Blueberry Muffin Murder

by Joanne Fluke

  BLUEBERRY MUFFIN MURDER

  A glimmer of light caught Hannah’s eye. The pantry door was open a few inches and someone had turned on the light. Hannah grabbed the first weapon she could find, the heavy pot she used to make boiled frostings. If the person who’d frightened Connie Mac away was hiding in her pantry, she’d get in a few good licks before she turned him over to the sheriff!

  Once she had moved silently into position, Hannah inched the door open with her foot. She glanced inside, and what she saw caused the pot to slip from her nerveless fingers. Her earlier assumption was wrong. Connie Mac hadn’t left last night.

  The Cooking Sweetheart was facedown on the pantry floor. She had been struck down by a massive blow to the head in the act of sampling one of Hannah’s Blue Blueberry Muffins.

  Shock rendered Hannah immobile for a moment, but then she knelt down to feel for a pulse. The biggest celebrity ever to set foot in Lake Eden would never star in another episode of her television show or pose for pictures in her magazine. Connie Mac was dead…

  Books by Joanne Fluke

  CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE MURDER

  STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE MURDER

  BLUEBERRY MUFFIN MURDER

  LEMON MERINGUE PIE MURDER

  FUDGE CUPCAKE MURDER

  SUGAR COOKIE MURDER

  PEACH COBBLER MURDER

  CHERRY CHEESECAKE MURDER

  KEY LIME PIE MURDER

  CANDY CANE MURDER

  CARROT CAKE MURDER

  CREAM PUFF MURDER

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  A HANNAH SWENSEN MYSTERY WITH RECIPES

  BLUEBERRY MUFFIN MURDER

  JOANNE FLUKE

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  This book is for our Billie,

  Moishe’s girlfriend

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my dedicated circle of taste-testers. It’s a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it. My special thanks to Ruel, whose skin was beginning to turn a little purple after sampling three dozen batches of Blue Blueberry Muffins, and to Lyn, for rhapsodizing over Lisa’s White Chocolate Supremes.

  Thanks to John S., my much-appreciated editor, who’s always full of ideas and enthusiasm, and to all the other folks at Kensington who’ve supported and encouraged me. A big thank you to Terry Sommers, who gives my recipes a final test. (Your oven is preheating, isn’t it, Terry?) Thanks to Jamie Wallace for perfecting www.MurderSheBaked.com—the official Hannah Swensen web site. And another big thank you to my new E-mail friends who wrote to say that they enjoy Hannah Swensen and her extended family almost as much as I do.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Peanut Butter Melts

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Blue Blueberry Muffins

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Twin Chocolate Delights

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Little Snowballs

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Grilled Cream Cheese Sandwiches

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lisa’s White Chocolate Supremes

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Short Stack Cookies

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Multiple-Choice Bar Cookies

  Index of Recipes

  Chapter One

  Hannah Swensen awoke to a curious sensation. Her body was warm, but her nose felt like an icicle. She sat up in bed, reached out to snap on the light, and stared at the little puffs of moisture her breath left in the air. No wonder her nose felt so cold! The furnace had gone out again and Lake Eden, Minnesota, was smack-dab in the middle of a February cold snap.

  “Moishe? Where are you?” Hannah glanced around the bedroom, but her feline roommate wasn’t in any of his usual places. There was no orange-and-white cat nestled in the cushioned depths of her laundry basket, the top of her dresser held only its usual collection of books, and the windowsill with its view of the bird feeder was bare. There was, however, a good-sized lump in the middle of her bed.

  Hannah stared at the lump for a moment. It was too small to be one of her pillows and too large to belong to an errant sock. She lifted the covers to find her feline roommate curled up in the middle of her bed, soaking up the warmth from her electric blanket.

  “What are you doing under there?” Hannah asked, eyeing her fiercely independent tomcat with surprise. Moishe seldom cuddled for more than a few moments, and he’d never crawled under the covers with her. The cold must have driven him under her quilt and blanket. And he came equipped with a fur coat!

  As if on cue, the alarm clock began its infernal electronic beeping. It was time to get up in the predawn freeze, when all Hannah really wanted to do was crawl back under the covers. She sighed and reluctantly swung her feet over the edge of her bed, feeling around with her toes for her slippers.

  One slipper was immediately accessible. Hannah wiggled her left foot inside and attempted to find its mate. This took a moment, for it was hiding out near the foot of her bed. By the time Hannah located it and shoved her foot inside, her teeth were chattering in a lengthy drum roll.

  “Come on, Moishe. Today’s a big day.” Hannah slipped into her warmest robe, a quilted relic from Lake Eden’s only thrift store, and belted it around her waist. Then she folded back the covers until Moishe was exposed with no place to go. “I know it’s cold. We’ll have breakfast in front of the fireplace.”

  Hunger must have won out over comfort in Moishe’s mind, because he padded after her down the hallway and into the kitchen. Hannah flicked on the lights and gave a thankful sigh as she saw that the timer on her coffeemaker had worked. She poured a cup of the strong brew, cupped it in both hands, and took a scalding sip. There was nothing better than hot coffee on a very cold morning. Then she filled Moishe’s bowl with kitty crunchies and carried her coffee and Moishe’s breakfast out into the living room.

  The fireplace sprang into life as Hannah flicked the switch on the wall, and Moishe settled down in front of the blaze to have his breakfast. Hannah pulled up a chair, rested her feet on the hearth that was home to the fireplace tools she didn’t really need, and gave thanks for the wonders of a gas log. All things being equal, she preferred a real fireplace that could burn aromatic woods like cedar and pine, but a gas log was much more convenient. She never had to carry wood up the stairs to her second-floor condo, or sweep out the ashes and haul them down to the garage Dumpster in a metal pail. Her fireplace was hassle-free and the warmth was instantaneous. Flick, it was on. Flick, it was off.

  As she sat there toasting her feet and waiting for the caffeine to jump-start her morning, Hannah heard a distant clanging from the nether regions of the basement. Someone was working on the furnace. Which early riser had notified the maintenance people?

  Hannah considered it as she sipped her coffee. There was a separate furnace for each building, and her building contained four condo units, two on the ground flo
or and two on the second floor. It was doubtful that Mrs. Canfield, who owned one of the ground-level units, would have noticed the problem. She’d once told Hannah that she didn’t stay up past ten, and the furnace had been working just fine then. Clara and Marguerite Hollenbeck, the two unmarried sisters who owned the unit above Mrs. Canfield, were out of town this week. They’d stopped by Hannah’s cookie shop on Monday to tell her that they’d be attending a Bible teachers’ conference at Bethany Lutheran College. The Plotniks lived directly below Hannah and they were the most likely candidates. Phil and Sue had a four-month-old baby, and he still demanded an occasional bottle in the middle of the night.

  There was a grinding noise from the basement, and Moishe looked startled as he lifted his head from his food bowl. The grinding was followed by a series of clanks and clunks, and Hannah felt a surge of warm air emerge from the heater vents. The furnace was back on. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about leaving the gas log on for Moishe, or putting her stash of Diet Coke in the refrigerator to keep the cans from freezing and popping their tops.

  “I’ve got to get ready for work, Moishe.” Hannah gave him a pat, drained the last of her coffee, and flicked off the fireplace. Once she’d carried his bowl back to the kitchen and given him fresh water, she headed off to the shower. Today would be a busy day and she had tons of cookies to bake. As the proprietor of The Cookie Jar, Lake Eden’s coffee shop and bakery, she’d contracted to provide all the cookies for the Lake Eden Winter Carnival.

  As Hannah turned on the water, adjusted the temperature, and stepped into her steamy shower enclosure, she thought about the plans that Mayor Bascomb and his Winter Carnival committee had made. If they were successful, the carnival would bring new life to Lake Eden at a time of year when everyone needed a boost. There wasn’t much winter business in their small Minnesota town, and the promise of crowds with cash to spend had everyone filled with enthusiasm.

  Lake Eden was a popular tourist spot in the summer months, when the town was flooded with visitors. Every year, on the day that fishing season opened, a lengthy parade of fishermen towing boats drove through Lake Eden to try their luck at the lake that was just within the town limits. The sky blue water was peppered with boats from dawn to dusk in the summer, and a record number of walleyes were pulled from its depths.

  Good fishing wasn’t all Eden Lake had to offer. With its picturesque shores and sandy beaches, it was also a popular family vacation spot. Summer cabin rentals were in high demand, and the lucky locals who owned them used the profits to pay their mortgages and fatten their savings accounts for the lean winter months.

  When the summer season was over, right after Labor Day, the tourists and vacationers left town. The fine restaurants that overlooked the lake shut down their grills, the Lake Eden Bait and Tackle Shop boarded up its windows, and the boat launch was chained off for the winter. By the time the leaves on the trees had begun to display their fall colors, only the year-round residents were left.

  Hannah liked the fall season. The nights were brisk with a hint of snow to come, and hoarfrost lined the edges of the road when she drove to work. Winter wasn’t bad either, at first. Then the snow was white and pristine, the crisp, cold air made the inside of her nose tingle, and her regular customers at The Cookie Jar were full of holiday plans and good cheer.

  When Christmas and New Year’s were over, it was another story. Heating bills soared and seemed to approach the magnitude of the national debt, and business slowed down to a trickle. There was a brief flurry of activity for Valentine’s Day, but after the heart-shaped boxes of chocolates were only a pleasant memory, winter seemed to stretch out endlessly with no spring flowers in sight.

  Late February was the dreariest time of year in Lake Eden. The weak, anemic sun barely peeked out of overcast skies, and tree branches were black and stark against a horizon that was sometimes indistinguishable from the colorless banks of snow. It was difficult to maintain a sunny disposition when every day looked exactly like the one before it, and depression became the epidemic de jour. To combat this yearly malady, Mayor Bascomb had scheduled Lake Eden’s very first Winter Carnival in the third week of February.

  Not to be confused with the Winter Carnival in St. Paul, with its gigantic Ice Palace and hundreds of thousands of visitors, Lake Eden’s event was set on a much smaller scale. Hannah regarded it as a cross between a county fair and a mini Winter Olympics. There would be Nordic skiing, snowmobile competitions, speed-skating exhibitions, dogsled races, and ice fishing on Eden Lake. There would also be contests in Lake Eden Park for the kids, including the best family-made snowman, the best “snow angel,” and a host of others that even the little ones could enjoy.

  The Jordan High auditorium had been designated as the hospitality hub, and all the Lake Eden clubs and societies were busily setting up displays and booths. Winter Carnival visitors would park their cars in the school lot, and shuttle sleighs were scheduled to leave Jordan High every thirty minutes to transport people to the event sites.

  Hannah gave her hair a final rinse and stepped out of the shower to towel it dry. The air outside her steamy bathroom was frigid, and she shivered as she quickly dressed in jeans and her official Lake Eden Winter Carnival sweatshirt. It was bright blue with a flurry of white snowflakes that formed block letters on the front. The legend read “LAKE EDEN,” because “LAKE EDEN WINTER CARNIVAL” had exceeded the manufacturer’s ten-letter maximum.

  Moishe had joined her in the bedroom, and he watched as she pulled on warm socks and slipped her feet into a pair of high-top moose-hide moccasin boots with rubber soles. Then he followed her down the hall to the kitchen, attempting to snag the laces on her boots.

  Hannah refilled Moishe’s food before he had time to yowl for more, poured herself another cup of coffee, and sat down to organize her day at the old Formica table she’d rescued from the Helping Hands Thrift Shop. But before she could flip to a blank page in the steno pad she kept propped up next to her salt and pepper shakers, the phone rang.

  “Mother,” Hannah said with a sigh, and Moishe halted in mid-crunch to give the phone a baleful look. He wasn’t fond of Delores Swensen, and Hannah’s mother had six pairs of shredded pantyhose to prove it. Hannah stood up to grab the wall phone and sat back down again. Her mother wasn’t known for brevity. “Good morning, Mother.”

  “You really shouldn’t answer that way, Hannah. What if I’d been someone else?”

  Hannah gave a fleeting thought to the logic class she’d taken in college. It was impossible for someone to be someone else. She decided not to argue the point—it would only prolong their conversation—and she settled for her standard reply. “I knew it was you, Mother. It’s never anyone else at five-thirty in the morning. How are the shuttle sleighs coming along?”

  “They’re all ready to go, and that includes the one that Al Percy’s uncle donated.” Delores gave a rueful laugh. “You should have seen it, Hannah. It was such a wreck that all they could keep were the runners and the hardware. The shop class had to build a whole new body and it looks fabulous.”

  “Great,” Hannah commented, and took another sip of her coffee. Delores had been instrumental in helping Mayor Bascomb round up sleighs for the Jordan High shop class to rejuvenate. She had a real knack for ferreting out antiques, and old sleighs in decent condition weren’t easy to locate.

  “I found a picture on a Christmas card and they modeled it after that. The boys are lining it with white fur throws today, and we’re going to use it for the Prince and Princess of Winter.”

  Hannah pictured it in her mind. It sounded perfect for the Winter Carnival royalty. “How many sleighs do you have?”

  “Twelve.” There was a note of pride in Delores’s voice. “And before I got involved last month, they only had two.”

  “You did a great job. I’ll bet you could get a fleet rate on the insurance with a dozen.”

  There was a silence, and Hannah heard her mother draw in her breath sharply. “Insurance? I hop
e the Winter Carnival Committee thought of that! Why, someone could fall off and sue the town, and—”

  “Relax, Mother,” Hannah interrupted her. “Howie Levine’s on the committee and he’s a lawyer. I’m sure he thought of it.”

  “I hope so! I’ll call the mayor this morning, just to make sure. I promised to call anyway, to tell him when the Ezekiel Jordan House was finished.”

  “It’s all finished?”

  “It will be this morning. All I have to do is hang the drapes and put up some pictures in the parlor.”

  “Good work, Mother,” Hannah complimented her. She knew that Delores hadn’t been given much time to whip the project into shape. At their January meeting, the Lake Eden Historical Society had decided to create a full-scale replica of the first mayor’s house for the Winter Carnival crowd to tour, and they’d rented the two-story building next to Hannah’s cookie shop for the purpose. Since Delores was Lake Eden’s foremost antique expert and a founding member of the historical society, she had taken on the project. Carrie Rhodes had volunteered to help her, and when the two mothers weren’t actively working on the re-creation, they were busy making plans to marry Hannah off to Carrie’s son, Norman.

  Replicating the Ezekiel Jordan House was a difficult task. Since there were no existing pictures, Delores and Carrie had contacted the first mayor’s descendants to request any information they might have about the five-room dwelling. One of Mrs. Jordan’s great-great-grandnieces had responded by sending a box of her ancestor’s effects and a stack of letters that the first mayor’s wife had written to her family back east. In several of the letters, Abigail Jordan had described her home and furniture in detail, and Delores had used her knowledge of antiques to fill in the blanks.