reading."

  "That'll come in handy when she's sharing a dorm room in college," Hannah said, remembering the times she'd lost herself in her studies when her roommates were discussing the men they were dating.

  "Francine feels awful about mentioning Ezekiel's ghost. She had no idea that reporter would take her seriously. His name is Larry Kruger, by the way. And I was right about Connie Mac's ancestors. Her great-great-uncle was F. E. Laughlin's secretary."

  "But was he playing in that poker game?" Hannah stepped on the gas to pass a lumbering bus.

  "Francine says he could have been. F. E. always took his secretary along when he came to Lake Eden. He liked to work in the daytime and relax at night. And we know his secretary was there, because Francine found a letter he'd written on that date."

  "All right. You convinced me," Hannah conceded, turning off the highway to take the access road. The Quick Stop was impossible to miss, even in a near-blizzard. The old wooden building was painted bright red with yellow trim around the windows, and it loomed like a beacon against the banks of snow.

  Andrea waited until Hannah had parked at the side of the building. "It's time to put your book away, Tracey. We're here."

  "But I'm just getting to the best part." Tracey looked up from her book reluctantly. "Can't I stay here and read?"

  "It's too cold, honey. You'd turn into an icicle in two seconds flat."

  "But Aunt Hannah can leave the heater on. I won't touch anything, I promise."

  Andrea shook her head. "That's not a good idea. Come on, Tracey. If you come inside with us, I'll buy you a snack."

  Hannah had all she could do not to laugh. Andrea, the mother who'd vowed to do everything perfectly, was bribing her daughter with fast food.

  "Okay, Mommy." Tracey shut her book and stashed it in her backpack. Then she looked up at her mother and grinned. "Can I have a hot dog?"

  "May I have a hot dog," Hannah corrected her. "You don't have to ask, Aunt Hannah. You're all grown up and you can eat anything you want to."

  Andrea cracked up and so did Hannah. When they'd recovered, Andrea turned to her sister with a teasing smile. "See what you get for correcting people all the time? Now you'll have to eat one of Sean and Don's hot dogs."

  "That's not exactly a punishment," Hannah informed her, "especially if it's smothered with mustard and pickles."

  "That's exactly the way I like mine," Tracey commented, zipping up her parka and waiting for her mother to get out and open her door.

  After Tracey had climbed out of her truck, Hannah retrieved a bag of the twins' favorite cookies. She never sold day-old cookies in her shop, but the twins wouldn't mind. Her cookies were a whole lot fresher than the cookies they sold in little plastic packages.

  The snow crunched underfoot as they walked the few feet to the front door. The building itself was almost fifty years old, and the twins had spent one whole summer renovating it. They'd added living quarters in the rear, put on a new roof, and painted it inside and out. Their color choices more than made up for the black-and-white Minnesota winter landscape outside the windows. The front counter was bright blue, the shelves were bright yellow, and the inner walls were a brilliant green.

  The first aroma that hit Hannah's nose when they pushed open the door was of freshly brewed coffee. Quick Stop coffee was a source of controversy in Lake Eden. Some people said it was so thick, your spoon would stand straight up in the cup. Others argued that you'd lose your spoon if you stirred it for more than a second, because the acid would melt it away. Hannah wasn't sure which opinion was accurate, since she'd never had occasion to put it to the test. She drank her coffee black.

  "Hi, Hannah. Tell me that bag is what I think it is." Sean, or perhaps it was Don, looked up from the newspaper he was reading at the counter. The newspaper was covering the name embroidered on his purple Quick Stop shirt, and Hannah had never been able to tell the twins apart.

  "It is." Hannah set the bag on the counter. "I brought you a dozen Twin Chocolate Delights."

  "Those are our favorites, and not just because of the name. I've been meaning to talk to you about your cookies. Do you think we could work out a deal to stock them out here?"

  "Why not?" Hannah smiled at him. New business was always welcome.

  "What'll it be? It's my treat."

  "Just coffee, please. It smells wonderful."

  "And for you?" He turned to Andrea.

  "I'll have the same," Andrea answered, "With extra sugar and cream."

  "And how about you, little lady?"

  "I'd like a hot dog, please," Tracey spoke up, "but only if Mommy says it's okay."

  "I guess we'd
better ask her, then." Sean, or Don, slid off his stool and rose to his feet. Hannah caught a glimpse of the name on his shirt. This twin was Don. "Is it okay, Mommy?"

  Andrea nodded. "She likes it with pickles and mustard, but go a little light on the mustard. And give her a package of chips, too. The plain kind, not flavored."

  "Where's Sean today?" Hannah asked, following him to the glass-enclosed spit where the hotdogs seemed to turn eternally.

  "I'm Sean."

  "But. . ." Hannah began to frown. "Your shirt says you're Don."

  "That's because it's Don's shirt. Mine haven't come back from the laundry yet." Sean glanced up at the clock that hung over the counter, then pressed a buzzer near the cash register. "Don's favorite program just ended. He'll be out here in a second."

  When Don arrived, Andrea chatted with him while Sean prepared Tracey's hot dog. Once it had been decorated with mustard and chopped pickles, Sean wrapped it in a sheet of Quick Stop waxed paper and placed it in a cardboard carry-out box with a package of chips.

  "Here you go." Sean handed the takeout box to Tracey and gestured toward an area near the front windows. "We have tables over there."

  The tables had been painted an array of bright colors, and Andrea pointed to the bright orange one, the one farthest from the counter. "Why don't you eat your lunch at the orange table, honey? Your aunt Hannah and I need to talk to Sean and Don."

  "Okay, Mommy," Tracey said with a resigned sigh. "I just knew you were going to talk about grownup stuff again."

  When Tracey had left, Don turned to Andrea. "Grownup stuff?"

  "She's talking about Connie Mac's murder. You heard about it, didn't you?"

  Don frowned as he nodded. "The KCOW news team interrupted Video Auction, and I was all set to call in a bid on a coatrack with antlers instead of hooks. I thought we could use it by the front door."

  "What about the murder?" Sean asked, getting back to Andrea's original question. "Do they know who did it yet?"

  Hannah shook her head. "That's one of the reasons we wanted to talk to you. They're investigating anyone who might have had a reason to kin Connie Mac, and we found out that she fired her van driver that afternoon. Earl Flensburg said he dropped him off here yesterday afternoon to catch the bus home. His first name is Ray, he's in his early twenties, and he has short, dark hair."