Blueberry Muffin Murder

by Joanne Fluke

“Well…that’s good to know,” Hannah said, not sure whether that revelation made her feel better or worse. A night guard could catch them going through Alan’s files, but thinking that there was a guard in the building had made her feel a bit safer.

  “So can we?”

  It took a second for Hannah to remember her sister’s initial question. “No, we can’t turn on the lights. Somebody else could be here working late.”

  “But there were no other cars in the parking lot.”

  “That’s true, but I don’t want to take any chances. One of the other store owners could be pulling up outside right now. If he walks past here on the way to his store, he’ll wonder why the lights are on. And if he calls the sheriff’s department to report it, you could get busted by your own husband.”

  “Good point,” Andrea said, giving up the argument.

  The two sisters walked past counters and displays, heading for the back room. They were halfway there when Andrea pointed to a display of cast-iron pans. “Look, Hannah. Grandma Ingrid had pans like those.”

  “They’re spiders,” Hannah told her.

  “Where?” Andrea jumped back. “I hate spiders!”

  “I’m talking about the pans. They used to call them spiders.”

  Andrea gave a sigh of relief and stepped back up to the display table. “These prices are insane. Look at this little one. It’s sixty-nine dollars and it won’t hold more than one egg.”

  “Cast iron must be popular again. I’ve got a whole set of Grandma Ingrid’s spiders, if you want one.”

  “You keep them. I don’t cook anyway.” Andrea moved forward, but she stopped at a display of cut-glass crystal. “This vase is just gorgeous. It’s got to be Baccarat.”

  “Sleuth now, shop later,” Hannah ordered, pushing her sister forward. “Come on, Andrea. It’s almost ten-thirty and I don’t want to be out here all night.”

  “Can we turn on the lights now?” Andrea asked, once they’d entered the back room and closed the door behind them.

  “Not yet.” Hannah pointed to the bank of windows on the outside wall. “Those windows overlook the front parking lot, and somebody might see the lights from the highway. Come with me. Alan’s office is right over here.”

  When Hannah had opened Alan’s office, Andrea gave a disappointed sigh. “He’s got a window, too! Does that mean we have to go through his files with flashlights?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Hannah told her, moving to the file cabinet against the wall. “At least he’s got two chairs in here. Sit down behind his desk and I’ll bring you some files to go through.”

  Hannah took the files from the top drawer and gave her sister the contents of the bottom drawer. They positioned their flashlights to serve as lamps and worked in silence for about ten minutes, going through stacks of paperwork. Most of Alan’s files contained routine papers relating to the management of Connie Mac’s Kitchen Boutiques.

  “I think I’ve got it, Hannah!” Andrea sounded excited as she pointed to a document she’d been reading. “It’s Paul MacIntyre’s will and it’s dated the day before Connie Mac died. It’s witnessed and notarized and it says that Paul leaves fifty percent of his estate to Connie Mac and fifty percent to…Janie!”

  “Our Janie?”

  “Yes. Jane Ellen Burkholtz. It says so right here. But why would Paul do something like that, unless…” Andrea stopped speaking and began to frown. “Do you think that Janie lied to you about having an affair with Paul?”

  “I’m almost positive she didn’t. There’s got to be another explanation.”

  “But what? People don’t just pick names out of a hat and leave them fifty percent of their money.”

  “No, of course not,” Hannah said, and then the light dawned. Alex had told her that Janie’s biological father was going to leave her something in his will.

  “What is it, Hannah?” Andrea leaned forward to stare at her sister in the glow of the flashlight. “Do you know something I don’t know?”

  “I think I do.”

  “What is it?”

  Hannah began to frown. She’d promised not to tell anyone that Janie was Alex’s daughter, but she’d figured out the identity of Janie’s biological father all by herself. “If I tell you, you’ve got to promise not to tell anybody else. Not even Bill.”

  “It’s that serious?” Andrea gulped when Hannah nodded. “Okay, I promise. Tell me.”

  “I think Paul MacIntyre is Janie’s biological father.”

  Andrea looked shocked for a moment, and then she shook her head vehemently. “You’re wrong, Hannah. I used to go to Janie’s house all the time when we were kids, and there’s no way Isobel would have had an affair. She adored Garland. They did everything together and they went everywhere together, and…”

  “Hold the phone,” Hannah interrupted before her sister could protest any further. “I didn’t mean to imply that. What I meant was, Janie is adopted.”

  “Adopted? But…are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “If Paul’s her real father, who’s her real mother?” Andrea gulped and looked a little sick. “Connie Mac?”

  “Not Connie Mac. I can’t tell you who it is, but it’s definitely not her.”

  “That’s a relief!” Andrea said, letting out her breath in a giant whoosh. “Is it someone we know?”

  “Yes, and that’s all I’m going to say about it. Don’t press me, Andrea. I promised I’d never tell and I won’t.”

  Andrea sighed. “Not even one little hint?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “How about Janie? Does she know?”

  “No. Isobel and Garland promised never to tell her. Her birth mother made it a condition of the adoption. She wanted Janie to have a real family with a loving mother and father, and that’s exactly what Janie has. Her birth mother never wanted to take the chance of jeopardizing Janie’s feelings for Isobel and Garland.”

  Andrea looked as if she might object, but she thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “Okay. I can understand that.”

  “Good. Now let’s get back to Mr. Fifty Percent. That turned out to be Janie and we know that she didn’t kill Connie Mac. The only other possibility is Paul, and he’s in the clear, too.”

  “At least we know why Connie Mac was so mad the day she died. It must have been a real shock to find out that Janie got half of her husband’s estate. Do you think she knew that Janie was Paul’s daughter?”

  Hannah shook her head. “I don’t think Paul told anyone why he put Janie in his will—not even Alan. Alan might have told Connie Mac if he’d known, and Paul wouldn’t have risked that. I think the only thing that Alan told Connie Mac was that he’d drawn up Paul’s will and that Janie got fifty percent.”

  “And Connie Mac assumed that Janie was sleeping with Paul? And that’s why she was in his will?”

  “It makes sense. What would you think if Bill drew up a will and his lawyer told you that he’d left fifty percent to a woman at work?”

  Andrea began to frown. “I see what you mean, and that almost makes me feel sorry for Connie Mac. But if Janie didn’t kill her, and Paul didn’t kill her, who did?”

  “Search me. We’re fresh out of suspects, Andrea.”

  “That’s true,” Andrea said, and she sounded very discouraged. “We followed all the leads and we did everything right, but we still flunked out. What are we going to do?”

  “I don’t have a clue. All I know is that I never want to go through another day like today. I’m still locked out of The Cookie Jar, I found another body, one of my oldest friends lied to me, and I struck out on a murder case for the first time. I’m on a losing streak, Andrea. We’d better put back these files and leave before we get busted for breaking and entering.”

  “Just sit here and rest. I’ll do it.” Andrea picked up a stack of files and returned them to the file cabinet. When she came back for a second armful, she looked puzzled. “You said a friend lied to you. Which friend?”

 
“Greg Canfield. He said he tripled his money day-trading, but he lied. I just found out that the company he said he invested in went bankrupt.”

  “I wonder why he lied about it.” Andrea thought for a moment and then she snapped her fingers. “You used to date him, didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t date anyone.”

  “Yes, you did. I know you had a date for the senior prom.”

  “That was a setup,” Hannah answered truthfully, even though the memory still stung a bit. “Dad promised Cliff Shuman a summer job if he took me to the prom. You were the one with all the dates, even back then.”

  “But Greg used to come to the house all the time. I remember that.”

  “That’s true, but we weren’t dating. Greg and I were just really good friends.”

  “Do you think you would have dated him if his parents hadn’t moved?”

  You bet! Hannah wanted to say, but she thought better of it. She tried for a casual tone and said, “Maybe. I liked him and I think he liked me, too.”

  “Then that’s probably why he lied to you. He didn’t want to admit he failed, so he made up that story to impress you.”

  “Maybe. I called to ask him about it, but he wasn’t home.” Hannah picked up another stack of files and handed them to her sister. “Mrs. Canfield’s really upset. She thinks Greg’s going through a personal crisis, and she’s worried about him.”

  “What makes her think that?”

  “Greg told her he’d be staying with her temporarily, just until Annette found a house in Colorado, but some legal papers came for him from a family law firm in Denver. Mrs. Canfield thinks that they were divorce papers.”

  “She’s probably right. I met Annette and she didn’t strike me as the type to stick around when the money got tight.”

  “I know. I guess Greg just wasn’t successful enough for her.”

  “But he was,” Andrea objected. “His store was making money. I know that for a fact.”

  “Then Greg didn’t go broke?”

  “No. His store had record sales in December. One of his clerks told me that they outsold all the other stores in the mall. That’s why I don’t understand why Greg lost his lease. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the mall charges rent, but they also take a small percentage of the profits from each store. Why would the mall refuse to renew Greg’s lease if his store was making extra money for them?”

  “I don’t know,” Hannah said and she began to frown. “That’s like cutting off your nose to spite your face, unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless the mall manager had bigger fish to fry. Didn’t Rhea Robinson tell us that Connie Mac wouldn’t sign a lease in a mall with a competing store?”

  “Yes, but Greg’s store was an import business.”

  “Didn’t you tell me that you bought a cookie jar at Greg’s closeout sale?”

  “I bought two. They were half price. And I bought a set of everyday dishes, too. They’re really cute, Hannah. They’ve got blue cornflowers around the border.”

  “So Greg carried a lot of kitchen things?”

  “Yes, he did. He had glassware, and flatware, and…” Andrea stopped speaking and she drew in her breath sharply. “I see where you’re going and I think you’re right. I’m going to look for the lease that Connie Mac signed.”

  It took a few moments, but Andrea found the right file folder. She handed it to Hannah and they flipped through it together.

  “I’ll take the lease,” Andrea offered, pulling the legal document out of the file. “I’m more familiar with leases than you are. You look at the correspondence.”

  They worked in silence for several minutes. The only sound was the rustle of pages turning. Finally Andrea handed the lease back to Hannah. “There’s nothing about competing stores in here. It’s all standard boilerplate.”

  “But this isn’t,” Hannah said, holding up a sheaf of pages that were stapled together at the corner. “Here’s a letter that Alan wrote to the mall manager. It says that Connie Mac agrees to open one of her kitchen boutiques at the mall, but there’s a condition. She wants the mall manager to cancel Greg’s lease when it comes up for renewal and give his space to her kitchen boutique.”

  “And the mall manager agreed?”

  “Oh, yes. Alan drew up a four-page contract. The mall manager signed it, and so did Connie Mac and Alan.”

  “So Connie Mac and Alan put Greg out of business?”

  “I’m no lawyer, but it sure looks that way to me.”

  Andrea thought about that for a moment, and then she reached for Hannah’s notebook. “Do you want me to add Greg to our suspect list and write down what we’ve learned?”

  “Definitely. People have killed for less. I don’t believe Greg would murder anybody, but I have to check it out. I promised Mrs. Canfield that I’d come down for coffee when I got home and I’m going to take this letter with me. If Greg’s there, I’ll ask him about…”

  Hannah stopped speaking abruptly and Andrea glanced up at her. “What?”

  “I heard something. Douse your flashlight. Quick!”

  Andrea clicked off her flashlight and so did Hannah. The room was plunged into near-darkness. The only illumination came from a distant streetlight that glowed faintly through the window.

  “What did you hear?” Andrea asked.

  “A car. I think it drove around the building and parked in back.”

  Both sisters listened intently. All was quiet for almost a minute, and then they heard the faint sound of a door clanging closed.

  “The stairwell door,” Hannah said, reaching in her pocket for the keys to her truck and dropping them into Andrea’s purse. “I just put my keys in your purse. Take it and crawl under the desk.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it could be someone from the sheriff’s department. I’ll stick with my original story about how Janie sent me out here to pick up something. Maybe I can convince them to call her to confirm it, but they might haul me in to the station for questioning, anyway. If that happens, just wait until they’re gone and drive my truck back to the inn.”

  “But I can back up your story. It’s probably someone I know, and they’ll believe me.”

  Hannah grabbed her sister’s arm. “No, Andrea. Get under the desk. Please!”

  “But why?”

  “Because maybe it’s not a deputy.”

  “Oh,” Andrea said, and she sounded a little sick. “Do you think it could be the…the killer?”

  “If it is, there’s no way he’s going to get you. Get under there, Andrea. Now!”

  “But with two of us, we’ll have him outnumbered. I won’t let you face him alone.”

  “Get under there now, and don’t make a sound!” Hannah ordered, pulling her sister around the desk.

  “But I can help you. Why should I hide under the desk like a coward?”

  “Because I won’t let you jeopardize the life of my new niece or nephew,” Hannah declared, shoving her sister under the desk and rolling the desk chair back into place.

  “But I’m not…”

  “Just shut up and do what I say!” Hannah hissed, interrupting her sister’s denial. “Believe me, Andrea. If I say you’re pregnant, you’re pregnant!”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Hannah’s heart was racing as she slipped out of the back room. She moved quickly, hurrying down the center aisle toward the display windows at the front of the store. The lighting inside the boutique was dim, but someone passing by the windows could still glance in and spot her. Rather than take that risk, she ducked down behind a display of fine china.

  The mall was so quiet, she could hear the faint sound of approaching footsteps. Hannah hoped that it was just another store owner, intending to restock his shelves before the doors opened on Monday, but she didn’t hold out much hope. Since it was almost eleven on a Sunday night, that was about as unlikely as Moishe suddenly sprouting wings and zoom
ing off into the wild blue yonder.

  The sound of the footsteps was increasing in volume as the person approached, clunking against the decorative tiles that lined the floor of the mall. Hannah was convinced that they belonged to a man. The stride was positive and energetic, and no effort was taken to step softly. Perhaps she was doing women a disservice by even thinking it, but Hannah doubted that any woman alone, entering a deserted mall this late at night, would tread so boldly.

  Her heart in her throat, Hannah willed the stranger to walk on by, but the sound ceased abruptly in front of the door. She risked a glance, peeking up over a platter that probably cost more than she earned in a week, and she gasped as she recognized the person standing in front of Connie Mac’s Kitchen Boutique.

  It was Greg Canfield.

  Relief washed over Hannah in a giant wave. Greg was all right. All her dire thoughts had turned out to be baseless. She was just getting to her feet, preparing to call out and offer to let Greg in, when she had an unsettling thought. What was Greg doing out here on a Sunday night? And how had he gotten in?

  Hannah ducked back down and thought about it for a second. Greg had kept his keys to the back door of the mall. That much was clear. And she’d told Mrs. Canfield that she was coming out to the mall. Perhaps Greg had driven out here wanting to talk to her about the losses he’d taken in the stock market and the fact that Annette was divorcing him. Hannah had almost convinced herself that this was the case when she heard a sound that shot holes in her newly formed theory.

  That sound was a key in the lock, turning the tumblers. It was followed by a click, and then Hannah heard the heavy glass door opening. Greg must have kept the key to his store, and no one had bothered to change the locks when Connie Mac’s Kitchen Boutique had taken over the space.

  Hannah moved slightly and peeked out again, this time from behind a serving bowl. Greg was relocking the door behind him. But why would he do that? And why hadn’t he called out to her if he’d guessed she was here?

  Greg bent over to pick something up, and Hannah almost gasped out loud when she saw that it was a baseball bat. Had Greg come out to the boutique to vandalize the store that had put him out of business?