PLUM PUDDING MURDER

CANDY CANE MURDER

SUGAR COOKIE MURDER

JOANNE FLUKE

KENSINGTON BOOKS

http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is

Attributor Protected.

Contents

Plum Pudding Murder

Candy Cane Murder

Sugar Cookie Murder

PLUM PUDDING MURDER

“Hannah?” Norman turned to his suddenly silent companion. “What’s the matter?”

Hannah pointed to an area on the other side of the door.

Norman turned to look. “There’s Larry.” He moved a smidgen closer to the prone figure on the rug. “There’s a brandy bottle on the coffee table. He could be dead drunk.”

“Or he could simply be dead,” Hannah said as she averted her eyes as Norman knelt down next to Larry on the rug. That’s when she noticed her platter on the floor, along with some scattered crumbs that could only have come from her Minnesota Plum Pudding. Larry must have been carrying the platter when he answered the door.

“No pulse,” Norman said, straightening up and turning to her. “He’s dead.”

“Dead,” Hannah repeated, not liking that diagnosis at all..

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

PLUM PUDDING MURDER

APPLE TURNOVER MURDER

GINGERBREAD COOKIE MURDER

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

PLUM PUDDING MURDER

JOANNE FLUKE

KENSINGTON BOOKS

http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

This book is for the lovely Thea Giulia

Acknowledgments

A big kiss for Ruel, who fixes all the boo-boos. Hugs all around to the kids and the grandkids.

Congratulations to Dixie Lee, winner of the Kensington recipe contest, with her scrumptious German Apple Cake.

Thank you to: Mel & Kurt, Lyn & Bill, Lu & Sheba, Gina, Adrienne, Jay, Bob, Amanda, John B., Judy Q., Dr. Bob & Sue, Laura & Mark, Richard & Krista, Mark B., Lois & Neal, and my hometown friends in Swanville, MN.

Thank you to my multi-talented Editor-in-Chief, John Scognamiglio, for his infinite patience, excellent advice, and his unwavering trust in tasting every sample of Hannah’s baked goods that I send to him.

Thanks also to Walter, Steve, Laurie, Doug, David, Maureen, Karen, Meryl, Colleen, Michaela, Kate, Adam, Jessica, Peter, Robin, Lori, Mike, Tami, Susie, and Barbara.

Thanks to Hiro Kimura for the delectable Plum Pudding on the cover.

(I love the Santa on the dessert server!) And thank you to Lou Malcangi for designing such a delightful dust jacket.

Thanks also to all the other talented folks at Kensington who keep Hannah sleuthing and baking up a storm.

Thank you to Trudi Nash, a great friend and traveling companion! And thanks to David for batching it while she’s gone.

Thank you to Dr. Rahhal, Dr. and Mrs. Line, and Dr. Wallen.

Thanks to John at Placed4Success for Hannah’s movie and TV spots.

And thanks to Hans who saved me from buying a flat-screen TV to use for target practice.

Thanks to Ken Wilson, the master of iced coffee. And a big hug for Lois Brown, superb food stylist and baker.

Thanks to Jill Saxton for correcting my Minnesota mistakes, baking bloopers, spelling slips, and grammatical goofs. (You’ll notice she doesn’t correct alliteration.) Many thanks to Terry Sommers for wading through the Wisconsin snow to her grocery store for the ingredients to test my recipes.

Thank you to Sally Hayes for so many yummy recipes. If I click my heels together three times can I come to your Kansas kitchen and bake with you?

Thank you to Jamie Wallace for keeping my Web site,

MurderSheBaked.com

up to date and looking great.

Hugs to everyone who sent favorite family recipes for Hannah to try.

I’m going to increase the size of my “To Test” box…again.

And thanks so much for all the friendly letters and e-mails about Hannah.

I’m delighted that you enjoy reading about her and trying her recipes.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Hannah Swensen’s Christmas Eve Dinner

Plum Pudding Murder Recipe Index

Chapter One

Lake Eden, Minnesota

Ten Shopping Days Until Christmas

There were nights like tonight, right after he’d bet a bundle on the losing team, when Larry Jaeger wondered why he’d ever come back to this dinky little town. When it came to money matters, people around here were clueless. Swindling them out of their savings was no contest at all. He preferred an even playing field where he could outwit the investors he thought of as his adversaries. It was a game, after all, and the game was boring if your opponents were pushovers.

In an effort to even the odds he’d taken more risks than usual, but not a single one of the locals were suspicious, not even Mayor Bascomb, who prided himself on his business savvy. This was like counting the leaves on a three-leaf clover, and that wasn’t his idea of fun. The thrill came from taking off with the money right before someone was about to catch on. These people weren’t about to catch on.

And then there was Courtney, his biggest investor, his partner, and his fiancee. She owned fifty percent of the Crazy Elf Christmas Tree Lot…on paper.

Courtney had insisted on taking a room at the Lake Eden Inn, rather than staying with him in the double-wide trailer they called Elf Headquarters. She was afraid that people would talk because they weren’t married. She was right. They would talk. But that wouldn’t bother him. His concern was that Courtney was living separately, and that gave her time to think. It was much easier to keep tabs on her when they were together twenty-four seven. She had some surprisingly good business instincts, unlike some of the other girlfriends he’d had. Courtney might just have the smarts to compare the business he’d fabricated for her on paper to what was actually happening right here in Lake Eden Park. If she did that, she might discover the inconsistencies that no one else had noticed.

The customers were long gone and the last employee had left the lot at least ten minutes ago. He was completely alone and once Hannah came to pick up her check, he’d be alone for the rest of the night.

It was time to close up shop. He stepped out the back door of the trailer and walked to the pole that held the breaker box. It was cold tonight, now that the elves had turned off the standing heaters, and he shivered even though he was wearing a heavy sweater.

There were three switches inside the weather-proof box. The top one controlled the electricity for the buildings, tree tents, rides, and tall candy cane lampposts that illuminated the park. The second switch powered the bare bulbs that were strung in a crisscross pattern overhead. They were the night security lights and they kept the park dimly illuminated when the main lights were out. The third breaker controlled the electricity for Elf Headquarters, and that was permanently set in the on position. He’d told the electrician to rig it so that no misguided employee could cut the power to his television set in the middle of an important game.

The music was blaring as usual and it seemed even louder now that it wasn’t tempered by noisy crowds and the squeals of children riding the attractions. His trailer wasn’t soundproof, but he’d learned to tune out the noise when he was inside. Now that the park was empty, the continuous loop of Christmas carols seemed ear-splitting.

Silent Night was playing as he clicked on the overhead security lights. He’d learned his lesson the first night he’d spent in the park. Once the main lights were doused, it was impossible to see the second switch. He’d picked his way gingerly back to the trailer to get a flashlight to illuminate the second switch so that he could engage it.

Larry reached for the top switch as the music went into the chorus. “Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is…”

He threw the switch and smiled. “Not bright. Not bright at all,” he said, heading back to the lights and warmth of Elf Headquarters.

A big swallow from the brandy snifter on the coffee table made short work of his shivers. A second snifter took care of his icy toes and hands, and then he played channel roulette with the remote in an effort to find something interesting. He bypassed cooking shows, nature programs, reenactments of great moments in history, several movies with actors he didn’t recognize, a performance by a symphony orchestra with a conductor he didn’t recognize, and reruns of ten-year-old game shows. He finally concluded that there was nothing he really wanted to watch on any of his two hundred plus satellite channels. The only thing that was slightly better than nothing at all was a replay of the championship college basketball tournament that had taken place last year.

A few sips from a third snifter of brandy made it easier to pretend that he hadn’t seen the game before. He watched a three-pointer sink in without even rippling the net, and then he looked up as car lights flashed outside his window.

Someone was parking on the street and it was probably Hannah and the dentist. No one else would come here this late. The sign on the gate announced that they were closed, but he’d left it unlocked so that she could come in.

An envelope with her check and receipt was waiting on the table next to the door. He was nothing if not prepared. He picked up the platter she’d used for her plum pudding and glanced down at the remaining crumbs. She’d be pleased to hear that everyone had loved it and agreed that it would be a big hit at the Crazy Elf Cookie Shop.

When the knock came on the door, he was ready. He pulled it open, but when he saw who was standing there, he began to frown. “What are you doing here? You’re the last person I expected to see!”

“I will be the last person you’ll see.” The words were clipped with anger. “It’s what you deserve for what you’ve done.”

“What do you mean?” His frown deepened and he stepped back in an effort to avoid a confrontation. It was clear that this was not a friendly social visit.

His uninvited guest stepped in, shut the door, and took another step forward, forcing him to back up even further. “What do you want?” he asked.

The answer to his question came in tangible form. When he saw the gun, he backed up several more steps and dropped the platter with a crash. His hands shot up in a futile effort to protect himself.

“No! You can’t…” were the last words he spoke.

Chapter Two

One Day Earlier

That horrid gingerbread man was poking her in the eye again! Hannah Swensen reared back to avoid the rounded tip of a well-spiced arm and the rickety step stool she kept at The Cookie Jar began to teeter on two legs. The instant before toppling was a certainty, she managed to grab a sturdy branch that was decorated with five colored lights, a chocolate chip cookie ornament, and a plastic sprig of holly. The branch held, the step stool stabilized, and what she’d feared would be a painful tumble to the floor below was averted.

“That’s enough, I’m done,” Hannah said to no one in particular since she was the sole occupant of her coffee shop and bakery. It was four-fifteen in the afternoon, and she’d taken advantage of the predictable lull that occurred this time of day. It was too late for most customers to come in for a mid-afternoon snack cookie and too early to pick up the boxes of cookies that had been ordered for evening parties and holiday buffets. Since her partner, Lisa Herman, had offered to make their daily cookie deliveries, Hannah had volunteered to finish decorating the Christmas tree in the front window of their shop.

It was time to admire her handiwork and have a cup of the coffee the Lake Eden Journal had called the best in the tri-county area. Hannah poured a cup and sat down at her favorite table at the back of the shop. As she sipped, she gazed out the front window at a scene that was straight from the front of a Christmas card. Lacy flakes of snow fell outside the glass, gently fluttering down to rest on the pristine white blanket that covered the sidewalk. The tree looked lovely, and Hannah gave a contented smile. It was the second week in December, and night came early in the North Star State. Thanks to the winter solstice, this was the time of the year when people drove to work in the dark, worked all day with only a glimpse of the sun from their office windows, and left work after sunset to drive back home in the dark.

A Minnesota winter could be long and claustrophobic, causing bouts of cabin fever that sent snowbirds, the people who packed up their RVs at the first sign of snow, on their annual migration to more hospitable places like Florida or California. Those who couldn’t leave for the entire winter but needed a break from the unrelenting cold, purchased vacation packages and spent a rejuvenating week basking in the sun in Hawaii, or St. Thomas, or the Bahamas. They came back with suntans that were the envy of those who stayed behind in the land of snow shovels, ski masks, and chemical hand warmers.

The Lake Eden residents who stuck it out had months to perfect their survival skills. A Minnesota winter could start as early as October and last all the way through April. In the dead of winter, when the temperatures dropped to forty below, they dressed in layered clothing that added another twenty pounds to their silhouettes and hunkered down next to the heater vents, hoping that the furnace wouldn’t go out.

When boredom set in as it inevitably did after the holidays, people created winter diversions to keep their minds off the endless black and white world outside their windows. The end of January brought the Lake Eden Winter Carnival with competitive winter games at the Lake Eden Inn and rides through town in old-fashioned one-horse sleighs. In February, there was a gala Valentine Night’s Ball, preceded by a potluck dinner. March heralded a phenomenon called Crazy Days. Standing gas heaters were set up every few feet on Main Street and merchants displayed their wares on the sidewalk in front of their stores. It was a study in delusion, but everyone seemed to enjoy pretending that the banks of snow no longer existed and summer had arrived. In April there was the annual Easter Egg Hunt. If the weather was cold enough to freeze the hardboiled eggs that were decorated by the Lake Eden Women’s Club, the event was held in the community center.

Winter was hard, no doubt about that, but almost everyone agreed that December was a magical month. Any month with Christmas in it had to be enchanting. Lights twinkled in shop windows all along Main Street. The pink-flocked tree in the plate glass window of Doug Greerson’s First Mercantile Bank glittered with garlands of gold tinsel artfully looped from branch to branch. Pink satin balls were interspersed with gold candy canes, and pink mini-lights twinkled merrily.

Gus York had decorated his barber pole with colored lights again this year, and it reflected against the freshly fallen snow. The picture window that featured two chrome and leather barber chairs was outlined with garlands of pine boughs, red satin bows, and flashing white mini-lights.

Not to be outdone by his neighbor, Al Percy of Lake Eden Realty featured a miniature home in his front window. It had been wired, and lights blazed in the dining room, where a Christmas dinner was being served while the Christmas tree glowed softly in the den. Miniature wreaths were on every door, and the roof was decorated with a miniature Santa in his sleigh.

The window at Trudi’s Fabrics was a work of stitchery art. A red and green velvet quilt formed the background, and angels floated from nearly invisible fishing line hanging from the ceiling. Each angel wore a colorful robe, a sample of the Christmas fabrics that Trudi and Loretta featured in their store. Sparkling gold lights provided illumination as the angels floated over a miniature forest of potted baby spruce and blooming poinsettias.

Although Hannah couldn’t see the front window of Hal and Rose’s Cafe from her vantage point at The Cookie Jar, she knew Rose had put up her tree again this year. The shiny metal pine changed colors when a small spotlight shone through a disk of revolving colored gels. The metal trees had been very popular a few years before Hannah was born, and Hannah’s grandfather and father had stocked them at Lake Eden Hardware. As far as Hannah was concerned, Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without Rose’s tree on display.

“I’m back,” a voice called out, breaking into Hannah’s thoughts. It was Lisa, and she was back from her cookie deliveries. A few moments later the swinging restaurant-style door between the kitchen and the coffee shop opened and Lisa came in.

“The tree looks beautiful!” she exclaimed, walking closer to take a look. “I can’t believe those shellacked cookie ornaments I made two years ago have lasted this long.”

“Why wouldn’t they? Shellac is a great preservative. Did you know that people used to believe it was made from the wings of an insect found in India?”

Lisa shook her head. “But it’s not?”

“That’s right. It’s actually harvested from the secretions of the female insects and it’s scraped from the bark of trees.”

“Okay. I guess that’s a little better.”

“Not always. Sometimes they scoop up the insect along with the bark.”

“Yuck! I wish you hadn’t told me.”

“Sorry about that. It is kind of unappetizing. Did you finish the deliveries?”

“They’re all done, except for Mr. Jaeger. I’m going to drop those off on my way home.” Lisa sat down next to Hannah and took a sip of the coffee she’d carried in with her. “I ran into Herb, and he drove me around. It’s really cold out there, and his patrol car was nice and warm.”

Hannah smiled. Lisa still had stars in her eyes when she talked about her husband of ten months. As Lisa’s father and Herb’s mother were fond of saying, they were perfect for each other.

“We got a chance to talk between deliveries,” Lisa went on, “and Herb said Mayor Bascomb had to take Mrs. Bascomb to the emergency room at the hospital last night.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” Hannah noticed that Lisa was still referring to her elders by their formal names, just as she’d done as a child. Old habits died hard in Lake Eden. “What’s wrong with Stephanie, do you know?”

“Doc Knight diagnosed her with a bad case of the flu and he’s keeping her in the hospital. He was really upset because she didn’t show up to get her flu shot at the clinic, especially when he sent her a reminder and everything.”

“Why didn’t she get the shot?”

Lisa glanced around and leaned a bit closer even though there were no customers to overhear their conversation. “The reminder said that the shot was available for anyone over forty-five.”

“And she didn’t want to be seen at the clinic because that would be admitting she was over forty-five?”

“That’s what Herb thinks, and he’s almost always right.”

“Vanity, thy name is Stephanie Bascomb,” Hannah said, borrowing heavily from the Bard. “She’s going to be all right, isn’t she?”

“She should be. Doc’s keeping her in the hospital for the rest of the week just to make sure she eats right and gets plenty of rest. And that’s why I’m losing my husband until the weekend.”

Hannah gave a little shake of her head. “What did you say?”

“I said that’s why I’m losing Herb for the rest of the week. Since Mrs. Bascomb won’t be home, the mayor’s taking this opportunity to move his ice fishing house up to Mille Lacs Lake. He asked Herb to come along to help him. They’re leaving tonight at midnight when there’s less traffic, and once they put it out on the ice, they’re going to stay and fish for a couple of days.”

“I didn’t know Herb liked ice fishing.”

“He doesn’t, not particularly, but it’s the politic thing to do. Besides, Mayor Bascomb’s ice fishing house is the fanciest one around. If he doesn’t feel like fishing, he can watch television or play pool.”

Hannah remembered her one and only tour of the mayor’s ice fishing house. She’d driven across the ice to deliver coffee and cookies to the fishing contestants at Lake Eden’s Winter Carnival. The mayor’s ice fishing house had been luxurious, but the fancy lavish furnishings had been completely overshadowed by the grim discovery they’d made.

“I promised Herb I’d make him some Pork and Beans Bread before he left. It’s his favorite and he thinks Mayor Bascomb will like it, too.”

“Pork and Beans Bread?”

“It’s Patsy’s recipe. She got it last month when she went to California to visit a friend. They stopped in Paso Robles at a place called Vic’s Cafe and ordered it off the menu.”

“How did she get the recipe?”

Lisa gave a little laugh. “You know Patsy. She’s not exactly shy.”

“That’s true.” Hannah smiled. Patsy was Marge Beeseman’s sister, and Lisa’s new mother-in-law wasn’t exactly shy either. “So Patsy asked for the recipe?”

“That’s right in a roundabout way. Patsy talked to the owner, Jan, and explained that they were trying to make sure Dad gets enough complex carbohydrates. Lately all he’s wanted is toast for breakfast, and Pork and Beans Bread toasts up really well. Patsy figured that two slices of that would be a lot more nutritious than two slices of commercial white bread.”

“Do complex carbohydrates have an effect on your dad’s Alzheimer’s?”

“I have no idea, but Patsy’s big on nutrients and she thinks a balanced diet will help. And before you even ask, I checked with Dad’s doctor and she says eating Pork and Beans Bread toast can’t hurt.”

“The name’s intriguing. Is it a type of bread that goes especially well with Pork and Beans?”

“No, it’s bread that’s made from pork and beans!” Lisa gave a little laugh. “You can’t really taste them unless you know they’re in there, but then you can. I’ll make a double batch. That’ll be four loaves. And I’ll bring one in tomorrow morning for you to taste.”

“I’ll look forward to it. Did Herb tell you any other news I should know about?”

Lisa thought about that for a moment. “You already know about your mother, don’t you?”

“What about Mother?”

“She signed up for a class at the college. Norman’s mom, too. It’s something to do with running a small business.”

Hannah was surprised. Delores hadn’t mentioned signing up for a business course. “Well, that’s good I guess. But I wonder why she hasn’t told me.”

As if on cue, the front door opened and Delores Swensen came in. She brushed the snow from her cardinal red coat that went so well with her coloring and hung it on the rack by the door.

“Hello, dears,” she said giving both of them a smile. “Am I too late for coffee?”

“It’s never too late for coffee.” Hannah jumped to her feet to pour a mug for her mother.

“How about a couple of cookies to go with that?” Lisa asked.

Delores considered it for a moment. “Thank you, dear. I have class tonight and I won’t have time to run home and eat. Do you have anything with chocolate?”

“Do we have anything with chocolate?” Hannah laughed as she repeated her mother’s question. “Almost everything we bake has chocolate!”

Lisa glanced over at the large glass jars they used to showcase their cookie selections for the day. “We have Chocolate Chip Crunch Cookies, Fudge-Aroons, one piece of Chocolate Almost Toast, and I think there’s…” Lisa walked over to the counter for a closer look. “Yes. We’ve got two Chocolate-Covered Cherry Delights. One looks a little smushed on top, but it’s still good.”

“I’ll have the cherries,” Delores decided, sitting down at the table and turning to her daughter. “What are you doing tonight, dear?”

Hannah wanted to ask why her mother needed to know, but that wouldn’t be polite. It was best to hedge a bit and see if Delores would volunteer the information. “I’m not sure yet.”

“Then you don’t have any firm plans?”

“Not really.” Hedging hadn’t worked and it was time to border on the impolite. “Did you have a particular reason for asking?”

Delores gave a little laugh. “I should have told you up front. But that was nicely done, dear. You weren’t rude, but you avoided committing yourself.”

“Thank you, Mother. And your reason for asking?”

“Carrie.”

“Carrie wants to know my plans for tonight?”

“No, I do. But it’s because of Carrie that I want to know.” Delores stopped speaking as Lisa delivered her cookies and a fresh mug of coffee. “Thank you, Lisa.”

“You’re welcome.” Lisa turned to Hannah. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. I want to mix up a batch of Blueberry Crunch Cookies for Grandma Knudson. Reverend Knudson told me she’s a great believer in dark berries.”

“Do you have any idea what Lisa was talking about?” Hannah asked once her partner had disappeared behind the kitchen door.

“Yes, dear. Dark berries are all the rage now. Eating them is supposed to be beneficial to eye health.”

Hannah gave a little shrug. “Is it true?”

“I don’t know, but I like blueberries and blackberries, so there’s no reason not to eat them. If it helps, that’s wonderful. If it doesn’t, what have I lost?”

“That’s a good attitude,” Hannah complimented her mother, “but let’s get back to Carrie. What does she have to do with my plans for tonight?”

Delores took a sip of her coffee and sighed. “She canceled at the last minute again. We were supposed to go out to class together and this is the second one she’s missed. I thought that if you didn’t have other plans, you might go with me. I just hate to drive out to the college alone, especially at night in the winter.”

Hannah was well and truly stuck and she knew it. It wasn’t often her mother asked for help. “Okay, I’ll go with you. What kind of class is it?”

“It’s a business class called Small Business Practices.”

“That sounds interesting,” Hannah said, but she meant just the opposite. It was possible she might learn something helpful from attending the session with her mother, but it could be a deadly dull way to spend an evening.

“The instructor, Miss Whiting, is very good. She has her masters in accounting and she’s a CPA specializing in small business and corporate tax preparation. I’m learning a lot about keeping better books, and the difference between the paperwork I should save and the things I can throw away.”

Hannah had the fleeting thought that since Lisa was now taking care of the financial end of their business, she should be the one to attend the class with Delores. Lisa would go if Hannah asked her, but that wouldn’t be fair. This was Lisa’s last night with her husband before Herb went ice fishing with Mayor Bascomb. Thinking that way was quite selfless of her and Hannah felt good about it. But she also had an equally important selfish reason for not saddling her partner with the class. Hannah wanted Lisa to get home in time to bake the Pork and Beans Bread so that she could taste it in the morning.

“What’s the problem with Carrie? Why can’t she go with you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“She didn’t tell you?” Hannah was shocked. Delores and Carrie had been friends for years before they’d opened their antique business together. In the past, they’d discussed everything, including Delores’s disastrous romance with Winthrop Harrington the Third.

“She just said something personal had come up and she was sorry, but she couldn’t go to class with me. That’s exactly the same thing she told me last week.”

“Carrie didn’t say what that something personal was?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“And you didn’t ask her?”

“Really, Hannah!” Delores looked offended. “Carrie said it was personal. Asking her to elaborate would have been terribly impolite.”

“I know, but did you?”

“Of course I did! She just repeated that it was personal and she’d tell me when she could. And then she hung up. It didn’t faze me the first time it happened, but now I’m definitely concerned. It isn’t like Carrie to be secretive. I just hope there’s not any trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“Yes. She could be ill and working a full day at Granny’s Attic and then attending a night class is just too much of a drain on her health. Or…she could have turned into a closet drinker for some reason or other. There are people who can drink every night for years and no one ever suspects. And then there’s the computer Norman got for her. What if she’s addicted to one of those online poker places and she’s lost all her retirement money?”

“None of those things sound like Carrie,” Hannah commented.

“I know, but she’s changed over the past few weeks. We used to talk, but she’s just not open with me anymore.”

Hannah heard the note of panic in her mother’s voice, mixed with an undertone of pain that her oldest and best friend wouldn’t confide in her. “Do you want me to try to find out what’s going on?” she offered.

“Would you, dear? I’d be so grateful!” Delores looked very relieved. “You should probably start by talking to Norman. He may know something.”

“Good idea,” Hannah said. “Maybe I’ll see him after class. What time do we get out?”

“Seven-thirty. It’s only an hour.”

“I’ll call him and see if he can meet me at my place later. I’ll bribe him with dessert.”

Delores gave a little laugh. “I don’t think you’ll have to bribe him, dear. It seems to me that whenever you want him, Norman comes running. He’s like your father in that respect. When we were dating, all I had to do was pick up the phone and he’d come over any hour of the day or night.”

Hannah thought about that for a moment and realized that her mother was right. Unless Norman had a patient in his dental chair, he always seemed eager to see her.

“If Norman doesn’t know anything, perhaps you could ask a few questions around town.”

“I guess I could do that.”

“Something else, dear…you could keep an eye out for Carrie’s car when you’re driving around town. If it’s parked in some unusual place, it could give us a clue to what’s going on.”

“That’s true.”

“You could even drop in on her at night to see what she’s doing firsthand. I’m sure you could talk Norman into going with you. All you’d have to do is think up some reason to pay her a surprise visit.”

“Norman wouldn’t really need an excuse to drop in on his own mother. I’m sure Carrie would love to see him. And maybe while they were talking, I could look around.”

“That’s an excellent idea. Thank you for your help, dear.” Delores ate her last bite of cookie and drained her coffee mug. Then she stood up and gave Hannah a little pat on the back. “I’ll drive out to your condo and pick you up at six. That gives us plenty of time to get to the college.”

“You don’t want me to drive?”

“No, dear. It’s out of your way. It’ll be better if I pick you up and drop you off at home after class.”

“Whatever you say, Mother,” Hannah replied obediently, watching her mother walk across the room, retrieve her coat, and hurry out the door. When the door closed behind her impeccably dressed, attractive mother, she let out a deep sigh that bordered on exasperation. She’d been maneuvered by an expert. Delores had elicited her help by claiming that she didn’t like to drive to the college at night, yet she’d volunteered to drive a round trip from town to Hannah’s condo, to the college, back to Hannah’s condo, and all the way to town again.

Hannah was half amused and half annoyed as she got up to join Lisa in the kitchen. Delores really was a master manipulator. Not only had she talked her eldest daughter into attending a class that didn’t interest her in the slightest, she’d also coerced Hannah to recruit one of her boyfriends to spy on his own mother!

Chapter Three

Hannah was struck by an odd sense of deja vu as she walked with her mother down the sidewalk leading to Stewart Hall. She’d never attended Lake Eden Community College. It was still in the planning stages when she’d graduated from Jordan High and gone off to another school. But she noticed certain similarities between her hometown community college and the university she’d attended. The student parking lot was filled with what Cyril Murphy, the owner of Murphy’s Garage, Shamrock Limos, and Murphy Motors, called previously owned autos. Most of the students’ cars looked as if they’d been owned multiple times, and it was apparent that a large percentage of those owners had been accident-prone.

“This is for you,” Delores said, handing Hannah a notebook. “I thought you might like to take notes since you’re a small business owner, too.”

“Thanks,” Hannah said, tucking the notebook under her arm and following her mother.

As they crossed the quad that separated the buildings, they joined a steady stream of students hurrying to class clutching notebooks, books, and the occasional laptop computer. Even though the evening had turned cold and her mother had taken the precaution of plugging her sedan into the power strip that ran around the perimeter of the parking lot, most of these students were dashing along with their parkas unzipped and their heads bare. Some were even wearing tennis shoes rather than boots and Hannah remembered the same phenomenon occurring on the campus she’d attended. They were young. They were invincible. They were much too healthy to succumb to winter colds or other illnesses.

Delores slowed near the door to Stewart Hall to let a large group of students pass by. Hannah saw her mother eyeing them critically and as soon as they were gone, she turned to her mother. “What is it?”

“Not one single girl in that group had a hat or gloves. Don’t they know what will happen to their skin and hair if they continue to expose it to this dry winter air? Or is it just that they don’t care?”

“Both,” Hannah took her mother’s arm and escorted her into the warmth of the building. “Where’s our class?”

“It’s on the second floor. Follow me.” Delores led the way to a stairwell and began to hurry up the steps. Hannah followed, but once she’d reached the landing between the first and second floors, she was sadly out of breath. She should have continued her exercise class at Heavenly Bodies Spa, but life had intruded with holiday orders for cookies coming in fast and furiously. She just didn’t have the luxury of setting aside an hour and a half every day. At least that’s what she told herself whenever the subject crossed her mind.

“Hurry, dear.” Delores called out, turning around to look over her shoulder as she reached the door to the second floor. “We don’t want to be late.”

We don’t want to be embarrassed either, Hannah thought, and I’ll be completely humiliated if I hurry into class breathing like a steam engine.

“Hannah?” Delores called out.

“Just a second, Mother.” Hannah knew she had to take a few seconds to catch her breath so she bent down to fiddle with the sole of her boot. “I think I stepped on a tack. Just go and wait for me in the hall. I’ll pull it out and be right there.”

It didn’t take long for Hannah’s breathing to return to normal. Perhaps some small benefit from her exercise class had stuck with her. She straightened up, climbed the rest of the stairs, and pushed open the door to the hallway. Her mother was waiting and Hannah had just about reached her when she caught sight of a vaguely familiar figure racing toward them from the other end of the hall.

The man glanced at his watch as he sped forward. It was clear he didn’t notice Delores and Hannah standing there, and he struck Hannah’s arm as he ran past, knocking her notebook from her hand and sending it flying across the hallway. He stopped and turned back, and then he retrieved her notebook and handed it back to her with an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m late for class, but that’s no excuse. I should have been more careful. Are you all right?”

Hannah stared up at him and her breath caught in her throat. She must be imagining things. It couldn’t be. She opened her mouth to assure him that she was fine, but no words came out.

“Don’t worry. She’s fine,” Delores said, stepping into the breach. And then she turned to Hannah. “Aren’t you, dear?”

It was like pulling teeth, but Hannah managed to croak out one word. “Fine,” she said in a voice that didn’t sound at all like hers.

“As long as you’re okay, I’d better go,” the man said. “My students are probably waiting for me.”

“What do you teach?” Delores asked, picking up the conversational ball since Hannah was perfectly silent.

“Poetry, but I’m part of a team that’s here from Macalester. We’re putting together an intercollegiate event called the Christmas Follies.”

“That sounds wonderful!” Delores exclaimed. “Will the show be open to the public?”

“Yes, and it’s also being televised. It should be quite a production with talent from five different colleges.” The man turned to Hannah. “Excuse me, but you look so familiar. Have we met before?”

As she looked up into the dark blue eyes she’d once described as marvelous and soul-searching, Hannah wanted to die. She prayed that the floor beneath her feet would disappear, dropping her all the way down to the basement so that she could hide in the darkest corner. It was achingly clear that he didn’t remember. And he should!

“Hannah?” Delores prompted, and even without looking, Hannah knew her mother was regarding her curiously.

“Yes, we’ve met,” Hannah said in a voice that was amazingly steady considering the circumstances. Then she took her mother’s arm and pulled her down the hall, not looking back to see if he had continued on his way.

“Hannah!” Delores chided her in a whisper that seemed far too loud to Hannah. “You were rude to that nice young professor.”

“Yes,” Hannah admitted. There was no arguing with her mother’s assessment.

“I don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t, Mother.”

Mother and daughter walked on until Delores stopped at a classroom door. “This is it,” she said, glancing at her watch. “We have one minute before we’re late. Who was that man, Hannah?”

“Someone I once thought I knew. Let’s go in, Mother.”

“Not quite yet.” Delores grabbed Hannah’s arm. “Why did you act as if you could hardly wait to get away from him?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“But I do! Was he the man you told me about, the reason you left college?”

Hannah drew a deep breath. A small part of her wanted to confide in her mother, but no good would be served by recounting the story of her failed and foolish romance. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said firmly, opening the door and ushering her mother into the classroom.

Time had never passed so slowly. Some said that at the instant of a man’s death, his whole life passed before his eyes. This was just the opposite. Hannah had never seen the minute hand move so slowly. After watching the clock for what seemed like three hours and was actually four minutes, Hannah took notes just for something to do as Miss Kimberly Whiting, CPA, droned on and on about profit and loss statements, the proper way to invoice, and the essentials of sales tax record-keeping. The information was dispensed fast and heavy with no break for questions until the dot of seven twenty-five when Miss Whiting stopped speaking and picked up the folder she’d placed on the podium.

“It’s time for bad business practices,” she said, and even those class members who’d been dozing sat up straight in their chairs. “Tonight’s example concerns a large screen television dealership.”

Hannah listened as their teacher went on to describe the four-man partnership. Three invested equal amounts of money and the fourth invested his time and expertise by actually running the business. There were handouts showing profit and loss statements, tax returns, copies of bank statements, and payroll rosters. Their assignment was to figure out how the dealership had managed to stay in business for more than five months despite selling television sets for less than cost.

As they filed out of class, Hannah found herself dreading the ride home. Delores was bound to ask more questions about Bradford Ramsey and she’d been perfectly honest when she’d said that she didn’t want to talk about it.

They’d descended the staircase and were walking past the classrooms on the first floor when Hannah spotted someone she thought she knew. “Is that Dr. Love?” she asked her mother.

“Yes, but she’s Dr. Schmidt out here,” Delores said, poking her head in the open door and waving.

“Hello, Delores!” Dr. Love sounded very glad to see them. “And Hannah. I haven’t seen you since your mother’s book launch party. How have you been?”

“Just fine, Dr. Schmidt.”

“Call me Nancy.” Dr. Love gave her a warm smile and then she turned to Delores. “I’ve been meaning to call you. I’m redecorating my office here on campus and I was wondering if you could find me an old-fashioned glass-door bookcase.”

“This is your lucky day!” Delores said with a laugh. “My assistant, Luanne, just came back from an estate sale at the home of a prominent lawyer in St. Paul. She bought a pair of gorgeous bookcases in walnut with leaded glass doors on each shelf.”

“The type of doors that pull up and then slide in?”

“That’s right. Would you like to drop by to see them?”

“I would. They sound perfect. How about tomorrow around noon? I have to run out to the station at ten to do some voice-overs, but I should be through in a couple of hours.”

“I’ll have the coffee pot on for you,” Delores said, turning to go. “Black with two sugars?”

“Perfect.” Dr. Love turned to Hannah. “It was good to see you again, Hannah.”

“Nice to see you, too,” Hannah said, and then she followed her mother down the hall to the exit.

Once they stepped out of the building, the cold hit them so hard it took their breath away. While they were in class, an icy wind had begun to blow from the north. Both Hannah and her mother held their gloved hands over their mouths and noses as they walked directly into the wind and made their way to the parking lot. Most of the students had left immediately after class and Delores’s car was the only one still plugged to the wall. Hannah was about to unplug it when she heard a voice call her name.

“Norman!” Hannah recognized him immediately, despite the bulky parka and fur hat he wore. She smiled at him and hoped her teeth wouldn’t freeze in the bitterly cold wind. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d save your mother a trip. This way she can go straight home and she won’t have to swing by your place.”

“That’s sweet of you Norman, but I don’t mind,” Delores jumped into the conversation and Hannah knew she was thinking about her lost opportunity to find out more about Bradford Ramsey.

“Oh, but I have an ulterior motive,” Norman said, unplugging Delores’s car, wrapping the cord around her bumper, and opening the driver’s door for her. “If I drive Hannah home, we’ll get a little more time to talk.”

Delores hesitated for a moment and then she slid in under the wheel. In the war between her curiosity about her daughter’s old romance, and her concern about her best friend, Carrie had won.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, dear,” Delores said as she started her car and flicked on the lights. “I’ll stop by for coffee before I open the shop.”

A minute later, Hannah was in Norman’s warm and toasty car. She unzipped her parka, took off her hat and her gloves, and reveled in the fact that she no longer had to fear frostbite.

“Did you eat?” Norman asked, pulling out onto the highway.

“Not yet. I had time to feed Moishe and that was about it.”

“So Moishe comes first?” Norman’s voice was warm and Hannah could see his smile in the lights of the dashboard. Norman loved her cat and the feeling was mutual.

“Moishe comes first,” she confirmed it. “How about you? Did you eat?”

“No. I thought we’d stop for a bite if you wanted to go out.”

Hannah thought about their favorite places, Bertanelli’s Pizza, the Lake Eden Inn, and The Corner Tavern. It would be nice to go out to dinner, but what she really wanted to do was curl up on the couch with Norman and Moishe, and watch mindless television.

“Bertanelli’s? The Corner Tavern? Sally’s at the Inn?” Norman named the places Hannah had already thought of and dismissed.

“I’d rather go home and make something there,” Hannah said, “if that’s all right with you, that is.”

“That’s fine with me, but I don’t want you to work. You’ve had a full day.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got some meatloaf I can heat up and I’ll pop in a batch of Easy Cheesy Biscuits.”

“Easy Cheesy Biscuits? I don’t think I’ve tasted those.”

“I know you haven’t. I just got the recipe last weekend from an old classmate of mine at Jordan High. Prudence left Lake Eden right after school and moved to Niagara Falls.”

“Do you have everything you need to make them? Or shall we run by The Quick Stop?”

“I have everything I need. I planned on baking them tonight anyway. Lisa loves cheese so I thought I’d take her a couple for breakfast.”

The roads were clear and Norman zipped along in his well-maintained car. Hannah felt as if she were living in the lap of luxury as she listened to mellow jazz on the stereo and watched the night stream past her window. All too soon, they turned in at Hannah’s condo complex and Hannah handed him her gate card to raise the wooden lever that let the residents in and out. This time the wooden barrier was intact and Hannah wondered if they’d solved the gate card problem at last. Even though residents were warned of the consequences, they still stuck the magnetic gate cards in their wallets next to other cards with information strips. When the gate cards ceased to work, some irate condo owners crashed right through the wooden arm. Perhaps she was exaggerating slightly, but Hannah believed that the one-by-four designed to keep non-residents out was broken more often than it was not.

“You can park in my extra spot,” Hannah said, and Norman took the ramp to the underground garage. Her condo came with two parking spots, and Norman pulled in next to her cookie truck.

The first thing Hannah noticed when she got out of the car was the cold. Perhaps it was the fact that she’d just left a warm car, but it seemed even colder than it had at the college. “Better plug in your car,” she said.

“Good idea.”

Hannah watched as Norman unwound the power cord that was part of winterizing a car in Minnesota, right along with antifreeze, and the survival pack careful drivers kept in the trunk. The box containing blankets, extra parkas, gloves, an empty coffee can, a candle, and matches wasn’t quite as necessary as it had been in the years before cell phones, but it was still possible to get stuck in a snowstorm with a non-working cell phone, and freeze to death in subzero temperatures.

When Norman was through, they walked across the floor of the garage and climbed the steps to ground level. When they left the shelter of the stairwell, a cold blast of wind hit Hannah’s face and her eyes began to water. Norman grabbed her arm and rushed her up the covered staircase to her second-floor condo, taking the keys from her hand and opening the door.

A projectile with orange and white fur hurtled at them the moment the door opened, and Norman caught Moishe in his arms. Hannah’s cat began to purr as Norman carried him inside and set him on his favorite perch on the back of the couch.

“Are you glad to see us, Big Guy?” Norman asked, and Moishe answered him with an even louder purr. “What do you say I throw your catnip mouse for you?”

This time Moishe gave a happy yowl and hopped off the couch to stare up at Norman while he located the mouse. With her cat occupied, Hannah shrugged out of her parka and went off to the kitchen to begin preparing dinner.

The Easy Cheesy Biscuits were first. Hannah preheated the oven, took out one of her medium-sized mixing bowls, and gathered the ingredients. She’d just completed the first step in her food processor, and she was about to dump the mixture into her bowl, when Norman came into the kitchen.

“Do you want some help?” he asked.

“Sure,” Hannah answered, never one to turn down a genuine offer of assistance. “You can grate the cheese. I need a half cup of cheddar, a half cup of Asiago, and a half cup of Parmesan. You can use the food processor with the grating blade.”

Norman eyed the food processor which still had a bit of flour clinging to the sides of the bowl. “I’d better wash it out.”

“There’s no need. I just used it to mix up the dry ingredients and butter for the biscuits. Since the cheese is going in the biscuit dough, it won’t make a speck of difference.”

Norman made short work of grating the cheeses and Hannah added the grated cheddar and Asiago to her bowl. She saved the grated parmesan for the biscuit tops and was just about to break the eggs into a glass to beat them when Norman spoke up.

“I can do that for you,” he said.

“Okay. Just crack two into my glass and beat them up with a fork. I’ll measure out the sour cream and the milk.”

They worked in silence for several moments and then Norman handed the glass to her. “Are these okay?”

“They’re fine,” Hannah said, glancing down at the homogenous mixture of yolk and white. “Do you want to stir while I add everything else to the bowl?”

“Sure.” Norman picked up the spoon.

Hannah added the eggs and he stirred them in. Then she scooped in the sour cream. When that was incorporated, she added the milk, dribbling it in slowly so that Norman could stir it in without splashing.

“Looks just like lumpy wallpaper paste,” Norman said, but Hannah saw the grin he tried to hide and knew he was kidding her.

“I prefer to compare it to cottage cheese,” she countered. “At least that’s edible.”

“I’m not so sure about that. Mother made green Jell-O with cottage cheese and chives the last time I went to her house for dinner. And speaking of Mother, there’s something I want to talk to you about. I was going to wait until after we’d eaten, but it’s really bothering me.”

“What is it?” Hannah asked, distracted enough to spray her baking sheet with Pam even though the recipe said it wasn’t needed.

“I usually meet her on Thursday nights for dinner. One week she cooks and the next week I take her out. We’ve been doing it ever since I moved to Lake Eden.”

“You’re still doing it, aren’t you?” Hannah asked, dipping a soup spoon into the batter and forming her first biscuit.

“I am, but I’m not so sure about Mother.”

“What do you mean?” Hannah wet her fingers under the faucet and made one of the biscuits she’d dropped on the sheet a little rounder.

“I always thought Mother had a good time when we got together, but she’s canceled on the last three Thursdays.”

Hannah looked over and saw the concern on his face. “Didn’t she give you a reason for cancelling?”

“Yes, but I don’t think it was the real reason. The first time she said she was getting a bad cold, but when I talked to her the next day, she sounded just fine. The next week she said she was going to work late at Granny’s Attic with Delores, but I drove by on my way home from the clinic and the lights were off in their shop.”

Hannah wasn’t sure what to say, but it certainly sounded as if Carrie had lied to Norman. Instead of commenting on that, she asked a question. “How about the third time?”

“That was last Thursday. When I called to confirm with her, she said that something came up and she couldn’t make it. And when I asked about it, she wouldn’t tell me anything. What do you think, Hannah? Am I making a mountain out of a molehill?”

“Not necessarily,” Hannah said, sprinkling the last of the grated Parmesan cheese on her biscuits. She popped them into the oven, set the timer for fourteen minutes, and turned back to Norman. “Carrie did the same thing to Mother. That’s the reason I went to class with her tonight. Our mothers signed up for the course together, but Carrie hasn’t made it to a single class. Mother says she always backs out at the last minute.”

“Is Delores concerned, too?”

“Yes. She told me that Carrie’s always been very open with her, but things have changed lately. Mother’s feelings are hurt because she thinks Carrie doesn’t trust her enough to confide in her.”

Norman was silent for a moment and then he shook his head. “I don’t know if that makes me feel better, or worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“On one hand, I feel better that it’s not just me my mother is avoiding. On the other hand, I feel worse because if both Delores and I think there’s a problem, then there probably is. I wonder if it would work to come right out and ask Mother what’s wrong.”

Hannah shrugged. “You can try it if you want to, but I doubt she’ll tell you anything. Mother tried that and Carrie just said she’d tell her when the time was right.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” Hannah took the meatloaf out of the refrigerator and sliced it. She put the slices in the frying pan with a bit of butter, turned the burner on medium, and clamped on a cover. “I’ve got a bowl of Sally’s Summer Salad. Do you want some?”

“Sure. I’ll dish it up for both of us.” Norman took the container Hannah handed to him and spooned the broccoli and cauliflower salad into two bowls. “I was just wondering…I know it’s a lot to ask, but…” Norman stopped and swallowed hard. “It’s just that I really need to know what’s going on. It’s not like Mother to cut me off from her life this way.”

“That’s true.” Hannah flipped the slices of meatloaf and clamped the lid back on. Carrie was the type of mother who’d always wanted to manage her son’s life and that meant being a nearly constant part of it. It was one of the reasons Norman had built the house Hannah had designed with him and moved five miles away. Norman had once told her he felt like a boy who had to report everything to his mother when he’d lived in the same house with Carrie.

“There goes the timer,” Norman said, sprinkling some salted sunflower nuts on top of their salads. “Do you want me to take out the biscuits?”

“Yes, if they’re golden brown on top. If they’re not, give them another minute or two. And don’t turn off the oven when you take out the biscuits. I’ll turn it up to five hundred degrees before we carry our plates to the living room.”

“Five hundred degrees is a really hot oven.” Norman sounded quite proud of himself for knowing that. “Are you planning to bake something else?”

“I thought I’d mix up some Hot Fudge Sundae Cakes for dessert. They only bake seven minutes and they’ll be ready by the time we have our second cup of coffee. You’re going to love them.”

“There’s no doubt about that since they contain two of my favorite things.”

“Hot fudge and cake?” Hannah guessed.

“That’s right. But getting back to what we were talking about before…will you help me?”

“Of course I will.” Hannah didn’t even stop to consider that she’d broken one of rules she lived by. She’d promised to do something without finding out exactly what it was.

“Thanks, Hannah. I knew I could count on you.”

Hannah gave him a smile and then she asked the important question, hoping her promise wasn’t one she’d live to regret. “What do you want me to do?”

Norman looked very uncomfortable for a moment and then he blurted it out. “I want you to help me spy on my mother.”

EASY CHEESY BISCUITS

Preheat oven to 425 degrees F.,

rack in the middle position.

3 cups all purpose flour (pack it down in the cup when you measure it)

2 teaspoons cream of tartar (this is important)

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon sea salt (regular table salt will also work)

1/2 cup salted softened butter (1 stick, 4 ounces, 1/4 pound)

1/2 cup shredded strong cheddar cheese

1/2 cup shredded Asiago cheese[***] (or blue cheese, Havarti, etc.)

2 large eggs, beaten (just whip them up in a glass with a fork)

1 cup sour cream (8 ounces)

1/2 cup milk****

1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese for a topping (use real Parmesan cheese - it’s so much better than the type in the green foil can.)

FIRST STEP

Use a medium-size mixing bowl to combine the flour, cream of tartar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Stir them all up together. Cut in the salted butter just as you would for piecrust dough.

Hannah’s Note: If you have a food processor, you can use it for the first step. Cut 1/2 cup COLD salted butter into 8 chunks. Layer them with the dry ingredients in the bowl of the food processor. Process with the steel blade until the mixture has the texture of cornmeal. Transfer the mixture to a medium-sized mixing bowl and proceed to the second step.

SECOND STEP

Stir in the shredded cheddar cheese and the shredded Asiago cheese. Then add the beaten eggs and the sour cream in that order. Mix everything all up together.

Add the milk and stir until everything is thoroughly combined.

THIRD STEP

Drop the biscuits by soup spoonfuls onto an ungreased baking sheet, 12 large biscuits to a sheet. (Prudence uses an ungreased baking sheet, Lisa bakes hers on a cookie sheet covered with parchment paper, and I spray my cookie sheet with Pam—everyone’s biscuits turn out just fine.)

Once the biscuits are on the baking sheet, you can wet your fingers and shape them if you like. (I leave mine slightly irregular so everyone knows they’re homemade.)

Sprinkle shredded Parmesan cheese on the top of each biscuit.

Bake the biscuits at 425 degrees F. for 12 to 14 minutes, or until they’re golden brown on top.

Cool the biscuits for at least five minutes on the cookie sheet, and then remove them with a spatula. Serve them in a towel-lined basket so they stay warm.

Yield: Makes 12 large cheesy biscuits that everyone will love!

Hannah’s Note: When I make these for Mother, she takes home one of the leftovers for breakfast. The next morning, she splits it, toasts and butters it, and eats it with her scrambled eggs.

Lisa’s Note: Herb loves to take these to work. I spread them with mayo and mustard and put a nice thick slice of ham in the middle. He says they make the best ham sandwich he’s ever tasted.

Chapter Four

“This hot fudge sauce is incredible!” Norman spooned up the last of his ice cream and gave a satisfied sigh. “It’s the kind of dessert I dream about.”

“Me, too. Would you like another cake? The recipe makes six.”

Norman considered it for a brief moment and then he nodded. “I think I can handle one more.”

Hannah made a quick trip to the kitchen to upend another of the individual cakes on Norman’s dessert plate. She pulled the top apart with two forks, a technique she’d learned from serving souffles, let the fudge sauce pool in the center of the plate, and then dropped in a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

“You can have a little bit of my ice cream this time,” she heard Norman say. The next sound she heard was a plaintive meow and it was clear he was talking to Moishe.

“This is good with coffee ice cream, too,” she said as she carried the plate into the living room and handed it to Norman. “More coffee?”

“I’d love some. Your coffee is the best…” Norman stopped speaking as the doorbell rang. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“No, and I know it’s not Mother.”

“How do you know that?”

Hannah gestured toward Moishe. “His fur’s not standing on end and it always does when Mother’s at the door.”

“So you don’t know who it is?”

“No, I have no idea.”

“Then you’d better let me get it.”

Hannah bit back a grin as Norman went to the door and looked out the peephole. She lived in a fairly secure complex, burglaries and home invasions were unusual on nights this cold, and she was perfectly capable of grabbing the decorative hand-painted rolling pin that hung by the side of her door and wailing away at anyone who tried to enter her home without her permission.

“Who is it?” Norman called out after squinting through the peephole, and Hannah understood why he had to ask that question. Anyone who stood directly in front of her door was back lighted by the powerful security light on the outside post, plunging the visitor’s features into deep shadows and rendering them totally unrecognizable.

“It’s Mike!” a voice floated through the crack under the door. “Let me in, will you? It’s cold out here.”

Norman chuckled and turned to Hannah. “Shall I let him in?” he asked in an even louder voice that Mike would be sure to hear. “Or shall we keep all the Hot Fudge Sundae Cakes to ourselves?”

There was a moment of silence and then Mike asked, “Did you say Hot Fudge Sundae Cakes!?”

Hannah laughed. “Let him in, Norman. I’ll go dish up another one for him.”

As Hannah turned another helping onto one of the dessert plates Delores had given her for Christmas, she heard Norman greet Mike. Even though both of them were dating her, the two men were friends. Occasionally jealousy reared its head, but they got past it. As long as she steadfastly refused to choose one over the other, the three of them remained friends.

“Thanks for letting me in,” Hannah heard Mike say from the living room.

“I had to let you in. You’re the law.”

“That’s true. So what’s this about Hot Fudge Sundae Cake?”

“It’s like a hot fudge sundae inside of a cake,” Norman explained. “You’re going to love it.”

At that moment Hannah came out of the kitchen with the dessert plate for Mike and two cups of coffee, one for Norman and the other for Mike. “Here you go,” she said, setting the dessert plate and one coffee in front of Mike, and handing Norman his refill. “Go ahead and eat. It’s better if it’s hot.”

Mike dipped his spoon in the pool of sauce and excavated a bit of cake and ice cream. He popped it in his mouth and gave a sound that resembled one of Moishe’s happiest purrs. Then he plunged his spoon down for another bite.

“You like it?” Hannah asked him.

“You bet! Thanks, Hannah. I’ve been running all day and I didn’t have a chance to eat.”

“How about a meatloaf sandwich?” Hannah offered. “It’s leftover meatloaf and I can heat it up like a hamburger on a cheesy biscuit.”

Mike mumbled something that Hannah interpreted as assent and she went back to the kitchen to heat a slice of meatloaf in the microwave. She halved a biscuit, spread it with mayonnaise and dotted the bottom with a few slices of the bread and butter pickles that Lisa had given her. “Ketchup?” she called out.

“Yes, and mustard if you’ve got it,” Mike replied.

As she put on the condiments, Hannah heard Mike’s spoon scrape against the bottom of his dessert plate. She slid on the slice of meatloaf, topped it with the lid of the biscuit, carried in the plate, and exchanged it for Mike’s dessert plate, which was scraped so clean she knew he was half-starved.

“Hi, Big Guy,” Hannah heard him say to Moishe as she carried the dessert plate to the kitchen. “Sure you can have a bite. Hold on a second and I’ll break off some meat for you.”

Perhaps that was what she liked best about both men, Hannah mused as she rinsed off Mike’s plate and slid it into the dishwasher. Norman and Mike were crazy about Moishe, and it was clear that Hannah’s cat felt the same way about them. Perhaps she might have been able to choose between them if Moishe had loved one and hated the other, but that wasn’t the case. And she was left, not at all unhappily, to date them both.

Hannah had just returned to her seat on the couch when the phone rang. She answered and began to frown as she heard her sister Andrea’s panicked voice.

“You’ve just got to help me, Hannah! Bill’s tied up at the station and there’s no way I can do this alone!”

“There’s no way you can do what alone?” Hannah asked, remembering her rule about not promising any favors until she found out what they were. Actually, Andrea was the reason for the rule. When Hannah was a senior in high school and Andrea was in eighth grade, her younger sister had elicited a promise from Hannah to help her out. To Hannah’s chagrin, the “help” turned out to be attending a rock concert with Andrea and five of her classmates. Hannah had suffered through two and a half hours of screaming teenage girls, amplification so loud it threatened to deafen her, and alternative rock so atonal and nonmusical, she could have been listening to audiotapes of multicar crashes on the interstate.

“I have to get a Christmas tree by tomorrow morning. Tracey forgot to tell me until I tucked her in bed, but her teacher asked for a volunteer to choose the tree for their classroom, and Tracey volunteered me.”

“Welcome to the world of parenting,” Hannah said, chuckling slightly. “Relax, Andrea. I’ll go with you pick out a Christmas tree for Tracey’s classroom.”

“Thanks, Hannah! I knew I could count on you.”

“That’s what big sisters are for. Shall I pick you up tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow. It’s got to be tonight.” Andrea sounded very definite. “I have to deliver it when school starts tomorrow. The kids are going to have a tree trimming party and it needs time to spread out its branches.”

“But where can you buy a Christmas tree at nine o’clock at night?”

“The Crazy Elf Christmas Tree Lot,” Mike said, not even pretending he hadn’t been listening to Hannah’s end of the conversation.

“It’s open until eleven tonight and that gives us plenty of time,” Norman added.

“Us?” Hannah turned to him in surprise.

“Yes, us,” Mike replied for both of them. “Norman and I’ll go with you. Picking out a tree is men’s work. You’d probably get some silly pink froufrou flocked thing that would embarrass Tracey in front of her class.”

Hannah considered taking umbrage at Mike’s slur on her judgment, but she was more amused than offended. It was a well-known fact that Andrea was fond of flocked trees, and Hannah had heard her admire the pink tree in Doug Greerson’s bank window more than once this year. It would be considerably easier to keep Andrea from flocking if three out of four of them were non-flockers.

“Good,” Hannah smiled at both of them. “I’ve been meaning to get out there. I don’t put up a tree. My place is too small and I’m not here enough to enjoy it. But I hear Larry Jaeger did an incredible job creating a Christmas theme park and I really want to see it.”

“He sells your cookies, doesn’t he?” Norman asked.

“That’s right. I’d like to talk to him about that, too. Somebody told me he’s selling out near the end of the night. If that’s true, he might want to increase his daily order.”

Norman winked at Mike. “That business course she sat in on tonight at the community college must have given her ideas.”

Hannah was about to deny it when a voice spoke directly in her ear. “Did I hear Mike and Norman?” Andrea asked, pulling her back into the telephone conversation.

“Yes, and they’re both coming along to help. Let’s meet in the parking lot at The Crazy Elf at ten o’clock. Is that okay?”

“That’s perfect. It gives me time to go up to the attic and dig out our old Christmas tree stand. Tracey wasn’t sure if they had one, or not.”

“Okay, see you then,” Hannah said. She hung up the phone and turned to Mike and Norman. “We should leave here in ten minutes. Does anyone want another cup of coffee for the road?”

Of course the answer was yes on all counts, and Hannah went into the kitchen to put on a fresh pot of coffee. Even though she’d had a long day and she was tired, she was looking forward to visiting Larry’s Crazy Elf Christmas Tree Lot.

HOT FUDGE SUNDAE CAKES

Preheat oven to 500 degrees F.,

rack in the middle position.

8 ounces salted butter (2 sticks, 1/2 pound)

8 ounces semi-sweet chocolate chips (1 and 1/3 cup) (I used Ghirardelli)

4 egg yolks (save the whites in a covered bowl in the refrigerator to add to scrambled eggs)

5 eggs

1 cup white (granulated) sugar

1 cup flour (all purpose—pack it down when you measure it)

Vanilla ice cream to finish the dish

Before you start, select the pans you want to use from the following suggestions:

You can use large-size deep muffin cups to bake these cakes, but if your muffin pan is solid and the cups don’t lift out, you’ll have to remove each cake by using two soup spoons as pincers to pry them out. Each batch will make 9 cakes if you use large muffin tins.

A popover pan is also a possibility, especially the kind with removable cups, but you’ll have to run a knife around the inside of each cup and tip it over to remove the cake. Each batch will make 6 cakes in large, deep popover cups.

You can also use individual souffle cups, but again, you’ll have to use two soup spoons or run a knife around the inside of the dish to remove the cakes from the souffle cups. Each batch will make 8 small or 6 large souffle dish cakes.

Hannah’s Trick: I’ve found it’s a lot easier to use the disposable foil pot pie tins you can buy at the grocery store. With those you can just flip them over on the dessert plate or bowl, press down on the foil bottoms with a potholder, and the cakes will flop right out. (Yes, the pot pie tins are an extra expense, but removing the cakes will go much faster and the tins can be washed several times by hand or in the dishwasher before you’ll have to throw them away.)

Grease and flour the insides of the pans you’ve chosen. As an alternative to that messy procedure, you can spray them with nonstick BAKING spray (the kind with flour added).

Place the butter and the chips in a medium-size microwave-safe bowl. Heat the contents for 90 seconds on HIGH. Take the bowl out of the microwave and try to stir the contents smooth. (Chocolate chips sometimes maintain their shape even when they’re melted.) If you’re able to stir the mixture smooth, set it on the counter and let it cool. If the chips aren’t melted yet, microwave them in 20-second intervals on HIGH until they are.

When you’re able to cup your hands around the bowl comfortably and you don’t think the chocolate mixture is so hot it’ll cook the eggs you’re about to add, separate 4 eggs into yolks and whites. Put the whites in the refrigerator to add to scrambled eggs the next morning, and whisk the yolks until they’re thoroughly mixed. Then slowly add them to your bowl with the chocolate mixture, stirring all the while.

Add 5 more whole eggs to your mixture one at a time, stirring thoroughly after each addition.

Blend in the white sugar, stirring until it’s thoroughly incorporated.

Mix in the flour and stir until the batter is smooth and free from lumps.

Transfer the batter to the pans you’ve selected, dividing it up between 9 large muffin tins, 6 large popover tins, 8 small souffle dishes, 6 large souffle dishes, or 6 disposable foil pot pie tins. Place the pans you used on a baking sheet and slip them in the oven.

Bake at 500 degrees F. for EXACTLY 7 minutes. Set the oven timer and don’t open the oven door while they’re baking. The success of this recipe depends on high even heat for a limited amount of time. You want to bake the outside and leave the inside filled with hot molten chocolate.

When your timer rings, immediately take the cakes from the oven and place them on a wire rack. The damp center of each cake will be barely visible and they may jiggle a bit when you move them to the cooling rack. Don’t worry. That’s the way they’re supposed to be.

Give the cakes 2 minutes to set up slightly. Then upend them on dessert plates or bowls. Use two forks to pull apart the tops to expose the chocolate sauce in the center.

Use a small ice cream scoop to drop vanilla ice cream in the center of the rich molten chocolate.

Serve immediately to rave reviews.

Yield: 9 cakes in large muffin tins, 6 cakes in large removable popover tins, 8 cakes in small souffle dishes, 6 cakes in large souffle dishes, or 6 cakes in disposable foil pot pie tins.

If you have leftover cakes, they can be reheated in the microwave, but they won’t be the same. They’ll still be tasty, but the centers will turn into moist cake rather than hot fudge sauce.

Hannah’s Note: If I want my dessert to be extra fancy, I make up some of the fruit sauce I use on potato pancakes and create little designs around the edge of large dessert plates while the Hot Fudge Sundae Cakes are baking. Mother prefers it that way. My sisters like it with their choice of ice cream. Andrea prefers chocolate, Michelle likes butterbrickle, and I think it tastes best with coffee ice cream.

Chapter Five

When Norman pulled into the crowded parking lot, Hannah saw her sister standing in the center of a parking space right next to the entrance, waving her arms frantically. Andrea’s green Volvo was parked next to the spot and it didn’t take an expert on string theory to surmise that she was standing there to save the parking place for them.

The first thing Hannah heard when she emerged from Norman’s car was a tinny version of Hark the Herald Angels Sing played at earsplitting volume. She glanced across the street at the houses nearby, and wondered whether any of the homeowners had filed nuisance complaints.

Hannah covered her ears and gave a little groan. And then she greeted her sister. “Hi, Andrea.”

“Hi, Hannah.” Andrea turned to Norman. “I’m really glad you came along. Three opinions are better than two.”

“And four opinions are even better,” Hannah told her. “Mike should be here any minute, and before he gets here I need to warn you about standing in the middle of parking spots to save them. That really wasn’t smart, Andrea. What if someone had pulled in too fast? They could have plowed right into you.”

“But nobody would do that! Everybody knows I’m the sheriff’s wife!”

“True, but what if they didn’t see you in time? It’s not exactly daylight out here.”

Andrea thought about that for a moment and Hannah could tell from her sister’s set expression that she wasn’t willing to give up the argument quite yet. “Norman saw me in plenty of time. He slowed down.”

“Norman’s a good driver. But what if someone else had been driving, someone who’d stopped at the Lake Eden Municipal Liquor Store to have a couple of hot toddies before coming here to buy a tree?”

“Well…” Andrea sighed. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have been standing there in the middle of the space.” She turned to Norman. “Don’t tell Bill, okay?”

Norman smiled. “Don’t worry, I won’t. I know what can happen to a messenger who delivers bad news.”

“What’s that?” Andrea asked.

“Sometimes they’re killed. Sophocles’ messenger in Antigone starts right off by saying, Don’t kill the messenger.”

“That’s awful!” Andrea was clearly appalled. “You can’t just go around murdering people because you don’t like the news they give you. Did the killers get life sentences? Or did this happen in a state with capital punishment?”

Hannah was used to her sister’s hit or miss brush with literature and history and she hurried to explain. “This happened a long time ago in a different part of the world, and nobody really knows what happened. But the phrase stuck with us. Shakespeare used it in Henry IV, Part 2, and some people say that Oscar Wilde and Mark Twain used it, too.”

“Mark Twain’s real name was Samuel Clemens,” Andrea announced, clearly proud of herself for remembering. She turned to look as a car entered the parking lot and gave a smile. “Oh, good! Here comes Mike. But there’s no space left. I wonder where he’s going to park.”

“Anywhere he wants to,” Hannah replied, watching as Mike turned on the flashing red lights on top of his cruiser and pulled up horizontally behind Norman’s sedan and Andrea’s Volvo.

Once Mike had joined them, Andrea gave them the note Tracey had brought home from her teacher. The tree should be between four and five feet tall, it should have short needles, and the branches should have space between them so that it would be easier for the children to hang ornaments.

“Blue Spruce,” Mike said.

“Or Scotch Pine,” Norman offered. “Let’s go see what kind of trees the Crazy Elf has.”

“I’m just glad you all came along with me,” Andrea said, leading the way toward the entrance. “Bill always picks out our tree. He doesn’t go to a tree lot. His parents have plenty of pines on the back forty and he drives out there to cut one down every year.”

“Does Tracey go with him?” Norman asked her.

“For the last two years. Before that she was too little.” Andrea turned back to Hannah. “You used to go with Dad when he picked out the tree, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but we got ours from the Red Owl. Florence’s father had them trucked in, and he stood them up outside the store like spears against the brick wall.”

“They didn’t thaw them out?” Norman asked.

“No, they were frozen solid. A delivery came in one time when I was there with Dad. The trees were stacked in a flat bed truck with a tarp tied over the back. The thing I remember best is how they were trussed up with twine like mummies. I asked Dad how he could tell what they’d look like when they thawed out, and he said there was a trick to it.”

“What trick?” Andrea grabbed Hannah’s arm. “You’d better tell us. Maybe the Crazy Elf’s trees are frozen, too.”

“Dad’s trick didn’t make any sense to me at the time. He said the tree should resemble a carrot and the height should be two times the circumference of the base. And when I asked him what that meant, he said you had to wrap a string around the bottom, cut it off with a knife, and then see if the string would reach halfway up to the top of the tree. I watched him do it.”

“Wow!” Mike sounded impressed. “You must have had some beautiful trees.”

“We did, except for one year. Dad and I brought home the tree and he put it in the stand. He took off the twine and then it was time for me to go up to bed. He told me that the tree would thaw out before I got up the next morning and it would be beautiful.”

“Was it?” Andrea asked. “I don’t remember this at all.”

“You couldn’t remember it. You were just a baby. And yes, it thawed overnight. But it must have been old because every single needle fell off while we were sleeping and it was perfectly bare when I came down the stairs in the morning.”

“Dad must have been very disappointed.” Andrea looked sympathetic. “What did he do?”

“He got somebody to fill in for him at the hardware store, and he went out to Grandma and Grandpa Swensen’s farm to cut down another tree.”

Andrea looked worried. “I hope that doesn’t happen to Tracey’s tree!” She turned around to face the three of them. “Does anybody know how to tell if a tree is fresh or not?”

“I do,” Norman spoke up. “All you have to do is feel the needles. If they feel dry and break off in your hand, it’s an old tree.”

“There’s an easier way,” Mike said. “I flash my badge and demand to see the invoice for the last batch of trees. And then I demand to see a tree from that batch.”

Norman clapped Mike on the shoulder. “That’s better than my way. Let’s go in and see what they’ve got.”

As they walked into the park, Hannah noticed the rows of sleds lined up just inside the gate. They were painted bright green and each sled had room for a child. Behind the area where the child would be seated was a large red box that looked like the bed of a supermarket shopping cart. The box was obviously meant to store items to be purchased and it was large enough to hold quite a few.

“Clever,” Norman said, also noticing the sleds.

“And how,” Hannah replied. “I wonder what they do if a mother comes in with two kids.”

“That’s where I come in.”

All four of them turned to look as a blond girl in a green elf costume spoke to them. “I’m Mary and I’ll be your elf for tonight.”

“Do you really say that to all the customers?” Hannah asked her.

“No, just to you. I’m kidding, Miss Swensen. I’m Tricia Barthel’s younger sister, and I don’t blame you for not recognizing me in this getup.”

“It’s better than the one I wore last Christmas at the Lake Eden Inn. At least your tights aren’t too tight.”

“Hi, Mary,” Andrea smiled at the girl. “I’m looking for a tree for my daughter’s classroom. It has to be between four and five feet tall with short needles and branches that make it easy for a child to hang ornaments.”

“We’ve got just the thing. Follow me to the smaller tree tent and I’ll show you a couple you’ll like.”

They all trooped after Mary to a tent near the edge of the lot. It wasn’t a prime location and Hannah guessed that the larger, more expensive trees were housed in the closer tents. On the way they passed the Crazy Elf Toy Shop, the Crazy Elf Ornament Center, and the Crazy Elf Tree Stand Store. And all the while We Wish You a Merry Christmas was blaring out over the speakers.

Hannah moved closer to Mary the elf. “Doesn’t the music drive you crazy?” she asked.

“It did at first, but now I’m so used to it, I don’t even hear it. I guess if it stopped I’d notice, but it won’t stop until eleven tonight.”

“Haven’t the neighbors complained about the noise?”

“No. I asked the elf manager how Mr. Jaeger got away with making so much noise, and she told me that he gave everyone in the houses next to the park a free tree and a fifty-dollar gift certificate for the shops.”

“Smart,” Hannah said. Most people could use extra money around the holidays and a free tree with fifty dollars worth of ornaments or toys was a nice Christmas bonus for anyone.

“Here we are,” Mary announced, leading the way into one of the large tents that were fashioned out of canvas with green and red stripes. “All of these trees have short needles.”

The air inside smelled heavenly, like walking through a stand of pines, and Hannah took a deep breath and smiled. She was more than a little relieved to see that the tent was warmed by space heaters and all of the trees were thawed. At least she wouldn’t have to put her father’s trick to the test.

“The Blue Spruces are here,” Mary pointed to a section that was roped off with blue tape. “I wouldn’t recommend those. The needles might drop off in a warm classroom.”

“Thanks for telling us,” Andrea said, and Hannah could tell she was grateful. “What are those trees?” she asked, pointing to the largest section.

“Those are Scotch Pines.” Mary led the way to the green-roped section. “A lot of teachers have been buying those. They’re the most popular Christmas tree and needle retention is really good. They tend to stay on even when the tree is dry.”

Hannah glanced at Andrea. She was almost positive she knew exactly what her sister was going to do. Andrea was a firm believer that an item’s worth was directly proportional to its price.

“Well, I don’t want to buy the cheapest,” Andrea said, confirming Hannah’s supposition. “How about those?” she asked, pointing to the smallest red-roped section. “They’re gorgeous.”

“Oh, those are the Noble Firs. They’re much more expensive, but they’re…” Mary moved a bit closer and lowered her voice even though there was no one else in the tent. “I probably shouldn’t say anything, but they’re the freshest trees we have and they won’t drop their needles in a hot classroom. Not only that, their needles are more pliable.” Mary plucked one off and rubbed it between her fingers. “When the needles get old, they’re really sharp. I guess that’s why they call them needles. These won’t get sharp until the kids leave school for Christmas vacation.”

“Then I’ll take one,” Andrea said, walking over to take a look. “But they’re all mixed up in the section together. Is there a way to tell how tall they are without measuring?”

“I’ll show you,” Mary said, gesturing to Andrea. “Just follow me and I’ll explain the color coding on the tags.”

As Andrea and Mary walked deeper into the forest of trees in the red section, Norman moved closer to Hannah. “They’re only on calling birds and already my head hurts.”

For a moment Hannah was thoroughly mystified and then she realized that We Wish You a Merry Christmas had ended and The Twelve Days of Christmas had taken its place. “Eight verses to go,” she said. “I’ve probably got some aspirin in my purse. Do you want a couple?”

“No, thanks. I’ll be fine just as soon as we get out of here.”

“Hey, Hannah.” Mike walked up to join them. “What do you say we try out the Yule Log?”

Hannah took one look at the Yule Log ride and shook her head. The “log” part was hollow and it held seats with harness-type safety belts to prevent falling as it swayed back and forth. The seats were divided into sets of pairs facing each other. At the apex of one end the rider was looking straight down at his partner, and at the apex of the other, their positions were reversed. The momentum gained on the downswings must have been fierce because the people who were riding were screaming every time they descended. Perhaps, when she was younger, she would have regarded his invitation as a challenge and gone on the ride just to prove she could. Now that she was older, she was wiser. “Thanks, but no thanks,” she said.

“Then how about Santa’s Magic Sleigh?”

“The Ferris wheel?”

“Yes, but each car is decorated like a sleigh and there’s a plastic reindeer in front. You can see the whole park from the top of the wheel,” Mike gestured toward the designer Ferris wheel that was slowly revolving in the distance.

Hannah knew she could handle that ride, but there was another consideration. “Only if I can take the reins.”

“But they don’t really do anything. I mean, the reindeer doesn’t move or anything and…”

“I know. I was just kidding you. Let’s wait until Andrea picks out her tree and then we can all go.”

“You two go ahead,” Norman said. “I’ll help Andrea with the tree. It won’t be hard now that Mary’s steered us to the right type.”

“Are you sure?” Hannah asked, wondering if Norman was just being polite.

“I’m positive. And don’t worry if you have to wait in line. You’ve got plenty of time. It’s going to take a while for Andrea to choose, and then they have to net her tree and tie it on top of her car.”

“All right then.” Hannah turned to Mike. “Let’s stop off at the Crazy Elf Cookie Shop on the way. I want to see if they really are running out of cookies.”

Hannah and Mike walked down the path between the tents. It was labeled North Pole Avenue and at the end was a row of log cabins. Each one had a sign hanging over the door on a pole that jutted out from the cabin. The sign reminded Hannah of the pictures she’d seen of English pubs, but it was clear these log cabins didn’t sell roast beef sandwiches and stout.

“Larry spent big bucks on those buildings,” Mike said, gesturing toward the Crazy Elf Toy Shop.

“How do you know?”

“I priced them when I lived in The Cities. I wanted to put one in the backyard for the mower, and the snow blower, and things like that.”

“How much were they?”

“It was a thousand for the smallest one, and that was a couple of years back. These have got to be the largest. They’re huge. And unless Larry got a real deal, they’ve got to run over five thousand apiece.”

“Maybe he’s renting,” Hannah suggested.

“That would make sense since he’ll be closing down right after Christmas. Either that, or he plans to put them up for sale.”

“They’re too big to put in a backyard.” Hannah noticed that a steady stream of customers was filing into the log cabin on the end and she steered Mike that way. “Who would buy them?”

“I don’t know. Someone with a hobby farm might like one. They could use it for a woodworking shop, or fancy storage, or anything like that. They’re even big enough for farm machinery, or a couple of cars.”

“Maybe,” Hannah said, sounding doubtful. The cabins had doors that were much too small for car or farm machine storage. They’d have to be remodeled and that would cost.

Mike gave a chuckle. “Mayor Bascomb can take one and use it for a second ice fishing house. It’s even bigger than the one he has.”

“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if that happened,” Hannah said, stopping at the cabin with the most foot traffic and the one sporting a Crazy Elf Cookie Shop sign.

“Let’s go in and I’ll buy you a cup of coffee,” Mike said. “I’d buy you a cookie too, but they’re out.”

Hannah turned to him in amazement. “How can you tell from out here?”

“I’ve been watching and the only things the customers carry out are hot drink cups. If they had cookies, some of them would be carrying bags.”

“I’m impressed!”

“You should be,” Mike grinned down at her. “I guess that’s why I’m the detective and you’re not.”

Hannah bit her tongue. There was no way she was going to ruin the evening and point out that she’d solved more than a dozen murder cases. If she did that, Mike would be sure to point out that she’d gotten herself into trouble a couple of times, and he’d been the one who had to bail her out. It was best to remain silent and not bring up the subject that was a sore point between them.

“After you,” Mike said, opening the cabin door and holding it for Hannah.

“Thanks.” Hannah stepped inside and blinked a couple of times. It was glitter and glitz, glitz and glitter. The inside of the cookie shop was decorated with thousands of miniature Christmas lights and they were all blinking on and off randomly. Wreaths hung behind the serving counter, a large stuffed bear with a plaid Christmas hat was positioned near the area where the line formed, and every time someone walked past, the bear wished them a merry Christmas. Glittering garlands of silver and blue foil were looped in every place possible, electric candles were perched on every windowsill, and two huge Christmas trees sat by the back wall, one in either corner.

“Look at those trees,” Mike said, as if Hannah could possibly have missed them. They were at least fifteen feet tall and they were decorated with enough ornaments and lights for a half-dozen trees. The lovely angels on top had two-foot wingspans, and their gossamer wings were shimmering in the air currents as if trying to work up the speed for a takeoff.

Hannah and Mike passed the bear, who wished both of them a merry Christmas, and took their place at the end of the line. The procession of people waiting for sustenance was structured by red velvet ropes attached to giant candy canes on stands. Hannah noticed that Larry had taken his cue from amusement parks and purchased stands that could be arranged and rearranged to accommodate any size crowd.

The line moved swiftly and soon Hannah and Mike were almost at the front. “See?” he pointed to the empty display case. “No cookies.”

“You’re right. I wonder how long they’ve been out.”

“Since six,” replied the girl who’d moved over to wait on them. “Your cookies practically fly out the door, Miss Swensen.”

“Krista?” Hannah asked. The girl in the elf costume looked a bit like Barbara Donnelly’s granddaughter.

“It’s me. Grandma dropped me off at work tonight and she said I don’t look like myself.”

“Your grandma’s right. If you hadn’t spoken to us I never would have recognized you.”

“Maybe that’s good. The customers aren’t too happy when I tell them we’re out of cookies. Can you talk Mr. Jaeger into ordering more?”

“I’ll try. Is he here tonight?”

“He’s here every night. If you keep on going past the toy shop and take a left at Rudolf Lane, you’ll see a woodsy-looking trailer off to the right. It’s all decorated with garlands of Christmas lights and there’s a blue flocked tree out in front. That’s Elf Headquarters. Just ring the bell and Mr. Jaeger will let you in. Now what can I get for you two?”

“I’ll take a large Holly Jolly,” Mike answered her and then he turned to Hannah. “How about you?”

“I don’t know. What’s a Holly Jolly?”

“It’s hot chocolate mixed with coffee that’s flavored with orange,” Krista explained. “It’s got whipped cream on top and it’s really good, Miss Swensen.”

“Then I’ll have one, too.”

In less than a minute Hannah and Mike were exiting the building armed with two carryout cups of Holly Jolly. Hannah took a sip of hers and was pleasantly surprised. “This is pretty good,” she said.

“You’re right. It’s perfect for a cold night like this. The only way you could make it better is to put in a shot of brandy.”

Hannah was surprised. Mike wasn’t a big drinker. He’d have the occasional beer, or a glass of wine with a fancy dinner, but she’d never seen him drink brandy.

“Or you could go with an orange liqueur like Grand Marnier. That would bring out the orange in the coffee. Or you could use orange flavored vodka. They’ve got practically every flavor now.”

He’d mentioned three kinds of liquor in as many seconds and Hannah thought she knew why. “You must have had a rough day,” she guessed.

“Yeah. That’s one of the reasons I dropped by, but I didn’t want to say anything in front of Norman. It’s just a hunch, that’s all.”

“What’s just a hunch?”

“Norman’s mother. I think she could be shoplifting.”

“What?!”

“I told you, it’s just a hunch. I’ve been thinking about it all day and it’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

Hannah planted her heels on the walkway and stopped. “Hold on a minute. What makes you think Carrie’s shoplifting? And start from the beginning.”

“Last night was the third time I followed her home from the mall. She was out there on Sunday night, and last week on Monday and Tuesday nights, too.”

“You’re following Carrie?” Hannah was amazed. Surely Carrie wasn’t shoplifting! But shoplifting could be a disease…at least that was what she’d learned in psychology class. Some people who shoplifted did it because they couldn’t afford some item they wanted. But other people who shoplifted really couldn’t help themselves. They were addicted to the thrill and excitement. There were multistep programs to help addictive shoplifters that were modeled after the programs for alcoholics.

“I’m not following Carrie on purpose,” Mike tried to explain. “It’s just that she leaves the mall when it closes and so do I. Mall Security is shorthanded and I’m taking a couple of shifts until they find somebody to hire full-time.”

“Lots of people like to shop at the mall until it closes. It’s the only place where you can walk for miles in the winter without a coat and boots. What makes you think that Carrie’s shoplifting?”

“I told you it’s just a hunch, but every time I see her loading her trunk with packages, she looks guilty.”

Hannah had to admit that Mike’s hunches were usually right. But she still wasn’t willing to believe that Norman’s mother had a problem with shoplifting. “Those packages she loads in her trunk…can you tell what stores they’re from?”

“Last night it was The Glass Slipper. It’s an upscale shoe store. It was a really big bag, Hannah. She must have had six pairs of shoes in there.”

“Did you check with The Glass Slipper to see if she bought anything?”

Mike gave her a look that would have withered the hardiest tree in the forest. “Of course I did! I’m not a rookie, you know.”

“I know that. What did they tell you?”

“That she bought six pairs of shoes and put them on a credit card. The card was good. They checked.”

“Then she didn’t shoplift.”

“Not from The Glass Slipper. She had some other packages in the trunk, but I didn’t get close enough to notice the store names.”

“Okay.” Hannah drew a deep breath. “You don’t know anything for sure, so let it go, at least until a store reports lost inventory. They do that, don’t they?”

“Every Friday. You’re right, Hannah. I can’t jump to conclusions. I just didn’t like the look on her face when she spotted me. It was like she was afraid I’d question her or something, and she’s never looked at me like that before.”

“I understand,” Hannah said, taking his arm and giving it a little squeeze. “Perhaps it was nothing. You must have been tired after working at the station all day and then putting in a shift at the mall.”

“I was. But I wasn’t imagining that look.”

“Okay. Let’s drop it for now and think about something really important.”

“What’s that?”

“Shall we ride Santa’s Magic Sleigh first, or go talk to Larry about his cookie order?”

“Let’s go talk to Larry,” Mike decided. “I’ve got a couple of questions for him.”

“What questions?”

“It’s about the sign I saw on the checkout booth we passed on our way in.”

“What sign?”

“The one that said, We sell below cost and make it up on volume.”

Hannah’s mouth dropped open. “But…but…” she sputtered. “That’s impossible!”

“I know it is. I want to find out if that’s Larry’s idea of a joke, or if he really believes it.”

As she walked down the snowy path with Mike, Hannah just shook her head. Although she’d been dreading it, she now hoped her mother would invite her to small business class again. Larry Jaeger’s sign was bad business whether it was a joke, or not. That meant she had something to contribute to the bad business practices segment of the class. The more she thought about it, the funnier it became and Hannah chuckled all the way to Elf Headquarters. She could hardly wait to tell Miss Whiting about this!

HOLLY JOLLY COFFEE

1 cup strong coffee, steaming hot

1 packet hot cocoa mix (the kind that makes one cup)

1/4 teaspoon orange extract[***]

Mix everything up together and top with sweetened whipped cream.

Chapter Six

“Who is it?” a male voice called out when Mike rang the bell.

“Mike Kingston and Hannah Swensen,” Mike replied.

“Hold on. I’m coming.”

A moment later, Larry Jaeger opened the door. It was clear he’d been sitting on the couch watching football, because there was a half-empty beer bottle on the coffee table, along with a bag of chips and a container of onion dip.

As Hannah moved closer to the giant flat screen television, she spotted familiar purple and gold uniforms. She glanced up at the rectangle at the top of the screen to see who the Vikings were playing, and read that the opponent was LA. No punctuation was present, and that meant the team could be Louisiana or Los Angeles. Rather than hazard a guess and risk exposing her pigskin naivety, Hannah settled for her favorite football ambiguity. “How about those Vikings,” she commented, giving a little shrug.

“They’re doing it again,” Larry replied, leading them over to the chairs directly across from the couch. “They were ahead at the end of the half, but now they’re blowing it. I’ll just kill the sound so we can talk.”

Hannah watched Larry as he hunted for the control. If she had to describe him in one word, that word would be “average.” Everything about him was average, from his hair, a color midway between light and dark, his medium build, and his standard height. He was dressed in a pair of jeans, a plaid shirt, and a pair of pull-on deerskin boots.

Although Larry looked ordinary, Hannah knew he wasn’t. You couldn’t live in Lake Eden without hearing stories about the budding businessman who had devised unique ways of raising money. Larry had been a wheeler dealer even back in high school.

And now he was at it again. Larry’s Christmas tree lot was packed with customers and it certainly looked to be a successful business. The sign Mike had noticed bothered her a bit, but perhaps Mr. Medium, as Hannah had come to think of him, possessed a weird sense of humor.

“I’m glad you’re here, Hannah,” Larry said in his medium-volume, medium-pitched voice. He hit the mute button, killing the sound, and turned to her. “I was planning on calling you in the morning. The girls at the cookie shop tell me we need to increase our order.”

“That’s great,” Hannah said, giving him a smile. It seemed that Larry was on top of the cookie problem. “How many dozen extra would you like?”

“Let’s see…we go through an average of six dozen an hour in the afternoons and it’ll probably be more in the evenings. Let’s say an extra thirty-six dozen. That ought to cover it.”

It was a big order and Hannah was pleased. “We can do thirty-six dozen. Do you want any particular kind?”

“Actually, I do. I noticed we don’t have anything with white chocolate.”

Hannah thought fast. “I just tested a new recipe for White Chocolate Pumpkin Dreams and they were excellent. They’re a soft cookie and they’re very moist. Would you like to try those?”

“They sound fine. Could you deliver five dozen of those every day?” When Hannah nodded, he went on. “And we don’t have a ginger cookie. Do you have anything like that?”

“I could give you five dozen Frosted Ginger Cookies.”

“Sounds great. How about something with marshmallows? Kids love marshmallows.”

“They certainly do,” Hannah agreed, her sole point of reference being her niece Tracey. Tracey adored marshmallows and the last time she had come down to The Cookie Jar to spend the afternoon, they’d come up with a brownie that Tracey loved. “How about five pans of Fudge-Mallow Cookie Bars? You can get two dozen brownies from each pan. That’ll be another ten dozen.”

“Good!”

Larry was silent for several moments and Hannah wondered if he’d added wrong. “That’s only twenty dozen extra,” she reminded him.

“I know. I’m just considering something else. We get a big rush of customers right after the dinner hour. How about some kind of wonderful Christmas dessert, something so good it’ll make them leave their own dinner tables and come to the Crazy Elf for dessert?”

“That’s a good idea,” Hannah said, and then she was silent. She wasn’t about to suggest something like mincemeat pie or fruitcake at this point, not until Larry had given her a clue to what he considered wonderful.

“I’m thinking of something they wouldn’t make at home. And something that’s not available at local grocery stores. We might even need something that people around here haven’t tasted before.”

Hannah thought of several desserts that fit Larry’s description, but she wasn’t about to name them. They were overworked as it was at The Cookie Jar and there was no way they were going to bake cranberry tarts or miniature chocolate meringue pies. She’d wait for him to come up with something and then see if they had time to do it.

Larry thought for a moment and then he leaned forward in excitement. “How about plum pudding? They have it in England and I think it’s a traditional Christmas dessert.”

“It may be traditional, but nobody’s going to order it twice,” Mike said, entering the conversation for the first time. “I had it at a fancy restaurant in Minneapolis. It tasted like fruitcake, but what really got to me was there wasn’t a single plum in it.”

“No plums in plum pudding?” Larry asked, turning to Hannah for confirmation.

“Mike’s right. The traditional recipe has citron and some other dried and candied fruit, but no plums.”

“Then why do they call it plum pudding?”

Hannah shrugged. “Maybe it’s because it’s wrapped up in cloth and steamed. Somebody probably thought it came out shaped like a plum.”

“Well, I guess plum pudding won’t work.” Larry looked disappointed.

“Don’t give up quite yet,” Hannah told him, her mind working a million miles a minute. She still had to come up with a spectacular dessert for Claire and Reverend Knudson’s wedding dinner and she might be able to kill two birds with one stone. “I think I can create my own recipe for plum pudding and I’ll make sure there are real plums inside. You probably don’t want to flambe it if you’re going to serve individual slices, though.”

“Right,” Larry agreed.

“Do the girls in the cookie shop have a microwave?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I think it’ll be better if it’s heated. I’ll try it and see.”

Larry still looked slightly worried. “I hate fruitcake. It’s not going to taste like fruitcake, is it?”

“Absolutely not. There won’t be any citron or dried fruit in it except maybe a few golden raisins. Do you want me to try to bake a sample and bring it to you so you can taste it?”

“Yes.”

Both men spoke at once and Hannah laughed.

“I’ll work on it at the The Cookie Jar tomorrow and bring you something with your afternoon cookie delivery. How’s that?”

“That’s great,” Larry said.

Hannah turned to Mike. “And you can stop in around noon to try your sample. In the meantime, I’ll give you extra sugar cookies, if that’s okay.”

“That’s fine. Your sugar cookies are always a big hit.” Larry stood up to walk them to the door, but Mike stayed in his chair.

“One more thing,” Mike said. “I noticed you don’t have any Christmas decorations in here.”

“That’s right. I get enough of all that every time I open the door. I don’t know how Courtney can stand it.”

“Courtney?”

“My fiancee. She heads up the sales staff in the toy shop and she has to listen to all those animated toys with the squeaky recorded voices every day.”

“That must be tough,” Mike said.

“It is. She complains about it all the time, but she won’t shut them off. She says it’s good for business.” Larry stood up and gestured toward the door. “Sorry to cut this short, but I have a business meeting in five minutes and it’s important.”

Mike and Hannah rose from their seats. They followed Larry toward the door and once they’d reached it, Mike stopped and turned back to Larry. “I noticed your sign by the checkout booth, the one about selling below cost and making it up on volume. You were kidding, weren’t you?”

“Of course I was kidding! You can’t sell below cost and make a profit regardless of the number of units you deal. Everybody knows that.”

“Then why do you have the sign?” Hannah asked, hoping for an addition to her story for Miss Whiting.

“When I was still in junior high a guy on a TV commercial said that he was selling below cost and making it up on volume. I think it was some spokesman for a mattresses store. I thought it was funny and I signed up for a shop class so I could make up a professional-looking sign. That’s the original out by the checkout booth. It’s turned into a tradition for L. J. Enterprises. That sign has hung by the door in every business I’ve ever started.”

It was a clear winter night and the stars were sparkling as if they were made of multifaceted ice crystals. The moon was up, a silvery ball overhead casting blue shadows on the snow below them. The music was pleasant at this altitude. The melodies floated up to embrace them for brief moments and then dispersed in the dark frigid air.

“Are you cold?” Mike asked, and not waiting for her answer, slipped an arm around her shoulders.

Not at all was the answer on the tip of Hannah’s tongue, but Mike’s embrace felt wonderful and rather than speak, she smiled.

“There’s the cookie shop.” Mike leaned out the side of their sleigh to see. “And there’s the flocking tent. I’m really glad Andrea didn’t go for one of those.”

“So am I!” Hannah’s reply was heartfelt. A flocked tree was fine for the lobby of a hotel, or the front window of the First Mercantile Bank, but school kids should experience a real tree that wasn’t sprayed all over with plastic and adhesive and whatever else the Crazy Elf used for flocking material.

“They really swing up high on that Yule Log.” Mike leaned out the side of their sleigh to take a better look. “I think there’s one point where you stop and you’re perfectly suspended before you go on the downswing again.”

Hannah thought about being suspended with Mike’s arm around her. That would be nice, but only if they could just stay there and not go on the downswing again.

“There’s Larry’s headquarters,” Mike pointed from his side of the sleigh. “See it?”

Hannah glanced down in time to see a man entering Larry’s trailer. He must be arriving for the business meeting Larry had told them about. As the man passed through the doorway, Hannah realized that he looked a bit like Earl Flensburg. Of course that was about as likely as snow in July. The Winnetka County tow truck and snowplow driver wasn’t the type to attend a business meeting, especially a one-on-one meeting with a high-powered executive like Larry Jaeger.

“It’s funny, isn’t it, how there wasn’t a single Christmas thing inside?” Mike asked.

For a moment Hannah was puzzled and then she realized that Mike was referring to Larry Jaeger’s trailer. “Not really. If you were around something every waking minute, you’d probably want to get away to something completely different.”

“Careful, Hannah,” Mike said, giving her the devilish grin that always made her toes tingle. “I think you just gave me the guy’s argument for infidelity.”

And naturally you recognized it, Hannah thought, but of course she didn’t say it. “I prefer to think of it as an argument for going camping after a hard week at work,” she countered, “or the reason someone who lives in Minnesota likes to vacation in Hawaii.”

“You’ve got a point. I wouldn’t mind a little fun in the sun in the dead of winter. Say, Hannah…I’ve got two weeks of vacation coming at the end of January. I was thinking about flying to St. Thomas and I…isn’t that Andrea?” Mike leaned out even farther and waved his arm. “It’s her, all right. Andrea’s down there waiting for us.”

Saved by the sister, Hannah thought, not quite sure if she was grateful or disappointed that Mike hadn’t finished what had sounded like an invitation to come along on his winter vacation.

The sleigh began to descend and their time for privacy was over. Hannah leaned out to smile at her sister as they came to rest and an attendant rushed over to help them out.

“Did you have fun?” Andrea asked when they were both on the ground.

“It was nice,” Hannah answered.

“Nice,” Mike teased her. “I thought it was more than nice.”

“Okay, it was fun.” Hannah turned to Andrea. “You can go on this one with Tracey. It won’t make her sick. You could even take Grandma McCann and Bethany if you want to. But watch out for the Yule Log.”

“I know. I walked past it on the way over here, and the Yule Log is definitely out.” Andrea led them toward the entrance. “We’re all through shopping and Norman’s out in the parking lot helping them tie on the trees.”

“I’ll go help him,” Mike said, striding forward and leaving the two Swensen sisters alone.

“You said trees,” Hannah reminded her. “Did you get more than one tree?”

“Did I say trees? I didn’t mean to. I just hope mine doesn’t scratch the roof of my Volvo.”

“Yours?” Hannah asked. “Does that mean there’s a tree that isn’t yours?”

“Of course there is. My tree is mine. It’s the one I bought for Tracey’s class. It’s mine as opposed to somebody else’s. My tree is mine. Their tree is theirs. I didn’t mean anyone else’s tree in particular. I just meant somebody else’s tree in general. This is a tree lot and there are other people here. Some of those people are buying trees, right?”

Hannah turned to stare at her sister, who immediately averted her eyes. Andrea was dissembling and that meant something was up. She moved a little closer to her sister and asked the question. “Do you want to tell me now? Or do you want to tell me later?”

“Later,” Andrea said with a sigh. “I promised I wouldn’t say anything and I already blew it. Don’t ask me anymore questions, okay?”

“Okay.” Hannah capitulated. Andrea looked completely chagrinned. “Just tell me if you happened to go into the toy shop. I’m curious.”

“Yes, I did.” Andrea looked very relieved. “I was looking for a toddler’s globe for Bethany, but they didn’t have one.”

“What’s a toddler’s globe?”

“It’s a globe filled with soft squishy padding. Toddlers can grab it, and roll it, and squeeze it, and throw it. It’s a really great early learning tool. They can learn about the world, and the oceans, and the continents, and the countries before they even go to school.”

“Right,” Hannah said. It was a sweet idea and Bethie would love a globe ball, but it would be hopelessly out of date by the time she could read the names. Proof of that pudding was at the Olympics. Every year new countries were formed, old countries were dissolved, and other countries were renamed. The parade of nations was never the same from one Olympics to the next.

“It was just a thought and I found something else for her,” Andrea said, approaching the gate to the parking lot.

“What?”

“They had these darling crocheted animals. The clerk said they were handmade by someone in Lake Eden, and I bought an elephant for Bethie. Then I noticed a lion and I got that for Tracey. She’s into big jungle cats this year.”

“Were they expensive?”

“Yes, but they were really well made and they’re washable. I don’t think twenty dollars is too much to pay for a hand-crafted stuffed animal, do you?”

“No, especially not if you’re supporting a local cottage industry. That’s important.” Hannah remembered what Larry had told her and turned to look at her sister. “Did you happen to notice the woman who was running the toy shop? Her name is Courtney and she’s Larry Jaeger’s fiancee.”

Andrea thought for a moment. “She was probably the short brunette wearing the red velvet jumper and white lace blouse. She had on a Santa hat and all the rest of the cashiers were high school girls dressed like elves.”

The two sisters walked down the row until they came to Andrea’s car. Norman and Mike had loaded the tree on top and tied it down securely. Hannah turned to look at Norman’s car and she saw that he also had a tree tied to the top. “You got a tree?” she asked him.

“No, you got a tree.”

“Me!?” Hannah looked up at the huge Scotch Pine and then she turned back to Norman. “This is really nice of you, Norman. But cats and Christmas trees don’t get along.”

“Have you ever tried it?”

“Well…no, but I’ve heard it doesn’t work out. Cats do things like climb up the branches, bat all the ornaments to the floor, and swallow the tinsel.”

“You won’t know that for sure unless you try it,” Andrea pointed out. “Barbara Donnelly has a cat and she always gets a Christmas tree.”

“That’s right,” Mike said. “Barbara told me that her cat never even notices her tree. I think you should try it. Moishe’s a nice cat. He’s always been a good boy and he probably won’t bother your tree at all.”

Hannah turned to stare at Mike in disbelief. He’d just described the cat who’d run laps in her bathtub at two in the morning as a nice cat. This same good boy had torn all of the stuffing out of her couch pillows, emptied his litter box on the laundry room floor, chewed a hole in the side of her kitchen broom closet, and dragged her underwear out of the laundry basket to scatter over the living room rug as a display for any company she might bring home with her. Moishe was a funny cat, a great companion, and a well-loved roommate. But not by any stretch of the imagination could he be accurately described as a nice cat, or a good boy.

“Just try the tree overnight,” Norman suggested in an attempt to overcome her lack of enthusiasm. “I’ll set it up for you and everything. I just hate to think of you without a Christmas tree. It smells good, and it’s pretty, and it’ll make your whole condo feel like Christmas.”

“Well…” Hannah hesitated. She’d really missed having a Christmas tree.

“I tell you what,” Norman went into his closing argument. “If it doesn’t work out, I’ll come and take it away.”

“How can I refuse an offer like that?” Hannah stepped closer to hug him. Buying a Christmas tree for her was a sweet thing to do. “But I want you to have a heart-to-heart talk with Moishe tonight, right after you set it up.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Just tell him that my tree isn’t really a tree.”

“What?”

“I mean…it’s a tree, but it’s not a regular outside tree. It’s an inside tree and it’s a decoration for Christmas.”

“Do you think Moishe can tell the difference?”

“I think so, especially if you give him an example. You might want to explain that his kitty kondo is entertainment for kitties, and the Christmas tree is entertainment for people.” Hannah stopped and shook her head. “On second thought…never mind.”

“But why?” Andrea asked her. “I thought that sounded perfectly reasonable.”

“It did and it is. It’s just that the distinction won’t work on Moishe.”

“Why not?” This time it was Mike who asked the question.

“Because Moishe doesn’t recognize the difference between people things and cat things. He thinks he’s a four-legged person in a fur suit. He has no idea that he’s a cat.”

WHITE CHOCOLATE PUMPKIN DREAMS

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.,

rack in the middle position.

This recipe is from Michelle’s roommate, Susan, and it’s a real winner!

1 cup softened salted butter (2 sticks, 8 ounces, 1/2 pound)

1/2 cup white (granulated) sugar 1/2 cup brown sugar (pack it down in your cup when you measure it)

1 large egg, beaten (just whip it up in a glass with a fork)

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon nutmeg (freshly ground is best)

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon cardamom (or an extra half-teaspoon of cinnamon, but cardamom’s really a lot better)

1 cup canned pumpkin[***] (I used Libby’s)

2 cups flour (pack it down in the cup when you measure it)

2 cups (12-ounce package) white chocolate chips 1 cup chopped pecans (measure after chopping)

You can either spray your cookie sheets with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray, or line them with parchment paper. Either way will work fine.

Mix the white sugar with the brown sugar. Stir until the mixture is a uniform color.

Add the sticks of softened butter and beat until the mixture is light and fluffy.

Add the beaten egg and mix it in thoroughly.

Stir in the baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Mix them in thoroughly.

Mix in the nutmeg, cinnamon, and cardamom. (Susan uses pumpkin pie spice instead of the freshly ground nutmeg, cinnamon, and cardamom.)

Measure out one cup of pumpkin and add it to your bowl. Stir it in until the mixture is smooth.

Add the flour in half-cup increments, stirring the batter smooth after each addition.

Add the white chocolate chips. Mix them in and then add the chopped pecans. Stir everything in thoroughly.

Use a teaspoon to scoop out some dough and drop it on your cookie sheet. These cookies will be small, but they spread out when they bake. Place the cookie dough balls 3 to a horizontal row, 4 rows to a cookie sheet.

Bake the White Chocolate Pumpkin Dreams at 350 degrees F. for 12 to 14 minutes, or until they’re firm. (Mine took 13 minutes.)

Remove the cookie sheets from the oven and let the cookies set up for 2 minutes. Then use a metal spatula to remove the cookies from the cookie sheets and transfer them to a wire rack to cool completely.

When all the cookies are baked and cooled, it’s time to frost them. The following is a wonderful brown sugar frosting that will go well with White Chocolate Pumpkin Dreams.

Susan’s Frosting:

1/2 cup brown sugar (pack it down in the cup when you measure it)

3 Tablespoons salted butter[***]

1/4 cup milk (I used half and half)

1 to 11/2 cups powdered (confectioner’s) sugar (no need to sift unless you have big lumps)

Combine the brown sugar and butter in a saucepan and bring it to a boil on the stove over medium-high heat.

Boil the mixture for 1 minute or until it’s slightly thickened.

Pull the saucepan off the heat and cool the mixture for 10 minutes.

Add the milk (or half and half) and beat the mixture until smooth.

Add the powdered sugar by half-cup increments, stirring after each addition. Keep adding the powdered sugar until the mixture reaches spreading consistency.

Frost the cookies. If you’d like to dress them up a bit, place a half pecan on top of each cookie before the frosting hardens.

Hannah’s Note: I just want to point out that since these cookies are made with pumpkin and pumpkin is a variety of squash, the kids may try to convince you that eating several White Chocolate Pumpkin Dreams takes the place of a serving of vegetables.

Lisa’s Note: Sometimes I don’t have the time to make this frosting, especially when Dad and Herb are standing right there, waiting for the White Chocolate Pumpkin Dreams to come out of the oven. They won’t wait for me to cook frosting, so I just sprinkle the cookies with powdered sugar and serve them that way.

Yield: approximately 6 dozen yummy cookies, depending on cookie size.

Chapter Seven

Mike was waiting for them when they pulled into the garage and Hannah noted with some amusement that he’d parked in her second spot right next to her cookie truck. It was another example of the rivalry that still existed between the two men. Mike had probably thought that if Norman had to move his car to the guest parking lot once they’d unloaded the tree and carried it upstairs, he probably wouldn’t stay. But what Mike hadn’t known when he’d taken the prime parking place was that Hannah’s neighbors, Marguerite and Clara Hollenbeck, had offered the use of their second spot whenever Hannah needed it.

“You can park behind Marguerite and Clara’s car,” Hannah told Norman.

“Perfect.” Norman pulled into the adjacent spot. “It’ll be easier to unload the tree from here. Your spot is right next to the post.”

As they got out of the car, Hannah turned to look. Norman was right. If he’d parked in her second spot, the one next to her cookie truck that currently held Mike’s cruiser, they would have had to work around one of the big concrete pillars that held up the garage.

“I’ll take it from here,” Mike said, walking over to the driver’s side of Norman’s car.

Norman walked around the back of the car and stood by the passenger door. “I’ll get it on this side,” he said.

Hannah watched as the two men worked in tandem. Norman loosened the rope from his side and threw it over the top of the car to Mike, who untied it and tossed it back. They did this a half-dozen times before the rope was off and her tree was free.

“Your side or mine?” Norman asked.

“Yours. There’s more room over there. We’ll pull it off and stand it up. Then you take the top and I’ll take the base, and we’ll carry it up the stairs.”

“Wait a second,” Norman gestured to Hannah. “There’s a tree stand in the backseat on the floor. Will you get it out and loosen the screws? We’ll put your tree in the stand down here and then we’ll carry it upstairs. You won’t have as many needles on your rug that way.”

“Thanks!” Hannah said, opening the back door to retrieve the tree stand. As her mother and sisters were so fond of telling her, Norman was a real find. Most men wouldn’t have given her living room rug a second thought, but he was always planning ahead to make her life easier.

The tree stand was a challenge as they soon discovered. There were four long screws protruding into the center ring that could be cranked in or out to tighten the base of the tree in the stand. At the present, they were in all the way and it took longer than Hannah thought it would to loosen them. Both Norman and Mike knelt down to help and the three of them turned the cranks until their wrists were sore.

“Is that in far enough?” Hannah asked, pointing to her screw.

Norman looked over at what she’d done and nodded. “It looks good to me. Just let me work on this last screw for a minute and I’ll see how much room we’ve got.”

“When you’re through, we can try to put the tree in.” Mike straightened up and rubbed the small of his back. “I don’t like this tree stand.”

Norman looked up from his crouched position on the garage floor. “Neither do I, but this was the best they had. The problem was, I didn’t know if Hannah had one and I didn’t want to spoil the surprise by asking.”

“It’s a good thing you got it,” Hannah told him. “I have the one down at the shop, but that’s it.”

“You’d think that with cell phones that do practically everything except pack your lunch, somebody could come up with a better design.” Mike looked down at the tree stand. “This one’s been around since I was a kid.”

“There was another kind, but I thought it looked even worse,” Norman told them. “It has a sharp spike on the bottom and you’re supposed to lay the tree on its side and drive the spike into the base with a hammer.”

Mike looked confused. “How are you supposed to do that?” he asked. “If you try to pound in the spike, the tree will just scoot across the floor. And even if you hold it with one hand, you need both hands to pound in the spike.”

“You’re right.” Norman said. “You need one hand to hold the spike at the center of the trunk. And you need the other hand for the hammer.”

“Then it must take two people to use that kind of tree stand,” Hannah suggested.

“I think it would take three people,” Norman corrected her. “Have you ever tried to hold a board steady while someone else hammers a nail into it?”

“I have,” Mike told him. “My brother and I used to put up fencing around my mother’s vegetable garden to keep out the rabbits. Other people used chain link, but our mother wanted a green picket fence with two inches between the pickets. I was the youngest so I used to be on the outside holding the picket while my older brother drove the nail to hold the strip of wood that attached them. Every blow knocked me back, even though I braced myself. And when I tried to anticipate and jump forward to meet the hammer blow, my timing was off and that didn’t work either.”

Once Norman had decided that the center ring was large enough for the tree trunk, Hannah held the stand in place while the men took the tree down from the top of Norman’s car and attempted to insert the trunk into the ring.

“It won’t go down,” Mike stated the obvious. “It’s catching on those branches at the bottom.”

“Then we’ll have to cut them off.” Norman turned to Hannah. “Do you have a pruning saw?”

Hannah shook her head. “I don’t have any gardening tools. All that’s done by the grounds crew and it’s part of my monthly maintenance assessment.”

“You’ve got to have some kind of a saw,” Mike said. “Most homeowners do. We can use anything.”

“Like what?” Hannah asked him.

“Hand saw, crosscut saw, coping saw, keyhole saw, or even a hacksaw,” Norman told her. “We’ll take anything at this point.”

Hannah was at a loss. She knew what all those saws were. She’d worked summers in her father’s hardware store. But she didn’t own any of them. “How about a Ginsu knife?” she asked. “I got it from a TV commercial, and it said it could cut through frozen vegetables. Maybe it would cut through a tree branch?”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Never mind,” he said. “I’ll make a call and get a pair of bolt cutters. That should work on the bottom branches.”

While they waited for Lonnie Murphy to arrive with the bolt cutters, Hannah opened the storage area over her carport and took out the box of her grandmother’s ornaments. She’d never used them, and this was the perfect time. None of her sisters had wanted them. Andrea had ornaments from Bill’s family, Michelle was still living at home and didn’t need them, and Hannah had become the beneficiary by default.

“What’s that?” Mike asked, watching Hannah retrieve the box.

“Christmas ornaments. They belonged to my grandparents.”

“Are they glass?” Norman asked her.

Hannah tried to remember. She recalled delicate blown glass baskets filled with purple glass grapes. There were also glass strawberries with curved stems that made their own hangers, and huge silver and gold balls that had seemed as big as balloons to her as a child. The only ornaments that weren’t glass were the ones that her Great-Grandma Else had made. They were handcrafted birds that perched on the tree branches.

“I think most of them are glass,” she said.

“If you use any of the glass ones, put them on branches near the top,” Norman told her.

“Because of Moishe?”

“Right. I made the mistake of putting a glass ball on a branch near the bottom of my tree. Cuddles thought it was a toy.”

“Did it break?”

“No, but it could have. Now the only things I have hanging from the bottom two branches are plastic ornaments.”

“I thought you said Cuddles didn’t bother your tree,” Hannah reminded him.

“She doesn’t, not anymore. That ball just intrigued her, I guess. It was really shiny and it probably acted as a mirror. And Cuddles loves to bat at her reflection in the mirror.”

Hannah thought about putting the box of ornaments back in her storage area, but she really wanted to see her family’s Christmas keepsakes again. She’d compromise by using the ones that wouldn’t break and hanging only one of each glass ornament on the upper branches where Moishe couldn’t reach them.

“Here comes Lonnie,” Mike said as a police cruiser came down the ramp of the parking lot. He gave a wave and Lonnie pulled up to them.

Lonnie rolled down his window. “You need these?” he asked, handing the bolt cutters out the window to Mike.

“I don’t need them. You need them.” Mike stepped back so that Lonnie could get out of the cruiser. “Trim the bottom branches off the Christmas tree so it’ll fit in the tree stand.”

“And this is the police emergency the dispatcher called me about?” Lonnie asked, grinning at his boss.

“Yes, it is. Your supervisor was down on the floor of Hannah’s garage and his knees were getting sore. Your knees are younger. You do it.”

They watched as Lonnie made short work of trimming the lower branches of the tree. Then Mike held it in place while Norman, Lonnie, and Hannah tightened the screws to hold it securely.

“All done,” Lonnie said, getting to his feet.

“Not quite,” Mike told him. “Now you’re going to help us carry it up the stairs to Hannah’s condo. I’ll take the top, you take the bottom, and Norman will take that box of ornaments.”

“And Hannah will take the bag in the trunk,” Norman added, clicking his remote to open it. “I picked up some mini-lights and a few ornaments.”

A few moments later the procession moved up the outside staircase to Hannah’s condo. Mike was in the lead with the tip of the tree, Lonnie followed behind him, Norman was next carrying the big box of Swensen family ornaments, and Hannah brought up the rear with a plastic red and green bag that said CRAZY ELF on both sides in four-inch high block letters.

Mike reached the landing first. He moved back as far as he could so Lonnie could join him and they set the tree down in front of the door. “Can you unlock it, or shall we move the tree back?” he asked Hannah.

“I think I can get it.” Hannah reached between two branches and inserted her key in the lock.

“How about Moishe?” Mike asked. “If he tries to jump out in your arms, he’s going to think the forest has come to visit.”

Hannah laughed. “He’ll be fine as long as it’s not Birnam Wood and his name isn’t Macbeth.”

But Moishe was nowhere to be seen when Hannah opened the door and the men carried in the tree. He must have heard the commotion and decided that discretion was the better part of valor, or in his case, wriggling under or behind something was better than remaining in the open.

“I’ll find him,” Norman said, setting the box of ornaments on the floor and heading straight for the kitchen. “Here he is,” he called out.

Hannah got to the doorway just in time to see her cat jumping down into Norman’s arms from the top of the refrigerator. Norman carried him out to the living room couch, put him down in his favorite spot, and gave him a scratch behind the ears. “Don’t worry,” Norman told him. “It’s just a Christmas tree.”

Moishe looked over at the tree, which was now sitting in the corner of the living room, and laid his ears back flat against his head. Hannah knew what that meant. Her cat did not approve of a tree in his living room. He gave a little growl deep in his throat to confirm it and welcomed the stately Scotch Pine with a malignant stare.

“Coffee?” Hannah asked the assembled group of men. Even though she really didn’t feel like making a pot, it was the proper question for a good Minnesota hostess to ask.

“I could use another cup,” Mike said.

“Me, too,” Norman chimed in quickly.

“Count me in,” Lonnie told her. “I’ll water your tree while you make it. All I need is a plastic pitcher.”

“Wait a second,” Hannah said. “I want to put something under that tree stand in case it leaks.”

Norman look puzzled. “But it shouldn’t leak. It’s brand new.”

“I know, but I don’t want to take the chance. Phil and Sue’s living room is right below mine and they just got new carpeting. I’ll just be a second.”

For once in her life, the large, square, plastic box was right where she remembered. Hannah got it down from the top shelf of the guest room closet and carried it out to the living room. “This yarn box should be about the right size. I’ll get a bag for the yarn and needles.”

“I didn’t know you crocheted,” Norman called after her.

“I don’t.” Hannah came back with the garbage bag and proceeded to dump in the yarn.

“Then you must knit,” Norman tried another alternative.

“I don’t do that either.”

“If you don’t knit or crochet, why do you have a box full of yarn and needles?” Mike asked.

“Because someone left it in the last apartment I rented when I was in college and none of the neighbors had a forwarding address. It was too good to throw away, so I just moved it along with the rest of my things.”

While they were talking, Lonnie had lifted the tree, shoved the empty box under it with his foot, and set the tree stand inside the box. “It’s a perfect fit,” he said. “What are you going to do with all that yarn?”

“Give it to the thrift store, I guess. I know a couple of people who quilt, but I don’t know anyone who knits or crochets.”

“I do.” Lonnie began to smile.

“Who?”

“My sister-in-law. Jessica learned how to crochet these really cute stuffed animals for the kids. Larry Jaeger saw one of her lions when they brought the kids out to the Crazy Elf to buy their tree and he told Jessica he’ll take as many as she could turn out. He pays her ten dollars for each one and he sells them in the toy shop.”

Hannah realized that Jessica’s crocheted toys were probably the ones Andrea had bought for Bethie and Tracey. If Andrea had paid twenty dollars each and Larry had bought them for ten dollars apiece from Jessica, the toy shop was making a hundred percent profit.

“Take the yarn with you when you go,” Hannah told Lonnie. “Jessica’s more than welcome to it.”

While Hannah put on the coffee, Lonnie found a pitcher and filled the tree stand with water. Hannah glanced around her kitchen, trying to think of something to serve along with the coffee and her gaze fell on the package of soda crackers sitting on the counter. That was a good base. What else did she have?

One glance into the refrigerator and she had her answer. She’d made a triple batch of Nancy Henderson’s Christmas Cheese Rounds and they were wrapped in plastic wrap in the cheese drawer. Cheese and crackers would do nicely, especially since it was spur of the moment. But Norman and Mike had eaten Easy Cheesy Biscuits only a few hours ago. Was there such a thing as too much cheese?

Hannah considered it for a brief moment and then dismissed it. Minnesota was a dairy state. Anyone who lived here couldn’t get too much cheese, butter, milk, and cream. Besides, she wanted to try one of Nancy’s cheese treats. They were unusual and one of the ingredients was sure to cause raised eyebrows.

Hannah opened a jar of the jalapeno jelly that Florence had special-ordered for her at the Red Owl. She placed the cheese ball in the center of a serving plate, heated a few spoonfuls of jelly in the microwave until she could stir it smooth, and spooned it over the top of the cheese round. As she added a small serving knife to the plate, she decided that there was no way she’d mention what kind of jelly she’d used before they tasted it.

It was a simple matter to put some crackers into a napkin-lined basket and she carried it to the table, along with the cheese ball. “Try my homemade cheese ball,” she said. “Coffee’s coming right up.”

Of course they tried it. And as she poured coffee and placed the mugs on a tray, she listened to the conversation taking place while they munched.

“Do you taste some kind of spice?” Norman asked.

“I don’t know,” Lonnie replied. “Maybe it’s onions?”

“It doesn’t taste like onions,” Mike offered his opinion. “It tastes more like…peppers or something like that.”

“Whatever it is, it’s good!” Lonnie said. “What do you think, Norman?”

“I think it’s in the sauce or whatever that is on top. And I like it a lot.”

Hannah came through the doorway with the coffee and plunked it down on the table. “Jalapenos,” she said. And then she watched their expressions change to surprise.

“But it’s not that hot,” Mike said. “Believe me I’ve had jalapenos before and they’re a lot hotter than this.”

“That’s because this is jalapeno jelly, not straight jalapenos from the can.”

“Maybe the sugar takes away some of the heat,” Norman guessed, reaching for another cracker and loading it up with cheese and jelly. “This is really good, Hannah. I’ve never tasted anything like it before.”

“I have,” Mike said, giving Hannah a knowing look. “Somebody I know made Jalapeno Brownies as a special surprise for me.”

Hannah itched to correct him. The brownies hadn’t been a special surprise. They’d been an attempt to get even when he’d said that another woman’s brownies were the best he’d ever tasted. Unfortunately, her brownie punishment had back-fired. Mike had loved his fiery treats.

“Eat up boys, and then it’s time to go,” Hannah said. “It’s already after eleven and I have to get up at four in the morning.”

“But how about decorating the tree?” Norman asked her. “Don’t you want us to help you with it?”

“Yes, but not tonight.” Hannah gave him a smile to show that she appreciated his offer of help. “I’m just too tired to do any more tonight. I’ll call you in the morning and we’ll set something up.”

Five minutes later the cups, the cheese plate, and the serving knife were in the dishwasher, and Hannah had reset the coffee pot for the morning. It didn’t take her long to brush her teeth, wash her face, and put on the oversized sweat suit she wore to bed when it was sub-zero weather. She was about to climb into bed when she realized that Moishe wasn’t in his accustomed spot on the pillow next to hers.

“Moishe?” she called out, but there were no soft kitty footfalls in the hallway. Moishe was still in the living room and that was when Hannah remembered that neither Mike nor Norman had pulled Moishe aside for that cautionary talk about the Christmas tree.

It’s always up to the mother, Hannah thought, and then she grinned at her phrasing. She wasn’t Moishe’s mother. She’d need four legs and a tail to qualify for that position. But there were times, like now, when she felt she should exercise some maternal authority.

He was on the back of the couch looking perfectly inscrutable when Hannah retraced her steps to the living room. He was facing the tree and Hannah had the feeling that she should be extremely persuasive.

“How’s my kitty boy?” she asked, sitting down on the couch and reaching up to pet him. “Do you like my Christmas tree?”

There was a beat of silence, and then another. After ten seconds or so, Hannah figured that Moishe was not going to respond.

“We’ll decorate it tomorrow night and you’ll see how pretty it is,” she told him. “You’ll like it, Moishe. I know you will. It’s the holidays and we’re celebrating.”

More silence, stretching out for even longer this time. Hannah continued to pet and reassure her feline roommate. “Since it’s Christmas, I think I should get you some new catnap mice. What do you think of that?”

There was another second of silence and then she heard a very soft meow. “Two mice?” she asked. “Or three mice?”

“Rowwwww,” Moishe responded, moving over to lick her hand.

“Three mice it is then,” Hannah repeated, scratching him on his favorite spot under the chin. “Come on, Moishe. It’s late and I’m tired. Let’s go to bed.”

This time Moishe followed her to the bedroom and jumped up on his pillow. Hannah climbed in, pulled the covers up to her chin, and reached out to touch his soft fur. This was nice. This was peaceful. The sound of her pet’s even purring was wonderfully relaxing.

In no time at all, Hannah began to doze off to her pet’s soft purring. It had been a lovely evening, the scent of pine filled the condo, her cat was purring softly beside her, and all was right with the world…except Bradford Ramsey. He was the only fly in the ointment. Why did he have to come back into her life now and spoil her perfect world?

CHRISTMAS CHEESE ROUNDS

For each cheese round you will need:

1 cup finely shredded cheddar cheese (measure after shredding, but pack it down in the measuring cup—I prefer a sharp cheddar.)

1 cup finely chopped pecans (measure after chopping)

8-ounce package softened cream cheese (the brick kind, not the whipped kind in the crock)

1/2 cup finely chopped green onions (you can use up to an inch of the stem)

1 small jar jalapeno jelly (I used Knott’s)

Combine all the ingredients except the jalapeno jelly. Pack them into a small round mold, or form a ball and flatten it to resemble a hockey puck (or a baby Brie if you’re not from Minnesota and into winter sports.)

Chill the cheese round for at least 2 hours. (Overnight or even over several days is fine, too.)

When you’re ready to serve, place the cheese round on a pretty serving plate. Heat the jalapeno jelly in the microwave for a few seconds until you can stir it smooth. Then spoon approximately 1/2 cup over the top of the cheese round, letting it drip down the sides and puddle on the plate. Accompany it with a basket of crackers or cocktail bread, and enjoy.

Yield: One cheese round that should serve as an appetizer for 6 to 8 people.

Chapter Eight

The alarm clock went off much too early to suit Hannah. All she wanted to do was duck back under the covers and hide from the day that was about to begin. Why couldn’t she just find a nice nine to five job? Other people had jobs that paid benefits, and overtime, and periodic raises, and a bonus at Christmas, and…

Hannah’s busy mind skidded to a halt. Christmas. It smelled like Christmas in her bedroom. The lovely pine scent from the Christmas tree that Norman had bought for her was perfuming her whole condo with the scent of a winter forest. Why hadn’t she ever had a Christmas tree before? The scent was wonderful and it would be so nice to sit on the living room couch and gaze at lovely ornaments glowing in the reflections from soft twinkling lights nestled among the branches. She could sip hot chocolate, snuggle up warm and cozy with Norman, or Mike, or even Moishe.

Hannah’s thoughts took another quick three-sixty. She was almost positive that Moishe had been in bed when the alarm went off. Her arm was still slightly numb from twenty-three pounds of purring feline using it as a pillow.

She reached out to flick on the light. Moishe had been here, but he wasn’t here now. There was no cat in the bed, no furry pal on the windowsill hoping to catch a glimpse of a rabbit running across the snowy rose garden, no feline roommate perched on top of her dresser, purring loudly in an invitation to get up and feed him. Moishe wasn’t in her bedroom at all.

There was a crash in the distance. It wasn’t a loud crash, but it was worthy of notice. It seemed to take a long while to happen, like a tree toppling in the forest. Branches crackled, something swished, and a moment later, there was a hollow thud. And then there was water splashing out and then dripping…dripping…dripping…in her living room!

Moishe. Her Christmas tree. What was surely no more than a nanosecond after the thought occurred to her, Hannah was up and running. She sped down the hallway, flicking on lights as she went, and came to a skidding halt as she reached the tree, the one that had been in the corner of her living room and was now prone on her rug, the tree stand tipped up on two legs over an impossibly large lake of water that was spreading out over her carpet.

Hannah hissed out a word she would never have used around her nieces. All her precautions had been for naught. Her tree was down and the plastic pan had caught only a small amount of the water that had been in the tree stand. Her precaution hadn’t worked. There was a rapidly spreading lake of water on her rug.

A groan worthy of a rudely awakened hibernating bruin emerged from Hannah’s throat. As she stood there watching in dismay, the rest of the water saturated the fibers of her rug, seeped through the pad under her carpet, dripped past the joists that separated her apartment from her downstairs neighbors, and soaked the insulation and drywall that rested immediately above Phil and Sue Plotnik’s living room ceiling.

Hannah ran to the laundry room for a stack of towels and spread them out over the puddle. She patted them down, hoping she could soak up some of the moisture, and then she made her unsteady way to the kitchen for a wake-up dose of caffeine. Coffee would help and perhaps all this was a bad dream.

As she opened the cupboard and stared at the array of coffee mugs that awaited her, Hannah tried to convince herself that she was still fast asleep and merely dreaming that she was in her kitchen, choosing a coffee mug for the morning. She got out her favorite, the one that bore the words, That’s the Way the Cookie Crumbles, and carried it over to the coffee pot. It was amazing how realistic a dream could be. She could almost feel the weight of the mug in her hand and hear the clink as she set it down on the counter to pour herself a cup of liquid caffeine.

Hannah stood there and took the first scalding sip. And at that instant, she knew that this was not a dream. Moishe really had tipped over the tree, it had probably soaked through the floor and ruined Sue and Phil’s new carpet, and her name was mud with her downstairs neighbors. She knew this for a fact because she’d just scalded her tongue and it hurt like blazes.

Hannah was waiting for her first attempt at plum pudding to come out of the oven when Lisa came in the back door.

“Hi, Hannah. It’s sure is cold out there!”

Lisa was smiling a smile that stretched all the way back to a tooth number that Hannah didn’t know, but Norman would probably agree that it was a molar. “You look happy,” Hannah said.

“I am. Herb and Mayor Bascomb decided not to stay over to fish. They’re coming back this afternoon.”

“That’s good.”

“It’s better than good. It’s great. I brought you a loaf of Pork and Beans Bread. Do you want to try a slice? It’s really good toasted and buttered.”

“I’d love to try it. I’m hungry this morning.”

It didn’t take long for Lisa to slice the bread, pop it in the toaster, and butter it. She brought it to Hannah, along with a fresh mug of coffee. “Now pretend you don’t know what’s in it and see if you’d be able to tell by just tasting.”

“Pretend I don’t know? That’s a little like uneating a cookie, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” Lisa gave a little shrug. “I probably shouldn’t have told you in the first place. Then I could have asked you to guess.”

“That’s okay. We’ll try it out on the first person who comes through the door and see if they can guess.”

“Good idea. But I want to know what you think.”

Hannah took a bite and was amazed at the nutty, spicy flavor. It reminded her a bit of banana or date bread, but the texture was less cakelike. Lisa’s bread was delicious and if she hadn’t known it was made with pork and beans, she was almost certain she wouldn’t have guessed.

“What do you think?” Lisa asked, clearly eager for Hannah’s opinion.

“Delicious. I want the recipe.”

“You’ve got it.” Lisa opened her purse and drew out a recipe card. “I knew you’d want it so I copied it for you early this morning.”

Hannah turned to study her young partner’s face. There were dark circles under Lisa’s eyes. “How early?”

“It was about one o’clock I think. Once Herb left, I couldn’t get to sleep. The house was so empty with him gone. It’s not that I’m afraid of being by myself. It’s just that I’m lonely.” Lisa stopped talking and turned to Hannah. “How do you deal with that anyway?”

If that question had come from anyone else, Hannah might have taken offense. But Lisa was waiting for an answer, and she looked as if she really wanted to know. “I have Moishe,” Hannah said, not mentioning that there were times, like this morning, when she wasn’t sure if that was a curse or a blessing.

“Of course you do!” Lisa looked as if someone had handed her a wonderful present. “I never thought of that! You’re never alone, not really. Herb and I need to get a dog.”

Hannah was silent for a moment. She really shouldn’t interfere. Lisa and Herb had their own lives and it wasn’t up to her to offer advice. But aside from all that, she simply had to give her opinion. “Good idea!” she said. “Bill’s dad just had puppies, and…”

Lisa cracked up and that made Hannah realize what she’d just said. “Okay. That didn’t come out right. Bill’s dad has a dog named Flopsy and she had puppies two months ago.”

“Flopsy?” Lisa looked confused. “Isn’t that the name of a bunny in Peter Rabbit?”

“Yes, but this Flopsy isn’t a rabbit. She’s a yellow lab. Bill’s mother named her Flopsy because her ears flop all over the place when she runs.”

“Oh. That makes sense, I guess. But yellow labs are pretty big. Does that mean that Flopsy’s puppies will be big when they grow up?”

“Not necessarily. Bill’s dad thinks the father is his neighbor’s Jack Russell terrier.”

“Like the one that was on Frasier?”

Hannah nodded and waited for the next question. It was bound to come. Lisa had been raised around farmers.

“But…a terrier like that is pretty small. And a yellow lab is big. How…?”

“Don’t ask me, but it happened,” Hannah told her. “Andrea asked Dr. Bob, and he said he thought a staircase must have been involved.”

Lisa sank down on one of the stools at the stainless steel worktable and chortled a bit. When she was through, she wiped her eyes and asked, “Dr. Hagaman didn’t go into any details?”

“No. I think he figured that Andrea was a married woman and she could use her imagination. They’ve already found homes for all the puppies except one, and he’s yours if you want him. He’s really cute. Andrea showed me some pictures.”

“Can I see them?”

“Yes. I’ll call Andrea and tell her to bring them in. Bill went out there and snapped a few photos. I’m pretty sure he thought Tracey was ready for a puppy, but Andrea’s still holding out.”

“That could be lucky for us. Herb really wants a dog.” Lisa thought about it for a moment and then she smiled. “Do you think Andrea could come by this morning?”

“I’m almost certain she can. She should be about ready to drive to Tracey’s classroom with the tree she picked out last night. Do you want me to ask her to stop on the way back?”

“That would be perfect.” Lisa turned toward the ovens. “What smells so good?”

“Plum pudding. I promised Larry Jaeger I’d take him a sample when I deliver his cookies this afternoon.” Hannah waited for the question and when it didn’t come, she added, “He increased his order, by the way.”

“That’s wonderful! You’re a good salesman, Hannah.” Lisa turned back from the kitchen coffeepot where she was pouring herself a cup. “Does your plum pudding have plums in it? The English one doesn’t, you know.”

“I know. Mine is different from the English pudding. I actually used purple plums.”

“Oh, good! I tasted the other kind and I didn’t like it. Marge bought some in a can last year and it was even worse than canned fruitcake.” Lisa gave a little shudder at the memory. “What cookies does Larry want for his extras?”

“Ginger cookies,” Hannah named one of the cookies that Larry had requested. “I thought we’d use Lois Brown’s Frosted Ginger Cookie recipe. And until Larry decides if he wants the plum pudding, we’ll fill in with more Old Fashioned Sugar Cookies.”

“Do you have the recipe printed out for the ginger cookies?”

“Right here.” Hannah handed her a sheet of paper.

“I’ll get the ingredients,” Lisa said, and headed off to the pantry. She opened the door and was about to enter when she turned back. “Do you know there’s only ten shopping days left until Christmas?”

“No.”

“I heard it on KCOW radio this morning. Do you have all your shopping done?”

“I do. I took Mother’s advice and did it before Thanksgiving.”

“That’s great. I’m through, too.” Lisa disappeared inside the pantry, but she stuck her head out again. “Do you think you could call Andrea now? The more I think about it, the more I want that puppy. Herb’s been talking about getting a dog to make rounds with him, and he’s really good with animals.”

“If he runs true to his heritage, this pup should be easy to train,” Hannah said. “Jack Russells are smart little dogs, and yellow labs are loyal and want to please their owners.”

“That’s true. Of course Herb can’t take the puppy to work until he’s trained, and I wouldn’t want to leave him home alone. Do you think I could bring him down here on a leash in the kitchen until he’s settled in?”

“That’s fine with me,” Hannah said, without a second thought for the health board or the city regulations. There were ways around those and she would find them. “If you decide to adopt the little guy, I’ll support you all the way.”

“Oh, he’s so cute!” Lisa smiled down at the pictures Andrea had spread out on the kitchen counter. “I know I should wait for Herb to get back, but I’m almost positive he’ll want him.”

“Do you want to call and talk to him about it?” Andrea asked.

“I’d like to, but he didn’t take his cell phone with him. He thought I might need it while he was gone.”

“That’s not a problem.” Andrea pulled out her cell phone and hit a number. “I’ll call Bill. He’ll have Mayor Bascomb’s cell phone number.”

There were times when the electronic age was wonderful. Hannah admired the efficient way Andrea obtained the mayor’s number and dialed it for Lisa. In less than a minute, Herb was on the phone talking to his wife. Of course Andrea had plenty of good reasons for wanting Lisa to take the puppy. Muddy footprints all over the sparkling white tile in her kitchen, a doggy entrance to the backyard that would have to be cut into the new designer door she’d just ordered for the kitchen, and accidents on her ice-blue living room rug were only three of those reasons.

“Then you really don’t mind?” Lisa asked, and the answer she received caused a huge smile to spread over her pretty face. She listened for a moment and then she blushed. “I miss you too, honey. What time do you think you’ll get here?”

Andrea nudged Hannah and they grinned at the way things were going. Hannah was happy that Lisa was getting a nice companion for the times that Herb worked late. Andrea was happy that she wouldn’t have dog walking duty in the dead of winter.

“Okay. I’ll see you before we close then. Hannah made plum pudding and I’ll save you a piece.” There was silence for a moment and then Lisa laughed. “Not that plum pudding. Hers has real plums in it and it smells divine. I’ll wait until you get here and have a slice with you.”

Andrea had just put her phone in the outside pocket of her purse when the front door opened and Delores came in. “Hello, dears!” she said, hanging her white leather, fleece-lined coat on the rack.

“Hello, Mother,” Hannah and Andrea responded, almost in unison.

“Hi, Mrs. Swensen,” Lisa chimed in.

“You don’t have to call me Mrs. Swensen. Delores will do just fine. And if that makes you uncomfortable, you can call me Mother, too.” Delores gave Lisa a smile. “Now what cookies do you recommend for a tired old woman this morning?”

“We just made a dozen batches of Frosted Ginger Cookies,” Lisa told her. “How about a couple of those?”

“Perfect.”

Hannah was disturbed by the phrase a tired old woman, especially since it had come from the mother who would rather endure torture than admit she was over fifty. “What’s wrong, Mother?” she asked, the moment that Lisa had left for the kitchen to fetch the ginger cookies.

Delores walked over to take a seat next to Hannah. “Guess who didn’t show up for work this morning?”

“Carrie?” Hannah guessed, knowing that her mother was worried about her partner.

“No. Carrie’s there now, or I wouldn’t have left. Luanne didn’t show up.”

“Is Susie sick?” Hannah took a guess at the only reason she could think of that would cause Luanne to miss work.

“I don’t know. She didn’t call in and she doesn’t answer her phone. Do you think I should call Nettie?” Delores named the former sheriff’s wife, who would surely have been Luanne’s mother-in-law if her son, Susie’s father, had lived.

“No. Let me see if I can find out what’s wrong,” Hannah responded quickly. She knew how much Luanne valued her job at Granny’s Attic, and also how much she valued her privacy. Something must be terribly wrong if she’d been scheduled to work and hadn’t shown up.

“Thank you. You might know today would be the day she’d miss work. I really need her help!”

“Is there anything I can do?” Hannah offered.

“I don’t think so, dear…not unless you’ve figured out our homework assignment for Miss Whiting.”

Hannah shook her head. She hadn’t even looked at the sheaf of papers since she’d carried them to The Cookie Jar. She intended ask someone knowledgeable, like Stan, their tax man, or Doug Greerson, the local banker, but she just hadn’t gotten around to it.

“I thought Luanne might have some ideas,” Delores went on to explain. “She’s been taking night classes in accounting.”

“Really!” This was the first Hannah had heard of it.

“When she’s ready, she’s going to take over the books for Granny’s Attic.” Delores stopped speaking and frowned. “You won’t forget to check on her, will you, dear?”

“I won’t forget.”

Delores took a bite of the cookie that Lisa had brought to her. “Very nice,” she commented. “I especially like the lemon icing.” And then, in the seamless way some mothers switch subjects with their offspring, she said, “So tell me…how are you coming along with your inquiries?”

Hannah managed to silence Andrea with a glance that indicated she’d explain later. “Just fine, Mother.”

“Very good, dear.” Delores turned to Andrea. “And how are you, dear?”

“I’m fine, Mother. Lisa and Herb are going to adopt one of Flopsy’s puppies. They’re going out this weekend to get the little guy. That means they all have homes.”

Delores gave a little laugh. “And that means you’re off the hook…for now, that is. I really don’t think you’ve thought this puppy business through, dear. There’ll be other puppies, you know. Tracey and Bill won’t give up, and when Bethie gets old enough, she’ll join them. You’ll have to give in and get a puppy eventually. I did.”

“But I remember Bruno. He was perfectly trained and he never had accidents, or barked, or chewed things.”

Delores laughed. “That’s true, but the question is, how did he get so well trained?”

“Hannah did it?”

“Not Hannah. She was in school all day.”

“Dad?”

“He was at work in the hardware store.”

Andrea’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “You trained Bruno?”

“Of course I did. I was the only one home all day. Get used to it, dear. You’re the mother. Tracey and Bill will promise you that you won’t have to lift a finger, but you’ll be the one to take walks around the block with a puppy that doesn’t know how to sit, heel, or do his business in the bushes.”

PORK AND BEANS BREAD

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.,

rack in the middle position.

15-ounce can of pork and beans (I used Van Camp’s)

4 eggs, beaten (just whip them up in a glass with a fork)

1 cup vegetable oil (not canola, not olive—use vegetable oil)

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

2 cups white (granulated) sugar 1 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 and 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

1 cup chopped pecans or walnuts (measure after chopping—I used pecans)

3 cups all-purpose flour (pack it down in the cup when you measure it)

Prepare your pans. Spray two 9-inch by 5-inch by 3-inch-deep loaf pans with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray.

Don’t drain the pork and beans. Pour them into a food processor or a blender, juice and all, and process them until they’re pureed smooth with no lumps.

Place the beaten eggs in a large mixing bowl. Stir in the pureed pork and beans and mix them in well.

Add the vegetable oil and the vanilla extract. Mix well.

Add the sugar and mix it in. Then mix in the baking soda, baking powder, salt and cinnamon. Stir until everything is incorporated.

Stir in the chopped nuts.

Add the flour in one-cup increments, stirring after each addition.

Spoon half of the batter into one loaf pan and the other half of the batter into the second loaf pan.

Bake at 350 degrees F. for 50 to 60 minutes. Test the bread with a long food pick inserted in the center. If it comes out sticky, the bread needs to bake a bit more. If it comes out dry, remove the pans from the oven and place them on a wire rack to cool for 20 minutes.

Run the sharp blade of a knife around inside of all four sides of the pan to loosen the bread, and then tip it out onto the wire rack.

Cool the bread completely, and then wrap it in plastic wrap. At this point the bread can be frozen in a freezer bag for up to 3 months.

Hannah and Lisa’s Note: If you don’t tell anyone the name of this bread, they probably won’t ever guess it’s made with pork and beans.

FROSTED GINGER COOKIES

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.,

rack in the middle position.

3/4 cup softened butter (1 and 1/2 sticks)

1 cup white (granulated) sugar 1 large beaten egg (just whip it up in a glass with a fork)

3 Tablespoons molasses[***]

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 and 1/2 teaspoons ground ginger

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon ground cloves (see Hannah’s note)

1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg

2 cups flour (pack it down when you measure it)

1/4 to 1/2 cup white (granulated) sugar for rolling dough balls

The Glaze (after baking):

1 cup powered (confectioner’s) sugar 1 teaspoon lemon juice

Hannah’s Note: If you plan to give any of these cookies to Delores, please leave out the cloves. She doesn’t like cloves.

In a medium-sized mixing bowl, combine the butter and the sugar. Beat the mixture until it’s light and fluffy.

Mix in the beaten egg. Add the molasses and stir until the mixture is a uniform color.

Add the baking soda and the salt, and stir well.

Sprinkle in the ground ginger, ground cinnamon, ground cloves, and ground nutmeg. Stir until they’re thoroughly mixed in.

Stir in one cup of flour, mix it all up, and then mix in the second cup of flour.

Measure out 1/4 cup of white sugar and place it in a shallow bowl. You’ll use this bowl to coat dough balls with sugar. When the sugar gets low, add more as needed.

Break off pieces of dough and roll them into one-inch balls. Roll the dough balls in the sugar and place them on a cookie sheet that has been greased or sprayed with Pam (or another nonstick cooking spray.) Place the dough balls in four rows with three in each row to make 12 per cookie sheet. Press them down just slightly so they won’t roll off on the way to the oven.

Bake the ginger cookies at 350 degrees F. for 10 minutes. Cool for 2 minutes on the cookie sheet and then transfer them to a wire rack to cool completely.

When the cookies are cool, make the glaze.

Combine the powdered sugar with the lemon juice. If it’s too thick to drizzle, stir in a bit more lemon juice. If it’s too thin, add a bit more powdered sugar. When it’s just right, drizzle the tops of the cooled cookies with the glaze.

Let the glaze dry before you store the cookies in a cookie jar. The glaze should be dry in 20 to 30 minutes.

Yield: 6 to 7 dozen nicely spiced cookies, depending on cookie size.

Chapter Nine

In the hour and a half that remained of the morning, Hannah tried Luanne’s number a half dozen times. Something was wrong. She was sure of it. Luanne was one of the most conscientious people she knew. In the entire time she’d worked at Granny’s Attic, she’d never been late. It was simply unthinkable that she wouldn’t show up at all!

Hannah dialed Luanne’s number one last time and listened to the empty ringing. This just wasn’t right. After she delivered Larry’s order of cookies and gave him a taste of her plum pudding, she planned to drop by the duplex where Luanne, her mother, and Susie lived. If Luanne wasn’t home, she’d knock on Nettie Grant’s door, armed with a gift of cookies, and make some careful inquiries about Luanne’s whereabouts.

Even though she hadn’t yet been able to solve the mystery surrounding Luanne’s absence, the day was definitely improving. It improved even more when the bell on the door jingled and Norman walked in. She’d already decided not tell him about Mike’s suspicions. There was no proof that Carrie was shoplifting and it would just worry him. It was entirely possible that Mike was seeing criminals on every corner, especially if he’d been putting in a full day at the sheriff’s station and then working another shift for the mall security company.

“Hi, Hannah.” Norman took a seat at the counter. “How’s your Christmas tree?”

“Don’t ask,” Hannah said, pouring him a cup of coffee and presenting him with a slice of plum pudding she’d warmed in the microwave behind the counter.

“What’s this?” Norman asked.

“Plum pudding.”

“But it’s got plums in it. Plum pudding doesn’t have any plums.”

“This plum pudding does. If it’s good and Larry uses it at the Crazy Elf, I’ll have to think of a new name, something that tells people it’s not English plum pudding.”

“Call it Minnesota Plum Pudding,” Lisa said, coming up to the counter to gaze at Norman’s slice. “That’s what you called your peach cobbler when it was different than the southern one.”

“Minnesota Plum Pudding is a good name,” Hannah agreed, her knife poised to cut another slice. “How about you, Lisa?”

“I want to, but I can’t. I promised Herb I’d wait and have a slice with him.”

“Then I’ll just give you a tiny bit as a taste. You can have a regular slice when Herb gets here.”

“Okay,” Lisa said immediately, and Hannah knew she’d been looking for a convenient excuse not to wait.

Once the Minnesota Plum Pudding, which was really more of a cake, was served, Hannah waited while Lisa and Norman tasted it. When they both reached for another forkful before they’d even swallowed the first, she knew she had a hit on her hands.

“This is wonderful!” Norman declared.

“Yes, it is.” Lisa finished her tiny slice and looked longingly at the rest of the pudding. “It’s so good, I’d better get out of here before I hurdle over the counter and eat the whole thing. I’m going to the kitchen to bake two pans of Lovely Lemon Cookie Bars. Sally Percy needs them for a tree trimming party she’s having tonight.”

Once Lisa had left for the kitchen, Norman turned to Hannah. “Why did you say I shouldn’t ask about your Christmas tree?”

“Because Moishe decided it would be fun to climb it at four this morning.”

“Uh-oh. Did the Big Guy knock it down?”

“Oh, yes. And the water spilled out on the rug. The only good thing is that it didn’t soak through to Phil and Sue’s apartment. I checked with Sue and everything’s fine.”

“That’s good.” Norman took another bite of his Minnesota Plum Pudding. “This really is great, Hannah.” He took time for another bite and then he turned to her again. “I think I’ve got the solution to your tree problem. I’ll put on some guide wires this afternoon to hold your tree in place.”

“But don’t you have to work?”

“Only for part of the afternoon. My last appointment’s at three and that’s just a cleaning. I’ll be out of the clinic by four at the latest, and that gives me plenty of time to fix your tree before you get home from work. I think I’d better decorate it first though. Otherwise it’ll be too hard to duck in and out around the wires.”

“Right,” Hannah said, picturing a spider web of wires holding her Christmas tree in the corner so that Moishe couldn’t get near it. “It’s going to look pretty ugly, isn’t it?”

“Not at all. I’ll only need two wires to hold it and those will be hidden in the corner.”

“Okay, but…” Hannah gave a little sigh. She knew she was being selfish, but she didn’t want someone else, even if that someone was Norman, to decorate her Christmas tree.

“What?”

“I was looking forward to unpacking the family ornaments and choosing which ones to use. If you do it, I won’t get to hang up my favorite things.”

“True. How about if I put on the lights and that’s it? Then we can decorate it tonight.”

“That’s perfect.” Hannah gave a relieved smile. Perhaps she should have a tree trimming party. That might be fun. She’d invite Norman, of course. And it would be nice to invite her mother. Delores might enjoy seeing the old decorations again. And perhaps Carrie might like to join her, and…

“What?” Norman asked, watching the play of expressions across Hannah’s face.

“I’m thinking about inviting you and the mothers to help me trim the tree. That way we can see if your mother gives an excuse and turns down the invitation.”

“That’s a good idea! Why don’t you call my mother first? Then, if she says she can’t make it, you don’t have to upset Moishe by inviting your mother.”

“Genius!” Hannah gave him a fond pat on the shoulder. Delores was not one of Moishe’s favorite people and Hannah’s mother had a drawer full of shredded hosiery to prove it.

Norman listened while Hannah made the call. When she hung up, he asked, “What excuse did she give?”

“She said she’d love to come over, but she promised to fill in for one of the women at bridge club.”

Norman began to frown. “That’s crazy. My mother doesn’t know how to play bridge. It’s a family joke. She’s so horrible at cards, no one ever suggested playing anything.”

“Maybe she just didn’t feel like decorating my tree.” Hannah thought for a moment and then she turned to Norman again. “Why don’t you call and invite her to something she likes to do? Then we can see if she gives you the same excuse?”

“Good idea.” Norman pulled out his cell phone and dialed. A moment later he had his mother on the line. “How about dinner at the Inn tonight? Sally’s making your favorite Pasta Porcini.”

Hannah watched as Norman’s eyebrows shot up. “Sure, Mother. I understand.” He chatted for a moment longer, said goodbye, and clicked off his phone.

“Well?” Hannah asked after Norman had slipped his cell phone in his pocket.

“She can’t make it. How about going out to dinner with me, Hannah? Sally really is making Pasta Porcini. I was planning to invite you to dinner so I called out there to check on the specials. And after dinner, we can we can trim your tree, just the two of us.”

“That sounds good to me,” Hannah told him, partially because Norman still looked upset and partially because she loved Sally’s pasta dishes. “Did your mother tell you she was filling in at bridge club?”

“No. She told me she’d really like to go out to dinner with me, but she promised to go to the movies with a friend.”

“Not bridge?”

Norman shook his head. “Not bridge. Something’s definitely up, Hannah. My mother lied to both of us and she’s never done anything like that before.”

Hannah had just picked up Norman’s dishes and wiped down the counter when Mike walked in the door. “I came to taste that plum pudding of yours,” he announced, taking a seat at the counter. “I just ran into Norman on the street and he said it was great.”

“You didn’t mention anything about his mother, did you?” Hannah asked, pouring a cup of coffee for him.

“Of course not. Besides, it looks like she actually bought all that stuff at the mall.”

“How do you know that?” Hannah heated a slice of plum pudding in the microwave and served it to Mike.

“I checked with a couple of stores this morning. Some of them keep electronic inventories and nothing was missing from their stock.” Mike took a bite of his Minnesota Plum Pudding and gave her the thumbs-up sign. “Excellent!” he said.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Larry’s crazy if he doesn’t want to sell this.” Mike took another bite. “The upshot is, I still don’t know for sure.”

“But I thought you liked it!”

“I do. I wasn’t talking about your plum pudding. I was talking about Carrie.”

“Oh. What about Carrie?”

“I still don’t know if she’s shoplifting or not. It’s possible items are missing from the stores that don’t keep electronic inventories. And I won’t find out about that until Friday.”

An image of Norman’s mother in handcuffs flashed through Hannah’s mind. “What are you going to do if Carrie really is shoplifting?”

“That’s a tough call.” Mike sighed deeply. “Norman’s a friend, and I like Carrie, too.”

“But you’d go by the book?” Hannah guessed.

“Yes. Strictly by the book. That means I can’t arrest her unless I catch her red-handed, or she’s captured on surveillance tape.”

“But you haven’t caught her either way…right?”

“That’s right, so I can give her the benefit of the doubt. If any inventory is missing and she’s implicated, I’ll talk to her privately and tell her that if she wants to make restitution, I’ll arrange for her to do it anonymously. Of course I’ll want her to promise not to do it again. And if she’s got some kind of psychological problem, I’ll give her a list of places she can go to get help.”

“You’re a good man, Mike.” Hannah walked around the counter to give him a little hug.

Mike turned to grin at her. “Thanks. Does that mean I get a second helping of plum pudding?”

MINNESOTA PLUM PUDDING

Do not preheat oven yet.

This plum pudding must settle for 30 minutes before baking.

1 twenty-ounce (approximate weight) loaf of sliced “store boughten” white bread[***]

2 fifteen-ounce cans purple plums (I used Oregon brand)

2 cups golden raisins (I used Sun-Maid brand)

1 and 1/2 cups white (granulated) sugar

2 teaspoons cinnamon

1 cup melted butter (2 sticks, 1/2 pound)

7 eggs

2 cups heavy (whipping) cream

Sprinkling of freshly grated nutmeg

Generously butter and flour the inside of a Bundt pan.

Hannah’s 1st Note: You can make this task easier by buttering it, (don’t forget to butter the middle part,) dumping in a quarter cup flour, and sealing the open top of the pan with plastic wrap. Then you can shake it every which way to Sunday and your flour won’t fall out on the floor. (It won’t hurt if you hold it over the sink just in case, though.)

You can make this task even easier by using the kind of nonstick baking spray with flour in it. (I used Pam Baking Spray and it worked just fine.)

Divide your loaf of bread into thirds. (I used 7 slices, 7 slices, and 6 slices.) Stack several slices of the first third on a cutting board and cut off the crusts. Then cut the slices into 4 triangles. (Just make an “X” with your knife and you’ll have it.) Repeat until the entire first third of your loaf is in triangles with no crusts.

Arrange the bread triangles in the bottom of your Bundt pan covering as much of the bottom as you can.

Open the two cans of plums and drain them in a strainer. (My cans had 10 plums apiece.)

Slice open half (that’s probably ten) of the plums and remove the pits. Then place the half plums cut side down on top of the bread triangles.

Measure out one cup of golden raisins and spread them out on top of the plums in the pan.

Sprinkle one half cup of sugar on top of the bread, plums, and raisins in your pan.

Sprinkle the sugar with 1 teaspoon cinnamon.

Melt one stick of butter (1/2 cup) in the microwave for 45 seconds on HIGH. Pour it over the bread, plums, and raisins in your Bundt pan.

Repeat the whole thing with the second part of the bread, removing the crusts, cutting it into triangles, and placing them on top of the first layer in your Bundt pan. Pit the remaining plums, cut them in half, and place them on the bread triangles. Add another cup of golden raisins, sprinkle on 1/2 cup sugar, and top it with one teaspoon of cinnamon. Melt the second stick of butter and pour it over the top.

Remove the crusts from the last third of your bread, cut it in triangles and place them on top of the ingredients in the Bundt pan. Press them down a little with your impeccably clean hands. Sprinkle the top with 1/2 cup sugar.

Get out a mixing bowl large enough to hold 7 eggs and 2 cups of heavy cream. Crack the eggs into the bowl and whip them up with a wire whisk (or with a hand mixer.) Be careful not to over beat the eggs. You’re making custard, not sponge cake.

Add the cream and mix it in.

Place your Bundt pan on a cookie sheet with sides, or another shallow pan that can hold any spills. Pour the custard mixture slowly over the top of your pan. It will need time to soak into the bread so don’t hurry. If it threatens to spill over the top or run down the fluted tube in the middle, just wait a minute or two and when the level goes down, add more custard mixture. You may not be able to add it all to the pan. That depends on how much the kind of bread you bought will soak up. Don’t overfill.

Hannah’s 2nd Note: I was able to use all of my custard mixture. The Oroweat white sandwich bread soaked it all up.

Once you’ve added all the custard mixture that you can, grate a little nutmeg over the top and let your creation sit and settle for 30 minutes.

When 30 minutes are up, preheat the oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position.

When your oven comes up to temperature, place your Bundt pan AND the pan you’re using for spills in the oven. Bake at 350 degrees F. for 70 minutes.

Let your Minnesota Plum Pudding cool for 20 minutes and then turn it out on a pretty platter. If you’re not going to serve it that day, let it cool completely, cover it with plastic wrap, and refrigerate. It will keep in the refrigerator for 3 to 5 days.

Let refrigerated Minnesota Plum Pudding come up to room temperature before serving. Dust it with powdered sugar, place a spring of plastic holly or another pretty nontoxic Christmas decoration in the center, and carry it to your table for a wonderful finale to your holiday celebration.

Hannah’s 3rd Note: This pudding is best served slightly warm and drizzled with Hard Sauce (contains liquor), or Soft Sauce (contains no liquor). Recipes for the Sauces are below:

Hard Sauce:

1/2 cup softened butter (1 stick, 1/4 pound)

2 cups powdered (confectioner’s) (there’s no need to sift unless it’s got lumps)

2 Tablespoons (1/8 cup) brandy, whiskey, or rum

Beat the butter until it’s fluffy.

Continue to beat as you add 1 cup of the powdered sugar and 1 Tablespoon of the liquor.

Add the final cup of powdered sugar and the final Tablespoon of liquor and beat the mixture until smooth.

Check for consistency. This Hard Sauce should be fairly thick, but still pourable. If it’s too thin, beat in more powdered sugar. If it’s too thick, add a bit more liquor.

Store the Hard Sauce in a tightly-covered container in your refrigerator until thirty minutes or so before using it on your Minnesota Plum Pudding.

Soft Sauce:

1/2 cup softened butter (1 stick, 1/4 pound)

2 cups powdered (confectioner’s) sugar (there’s no need to sift unless it’s got hard lumps)

2 Tablespoons (1/8 cup) milk

Beat the butter until it’s fluffy.

Continue to beat as you add 1 cup of the powdered sugar and 1 Tablespoon of milk.

Add the final cup of powdered sugar and the final Tablespoon of milk and beat the mixture until smooth.

Check for consistency. This Soft Sauce should be fairly thick but still pourable. If it’s too thin, beat in more powdered sugar. If it’s too thick, add a bit more milk.

Store the Soft Sauce in a tightly-covered container in your refrigerator. Take it out thirty minutes or so before you’re ready to serve it.

Hannah’s 4th Note: Edna Ferguson, Lake Eden’s expert on shortcuts, says to tell you that if you don’t want to go to the bother of making Hard Sauce or Soft Sauce, just open a can of vanilla pudding and thin it with some liquor for the Hard Sauce. Make the Soft Sauce the same way, but thin it with a little milk. (You can also use instant vanilla pudding made according to the package directions and then thinned with either liquor or milk.)

Lisa’s Note: If you don’t feel like making a sauce you can use heavy cream poured over a heated slice of pudding. You can also top individual slices with dollops of sweetened whipped cream, or scoops of vanilla ice cream. Herb says it’s good if you cut a leftover slice of Minnesota Plum Pudding for breakfast and don’t top it with anything at all.

Chapter Ten

“So why doesn’t Mayor Bascomb want to stay at Mille Lacs Lake and fish?” Hannah asked, as she stood side by side at the counter with Lisa, packing up the cookies for the girls at the Crazy Elf Cookie Shop.

“He told Herb he was worried and he thought he’d better come back in case he had to pull the plug.”

Hannah turned to look at her partner in alarm. “What happened?! I thought you said Stephanie wasn’t that sick!”

“Oh, she’s not. Mrs. Bascomb’s fine. Mayor Bascomb was talking about the Crazy Elf Christmas Tree Lot. He says they’re losing money every day, and he’s going to demand that Larry show him the books. If things don’t look good, he’s going to get out before he loses his shirt.”

Hannah had trouble believing that Mayor Bascomb would lose money on his investment. Last night the Christmas tree lot had been packed with people. “It was crowded last night. And every time I’ve driven past, it’s been mobbed with families buying trees.”

“That’s exactly what Herb thought, but Mayor Bascomb explained it to him. If trees are all they’re buying, the mayor’s in trouble because Larry’s selling them at cost. That’s what’s known as a loss leader. The whole idea behind it is that people come in for the bargain Christmas trees, but while the kids are riding on the Crazy Elf Christmas Train and going through the Crazy Elf Fun House, their parents buy trees stands, decorations, and toys from the Crazy Elf Toy Shop.”

Hannah remembered that the only line she’d seen last night was the one in front of the cookie shop. Mayor Bascomb could be right. “But the parents aren’t buying tree stands, decorations, and toys?”

“That’s what the mayor’s afraid of. He told Herb that Larry should have known better, especially since he was raised right here. Lake Eden people don’t fall for loss leaders. Why buy a new tree stand when you’ve got a perfectly good one down in the basement?”

“And why buy decorations when you packed them up last year and saved them?” Hannah added her question to the mix.

“You got it. Toys are probably cheaper at Cost-Mart. Everybody in town knows that. And there’s no reason to buy a wreath when you can make one from the bottom branches your husband cuts off to get your tree in the stand. Mayor Bascomb suspects that the only part of the whole operation that’s showing a profit is the refreshment stand. And that’s because Larry gets the cookies from us!”

“Don’t break your arm patting yourself on the back,” Hannah repeated the warning her father had given her when she’d brought home a perfect report card.

“I won’t, but you know our cookies are the best.” Lisa set a canister of flour on the table and went back to the pantry. “Of course all this about Larry is hearsay.”

“Yes, but it could be true. I’ll try to check it out when I deliver his cookies.”

“How will you do that?”

“Larry’s fiancee works in the Crazy Elf Toy Shop. I’ll stop in and see how many customers are waiting in line. And if it’s not crowded, I’ll ask her some questions.”

“Good idea,” Lisa said, putting together another of their distinctive dessert boxes for Hannah. “It’s possible that Mayor Bascomb is painting things a little blacker than they really are, especially when it comes to finances. Herb says he does that sometimes. He thinks it’s because the mayor doesn’t want any of us ordinary Lake Edenites to know how much money he has.”

“Herb could be right,” Hannah said, remembering how Mayor Bascomb had sympathized publicly with a group of homeowners who were concerned about making their mortgage payments, and how he’d claimed that he was in the same boat. It hadn’t gone well for the mayor when an investigative reporter for the Lake Eden Journal had discovered that he owned his home outright and had no mortgage payment to make.

“I sure hope Mr. Jaeger likes your plum pudding.” Lisa lifted the plum pudding Hannah had made and placed it in the center of the dessert box. “Baking these would be a break from baking cookies all the time.”

“Are you getting bored with cookies?” Hannah turned to look at her partner in alarm.

“No. Every kind of cookie we make is different, so it doesn’t get boring. It’s just that plum pudding would be really different. And I just love unmolding cakes from Bundt pans. They make plain, old, ordinary cakes beautiful.”

“You’re right. Did you know the Bundt pan was invented by a Minnesotan?”

“Really?” Lisa sounded shocked.

“His name was H. David Dahlquist and he was from Edina. He’s the man who founded Nordic Ware.”

“I got a Nordic Ware Bundt pan for a wedding present. When did they make the first ones?”

“In the early nineteen-fifties. Mr. Dahlquist modified a German design and named them Bundt pans.”

“They must have been a huge success. Everybody’s got one now.”

Hannah shook her head. “But they didn’t back then. Nordic Ware didn’t sell very many until nineteen sixty-six, when a Texas woman won second place in the Pillsbury Bake-Off for her Tunnel of Fudge cake. It was baked in a Bundt pan and the recipe was so tempting, everybody wanted to try it.”

“So everybody bought Bundt pans.”

“That’s right. And now we use them for all sorts of things.”

“Including Andrea’s Jell-O molds,” Lisa added. “Is she making one for Christmas?”

“Yes. She got a new one from our family friend, Sally Hayes.” Hannah glanced up at the clock and sighed. “I’d better load up and get going. I want to be back here by three at the latest so we can try out your Aunt Helen’s Christmas Lace Cookies.”

“You’re going to love them, Hannah. Aunt Helen used to bring a box to the house every time she visited. When we saw her coming up the walkway with a box in her arms, we all used to cheer. Those cookies were so good! They’re crunchy and chewy at the same time, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t, but I can hardly wait to find out.” Hannah grabbed a stack of boxes and headed out to her cookie truck. The Christmas Lace Cookies sounded wonderful and if they were as good as Lisa said, they’d use them for their next holiday cookie catering job.

After the fifth knock, Hannah stepped back and massaged her aching knuckles. She’d started by ringing the doorbell, but no one had answered her ring. She’d even leaned on it for a good thirty seconds, but that hadn’t worked either. After that she’d knocked, louder and more violently, but not even her last volley of knuckle-damaging thumps had caused Luanne to respond. Hannah was about to go to her alternate plan, the one that involved Nettie Grant and the cookies she’d use to camouflage the real purpose for the visit and sweeten her questions she planned to ask about Luanne’s whereabouts, when she heard footsteps approaching the door from inside.

“Who is it?” a voice called out.

It was Luanne. Hannah recognized her voice. “It’s Hannah Swensen. I need to see you.”

There was the sound of a lock disengaging and the door was pulled open from inside. The sight that greeted Hannah wasn’t pretty. Luanne stood there swaying slightly, blinking groggily in the beam of sunlight that streamed in from the open door.

“Hannah,” she said, moving back to let her enter. “What time is it?”

“One-thirty.”

Luanne looked stunned. “In the afternoon?” she asked.

“Yes.” Hannah set the bag of cookies down on a coffee table filled with books and papers, and decided to get straight to the point. “What’s going on, Luanne? Mother was worried about you when you didn’t show up for work this morning.”

“This morning? But…but…” Luanne took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. “I must have fallen asleep after Nettie came to get Susie. I told myself I was just going to shut my eyes for ten minutes, but I was so tired, I was afraid I wouldn’t wake up. I set the alarm so that wouldn’t happen and I wouldn’t oversleep. But…I must have slept straight through the alarm!”

“And the phone when we all called you. And the doorbell when I rang it five times.” Hannah was aware of a faint electronic beeping coming from the back of the duplex. She recognized the sound as a twin to her own alarm clock at home. “You’d better go shut off your alarm clock, Luanne. It’s still going off. I can hear it. Did you get to bed late last night?”

“Late? I didn’t get to bed at all!” Luanne gestured toward the pile of papers on the table. “I must have gone over it a hundred times, but it just won’t come out right.”

Hannah glanced down at the papers. They were filled with columns of figures that meant nothing to her. “What won’t come out right?”

“The books for the Crazy Elf Christmas Tree Lot. Nothing balances. I just don’t know what to do, Hannah. I added, and re-added, and double-checked every number, but the accounts won’t balance. The only thing that makes sense is that I’m missing something.”

“Like what?” Hannah asked, wondering why Luanne was doing the books for the Crazy Elf Christmas Tree Lot.

“Like…I don’t know. Maybe there’s a bunch of receipts that I don’t have, or some income that’s not listed on the sheets Courtney gave me.” Luanne stopped to wipe the tears from her eyes.

Or maybe there’s something fishy going on with Larry, the Crazy Elf, Hannah thought. Mayor Bascomb’s concerned and he’s pretty sharp when it comes to investments. There might be something really wrong with the books.

“All I know is that if I can’t get the accounts to balance, I won’t get paid. And if I don’t get paid, I can’t buy the dollhouse I promised Susie for Christmas!” Luanne buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know how I did it, but I must have made a mistake. I looked and I looked all last night and I couldn’t find it. I just don’t know what to do.”

“I do.”

“You do?”

“Absolutely.” Hannah picked up the bag of cookies and handed it to Luanne. “Have a cookie. A little chocolate will make you feel much better about everything.”

Luanne opened the bag and took out a cookie. And for the first time since Hannah had come in the door, she smiled. “Chocolate chip. They’re my favorites.”

“Good. These aren’t just any chocolate chip cookies. These are Valerie’s Chocolate Chip Pretzel Cookies.”

“Chocolate chip pretzel?”

“That’s right. Take a bite and tell me how you like them.”

Luanne took a bite and munched. Then she looked up with another smile, even bigger this time. “They’re really good. I like these a lot better than the plain chocolate chip cookies.”

“So do I. And they came about because I made a mistake.”

“How did you do that?”

“Valerie was a friend of mine in college and I wanted to bake her something special for her birthday. I called her mother and asked her what kind of cookies were Valerie’s favorites, and her mother told me they were chocolate chip and Pizzelles.”

“I’ve heard of Pizzelles. They’re Italian, aren’t they?”

“That’s right. And it takes a special kind of tiny waffle-like iron to bake them. But I was in a hurry, and I thought her mother said Chocolate Chip Pretzel Cookies. I wasn’t sure what those were, but I figured I could make them so I crushed up some pretzels and added them to chocolate chip cookie dough instead of chopped nuts.”

“Did Valerie like them?”

“She was crazy about them. And her mother thought it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. So making mistakes isn’t always a bad thing, Luanne.”

“Well…not in your case. But…”

“And maybe the mistake isn’t yours,” Hannah interrupted her with a possible explanation. “Eat a couple of cookies. Then go wash your face, brush your teeth, and get dressed in fresh clothes. When you come back out, I want you to gather up all your paperwork and ride with me to the Crazy Elf Christmas Tree Lot.”

“But…why?”

“Because I have to deliver cookies and you have to go talk to Courtney. I’m willing to bet she forgot to give you some important piece of information that’ll balance those books.”

“But what about my job at Granny’s Attic? I’m already over five hours late!”

“I’ll call and explain while you’re getting ready to go. They’ll be so glad you’re all right, they won’t mind at all if it takes you another half hour or so to get there.”

CHOCOLATE CHIP PRETZEL COOKIES

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.,

rack in the middle position.

1 cup softened butter (2 sticks, 1/2 pound)[***]

2 cups white (granulated) sugar

3 Tablespoons molasses

2 teaspoons vanilla

1 teaspoon baking soda

2 beaten eggs (just whip them up in a glass with a fork)

2 cups crushed salted thin stick pretzels (measure AFTER crushing) (I used Synder’s)

2 and 1/2 cups all-purpose flour (pack it down in the cup when you measure it)

1 and 1/2 cups semi-sweet (the regular kind) chocolate chips

Hannah’s 1st Note: If you can’t find thin stick pretzels in your store, you can use the mini regular pretzels. Just make sure that any pretzels you use are SALTED.

Hannah’s 2nd Note: This dough gets really stiff—you might be better off using an electric mixer if you have one.

Mix the softened butter with the sugar and the molasses. Beat until the mixture is light and fluffy, and the molasses is completely mixed in.

Add the vanilla and baking soda. Mix them in well.

Break the eggs into a glass and whip them up with a fork. Add them to your bowl and mix until they’re thoroughly incorporated.

Put your pretzels in a zip lock plastic bag. Seal it carefully (you don’t want crumbs all over your counter) and place it on a flat surface. Get out your rolling pin and run it over the bag, crushing the pretzels inside. Do this until there are no large pieces and the largest is a quarter-inch long.

Measure out two cups of crushed pretzels and mix them into the dough in your bowl.

Add one cup of flour and mix it in. Then add the second cup and mix thoroughly. Add the final half cup of flour and mix that in.

Measure out a cup and a half of chocolate chips and add them to your cookie dough. If you’re using an electric mixer, mix them in at the slowest speed. You can also put the mixer away, and stir in the chips by hand.

Drop by rounded teaspoons onto greased (or sprayed with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray) cookie sheets. You can also line your cookie sheets with parchment paper, if you prefer. Place 12 cookies on each standard sized sheet.

Hannah’s 3rd Note: I used a 2-teaspoon cookie disher to scoop out this dough at The Cookie Jar. It’s faster than doing it with a spoon.

Bake the cookies at 350 degrees F. for 10 to 12 minutes or until nicely browned. (Mine took 11 minutes.)

Let the cookies cool for two minutes and then remove them from the baking sheets. Transfer them to a wire rack to finish cooling.

Yield: Approximately 5 dozen chewy, fairly soft chocolaty cookies that are sure to please everyone.

This recipe can be doubled if you wish.

Hannah’s 4th Note: These cookies travel well. If you want to send them to a friend, just stack them, roll them up like coins in foil, and cushion the cookie rolls between layers of Styrofoam peanuts, or bubble wrap.

Chapter Eleven

A cold wind wrapped itself around Hannah’s neck and she turned up her collar. The thermometer mounted outside the kitchen window of The Cookie Jar had hovered around the minus ten mark when she’d left to deliver her cookies. From the way her cheeks stung from the cold, she was willing to bet that it had fallen another couple of degrees since then. Not to mention wind chill. She didn’t even want to think about wind chill. Anyone who’d grown up in cold country knew that was how the apparent temperature felt on exposed skin due to the wind. The degree depended on both air temperature and wind speed, and Hannah was willing to bet that an actual ten below on the thermometer easily translated to twenty below when it came to the exposed skin of her neck!

Hannah had just left Luanne at Elf Headquarters, and she was headed to the Crazy Elf Cookie Shop to deliver her wares. They’d stopped at the toy shop so Luanne could talk to Courtney and tell her the bad news about the trial balance, but the elf who was manning the register had told them that Courtney had an appointment to have her hair done and she wouldn’t be back for at least thirty minutes, perhaps longer. Rather than leave Luanne there to wait for Courtney, Hannah had asked her to walk along to Larry’s trailer.

Once they’d stepped inside Elf Headquarters, Hannah had presented Larry with a whole Minnesota Plum Pudding, and a mixed bag of Frosted Ginger Cookies, White Chocolate Pumpkin Dreams, and several squares of Fudge-Mallow Cookie Bars. Then she’d introduced him to Luanne, explaining that Luanne was doing some work for Courtney.

Of course Larry had wanted to know about the work Luanne was doing, and Luanne had explained about the trial balance and how she couldn’t seem to get it to come out right. Larry had offered to take a look to see if he could spot her error, and Hannah had left after arranging to meet Luanne at the cookie truck when both of them were ready to leave.

A few hardy souls, bundled up in parkas and knitted caps pulled down low over their ears, were on the paths, but the tree lot was largely deserted. Hannah wasn’t surprised. It was cold and turning colder. Her fingers felt numb inside the leather gloves she wore and she thrust them into her pockets. Her nose was numb too, and it felt like a stubby icicle sticking out from the middle of her face, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. She increased her pace, fairly flying down the path, and arrived at the Crazy Elf Cookie Shop breathless.

It was warm inside! Hannah took a deep gulp of heated air and headed for the front of the shop. She said Merry Christmas to the bear before he could say it to her, and she heard a startled gasp of laughter from the direction of the counter.

“Hi, Hannah!” Krista Donnelly greeted her as she reached the front of the line that wasn’t. “Did you bring us more cookies?”

“I did, but you might not need them. It’s cold out there this afternoon and I don’t think anybody’s going to venture out.”

“It won’t be cold for long. The boys just went out to light the gas heaters. We’ll be turning on the lights in twenty minutes or so, and that’s when the crowds start to come in.”

“Can you spare someone to help me unload my cookie truck?”

Krista gestured toward two boys who were unpacking cases of supplies behind the counter. “Go out to Miss Swensen’s truck and bring in the cookies.”

“It’s open,” Hannah told them, “and you can leave it that way. After you carry the cookies inside, there’s nothing to steal.”

Once the boys had left and Krista had settled her at a stool with a hot cup of coffee, Hannah leaned close to ask some questions. “Do you know Larry’s fiancee?”

“Courtney?” When Hannah gave a nod, Krista went on. “She’s the head elf.”

“I thought Larry was the head elf.”

“No, Larry’s the crazy elf. Courtney’s the head elf who keeps him on track.”

“What does that mean?”

Krista glanced around, but the only customers in the cookie shop were sitting at a table in the far corner, well out of earshot. She turned back to Hannah and said, “Courtney’s really serious about making a go of the business. That doesn’t mean that Larry isn’t, but she’s all business all the time, and he knows how to have fun.”

“Example?” Hannah asked her.

“Right after we close down for the night, Larry takes us all on the Yule Log. Courtney stands there and watches, but you just know she thinks Larry ought to shut off the electricity and save money.”

“I see.” Hannah drew the obvious conclusion. “So the elves don’t like her very much?”

“They think she’s okay, but they’d like her a lot better if she’d let Larry do some of the things he talks about at the elf meetings.”

“What things?”

“Like the free Christmas tree he was going to give to every elf. Courtney thought that was too expensive so she talked him into charging us half price. It’s still a good deal, but not as good as if we’d gotten it for free.”

“That’s true.”

“And then there was the big party for the elves and their families that Larry was going to hold on Christmas Day. He was going to hire a caterer and everything, but Courtney convinced him that they couldn’t afford it.”

Hannah’s mind flew through the possibilities. It was obvious that Courtney wanted Larry to curtail expenses. Perhaps she was thinking of their future together and she was worried she was marrying a spendthrift. Or perhaps she had a vested interest in the success of the Crazy Elf Christmas Tree Lot. “Do you know if Courtney owns a share of the business?”

“She owns fifty percent. Her husband started a whole chain of tire stores and when he died, he left Courtney all his money. That’s how she met Larry. Larry was waiting in his lawyer’s office to sign some papers and she came in for the reading of her husband’s will. They hit it off and started dating, and then they got engaged and she invested her money with him, and that’s how everything started.”

“Larry told you all this?”

“No, Courtney did. She’s friendly and all. It’s just that she’s serious about business. I can’t really blame her. It’s her husband’s money and all, and he probably worked hard for it.”

“But you and the rest of the elves wish she’d loosen up a little?”

Krista gave a little shrug. “I guess. But when we’re talking about something that doesn’t have anything to do with business or money, she’s a lot of fun.”

The door opened and the two boys came in, their arms laden with cookie boxes. “Where do you want these, Krista?” one of them asked.

“Just stack them on the counter for now,” Krista answered, moving to the end of the counter to make room. “Are there more?”

“One more load.” The boys headed back out and Krista began to put the cookies away in the display case. She was almost through when the door opened again and a family of six came in. Another group of four followed, and Hannah knew that her time for a private conversation with Krista was over.

“I’ll see you later.” Hannah gave a wave as she got up and headed for the door. She was going to stop in at the Crazy Elf Toy Shop to see if she agreed with Krista’s assessment of Courtney.

When Hannah stepped outside, she was prepared to face the arctic winter again. But to her surprise, the wind had died down and it was appreciably warmer. Part of that warmth could not be credited to the cessation of wind chill. While she’d been talking with Krista, the boys had lit the stationary gas heaters that were placed along the walkways, and it was really quite comfortable as long as one kept to the designated path.

Twilight was approaching and the sky was a lovely shade of delft blue that reminded Hannah of walks home from grade school in winters past. Lavender blue shadows crept across the patches of white snow, and the warm yellow light that spilled out through the windows of the Crazy Elf Toy Shop cast golden rectangles that were turned into trapezoids by the uneven icy surface.

Hannah pushed open the door expecting to hear a cacophony of electronic toy voices, but all she heard were traditional Christmas carols played at an unexpectedly low volume.

“Hello there,” a non-recorded, obviously human voice greeted her from the front counter and Hannah looked up at the woman standing there. She was wearing a green velvet full-shirted jumper over a white lace blouse with puffy sleeves. There was a green velvet Santa hat on her head and she was the sole occupant of the toy shop. She was wearing a similar outfit to the one that Andrea had described. The only difference was that today it was green velvet and last night it had been red velvet.

“Courtney?” Hannah asked, almost sure that this must be Larry’s fiancee.

“Yes. And you’re…”

“Hannah Swensen. I bake the…”

“Cookies for the Crazy Elf Cookie Shop!” Courtney broke in to finish the sentence. “I’m glad to meet you, Hannah. Your cookies are delicious. Larry told me about the plum pudding and I’m looking forward to trying that, too.”

“Thank you.” Hannah walked over and picked up one of the crocheted animals that Andrea had bought for Bethie and Tracey. For one nanosecond she considered buying it as a toy for Moishe, but she figured it would last all of thirty seconds before the yarn was unraveled and the stuffing was in fluffy little pieces on her living room rug.

“These are really cute,” she said, holding it up so that Courtney could see.

“They’re darling. A local woman makes them for us.”

“Twenty dollars is a lot for a stuffed animal.” Hannah felt a bit like a traitor to the Murphy family as she made her comment, but she wanted to find out what Courtney would say.

“I know, but you always pay more for handmade. These aren’t produced in a big factory somewhere overseas and sewn together by workers who make less than a dollar a day.”

“That’s true. Are these made by Jessica Murphy?”

“That’s right!” Courtney smiled. “She’s simply wonderful at it. Larry contracted with her to produce them for us.”

“The markup is a hundred percent, isn’t it?”

“A hundred percent?” Courtney looked astonished. “Good heavens, no! It’s only twenty-five percent. Larry buys them for sixteen dollars apiece and we sell them for twenty. Wherever did you get the idea that the markup was a hundred percent?”

Hannah was embarrassed. She shouldn’t have brought up the subject. “Jessica’s brother-in-law told me she gets ten dollars apiece.”

“Well, he’s wrong. I know Larry pays sixteen for each one. He gives me all the paperwork for the toy shop and I file it right here in back of the counter.” Courtney looked disturbed for a moment and then her expression cleared. “Maybe Jessica’s brother-in-law misunderstood what she told him. Or maybe she didn’t want him to know how much money she was making.”

“That’s possible,” Hannah said, and she was saved from further embarrassment when the bell on the door tinkled and Luanne walked in. There was a smile on her face and Hannah surmised that her conference with Larry had gone well.

“Hello, Luanne,” Courtney greeted her.

“Hi, Courtney.” Luanne came up to hand Courtney a large envelope with the paperwork. “Everything you gave me is in here, along with my work. I’m really sorry, but I couldn’t get the profit and loss statement to come out right, and the trial balance was a disaster.”

“That’s all right,” Courtney said, smiling at Luanne. She didn’t seem a bit surprised by Luanne’s confession and Hannah wondered about that. “I hope you didn’t work too long on it.”

“She worked all night,” Hannah said, knowing that Luanne would never mention it.

“Oh, no! I’m so sorry, Luanne. I never meant for you to spend over an hour or two on it.” Courtney opened the register and took out some bills. “I promised you forty dollars, but I’m going to give you fifty. And you can have that dollhouse for your daughter at our cost.”

“Oh, thank you! But you don’t have to pay me. Mr. Jaeger already did.”

“Larry paid you?”

“Yes. Since you weren’t here when we stopped in earlier, I went along with Hannah when she delivered her plum pudding and sample cookies to Mr. Jaeger. She mentioned that I was doing some work for you and he asked me about it. I said that I must have made a mistake because the trial balance wouldn’t come out right, and he offered to help me find my mistake.”

“Did Larry find it?” Courtney asked her.

“No. He said my work was correct as far as it went. And then he told me not to worry, that it wasn’t my fault because there was some information I didn’t have and that’s why the columns wouldn’t balance.” Luanne looked a bit uncomfortable. “I really didn’t understand a lot of what he said. I think that’s because I’ve only had one bookkeeping class. But I’m sure it would have made sense to somebody who’s a real accountant.”

“Did he ask you why I wanted you to go over the paperwork?”

“No. I thought you’d told him about it because he didn’t seem surprised at all. We talked for about five minutes and he told me to contact him after I graduated and maybe he’d have extra work for me. And then he told me to bring all the paperwork back to you and tell you that he’d already paid me.”

Courtney put the money back in the register and Hannah noticed that her hands were shaking. “I hope he paid you plenty.”

“Oh, he did. And that’s why I can pay retail for Susie’s dollhouse. I really appreciate this work you gave me, Courtney. And I’m sorry if I was out of line talking to Larry about it.”

“Relax. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Courtney told her. “Now I want you to take that dollhouse floor sample and put it under the tree for your daughter. We discount the floor samples anyway and you can consider it a little extra gift for trying so hard to balance the books for me.”

“Really?” Luanne looked as if she were about to argue and Hannah knew how she felt about taking anything she didn’t think she deserved.

“Go ahead,” Courtney told her. “You ought to have more than money for working so hard and so long.”

“I’ll help you carry it,” Hannah said, taking matters into her own hands before Luanne could think of some other reason to object. Somehow she had to teach that girl not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Perhaps Luanne was oblivious, but it was obvious to Hannah that Courtney had never expected Luanne to be able to balance the books. She’d just wanted a second opinion. And now that she had it and Larry knew she was checking up on him, there might be a fireworks show later tonight that had nothing to do with pyrotechnics.

FUDGE-MALLOW COOKIE BARS

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.,

rack in the middle position.

3/4 cup all-purpose flour (pack it down in the cup when you measure it)

3/4 cup white (granulated) sugar

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup softened butter (1 stick, 1/4 pound)

2 eggs

2 one-ounce squares unsweetened chocolate (I used Baker’s)

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/2 cup chopped nuts (I used walnuts, but pecans are fine, too)

10.5 ounce package miniature marshmallows (you’ll use 3/4 of a package—I used Kraft Jet Puffed)

2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips (I used Ghirardelli)

Hannah’s Note: This is a lot easier with an electric mixer, but you can also make these cookie bars by hand.

Melt your chocolate first so that it has time to cool. Unwrap the 2 squares of unsweetened chocolate and place them in a microwave-safe bowl. Heat them for 1 minute on HIGH. Let them sit in the microwave for another minute and then take them out and stir them to make sure they’re melted. (If they’re not, heat them again in 15 second intervals until they are.) Set the bowl with the chocolate on the counter to cool while you mix up the rest of the recipe.

Combine the flour, sugar and salt in the bowl of a mixer. Beat them together on slow speed until they’re combined.

Add the softened butter and beat well until the mixture is light and fluffy.

Add the eggs and beat well.

Check your chocolate to make sure it’s not so hot it’ll cook the eggs. If it’s cool enough, add it to your bowl. If it’s not, have a cup of coffee and wait until it is. Mix in the chocolate thoroughly.

Add the vanilla and the half cup of chopped nuts. Mix thoroughly.

Grease (or spray with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray) a 9-inch by 13-inch cake pan. Pour in the batter and smooth the top as evenly as you can with a rubber spatula.

Bake at 350 degrees F. for 20 minutes.

Take the pan from the oven and immediately pour the miniature marshmallows in a single layer over the top. This should take about 3/4 of a 10.5-ounce bag. Work quickly to spread them out as evenly as you can.

Cover the pan with foil crimped down tightly over the sides, or with a spare cookie sheet for 20 minutes. You want the miniature marshmallows to melt on the bottom and attach themselves nicely to the hot chocolate fudge bars.

When 20 minutes have passed, melt 2 cups of semi-sweet chocolate chips in the microwave on HIGH for 2 minutes. Stir the chips smooth and spread the melted chocolate over the marshmallows as evenly as you can. Set the pan on a wire rack to cool.

When the bars are cool and the chocolate on top has hardened, cut them into brownie-sized pieces and serve. If you want to hasten the hardening of the chocolate, slip the pan into the refrigerator for thirty minutes or so, and then take it out to cut the bars.

Arrange the bars on a pretty platter and serve for a luscious treat. You can store any leftovers in a tightly-covered container, but Lisa and I bet there won’t be any!

Yield: Each pan makes approximately 24 bars.

Lisa says Herb loves these because they remind him of the chocolate-covered marshmallow cookies he used to eat as a child. He confessed he traded them with his friends, giving them the homemade cookies Marge made and put in the lunchbox for the “store boughten” marshmallow cookies. Lisa says that if you know Marge Beeseman, please don’t tell her that her son did this!

Chapter Twelve

Hannah heard Lisa’s delighted laugh as she took the last pan of Christmas Lace Cookies out of the oven. Herb must be back from his trip with Mayor Bascomb. She waited a minute until the cookies were set, and then she pulled the parchment paper and cookies from the pan and slipped them onto the baker’s rack. She filled a plate with cooled cookies and went out through the swinging restaurant-type door that separated their kitchen from the coffee shop to see who had arrived.

“Hello, dear.”

Delores was the first to greet her. Hannah gave her a smile that included all four of the guests seated at the table at the back of the shop. There was her mother, Herb, Mayor Bascomb, and a familiar-looking woman that Hannah couldn’t quite place.

“Look who’s here, dear,” Delores continued. “It’s Miss Whiting from class.”

Of course! Hannah recognized her now, but the out-of-context phenomenon had confused her at first. She’d seen Miss Whiting last night in a completely different setting. Then she’d been wearing a tailored suit of navy blue wool with a cream-colored silk blouse, and she’d been standing in front of the blackboard in her mother’s small business class. In today’s setting, the community college teacher seemed much younger, but perhaps that was because she was dressed in jeans and a fluffy pink sweater with her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“Hi, Miss Whiting,” Hannah greeted her. “Did you come to check on our homework?”

Miss Whiting laughed and shook her head. “I stopped in at Granny’s Attic to pick up a Christmas gift. I had no idea I’d run into one of my students. And then your mother brought me here to try a slice of your plum pudding.”

“How do you like it?”

“It’s excellent. Lisa mentioned that you’ll be selling it at the Crazy Elf Christmas Tree Lot.”

Hannah turned to look at Lisa, who nodded. “Krista called while you were in the kitchen and she put in an order for five Minnesota Plum Puddings every day.”

“That’s great. I was hoping they’d like it.” Hannah set the plate down on the table. “Have one of our new Christmas Lace Cookies. We’re testing them today.”

Never one to refuse a free cookie, Mayor Bascomb reached for one. He took a bite and looked a bit surprised. “These are good and they’re much more substantial than they look.”

“They’re great,” Herb said, turning to smile at Lisa. He’d obviously missed his bride of less than a year, and the loving expression on his face gave Hannah a little wistful twinge. If she had accepted Norman’s proposal, he’d probably look at her like that. As a matter of fact, she was sure Norman would look at her like that. Norman was true blue, and he’d be the sort of husband who would never risk his marriage by having an affair with another woman.

On the other hand, if she’d accepted Mike’s offer of marriage he’d probably…Hannah’s daydream evaporated in a flash of painful reality. If she’d married Mike and he went out of town for the night, she couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t stray. It might be a repeat of his nights with Ronni Ward and Shawna Lee Quinn. If she were Mrs. Mike Kingston, she’d always wonder what he was up to when she wasn’t with him. Part of the problem was that Mike was sinfully handsome and women tended to throw themselves at him. Yes, but he doesn’t have to catch them when they do, Hannah reminded herself.

“What the matter, dear?” Delores asked, catching her eldest daughter’s unhappy expression.

“Not a thing. I was just thinking about all the things I have to do before Christmas.”

“I hope one of those things is making more of these cookies,” Herb commented.

Miss Whiting nodded. “These are excellent cookies. They’re chewy and crunchy at the same time.”

“Exactly right.” Mayor Bascomb reached out for another. “I think Stephanie would love these and I suppose I should take her something when I go visit her tonight.”

It was a blatant bid for a box of free cookies and Hannah almost laughed. But she didn’t. The mayor wasn’t happy with anyone who laughed at him and it was politic to stay on his good side. “I’ll put some in a box for her.”

“Are you going to sell these at the Christmas tree lot?” Delores asked.

“I’m not sure,” Hannah said, but the fact her mother had mentioned the Christmas tree lot reminded her of Larry’s sign and she turned to Miss Whiting. “I’ve got an example of a bad business practice for you.”

“Oh, good. Let’s hear it. I’m always on the lookout for new examples.”

“There’s a sign at the entrance to the Crazy Elf Christmas Tree Lot that reads, We sell below cost and make it up on volume.”

“What?!” Miss Whiting looked shocked to the core.

“I know it’s impossible to do that, but the sign is hanging right there. We asked Larry if it was some kind of a joke and he said it was.”

“Larry?”

“That’s his name. Larry Jaeger. His company is L. J. Enterprises. He said he heard somebody advertising mattresses on television when he was in junior high school, and that was the company slogan. He thought it was so funny, he made up a sign and he’s hung it in the front of every business he’s ever owned.”

“I see.”

“I guess it is kind of funny, but I still think it’s a bad business practice. What if people take it seriously?”

“That’s a valid point.” Miss Whiting stood up. “I’m sorry, but I have to leave. I have an appointment with one of my students and I don’t want to be late.”

“What was that about homework?” the mayor asked, after Miss Whiting had left.

“It’s for my class in small business practices,” Delores told him. “Carrie couldn’t make it and Hannah went to class with me. Miss Whiting gave us the paperwork from a company that had bad business practices and we’re supposed to identify the bad practice.”

“What’s the name of the company?” Herb looked curious.

“We don’t know,” Hannah answered him. “It’s blocked out on the paperwork.”

“Probably for legal reasons,” Mayor Bascomb gave his opinion. “Let’s see that paperwork. Maybe I can help you with your homework.”

“You?!” Delores looked shocked. “You were always terrible at arithmetic.”

“I was?”

“Yes, you were. I spent a whole summer trying to teach you your sevens.”

“Sevens?” Herb looked puzzled.

“His times tables. Multiplication. You know. He had the fives down just fine, and he knew his eights and nines. But the sevens stumped him every time. Isn’t that right, Ricky Ticky?”

Hannah hid a grin. Her mother had been Mayor Bascomb’s summer babysitter when he was in grade school. To this day, she was the only one who used his first name, which was Richard, and the nickname she’d given him, Ricky Ticky.

“It’s true,” Mayor Bascomb conceded the point, “but that’s something only my old babysitter would know.”

Delores bristled at the phrase, “old babysitter,” and Hannah chalked one up for the mayor.

“I did fine when I got to high school,” Mayor Bascomb continued. “That’s when I found out that you don’t need to know your sevens anymore. All you need is a calculator and there are calculators all over the place. My cell phone even has one. Now let me take a look at the homework and we’ll see if I’ve lost my touch for business.”

Hannah dashed to the kitchen to get her homework from Miss Whiting’s class and handed it over to the mayor. “Here it is,” she said.

Mayor Bascomb paged through the sheaf of papers, giving everything a once over. Then he went back and examined several sheets more closely. “Here it is,” he said, looking smug as he tapped his finger against one of the columns of figures. “Not bad for somebody who doesn’t know their sevens, right Delores?”

“Not bad at all…if you’re correct.” Delores qualified it. “What did you notice?”

Mayor Bascomb pushed the paper over to Delores. “Take a look for yourself. I want to see if you can find it.”

“It’s a record of receipts for supplies,” Delores said, glancing down at the paper. “They’re added correctly. I already checked the math. What’s wrong with it?”

“Take a look at how it’s paid.”

Hannah slid over next to her mother and they leaned forward to examine the paperwork together. “It’s paid by cash,” Delores said, looking up at the mayor. “What’s wrong with that?”

“A legitimate businessman wants more than a cash receipt. He pays by check so that he can use both the receipt and the cancelled check to verify business expenses.”

There was a gasp behind her and Hannah turned to see Lisa standing there with the coffee carafe. She’d been about to refill the mayor’s cup when he’d made the comment about verifying expenses.”

“What’s wrong?” Hannah asked her.

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. But Larry always pays us in cash and he never has the receipt filled out all the way. He just asks me to sign it and he says he’ll fill in the amount later.”

Mayor Bascomb’s eyes narrowed and Hannah could tell he disapproved of the way Larry did business. “Is that bad?” she asked him.

“It’s not good.” Mayor Bascomb turned to Lisa. “A less than honest businessman could fill in an amount that didn’t match what he paid you. And you wouldn’t be able to prove otherwise since the transaction was completely in cash. You should never sign a receipt that’s not complete,” he warned, “especially if you’re being paid in cash.”

“Then I won’t do it again!” Lisa promised, looking properly chastised. “I had no idea I shouldn’t do that.”

Mayor Bascomb smiled. “It’s probably perfectly okay. It’s just that most people don’t do business that way and it’s unusual when they do. There’s always the possibility that they’re not keeping accurate records…for one reason or another.”

“Thanks for telling me,” Lisa said, and then she turned to Hannah. “Did Larry have you sign a blank receipt this afternoon when he paid you for the cookies?”

“He didn’t pay me for the cookies. I just assumed he sent us a check or something like that. I guess I should have asked…but I didn’t. And I didn’t ask anybody to sign for the delivery I made, either.”

“Better call Larry and tell him you’re coming back out to pick up a check,” Mayor Bascomb advised. “If you don’t, you won’t have a record of how many cookies you delivered. That’s not the way to do business.”

“I’ll call Larry right now,” Lisa offered, heading for the phone behind the counter. A moment later, she covered the receiver with her hand and motioned to Hannah. “He’s tied up right now, but he wants us to pick up a check after the lot closes. That’s at nine tonight.”

“I’ll do it,” Hannah told her. It was only fair. She was the one who’d forgotten to get a receipt for the cookies and ask for payment.

Lisa said something to Larry and then she covered the receiver again. “He says he’ll leave the gate open and you should come straight to Elf Headquarters.”

“That’s fine. Tell him I’ll be there. I’m going out to dinner with Norman, and I’ll call him when we’re through to let him know we’re on the way.”

CHRISTMAS LACE COOKIES

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.,

rack in the middle position.

1 and 1/2 cups rolled oats (uncooked dry oatmeal—use the old-fashioned kind that takes 5 minutes to cook, not the quick 1-minute variety)

1/2 cup melted butter (1 stick, 1/4 pound)

3/4 cup white (granulated) sugar 1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon flour

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 and 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract

1 beaten egg (just whip it up in a glass with a fork)

1/2 cup chocolate chips

Measure out the oatmeal in a medium-sized bowl. Melt the butter and pour it over the oatmeal. Stir until it’s thoroughly mixed.

In a small bowl, combine the sugar, baking powder, flour, and salt. Mix well.

Add the sugar mixture to the oatmeal mixture and blend thoroughly.

Mix in the vanilla and the beaten egg. Stir well.

Add the chocolate chips and stir the mixture until it is well combined.

Line cookie sheets with foil, shiny side up. Spray the foil lightly with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray.

Drop the cookie dough by rounded teaspoon onto the foil, leaving space for spreading. Don’t crowd these cookies together, no more than 6 or 8 per sheet.

Hannah’s 1st Note: I used a 2-teaspoon cookie scoop to form these cookies. It was just the right size.

Bake at 350 degrees F. for 12 minutes. Remove them from the oven and cool them on the cookie sheet for 5 minutes. Pull the foil off the sheet and over to a waiting wire rack. Let the cookies cool completely.

When the Christmas Lace Cookies are cool, peel them carefully from the foil and store them in a cool, dry place.

If you want to dress up these cookies for special company, wait until they’re cool and then drizzle them with melted chocolate chips mixed with coffee. Start with 1/2 cup of chips mixed with 6 Tablespoons coffee and microwave for 30 seconds on HIGH. Stir it until smooth. If the mixture is too thick to drizzle, add additional coffee and microwave in 20-second intervals on HIGH until it is thin enough to drizzle over the cookies.

Hannah’s 2nd Note: These cookies look delicate, but they travel well if you pack them correctly. Start with a layer of Styrofoam peanuts (or bubble wrap) at the bottom of your box. Cover that with a layer of wax paper. Put down a single layer of Christmas Lace Cookies. Cover that with another layer of wax paper and cover with another single layer of peanuts (or bubble wrap.) Keep on layering peanuts (or bubble wrap), wax paper, Christmas Lace Cookies, wax paper, and peanuts (or bubble wrap) until your box is full. Top off with a layer of peanuts (or several layers of bubble wrap), seal, and send to your lucky recipient.

Yield: One batch of Christmas Lace Cookies makes about 2 and 1/2 dozen cookies. This recipe can be doubled, tripled, or even quadrupled if you wish.

Chapter Thirteen

“I can’t believe how good this was!” Hannah said, forking up the last bite of Sally’s Triple Threat Chocolate Cheesecake Pie.

“Mm-hmm,” Norman answered, finishing his slice of pie at the same time. “More coffee?”

“Yes, thanks. I need coffee to cut all that yummy chocolate.” Hannah waited for Norman to fill her cup from the small silver pot that their waitress had brought. She took a sip and then she gestured toward the elevated booths that lined the far wall. “It’s a good thing Mother isn’t here.”

“Why’s that?”

“She’d be making her fourth trip to the ladies room and she’d be going the long way around so she could pass that booth with the curtains drawn. And if just walking by didn’t satisfy her curiosity, she’d drop her purse, kneel down to pick up everything that fell out, and try to peek under the curtain.”

Norman glanced at the elevated section of the dining room. Each booth had a curtain that could be drawn for privacy, but only one group of diners had taken advantage of that feature this evening. “I wonder who’s dining in seclusion,” he mused.

“I don’t know, but it’s some kind of special occasion.”

“How do you know that?”

“I saw the waitress carry in a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. I tried to get a look at the people inside, but she was really careful about closing the curtain behind her.”

“Did the waitress bring champagne flutes?” Norman asked.

“Yes. I’m almost sure there were only two.”

“It’s a couple then. I wonder who they are.”

“Do you want to walk past there on our way out?” Hannah asked him.

“Of course I do, but wouldn’t it be obvious that we’re snooping?”

“Not really. Janice Cox and her parents are up there in the end booth and they don’t have their curtains drawn. We could stop and say hello to them and then walk past the private booth on our way out.”

“You’re devious, Hannah.”

“I know. I learned from the best.”

“Your mother?”

“That’s right. So do you want to walk past?”

“I guess we could. It’s a real invasion of privacy though.”

“I know it is.”

Hannah looked at Norman and Norman looked at Hannah. They locked eyes for several seconds and then both of them laughed.

“Let’s do it,” Hannah said.

“I’m with you,” Norman agreed. “But it can’t possibly be anyone from Lake Eden.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because people from Lake Eden know better. They realize that if they pull the privacy curtain, everybody out here is going to think something’s going on. And then people are going to walk past and try to figure out who’s behind the curtain.”

“But what can they do if they really want privacy?”

“They can drive to a restaurant in The Cities where nobody knows them.”

Hannah laughed. Norman was right. If someone from Lake Eden wanted privacy, they’d have to drive to Minneapolis.

As they climbed the steps to the elevated booths, Hannah kept her eyes on the one with the drawn curtain. It didn’t extend quite to the floor and she could see two pairs of shoes. One pair belonged to a man wearing fawn-colored suede boots with beadwork on the sides. The boots were accompanied by two open-toed sandals crafted of shiny red leather straps and impressively high, implausibly thin heels.

“I wonder which man is responsible for her shoes,” Hannah said in an undertone as they began to walk slowly toward Janice’s booth.

“What shoes?”

“The red sandals behind the curtain. A woman doesn’t wear impractical shoes like that unless she’s trying to attract a man.”

“Really?”

Hannah noticed that Norman was looking down at her feet and she could have kicked herself for her comment, especially since she was wearing her favorite but old moose-hide boots. “Of course that only applies if the man drops her off at the door. You’d never be able to walk to the parking lot in sandals.”

“Right,” Norman said and he looked much more cheerful.

“Hi, Janice,” Hannah greeted Lake Eden’s pre-school teacher and then she turned to her parents. “Hi, Eleanor…Otis. How are those sled dogs coming along?”

“Just great, Hannah.” Eleanor launched into her favorite subject. “We’ve got a new lead dog this year and she’s breaking in just fine. Otis decided that he should retire Yukon. He’s got a touch of arthritis and he’s been limping a little.”

“But doesn’t Yukon miss it?” Hannah asked, wondering how the Siberian Husky with one brown eye and one blue eye was faring.

“He doesn’t seem to mind at all. As a matter of fact, I think the cold was making his arthritis worse. He hardly limps at all now that he’s a house dog.”

“The least we could do,” Otis said, and then he stopped speaking. He was a man of few words.

“So he sleeps on the bed with us now,” Eleanor went on, “and he’s a regular blanket hog. He watches the soaps with me, too.”

“That sounds like a match made in heaven,” Norman commented, which caused Otis to laugh.

Hannah loved to watch Otis laugh. He chortled a little, deep in his throat, and slapped his knee three times. That meant it was a good joke. If something really tickled his funny bone, he slapped his knees with both hands three times. That meant he thought it was hilarious. Norman’s comment was a two-knee slapper.

Just then the waitress arrived with their entrees and Hannah and Norman said their goodbyes. Hannah noticed that Janice was having Sally’s low-cal special, broiled red snapper with broccoli and three small red potatoes, and she figured that a diet must be in the works. She’d ask a couple of careful questions the next time she saw her and if Janice was trying to lose weight, she wouldn’t tempt her by bringing her cookies at Kiddie Korner.

“Are you going to drop your purse when we get to the curtained booth?” Norman asked her as they moved away from Janice and her parents.

“No! That’s what Mother always does.”

“Does it work?”

“Well…” Hannah considered it for a moment. “Yes.”

“Then why not do it?”

Hannah looked down at the purse her mother and her sisters had called a saddlebag. It was huge and it held all the essentials she needed in case of a national disaster and then some. “Mother has a much smaller purse,” she told him. “It’ll take us forever to pick up the contents from this one.”

“And your point is?” Norman asked, grinning at her.

“Never mind.” As they approached the curtained booth, Hannah slipped the strap from her shoulder. “Oops!” she said as her purse fell to the carpet and a myriad of things, some of them useful, some of them not, fell out.

“I’ll help you pick it up,” Norman said, bending down and craning his neck to the side so that he could see under the curtain.

“Thanks,” Hannah answered, also dropping to her knees for a better view. As she shoveled paraphernalia back into her purse, she saw that the red sandals had moved. They were now very close to the suede boots with the beadwork on the sides, and they were not toe to toe any longer. That meant the woman had slid around the horseshoe-shaped booth and was now as close as close could be to her male companion.

“Hurry up!” Norman whispered, dumping handfuls of items into Hannah’s purse.

“Why?” Hannah whispered back.

“Mother.”

Hannah strained to hear. Norman’s whisper was almost inaudible. “Did you say mother?” she asked, in a voice that matched his in volume.

“Yes. I’ll tell you everything when we get outside.”

Hannah’s curiosity almost killed her as they exited the restaurant, walked through the bar, retrieved their coats from the cloakroom, traversed the lobby, and went out the front entrance. Once she’d finished shivering from the blast of crisp, cold air that assaulted them, Hannah repeated her question. “Did you say mother? As in my mother?”

“No. I said mother as in my mother. My mother was in that booth.”

“But…how could you tell from just seeing her shoes?”

“I couldn’t tell from her shoes. She never wears shoes like that. I could tell by the scar on her left ankle.”

Hannah believed him. She was almost certain she could identify Delores by simply seeing her feet. But Norman could be wrong. “Are you sure it wasn’t another woman with a scar on her left ankle.”

“I’m sure. I heard her say Oh, no! in a very low voice when you dropped your purse. And after that, neither one of them made another sound. I think she must have gestured for him to be quiet. She probably thought it was Delores outside the booth since your mother pulls the same trick.”

“Well…maybe.” Hannah took a deep breath of the bracing air. “But if it was Carrie, who was the man with her? I didn’t even know she was dating.”

“Neither did I, but that explains why she canceled all those dinners with me.”

“And why she told Mother she couldn’t go to class with her. But who was the man? Do you have any idea?”

“Not a clue. I didn’t recognize the boots. Did you?”

“No. But I think that the fact she was wearing those shoes shoots Mike’s theory all to smithereens.”

“What theory?”

Norman turned to look at her and almost tripped over a clump of snow. This was obviously unsettling to him and Hannah took his arm before answering. “Mike thought your mother was shoplifting.”

“What?!”

“It wasn’t an entirely crazy assumption. Mike’s been helping with security at the Tri-County Mall and he’s run into Carrie a couple of times. It’s always when the mall is closing and she’s loading packages into the trunk of her car. He told me she looks really guilty when she sees him, and that made him suspect that she could be shoplifting.”

Norman gave a big sigh and his breath came out in a white cloud against the dark sky. “Let me get this straight. Mike thinks she looks guilty so he assumes she’s shoplifting?”

“Yes. Of course Mike hasn’t told anybody about it…except me. And I know he’ll be really happy when we tell him he’s wrong.” Hannah stopped and cleared her throat. She had to be careful how she worded her next question. Norman might not be happy that his mother had a boyfriend. “I think your mother’s doing all that shopping because she’s trying to look good for someone new in her life. What do you think?”

“I think you’re right. And that was well done, Hannah. You were very careful not to use the word boyfriend, or new man.”

“That’s because I didn’t know how you’d feel about it.”

Norman slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. “I’m fine with it. Mother’s been alone too long and if she’s found some man to make her happy, more power to both of them. But I’m still mad about Mike. I can’t believe he thought my mother was a shoplifter!”

“Well, he never thought she was doing it on purpose. He was concerned because kleptomania is a disease and he thought she might not be able to help herself. He wanted to help her, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do.”

“He should have come to me.”

“I know, but he did the next best thing. He came to me instead.”

Norman was quiet for a moment. “Okay. That’s reasonable. Mike probably thought I’d fly off the handle. But we haven’t addressed the real problem.”

They arrived at the car and Norman opened the passenger door for Hannah. She climbed in, he shut it, and he walked around the car to get into the driver’s seat. He started the engine immediately so that the car would warm up, and then he turned to her again.

“We have to find out who was in that booth with her. If he’s a nice guy, I’m all for it. But I want to make sure he’s not after her money.”

Hannah understood completely. She and her sisters had been worried about the same thing when Delores had started getting serious about Winthrop. “I can ask Sally to ask her waitresses.”

“I’d really appreciate it. Dad left her with quite a bundle and I don’t want to see somebody try to take advantage of her.”

“Of course you don’t. But I didn’t know your mother was that well-off.”

“Neither did I until after the funeral. Dad never made a lot of money from the dental clinic, but he took out multiple life insurance policies right after I was born. Mother didn’t know about them and neither did I until Doug Greerson called and said that Dad had a safe deposit box. When we opened it, we found a list of the policies. Dad made all the payments, even when he was sick. He was looking out for Mother right up until the end.”

“Well, it’s our turn now,” Hannah told him, reaching out to take his hand. “We’re going to find out who your mother’s dating and make sure he’s good enough for her.”

TRIPLE THREAT CHOCOLATE CHEESECAKE PIE

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.,

rack in the middle position.

One 9-inch chocolate cookie crumb crust[***]

1/2 cup white (granulated) sugar 8-ounce package softened cream cheese

1/3 cup mayonnaise (regular mayo, NOT Miracle Whip or sandwich spread)

2 eggs

1 cup white chocolate chips (I used Ghirardelli)

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 cup semi-sweet (regular) chocolate chips

Hannah’s 1st Note: You can make this by hand, but it’s a lot easier with an electric mixer!

Beat the sugar with the softened cream cheese until it’s thoroughly blended. Add the mayonnaise and the eggs. Beat well.

Melt the white chocolate chips in a microwave-safe bowl on HIGH for 40 seconds. Stir them to see if they’re melted. (Don’t be fooled—chips may retain their shape even when they’re melted.) If they’re not melted, microwave in 15-second intervals, stirring after each attempt, until you can stir them smooth. Set the melted chips on the counter to cool for a moment or two.

When you can comfortably cup your hands around the bowl holding the melted chips, mix them gradually into the batter. Then add the vanilla and mix well.

Remove the bowl from the mixer and stir in the semi-sweet chocolate chips by hand.

Spoon the pie batter into the cookie crust and smooth the top with a rubber spatula.

Bake the pie at 350 degrees F. for 30 to 35 minutes.

Cool the pie on a wire rack and then refrigerate. Take your pie out of the refrigerator 20 minutes before serving. Serve with sweetened whipped cream on top.

Hannah’s 2nd Note: This pie is so deliciously rich, you have to serve it with strong coffee. I usually have a second pot all ready to go when the first one runs out.

Chapter Fourteen

Their drive through the Lake Eden Inn parking lot to attempt to identify cars turned out to be an exercise in futility. There were simply too many cars they didn’t recognize. Carrie’s car was not present. It was obvious that she’d ridden out to the Lake Eden Inn with her dinner companion. Finally, after the third round trip, Hannah decided to call off the search.

“Forget it, Norman. This isn’t doing any good. Unless you want to sit here and burn gas until your mother comes out, let’s go pick up the check from Larry. Once we’ve got that, we can take a detour past your mother’s house to see if she’s home yet.”

Norman looked surprised. “You want to go in and ask who was in the booth with her?”

“Of course not. That would just put her on the defensive and she probably wouldn’t tell me anyway. I want to see if there’s a car parked in front of her house. If there is, all we have to do is copy down the license number and ask Mike to run it for us.”

“Good thinking.” Norman pulled out of the parking lot and headed for the highway. They wound their way down what looked like a huge, never-ending tunnel flanked by snow banks. It was a little strange seeing snow banks as high as the top of the car on both sides, and it was evident from the height of the snow that Sally’s husband, Dick, had used his mini-snowplow to clear the road multiple times this winter so that the guests could drive in.

Once they reached the highway, Norman increased his speed and Hannah leaned back to enjoy the ride. The radio was tuned to a classic jazz station, the interior of the car was warm, and the passenger seat was extremely comfortable. The phrase, All’s right with the world, floated through Hannah’s mind. Things were always right when she was with Norman. There were times, like right now, when she really couldn’t understand her reluctance to marry him and be comfortable like this for the rest of her life. She loved him, she enjoyed being with him, and she’d love to live in the house they’d designed together. Norman would be a great husband, but just when she was about to say yes, thoughts of Mike got in the way. Perhaps she needed a shrink. But going to a psychotherapist would take time and time was one thing she didn’t have. There were no spare fifty-minute hours during the Christmas season.

“Why so quiet?” Norman asked, taking her out of the dilemma she didn’t seem to be able to solve anyway.

“I was thinking about time,” Hannah said, telling him what she termed a partial truth.

“It must be pretty hectic for you this time of year with Christmas so close. Is there any way I can help you?”

“You’re already helping me. You treated me to a wonderful dinner and now you’re taking me to the Crazy Elf to pick up the check I failed to ask for this afternoon.”

“I could do more. If you have any last-minute shopping to do, just let me know. I could run out to the mall for you. There’s only ten shopping days left until Christmas.”

“I know. Lisa reminded me today, but shopping for Christmas is the one thing I finished. I took Mother’s advice and shopped early. Now all I have to do is remember where I put the presents I bought.”

“And wrap them,” Norman reminded her.

“Yes, there’s that. And I hate wrapping presents. I’m really no good at it.”

“I’m not a bad wrapper. I could help you wrap your presents. It would be more fun with the two of us.”

“You’re right. You could put your finger on the knot in my ribbon when I tie a bow.”

Norman glanced over at her and smiled. “That’s always been my goal in life,” he said. “I love you, Hannah. I want to make your life easier.”

“You do,” Hannah said, and then she reached out to place her hand on his arm as he drove.

The Crazy Elf parking lot was chained shut and Norman parked on the street. As they got out of the car and headed for the entrance, the wind picked up and snow skittered across the sidewalk in little eddies and flurries. Hannah thought about dust devils and their bigger cousins, sand devils. If there were dust devils and sand devils, could there be snow devils? She’d have to look it up.

“What are you thinking about?” Norman asked.

“Dust devils and sand devils. And I was just wondering if there were snow devils.”

“There are, but most people call them snow-spouts. They happen when a mass of cold air hovers over a warmer body of water. That creates a kind of waterspout that freezes when it gets up in the cold air.”

Hannah shivered slightly. It was a cold night and talking about freezing waterspouts was making her colder.

“Cold?” Norman asked, slipping his arm around her shoulder.

“Yes. I wish I could be magically transported to somewhere warmer…like the middle of a desert.”

“Do you want to go to Palm Springs? It’s only a few hours from here by plane.”

“I’d love to, but I can’t.”

“Why not? We could fly in on a Friday night and spend the weekend. And if you felt you had to get back to Lake Eden, we could fly back late Sunday night.”

“Tempting,” Hannah commented and it was. She’d love a weekend getaway. But she had a ton of work to do and she couldn’t ask Lisa to do it all. “I’d love to, but we’re right in the middle of our busy season. Could we table it until it slows down at the end of February?”

“We can do that. I’ll ask you again on Valentine’s Day. It should be cold enough to tempt you.”

“I’m sure it will be!” Hannah wondered if she’d say yes. Valentine’s Day was less than two months away and it would be equally tempting then. The snowbirds would be gone and everyone who was left would be sick of the ice and snow.

“Okay, it’s a date.”

“But I didn’t say I’d go.”

“I know that. I just meant it’s a date to ask you.”

“Okay.” They arrived at the entrance to the Crazy Elf Christmas Tree Lot and Hannah opened the gate. “Follow me,” she said. “I know where Larry’s trailer is.”

Everything looked different now that the main lights were off. They walked past the darkened and deserted log cabins that housed the shops and turned left on Rudolf Lane.

“This is strange without the lights and music,” Norman said, and Hannah agreed. And although she’d never suspected she’d miss the loud, blaring Christmas carols, she did.

“Here’s Elf Headquarters,” she informed him as they turned down the path for the double-wide trailer where Larry lived. “The lights are on. He’s waiting for us.”

“Nice trailer,” Norman said as they approached.

“I know. It’s huge. Larry told me there are two bedrooms and he made one of them into an office. He’s got a humungous flat screen television in the living room so he can watch sports.”

“Larry’s a sports fan?”

“I’ll say! When Mike and I were here, he muted the sound but he left the game on.”

“And most ordinary fans would have turned the game off until after you left?”

“Right.” Hannah was always impressed at how fast Norman caught her train of thought.

They climbed up the low stairs to the trailer and Norman stepped aside so that Hannah could knock.

“Larry?” she called out, rapping sharply on the door.

There was a beat of silence and then another. They could hear the television playing inside and it sounded like it was a basketball game.

“Let me,” Norman said, stepping forward to knock even harder. He waited a moment and then he tried again.

Nothing, absolutely nothing happened. There was no sound from inside except the voice of the announcer and roar of the crowd.

“Try it again,” Hannah suggested.

Norman balled up his fist and pounded on the door while Hannah called out Larry’s name. It had absolutely no effect and the door remained tightly closed.

Hannah turned to Norman. “What shall we do?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Let’s see if the door’s open. He could have fallen asleep in front of the television.”

Although Hannah couldn’t see how Larry could sleep through such a racket, she stepped aside so that Norman could try the door. When the knob turned, she gave a little gasp. For some reason she didn’t like this. She didn’t like it at all. Maybe it was because the park looked so different with the main lights off and the crowd gone home. Or maybe there was something wrong and they ought to hightail it out of here.

“What?” Norman turned to her as her grip on his arm tightened.

“I don’t know. It’s just kind of strange, that’s all.”

“What’s strange?”

“The door’s unlocked. You’d think he’d lock it at night.”

“He might not be worried about anyone walking in on him since the park’s closed for the night,” Norman suggested.

“Maybe you’re right. But do you think we should go in?”

“He said he’d meet you here, didn’t he?”

“Yes. But…” Hannah’s voice trailed off and she swallowed hard. She couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that something was horribly wrong.

“Come on. Let’s go in and get out of the cold.”

Norman opened the door and the light spilled out. He took her hand to pull her inside, but Hannah couldn’t seem to make her feet move. She wasn’t sure why, but she really didn’t want to go inside Elf Headquarters. It was a lot like the reticence she’d experienced when Delores had asked her to go on a roller coaster with Andrea. That little excursion had ended in disaster and Hannah now knew that roller coasters and her stomach didn’t coexist well. “Maybe we should come back tomorrow,” she suggested, hoping he’d agree.

“Why? Larry should be back soon. He left the lights and the television on.”

“I know, but isn’t it rude to go in uninvited?” Hannah asked, trying to control her unreasonable urge to flee.

“The door was unlocked and it’s pretty obvious he left it open for us. That counts as an invitation in my book. Come on, Hannah. It’s silly to stand out here in the wind.”

“Right,” Hannah said, taking a deep breath for courage as she followed Norman inside.

There was a table just inside the doorway on her left. Hannah glanced at it and saw an envelope with her name written on the front. Larry had made out her check and receipt, just as he’d promised to do. She picked up the envelope, stuffed it in her purse, and followed Norman as he stepped deeper into the room.

Even though it was silly, she found herself holding her breath. There was something wrong. She was sure of it. And…there it was!

“What’s wrong?” Norman asked, turning to her in alarm as she gasped out loud in shock.

“The TV,” Hannah said, pointing at the huge flat screen hanging on the wall. Something was drastically wrong with Larry’s giant screen television set. Areas of the screen were glowing and other areas were dark. There were a couple of holes in the top part of the screen, but it continued to glow and fade almost like a light show and Hannah was mesmerized. And all the while the announcer continued to blather excitedly about the game they couldn’t see.

The holes in the screen looked a lot like bullet holes to her! Hannah’s mind went into overdrive. Had Larry gotten so angry with the outcome of the game that he’d shot his television set? Her gaze shifted to the coffee table in front of the couch. There were chips and a container of dip, along with a half-empty bottle of brandy and a snifter that had a bit of amber-colored liquid in the bottom. It was pretty evident that Larry had been drinking and that lent credence to her theory about the holes. “I don’t like this,” she said.

“I’m not exactly happy with it either,” Norman replied. “But I don’t think it’s all that unusual. My dad threw a glass at the television once when they preempted his favorite show for a political debate.”

As Norman spoke Hannah turned to survey the rest of the room. Nothing was moving, there was no sign of any other damage, and everything appeared to be perfectly…

“Hannah?” Norman turned to his suddenly silent companion. “What’s the matter?”

“There,” Hannah somehow managed to say and she pointed to the area on the other side of the door.

Norman turned to look. “Oh,” he said. “There’s Larry.”

“Yes.”

Norman moved a smidgen closer to the prone figure on the rug. “There’s a brandy bottle on the coffee table. He could be dead drunk.”

“Or he could simply be dead,” Hannah said, swallowing again in an attempt to lubricate her suddenly parched throat.

“I’d better feel for a pulse.”

Hannah stepped back. She wasn’t about to fight about which of them should feel for Larry’s pulse. She didn’t really want to touch Larry anyway. Instead, she averted her eyes as Norman knelt down next to Larry on the rug and that’s when she noticed her platter on the floor, along with some scattered crumbs that could only have come from her Minnesota Plum Pudding. Larry must have been carrying the platter when he answered the door.

“No pulse,” Norman said straightening up and turning to her. “He’s dead.”

“Dead,” Hannah repeated, not liking that diagnosis one bit.

“I’d better call Mike,” Norman told her, reaching in his pocket for his cell phone. “You can wait outside if you don’t want to stay here.”

“Alone?!” Hannah realized that her voice had turned into a frightened squeak and she regretted it. But she really didn’t want to stand outside when she wasn’t sure how Larry had died. “Was he…murdered?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I won’t know unless I turn him over and I’ll leave that to the authorities.”

“Right,” Hannah said, leaning against the wall. She took a deep breath, shut her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at Larry, and listened to the sportscaster’s voice as he gave a play-by-play account of the basketball game. She didn’t know who was playing and she didn’t care, but if she concentrated on what he was saying, she could avoid listening to Norman as he called Mike and told him why he should come out to the Crazy Elf Christmas Tree Lot right away.

Chapter Fifteen

“So he might have been expecting you when he opened the door?”

“It’s certainly possible. He knew I was coming to get a check for the cookies, and I called him from the Inn to tell him we were on the way.” Hannah refilled Mike’s coffee cup from the carafe on her coffee table.

“What time did you call him?”

“It must have been close to nine. I could hear someone announcing that the park was about to close over the loudspeakers.”

“And what time did you enter the park?”

Hannah shrugged. “It was probably after nine-thirty, but I didn’t check the time.”

“I did,” Norman spoke up. “The clock on my dash read nine-fifty when we got out of the car. It’s five minutes fast.”

“So you’re not late to work?” Mike asked.

“That’s right. You do the same thing?”

“You bet.”

Hannah wasn’t interested in a discussion of tardiness in the workplace and she cut them off by asking Mike a question. “Was Larry shot?”

“We’re waiting for a final determination from the coroner.”

“Doc Knight couldn’t tell if Larry was shot?” Hannah couldn’t believe her ears.

“Of course he could tell.” Mike turned to Norman who was sitting next to Hannah on the couch. “Describe everything you saw when you entered the park.”

“Well…the music and the main lights were off. Only the dim lights they use at night were on. The gate was closed, but it was unlocked and that’s how we got in.”

“Did you see or hear anyone?”

Both Hannah and Norman shook their heads.

“No one,” Hannah said.

“I guess someone could have been hiding in one of the shops or tents,” Norman qualified it, “but we didn’t actually see anyone.”

“No noises that might have led you to believe that someone else was in the park with you?”

“No,” Hannah answered that question. “Of course the wind was blowing and that might have masked any sounds.”

“Did you notice any footprints outside the trailer?”

“No,” Norman answered the question. “The wind had blown most of the snow away from the steps and the pathway.”

“Hannah?”

Mike turned to her and Hannah shook her head. “If there were footprints, we didn’t notice them.”

“Okay.” Mike jotted something in his notebook. “All right, Hannah. Describe everything you saw when you entered the trailer. I’m interested in your first impressions.”

“Norman stepped in and I followed him. The second I stepped in the door, I thought something was wrong.”

“Why?”

“There was no reason, not really. I hadn’t noticed the television screen yet, and I didn’t see Larry’s body until later.”

“But your slay-dar was working overtime?” Mike asked.

“I guess you could say that.” Hannah smiled slightly, not really minding Mike’s use of the word Norman had coined a few months ago to describe her affinity for finding murder victims. “When I first stepped inside, I looked to the left and I saw an envelope on the table next to the doorway. It had my name written on the outside and…uh-oh!”

“What’s wrong?” Norman asked when Hannah fell suddenly silent.

“It’s just…When I saw my name, I assumed it was the check and receipt that Larry had promised to give me. I picked it up and put it in my purse, and that means I removed something from the crime scene!”

“You removed something from a place you didn’t know was a crime scene,” Norman corrected her.

“That’s right,” Mike said. “Do you still have the envelope?”

“Yes. Do you want it?” When Mike nodded, Hannah went to get the envelope out of her purse. “Here,” she said, handing it to him.

Mike opened the envelope and took out the papers inside. “It’s a check made out to The Cookie Jar, and a receipt for the cookies you delivered.”

“That’s what I thought it was. Do you need to keep it for evidence?” Hannah asked.

Mike thought about it for a moment and then he shook his head. “Not if it was just sitting on the table. I can’t imagine any way this envelope could relate to the killer, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a copy of it for the file.”

“Would it work if I scanned the envelope and the contents?” Norman asked. “That way Hannah can deposit the check tomorrow.”

“That’ll do,” Mike said, turning to Hannah as Norman went to use her computer. “What did you see next?”

“The holes in the television screen. And then the half-full bottle of brandy and the nearly-empty snifter on the coffee table. I remember thinking that Larry might have had one too many and shot his own television screen.”

“But you still didn’t know that Larry was dead?”

“No. Not then. I remember saying that I didn’t like the way things looked, and Norman agreed with me. But then he said something about his father getting so mad when they preempted his favorite program that he threw a glass at his television set.”

“And that reassured you?”

“Not really. I still had the feeling that something was wrong. That’s when I turned around to look at the whole room and I saw Larry on the floor.”

“And that’s when Norman called me?”

“Not quite yet. First Norman went over to feel for a pulse and then he called you.”

“Okay. Thanks, Hannah.” Mike began to jot things down in his notebook again.

“Coffee?” Hannah asked him. “It should be ready by now.”

“Sure.”

Hannah went off to get the coffee, leaving Mike to his notes and Norman to print out the scans. By the time she came back into the living room, Norman was handing Mike the prints he’d made.

“You still haven’t told us if Larry was shot,” Norman reminded Mike.

“You wouldn’t need to ask if you’d turned the body over. Thanks for not doing that. It makes our job easier if the victim’s body hasn’t been moved.”

Hannah waited for the answer to Norman’s query, but it wasn’t forthcoming. It probably wouldn’t be. She knew Mike well enough to predict that he’d give them as little information about the murder as possible. It was always a trade-off with Mike. If she tossed him a piece of information that he wanted, he’d feed her scraps about what he knew.

“I wonder if Larry’s unorthodox business practices had anything to do with his murder,” she mused. And then she waited.

Mike turned to her quickly. “What unorthodox business practices?”

“You’ll have to ask Mayor Bascomb about that. He can explain it better than I can. How was Larry killed?”

“That’s confidential.”

“Not for long,” Hannah went into her best argument. “Minnie Holtzmeier’s son is Doc Knight’s night ambulance driver. And he’s fishing buddies with Jake and Kelly on the News at O’Dark-Thirty show. How long do you think it’ll take them to broadcast it on KCOW radio?”

Mike thought about that for a minute and then he sighed. “He was shot through the heart, and I’m guessing it was a small caliber pistol. Maybe a twenty-two, but we won’t know for sure until Doc fishes out the bullet and forensics gets through with it.”

“So the killer shot Larry and the television screen?” Norman asked.

“In that order?” Hannah added her own question.

“That’s probably right,” Mike admitted. “The way I see it, Mr. Jaeger opened the door expecting you, and someone else was there. That someone pulled a gun and Mr. Jaeger was backing up in a futile attempt to get away from his killer when he was shot.”

“How many times?” Hannah asked.

“Only once. Doc Knight found one entrance wound and no exit wound. After Mr. Jaeger fell, the shooter crossed over to the television set and put three bullets in the screen.”

“I wonder why the killer shot the television,” Hannah said.

“We won’t know until we catch him,” Mike said, and then he grinned. “Of course I’ve got my own personal theory.”

“What’s that?” Norman asked.

“He didn’t like the way the game was going. Everybody’s saying it’s a miracle that the Knicks pulled it off.” Mike reached for one of the cookies Hannah had brought to have with their coffee. He took a bite and looked slightly surprised. “Banana?”

“Yes. I’m trying out a new recipe for Banana Chocolate Chip Cookies. Lisa just got it from her cousin, Mary Therese. What do you think?”

“I like them,” Norman replied, finishing the cookie he’d taken when she’d set down the plate. “Banana and chocolate are really good together.”

“You won’t get any argument from me about that!” Mike smiled at Hannah and then he turned back to Norman. “There was a lot of blood. I was just wondering how long it took him to die.”

“How much blood are we talking about?”

“I’d say maybe a quart. The stain on the rug was a little bigger than a basketball. If you spilled a quart of milk it would probably make a spot about that size.”

“Okay…let me figure this out.” Norman said, claiming the pad of paper and pen Hannah always kept on the table next to the phone. “If I remember the lecture on cardiac output correctly, the adult human heart pumps approximately seventy milliliters with each beat. That means it would take roughly fifteen seconds to bleed out a quart.”

Hannah had heard quite enough. This latest topic bordered on the macabre. “Stop right there,” she said, giving both men a stern look. “If you want to eat cookies and talk about dead bodies and quarts of blood, I’m going in my bedroom to watch television.”

“Sorry,” Norman said, looking apologetic.

“I didn’t know you had a television set in your bedroom,” Mike said, not looking in the least bit contrite.

“I don’t. I just wanted you to stop talking about it, that’s all.”

“Okay, we’re through here.” Mike stood up, slipped his notebook in his pocket, and glanced over at her Christmas tree. “Are you going to decorate that? It looks kind of bare with just the lights, especially with those wires on the wall and…what are those wires doing there anyway?”

“Moishe,” Hannah said by way of explanation.

“You’re afraid he’ll tip over the tree?”

“I know he’ll tip over the tree. He’s already done it once…before dawn this morning.”

Mike turned to look at the guilty party who was sitting on the back of the couch washing his face. “It’s time to talk turkey, Big Guy.”

“Don’t say turkey,” Hannah said with a grin. “He knows that word. It’s one of his favorite entrees.”

“Okay, we’ll talk tough. How’s that?” Mike walked around the couch, sat below her errant feline, and lifted Moishe down to his lap. “That’s Mama’s Christmas tree over there in the corner,” he told Moishe, who actually seemed to be listening. “You have to leave it alone. You’ve got your Kitty Kondo to climb. Uncle Norman bought it just for you. The Christmas tree is Mama’s toy. You’ve got all your own toys to play with.”

Moishe looked up at Mike and for several long seconds, they stared at each other. Then Moishe opened his mouth and gave a little yowl.

“Good,” Mike said. “I’m glad you understand. And because you promised to be a good boy, I’m going to bring you a brand new toy the next time I come over.”

Moishe yowled again, and Hannah was willing to testify that he’d understood every word Mike had spoken. Perhaps the cop-to-cat talk had been a success and her Christmas tree would be safe from feline attention.

“Gotta go,” Mike said, giving Moishe a scratch under the chin. “Remember what I said, Big Guy.”

Norman stood up and followed Mike to the door. “I’ll see you out,” he said. “There’s something I need to tell you. It’ll only take a minute or two.”

The men went out and Norman closed the door behind them. That caused Hannah’s curiosity to go on high alert. It wouldn’t be right to listen to their private conversation. That would be snooping. But she thought she saw a smear of dirt on the rug very close to the door. One of them must have stepped in some slush and failed to wipe it off on the mat she kept outside her front door.

Armed with a napkin from the coffee table, Hannah hurried over to blot the rug. She wasn’t quite sure where she’d seen the dirt, but if she blotted the whole area by the door, she couldn’t miss it.

It was simply a coincidence that she could make out every word they spoke. At least that’s what Hannah told herself. She certainly wasn’t trying to overhear their conversation.

“I didn’t exactly accuse your mother of shoplifting,” Mike said.

“I know. Hannah told me.” Norman said. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m almost positive Mother paid for all those things she bought at the mall. I’ll check on it when the bills come in. I always go over there and help her with her online banking.”

“That’s good enough for me. I was just worried when I saw all those shoes. I mean…why would your mother buy six pairs of shoes?”

“Because she’s dating someone and she’s trying to impress him,” Norman explained. “She probably bought a lot of new dresses, too.”

“So who’s the lucky guy?”

“We don’t know. They were in a booth at Sally’s with the curtains drawn and all we could see was their feet.”

Mike laughed and Hannah noted he sounded amused. “What did you do? Crawl around on the floor?”

“No, Hannah dropped her purse. We had to kneel down to pick up the things that fell out.”

“That’s a good one. I’ll have to remember she does that the next time I’m in one of those curtained booths.”

Hannah began to frown. The next time? That meant Mike had been in one of Sally’s curtained booths before!

“Anyway, now I know why Mother’s been too busy to go out to dinner with me lately.”

“Do you think it’s serious?”

“I don’t know. Hannah does.”

“Why does Hannah think it’s serious?”

“Because she saw the waitresses deliver a bottle of champagne to their booth. And Mother was wearing red sandals with really high heels.”

“Hmmm.” Mike was silent for a moment. “Hannah’s probably right,” he concluded. “How about you? Are you okay with that?”

“I’m fine just as long as he’s not after her money. You always hear these stories about good looking guys cheating widows out of their retirement money. And look what happened to Hannah’s mother. Delores almost got caught in a scheme like that.”

“True. So what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to try to find out who the guy is. We were going to drive past Mother’s house and take down his license number if we saw his car. But then we found Larry’s body and you said you needed to take our statements, so we came straight here.”

“I’ll take a run past your mother’s on my way back to the station,” Mike offered.

“But it’s out of your way.”

“So what? You’re a friend and I like your mother. I wouldn’t want to see anyone take advantage of her.”

Hannah backed away from the door and began to clear the table. Norman would probably be in any second and she didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping. But all the while she was carrying in coffee cups and stashing them in the dishwasher, she was wondering when Mike had been in a curtained booth at the Lake Eden Inn, and who his dinner companion had been.

BANANA CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.,

rack in the middle position.

2 sticks (1 cup, 1/2 pound) softened butter 1 and 1/2 cups powdered (confectioners) sugar 1/2 teaspoon lemon extract

1/2 cup mashed banana (1 medium)

1 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 cups flour (pack it down when you measure it)

6-ounce package semi-sweet mini chocolate chips (that’s one cup)

Hannah’s Note: This is a lot easier to do with an electric mixer.

Beat the softened butter and the powdered sugar together until they look light and creamy. There’s no need to sift the powdered sugar unless it’s got big lumps. If you do end up sifting it, make sure you pack it down in the cup when you measure it.

Add a half-teaspoon of lemon extract and mix it in.

Peel the banana and break it into chunks. Mix them in until they’re thoroughly mashed and the powdered sugar and butter mixture is smooth again.

Sprinkle in the baking powder and salt, and mix them in thoroughly.

Add the flour in half-cup increments, mixing after each addition. When the cookie dough is thoroughly mixed, take the bowl from the mixer and set it on the counter.

Mix in the chocolate chips by hand. You’ll want them as evenly distributed as possible.

Line your cookie sheets with foil and spray the foil lightly with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray.

Use a teaspoon to drop cookie dough 2 inches apart on the cookie sheets, no more than 12 cookies to a sheet. (I used a 2-teaspoon size cookie scoop to make small cookies. I’ve also used a 2-Tablespoon size cookie scoop to make larger cookies.)

Use a metal spatula or the palm of your impeccably clean hand to flatten the cookies.

Bake the cookies at 400 degrees F. for 8 to 10 minutes, or until they’re golden on top. Remove them from the oven and let them sit on the cookie sheet for 2 minutes. Then pull the foil off and transfer cookies, foil and all, to a wire rack to cool completely.

Yield: Makes approximately 3 dozen large or 5 dozen small cookies.

Mary Therese’s Hint: (She wrote it out on the recipe card she sent to Lisa.) Be sure the butter is soft. I leave it out overnight. If you like bananas, you can use 2 medium bananas mashed, but you may have to add a little more flour.

Chapter Sixteen

When the alarm went off at four in the morning, Hannah sat up and rubbed her eyes. It had been an uneasy night filled with images of Larry prone on the rug at Elf Headquarters haunting her sleep. She hadn’t really liked him all that much, but he hadn’t deserved to be murdered.

It was time to get up, get dressed, drink all the coffee in the pot to wake up enough to drive, and go to The Cookie Jar to bake a zillion cookies. Once people heard that Larry Jaeger had been murdered and that she’d been there with Norman to discover his body, The Cookie Jar would be packed with curious customers.

Hannah thrust her feet into slippers and headed straight for the kitchen. A cup of coffee would perk her right up and get rid of that not-enough-sleep syndrome that usually plagued her in the morning. This morning it was even more severe than usual, perhaps because she’d stayed up until almost eleven with Norman, trimming her Christmas tree.

She was halfway down the hall when she heard a thumping from the living room. There was also a low rumbling noise that sounded a bit like a growl. At first she was hard-pressed to identify the origin, but as her steps brought her within a few feet of the living room, she heard a series of sounds she’d heard before. It was an ack-ack sound, a bit like the words GI’s in World War II had used to describe anti-aircraft rounds going off in the distance. Except that this sound wasn’t in the distance. It was in her living room. And the ack-ack in question wasn’t coming from military weaponry. It originated deep within her feline’s throat and it was a prelude to a leap, a pounce, and then, at least in Moishe’s mind, the happy crunching of avian bones.

Hannah rounded the corner on the run, just in time to see orange and white fur in motion. Her cat appeared to be leaping straight up near the far corner of the room, and Hannah knew what that meant. It was a death rattle for Great Grandma Elsa’s birds, those lovely red cardinals and snow white doves that were fashioned from…

“Uh-oh!” Hannah groaned. And then, as she caught sight of the carnage that had been wreaked upon her living room rug, she uttered a phrase that would surely have been bleeped on network television. There were white and red feathers everywhere, along with several bird feet that had been fashioned from wire and yarn. Five black beads that had served as bird eyes sat upon her coffee table, and Hannah almost chuckled despite the scene of utter devastation. There were bird’s eyes on her bird’s-eye maple coffee table. That coincidence seemed pretty funny until she remembered that Great-Grandma Elsa had dyed the feathers and handcrafted the cardinals and doves herself. And now her great-great-grandcat, Moishe, had destroyed them.

Hannah turned to look at her feather-seeking missile, but he was no longer in the room. He’d vanished in a puff of cat dander, leaving one white feather floating slowly down to settle on top of the television set.

Cleanup and then coffee? Or coffee and then cleanup? It was no contest for Hannah. She averted her eyes from the avian massacre, turned on her heel, and stepped into the kitchen to get away from it all.

“I heard,” Lisa said as Hannah walked into the kitchen at The Cookie Jar.

“Jake and Kelly?”

Lisa nodded and went to pour Hannah a cup of freshly brewed coffee. She carried it over to the stool Hannah had taken at the stainless steel workstation, and gave a little sigh. “I don’t suppose you got a chance to…”

Before Lisa could finish her question, Hannah reached into her purse, pulled out the envelope, and held it up. “He must have been expecting us, because it was right there on the table next to the door.”

“Thanks,” Lisa said, taking the check and carrying it over to the file she kept for accounts receivable. The concept of accepting a check that had been so close to a murder victim might bother her a bit, but it was clear that it wouldn’t deter her from depositing it.

“What do we have to bake today?” Hannah asked as she sipped her coffee.

“Everything. They’re going to come through the door in droves. But you don’t need to worry. I’ve got a good start on it. How about a little chocolate to get you going?”

“Sounds good to me. What do you have?”

“Chocolate Chip Crunch Cookies, German Chocolate Cake Cookies, Desperation Cookies, and a few Frosting Splatters.

“Frosting Splatters?” Hannah picked up on the cookie name she didn’t recognize. “What are those?”

“They’re something my mother used to make when she had leftover frosting. All you do is take out a splatter of soda crackers, tip it salt-side down, and…”

“Hold it.” Hannah held up her hand. “What’s a splatter?”

“That’s what my Mom called four soda crackers in a sheet. They used to come in the box that way, remember?”

“I do, but I’ve never heard them called a splatter.”

“I think it was Mom’s word, a combination between split because that’s what you do to them before you eat them and platter because they’re flat.”

“Makes sense to me.”

“I don’t think they come in splatters anymore. Or if they do, Florence doesn’t have them down at the Red Owl. The only crackers I could get were individual soda crackers in sleeves, but I’m still calling them splatters.”

“I’d like to try a couple of Frosting Splatters.”

Lisa hurried to the counter and came back with three Frosting Splatters. One was a soda cracker topped with German Chocolate Cake Cookie frosting, another was covered with the Mocha Frosting they used on their Cappuccino Cookies, and the third cracker had the frosting from Chocolate-Covered Cherry Cookies.

“See how the salt cuts the sweetness?” Lisa asked, as Hannah finished the first Frosting Splatter.

“I do. It works perfectly.” Hannah made short work of finishing the other two.

“So you’re all ready for baking?”

“I am.”

“Good. I got talked into something last night and I’m hoping you’ll approve. I said we’d make a dozen Christmas cookies for each family that benefits from Christmas For All.”

“What’s Christmas For All?” Hannah asked.

“It’s a group that provides a family Christmas for kids whose parents can’t afford a celebration. The men dress up like Santa and they deliver food and presents on Christmas Eve.”

“I like that. We should definitely provide cookies.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say when your mother called me last night.”

“My mother called you?”

“That’s right. She said you weren’t home from dinner with Norman yet, so she was calling me. That must have been when you were discovering…uh…Larry.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Anyway, your mother and Carrie are involved.”

Hannah frowned. “They don’t have anything to do with the food, do they?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Thank goodness for that!”

“What do you mean?” Lisa asked.

“Mother cooks only when the restaurants are closed, and she alternates between two entrees, Hawaiian Pot Roast and EZ Lasagna.”

“How about Carrie? Doesn’t she cook either?”

“Carrie cooks. She cooked for Norman until he moved out.”

“Was that one of the reasons Norman moved out?”

“I’m fairly certain it was. Carrie thinks it’s her mission in life to influence people’s diets. And she believes in a low-salt, low-fat, no-taste menu that’s laden with powdered food supplements and rich in exotic vegetables that no one in Lake Eden grows in their gardens.”

“Oh. Well then…maybe it’s good that your mother and Carrie just provide the baskets to carry the food.”

“It’s very good.” Hannah got up from her stool and carried her coffee cup over to the sink. “Let’s get started.”

“Okay. Everybody who comes in is going to ask what you saw when you found Larry’s body.”

“You’ll tell them?” Hannah asked, hoping that Lisa would be the storyteller again this time and that she could hide out in the kitchen.

“I will, but you have to describe everything for me. We can do it while we’re baking. If we don’t get busy and bake at least a hundred dozen cookies this morning, we’re going to run out.”

FROSTING SPLATTERS

Leftover frosting of any type Salted soda crackers in sheets of 4, (if you can find them,) or individual crackers packed in sleeves.

Lay out the crackers salt side down on a cookie sheet, counter, or platter. Spread the unsalted side with frosting.

Yield: Makes as many crackers as you have frosting to top.

Lisa’s Note: Kids love these and so do adults. A few Frosting Splatters might just keep them from digging into the frosted cake until it’s ready to be served.

Chapter Seventeen

There was a knock on the back door and Hannah sighed. “That’s got to be Mother. She listens to KCOW radio when she drives to work in the morning and she’s probably dropping by to accuse me of corrupting Norman.”

“By taking him with you to find murder victims?” Lisa guessed.

“Exactly right. You know how she feels about my affliction.”

“Is that what she calls it?” Lisa giggled and Hannah was reminded again how young her partner was.

“Among other things. It embarrasses her because none of her friends have daughters who stumble across murder victims.”

“She’s not entirely wrong, you know. You do seem to have a knack for it.”

“A knack? Now there’s a word she hasn’t used to describe it.” There was another knock at the door, a little louder this time, and Hannah got up from her stool. “I’d better open the door before she freezes out there.”

“Good morning, dear,” Delores said, as Hannah opened the door and ushered her into the kitchen. There was a smile on her face and Hannah knew instantly that she hadn’t heard about Larry Jaeger. “I just dropped by on my way out to the college.”

“It’s good to see you, Mother. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“I’d love to have a cup of coffee with you. I didn’t have time for breakfast this morning. Do you have any cookies…” Delores stopped speaking as her gaze landed on the baker’s rack that was filled with freshly-baked cookies. “That was a silly question for me to ask. Of course you have cookies!”

“We have Boggles, Raisin Drops, Spicy Dreams, or Orange Julius Cookies,” Lisa told her, naming the cookies on the rack for Delores.

“Orange Julius Cookies? I don’t think I’ve ever tasted those.”

“I know you’ve never tasted them,” Hannah said. “The recipe’s from Andrea’s friend, Kathy Bruns, and this is the first time we’ve baked them.”

Lisa placed two of the cookies on a napkin in front of Delores. “I’m going to get things ready in the coffee shop,” she said, heading for the swinging door that separated the two areas. “It was nice to see you, Mrs. Swensen.”

“Lisa’s always so formal and I’ve known her since she was a baby,” Delores said, once Lisa was out of earshot. “What do I have to do to get her to call me Delores…or Mother?”

“You could adopt her.”

“Perhaps that would do it,” Delores said with a laugh. “Very good, dear.”

As Hannah filled her mother’s coffee mug, she thought about her choices. She could wait until Delores heard about Larry’s murder on the radio, or she could take the bull by the horns and blurt it out now. Either way would result in upsetting her mother, but she might be a bit less upset if she heard it straight from the horse’s mouth.

“I guess you haven’t heard about Larry Jaeger,” Hannah said, placing the coffee in front of her mother and jumping into what could be the frigid waters of motherly displeasure with both feet.

“What about Larry Jaeger?”

“Someone murdered him last night.” Hannah waited for her mother’s predictable gasp. Once that occurred, she was about to go on when she had a brilliant idea. Although she’d been the one to spot Larry on the floor, Norman had actually discovered that he had no pulse and was dead. “Norman discovered him dead on the floor of his trailer.”

“Norman?!” Delores stared at her daughter open-mouthed. “You said Norman found Larry’s dead body?”

“That’s right. We had dinner at the Inn last night and then we dropped by the Crazy Elf to pick up a check for the cookies I delivered yesterday afternoon. It was all arranged ahead of time and Larry left the gate open for us. When he didn’t answer our knocks at Elf Headquarters, we thought he might be somewhere else in the park and we decided to wait for him inside. Norman opened the door to the trailer and he found Larry dead on the floor.”

“Poor Norman!” Delores sighed and shook her head. “It must have been awful for him.”

“He didn’t seem to be terribly upset,” Hannah said, pleased at the way this conversation was going. “I’d like to think that it was because I was with him.”

“It’s probably because he’s a dentist,” Delores contradicted her.

“What does being a dentist have to do with it?”

“Think about it, dear. Dentists are used to the sight of blood and other unpleasant things like that. This must have been just another unpleasant episode in a long line of unpleasant episodes for him.” Delores took another sip of her coffee. “Well, I’m glad you told me about it before I heard it from someone else. Does Carrie know?”

“I’m not sure. It was late by the time Mike took our statements. Norman might not have called to tell her last night, but he probably talked to her this morning.”

“No doubt you’re right,” Delores agreed, looking a bit disappointed that she couldn’t break the news to her friend. She took another sip of her coffee and then something shocking must have occurred to her, because Hannah saw her carefully arched brows shoot up toward her perfect coiffure.

“What is it, Mother?”

“I just remembered. I’d better tell Nancy.”

“Nancy?”

“Dr. Love. We’ve gotten to be great friends, dear. I know she’s considerably younger than I am, but we’re involved in a lot of the same things.”

“Like what?” Hannah asked.

“Dorcas Circle, and the Lake Eden Historical Society. She just joined our Regency romance group, and then there’s Christmas For All. That’s where I first met her. It’s an organization for…”

“Lisa told me all about it,” Hannah cut her off before Delores asked her to join.

“Nancy says she considers me the mother she never had.”

Too bad you’re not the mother I never had, Hannah thought, but of course she didn’t say so. She really didn’t mean it. She loved Delores and she respected her as her mother. But it was a very funny comeback and it just about killed her not to say it.

“What’s the matter, dear? You look strained.”

“Nothing, Mother.” Hannah put on a smile.

“Well, I really should see Nancy. She might not have heard about it. It won’t take long, I promise.”

Hannah frowned slightly. Why was her mother assuring her that her visit with Dr. Love wouldn’t take long? Luanne opened Granny’s Attic for business every day, and Delores and Carrie could come in as late as they pleased. Her mother’s time was her own. She could stay out at the college for hours chatting as long as she liked.

“Nancy has office hours from eight to ten every morning, so we should be able to catch her.”

“We?” Hannah asked, zeroing in on the plural.

“Yes, we.” Delores stopped cold and looked very apologetic. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I’m going to need you to follow me out to the college and then bring me back here. I have to leave my car in the parking lot.”

“Why do you have to do that?”

“For Michelle. I’m just so scattered this morning, I forgot to tell you,” she said, by way of apology. “And there’s one other thing. Michelle can stay with you, can’t she, dear? I’m having some painting done.”

“Michelle’s always welcome to stay with me, but I thought she wouldn’t be home until Christmas Eve.”

“That was the original plan, but it’s changed. She’s coming in late this afternoon and she needs to borrow my car. I’m going to park it in the college lot and she’ll pick it up after rehearsal this evening.”

“Why is Michelle coming to the community college?” Hannah asked, struggling to make sense of the disjointed facts she’d learned.

“Because she has a part in the Christmas Follies. Don’t you remember that nice poetry professor telling us about it?”

“He’s not nice,” Hannah said, and then she wished she could take back the words. Her comment was sure to elicit a query from Delores. “Of course I remember,” she said quickly, hoping to throw her mother off the track. “Do you know if Michelle’s in a play? Or is it something else?”

“It’s something else. She’s going to sing.”

“I didn’t know Michelle could sing!” Hannah relaxed slightly. Her mother was off-topic and that was all to the good. She wasn’t in the mood to discuss her former relationship with Bradford Ramsey, the Lothario of poetry professors.

“I’m just so proud of her!” Delores continued. “I’d assumed that she couldn’t sing. You certainly can’t, and Andrea’s never been able to carry a tune. That’s why I told you to whisper the words to the hymns in church. It was embarrassing when you girls tried to sing out loud. Everybody in the pew in front of us turned around to look.”

Hannah remembered her mother’s admonishment about singing out loud in church. Delores had never told them why it was preferable for them to whisper, but now she knew why.

“Your father couldn’t sing a note,” Delores said, smiling fondly at some private memory. “He sounded like a dying bullfrog.”

“Have you ever heard a dying bullfrog?” Hannah couldn’t resist asking.

“Of course not. I was just hypothesizing, dear. In any event, I’m fairly certain that Michelle inherited her vocal talents from me.”

I hope not! Hannah thought, remembering the night her mother and Carrie had entered a Karaoke contest. “Is Michelle part of a group?”

“No, she’s doing a song and dance number from a musical that a Macalester graduate wrote. It’s never been performed before.”

“That’s great,” Hannah said, hoping that Michelle’s number would be a huge success. “I can hardly wait to see it.”

“So will you please follow me out to the college, dear? I know you’re busy and I hate to ask, but I tried calling Carrie several times this morning and she’s not answering her phone.”

Maybe she’s still with Mr. Suede Boots, Hannah thought, but she didn’t say it. There would be plenty of time to tell her mother about Carrie’s romance once they learned the identity of the man she was dating.

“And take some chocolate cookies, will you, dear? Nancy might need the endorphins.”

It only took a moment to scoop up a half-dozen Chocolate Highlander Cookie Bars and stack them in one of The Cookie Jar’s distinctive carryout bags. Then Hannah grabbed her parka, told Lisa she’d be back just as soon as she could, and headed out to her cookie truck to follow her mother.

It was snowing lightly as Hannah turned onto the highway behind her mother’s car. Delores immediately increased her speed, widening the distance between them exponentially, and forcing Hannah to tromp on her accelerator just to keep up. What in the world had gotten into her mother? Delores was usually a careful driver who prided herself on the fact she’d never been in an accident, but that claim could change today. Hannah watched, open-mouthed, as her mother fairly flew down the roadway like a winged rodent emerging from eternal damnation.

There was nothing to do except follow and pick up the pieces if something happened. Hannah pushed her cookie truck to the max and hoped that she wouldn’t get a speeding ticket in her effort to keep her mother in sight.

“Uh-oh!” she groaned, watching helplessly as Delores swerved on a patch of ice. Her father had done most of the driving in bad weather. Did Delores know how to steer out of a skid? Hannah had her answer several heart-pounding seconds later when the heavy sedan Hannah’s father had bought only six months before he died stabilized and resumed a normal course. Hannah managed to avoid that very same patch of ice, and she hoped that her mother’s reaction time was keen this morning. Delores was weaving in and out of traffic, kicking up the light coat of powdered snow that covered the asphalt and sending it airborne to shower against Hannah’s windshield.

There was no way Hannah was going to risk life and limb to keep up with her mother. She slowed to a comfortable pace and made her way to the college, turning in at the parking lot just in time to see her mother exiting her car.

“Wait up!” she called out, pulling into the space next to her mother’s car and jumping out. “Why the big hurry? You took some chances out there on the highway.”

To Delores’s credit, she looked quite contrite. “I know,” she said. “I shouldn’t have driven so fast. It’s just that I was worried about how Nancy would take the news, and I wanted to be the one to tell her.”

Hannah reached in to grab the cookies, locked her truck, and scurried to catch up with her mother. “Why were you so worried about Nancy? Does she know Larry Jaeger?”

“Oh, my yes! You’ve heard her radio program, haven’t you?”

“A few times, yes. I don’t usually listen to talk radio, but she has some good advice to give.”

Delores pulled open the door to Stewart Hall and they stepped inside. She took a moment to take off her gloves and slip them inside her pocket. “You must have heard her mention the Lunatic. She talks about him on almost every show.”

“The Lunatic,” Hannah said with a smile. “The worst husband a girl ever had. He taught Dr. Love everything she knows about what a husband should never do in a marriage.”

“That’s right.”

“She’s really funny when she talks about him.” Hannah recalled several instances when she’d laughed out loud over the stories Dr. Love told on the air. “He’s her ex-husband, isn’t he?”

“He was her ex-husband.”

It didn’t take Hannah more than the time it took to take three steps to draw the obvious conclusion. She stopped cold and grabbed her mother’s arm. “Don’t tell me that the Lunatic is…”

“Lunatic Larry Jaeger,” Delores confirmed it. “And that’s why I want to be the first one to tell her.”

ORANGE JULIUS COOKIES

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.,

rack in the middle position.

2 and 1/4 cups flour (don’t sift—pack it down in the cup)

1/4 teaspoon salt

3/4 teaspoon baking soda

2 sticks (8 ounces, 1/2 pound) softened butter 1/2 cup white (granulated) sugar 1/2 cup brown sugar

1 beaten egg

3 teaspoons grated orange zest (that’s the orange part of the peel)

12-ounce bag white chocolate morsels (2 cups) (I used Nestle’s Premium White Morsels)

Prepare your cookie sheets by spraying them with Pam (or another nonstick cooking spray.) You can also use a parchment-lined cookie sheet if you prefer.

In a large mixing bowl, combine the flour, salt and baking soda. Stir well and set aside.

In another bowl, beat the softened butter, white sugar, and brown sugar.

Add the beaten egg to the bowl with the butter and the sugars. Stir it all up. Then stir in the grated orange zest.

Stir in the flour, salt and baking soda mixture and mix well.

Stir in the white chocolate chips.

Drop by teaspoonfuls on a prepared cookie sheet, 12 cookies to a standard-size sheet. Flatten the cookies in a crisscross pattern with a fork, the way you’d do for peanut butter cookies.

Bake the cookies at 350 degrees F. for 10 to 12 minutes. (Mine took 11 minutes.)

Leave the cookies on the cookie sheet for a minute or two, and then remove them to a wire rack to cool completely.

Yield: 5 to 6 dozen cookies, depending on cookie size.

Hannah’s Note: Delores thinks these cookies taste just like the drinks from the Orange Julius stand at the mall.

Chapter Eighteen

“Delores!” Dr. Love was clearly pleased when she saw who was knocking on her office door. “And Hannah, too! Come in. What brings you out here so early this morning?”

Dr. Love started to rise to greet them, but Delores waved her back down to her chair. “You’d better sit down, Nancy,” she said. “I have some bad news for you.”

Hannah saw Dr. Love’s posture stiffen. It was clear she was bracing herself. “What is it?” she asked.

“Larry Jaeger is dead. Someone murdered him last night.”

There was a moment of disbelief. Hannah could see it on Dr. Love’s face. And then an expression replaced it, an expression that Hannah didn’t understand, but could only be described as profound relief.

“Well, that saves me a whole lot of trouble!” Dr. Love said.

There was a moment of absolute silence. Both Hannah and Delores were at a loss for words.

“I…don’t understand,” Delores ventured at last.

“Of course you don’t.” Dr. Love gestured. “Sit. You probably think I’m in shock.”

That’s exactly what Hannah thought. She exchanged a glance with her mother, who made a gesture with her hands. Hannah interpreted instantly and she set the bag of cookies on Dr. Love’s desk.

“Chocolate?” Dr. Love asked with a small smile.

Hannah nodded. “Endorphins. Mother thought they might help if you were upset.”

“How sweet!” Dr. Love smiled at Delores and then she turned back to Hannah. “Do you really believe that chocolate is a cure for anxiety, grief, and depression?”

“Maybe not, but it can’t hurt,” Hannah said, turning to her mother. It was time for Delores to take the lead in the conversation.

Delores caught on immediately. It was time to open the Larry Jaeger discussion. “I’m so sorry about your ex-husband,” she said, reaching out to pat her friend’s hand.

“He’s not. He’s not my ex-husband.”

“You mean you weren’t married to Larry Jaeger?” Hannah asked, slipping easily into question mode.

“Oh, I was!” Dr. Love reached for a cookie. “And I’m still married to him…or at least I was married to him right up until the moment he died. You see, we never divorced.”

“Because you couldn’t stop loving him?” Delores asked, sensing a romantic tragedy in the making.

“No, it’s because I couldn’t find him. I wanted to divorce him fifteen years ago, right after he left me high and dry, but I needed his address to serve him with papers.”

“How awful for you!” Delores breathed.

“It wasn’t one of the happier times of my life,” Dr. Love agreed. “Since I was only months from graduating from college and I didn’t have the money for a quickie divorce in another state, I simply let it go. I always thought Larry would turn up somewhere and I’d hear about it, and then I’d serve him with papers and divorce him.”

“But what if you’d met someone else you wanted to marry?” Delores posed a dilemma.

Dr. Love gave a little shrug. “Then I would have been forced to do something. But I didn’t meet anyone I wanted to marry, so there wasn’t any rush to divorce Larry.”

“Did you hear from him during those fifteen years?” Hannah asked.

“Never.”

“No calls? No letters? No e-mail?”

“Nothing. It was like he’d dropped off the face of the earth.”

“And he didn’t tell you where he was going?” Delores asked.

“I didn’t even know he was going! It was a total shock to me. We were having trouble in our marriage, but I didn’t expect him to vanish.”

“What kind of trouble?” Delores asked her.

“What kind do you want?” Dr. Love gave a rueful chuckle. “He was dishonest, disloyal, and he couldn’t hold down a job.”

“That must have been frustrating for you,” Hannah said.

“It was. I was working part time as a secretary at the college and taking a full load of classes. Whenever Larry got fired, I’d have to increase my hours so we could pay the rent. And then there was Brenda.”

“Brenda?” both Hannah and Delores asked at once.

“Brenda lived in the apartment next door. She had an inheritance from her grandmother and she didn’t have to work like the rest of us.”

Hannah had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She thought she knew where this story was heading. “So Brenda was home all day?”

“That’s right. I think it all started when Larry lost his job at the carpet store. He told me he went out looking for work every day, but several people I knew said he was spending his afternoons at the Indian Casino with Brenda.”

“Gambling?” Hannah asked, remembering how Larry had kept track of the score of the basketball game while he’d discussed her cookie order and wondering whether he’d bet on the outcome.

“Larry loved to gamble and he was pretty good at it. That was the unfortunate thing. It was a game to him, like playing with Monopoly money, and he started believing that he couldn’t lose.”

“Did Brenda finance his gambling?” Delores asked.

“Yes, but I didn’t know that at the time. All I knew was that when I got home from a three-day graduate seminar on Marriage and the Family at another university and opened our apartment door, every stick of furniture was gone. The only thing that was left was the pink plush teddy bear Larry won for me at a carnival when we were newlyweds. It was sitting on a huge pile of my books in the corner, and there was a note pinned to its chest.”

“What did the note say?” Delores asked, clearly heartsick for her friend.

“It said, I left your clothes in the closet.” Dr. Love gave a little chuckle that sounded bitter to Hannah. “I still get mad when I think about it. And that’s one story about the Lunatic that I’ll never tell on the air.”

“How about Brenda? Did you confront her?” Delores wanted to know.

“I couldn’t. Brenda was gone, too. No one had actually seen her leave with Larry, but it was the logical conclusion.”

“So what did you do?” Hannah asked the follow-up question.

“What could I do? I coped. My friends helped me out with the extra furniture they had, and my landlord was understanding about the rent. I worked overtime at the college and after a month or two, I managed to replace all the essential items Larry took with him, including the money in our joint checking account.”

“He took the furniture and all the money?” It was clear from the tone of Delores’s question that she was fuming over Larry’s actions.

Hannah wasn’t surprised when Dr. Love nodded. She’d only met Larry briefly, but he’d struck her as the type of man who put himself first and rarely gave a passing thought to the feelings of others.

“When I found out he was in Lake Eden, I made an appointment with a lawyer. And that’s why I’m relieved that Larry’s dead,” Dr. Love stated in no uncertain terms. “The killer saved me lawyer’s fees, time in court, the airing of our dirty laundry in public, and the necessity of seeing Larry again. It’s not nice to say, but I’m glad he’s dead!” She stopped and gave each of them a searching look. “I hope you’re not too shocked with me.”

Delores reached out to pat her hand again. “Good heavens, no! I’m not one bit shocked after what you’ve told us.”

“Hannah?”

Dr. Love turned to her and Hannah said the first thing that popped into her head. “I’d be shocked if you didn’t feel that way. I don’t blame you for being glad he’s dead. You must have hated him for all the trouble he caused, and I can certainly understand why you wanted him out of your life for good.”

There was a moment of silence when her words echoed back to her. Glad he’s dead. Hated him for all the trouble he caused. Wanted him out of your life for good. And then Hannah stopped and stared at Dr. Love hard.

“What is it?” Delores asked, acknowledging the worried expression on her daughter’s face.

“This isn’t good,” Hannah said, her eyes locked with Dr. Love’s. “I wouldn’t tell anyone else what you just told us, not unless you have an airtight alibi for the time of Larry’s death.”

“Hannah!” Delores looked shocked at the implication. “Surely you don’t think that…”

Hannah interrupted her mother’s question with a look. “Of course we don’t, but someone else might.”

“Someone like Mike?”

“Yes.” Hannah turned back to Dr. Love. “Do you have an alibi?”

“I don’t know. What time was Larry killed?”

“Sometime after I called him at a little before nine and when Norman and I got there at nine forty-five.”

“Between nine and nine forty-five,” Dr. Love repeated and as they watched, her face turned pale and she swallowed with difficulty. “This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all.”

“You don’t have an alibi?” Hannah asked, fearing the worst.

“I’m afraid not. I was home alone from eight o’clock on, grading term papers.”

Of course she’d promised to help clear Dr. Love and Delores seemed relieved as they walked down the hall. Hannah was about to push open the heavy outer door when it opened from the other side and a woman dressed in a heavy parka and a ski cap pulled down low over her ears rushed in.

“Hello, you two,” the woman said, pulling off her cap to reveal her features. “Were you looking for me so that you could turn in your homework?”

Hannah laughed. “Not exactly, Miss Whiting. I followed Mother here so she could drop off her car for my youngest sister. She goes to Macalister and she’s in the Christmas Follies.”

“How nice.” Miss Whiting dismissed that bit of information quickly and turned to Delores. “Tell me, have you discovered the bad business practice on the handout I gave you?”

“We think we have. If we’re right, it has to do with paying for supplies in cash and recording higher prices than were actually paid on supplier receipts.”

“That is correct,” Miss Whiting frowned slightly, “but you sound as if you had help. This was intended as an individual homework assignment.”

Her mother looked a bit deflated and Hannah stepped in. “My mother and I discussed it, Miss Whiting. And several other people in the shop were interested, including my partner and Mayor Bascomb. I believe you met him?”

“Oh, yes. Mayor Bascomb. What a charming man.” A smile flickered across Miss Whiting’s face. “Don’t tell me it took all four of you to unravel my little puzzle!”

“It took five,” Hannah corrected her, “and we weren’t completely sure we had the correct answer. You dish out some hard homework, Miss Whiting.”

“It’s my job to keep you on your toes and my duty to keep you from being cheated by people who employ nefarious business practices.”

Delores cleared her throat. “Yes…well…thank you, Miss Whiting. And we’ll see you in class on Monday evening.”

“Yes, indeed you will. I haven’t missed a class since I arrived here as a visiting professor three months ago.”

Hannah waited until they had exited the building and then she turned to her mother. “Miss Whiting’s an odd duck.”

“Perhaps, but she’s an excellent teacher.” Delores headed toward the parking lot and then she turned back to Hannah with a frown. “I just saw something else odd…I think.”

“What was it?” Hannah moved a little faster to keep pace with her mother.

“I thought I saw a student jump off the edge of the parking lot!”

“Where?”

“At the far end. Right over there by that big pine tree. It looked exactly as if he were on the end of a diving board and he dove off into space.”

“Have you seen any programs about lemmings on the animal channel lately?”

Delores turned to give her a stern look, but the corners of her lips twitched up. “Very funny, dear.”

“Don’t worry, Mother. Midterms are over and the students have no reason to commit suicide in hordes. Your eyes must be playing tricks on you. I notice that you’re not wearing your glasses.”

“They’re for reading, not distance. And this was in the distance, dear. It was right over…” Delores pointed and then she gasped. “There goes another one over the edge! You’re wrong, Hannah! They’re jumping off like lemmings!”

Hannah looked where her mother was pointing. Delores was right. Another student was hurtling off the edge of the parking lot and disappearing into thin air. “Wait here. I’ll see if I can find out what’s going on.”

It didn’t take Hannah long to discover exactly what phenomenon was occurring. It wasn’t an illusion at all. The students really were jumping off the edge of the parking lot, or very close to it. Three or four feet beyond the asphalt was the crest of a steep hill. A rack of stiff plastic sheets sat next to the precipice with a sign that read, Take a Slider Made by the Lake Eden Community College Shop Class. Ride and Return Please.

Hannah watched as a girl in a parka grabbed a green plastic Slider from the rack. It had a handle at the top that was fashioned of plastic rope and the rest was simply a sheet of industrial plastic. The girl grabbed the handholds on either side, held the sheet against her chest, and raced to the crest of the hill to throw herself over on her stomach.

“Want to try one?” the girl’s companion, a student Hannah didn’t think could be any older than twelve, asked her with a grin.

“No, thanks. I think I’m a little old for that type of sledding.”

“You’ll never know unless you try it,” the boy encouraged her, holding out the top slider on the rack, a bright red one.

Hannah wavered. Red was her favorite color, but her mother was waiting. “Maybe later,” she said, giving him a smile and heading back to tell Delores that she wasn’t imagining things after all.

“Colored plastic sheets?” Delores looked amazed as Hannah finished telling her about the Sliders the shop class had made.

“It makes sense. That’s a great sliding hill and the plastic is probably impervious to the elements. I had a plastic disk when I was a kid, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but I took it away.”

Hannah started her cookie truck and turned to look at her mother. “Why did you do that?”

“Because it made you sick. You never were any good with things that whirled around.”

Hannah had a flashback to the Tilt-A-Whirl at the last county fair and shivered slightly. “You’re right,” she said. “The Sliders don’t whirl, though. I watched and they go straight down the hill.”

“You weren’t any good with sleds that went straight, either. You never could control them. You always ran into trees unless Uncle Ed was with you. Then he took the big blue sled and he did the steering.”

“I’d forgotten all about that!” Hannah said, smiling at the memory. Her Uncle Ed had taken the front seat and she’d ridden behind him with her arms clasped around his waist.

“You loved it and so did your sisters. It’s really too bad Ed never married. He was so good with children, and he should have had some of his own.”

“You’re right,” Hannah said, wondering if someday people might say the same about her.

Delores leaned back in the passenger seat and closed her eyes as Hannah pulled out of the parking lot and headed down the access road to the highway. “I’ve got to rest my eyes, dear. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Why is that, Mother?”

“I kept thinking about Carrie and imagining all sorts of horrid things that could be wrong.”

Hannah frowned. There was no way she could keep her mother in the dark any longer. She had to tell her what they suspected even though they didn’t know the full story. “I think I found out what’s wrong, Mother.”

“You did?” Delores’s eyes flew open. “Tell me!”

“Norman and I think she’s dating.”

“Dating? Carrie?”

“That’s right. We’re almost positive that Carrie and a date were at the Lake Eden Inn last night for dinner.”

As her mother listened, Hannah explained everything that had transpired. And then she ended her account with their dilemma. “But we don’t know who she’s dating yet.”

“Dating.” Delores sounded bemused. “Well, that’s certainly less disastrous than I imagined. We have to identify the man, though. He may not be right for our Carrie.”

“Don’t worry. We will. We’ve even got Mike working on it.”

Delores smiled and reached out to pat Hannah’s arm. “Thank you, dear. You’ve relieved my mind and I feel so much better. I just hope Carrie’s found someone wonderful.”

“So do we, Mother. Why don’t you catch a short nap now? I’ll wake you when we get back to town.”

By the time she reached the highway, her mother was sleeping. Hannah glanced over to make sure she had her seatbelt fastened, and mentally patted herself on the back. Her mother felt much better now that she knew about Carrie’s dinner companion. It was never good to keep secrets from family…unless, of course, they involved Christmas presents.

Chapter Nineteen

“Take a break, Hannah. You look beat,” Lisa said, as she took the last sheet of her friend Nancy’s Chocolate Oatmeal Cookies out of the oven. “We’ve still got at least a half hour before the noon rush starts, and I can answer any questions they ask about last night.”

“Okay.”

“And eat one of Nancy’s cookies. The oatmeal’s nutritious and the chocolate will give you a lift. Besides that, they’re really good.”

“Thanks, I will,” Hannah answered, reaching for one of the cookies she’d wanted to try anyway. She could certainly use a break. The morning had been hectic to say the least. Everyone and their cousin had come in to hear the story of how Norman and Hannah had found Larry’s body. “Call me if you need me. I’ll stay right here in the kitchen.”

Once Lisa had gone back to the coffee shop, Hannah sat down at the stainless steel workstation and pulled out the steno pad she’d come to think of as her personal murder book. So far the pages were blank, but she’d learned quite a bit about Larry Jaeger over the past few days. Some of what she’d learned could mesh with facts she had yet to discover, other tidbits could guide her to questions she needed to ask, and still other facts could give her clues to the identity of the killer.

She started as she always did, with a page listing the suspects. Dr. Love’s name headed the list. After her unhappy marriage to Larry, she might have hated him enough to kill him.

Courtney was next. If Larry’s fiancee suspected that Larry was cheating her out of her investment, she could have killed him in spite. There was also the possibility that she’d found out about his marriage to Dr. Love and the fact they’d never divorced. If Courtney believed that Larry was stringing her along for her money and he never intended to marry her, she could have been so angry, she’d done him in.

There was also Mayor Bascomb. Hannah felt a bit strange writing down his name, but he’d said that he was going to ask Larry about those blank receipts Lisa had signed. While Hannah didn’t think that the mayor would actually pull out a gun and shoot Larry over a bad business deal, it was within the realm of possibility. And if Mayor Bascomb was a suspect because of his business relationship with Larry, then so were the other investors in the Crazy Elf Christmas Tree Lot.

Who were the other investors? Hannah would have to ask the mayor if he’d name names. But what if Mayor Bascomb didn’t know all of Larry’s investors?

Hannah flipped the page and wrote INTERVIEWS at the top in block letters. She’d start with Mayor Bascomb and ask for the names of every investor he knew. Then she’d talk to Luanne and ask her if there had been a list of names on any of the papers that Courtney had given her. It was also possible that the names of the investors could be a matter of public record and she could get them by going to the courthouse. She’d have to find out about that.

Then there was the man with the briefcase she’d seen going into Larry’s trailer the night she’d ridden Santa’s Magic Sleigh with Mike. He could be an investor. He’d reminded her of Earl Flensburg so that’s where she’d start. She’d ask Earl if he had any cousins or relatives that might have had a business meeting with Larry.

Hannah flipped the page again and wrote MOTIVES on the top in block letters. Almost every killing had a motive and she needed to list them. Robbery came first. Larry could have entered his trailer and interrupted a robbery. By now Mike should know if anything had been stolen. The trailer hadn’t looked as if it had been ransacked, but the killer had shot Larry’s giant flat screen television set. Perhaps Larry’s killer had broken in to steal it, but had found it too bulky to take and had been so frustrated, he’d used it for target practice.

Money could be a motive for murder. What if one of Larry’s investors had killed him because the Crazy Elf Christmas Tree Lot wasn’t making the money that Larry had promised? She’d have to find out if the business was showing a profit or not. Local gossip said it wasn’t, but local gossip had been known to be wrong.

Then there was the gambling angle. Players with a gambling addiction didn’t stop gambling when they had no money. They borrowed or stole money to try their luck one more time. She had to find out if Larry had any gambling debts he couldn’t pay. If so, the person he owed could have killed him.

Love was always a motive. Again, the killer could be Larry’s faux fiancee, Courtney, or his legal wife, Dr. Love. It could even be some other woman who’d been spending time with Larry.

Hannah realized she’d come to the bottom of the page and she flipped it over. Suddenly the blank lines of the steno pad seemed endless and she put her head down on the counter of the workstation to rest her eyes. She was so tired she couldn’t think straight. She’d take a little break and concentrate on something to relax her, something pleasant, and something that had nothing to do with Larry or his murder. And then she’d get back to work.

“Hannah?”

She sat up with a jolt as Lisa called her name.

“Wake up, Hannah. Andrea and Tracey are here.”

“Here,” Hannah repeated, lifting her head and blinking several times. “Sorry, Lisa. I didn’t get much sleep last night and I must have drifted off for a minute or two.”

“Try thirty, but that’s not a problem. I’ll get them settled back here with coffee, milk, and cookies, while you duck into the bathroom and splash some water on your face.”

That was exactly what Hannah did. The cold water was refreshing and she felt much more alert as she opened the bathroom door and stepped into the kitchen to greet her sister and her oldest niece.

Both Andrea and Tracey were dressed beautifully, but Hannah had expected no less. Her sister had always been fashion model material and today was no exception. Andrea’s shining blond hair was perfectly styled in an elaborate twist that must have taken her hours to perfect, her makeup was flawless, and her dark blue wool suit was exquisitely cut to highlight her perfect figure.

Tracey was a chip off the old block, or in this case, a child model in the making. She wore a quilted lavender and white sweat suit with a lavender ski cap on her head that sported a fluffy white pom-pom on top.

“Hi, Aunt Hannah!” Tracey said, taking off her ski cap and smiling widely to display the gap where one of her front teeth had been. “I lost a baby tooth last night!”

“Did the Tooth Fairy visit?”

“There aren’t any fairies, Aunt Hannah. At least not any real ones. They’re fictional.”

“Do you mean the Tooth Fairy didn’t come into your room while you were sleeping and leave a quarter for your tooth?”

Tracey laughed. “Daddy did that. He thought I was sleeping, but I saw him. He tiptoed in all sneaky-like and left a dollar under my pillow.”

“A whole dollar? Maybe I should write to Tooth Fairy Headquarters and complain. All I ever got was a quarter.”

“That’s inflation, Aunt Hannah. Things cost more now, even baby teeth. I watched a program on television about it.” Tracey turned to her mother. “Is it okay if I go back to the coffee shop and help Aunt Lisa until Grandma McCann comes to get me?”

“Aunt Lisa might not want any help just now, honey.”

“Yes, she does. She said I could come back and wait on customers at the counter if it was okay with you. Besides, I know you and Aunt Hannah want to talk about the Crazy Elf murder.”

“Well…” Andrea paused and glanced at Hannah who gave a slight nod. “Okay then, honey. Just don’t try to pour hot coffee, okay?”

Tracey gave a little sigh. “That’s exactly what Lisa said when I asked her if I could help. I can pour water, can’t I?”

“Yes, if Aunt Lisa wants you to.”

Hannah watched as Tracey picked up her cookie and milk, and headed for the door. Once she’d gone through to the coffee shop, Hannah turned to Andrea. “Tracey knew we wanted to talk about Larry. That’s definitely precocious.”

“And how! And I didn’t say a word to her about it.” Andrea took a sip of her coffee and then she asked, “You’re going after Larry’s killer, aren’t you?”

“Of course. I have to clear Dr. Love.”

Andrea looked bewildered. “What does Dr. Love have to do with Larry’s murder?”

“She was married to Larry, and they never got a divorce.”

“But that’s impossible! Larry was engaged to Courtney!”

Hannah shrugged. “I guess he figured a little thing like being married already shouldn’t stop him.”

“No wonder someone shot him!” Andrea nibbled at her cookie. “I like these, Hannah. What are they called?”

“Chocolate Oatmeal Cookies.”

“Oatmeal?” Andrea gave a delicate little shudder, and Hannah knew she’d made a mistake by telling her. Ever since childhood, Andrea had hated oatmeal.

“It’s really rolled oats,” she explained, hoping that her sister wouldn’t know that was a term for uncooked oatmeal.

“Rolled oats, but not oatmeal?”

“That’s right.”

“And they’re different things?”

“Yes, they are.”

“That must be why I like them. I hate oatmeal, but rolled oats taste just fine.”

It was time to change the subject before more questions about oats were forthcoming. The list of Crazy Elf investors should do it. “I need your help, Andrea,” she said.

“What do you want me to do?”

Promise me you’ll never compare the definitions of oatmeal and rolled oats, Hannah thought, but instead of replying with something that would surely cause a sisterly fissure, she said, “I need to find out who invested money in Larry’s Christmas tree lot. Do you have any idea how I can do that?”

“I’m going to the bank at noon to talk to Doug about setting up a college fund for the girls. I’ll ask him if investors have to file any sort of paperwork.”

“Private investors,” Hannah reminded her. “I don’t think Larry ever went public.”

“You’re probably right. He was too small time for that. And if Doug doesn’t know anything, I’ll talk to Al when he comes back from lunch.” Andrea reached for another cookie and took a bite. “What do you need from Bill?” she asked.

“Crime scene photos aren’t essential. Norman and I were there. I could use the autopsy report and maybe the crime lab sheet. Anything you can get would be good.”

“Then I’ll get it all. How about Larry’s bank records? If he had a lot of money, he could have been killed for that.”

“That’s true.” Hannah thought about possible gambling debts and her theory about failure to pay. “And if he didn’t have much money, he could have been killed for that, too.”

“Huh?” Andrea looked completely bewildered.

“Never mind. It might not even be important. Can you really get Larry’s bank records?”

“I think so. All I have to do is get Bill to ask for them. I think they’ll have to give them to him if he gets a subpoena.”

Hannah thought about that for a minute and then she got up and began to pack candy in a box.

“What are you doing?”

“Packing some of the Chocolate Raspberry Truffles that Lisa made this morning.”

“For me?” Andrea asked, looking hopeful.

“No, for Lydia Gradin. She still works at the bank, doesn’t she?”

“Yes. She got a promotion and now she handles all the special customers. But it won’t do any good to ask her about Larry. Lydia’s a stickler for the rules, and Larry’s bank records are confidential. Lydia won’t give them to you.”

“I don’t need Larry’s bank records. I just need some information about his accounts.”

“She won’t give you that, either.”

“Maybe she will. I think I just figured out a way to get what I need.”

“By bribing her with truffles?”

“That might help, but I’ve got something else to give Lydia that’s even more important.”

Andrea looked dumbfounded. “What could be more important than Chocolate Raspberry Truffles? Lydia’s crazy about truffles.”

“A deposit,” Hannah said, tying a bow on the top of the box and then leading the way to the door.

CHOCOLATE OATMEAL COOKIES

Preheat oven to 325 degrees F.,

rack in the middle position.

1/2 cup softened butter (1 stick, 4 ounces, 1/4 pound)

1 cup white (granulated) sugar 2 one-ounce squares unsweetened chocolate (I used Baker’s)

1 beaten egg (just whip it up in a glass with a fork)

1 teaspoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

3/4 cup flour (pack it down in the cup when you measure it)

1 and 1/2 cups dry oatmeal (either quick cooking or old fashioned will do)

In a large bowl, mix the softened butter and the sugar until it’s fluffy.

Unwrap the squares of unsweetened chocolate and melt them in the microwave according to package directions. Add them to the butter and sugar mixture and mix well.

Feel the bowl. If the mixture is cool enough, add the beaten egg, mixing until it’s thoroughly incorporated.

Mix in the baking powder and the salt.

Add the flour, mixing it in thoroughly.

Mix in the oatmeal and stir until the mixture is completely blended.

Drop by teaspoonfuls onto greased (or sprayed with Pam or other nonstick cooking spray) cookie sheets, 12 cookies to a standard-size sheet. (I used a 2-teaspoon scoop.)

Bake at 325 degrees F. for 13 to 15 minutes or until slightly brown.

Let the cookies cool on the cookie sheet for 2 minutes and then remove them to a wire rack to cool completely.

Nancy says that these cookies are better if they are soft so don’t over-bake them. If you store them in a cookie jar and they get too hard, use Grandma Ingrid’s trick of adding an orange peel or slice of apple to the cookie jar to soften them up.

Yield: Makes about 3 dozen chewy, chocolaty cookies.

Nancy’s Note: If you don’t have the squares of unsweetened chocolate in your pantry, you can substitute 3 Tablespoons of cocoa and 1 Tablespoon vegetable shortening for each square of chocolate needed. Just blend in the shortening with the butter and add the cocoa with the flour.

Chapter Twenty

Hannah spotted Lydia Gradin the moment she walked through the door at Lake Eden First Mercantile Bank. Lydia was hard to miss. Her hair was streaked with bright purple and she was wearing shiny purple leather pants and a matching midriff-hugging top that might have looked stunning on one of Jordan’s High’s cheerleaders, but did nothing to enhance the appearance of a much older, much less shapely woman.

As she gave a wave and settled down in a chair in the lobby to wait until Lydia was free, Hannah wondered, not for the first time, why Lydia felt the need to dress like a teenager. There was no doubt she did so intentionally. Delores had mentioned she’d seen Lydia coming out of Umpteen, a clothing shop in the mall that specialized exclusively in teenage fashions. Hannah’s mother and Lydia had been classmates multiple decades ago, and that meant Lydia had to be Umpteen‘s oldest customer. Was this a case of arrested development? An effort to stop the clock at a happier time in her life? Or just wishful thinking?

Lydia finished with her customer and she motioned to Hannah. As Hannah approached the private cubicles the tellers manned for their customers, she noticed that the purple streaks in Lydia’s dark hair actually looked good. Hannah usually avoided making any comment at all about Lydia’s appearance, heeding the words of Thumper in Bambi when the young rabbit repeated his father’s advice, If you can’t say something nice, don’t say nothing at all. This time, though, Hannah had something nice to say. “Your hair looks good, Lydia,” she said, sitting down in one of the two cushioned chairs in front of Lydia’s desk.

“Thanks, Hannah!” Lydia looked quite surprised. “You don’t mind the purple?”

“I think it goes really well with your natural hair color,” Hannah said, hoping that the rest of Lydia’s hair was her natural color.

“I’ll tell my niece. She spends hours picking out my clothes and trying out new hairstyles on me. She wants to be a beautician when she graduates from high school.”

Hannah gave a fleeting thought to Tracey and Bethie, and decided that an aunt’s love should stop short of outlandish. There was no way she’d let either Tracey or Bethie near her with fashion advice or a bottle of purple hair dye.

“What can I do for you, Hannah?” Lydia asked.

“It’s what I can do for you,” Hannah countered, placing the box on the desktop. “They’re Chocolate Raspberry Truffles.”

Lydia gave what could only be described as a little whimper. “Chocolate Raspberry Truffles. What could be more wonderful? This is really sweet of you, Hannah. How did you know that my birthday’s tomorrow?”

Hannah managed to keep the surprise off her face. “There are no secrets in Lake Eden,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Happy early birthday, Lydia. Why don’t you have a truffle now? They’re something new and I’d love to know what you think of them.”

Lydia opened the box and reached in daintily for a truffle. She took a bite, gave another little groan of pleasure and smiled. Then she popped the other half of the truffle into her mouth and closed her eyes in bliss. “Perfect,” she said.

“Oh, good. Do you think we should sell them at The Cookie Jar over Christmas?”

“Definitely. I’ll be first in line. Thank you for the best birthday present ever, Hannah.”

“You’re welcome.”

Lydia wiped her fingers on a tissue from the dispenser on her desk and went into customer service mode. “May I help you with any banking needs today?”

“Actually, yes.” Hannah drew out the check she’d taken back from Lisa’s deposit folder. “Lisa was a little worried about this check, so I said I’d bring it down with me. She thought the account might be closed, or something.”

Lydia glanced at the check, typed in some numbers on her keyboard, and nodded as information came up on her screen. “Lisa is correct to be concerned. This account’s not closed, but I’m glad you brought the check in today because the balance is quite low. Did you want cash, or would you like to deposit it to your business account?”

“We’ll deposit it to The Cookie Jar account.” Hannah waited while Lydia filled out the paperwork and signed where she indicated. “One more thing,” she said.

“Certainly, I’m here to help.” Lydia was all business.

“I believe we have more checks from this same person.” Hannah leaned closer. “They’re in payment for the cookies we provided.”

“I understand. Is there a problem with those checks?”

“I don’t know. I’m hoping you can tell me that. I just glanced at the deposit Lisa planned to make later today, and it seemed to me that the checks from this particular person looked different than the one I just gave you.”

“How were they different?”

“I’ve been trying to remember, but I’m just not sure. They might have been a different color, or a different number, or something like that. All I know is that they didn’t look like the check I just deposited. Could they be drawn on another account?”

Lydia tapped on her keyboard for a few seconds and then she glanced at the screen. “Yes, they could be drawn on another account.”

“Then the person has two accounts here?”

“That is correct.” Lydia reached out for another truffle and this time she popped the whole thing in her mouth. “Wonderful!” she said after she’d savored and swallowed.

“That certainly explains why the checks looked different.” Hannah brought Lydia’s attention back to Larry’s accounts. “Is there any way you can tell me if they’ll bounce if we don’t deposit them today? We’re awfully busy with the Christmas rush and all, but I don’t want anyone to close that second account or put a hold on it, or anything like that.”

“They’d have to go through legal channels to do that and it would take a few days. You’re safe, Hannah. It’s a private account and there’s only one name on the signature card.”

“But what if other people have checks drawn on the same account and they cash them? Could they clean it out before we get a chance to deposit ours?”

Lydia took another truffle and popped it into her mouth as she tapped away on the keyboard. She studied the screen and then she smiled at Hannah. “That’s extremely unlikely, Hannah. The account was opened on November first of this year. Since then there’s a record of frequent deposits, but there have been no withdrawals.”

“So we may have the only checks drawn on that account?”

“That could easily be the case. Would you say the total of the checks you hold is over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?”

“No, of course not.” Hannah’s mind reeled at the prospect. There was no way she could even imagine selling enough cookies to earn a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar check.

“Then take your time about depositing those checks. I’d say you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

Hannah was back in the kitchen adding what she’d learned to her murder book when Lisa came in. “Your mother’s here,” she announced.

“Great. Would you ask her to come back and have coffee with me? I’ve got something I’d like to discuss with her.”

By the time she’d poured two cups of coffee and set out a few Chocolate Raspberry Truffles for her mother to sample, Delores came in through the swinging door from the coffee shop. “Hello, dear,” she said in a cheery voice.

“Hello, Mother. You look as if you got a little rest.”

“I did. Luanne saw how tired I was and she sent me home to take a nap.”

“And you managed to get some sleep,” Hannah said, noticing that the dark smudges under her mother’s eyes were no longer visible.

“I slept for over two hours, dear. Now that I know why Carrie’s so secretive, I don’t have to worry. I know you and Norman will make sure he’s the right sort of man for her. I do wonder who it is, though.”

“So do I,” Hannah confessed.

“Before I forget, here’s something Luanne sent over for you,” Delores set a large envelope on the stainless steel surface of the workstation. “She said to tell you that she made copies of all the papers Courtney gave her because that’s what Miss Whiting taught them to do in accounting class. Luanne thought the papers might be useful in light of Larry’s death.”

“Great. It’s possible they will be. The more information I have about Larry and his business, the better. Thank Luanne for me, will you please?”

“Certainly.”

Hannah pushed the small dish of truffles closer so her mother could take one. “Try one of these truffles, Mother.”

Delores complied and took a dainty bite. One bite was all it took for her to finish the first and reach for a second. “The combination of raspberry and chocolate is divine, dear.”

“I’ll tell Lisa you like them. She goes to a candy exchange every year and Amy Kocias brought these. Lisa liked them so much, she asked for the recipe.”

“I’d like to take two or three with me if that’s all right, dear. Carrie and Luanne are handling Granny’s Attic for the afternoon and I need to go out to the Tri-County Mall for a bit of last-minute Christmas shopping.”

“You do?” Hannah was surprised at that news. Her mother always shopped the January sales for her Christmas presents. Because of her urging, Hannah had tried it once, but she’d placed the presents she’d purchased eleven months early in a nice, safe place and she still hadn’t found them!

“I’m getting an extra present for Michelle. She mentioned that she had to have her boots re-soled and I thought I’d buy her another pair…perhaps something a bit more feminine than the pair she’s wearing now.”

Hannah wisely held her tongue. If she argued with her mother about Michelle’s right to wear the boots she liked, Delores might focus on Hannah’s old moose-hide boots and decide her elder daughter also needed a new, more feminine pair.

“That shouldn’t take me more than an hour,” Delores continued. “And then I’m free for the rest of the afternoon. Is there any way I can help you in your investigation?”

“I’m sure there’s something,” Hannah told her, paging through her steno pad. “How about talking to Dr. Love about a possible alibi again?”

“I’d be glad to do that, but Nancy already told us she was home alone grading term papers.”

“She could still have an alibi. How about phone calls? Did she make or receive any? Did she see anyone walking by on the sidewalk between nine and nine forty-five? Does she remember a noisy truck driving past during that time period? How about a siren she heard on her street? Any of those things could prove she was home and not at the Crazy Elf Christmas Tree Lot.”

“Very good, dear! I’ll ask all those questions and see if we can place her firmly at home and not at the murder scene.”

“That’s exactly right, Mother. Good for you! You caught on to the concept right away.”

Delores looked pleased at Hannah’s praise. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Hannah glanced down at her book again. “There is one more thing.”

“Anything, dear. I wouldn’t mind doing some undercover work again. I had so much fun the last time!”

“I think you could call this undercover,” Hannah said, attempting to think of a way to put a covert spin on what she was about to ask her mother to do. “I need you to question Earl Flensburg.”

“Earl? You don’t think he’s a suspect, do you?”

“He’s here on my suspect list.” Hannah tapped her notebook.

“But why?”

“When Mike and I were riding on Santa’s Magic Sleigh the night before Larry was killed, I saw someone who looked just like Earl going into Larry’s trailer with a briefcase. And when Larry talked to us earlier, he said he had a business meeting in a few minutes.”

“Earl? Going to a business meeting with a briefcase?” Delores looked as if she couldn’t believe what Hannah had just told her. “I can’t picture Earl at a business meeting, not unless one of the executives needed a car towed. And the only thing I’ve ever seen Earl carry with him is his lunch. It must have been someone else, dear…someone that merely looked like Earl.”

“Maybe. It’s something we have to check out. I thought because you went to school with Earl, you might be able to coax more information out of him than I could. I want you to be an investigator going undercover as an old friend.”

“Oh! Well…that’s intriguing, dear. I’m sure I could do it. Exactly what do you want to know?”

Hannah ticked off her concerns on her fingers. “I need to know if the man I saw that night was Earl. And if it was, I need to find out if Earl was one of Larry’s investors. If Earl says he wasn’t anywhere near the Crazy Elf Christmas Tree Lot, ask him about any lookalike cousins that live around here.”

“Lookalike cousins,” Delores sounded excited at the prospect of identifying Flensburg progeny that resembled Earl. “That’s an excellent suggestion, dear. Earl’s father was a twin, and if I’m not mistaken, he married Earl’s mother’s sister. If they had children and they’re still in the area, they could resemble Earl.”

“So you’ll ask him?”

“Yes, indeed.” Delores thought for a moment. “I think I’ll ask Earl where he was at the time of the murder.”

“You think Earl killed Larry?” Hannah was shocked. Earl Flensburg was one of her mother’s oldest friends.

“Of course not, but we should alibi him anyway.”

“That’s true.”

“It should be easy for me to find out. Earl never could lie to me. When I asked him if he drew that awful picture of our sixth grade teacher on the blackboard, he admitted that he was the guilty party.”

“Did you tell on him?” Hannah asked, not even noticing that she’d slipped back to grade school vernacular.

“Of course not! I didn’t tell a soul.”

“Because Earl’s friendship was important to you?”

“Yes, but not entirely. To tell the truth, I couldn’t stand our sixth grade teacher either.”

CHOCOLATE RASPBERRY TRUFFLES

Hannah’s Note: Amy told Lisa that this recipe’s so easy, she almost hates to call it a recipe. But everyone just adores these truffles. Lisa told me she’s going to try it with white chocolate and raspberry, or maybe white chocolate and peach, or white chocolate and some other jam or jelly. Since it’s white chocolate, she’ll roll her truffles in powdered sugar rather than cocoa.

6 ounces (1 cup) semi-sweet chocolate chips

2 Tablespoons (1/8 cup) seedless raspberry jam Cocoa powder to coat truffles

In the top part of a double boiler over simmering water, melt the cup of chocolate chips with the raspberry jam. Stir occasionally. Heat until the mixture is of a fudge-like consistency, similar to the inside of a chocolate truffle.

Let the mixture cool on a cold burner and then shape it into truffle-sized balls with your fingers. It’s best to roll them fairly small because they are VERY rich.

Roll the balls in cocoa powder and store them in a covered container in the refrigerator.

These Chocolate Raspberry Truffles are best served at room temperature. Take them out of the refrigerator thirty minutes before you plan to serve them.

Yield: 18 sinfully delicious truffles, depending on the size you roll them.

Hannah’s Note: Lisa and I tried refrigerating the truffles without rolling them in cocoa. We melted some chocolate, pierced the cold truffles with a food pick, dipped them quickly in melted chocolate and then placed them on waxed paper to harden. They were fantastic! Lisa also suggested a couple of alternatives including rolling the truffles in shredded coconut, or in finely chopped nuts.

Chapter Twenty-One

“Busy?” Hannah asked, as Lisa came through the swinging door with a display cookie jar in her hand and headed for the baker’s rack to fill it.

“And how! Andrea’s out there covering for me while I get more cookies. I’ll send her back here in a couple of minutes.”

“Great.” Hannah sliced the apples she’d peeled and spread them out in the bottom of a cake pan she’d sprayed with nonstick cooking spray.

“What are you making?” Lisa asked her, filling another cookie jar from the extras lined up on the counter next to the baker’s rack.

“Dixie Lee’s German Apple Cake.”

“I love that cake! It smells so good while it’s baking.”

“I know. After that, I’m going to mix up more cookies. What questions are people asking about the murder?”

“Mostly they want to know about the holes in the flat screen,” Lisa said, giving a little shrug. “I guess there’s something universal about wanting to shoot a television set. And they love your description of how it looked when Norman opened the door to the trailer.”

“How did it look?” Hannah asked. She’d given Lisa a brief description and counted on her partner’s imagination to do the rest.

“It was like the Northern Lights inside the room, that faint kind of glow you see when it’s overcast and there’s something bright glowing and flashing, hidden under the clouds. It was eerie. You weren’t sure if you should enter the trailer or not. And then there was the announcer’s disembodied voice, calling out a play-by-play description of a basketball game with no image there.”

“So what did I do?” Hannah was fascinated. Lisa really had a way with words.

“You took a step inside and just stared at the ragged holes in the mammoth, expensive flat screen. You couldn’t stop staring as the sportscaster went on and on about the Knicks’ chances now that they were finally on a roll. Your eyes dropped to the coffee table and you noticed the nearly-empty brandy bottle. For a brief moment you wondered whether Larry had thrown his glass at the screen, but you decided that a glass hurled as hard as a man could throw couldn’t leave a jagged hole like that. And there were three holes, glowing, flashing, occasionally sparking like fireflies. Should you and Norman look for the remote to shut it off? Or should you take the chance that the whole trailer might go up in flames from twisted wires, smoking circuitry, and sparking resistors?”

“What did I decide?” Hannah asked.

“You didn’t get the opportunity to decide. As you turned to pose the question to Norman, you saw a huddled figure on the floor, a man curled into semi-fetal position. His hands were splayed out as if he were trying to ward off the devil himself, and a glossy puddle of his lifeblood had gathered around him.”

“Yuck!”

“Oh, I know. But they love it, Hannah.”

“I’m sure they do. Go on, Lisa.”

“At first all you could do was hold out one quaking hand. Tremors shook your whole body as you gestured toward the unmoving form you hoped and prayed was merely an apparition. Then, after you’d swallowed several times to ease your parched throat, you managed to croak out one word.”

“Which was?”

“Look! you uttered, your voice trembling like a stalk of grain in a tornado. And then you took a deep bracing breath and uttered two more words. There! Look!”

“Bravo!” Hannah clapped her hands together. “You’re really good at this, Lisa. I think the Lake Eden Players have dropped the ball by not snagging you as their leading lady.”

“Thanks,” Lisa said, blushing. “I’d better get back and let Andrea come in. She says she has news for you.”

Hannah had no sooner covered the apple slices with the batter she’d mixed up earlier and slipped the pan into the oven than Andrea fairly flew through the door.

“Oh, boy!” she said pouring herself a cup of coffee before Hannah could do it. “It’s a zoo out there!”

“Lots of questions about the crime scene?”

“Yes, but they don’t dare talk to me about it, being that I’m the sheriff’s wife and all. The only question anyone asked me was when Lisa was coming back.”

“Lisa’s got quite a story to tell,” Hannah said, pouring her own coffee and taking a seat at the workstation across from her sister.

“That’s what everyone said. Bertie pulled me aside and told me it was simply hair-raising.”

“Hair-raising is something she’s qualified to talk about,” Hannah said with a laugh, referring to the fact that Bertie Straub owned the local beauty parlor, the Cut ‘n Curl.

“What do you have to eat?” Andrea asked. “I didn’t have time for lunch.”

“I could make you a sandwich. There’s tuna in the pantry.”

“No, thanks. I’m really in the mood for something sweet.”

“Then help yourself to anything on the baker’s rack. I’d offer you some apple cake, but it won’t come out of the oven for almost an hour, and it has to cool before I frost it.”

“Cookies will be fine.” Andrea walked over to take a look and gave a little sigh of contentment. “Lisa’s Pieces,” she said taking one of the macadamia nut, white chocolate chip cookies. “They’re just about my favorite. And here’s my Pecan Divines. I just love those. And Blueberry Crunch. Those are so good! And just look at these beautiful Cherry Winks with red and green cherries. They’re so nice and Christmassy. I think I’ll have a red one and if I’m still hungry, I’ll come back for a green one.”

Hannah just shook her head as Andrea loaded four cookies on a napkin and carried it to the workstation. Her sister had a perfect figure, but if she kept this up, she’d be eating nothing but salads with low-cal dressing before long. “Did you find out anything for me?” she asked once Andrea had finished her first cookie.

“Yes.” Andrea took a sip of coffee and drew a piece of paper from her pocket. “I wrote it down so I could give you the exact words. I asked Doug about investing and whether there were any records of the people who’d invested in Larry’s business. He said, Larry probably kept records. There should be contracts between the investors and Larry, but I don’t believe it’s necessary to file any legal papers.”

“Okay,” Hannah said. “How about Al? Did you get a chance to talk to him?”

Andrea nodded. “Al said, If they didn’t have a signed contract with Larry, they’re dumber than dumb. And when I asked him if he’d invested with Larry he said, Are you kidding? And then he laughed like crazy.”

“Anything else?” Hannah gave a little sigh.

“Yes. I called Howie Levine and asked him if you had to fill out any paperwork to invest in a private corporation. He said no, but you’d be an idiot if you didn’t get a signed contract clearly stating all the terms.”

“Did he mention whether anyone in town had hired him to draw up such a contract?”

“I asked him that and he told me that information like that was confidential.”

Hannah rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “That sounds like Howie.”

“I know. So I asked him a couple of other legal questions to throw him off the track and then I went in the backdoor.”

“How did you do that?”

“That’s not important. What’s important is that Howie drew up contracts for two businessmen in Lake Eden. One was Mayor Bascomb, but we already knew about him. And the other was Jon Walker.”

Hannah flipped open her notebook and reached for her pen. She was about to add the owner of Lake Eden Neighborhood Pharmacy to her suspect list when she remembered who’d been in the last private booth at the Inn last night when she’d passed by with Norman.

“Aren’t you going to write him down?” Andrea asked her.

“No. Jon and his wife were at the Lake Eden Inn for dinner last night and they were just being served their entrees when Norman and I left.”

“Oh, drat!” Andrea looked very disappointed. “I thought we had another live one.”

“Another live one?”

“Yes! I forgot to tell you. Right before I left the office, Mayor Bascomb came in to see Al. I already knew he’d signed a private contract with Larry when he invested in the Crazy Elf, so I asked him whether he’d visited Stephanie last night and how she was doing in the hospital.”

“Smart,” Hannah said.

“He said Stephanie’s still there and he stayed with her until visiting hours were over. And I promised to go see her tonight and take her something.” Andrea turned and stared at the baker’s rack.

It didn’t take a particle physicist to understand Andrea’s gesture. “I’ll pack up some cookies for you,” Hannah said.

“Anyway, I called the hospital to check on visiting hours and I found out that everyone has to leave at nine. It’s only about ten minutes from the hospital to the park, and that means Mayor Bascomb might not have an alibi for the time of Larry’s murder.”

“Bingo,” Hannah said, flipping to the suspect page again and putting a star by Mayor Bascomb’s name. “I’ll send Mother to see him. She’s fearless.”

“Good! If anybody can intimidate Mayor Bascomb, it’s Mother.” Andrea picked up her last cookie and by the expression on her sister’s face, Hannah knew that if there were a little gauge from Andrea’s mouth down to her stomach, it would be full to the brim. “Can I take this one with me?” she asked.

“Of course. Let me go pack up those cookies for Stephanie.”

Andrea nibbled at her one remaining cookie as Hannah packed a dozen of Lake Eden’s first lady’s favorite Carrot Cake Cookies. By the time she turned back to her sister, the Cherry Wink had disappeared and Andrea was blotting her lips with the napkin.

“I couldn’t help it. They’re so good,” Andrea said by way of explanation. “I’m showing a house at four, but I’m free until then. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Hannah was about to shake her head when she thought of a bit of legwork that Andrea could do quite easily. She pulled out one of the papers that Luanne sent with Delores and referred to it again. “How about dropping by to see Jessica Murphy?”

“She’s not a suspect, is she?”

“No. I just need to know what Larry paid her for those crocheted animals she makes. And I also need to know if he asked Jessica to sign any blank receipts.”

“I can do that. I need to talk to Jessica anyway about finding a bigger place now that they have two children. That house is going to be too small for them really soon now. Anything else I can do?”

Hannah glanced down at the sheet again. “Larry got his Christmas trees from Winnie Henderson’s farm. I need to ask her what he paid and whether she signed any blank receipts.”

“You got it,” Andrea got up from her stool, took the box of cookies Hannah handed her, and headed for the door. “Don’t worry. I won’t eat these cookies. I know they’re really good, but I’ve finally had enough.”

It was almost five in the afternoon when Hannah finished frosting the last apple cake. She was about to carry it to the walk-in cooler to join the others she’d made when Norman came into the kitchen.

“Hi, Hannah,” he greeted her with a smile and came up to give her a hug. But when he was close a worried expression replaced his smile. “You look tired. How about going out for a steak at The Corner Tavern with me?”

Hannah didn’t hesitate. “I’d love to!” she said quickly. “A steak is exactly what I need. Thanks for asking me, Norman.”

“And after the steak, I can help you wrap those presents,” Norman offered. “If you’re not too tired, that is.”

“That would be perfect. We can even have dessert at my place. I want to try out a new bar cookie recipe.”

“Hi, guys!” Andrea breezed into the kitchen wearing a huge smile. “I just sold another house!”

“Congratulations!” Hannah said.

“From me, too,” Norman added. “How about a celebratory steak at The Corner Tavern? Hannah and I are going and we’d love to have you join us.”

Andrea’s smile grew wider, something Hannah hadn’t thought was possible. “That’s just perfect,” she said. “Tracey’s going out to Karen Dunwright’s house for a sleepover, Bethie has a little case of the sniffles so Grandma McCann is putting her to bed early, Bill has to work late, Mother’s having dinner with Dr. Love, and I have absolutely no plans for dinner.”

“You do now,” Norman told her. “Just let me call for a reservation. What time can you leave, Hannah?”

“Now,” Hannah said, glancing at the clock and making an executive decision. “I’ll tell Lisa to lock up right now and leave a little early. Her throat’s probably sore from all those stories she’s been telling about us finding Larry.”

Thirty minutes later, they were sitting in a circular booth at The Corner Tavern, enjoying the chef’s famous Caesar salad. Hannah and Norman had anchovies while Andrea had opted for none. They were just picking up their forks when the owner, Nick Prentiss, came over with a bottle of champagne in a silver bucket.

“I understand congratulations are in order,” he said, popping the cork. And then he turned to Hannah. “Is tonight a special occasion for you and Norman?”

There was dead silence for a moment and then Andrea jumped into the breach. “It certainly is!” she said with a smile. “Hannah and Norman just ordered the porterhouse for two and that’s worthy of a celebration in its own right. But we’re here because I just sold another house this afternoon.”

“Congratulations!” Nick reached out to shake Andrea’s hand and then he leaned closer. “Did you order the garlic bread?”

“Of course. It’s the best in Minnesota.”

“Thank you. And are you having your usual order to go for Sheriff Todd?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Then please let me include a nice half bottle of Chianti with my compliments. It goes so well with the garlic bread. Mayor Bascomb was quite impressed with it last night.”

“Mayor Bascomb was here for dinner?” Hannah asked, suddenly attentive to what Nick was telling them.

“Oh, yes. He drove here right after he visited his wife in the hospital. Such a lovely lady. I hope she recovers soon.”

“So do we,” Norman said, picking up on the questioning as Nick poured their champagne. “None for me please. I’m driving. Do you know what time the mayor arrived here last night?”

“A few minutes after nine. He drove here directly from the hospital.” Nick leaned in a little so people in the neighboring booths couldn’t hear him. “He said he needed a good meal after he saw what they served to his wife in the hospital. Why can’t they cook something good in that place? Sick people need good food.”

“Oh well,” Andrea sighed after Nick had poured champagne and left. “I didn’t really think Mayor Bascomb did it anyway.” She took a sip of her champagne and reached over to give Norman a hug. “Thank you for the celebration.”

“My pleasure. I’m just sorry Bill isn’t here to enjoy it with us.”

“Me, too.” Andrea turned to Hannah. “Do you want to know what I found out from Jessica and Winnie?”

“Yes.” Hannah pulled her steno pad from her purse and flipped it to the proper page. “How about Jessica?”

“Larry paid her ten dollars for each stuffed animal she made and he never had the receipts ready. She signed blank copies and he paid her in cash.”

“So it was a hundred percent profit on Jessica’s toys, and not the twenty-five percent Courtney thought it was!”

“That’s right. Winnie signed blank copies too, and Larry paid her in cash. She gave me her price list and I remember what I paid for my tree. It was a twenty dollar markup over Larry’s cost.”

Norman whistled. “If that’s true across the board, Larry wasn’t losing money after all.”

“He was losing money on paper,” Hannah said, spearing an anchovy with her fork. “Luanne went over the books for Courtney and they showed that Larry was in the red. And there was barely enough to cover the check he gave us for his cookie order in his business account.”

“Hold on,” Norman said. “If Larry was making a profit on everything he sold, where was the money going?”

“To his private account at Lake Eden First Mercantile Bank and probably to accounts at other banks, too.”

“You’re right,” Andrea agreed. “It’s pretty clear that Larry was cooking the books.”

“We suspected that all along, but now we’ve got proof. The next thing we have to do is find out who else proved it.”

“And killed him because of it,” Norman said.

DIXIE LEE’S GERMAN APPLE CAKE

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.,

rack in the middle position.

4 cups peeled and sliced apples (4 or 5 medium size apples)

3 eggs

1 cup vegetable oil

2 cups white (granulated) sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla

1 teaspoon baking soda

2 teaspoons cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon salt

2 cups all-purpose flour (pack it down in the cup when you measure it)

Grease (or spray with Pam or another nonstick baking spray) the inside of a 9-inch by 13-inch cake pan. (I used Pam baking spray, the kind with flour in it.)

Peel, core, and slice the apples as you would for a pie. Place the sliced apples on the bottom of the prepared cake pan.

Hannah’s Note: You can mix the cake batter by hand or with an electric mixer. We use our electric mixer down at The Cookie Jar because we quadruple the recipe and make 4 apple cakes at once.

In a medium sized bowl, whisk the eggs with the oil until they’re thick. Then add the sugar and beat it in.

Mix in the vanilla, baking soda, cinnamon, and salt. Mix thoroughly.

Add the flour in one-cup increments, mixing after each cup.

Scrape down the bowl, give a final stir with a spoon, and then drop the batter over the apples in spoonfuls. (Don’t worry if it doesn’t completely cover the apples - the batter will spread out during baking.)

Bake at 350 degrees F. for 60 minutes. (Mine took only 50 minutes.) Cool the cake in the pan on a cold burner or a wire rack.

Dixie Lee’s German Apple Cake Frosting:

8-ounce package softened cream cheese

(the brick kind not the whipped)

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

1 Tablespoon lemon juice (freshly squeezed is best of course)

4 Tablespoons (1/2 stick, 2 ounces) melted butter 2 cups confectioner’s (powdered) sugar (no need to sift unless it’s got big lumps)

If you forgot to take the cream cheese out of the refrigerator to soften naturally, unwrap it, place it in a microwave-safe bowl and heat it for 20 seconds on HIGH. Check it to see if it’s soft. If it’s not, give it another 15 seconds or so, until it is.

Stir the vanilla extract into your cream cheese. Then add the lemon juice and the melted butter. Mix until it’s smooth.

Beat in the confectioner’s sugar in half-cup increments, checking the consistency after each addition. When the mixture is the consistency of frosting, stop adding sugar. (I ended up using all of the powdered sugar.)

Dixie Lee has given us a win-win frosting for her apple cake. If it’s too runny, add more powdered sugar. If it’s too stiff, add a little more lemon juice or vanilla.

Frost your cooled German Apple Cake, cut a slice to have with a nice cup of coffee, and enjoy.

Lisa’s Note: I’m going to try this with peaches instead of apples when they’re in season.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Hannah put her key in the lock, pulled open the door, and braced herself for the furry onslaught that greeted her every homecoming. But this time it didn’t happen. No orange and white feline launched himself into her arms. “Uh-oh,” she said.

“Let me.” Norman stepped into Hannah’s condo and when he gave a little gasp, Hannah expected the worst. Moishe was hiding because of a misdeed. Moishe was ill, stretched out on the floor. Moishe was…she didn’t even want to think it!

“What…?” Hannah queried, stepping in and surveying the room. There was no sign of mayhem or destruction, no orange and white cat on the couch breathing lethargically with a fever, nothing wrong that she could…

“Do you have a stepstool, Hannah?” Norman asked, interrupting her assessment of the situation.

“Yes, but why…” Hannah looked to see why he was staring at the ceiling and gave an identical gasp to the one he’d given earlier. Moishe was clinging precariously to one of the top branches of the Christmas tree, the last bird Great-Grandma Elsa had made in his mouth. He’d obviously missed one this morning and consequently his avian appetite had struck again. He’d climbed up the tethered Christmas tree to grab his prize, but now he couldn’t get down by himself.

The last of Great-Grandma Elsa’s birds. Hannah felt like sitting right down on the rug and crying. But then her errant cat gave a pathetic, feather-muffled mew and she rushed for the kitchen stepstool. Moishe’s safety was more important than antique Christmas ornaments. And now that she thought about it, she was almost positive they’d left one of each kind in the ornament box.

Norman took the stepstool from her and climbed up to retrieve Moishe. Instead of scratching, as most cats would do, Moishe went limp in Norman’s arms and started to purr. Hannah truly believed it was a purr of contrition. At least that’s what she wanted to believe as she took the bird’s mangled body from her unresisting cat.

“Coffee?” she asked Norman, figuring that both of them needed a cup after their scare with Moishe.

“That would be great. Tell me where you keep your wrapping paper and ribbons, and I’ll get them organized.”

For once Hannah was glad she’d taken her mother’s advice. All her Christmas wrap, ribbon, and tape were in one of the red and green boxes her mother had ordered from a catalogue for each of her daughters.

“Everything’s in a red and green box under the bed in the guest room,” she told him. “I’ll put on the coffee and slip a couple of pans of Nancy Dunns in the oven for dessert.”

“What are Nancy Dunns?”

“They’re bar cookies with oatmeal and dates. I got all the ingredients ready to go last night, but I was too busy cleaning up feathers after you-know-who to bake them this morning. I’ll bake one pan for us and another to try at The Cookie Jar tomorrow. They’re supposed to be unbelievably rich and luscious.”

“You’ve never made them before?”

“No, I just got the recipe in the mail last week. If everybody likes them I’ll add them to the menu for catering.”

Hannah hurried to the kitchen to preheat the oven, put on the coffee, and assemble the bar cookies for baking. Since the dry ingredients were already out on the counter, all she had to do was gather the rest of her baking supplies from the refrigerator and prepare the pans. She’d cooked the dates with the orange juice the previous evening and they were all ready to go. The recipe was simple and in less than ten minutes, the bars were baking.

“That was fast,” Norman said, coming over to take his mug of coffee from her hand. “I think we have everything we need…except for the presents, of course.”

“Right.” Hannah set her coffee on the end table by the couch and went off to get the presents she’d bought. She was about to carry them out when she realized that Norman’s present was among them. She quickly stuck it back in the bottom of her closet, made a mental note to wrap it later, and carried out the various bags and boxes that made up what Michelle still called Christmas loot.

“Get out of the box, Moishe!” Hannah called out as her cat’s whole head disappeared inside.

“I’ll get him,” Norman said, picking Moishe up and setting him on the back of the couch. “He’s just curious.”

Past scenes of Moishe’s curiosity flashed before Hannah’s eyes. Her designer couch pillows completely de-stuffed with pieces of foam and other unidentifiable fibers scattered over her living room rug like snow. The wires from her cable box, video recorder, and television set pulled out and tangled like a bird’s nest on the floor. The pile of dry cat food in the bottom of her closet after Moishe attempted to move his food supply. And in the last two days, the fallen Christmas tree, the destruction of her great-grandmother’s handmade ornaments, and the feline who’d been stuck like a tree topper on the highest branch. Curious? She supposed so, but she could think of several other words that would also describe Moishe’s behavior, the nicest of which was naughty.

“He’ll probably leave us alone to wrap if we give him something to play with,” Norman said, cutting off a length of ribbon and carrying it over to Moishe. “Here you go, Big Guy.”

Moishe glanced at her and then he turned to look at Norman. Hannah could swear he was grinning as he batted at the ribbon and purred. Norman balled it up and tossed it to him, and then he walked back over to the box. “Coffee table, or floor?” he asked her.

“Floor. I’ve got a couple of big things that won’t fit on the coffee table.” Hannah gestured toward the whiteboard and erasable markers she’d purchased for the back of Tracey’s bedroom door.

“Fine with me.” Norman opened the first bag and assessed the contents. “We’ll need to wrap this one in the gold foil with the little green Christmas trees. It’s the only thing you have that’s wide enough.”

“Right.” Hannah sat down on the other side of the red and green box and handed him the roll of paper.

“I’ll unroll it on the rug. You set the whiteboard in the center about six inches from the end. Then we’ll know where to cut.”

“Got it.” Hannah waited until Norman had unrolled the paper, but just as she was about to set the whiteboard down on the paper, a furry shape hurtled from the top of the couch, ducked under Tracey’s present to skid on the paper with claws out and all four feet extended like miniature rakes.

“Uh-oh,” Norman said, reacting to the loud ripping sound.

“Uh-oh is right, but I think we know where to cut. It’s right before the paper you didn’t unroll.”

“Very funny. Will you throw one of his mice for him so we can get this done?”

“Sure, but we’ll have to hurry. That’ll only distract him for a minute.”

“A minute’s better than nothing.” Norman waited until Hannah picked up one of Moishe’s play mice. “Wiggle it a little with your right hand so he knows you’re going to throw it. Then put your left hand down on the edge of the paper. I won’t unroll it until the mouse leaves your hand.”

“Okay. Ready?”

Hannah clamped down the edge of the paper with one hand and wiggled the mouse with the other. When Norman said he was ready, she pegged the mouse down the hallway, picked up the whiteboard and plunked it down in the proper position and intercepted Moishe as he came flying back. “It worked,” she said.

“Don’t speak too soon.” Norman cut off the paper and reached for the tape. “I still have to wrap it and tie a ribbon around it. Maybe you’d better throw the mouse again.”

Hannah lugged her pet over to the Kitty Kondo and snatched another mouse from the stash on the second level. The first mouse she’d thrown was still in the hallway. Moishe had left it there and raced back as he saw Norman begin to roll out the paper. “I’m sure not this is going to work twice,” she said, “especially when you unwind the ribbon.”

“Let’s try. I’m going to need you to put your finger on the ribbon so that I can tie a knot.”

Hannah kept a tight hold on her pet as she wiggled the mouse in what she hoped was an enticing manner. He seemed interested, but his attention was definitely divided between the mouse and reel of ribbon that Norman was holding.

“Now!” Norman said, and Hannah sent the play mouse flying to the very end of the hallway. Then she whirled and placed her finger on the knot Norman had just made with the ribbon. There was time for him to make one loop of a bow before disaster struck in the form of a furry paw with unwavering aim that knocked the spool of ribbon out of his hand and sent it flying.

Norman groaned. Hannah did the same. And then they turned to stare at the cat that was gleefully chasing red velvet ribbon all over the living room rug. Hannah was the first to speak.

“The way I see it,” she said, “there are only two possible solutions to our problem, other than taping all four of Moishe’s paws together.”

“And you wouldn’t do that…” Norman paused and cocked his head. “…would you?”

“Of course not. That would be cruel. I have another solution, though.”

“You’re not going to lock him up, are you?”

Hannah shook her head. “I’ve got something even better in mind.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m going to open a can of salmon and dole it out piece by piece. And you’re going to wrap presents alone as fast as you can.”

Things had turned out rather well Hannah thought. An eight-ounce can of salmon had been just the right size to distract an overly curious feline during the wrapping of sixteen presents. Perhaps the bows were not as elaborately tied as they might have been without a cat in the room, but Hannah knew it was a much better job than the one she would have done by herself.

The Nancy Dunn Cookie Bars were out of the oven and cooling on wire racks, Moishe was stretched out blissfully on the top of the couch snoring lightly with salmon-scented breath, and Hannah and Norman sat on the couch discussing Larry Jaeger’s murder case.

“I wonder what Larry did before he came to Lake Eden,” Hannah mused. “I know he left Dr. Love fifteen years ago, and she doesn’t know where he was for all those years.”

“We might be able to find out where he was if he used the same business name,” Norman suggested.

“I know what name he used,” Hannah said, remembering the conversation she’d had with Mike and Larry at Elf Headquarters. “Larry was talking about the sign that he made when he was in junior high school and how it’s hung at the front of every business L. J. Enterprises has ever owned.”

“Then we’ll start with L. J. Enterprises,” Norman said, getting up and going to Hannah’s computer. “You don’t mind if I use your computer?”

“Not at all. Do you want more coffee and a couple of Nancy Dunns? I think they’re cool enough to cut.”

“Sure. This shouldn’t take long, especially if some of his businesses had Web sites.”

By the time Hannah came back with more coffee and a plate of Nancy Dunns, Norman had the printer running. “You found something?” she asked.

“I found the business he opened before he came to Lake Eden,” Norman told her. “It was called Hollywood Home Theater and it was in Madison, Wisconsin.”

“He sold movies?” Hannah guessed.

“He sold big screen television sets,” Norman corrected her. “Technicians called the Cast and Crew installed them in people’s living rooms, complete with theater seats and sound. Unfortunately the business didn’t make it for long.”

“How long?”

“It went bankrupt after only five months. There’s a link to a newspaper story. Hold on while it downloads.”

Norman clicked on the link and read the text. “It’s a story that was carried by the Wisconsin State Journal. It’s about Salvatore Bianco, one of Larry’s investors in Hollywood Home Theater. When the business went bankrupt, he lost his entire retirement and he committed suicide.”

“That’s awful!” Hannah said.

“Yes, especially if Larry pulled the same kind of scam and cheated his investors.”

“He probably did. You’d think big screen televisions would go over big in a city as large as Madison. Practically everyone there follows the Packers and…”

“What?” Norman asked as Hannah suddenly stopped talking.

“Big screen television sets. I just remembered. That’s what Miss Whiting’s homework was about.”

“And you think it might not be a coincidence?”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking. But how did Miss Whiting find out about Larry’s last business?”

Norman smiled. “There’s only one way to find out.”

“Right. I’ll drive out to the college and ask her first thing tomorrow.”

“Correction. We’ll drive out to the college and ask her first thing tomorrow.”

“Good. Your car’s more comfortable and your heater’s…”

Hannah stopped in mid-sentence again, but this time Norman didn’t ask why. “Larry’s flat screen?” he asked her.

“That’s right. Do you think there’s a connection?”

“There could be. Somebody killed Larry and his TV. And Larry owned a business that sold them and went bankrupt, cheating at least one investor we know out of his retirement and his life. That’s a lot of coincidence to swallow.”

“It’s too much of a coincidence.” Hannah reached for her steno pad and proceeded to write down what they’d learned, what they suspected, and the interview she needed to have with Miss Whiting. She was just closing the cover when there was the sound of a key in the lock.

“Hi, Hannah,” Michelle breezed in with a smile on her face. “Hi, Norman. What smells so good?”

“Nancy Dunn Bar Cookies.” And then, before her sister could ask, Hannah explained. “They’re date and oatmeal cookie bars, and they’re so good they melt in your mouth.”

Michelle looked disappointed. “If I’d known you were baking I wouldn’t have stopped for a chocolate sundae on the way here.”

“Too bad,” Norman said. “I just had one and they’re fantastic.”

“Well…I probably have room for a small one.” Michelle made a beeline for the plate and picked one up. “Your tree’s beautiful. I’m so glad you got one this year.”

“Me, too,” Hannah said. Michelle was right. The tree was beautiful.

“Where’s Moishe?”

“Right there on the top of the couch,” Hannah told her, pointing at her sacked out cat.

“But he always comes over to greet me.” Michelle looked worried. “Is he sick?”

Hannah shook her head. “It’s just a food coma. I had to feed him a whole can of salmon to keep him distracted while Norman wrapped the Christmas presents.”

“Well, you’d better not put them under the tree!” Michelle gave a little laugh. “I talked to Andrea and she said you’ve already had a couple cat-astrophies this year.”

“That’s true. We’re just hoping the tree’s secure enough to last until Christmas Eve.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Michelle said, taking another Nancy Dunn. “Are you doing Christmas Eve dinner this year?”

“Of course. I always do Christmas Eve dinner.”

“And you’re doing it here?”

“I always do it here.”

“Oh, good. Do you think I can invite someone from the college for dessert? They’re doing a dinner out there, but you always have something really fantastic for dessert.”

“Of course. Invite anyone you like. Just make sure to tell me how many friends you’re bringing. We’ll start at six with appetizers and I’ll serve the Minnesota Plum Pudding at eight.”

“Thanks, Hannah. That’ll be perfect. Mother already told me about your plum pudding and she said it was incredible.” Michelle glanced at her watch and sighed. “It’s only nine-thirty, but I’m beat and I’d better get to bed. We went through the whole show three times today and tomorrow morning’s dress rehearsal.”

“Good night, Michelle,” Norman called out as she turned to go.

“‘Night, Norman. ‘Night, Hannah.” Michelle hesitated and then she walked back to the coffee table and took another cookie bar. “I have to keep up my strength,” she said, heading off to the guest room with a grin on her face.

NANCY DUNN BAR COOKIES

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.,

rack in the middle position.

8-ounce package pitted dates, coarsely chopped 1 and 1/2 cups orange juice (I used Minute Maid)

2 and 1/2 cups all-purpose flour (pack it down when you measure it)

1 and 1/2 cups firmly packed brown sugar

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 and 1/2 cups softened butter (3 sticks, 12 ounces, 3/4 pound)

2 cups Quaker Oats (quick or old fashioned, uncooked)

1 cup shredded coconut (for the batter)

1 cup chopped nuts (walnuts or pecans)

1/2 cup shredded coconut (for a topping)

In a medium size saucepan combine the dates and the orange juice. Do not cover. Bring the mixture to a boil.

Reduce the heat to simmer and cook for 15 to 20 minutes, or until thickened, stirring occasionally.

Move the saucepan to a cold burner and let it cool.

In a large bowl, combine the flour, sugar, and salt. Mix it thoroughly.

Cut in the softened butter with a pastry blender, or two knives until the resulting mixture is crumbly. (You can also do this with a food processor and cold butter cut into pieces. Use the steel blade in an on and off motion until the mixture is crumbly.)

Stir in the oats, coconut, and nuts. Mix thoroughly.

Spray a 9-inch by 13-inch cake pan with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray.

Measure out 4 cups of the oat mixture and set it on the counter to use for a topping. Press the remainder of the oat mixture in the bottom of your baking pan.

Spread the date mixture evenly over the crust to within a quarter-inch of the edges.

Sprinkle the date mixture with the remaining oat mixture.

Sprinkle the remaining half-cup coconut on the top and pat it down gently.

Bake at 350 degrees F. for 35 to 40 minutes, or until light golden brown on top. Cool completely in the pan on a wire rack.

When completely cool, cut into bars. Store them in a tightly covered container.

Yield: Makes 36 rich, delicious bars.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“I‘d better be going, Hannah.” Norman stood up and carried his coffee mug into the kitchen. “It’s almost ten and you need your sleep.”

“That’s true. What time shall we go out to the college? I know Miss Whiting has an eight o’clock class.”

“I’ll pick you up at The Cookie Jar at eight-thirty and we’ll catch her after her class. I’ve got the morning clear tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Norman.” Hannah was about to get up to walk him to the door when someone knocked.

“I’ll get it,” Norman told her, heading to the door. “Who is it?”

“It’s Hannah’s mother,” Delores called out so loudly that Hannah could hear her right through the closed door. “Let me in, Norman. It’s cold out here.”

Norman wasted no time ushering Delores into Hannah’s living room and Hannah got up to take her mother’s coat. “How about a cup of coffee?” she asked.

“Only if it’s made, dear. I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“It’s made. And I wouldn’t mind making it if it weren’t.” Hannah hurried to the kitchen to pour coffee and came back out with several more bars to slip onto the plate Michelle and Norman had come close to devouring. “Have a date bar with your coffee, Mother.”

“Well…perhaps one. Nancy made dinner for us and it was lovely. She said she didn’t feel like going out.”

“How about the alibi?” Hannah asked, hoping her mother had been successful in finding a way to prove that Dr. Love was nowhere near the Crazy Elf Christmas Tree lot when Larry was murdered.

“I struck out, dear. No phone calls made or received, no one walking by on the sidewalk, no noises that she could remember, nothing to place her at home when Larry Jaeger was killed.”

“Okay. It was a long shot and I know you gave it your best try. We’ll just have to prove that someone else shot Larry,” Hannah said, trying to look confident for her mother’s sake. “How about Earl? Did you have more luck with him?”

“Actually…” Delores frowned deeply and shook her head. “No. I didn’t have any luck at all. He said his uncle and aunt didn’t have children and he had no cousins in the area. I asked him about investing with Larry and whether you might have seen him out at the Crazy Elf Christmas Tree Lot and he never gave me a straight answer. And then, when I asked him where he was between nine and nine forty-five on the night Larry was killed, he said, Somewhere. I dunno. I thought I was asking the right questions, but Earl was terribly evasive.” Delores stopped speaking and gave a deep sigh. “Maybe I’m not very good at this after all.”

Norman reached out to squeeze Delores’s hand. “You’re very good at this. Don’t think you aren’t, not for a second. You’re forgetting that you discovered a very important clue when you went undercover in that Karaoke bar.”

“Well…yes. But that was then and this is now. This time I didn’t get anything at all.”

“Nonsense,” Norman said, and Hannah could have kissed him for being so nice to her mother. Actually, she could have kissed him just for being Norman.

“It’s possible you were given an important clue, and you just haven’t realized it yet,” Norman went on reassuring Delores. “Tell us all about your afternoon.”

“Well…I hope you’re right,” Delores said, brightening considerably. “The first thing I did was go to the mall to get…”

When her mother stopped speaking, Hannah knew what caution had just crossed her mind. “Go ahead, Mother. She’s in the guest room sleeping.”

“I went out to the mall to get a new pair of boots for Michelle,” Delores said in a much lower voice. “I found just the thing at The Glass Slipper and I brought them up here to show you.”

Delores opened the bag she’d brought in with her. She pulled out a boot-size box and lifted the lid. “Aren’t they just perfect for Michelle?” she asked.

“Perfect,” Hannah agreed, exchanging glances with Norman. The boots were fawn-colored suede with lovely beadwork butterflies on the sides.

“They were terribly expensive, but I just knew Michelle would wear them and love them.” Delores turned to Hannah. “I’m right, aren’t I, dear?”

“Absolutely. Michelle’s going to adore them.”

“Are they suede?” Norman asked, pulling Hannah back to the more important issue.

“That’s right.”

“They have beautiful beadwork,” Hannah commented. “Did they happen to have any men’s boots?”

“No. The owner told me there was a pair and someone came in and bought them. They were only for display, but the owner sold them because it was too late to special order any more before Christmas. It was the same with Michelle’s boots. I’m just lucky they were her size.”

“That’s interesting.” Hannah exchanged another glance with Norman. “Did you happen to ask who bought the man’s pair?”

“Yes, but the owner didn’t know his name. All he could remember was that he was from Lake Eden. I was curious because the boots were so expensive. I couldn’t help but wonder which local man paid that much for dress boots.”

“Yes, we’re wondering that, too,” Norman said.

Delores turned to give him a sharp look. “Is there a special reason you’re wondering?”

There was another meaningful look between Hannah and Norman. Norman gave her a nod, giving his consent to tell Delores about Carrie and the man with the suede boots.

“It’s the man I told you about this morning, Mother.” Hannah turned to her mother.

“The one in the private booth with Carrie?”

“Yes. He had suede boots similar to the ones you bought for Michelle. And from what you just told us, he must have bought them at The Glass Slipper.”

“Do you think I should go back to The Glass Slipper and have a little talk with the salespeople to see if I can find out more about the man who bought them? I wouldn’t mind a pair of new boots for myself.”

“That’s a great idea,” Hannah said, handing her mother the package of cookie bars she’d wrapped for her to take home.

“Thanks for the information, Delores.” Norman stood up and grabbed Delores’s coat. “It’s a big relief to know that the man Mother is dating is local.”

Delores shrugged into the coat that Norman was holding for her. “Goodbye, dear,” she said to Hannah. “Goodbye, Norman.”

“I’ll see you to your car,” Norman told her, grabbing his jacket and putting it on. “I’m leaving now anyway. Hannah needs her sleep.”

Hannah waved and as the door closed behind them, she gave a relieved sigh. She was tired and she wanted to go to bed. Her alarm clock was set for four in the morning and it was already past ten-thirty. If she wanted to get more than five hours of sleep, she had to turn in right now.

It only took a moment to put the coffee mugs and dessert plate in the dishwasher and make sure the cake pans with bars inside were tightly covered with cat-proof lids. Hannah switched off the bright kitchen light and was about to pick up her lethargic feline to carry him into the bedroom when there was a knock at her door.

Hannah knew there were only two possibilities for callers who’d knock on her door this late. It was either Mike or a home invasion robbery. Hannah was betting on the former when she crossed to the door and opened it.

Mike looked surprised. “Don’t you ever ask who’s there?”

“Why should I do that? I knew it was you.”

“How did you know that? You didn’t even stop to look through the peephole.”

“The peephole doesn’t work. The security light’s too bright and all I can see is a dark shape in front of it.”

Mike gave an exasperated sigh. “Are you going to invite me in? Or are we going to stand here and argue all night?”

Hannah had the urge to shut the door. She was tired and she wanted to go to bed. But then Mike smiled and her irritation vanished in a wave of longing for a bit of private time with Winnetka County Sheriff’s Department chief detective. There was also the fact that Mike was investigating the same crime that she was, and she might be able to pry some official information from him.

“Come in, Mike. It’s good to see you,” Hannah put on the cheeriest voice she could muster. “I’ll put on the coffee if you’d like some.”

“That would be good. I’ve been out in the field all day.”

Food. He wanted food. Hannah felt like groaning, but she managed to keep the pleasant expression on her face. “You didn’t eat dinner?”

“Yeah, I ate. I stopped for a patty melt and fries at the cafe before they closed. I didn’t have dessert, though. All Rose had left was a piece of raisin pie.”

There was a pregnant silence. Hannah let it go on for several seconds. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said, waving him over to the couch. A half-dozen Nancy Dunn Cookie Bars ought to elicit some information from the man who didn’t like raisin pie.

It didn’t take long to brew the coffee. Hannah sneaked out a cup before the whole pot had brewed, and emerged from the kitchen with a steaming mug and a plate of cookie bars. “Here you go,” she said, setting them down on the coffee table in front of her erstwhile boyfriend.

“These look good,” Mike said, and took one. He took a bite, smiled, and said, “They are good. What are they?”

“Date and oatmeal bar cookies.” Hannah figured it was time to ask him some questions before she fell asleep. “Do you have any suspects yet?”

“Only one.”

“And that would be…?” Hannah waited, but no answer was forthcoming.

“When you and Norman entered the trailer, how far did you go?”

“Not far. I told you before, I just had a funny feeling something wasn’t right.”

“A premonition? Were there any subliminal clues that warned you that something was wrong inside?”

Hannah just stared at him for a minute and then she laughed. “If they were subliminal, I wouldn’t have consciously registered them.”

“Sorry. You’re right. Let me rephrase that. Were there any clues that warned you that something was wrong inside the trailer?”

“I don’t think so, at least none that I remember. It was probably just that Larry said he’d be there, but he didn’t answer the door.”

“Okay,” Mike took a sip of his coffee. “Back to the important stuff. Did you, at any time, approach the flat screen television set?”

“No. I saw the bullet holes though. At first I thought maybe Larry got mad and threw something at the screen. And then I realized that they were probably bullet holes.” Hannah stopped speaking and stared at him. “Why do you want to know if I was close to Larry’s television set?”

“Because there was a bloody footprint and the crime lab just got back to us this afternoon. The blood was Larry’s and they’re ninety-nine percent positive the footprint was made by a woman. I just stopped by to eliminate your prints. What boots were you wearing that night?”

“The only ones I have, my moose-hide boots.”

“Could I see them please?”

Hannah got up to get them, but then she turned back to Mike. “You’re not going to take them, are you? I’m going to need them in the morning.”

“All I need is the left one. And I may not have to take it.”

“Thanks,” Hannah said a trifle sarcastically, already envisioning a one-footed hop down the stairs in the early morning to her cookie truck.

Her boots were on the rug by the side of the door. Hannah picked up the left one and carried it over to Mike. “Here,” she said.

Mike turned the boot over, took one look, and handed it back. “Okay,” he said. “The print’s not yours.”

“You can tell if there’s blood on the sole of my boot by just looking?” Hannah was amazed at his investigative skills.

“No. Your boot is a lot bigger than the boot that made the print. What size is it anyway?”

“Six,” Hannah said, cheating by several integers. She was lying to the authorities, but she felt justified since her boot had already been eliminated. “How about Courtney? What size boot does she wear?”

“Five, but it has a different type of heel. Mr. Jaeger’s fiancee left the park early and drove out to the Inn. A couple of the employees told me that she had an altercation with Mr. Jaeger before she left, but Sally said she was sitting in the kitchen talking to her from nine-twenty until almost ten.”

“Are there any other women suspects?” Hannah asked, knowing that there was at least one more. If Dr. Love was lucky, Mike hadn’t found out about her marriage to Larry yet and Hannah could clear her before he did.

“There were several women involved in Mr. Jaeger’s case. We found three local females who were having…uh…” Mike stopped and looked slightly embarrassed.

“Play dates?” Hannah suggested.

“That’s good. I like that! These three local women were having play dates with Mr. Jaeger, but they all have alibis for the time of the murder.”

“So that’s it for the women suspects?” Hannah asked, wondering if she dared cross her fingers.

“No, there’s one more. Thanks to your tip about Mr. Jaeger’s business practices, we did an extensive search of his financial records. That’s when we discovered that one woman suspect had a very compelling motive. Now all we have to do is gather more evidence and then we can make an arrest.”

Hannah felt her spirits take a nosedive. She thought she knew, but she had to ask. “Who’s your suspect?”

“Mr. Jaeger’s wife. She stands to gain the most from his death. I just came from interviewing her and I like her.”

Hannah knew that Mike’s like was not the same as her like. When Mike said like, it referred to the person he’d like to arrest for Larry Jaeger’s murder. But what if Larry’s current wife wasn’t Dr. Love? What if he’d filed for a quickie divorce in another state and married someone else?

“She has no alibi for the time of the murder, and over two million in various banks in the tri-state area is one heck of a motive. When her boots come back from the crime lab we’ll know for sure.”

Hannah swallowed hard and asked the question. “Who is it?”

“You probably know her as Dr. Love. She’s a psychology professor at the community college and she has this cock-and-bull story about how she hasn’t talked to her husband in fifteen years.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

The alarm clock was set for four in the morning, but Hannah awoke before it went off. She sat up in bed and glanced at the clock. It was three forty-seven. What had happened to wake her up thirteen minutes before the alarm went off?

All was silent in her darkened condo. Hannah had just laid her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes when there was a bloodcurdling yowl. It was the kind of sound that would have made her hair stand on end if it hadn’t already been impossibly mussed by an uneasy night’s sleep.

Another yowl, equally loud, followed the first, and Hannah sprang into action. She jumped out of bed, no time for her slippers, and raced down the hallway. No time to flick on the light. Moishe was in trouble and she had to help him.

Enough light spilled in from the outside for Hannah to see what was wrong. Her cat was hanging perilously from the top branch of her Christmas tree in a repeat performance of last night’s gravity-defying stunt.

It was a good thing she’d forgotten to put away the stepstool. Hannah positioned it quickly and climbed up to rescue her pet. Something had to be done about her Christmas tree and fast.

She’d just poured her first cup of coffee when Michelle appeared in the kitchen doorway. “What happened?” she asked. “I heard Moishe yowling.”

“He climbed the Christmas tree again and he couldn’t get down.”

“That’s bad. I know they say cats climb down from trees eventually, but I’m not sure I believe it.”

“Me, either.” Hannah filled a second cup with coffee and handed it to her sister. Then she led the way to the almost-antique kitchen table and they both sat down.

“So what are you going to do about it?” Michelle asked. “Enclose the whole tree in a cat-proof cage?”

Hannah gave a little shrug. “It’s either that or enclose the whole cat in a tree-proof cage.”

Of course Lisa had urged her to go and not give a second thought to their business at The Cookie Jar. And when Hannah worried aloud about how Lisa could handle everyone alone, Lisa said she’d already called Herb’s Aunt Patsy who was coming down to wait tables for her. Hannah was free to go search for Larry’s killer. Lisa and Patsy would take care of everything else.

Hannah watched the weather go by outside the passenger window of Norman’s car. The weatherman on KCOW radio was predicting snow later tonight with an increase in wind velocity.

“Did you hear that?” Norman asked her, taking the access road to the college and driving up the big hill where Hannah had seen the students sledding.

“I heard. I hope it’s not the beginning of a big storm. Michelle said they’re giving several more performances before they close with a matinee on Christmas Day.”

“I checked with the national weather service on the computer this morning and the maps didn’t show anything big in the works for the rest of this week. Next week is anyone’s guess.”

“I’ll guess snow,” Hannah said with a grin. “There’s always snow this time of year.”

Once Norman had parked and they’d crossed the road to the campus, Hannah led the way to Stewart Hall. “Miss Whiting’s classroom is on the second floor, third from the end on the left,” she told him, and opened the door to the stairway.

Since they hadn’t rushed from the car to Stewart Hall, Hannah wasn’t out of breath when they reached the top of the stairs. As they stepped out of the stairwell, they heard a bell ring and the deserted hallway that stretched before them was suddenly filled with students. Norman took Hannah’s arm and steered her toward the end of the hall.

Miss Whiting looked up when she saw them in the doorway. “Hello, there,” she said. “Did you come to turn in your homework?”

“Not yet,” Hannah said. “I’d like you to meet Norman Rhodes. He’s a dentist in Lake Eden.”

“You might be interested in my class,” Miss Whiting told him, “especially if you own your own practice. Do you?”

“Yes, I do.”

Miss Whiting opened her center desk drawer and pulled out a folded packet of papers. “This is our syllabus. I teach four business courses and the curriculum for each is enclosed. It’s very important for a professional to have a business plan. Do you have one?”

“Yes.”

Hannah decided it was time to rescue Norman from Miss Whiting’s questions. “Do you mind if I ask you something, Miss Whiting?”

“Not at all as long as it pertains to your homework. Does it?”

“As a matter of fact, it does. Was the handout you gave us from a Madison, Wisconsin business called Hollywood Home Theater?”

Miss Whiting looked shocked. “Don’t tell me I failed to screen out the business name!”

“No. You covered it completely. But are they records from Hollywood Home Theater?”

“Well…yes. Yes, they are.”

“It’s an amazing coincidence,” Norman said, stepping in to continue the questioning. “That business was owned by Larry Jaeger and he was murdered two nights ago in Lake Eden.”

“Really? What was the owner of Hollywood Home Theater doing in Lake Eden?”

“Running another business, the Crazy Elf Christmas Tree Lot,” Hannah said, catching the conversational ball. “And unless we’re mistaken, it looks as if he was involved in the same sort of bad business practices.”

“And you think that’s why he was murdered?”

“That’s right. What we’d like to know is why you chose Hollywood Home Theater for a homework assignment.”

“Well, that’s simple. My graduate thesis involved bad business practices leading to bankruptcy. I researched all the bankruptcies in a five-state area to pick the most egregious cases, and Hollywood Home Theater was one of my examples.”

“How about future homework assignments?” Norman asked her. “Do they involve other businesses that went bankrupt?”

“Yes. That’s my area of concentration. Next week we’ll examine a used car dealership in Fargo. That will be followed by assignments concerning a video game franchise in Pierre, a fast food business in Des Moines, and an exotic juice bar in Rochester.”

“Thank you, Miss Whiting,” Hannah said, as the next class of students began to file into the classroom.

“You’re quite welcome.” Miss Whiting turned to Norman. “Do think about taking one of my classes, Dr. Rhodes. I think you’d enjoy it…and I’m sure I could teach you a thing or two.”

Norman didn’t speak until they’d left the classroom, walked out of the building, and were several feet from the door. “Am I crazy, or do you think she was flirting with me?” he asked Hannah.

“She was flirting with you.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Norman looked pleased at her answer. “Not that I’m interested or anything like that, but I’m glad she didn’t just want her teeth whitened for free.”

“I hope he’s got the coffeepot on,” Norman said as he pulled up to the county tow truck and snowplow driver’s house.

“No, you don’t. I once heard Cyril Murphy refer to Earl’s coffee as one step worse than motor oil. And Cyril’s coffee comes in second on the worst coffee scale.”

“Who’s number one?”

“Jon Walker. He hasn’t washed his pot in years. The baked on old coffee residue is probably the only thing that’s keeping it from falling apart.”

Norman digested those comments for a moment and then he laughed. “Thanks, Hannah. I was craving a cup of coffee a minute or two ago.”

“And now you’re not?”

“That’s right. Tell me why we’re here, especially after Mike told you the killer was a woman.”

“Mother said Earl was evasive about where he was when Larry was killed. And he refused to tell her if he was one of Larry’s investors. It may not have anything to do with Larry’s murder, but I want to find out why Earl’s not talking to Mother. They’ve been friends for years and he hurt her feelings. I could tell.”

“Good answer. What do you want me to do?”

“When we start talking about where he was at the time of the murder, I’m going to go into the kitchen for a glass of water. That way, if he was somewhere doing something he’s embarrassed to admit in front of Mother or me, he’ll tell you and then you’ll tell me later.”

“Okay. Let’s do it. I’ve got that urge for coffee again and I don’t know how long I can fight it.”

Earl looked surprised to see them when he opened the door. “Hannah,” he said, stepping back. “And Norman. Is somebody stuck in the ditch?”

Hannah shook her head. “No, Earl. We just wanted to talk to you for a minute. Can we come in?”

“Well…yeah…sure. Sure you can come in.” Earl stepped aside and let them enter his living room. “What do you want to talk to me about?”

“Tuesday night,” Hannah said jumping in quickly. “Where were you on Tuesday night, Earl?”

Earl swallowed hard. Hannah could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he glanced at Norman and then back at her. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because it’s important. Why don’t you want to tell us?”

“I…I can’t.” Earl looked so uncomfortable Hannah took pity on him. She gave a little cough, cleared her throat, and said, “I need a glass of water. I’ll be back in a minute.”

As she went into the kitchen, Hannah heard Norman say something about certain subjects he wouldn’t want to discuss in front of women. Hannah smiled and hoped the man-to-man camaraderie would work. It was clear the two men liked each other. There was a good chance that Earl would tell Norman what he wouldn’t tell Delores or her.

It was a pleasant kitchen, nicely decorated and well maintained. It certainly wasn’t what she’d expected. Most bachelors she knew went for function, not appearance. Earl seemed to like both, or perhaps the house had come complete with charm and good taste.

Hannah considered what she knew about Earl, which wasn’t a lot. He’d gone to school with Delores, he was a nice pleasant man, and he worked for the county. That wasn’t much. She wasn’t sure if Earl had inherited the house from his parents or if he’d purchased it himself. Of course Andrea would know. Her sister knew the provenance of every house within a ten-mile radius of Lake Eden.

She opened the cupboard and took out a glass, noticing how neatly everything was stacked and how clean the dishes appeared. For a bachelor, Earl was a good housekeeper. She ran some water in the glass, set it down on the counter, and took a little trip around the kitchen to see what was there. A sheaf of bound papers on the table caught her eye and she walked over to see what Earl was reading. It was a government report on the state of the economy.

An old roll top desk sat under the window in an alcove and Hannah went to look at that. There was a laptop computer on the desk and Hannah was surprised to see that it was hooked up to the only satellite internet provider in their area. And right there, by the side of the desk, was a pair of fawn-colored suede boots with fancy beadwork on the sides.

Hannah’s breath slid out of her open mouth in a low, almost inaudible whistle. Earl was Mr. Suede Boots, the man that Carrie was cuddling up to in the private booth at the Lake Eden Inn, and the reason she’d canceled so many plans with Delores and Norman.

“So you see, Norman, I can’t really tell you who it was,” Earl was saying when Hannah walked in carrying the boots.

“New boots?” she asked him, grinning at Norman.

“Yeah. I got them earlier this week.”

“Looks like you haven’t worn them much,” Norman said, locking eyes with Earl.

“Not much. I wore them out to dinner, but that’s it.”

“A champagne dinner with my mother,” Norman said, “in a private booth at the Lake Eden Inn.”

There was a moment of complete silence and then Earl sighed. “That’s right and I’m glad it’s out in the open. Carrie made me promise not to tell anyone until she had a chance to talk to you. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to marry your mother.” Earl stopped and frowned slightly. “Actually…I’d like to marry your mother even if it’s not okay with you.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

“I still can’t believe that’s why Earl was so evasive with me.”

Delores gave a little laugh and Hannah glanced over at her mother as she pulled into the parking lot at the college. Delores looked happier than Hannah had seen her in weeks and the worry lines on her forehead had completely vanished. “You’re not angry that Carrie kept the news from you?”

“No. Carrie explained everything to me this afternoon. Her romance with Earl was so wonderfully sudden and unexpected, she was afraid to talk about it. She said it was like a beautiful dream that would vanish if she woke up and opened her eyes.”

The parking lot hadn’t filled up yet, and Hannah found a space right next to her mother’s sedan. She noticed that Michelle had unwound the extension cord that had been coiled around the bumper and plugged it into the power pole between the two spaces. Hannah copied her sister’s actions and plugged in her cookie truck. And then she opened the passenger door for her mother.

“When was Carrie planning to tell you about Earl?” she asked, waiting for her mother to emerge.

“On Christmas Eve. She planned to bring Earl to our dinner and tell us all then.”

“How about Norman? She was planning to tell him before then, wasn’t she?” Hannah took her mother’s arm since Delores was wearing fashionable boots with high heels.

“Yes, tonight. Carrie said she was going to have a talk with him when he picked her up for the Christmas Follies. And then, if Norman took it well, they were going to meet Earl in the auditorium so they could all sit together.”

“Was she afraid that Norman wouldn’t approve?” Hannah asked as they crossed the road to the well-shoveled sidewalk that led to the college auditorium.

“Yes. She thought he might have issues with her marrying again, especially to someone he didn’t know that well.”

The auditorium was just ahead. Hannah and Delores stepped into the foyer and joined the line that was waiting to be seated.

“I’m a little nervous about Michelle’s number,” Delores confessed in a whisper.

“So am I, but I talked to her this morning and she wasn’t worried at all. She said they’re going to tape it and show it to angels.”

Delores reared back and stared at Hannah in shock. “What did you say?”

“Michelle said they’re going to tape it and show it to angels. That’s what they call the money men who finance new theatrical productions.”

“Oh. Those kinds of angels!” Delores looked relieved. “For a moment there, I thought that you were so nervous, you weren’t making sense.”

The college orchestra was playing as they were led inside by one of the ushers. Michelle had arranged for two seats in the center section quite near the front, and Hannah waved as they passed Andrea, Bill, and Tracey who were sitting in the front row on the side. Delores nudged Hannah and they both gave a wave as they spotted Norman, Carrie, and Earl. Mike wasn’t there, and Hannah knew he probably wouldn’t be. He was too busy working on Larry Jaeger’s murder case.

Once they’d reached the center of their row, Hannah and Delores sat down and slipped off their coats. The auditorium was dark and warm, and the seats were comfortable. That was three strikes out for someone like Hannah who’d had only four hours of sleep. To keep herself from emitting embarrassing snorts or snores on the eve of her sister’s big musical comedy debut, Hannah busied herself by reading the program the usher had handed to her.

“Look, Mother,” she pointed to a section listing the songs the college choir would perform. “They’re singing O Christmas Tree in German.”

“O Tannenbaum,” Delores said with a smile. “I still remember my grandmother singing that.”

“And here’s Feliz Navidad in Spanish and English.”

“Wonderful. That’s such a happy song. What else are they singing, dear?”

“It says they’re singing White Christmas in Italian.”

“Bianco Natale,” Delores said, smiling at Hannah.

“I didn’t know you spoke Italian!”

“I don’t. Your father hired an Italian immigrant to help out in the hardware store when we were first married. I invited him to Christmas dinner since his family was still in Italy and he sang Bianco Natale for us.”

“That’s nice, Mother,” Hannah said. And then, as she glanced down at the program again, her eyes widened. Bianco was the last name of the man who invested in Larry’s Hollywood Home Theater company and committed suicide when he lost his retirement. Miss Whiting was the teacher who gave them the handout of financial data from Larry’s Hollywood Home Theater company. Larry’s company sold giant screen television sets. A woman had shot Larry’s television set after she’d killed Larry. And bianco meant white in Italian. What if Miss Whiting’s name had been Bianco and she’d Americanized it?

“What’s the matter, dear?”

Hannah didn’t realize she’d gasped out loud until her mother asked the question. “Just something I remembered,” she said, and settled back in her seat to think it through once again. She was almost certain that a woman who had a connection to the Hollywood Home Theater bankruptcy had killed Larry Jaeger. There were just too many coincidences. But how could she prove that Miss Whiting was connected to Salvatore Bianco?

The moment a probable answer occurred to her, Hannah turned to her Mother. “Miss Whiting said she was a visiting professor. Do you happen to know where she’s from?”

“I think she mentioned it at the beginning of the course, but I’m not sure, dear. I believe it was a college town in a neighboring state, perhaps Iowa? Or Wisconsin?”

Another coincidence? Hannah was collecting far too many to believe, but she still had no proof of anything. If she could tie Miss Whiting to Wisconsin, that would help. Hannah reviewed her brief conversations with their business teacher in her mind. Miss Whiting had been here for three months. She’d mentioned that. Perhaps she’d been so busy she hadn’t gotten around to applying for a Minnesota driver’s license or re-registering her car.

“What kind of car does Miss Whiting drive?” Hannah asked.

“A little silver compact. I can never tell the difference between them. They all look alike to me.”

That was enough for Hannah, especially when she remembered that a little silver Honda had been parked in front of The Cookie Jar when she’d come in to find Miss Whiting sitting at the table with Delores.

“I have to do something, Mother,” Hannah said. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

“All right, but hurry. Your sister’s act is third on the program.”

“I’ll be back in plenty of time,” Hannah promised, and then she began to squeeze past people’s knees to make her way to the end of the row. She had to go out to the parking lot to find Miss Whiting’s silver Honda to see if it had Wisconsin plates.

For once KCOW radio’s weatherman had been right. The wind was picking up and snow had started to fall. It felt at least ten degrees colder than it had when they’d walked to the auditorium less than fifteen minutes ago, but Hannah didn’t think the actual temperature had fallen. It was wind chill that was robbing heat from her body much faster than still air could do.

Her hands were cold. Hannah thrust them into the pockets of the black dress coat her mother had given her as a present, and pulled out the dress gloves that had come with it. She’d worn the coat and the gloves to please her mother, but she’d drawn the line at dress boots. Delores had offered, on more than one occasion, to buy her a pair, but Hannah had steadfastly refused. She loved her moose-hide boots. They were an acquisition from the Helping Hands Thrift Shop and she’d decided to let the original owner, whoever she might be, feel the guilt about supporting an industry that made footwear out of animal skins. The boots were already made, the moose was long deceased, and Hannah was certain that no rational person could blame her for purchasing second-hand moose-hide boots from a store that supported a soup kitchen for the needy.

The wind whistled harder and picked up loose snow to pelt against her face. She hadn’t worn a hat because her knitted ski cap had looked ridiculous with her dress coat. Now she wished she’d had the foresight to stuff it into her pocket. There was no one to see her. Everyone who was coming was already inside the college auditorium where the Christmas Follies were about to begin.

Hannah rushed across the road with the wind and dashed down the first aisle in the parking lot, only to find that there were two silver Hondas. Did one of them belong to Miss Whiting? How could she identify the teacher’s car?

One glance at her mother’s car answered Hannah’s question. There was a blue parking sticker with STUDENT written across it on the lower right-hand corner of Delores’s windshield. Were faculty parking stickers a different color?

Hannah walked down the first aisle of cars again, checking the stickers. The two silver Hondas had blue student stickers, but the car at the end of the row had a red parking sticker with FACULTY written across it.

Now that she’d identified her quarry, Hannah moved faster, stopping only at silver Hondas to identify their parking sticker color.

It was cold work and Hannah felt like a walking block of ice by the time she’d finished. She’d found six silver Hondas, but not one of them had displayed a red faculty parking sticker. Either Miss Whiting wasn’t here tonight, or she’d ridden to the college in someone else’s car.

Hannah was about to leave when a car turned into the lot. She watched as it drove past one of the argon lights that illuminated the area, and her heart began to beat faster. It was a silver compact and the driver found a spot at the very end of the center row. Hannah couldn’t tell if it was a Honda from this distance, and she hurried over for a closer look.

It was a Honda and a woman was opening the driver’s door. It was Miss Whiting and she waved as she saw Hannah.

“Hello, Hannah. What are you doing out here all alone?”

Hannah thought fast. She needed a plausible excuse. “I left my purse in the truck, and I had to come back out here to get it,” she said.

“We’d better hurry if we want to get inside before the program begins,” Miss Whiting said.

“Yes.” Hannah tried to get a look at the license plate, but Miss Whiting was blocking it with her body. The teacher just stood there, waiting for Hannah to turn around and head back to the auditorium, but Hannah couldn’t do that. She had to get a look at Miss Whiting’s license plate.

“Are you coming?” Miss Whiting asked, and that was when Hannah remembered the tactic she’d used at the Lake Eden Inn. There was no reason why it wouldn’t work now.

“Oops!” Hannah exclaimed, and dropped her purse. Then she bent down to pick up the items that had spilled out, moving from spot to spot to retrieve them, and attempting to read Miss Whiting’s license plate at the same time.

She managed to catch a glimpse of the top right hand corner of the license plate. It was a graphic of a barn with a silo. Any state in the heartland could have a barn with a silo on its license plate.

“I think my pen dropped over here somewhere.” Hannah leaned to the left and searched in the freshly fallen snow. She extended as far as she could and spied the letter “W” on the upper left hand corner of the plate.

She still didn’t have enough. The “W” could stand for Wyoming, or West Virginia, or Washington. She needed one more letter to be sure.

That was when Miss Whiting moved three steps to the side, exposing the entire license plate to Hannah’s view. “Is that a little easier for you?” she asked.

She knows what you’re doing! Hannah’s suspicious mind shouted. But as she got to her feet, Hannah told herself that perhaps Miss Whiting had moved over so that more light would fall on the dropped items.

“Thanks,” Hannah said, holding the purse in both hands. “I think I’ve got everything I need.”

“I’m sure you do, especially now that you’ve seen my Wisconsin plate.”

“What do you mean?” Hannah did her best to look innocent, but her heart sank to her toes. She was out here alone with Miss Whiting. And Miss Whiting had killed Larry Jaeger.

Miss Whiting took a step closer.

Hannah jumped back.

“What’s wrong?” Miss Whiting smiled a chilling smile. “Are you frightened of me?”

There was nothing to be gained by avoiding an answer. “Yes,” Hannah said.

“Why?”

“Because I think your name is Bianco. And you shot Larry Jaeger because of your connection with Salvatore Bianco.”

“Well, well. You’re smarter than I thought you were.” Miss Whiting smiled that chilling smile again. “Salvatore Bianco was my father and Larry killed him. Oh, he wasn’t there physically, but his finger was on the trigger. And it was all because I convinced my father to invest every cent of his retirement money in Larry’s business.”

“That’s…awful!” Hannah’s mind was buzzing at warp speed, trying to figure out how she could get away from Miss Whiting. She’d killed once. She had nothing to lose if she killed again.

“Yes, it’s awful. I loved him, you know.”

“Your father,” Hannah commiserated.

“And Larry. I loved Larry, too…or at least I thought I did.” Miss Whiting reached into her purse and pulled out a gun. “That’s enough talking. Walk.”

Hannah walked. What else could she do? But she kept talking as they stepped closer and closer to the edge of the hill. “Why did you shoot Larry’s television screen?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

“That was a mistake, but I got so angry when I saw it.”

“Because of Hollywood Home Theater?”

“Yes. I let my anger get in the way of my good sense, and I left an arrow pointing in my direction. If I’d just killed Larry and walked away, you never would have connected me with his murder. No one but you put that last piece together. You’re a good student, Hannah. I could make you into an excellent C.P.A. You have a logical mind and it’s a pity I have to kill you.”

Her goose was cooked if she didn’t do something. They were at the edge of the parking lot and Hannah’s eyes darted left and then right, searching for some avenue of escape. That was when she saw it, the stack of Sliders the shop class had made. If she could just throw Miss Whiting off balance, she could grab one and…

“That’s far enough,” Miss Whiting ordered, and the steely tone in her voice told Hannah that this was the time to act. She whirled around, threw her purse directly in Miss Whiting’s face, raced to the rack, and grabbed the top Slider. Even though she wanted to turn and see if Miss Whiting had recovered from the blow she’d received, Hannah just held the Slider to her chest, took three steps to the precipice, and hurtled over the edge into space.

Chapter Twenty-Six

She landed so hard it knocked the breath out of her body, but somehow Hannah managed to hold onto the Slider. She slid several feet before she got the hang of it, just in time to keep from hitting a huge pine tree. She had to pull up on one of the handholds cut into the side, and push down on the other to change her course so that she could avoid obstac…

There was a loud pop and almost immediately something whizzed past her ear. Miss Whiting was shooting at her! She must have recovered from the blow to the head quickly because…

There was another loud pop, but this time Hannah didn’t hear the whiz. She didn’t feel anything either and that meant she hadn’t been hit.

Hannah pulled up on the right handle just in time to avoid a hillock that certainly would have overturned her like a turtle and left her soft underbelly exposed to Miss Whiting’s bullets. And speaking of bullets, how many did she have left?

Hannah tried to remember the gun she’d seen in Miss Whiting’s hand, but it was no use. All she could visualize was the round, dark hole in the end of the barrel, the hole that would release the bullet that would end her life. As she zoomed down the hill, she thought of the ballistic tally that Mike had given her. One shot in Larry, three in the flat screen TV. That meant four shots were gone, and most revolvers had six shots…didn’t they? Miss Whiting had just shot once past Hannah’s ear, and once more only the winter birds in the trees knew where. That was a total of six shots. Miss Whiting could be out of ammunition, unless she’d reloaded after she’d killed Larry.

Another shot hit the snow about three feet in front of Hannah’s Slider, kicking up a puff of snow that almost blinded her for a moment. Another shot thunked into a pine tree ahead of her and to the left. Forget the revolver and counting shots. It seemed Miss Whiting had plenty of ammunition. All Hannah could do was hope that the business teacher knew more about balance sheets than bull’s-eyes.

Hannah gasped when she saw a thicket of prickly thorn bushes dead ahead. She twisted and turned the handholds on the Slider, desperately seeking to change her course and avoid what promised to be a painful encounter. Delores was right. She’d never been able to steer a sled by herself, but at least, this time, it wasn’t a tree!

There were several moments that occurred in slow motion, reminding Hannah of several movies she’d seen. There was her hand on the Slider twisting, twisting to no avail. There was a single gust of snow, peppering the smooth skin of her cheek. There was her mouth, open in a silent scream as the Slider moved inexorably forward. And finally there was one barbed thorn as big as the sun, quivering in anticipation of her arrival.

And then real time took over and she hit the prickly thorn bushes. Hard. Still tumbling forward, she smashed into the spiked branches that attempted to make ribbons of her skin.

Perhaps the freezing air acted as an anesthetic. Or perhaps she was simply too frightened to feel much of anything. Hannah wasn’t sure which theory was accurate, but something kept her from feeling the sting of barbs and the sharp pricks of thorns. She jumped to her feet, grabbed her Slider, and ducked behind the biggest tree she could find.

Her rational mind, the one her would-be killer had praised just moments ago, was thankful that her Slider was forest green. It would blend in with the winter foliage and perhaps escape Miss Whiting’s notice.

Hannah huddled against the pine tree and wondered how long it would take Miss Whiting to find her. There was probably a path left by her Slider from the top to midway down the hill. Miss Whiting would see it and know that Hannah was here. She had to move.

Risking a glance at the top of the hill proved almost fatal. A bullet thudded into the pine tree where Hannah was attempting to hide. She’d been spotted. The Slider had left a telltale trail.

Hannah’s mind flew through the possibilities. Would Miss Whiting climb down here to kill her? And where was Mike? Mike always rescued her when she was in trouble. Didn’t he have some sort of sixth sense that told him when someone was about to kill her? Mike always came to the rescue.

Another shot brought Hannah back to the present with a snap. She had to move again. Right now! The only question was whether she should crawl, or hold up the Slider as a shield and run to another big pine tree.

It was dark and overcast, with snow still falling in flurries. The wind whipped up, providing a perfect opportunity, and Hannah crawled through the snow straight back from her pine to the pine behind it.

When she got there she waited expectantly, but there were no more shots. She’d made it! She wanted to stop and rest, but it couldn’t hurt to put one more tree between her trail and Miss Whiting.

Hannah dropped to her stomach and prepared to crawl once more. She felt like a crab as she inched her way back, pushing with her feet and pulling with her hands against the snow-packed earth. She was halfway there when she heard a sound that couldn’t have been made by the wind, or the snow, or any forest creature. It was click of metal against metal, and she looked up to see Miss Whiting standing over her.

“Good try,” Miss Whiting said, leveling the gun directly at Hannah’s head. “One shot through the brain should do it. It’s a pity to waste a good mind, but it can’t be helped.”

It was over. She’d run out of options. Hannah shut her eyes and wondered whether her life would flash before her eyes. It didn’t. All she could think about was Moishe and how she hoped Norman would take him and give him a good home with Cuddles. She’d miss him dreadfully, and even though he was a bad boy at times, he was her bad boy.

And then she heard the shot. It was loud and it hurt her ears. Miss Whiting had shot her through the head. Her life was over. She was dead.

Dimly, she heard a crashing as someone ran down the hill. How could that be? Dead people weren’t supposed to hear anything except celestial music. Perhaps she wasn’t dead yet. Perhaps she was still dying.

And then she was gathered up into two strong arms, and someone was smoothing back her hair. Not dead, then. And the arms and the hand felt good.

“Are you okay?” Mike asked, lifting her up into his arms.

“I…think…so.” The words were an effort and it seemed to take forever to speak them.

“Don’t worry. She’s dead,” Mike said, carrying her up the hill. “Just relax, Hannah. Lonnie’s coming to cover the crime scene and I’m taking you straight to the hospital.”

“Miss Whiting shot me?” Hannah asked, fearing the worst.

“No, but you need to take care of those scratches on your face. And you might have a concussion from running into those thorn bushes so hard. I need to make sure you’re okay.”

Hannah smiled, even though it hurt to do so. Mike cared. But she couldn’t resist asking, “Why?”

“Because I’m worried about you.”

It was a good answer. Hannah’s relief at being rescued and happiness at being alive grew even stronger as Mike bent down to place a light kiss on her lips.

“You have to get well in a hurry so you can cook that bang-up Christmas Eve dinner you promised to make for me.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The mood was festive and the guests around Hannah’s dinner table were enjoying the excesses of the season. It was Christmas Eve and candles glowed softly down the length of the folding library table Hannah had borrowed from Marge Beeseman. Andrea’s shiny gold tablecloth graced its surface and Michelle had helped Hannah make the edible place cards. They’d wrapped tiny truffle boxes that contained one chocolate raspberry and one white chocolate apricot truffle in Christmas paper with the guests’ names written on the top. Delores had arrived early to set the table and she had rearranged the place cards so that Hannah was seated between Mike and Norman. Again.

Christmas carols were playing softly in the background. Hannah’s sound system and Moishe’s Kitty Kondo were still in place, but every other stick of living room furniture had been moved to other rooms to make space for the long table.

“Your tree looks so good,” Michelle said, taking another cracker with Shrimp Louie Spread.

“It certainly does…except for the mice,” Delores said with a delicate little shudder. “They’re just too realistic for me!”

“They’re not too realistic for Moishe,” Mike said, watching Hannah’s pet go after one of the mice on the tree.

They’d solved the problem of the Christmas tree without caging either the tree or the cat. Mike and Norman had been frequent visitors the weekend Hannah had spent recovering from her near brush with death and her thorn bush injuries, and they’d caught Moishe in action. Both men agreed that something had to be done, but they didn’t want to admit defeat and take down her Christmas tree. There had been measurements, discussions of pulleys and levers with Rick and Lonnie Murphy, and a trip to buy the necessary hardware. Hannah had gone back to work on Monday, and by the time she’d come home that night, her tree had been reliably cat-proofed.

“It turned out okay,” Norman said, gazing at the tree. “It’s not exactly your normal tree, but it’s better than no tree at all.”

Hannah agreed wholeheartedly. She’d grown to like her upside-down tree, hung by its trunk from a pulley attached to the highest point of the exposed beam on her cathedral ceiling. It was fully decorated with lights, glass balls, and Great-Grandma Elsa’s remaining two birds, the way any regular Christmas tree would be. And just in case Moishe felt frustrated because he could no longer climb it, Mike and Norman had hung six new toy mice on almost invisible fishing line from the tip of the tree. Since the tip was almost four feet from the rug below it, Moishe could bat at the mice to his heart’s content without any danger of coming into contact with the tree itself.

The Christmas Cheese Round was almost gone and the Shrimp Louie Spread was going fast. It was time to start serving the first course. Hannah rose to her feet, and headed for the kitchen, followed by Michelle, Andrea, and Tracey.

“What can I carry, Aunt Hannah?” Tracey asked. “I promise I won’t drop anything.”

Hannah reached out to give her niece a little hug. “I know you won’t, honey,” she said. This was the first Christmas Eve that Tracey had been allowed to help instead of staying at the table with Grandma McCann and Bethany, and she was taking her duties seriously.

The first course was Holiday Squash Soup. It was accompanied by condiments of sour cream and parsley. The soup was hot and would be dished up in the kitchen and carried to the table in individual bowls.

“How would you like to carry the sour cream?” Hannah asked her, knowing that her sisters could easily handle the trays with the bowls of soup. “I can follow you with the parsley. You’ll have to hold the bowl while people take some.”

“I can do that,” Tracey said. “Do you think a lot of people will want sour cream?”

“Grandma Delores will. She loves sour cream. And I think Mike and Norman will, too. And then there’s your dad, and maybe Grandma McCann, and…”

“So it’s almost everybody!” Tracey looked delighted with her assignment.

Once the soup was served and everyone had embellished their bowls with sour cream and parsley, Hannah went back into the kitchen to stage the rest of the meal. She took the Jeweled Pork Roast out of the oven and set it on a rack to cool slightly before carving, and then she found the perfect platter for Andrea’s Jell-O. Unmolding it was almost always an easy task because the Jell-O had ridden in the back of Andrea’s Volvo on the trip to Hannah’s condo, and the vibration from the road had already done the lion’s share of the work.

The serving platter went over the top of the ring mold Andrea had used for her Jell-O. A quick flip of Hannah’s wrists turned the mold upside down, and once she’d given it a little shake, she heard the Pineapple Cranberry Jell-O Salad break loose and settle down on the platter. Hannah lifted the ring mold and smiled. Andrea really was the Queen of Jell-O. This one was as pretty as a picture.

The Christmas Bell Salad was next. Hannah had prepared it an hour before the guests were due to arrive and it was waiting in a bowl in the refrigerator. She took it out, pulled off the plastic wrap she’d used to keep it fresh, and set it next to the Jell-O on the counter.

The salted water was gently simmering for the Petite Green Pea Boats and Hannah turned up the heat. Then she went to the refrigerator to get the “boats” she’d made by removing the fruit from orange halves, and arranged them on a pretty platter. When the water was boiling, she put in the petite frozen peas, and gave Michelle and Andrea the high sign. It was time to stage the rest of the meal while Tracey carried in the empty soup bowls.

Andrea and Michelle knew exactly what to do. They’d worked it all out in advance. Andrea stuck the toothpicks with the little sails on the orange “boats” that would receive their cargo of buttered petite peas, and Michelle started the Lingonberry Gravy, which was actually flavored with apricot jam since Hannah hadn’t been able to find lingonberry jam.

The peas were ready. Hannah poured them out into a strainer and then quickly doused them in the ice water she had waiting to preserve the bright green color. It took only a moment to toss them with butter, salt, and pepper and spoon them into the boats Andrea had decorated.

The Scandinavian Spuds were waiting in the oven in their ovenproof serving dish. Hannah took them out with her best pair of oven mitts and set them at the end of the lineup on the counter.

“Pork roast, gravy, and we’re done,” she said, grabbing a cutting board and her electric knife.

The Jeweled Pork Roast sliced like a dream. Hannah cut it into one-inch-thick slices and transferred them to her meat platter. By the time she was finished slicing, Michelle had poured the gravy into the pitcher Hannah preferred to use in place of a gravy boat, and they were ready to serve.

“What do you want me to carry, Aunt Hannah?” Tracey asked.

“How about all the serving utensils?” Hannah scooped up the meat forks, serving spoons, and the cake server she’d been planning to use for Andrea’s Jell-O salad, and plunked them into a basket. “All you have to do is follow us to the table and we’ll get the serving utensils from you.”

Hannah turned to look at the counter again, and frowned. “I’m missing something,” she said. “I wonder what it is.”

“Bread?” Tracey guessed. “You always have rolls or something, don’t you?”

“Good call!” Hannah praised her, reaching up to grab the towel-lined basket of Cranberry Scones she’d removed from the oven shortly after her guests had arrived. “Is everyone ready?”

There was a chorus of assent from Michelle, Andrea, and Tracey. Hannah stepped to the front of the line with her Jeweled Pork Roast and within moments they’d lined the long table with the dishes that made up their festive meal.

Hannah took her place at the table. There was nothing more for her to do until it was time for dessert and coffee, and she was looking forward to enjoying the fruits of her labors.

Other than the occasional “Mmmm!” from one diner or another, they all ate in contented silence for several minutes. And then, when ravaging appetites had been partially appeased, the conversation began to flow again.

“Did you hear what Nancy is going to do with Larry’s money?” Delores asked them.

“Who’s Nancy?” Michelle asked.

“Dr. Love,” Delores answered. “She’s Larry Jaeger’s legal widow.”

Mike looked interested. “I haven’t heard.”

“Neither have I,” Carrie said, and Hannah noticed that she was holding her fork in her left hand so that she could hold hands with Earl.

“She’s going to refund the money to all of Larry’s investors.”

“There’s that much money?” Michelle was shocked.

“There’s more than enough,” Delores told them. “Nancy and Courtney went through all of Larry’s papers. They found the ledger he used to list the investors in every business he ever owned and they’re writing checks to all of them.”

“So is your name on the list, Earl?” Delores asked him.

“Not mine. I went out there to talk to Larry the night Hannah saw me. He wanted investors for the spa he was planning to open in Duluth. I asked him a couple of questions about financing and I didn’t like his answers so I turned him down flat.”

“Smart man,” Carrie said, smiling at Earl.

“I’m really glad you think so,” Earl said, and smiled back.

“I have some news about the show.” Michelle said, putting down her fork. “Did anybody see the DVD we made of my number in the Christmas Follies?”

“I did,” Hannah said, grateful that her sister had shown it to her. While Michelle had performed her song and dance number, Miss Whiting had been shooting at Hannah in the woods.

“There’s an important money man in New York who likes it. He says he might finance the show if he sees a couple of the other numbers performed live.”

“You’re going to New York?” Delores asked, barely able to contain her excitement.

“That’s right, Mother. We’re leaving on Monday and we’re going to his theater to perform it for him.”

Andrea began to frown. “But what if he decides he wants you for the part and he offers you a contract? Will you take it and live in New York?”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Michelle said with a laugh. “He wouldn’t want an unknown college student like me!”

The conversation turned to other things then, but no one mentioned Miss Whiting. Mike was handling the fact that he’d killed her to defend Hannah quite well, but no one wanted to broach the subject.

When everyone at the table had put down their silverware and leaned back slightly in their chairs, Hannah gestured to her sisters and they began to clear the table for the dessert.

The coffee was ready. Hannah had dashed to the kitchen to flick the switch midway through the dinner. Now she transferred the coffee to a serving pot and took down the tray she’d prepared earlier with cups, spoons, and sugar. Once the cream had been added to the tray, she sent Andrea out to serve the coffee while she put on a second pot. Then she scraped and rinsed dishes, and Michelle slipped them into the dishwasher.

When Andrea came back, she put away the leftovers, stashing them in the refrigerator. “All done,” she said, wiping down the counter where they’d staged the dinner.

“Time for dessert,” Hannah announced, handing them bowls of Hard Sauce and Soft Sauce, and giving them both a little shove toward the living room. “You go sit down. It’ll only take a couple of minutes.”

“Tracey’s all ready with the lights,” Andrea informed her. “She knows her cue word. She wrote it on her arm with a felt-tip pen.”

“Uh-oh. I hope it’s not a permanent marker,” Michelle said.

“It may be, but it’ll wear off eventually.”

When her kitchen was sole occupancy again, Hannah got out the bottle of brandy she’d purchased specially for this occasion, and poured some in a small saucepan. She turned on the heat, warming it slowly as she lifted the domed cover on her cake carrier. Her Minnesota Plum Pudding sat inside, and it was going to be a spectacular dessert.

The brandy was almost warm enough. Hannah could see the vapors rising toward the overhead lights. She heard the doorbell ring and Michelle call out that she’d get it. Her friend from college had arrived right on time!

Hannah pulled the saucepan from the heat and drizzled the brandy over the top of her plum pudding. Then she picked up the long lighter she used to light the pilot light on her gas fireplace whenever it blew out, and held it close to the top of her dessert.

When the brandy ignited, Hannah made a circle over the top with the lighter. It was flaming beautifully and it was time to give Tracey her cue.

“Don’t you just love Christmas Eve?” she called out, watching the light level in the living room. Tracey must have been standing right by the switch, because the room went dark almost immediately.

From the glow cast by her upside-down Christmas tree, Hannah carried in her spectacular dessert. She set it down in the center of the table and looked up with a smile as everyone applauded.

“Bravo! Well done!”

A deep voice praised her, and Hannah recognized it in an instant. It was the same voice that had murmured sweet nothings in her ear, told her she was the only woman for him, and promised her he’d love her forever. Her startled eyes darted to the chair they’d saved for Michelle’s college friend and met the gaze of Bradford Ramsey.

SHRIMP LOUIE SPREAD

Hannah’s Note: This is best served well chilled with a basket of crackers on the side.

8 ounces softened cream cheese

1/2 cup mayonnaise

1/4 cup chili sauce (I used Heinz)

1 Tablespoon horseradish (I used Silver Springs)

1/8 teaspoon pepper 6 green onions

2 cups finely chopped cooked salad shrimp[***] (measure AFTER chopping)

Salt to taste

Mix the cream cheese with the mayonnaise. Add the chili sauce, horseradish, and pepper. Mix it up into a smooth sauce.

Clean the green onions and cut off the bottoms. Use all of the white part and up to an inch of the green part. Throw the tops away.

Mince the onions as finely as you can and add them to the sauce. Stir them in well.

Chop the salad shrimp into fine bits. You can do this with a sharp knife, or in the food processor using the steel blade and an on-and-off motion.

Mix in the shrimp and check to see how salty the spread is. Add salt if needed.

Chill the spread in a covered bowl in the refrigerator for at least 4 hours. You can make it in the morning if you plan to serve it that night.

Yield: Makes approximately 3 cups.

HOLIDAY SQUASH SOUP

2 ten-ounce packages winter squash (the kind that’s in a solid block and already pureed)

1/2 cup chopped onion

2 teaspoons chicken bouillon beads (or whatever measure it gives to make 2 cups of chicken broth)[***]

2 cups heavy cream

1/4 teaspoon pepper

8-oz package cream cheese, unwrapped and softened in the microwave for 1 minute

sour cream and/or parsley for toppings

Hannah’s Note: If you don’t have a large enough blender to do this all at once, blend half of it at a time and stir it all together when you get it in the crockpot.

Cook the squash according to package directions, drain it and put it in a blender.

Add the chopped onion and the chicken bouillon beads.

Add the heavy cream.

Zoop it up in the blender and make sure all the onion pieces are pureed and the mixture is smooth.

Add the pepper and the softened cream cheese.

Zoop it up again until it’s all smooth and then dump it in the crockpot you’ve sprayed with Pam.

Once your soup is in the crockpot, give it a final stir and taste a little bit for seasoning. If it needs more salt, DON’T ADD IT. Add another teaspoon of bouillon beads instead to make it really chickeny. If you want to make your soup sinfully rich, this is the time to cut a half-stick of butter (4 ounces, 1/4 pound) into little pieces and throw them in the crockpot.

Turn the crockpot on LOW and cook for 4 hours. (This can go an hour or two longer if your company doesn’t arrive on time.)

Check for seasonings again right before serving. When you dish it into the bowls, you can top it with a dollop of sour cream and a sprinkle of fresh parsley if you like.

Yield: approximately 4 cups.

Hannah’s Note: If your soup gets too thick in the crockpot, thin it with a little chicken broth.

PINEAPPLE CRANBERRY JELL-O SALAD

6-ounce package raspberry Jell-O

1 and 3/4 cup boiling water

16-ounce can jellied cranberry sauce 8-ounce can crushed pineapple (do not drain)

3/4 cup orange juice

1 teaspoon lemon juice (freshly squeezed is best)

1/2 cup chopped walnuts

Dissolve the Jell-O in the boiling water. Stir for at least 30 seconds to make sure it’s dissolved.

Add the cranberry sauce and stir until well blended.

Add the pineapple (with the juice), orange juice, lemon juice, and walnuts.

Mix everything together and pour in a ring mold.

Refrigerate until firm. This should take about 4 hours, but you can make it the night before your dinner and keep it in the refrigerator until you’re ready to unmold it and serve it.

Hannah’s Note: Andrea got this recipe from Sally Hayes.

CHRISTMAS BELL SALAD

1 large red bell pepper (cleaned, seeded, and cut into thin strips)

1 large yellow bell pepper (cleaned, seeded, and cut into thin strips)

1 large green bell pepper (cleaned, seeded, and cut into thin strips)

6 green onions (cleaned and minced—use up to one inch of the stem)

1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley 4 cups fresh spinach (or a bag of spinach salad from the store)

1/2 cup golden raisins

1/2 cup roughly chopped nuts (I used walnuts)

1/8 cup (2 Tablespoons) raspberry vinegar (or red wine vinegar)

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil 1/4 cup white sugar

Freshly ground black pepper

1/4 teaspoon salt

Hannah’s Note: If fresh bell peppers are not available in your area, use a bag of frozen, multi-colored bell pepper strips. Let them thaw naturally in your refrigerator overnight and dry the strips with paper towels before using.

Assemble the pepper strips, onions, parsley, and spinach in a large salad bowl. Mix in the golden raisins and nuts and toss.

Put the vinegar, olive oil, sugar, pepper, and salt in a small bowl. Whisk them until they are well blended.

You can dress the salad now and refrigerate it for up to an hour, or dress and toss it at table-side.

Yield: Serves 4 to 6 people.

JEWELED PORK ROAST

5-pound boneless loin of pork, center cut

2 bags mixed dried fruit[***]

3 Tablespoons butter

3 Tablespoons virgin olive oil

Salt

Freshly ground black pepper

1 cup white wine

1 cup heavy cream

Extra milk

Cut your pork loin into 2 pieces. Each piece should be no longer than 8 inches.

Stand one piece of pork loin on the cut end and run a barbeque skewer all the way down the middle lengthwise, just like you’re skewering a giant hotdog from one end to the other.

Move the skewer around and turn it to enlarge the hole you’ve made through the middle of the pork loin. If you have a second skewer, push it in right next to the first skewer to assist in enlarging the opening.

When you’ve enlarged the hole as much as you can with the skewers, withdraw them and insert the handle of a wooden spoon. Again, twist it around to stretch the meat and enlarge the hole. Work at this until the hole through the middle of the pork loin is large enough for you to insert your finger.

Lay the fruit out on a sheet of wax paper so that you can pick and choose. This is going to be an awe-inspiring entree if you alternate fruit color as you’re stuffing. Start by examining the prunes to make sure they’re pitted. You don’t want one of your guests to crack a tooth!

Insert a prune into the hole. Push it down to the halfway point with your finger or the end of the wooden spoon. Follow that with an apricot, then a pear, a peach, and two apple slices. Insert as much fruit as you can stuff into the hole.

Now go at it from the other end, stuffing the fruit in random order, alternating types and colors. When your piece of pork loin is chock-full of fruit and it’s practically popping out the ends, either skewer the ends closed or sew them closed with kitchen string and a large needle. (I lived dangerously - I just left mine open and was very, very careful when I browned the pork.)

Repeat with the second half of the pork loin and then heat the butter and olive oil in a skillet large enough to hold both pieces of pork.

Brown the outside of your pork roasts, turning them with tongs so that they’re brown all over. Salt and pepper your pork as you go so it’s seasoned all over.

Take out a roasting pan large enough to hold both roasts and deep enough to also hold the cream, wine, and milk. Spray the inside of the roasting pan with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray and pour in the white wine and cream.

Place the roasts in the roasting pan. If you haven’t sewn or skewered the ends closed, try to jam them up against each other and the sides of the pan so the fruit won’t fall out during baking.

Pour enough milk into the pan so that the liquid comes halfway up the sides of your roasts.

Cover your roaster with the lid or with a piece of heavy foil tucked down around the sides, slip it into the oven, and turn the oven on to 350 degrees F.

Bake the roasts for 2 hours or until the meat no longer resists when poked with the tip of a sharp knife.

Remove the pan from the oven. Remove the foil or cover carefully—steam will escape. Then remove the roasts from the pan and place them on a cutting board, cover them loosely with foil and let them rest for at least 10 minutes. (15 minutes is okay, too.)

Throw away the liquid in the pan. It won’t make good gravy.

When your Jeweled Pork Roasts have rested, use a very sharp knife to slice off the very ends. Then slice the roasts into 1-inch thick pieces and arrange them on a platter.

Pat yourself on the back when you carry the platter to the table and everyone oohs and ahhs. You deserve it.

Yield: Serves 6 to 8 guests.

LINGONBERRY GRAVY (OR APRICOT IF YOU CAN’T FIND LINGONBERRY)

Hannah’s Note: This is not homemade pork gravy. Since you cook the pork in milk, you don’t have all that wonderful brown stuff in the bottom of your pan that makes gravy taste so yummy.

If you want to make this the way my grandma did and you can find lingonberry jam, by all means use it. If you can’t find lingonberry jam, you can substitute apricot jam, seedless raspberry or blackberry jam, or even apple jelly.

3 packets of Pork Gravy Mix (I used Schilling’s—the kind that makes 1 cup of gravy for each packet)

Extra packet of Pork Gravy Mix

1/2 cup lingonberry jam (or your choice of a substitute jam or jelly)

Make the 3 packets of Pork Gravy Mix following the directions on the package. When it’s ready, add the half-cup of lingonberry jam (or substitute.)

If the jam thins the gravy too much, use as much of the other gravy package as you need to thicken it.

SCANDINAVIAN SPUDS

12 baking potatoes, about 4 inches long and 2 inches wide

2 Tablespoons softened butter (1/4 stick, 1 ounce)

8 Tablespoons melted salted butter (1 stick, 4 ounces, 1/4 pound)

1 teaspoon salt

2 Tablespoons dried crumbled sweet basil (I used Spice Island sweet basil)

1 teaspoon paprika

4 Tablespoons bread crumbs (I used the flavored kind)

8 Tablespoons cold salted butter (1 stick, 4 ounces, 1/4 pound)

Choose a bowl large enough to hold all of the potatoes and fill it with cold water. Add a teaspoon of salt and a squirt of lemon juice to the water. Set it on your counter and…

Peel a potato, rinse it off, and find a wooden spoon or serving spoon that will cradle the peeled potato almost halfway up its sides. Put the spoon on a bunched up towel on the counter so it won’t roll from side to side, and nestle the potato inside. Turn the spoon sideways so that the long side of the potato faces you. Start about a half-inch from the end and slice straight down in quarter-inch intervals, stopping a half-inch from the other end of the potato. The bowl of the spoon will stop your knife from cutting through the potato all the way so that it’s only partially sliced. Drop the partially sliced potato in the cold water so that it won’t discolor and start in on the next one.

Hannah’s Note: The peeling and slicing of the potatoes can be done several hours in advance as long as you store them in cold, salted water in the refrigerator.

If you do slice all the way through a potato, don’t worry. Just bump the two pieces tightly together in your baking pan when the time comes and no one will be the wiser.

One hour and ten minutes before you want to serve your potatoes, preheat your oven to 425 degrees F., rack in the middle position.

Once your oven comes up to temperature, the potatoes will take about one hour from start to finish.

Choose a baking pan that will hold all of your potatoes in a single layer. If you don’t have one that large, use two smaller ones.

Use the 2 Tablespoons of softened butter to coat the inside of your baking pan. (If you have a pretty one that can be carried to the table, by all means use it!)

Take the potatoes out of the water and pat them dry with paper towels. Place them in the buttered pan, cut side up in a single layer.

Drizzle the melted butter over the tops of the potatoes and sprinkle on the salt.

Sprinkle the Scandinavian Spuds with sweet basil and paprika.

DO NOT sprinkle on the bread crumbs yet.

Place your pan in a 425 degree F. oven, UNCOVERED, and set your timer for 30 minutes.

When the time is up, take your pan out of the oven and sprinkle the bread crumbs over the top of your potatoes (the slices will have spread out a bit so some will go between the slices).

Melt the cold stick of butter. Drizzle it over the top of the breadcrumbs.

Slip your pan back into the oven, uncovered, for an additional 25 minutes.

Test your potatoes to make sure they’re done by spearing one gently with a fork. If it shows no resistance, take the pan out of the oven and let the potatoes cool for at least 5 minutes before serving.

Yield: 12 potatoes.

You can cut this recipe in half, of course. Or you can double it if you’ve invited Mike to your Christmas Eve dinner. He’s been known to eat three on occasion.

CRANBERRY SCONES

Preheat oven to 425 degrees F.,

rack in the middle position.

3 cups all-purpose flour (pack it down in the cup when you measure it)

2 Tablespoons white (granulated) sugar 2 teaspoons cream of tartar (important)

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup softened salted butter (1 stick, 4 ounces, 1/4 pound)

2 large eggs, beaten (just whip them up in a glass with a fork)

1 cup unflavored yogurt (8 ounces)

1 cup sweetened dried cranberries (Craisins, or their equivalent)

1/2 cup whole milk

Use a medium-size mixing bowl to combine the flour, sugar, cream of tartar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Stir them all up together. Cut in the salted butter just as you would for piecrust dough.

Hannah’s Note: If you have a food processor, you can use it for the first step. Cut 1/2 cup COLD salted butter into 8 chunks. Layer them with the dry ingredients in the bowl of the food processor. Process with the steel blade until the mixture has the texture of cornmeal. Transfer the mixture to a medium-sized mixing bowl and proceed to the second step.

Stir in the beaten eggs and the unflavored yogurt. Then add the sweetened dried cranberries and mix everything up together.

Add the milk and stir until everything is combined.

Drop the scones by soup spoonfuls onto a greased (or sprayed with Pam or another nonstick baking spray) baking sheet, 12 large scones to a sheet. You can also drop these scones on parchment paper if you prefer.

Once the scones are on the baking sheet, you can wet your fingers and shape them into more perfect rounds. (If you do this and there are any leftovers, you can slice them in half and toast them for breakfast the next morning.)

Bake the scones at 425 degrees F. for 12 to 14 minutes, or until they’re golden brown on top.

Cool the scones for at least five minutes on the cookie sheet, and then remove them with a spatula. Serve them in a towel-lined basket so they stay warm.

Yield: Makes 12 large and delicious scones.

PETITE PEA BOATS

One small orange for every 2 guests

Package of frozen petite peas (or 2 packages, depending on how many guests)

Butter

Salt

Pepper

Crumbled bacon

Small triangles of colored paper for flags

Toothpicks

Cut the oranges in half and scoop out the fruit, leaving two half shells for the boats. You can cut a little off the bottoms of the boats with a sharp knife so that they won’t roll on the serving platter. These “boats” can be made a day ahead and stored in a plastic bag in the refrigerator.

Cook the frozen peas according to package directions. Drain them, and then toss them with butter, salt, and pepper.

Arrange the “boats” on a serving platter. Attach the paper flags to the toothpicks and stick the end of the toothpick into the white part of the orange peel so that it will stand straight up.

Fill the Petite Pea Boats with peas, sprinkle them with crumbled bacon, and serve.

HANNAH SWENSEN’S CHRISTMAS EVE DINNER

Christmas Cheese Rounds

Shrimp Louie Spread

Holiday Squash Soup

Pineapple Cranberry Jell-O Salad

Christmas Bell Salad

Jeweled Pork Roast

Lingonberry Gravy

Scandinavian Spuds

Cranberry Scones

Petite Green Pea Boats

Minnesota Plum Pudding Flambe

PLUM PUDDING MURDER RECIPE INDEX

Easy Cheesy Biscuits

Hot Fudge Sundae Cakes

Holly Jolly Coffee

White Chocolate Pumpkin Dreams

Christmas Cheese Rounds

Pork and Beans Bread

Frosted Ginger Cookies

Minnesota Plum Pudding

Chocolate Chip Pretzel Cookies

Fudge-Mallow Cookie Bars

Christmas Lace Cookies

Triple Threat Chocolate Cheesecake Pie

Banana Chocolate Chip Cookies

Frosting Splatters

Orange Julius Cookies

Chocolate Oatmeal Cookies

Chocolate Raspberry Truffles

Dixie Lee’s German Apple Cake

Nancy Dunn Bar Cookies

Shrimp Louie Spread

Holiday Squash Soup

Pineapple Cranberry Jell-O Salad

Christmas Bell Salad

Jeweled Pork Roast

Lingonberry Gravy

Scandinavian Spuds

Cranberry Scones

Petite Pea Boats

Baking Conversion Chart

These conversions are approximate, but they’ll work just fine for Hannah Swensen’s recipes.

VOLUME:

U.S.

Metric

1/2 teaspoon

2 milliliters

1 teaspoon

5 milliliters

1 tablespoon

15 milliliters

1/4 cup

50 milliliters

1/3 cup

75 milliliters

1/2 cup

125 milliliters

3/4 cup

175 milliliters

1 cup

1/4 liter

WEIGHT:

U.S.

Metric

1 ounce

28 grams

1 pound

454 grams

OVEN TEMPERATURE:

Degrees Fahrenheit

Degrees Centigrade

British (Regulo) Gas Mark

325 degrees F.

165 degrees C.

3

350 degrees F.

175 degrees C.

4

375 degrees F.

190 degrees C.

5

Note: Hannah’s rectangular sheet cake pan, 9 inches by 13 inches, is approximately 23 centimeters by 32.5 centimeters.

It’s June in Lake Eden, Minnesota, and for Hannah Swensen, that means bridal showers galore, plus a massive fundraising event in need of confections—not to mention a killer who never learned that charity begins at home…

Early summer brings plenty of work for Hannah, even before Mayor Bascomb’s wife drops by The Cookie Jar to place an order…for eleven hundred cookies! Stephanie Bascomb is organizing an elaborate three-day event to support local charities, and though it’s a worthy cause, Hannah almost flips when her business partner, Lisa, suggests setting up an apple turnover stand. Hannah’s never made a turnover—but, pushover that she is, she places her faith in Lisa’s mother-in-law’s recipe and agrees to be a magician’s assistant in the fundraiser’s talent show…

Dozens of pastries and one hideous purple dress later, Hannah has to admit that stepping out of her comfort zone has been fun as well as profitable. The only snag is the show’s host, community college professor Bradford Ramsey. Hannah and her younger sister Michelle each had unfortunate romantic relationships with Ramsey, and when the cad comes sniffing around between acts, Hannah tells him off. But when the curtain doesn’t go up, she discovers Ramsey backstage—dead as a doornail with a turnover in his hand…

Now, to protect her reputation and Michelle’s, Hannah must get to the bottom of the professor’s bitter end. There are plenty of scorned suspects, including an ex-wife who feels cheated in more ways than one and a prominent local who may have been using Ramsey to avenge her own randy spouse. But who was unstable enough to snuff out Professor Love? A killer who’s flakier than puff pastry—and far more dangerous…

Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of

Joanne Fluke’s

APPLE TURNOVER MURDER

now on sale at bookstores everywhere!

Chapter One

“‘Til death do us part.”

The words echoed in the hushed flower-scented air and Hannah Swensen shivered in her bridal finery. The church was filled to capacity on this Sunday afternoon in early June and sunbeams streamed through the stained glass windows that lined the nave, transforming the dust motes that floated on lazy air currents into bits of vividly colored confetti.

‘Til death do us part.

The words were simple, the sentiment was true, and Hannah knew that marriage was supposed to last a lifetime. But hearing such grave words on this joyous occasion always reminded her of an opening line in a television murder mystery. In the next shot, the groom would kiss the bride and the whole congregation would mirror their happy smiles. Then the camera would pull back, and the music would change to a minor key. Something was about to happen, something ominous. Someone was going to die before the first commercial break, and you could almost bet that the victim would be one-half of the bridal couple, most likely the actor or actress who was lesser known and lesser paid.

But not today and not here in Lake Eden, Hannah told herself, feeling a bit silly for her dark thoughts on this happy occasion. She could probably blame her overactive imagination on too much work and not enough sleep. Hannah and her partner, Lisa, had put in long hours at The Cookie Jar, their coffee shop and bakery, and their jam-packed schedule was far from completed. They’d baked scores of cookies for graduation celebrations, bridal and baby showers, engagement parties, and school picnics. They’d even baked their signature wedding cookies for this wedding, Old-Fashioned Sugar Cookies topped with glittering crystals of granulated sugar and decorated with the initials of the bride and the groom in frosting, enclosed in a frosting heart. Once the reception line had come to an end, everyone would mingle in the church garden to enjoy iced lemonade and The Cookie Jar’s wedding cookies.

Hannah was attempting to count the wedding celebrants that filled the pews to make sure they’d brought enough cookies when a warm hand reached out to clasp hers. The hand belonged to Norman Rhodes, son of the bride, Carrie Rhodes, and one of the men she was currently dating. Norman was smiling and he’d told Hannah that he was pleased his mother was marrying a man they all knew and liked, Earl Flensburg.

As Carrie and Earl turned and began their first walk down the aisle together as man and wife, Hannah caught a glimpse of her own mother’s face. Delores Swensen was a study in contrasts, smiling and dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief at the same time. Weddings always made Delores cry. She’d once admitted to Hannah that she’d cried at her own wedding and, much to her embarrassment, smudged her mascara in the process.

Hannah followed Norman out of the pew and down the side aisle toward the front doors of the church. “Are you going to stand in the reception line?”

“I’ll congratulate them later when I make the first toast.” Norman waved and Hannah turned to see Mike Kingston, the other man she occasionally dated, standing on the steps that led up to the church doors. He was still wearing his Winnetka County Sheriff’s Department uniform and that probably meant he was still on duty. Mike waved back at them and Hannah and Norman went down the steps to greet him.

“Sorry I missed the wedding,” Mike said when they arrived at his side. “I was supposed to be off work an hour and a half ago, but there was a robbery. You’d think in heat like this, the criminals would stay home and fan themselves.”

“What did they steal?” Norman asked.

“A couple of fans?” Hannah guessed, earning long-suffering looks from both men.

“You’re close,” Mike told her. “They stole a truck loaded with one of those above-ground swimming pools.”

“That’s a pretty big thing to steal,” Norman said. “Did you catch them?”

“Sure. The pool was still in the bed of the truck and they were trying to fill it up in the parking lot at the Eagle. You know where that is, don’t you?”

Both Hannah and Norman nodded. They’d rescued Hannah’s youngest sister, Michelle, from the country-western bar last summer when she’d helped them substantiate a suspect’s alibi.

“They were trying to set up the pool at the Eagle?” Hannah asked him.

“Trying is the operative word. Since they didn’t have a hose, they recruited everybody at the bar to carry out beer mugs filled with water and dump them in the pool. Lonnie and I figured it would have taken them at least four days to fill it up enough for a swim.”

“So you caught them and arrested them?” Norman asked.

Mike shook his head. “It seems they were drinking buddies with the owner of the truck. And once they agreed to help him unload the pool at his house, and he agreed to let them go for a swim, everybody went off happy. But I missed the wedding and I’m sorry about that.” Mike turned to Norman. “Give your mother and Earl my apologies, okay? And tell them I’ll see them later.”

“Let’s head out to the Lake Eden Inn,” Norman suggested after Mike had left.

Hannah glanced at her dress watch, squinting a bit to read the tiny numbers. She was used to the big dial on the watch she wore at work where time was of the essence and a minute or two more could turn a boiled frosting into concrete. “If we leave now, we’ll be an hour early for the reception.”

“Good. I want to check my video equipment to make sure everything’s working right.” Norman stopped speaking and frowned slightly. “Did I give you the bag of cat treats and toys I bought?”

Hannah turned to smile at him. “Yes, you did. But there’s enough in that bag for a month and you’re only going to be gone for three nights.”

“I know. It’s just that I’ve never left Cuddles before and I wanted to make sure she had everything she needed.”

“But how about the time Marguerite took her up north?” Hannah asked, remembering the vacation Cuddles and her former owner had taken last summer.

“That’s different. I didn’t leave Cuddles. Cuddles left me.” Norman was silent for a moment and then he began to grin. “That sounds a little crazy, doesn’t it?”

“Not a bit. I’d feel the same way.”

Hannah reviewed the plan in her mind as they walked to Norman’s car. Once the reception was over, Norman would be driving his mother and Earl to the international airport in Minneapolis where they would catch a midnight flight to Rome. They were touring Italy for their honeymoon, somewhere Carrie had always wanted to go. Norman would see them off and then he’d drive to the hotel where he’d be staying for three nights. On Monday he’d meet up with some friends from dental school who were opening a clinic in St. Paul, tour the building they’d chosen for their clinic, and then they’d all go out to dinner together. On Tuesday he’d attend the grand opening, stay over that night, and drive back to Lake Eden Wednesday morning in time for his first appointment. He’d pick up Cuddles that night after work, and his cat would have almost seventy-two hours to spend playing with her best friend, Moishe.

“Do you think we should check on the cats before we drive out to the reception?” Norman asked.

“We can stop at the condo if you’re worried about them, but I’m sure they’re fine. I filled the Kitty Valet with food before we left and Moishe’s always been a real gentleman about letting Cuddles eat first. They’re probably snuggled up on the couch together, watching the Animal Channel.”

“You’re right. No sense in disturbing them.” Norman opened all four doors of his car to let the heat out before he gestured for Hannah to get inside. “I’ll get the air conditioning on right away,” he promised.

It was a hot afternoon and Hannah was glad that the air conditioning in Norman’s sedan was better than the air conditioning in her cookie truck. Even if she turned it on full blast, someone blowing over the top of an ice cube would be more effective. Riding in Norman’s well-maintained car was a welcome treat, and by the time they pulled out of the church parking lot, cool air was already beginning to pour out of the vents. “I just love your car!” she said with a sigh, leaning back against the headrest.

The moment the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. They’d just come from a wedding and that meant both of them had weddings on the mind. It would be natural for Norman, who really wanted her to accept the proposal he’d tendered over a year ago, to say, Marry me and I’ll buy you one just like it. Or, Just say yes and I’ll make everything easy for you, Hannah. Or even, Did you see how happy Mother was? I’d make you even happier if you’d marry me.

But Norman didn’t say any of those things. Instead, he just laughed. “You don’t love my car. You love my air conditioning.”

“It’s true.” Hannah hung her head in pretended shame. “I’m just a fool for a good-looking condenser and powerful vents.”

Norman chortled. There was no other word for it. It was a sound that was midway between a chuckle and a gurgle and it made Hannah smile to know she’d caused it. There was no greater gift than making someone laugh. People who laughed were happy.

It was a huge party. Almost everyone they knew in town was there, but the Swensen sisters had found each other and snagged a table. Hannah, Andrea, and Michelle were seated at a rectangular table at the edge of the dance floor. Their mother, Delores, sat at one end, looking no more than a decade older than her daughters.

“And you’re going to fill in at Granny’s Attic while Carrie’s on her honeymoon?” Hannah asked Michelle.

“That’s right.” Michelle turned to smile at her mother. “I’ve got a whole month before I have to be back at Macalester, and Mother’s promised me a commission on any antiques I sell.”

“And an hourly wage on top of that,” Delores amended her youngest daughter’s statement, and then she turned to Hannah. “Michelle will be able to stay with you for a while, won’t she, dear? I’m having the hardwood floors redone and it could take several weeks.”

“Not a problem. Michelle can stay with me anytime she wants.”

Michelle turned to give Hannah a grin. “Thanks!”

“I should be the one to thank you. The last time you stayed over, you made breakfast for me. And the day you left, you stripped your bed and washed the sheets. Not only that, you emptied the drier and folded all my clothes. I love it when you stay with me.”

All four Swensens looked up as a man stopped by their table. It was Lonnie Murphy, the deputy sheriff Michelle dated when she was in town. “Hi, Shelly. Do you want to dance?” he asked.

“I’d love to!” Michelle smiled, got up from her chair, and took Lonnie’s arm. She looked genuinely delighted to be asked as they stepped out onto the dance floor.

Hannah hid a grin. Michelle hated to be called Shelly. It was the name her fourth grade class had given to the box turtle they kept in their terrarium. She’d once told Hannah she thought that Shelly was a great name for a turtle but not for her, and she’d engaged in several hair-pulling fights on the school playground with anyone who’d dared to call her by that nickname. Obviously things had changed. When Lonnie called her Shelly, Michelle just smiled at him. Hannah figured that must be love, or at least a close facsimile.

“Delores. Just the person I wanted to see.” Bud Hauge approached their table. He owned the welding shop in town and Hannah knew he’d worked on several broken antiques for her mother.

“Bud.” Delores acknowledged him with a nod. “Don’t tell me you can’t weld the rocker on my treadle sewing machine.”

“Okay. I won’t tell you I can’t weld your sewing machine.”

“Bud!” There was a warning tone in their mother’s voice and Hannah exchanged grins with Andrea. Delores had gone to school with Bud and he loved to tease her.

“Just kidding. It’s all ready for you, good as new. I’ll drop it by Granny’s Attic tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Bud. That’s perfect. I’d like you to take a look at something else we bought. Have you ever done any restoration on grave art?”

Bud gave a little shrug. “I don’t know. They bring it in, I weld it. What’s grave art?”

“It’s a tribute for a grave, a statue or some kind of decoration chosen by the family. Commonly they’re made of marble or granite, but this one is metal.”

“What is it? An angel or something like that?”

“No, it’s a fish.”

“A fish?” Both Andrea and Hannah spoke at once since Bud appeared to be rendered speechless.

“I believe it’s a walleye pike. It’s not so unusual if you consider that families like to personalize the graves of their dearly departed.”

Dearly departed? Hannah stared at her mother in shock. She’d never heard anyone use that phrase outside the walls of a church. “So some dead person inside, whoever he was, liked to fish?”

“I assume so, dear. We have several examples of grave art at the shop. They’re from the family mausoleum section of Spring Brook Cemetery and they date back to the eighteen hundreds.”

“They’re tearing down part of that section, aren’t they, Mother?” Andrea asked.

“They’re relocating it, dear. The city council feels that the crypts are in such bad repair, they could be dangerous.”

“How could they be dangerous if everyone who’s in them is dead?” Hannah asked.

Andrea and Bud burst into laughter, and Hannah noticed that Delores did all she could do to keep a straight face. “That’s not very nice, dear,” she chided her eldest daughter.

“But it’s funny,” Bud said, still chuckling.

“And it’s true,” Andrea added.

“Well, be that as it may, the council decided to take down the crumbling mausoleums and relocate the…um…contents.”

“All of them?” Hannah asked, remembering how she used to ride her bike out to the old part of the cemetery and walk past the giant stone angels and carved headstones. “I used to love the pink granite mausoleum with the columns in the front.”

“That belongs to the Evans family and Florence has agreed to repair it. Four generations of her family are buried there. The problem the council had was with some of the other mausoleums. At least a dozen were unclaimed. Either the families moved to parts unknown, or there are no living relatives.”

“Those are the ones they’re tearing down?” Bud asked.

“That’s right. But some of the grave art can’t be moved to the new gravesites. Either it’s in bad repair or it’s simply too large. Carrie and I are taking whatever we can salvage to sell at Granny’s Attic and we’ll donate the proceeds to the relocation fund.”

“That’s nice of you, Mother,” Andrea said. “But do you really think that anybody will buy a walleye for a grave?”

“It’s already sold, dear. Winnie Henderson is buying it for her family crypt. She’s kept it up over the years, but she never got around to ordering any kind of decoration.”

“And she wants the walleye?” Bud looked astonished.

“Yes. One of her husbands just loved to hunt and fish. I think it was the third one.”

“I thought it was the fourth,” Hannah said.

“Whatever. Winnie said his fishing buddy wanted all his fishing tackle, so she couldn’t put any inside. All she had were his hunting things.”

“She put those inside?” Andrea asked.

“Yes, and that’s why she wants the walleye. Winnie wants everyone to know that he was a great fisherman as well as a good hunter.”

“Sounds like what the Egyptians did with the pyramids,” Bud commented. “Does Winnie believe he’ll use them in the afterlife?”

“I don’t know, Bud. Winnie has some strange notions and I didn’t really get into it with her.”

“Wait a second,” Bud said, looking a little worried. “She didn’t put any guns in there, did she?”

“Heavens, no! She kept the guns. She said you never know when you need firearms out on the farm. She shot a lynx last year, right before it attacked one of her calves.”

“Is a lynx the same as a wildcat?” Andrea turned to Hannah. “I always get those two mixed up.”

“A lot of people do. The bobcat’s genus is lynx, but if you’re thinking of the Canadian lynx we see here in Minnesota, they’re twice as big as bobcats, and they have snowshoe paws.”

Delores laughed. “I don’t think Winnie got close enough to examine its paws.”

“But was the bobcat Winnie shot a Canadian lynx?” Andrea asked.

“Probably,” Bud answered her question, “especially if it was attacking something as big as a calf.”

“Maybe it was a cougar, or a…a mountain lion.” Andrea was obviously struggling with the nomenclature. “Or don’t we have any of those here?”

“I think cougars are another name for mountain lions,” Hannah told her. “And if I remember correctly, they’re lumped in there somewhere with pumas and panthers.”

“But do we have mountain lions here?” Andrea repeated her question. “We don’t have any mountains in Minnesota.”

“You’re right,” Bud said. “Most of them are farther west, but they migrate over here once in awhile. They’re adaptable, and if there’s not enough food where they are, they go in search of it.”

“Then you think the big cat that Winnie shot might be a mountain lion?” Hannah asked him.

“I doubt it. If you spot a big cat here, it’s probably a Canadian lynx.” He turned to Delores. “Tell me more about that walleye. What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s missing one of its fins. That’s why I asked if you’d ever done any restoration work. Do you think you could fabricate a fin and weld it on?”

“Yes, but only if you dance with me.”

“What?!”

“Only if you dance with me. This is our song…remember?”

Delores didn’t say a word, but she got to her feet and took Bud’s arm. Hannah noticed that her mother’s cheeks were bright pink as Bud led her to the dance floor and took her in his arms.

“I wonder if Bud’s an old flame,” Andrea mused.

“He could be. Mother told me she dated a lot in high school.”

“You mean our mother played the field?”

“You could call it that, I guess. I know she wasn’t serious about anyone until Dad came along.”

Both sisters were silent as their mother danced by with Bud. Then Andrea turned to Hannah. “I wonder if she feels lonely now that Carrie’s married again.”

“I don’t know. She hasn’t said anything about it. Then again, she probably wouldn’t. Do you want me to ask her?”

“No! That’ll only make her think about it, if she’s not thinking about it already. It’s just that…I was wondering if we should keep an eye on her…just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

“Just in case she falls in love again. Remember what happened with Winthrop?”

“I’ll never forget it, but I really don’t think that’ll happen again.”

“Why not?”

“Because Mother’s wiser now, and there aren’t any new, fascinating men with British accents who’ve moved to Lake Eden. Mother’s known all the eligible local men for years.”

“I know that, but…”

“Besides,” Hannah went on, “Mother doesn’t seem interested in anything but friendship. And the men seem to feel exactly the same way.”

“Really?” Andrea nudged Hannah and gestured toward the dance floor. “Take a good look and tell me that again.”

Hannah scanned the couples on the floor and located Delores dancing with Joe Dietz. Their mother was looking up at Joe and smiling in what Hannah thought could be a mildly flirtatious way. “What’s Mother doing with Joe Dietz? I thought she was dancing with Bud!”

“She was, but not anymore. Joe cut in on Doc Knight.”

“Doc Knight? How did Doc Knight get into the picture?”

“Doc cut in on Bud.”

“But it can’t be more than a minute since Mother left the table! Are you telling me that she’s had three dance partners already?”

“Yes, and number four is on the horizon and approaching fast. Look to your left.”

Hannah followed Andrea’s direction and watched as Pete Nunke walked out on the dance floor and made a beeline for Delores and Joe Dietz. There was no doubt that Andrea was correct when Pete tapped Joe on the shoulder.

“See what I mean?” Andrea asked.

“I see.”

Both sisters watched as Joe tried to wave Pete away. There was a moment of good-natured banter between the two men and then Delores said something to Pete. His response caused her to throw back her head and laugh in obvious delight, leaving no doubt that she relished being the belle of the ball at her best friend’s wedding.

“Mother’s very popular tonight,” Andrea said as Delores went into Pete’s arms.

“Yes, she is.”

“From where I’m sitting, she looks as if she’s enjoying every minute of it,” Andrea commented, “and it looks like it could be a little more than simple friendship to me.”

Hannah sighed. Her sister was right. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on Mother…especially since all the bachelors and widowers in Lake Eden seem to be doing the same thing!”

CANDY CANE MURDER

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 * CARROT CAKE MURDER

Books by Laura Levine

THIS PEN FOR HIRE * LAST WRITES KILLER BLONDE SHOES TO DIE FOR THE PMS MURDER DEATH BY PANTYHOSE * KILLING BRIDEZILLA

Books by Leslie Meier

MISTLETOE MURDER * TIPPY TOE MURDER TRICK OR TREAT MURDER BACK TO SCHOOL MURDER VALENTINE MURDER CHRISTMAS COOKIE MURDER TURKEY DAY MURDER WEDDING DAY MURDER BIRTHDAY PARTY MURDER FATHER’S DAY MURDER STAR SPANGLED MURDER NEW YEAR’S EVE MURDER BAKE SALE MURDER ST. PATRICK’S DAY MURDER

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

CANDY CANE MURDER

JOANNE FLUKE

LAURA LEVINE

LESLIE MEIER

KENSINGTON BOOKS

http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

Contents

Candy Cane Murder

Joanne Fluke

The Dangers of Candy Canes

Laura Levine

Candy Canes of Christmas Past

Leslie Meier

CANDY CANE MURDER

JOANNE FLUKE

Thanks to everyone at the Mysterious Galaxy Bookstore in San Diego for testing the Candy Cane Bar Cookies for me.

Big hugs to the two “crafty” sisters, Donna Williams and Dorene Higgons.

Chapter One

It was a dream, one of those bizarre fantasies she’d laugh about when she woke up. But not even in her worst nightmare had Hannah Swensen ever imagined she’d be transformed into an elf.

“Are you ready, Aunt Hannah?”

It wasn’t a dream. That was Tracey’s voice. Hannah mouthed a word she hoped wasn’t in her six-year-old niece’s vocabulary and then she answered the question. “I’ll be out in a couple of minutes, honey.”

The holiday season calls for a generosity of spirit, Hannah reminded herself as she pulled on bright green tights and struggled into the matching tunic top. The bottom hem of the tunic had long points of cloth attached like screaming red pennants hanging down around her waist. Each one was tipped with a jingle bell, so if by some miracle someone failed to notice her, the bells would announce her presence.

Her footwear was next. Hannah pulled on slippers with rollup toes in a shade of red so bright it hurt her eyes. She topped it all off with a pointed cap with more jingle bells in the same brilliant red, and avoided the mirror with the same dedication Transylvanian villagers had used to ward off vampires.

“Aunt Hannah?”

“I’m almost ready, Tracey.”

“What’s the matter? You sound funny.”

“Elves are supposed to sound funny, aren’t they?” Hannah tugged down the bright red points on her tunic. Perhaps it would stretch out and fit a little better.

“I guess. Better hurry, Aunt Hannah. It’s six-five-six and Santa’s supposed to be here at seven-oh-oh.”

“Right.” Hannah gave a fleeting thought to how much she missed the big hands and little hands on analog watches and risked a glance in the mirror. Her image hadn’t changed for the better. The red of her hair was engaged in a full-scale war with the red of her cap, women who were more than two pounds overweight should avoid form-fitting tunics with bells that called attention to their figure faults, and with the possible exception of those who had fitness club memberships and actually used them, women over thirty should be wary about skipping in public. It was Santa who was supposed to jiggle like a bowlful of jelly, not her!

“Aunt Hannah?”

“Coming.” Hannah tore her eyes away from the wreckage of her self-esteem. If a dozen determined designers had gotten together for the sole purpose of creating an outfit that would be most unflattering for her, they couldn’t have done a better job. She took a deep breath, grabbed the basket of miniature candy canes she would strew like rose petals in Santa’s wake, and opened the dressing room door.

All thoughts of how dreadful she looked were erased as she caught sight of Tracey’s beaming face. Playing Santa’s elf for an hour wouldn’t kill her. And since the large silver basket she was carrying had to contain at least a thousand miniature candy canes, there was an upside to the evening. She’d have plenty of candy left over to make Chocolate Candy Cane Cookies at The Cookie Jar, her bakery and coffee shop, tomorrow.

“You’re perfect, Aunt Hannah!” Tracey said, taking her aunt’s hand. “All the kids are going to love you.”

And with that vote of supreme confidence, Hannah and her niece headed for the temporary stage that had been erected in the dining room of the Lake Eden Inn to wait for Santa to arrive.

“I see Mom!” Tracey said, peeking through the crack in the curtain. “And Aunt Michelle’s there, too. They’re getting the kids lined up.”

Hannah walked over to take a look. She spotted her two younger sisters waiting in line with the children from the Winnetka County Children’s Home. They had been bussed out for an early dinner and a gift from Wayne Bergstrom, who was playing Santa tonight. The children would go back to the Home right after their visit with Santa and then the adult Christmas party would begin.

Tracey glanced at her watch. “It’s seven-one-three and Santa Wayne isn’t here yet. I wonder why he’s late.”

“I don’t know,” Hannah answered, “but make sure you don’t call him Santa Wayne in front of the kids. You know that Wayne is one of Santa’s temporary helpers at Christmas time, but the other kids don’t.”

“Don’t worry, Aunt Hannah. I won’t tell.”

Hannah took another peek through the slit in the curtains. The children in line were beginning to fidget. If Wayne didn’t get here soon, Michelle and Andrea would have an insurrection on their hands.

And then it happened. Both Hannah and Tracey began to smile as they heard sleigh bells in the distance. From previous Christmas parties at the Lake Eden Inn, Hannah knew that Wayne carried a half-dozen sleigh bells attached to a red leather strap. They usually resided in one of the big patch pockets of his Santa costume, but he took them out when he came in the kitchen door and jingled them to build anticipation for his arrival, and as a signal for his elf to join him in the kitchen.

Hannah took one last look at the line of children. All talking, coughing, and wiggling had ceased. Instead there was silence, perfect stillness of voice and body, large and small. And every face wore an expectant smile. Santa was coming and even the teenagers who had seemed so jaded and blase only moments before were now caught in the grips of heady expectancy.

“Better take your place, Tracey,” Hannah whispered, giving her niece a little push toward the thronelike chair where Wayne would sit. Since some of the little ones had been afraid of the big, red-suited man with the white fur and the booming voice in years past, Sally had asked Tracey to stand next to Santa and reassure them.

When Tracey had taken up her position, looking like an angel with her shining blond hair and white velvet dress, Hannah gave a little wave and headed off to the kitchen. Her least favorite part of the evening was about to begin, the part where she skipped behind Santa and scattered cellophane-wrapped candy canes as he wound his way through the crowded dining room and up the steps to the stage. When Santa reached the top step, the curtains would open to reveal Tracey, Santa’s throne, and the huge decorated Christmas tree. And once Wayne was seated and his elf had navigated the steps and taken her place by the Christmas tree, Michelle and Andrea would bring the children up, one by one, to greet Santa and receive their presents.

When she pushed open the swinging kitchen door, Hannah spotted Santa Wayne at the counter, perched on a tall stool and drinking something in a cup. Sally stood next to him, frowning.

“Something’s wrong?” Hannah asked her, and it came out more statement than question. Of course something was wrong. Sally wouldn’t be frowning if everything were perfectly all right.

“Wayne’s got laryngitis and my hot peppermint tea isn’t working. We’re afraid he’ll scare the kids when he talks to them.”

Hannah realized that was possible, especially if Santa sounded gruff. “I could make an announcement.”

“What kind of announcement?” Santa Wayne asked in a rasping voice that left no question about his ability to speak in normal tones.

“I could tell the kids that you ran into some thick fog over Greenland and you had to sing ‘Jingle Bells’ really loud so your voice would bounce off the ice caps and Donner and Blitzen wouldn’t fly into them.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard!” Santa Wayne rasped.

Hannah shrugged. “I know, but I think it’ll work. Do you want me to do it?”

Santa Wayne and Sally exchanged glances. “I guess it’s better than nothing,” he said, settling the question.

Smile. Scatter left, scatter right, Hannah told herself, trying not to pant as she skipped. She’d only covered about half the distance and she was already out of breath, puffing faster than the caterpillar smoking a hookah in Tracey’s volume of Alice in Wonderland.

Uh-oh! There was Mike, her sometime boyfriend! Hannah put on the best smile she could muster and tried to pretend she was having the time of her life. The fact that those portions of her anatomy she often wished were smaller and firmer were bouncing up and down and sideways like a loose bar of soap in a shower stall didn’t help. No one who saw her could possibly call her graceful. The best she could hope for was that they might consider her a good sport.

Only a few more yards to go. Hannah concentrated on skipping forward and peppering her audience with candy canes. At least she’d finally figured out why the green leggings she wore were called tights. It was because they were tight. Extremely tight. So very tight that she felt like a sausage about to split open on a blazing hot barbecue grill.

The ordeal was almost over and Hannah stopped to toss another few candy canes as Wayne climbed the steps to the stage. Then the curtains opened and the audience applauded as he gave Tracey a smile and sat down in his chair. He patted his knee, and Tracey climbed on to whisper in his ear. It was a sweet and heartwarming scene, and Hannah was grateful that everyone in the audience was watching Santa with Tracey as she climbed the steps to the stage and took her place to do what her Grandma Ingrid had always called speak her piece.

“Santa almost didn’t make it tonight,” Hannah spoke the words she’d been rehearsing in her head, “so let’s give him a big round of applause to show how glad we are he made it here to the Lake Eden Inn.”

The audience broke into loud applause and once it had diminished in volume, Hannah continued with her story. “Did you know that there was an awful storm at the North Pole when Santa started his Christmas journey?”

“No!” several children shouted, and Hannah gave them a smile. “There was, believe me. Santa didn’t think he was going to make it, but do you know what he did?”

“No!” This time the response was louder and Hannah went into her story about the polar ice caps and the fog as heavy as green pea soup. “So Santa had to sing all the way to the coast of Newfoundland to keep his reindeer from crashing into the ice caps. And he sang so loudly and so long, he strained his voice.”

The younger children in line were nodding gravely. They’d believed her, just as she’d known they would. “Would you like to hear how funny Santa sounds?” she asked.

There was a clamor of yeses and not all of them came from the children. Some of the adults were getting into the spirit of the evening, too.

“Would you please say Ho Ho Ho for us, Santa?” she requested, turning toward him.

“Ho, Ho, Ho!” Santa Wayne exclaimed hoarsely, and some of the children giggled. That drew a good-natured laugh from the adults and Hannah figured she’d done her part. There was only one more thing to mention. “So you won’t be afraid of Santa’s scratchy voice, will you?”

“No!” several children shouted and almost all of them shook their heads. Her mission was accomplished and Hannah skipped over to take her place next to the mound of color-coded presents. The Santa, Tracey, and Elf Show was about to begin.

Hannah and Tracey knew the drill. They’d even rehearsed it with Sally. Hannah would hand Tracey the appropriate present, Tracey would carry it to Santa, and Santa would give it to the child on his lap. Norman Rhodes, Hannah’s other boyfriend, would snap a picture for posterity. Then Michelle would escort the child to the rear of the line as Andrea brought the next child forward.

The smallest children were at the front of the line and Hannah studied the mound of presents. They were arranged by age group. All she had to do was work from left to right and everyone would get an age-appropriate present. The packages were also color coded. If they were wrapped with gold and green paper, they were for the girls. The boys got presents wrapped with silver and red paper.

The next few minutes were busy. Hannah chose the gifts, Tracey gave them to Santa, and Santa presented them. The children were delighted and Hannah was really getting into the spirit of the season by the time she picked up the last present. It was over. And she hadn’t died of mortification. Perhaps the mirror in Sally’s dressing room had waved the wrong way and caused her to look larger than she actually was. And perhaps all that skipping had jumbled her brain and affected her ability to separate reality from wishful thinking.

There was standing applause as the children, all of them clutching their presents, were led out the door to their waiting bus. And then the curtains closed and Hannah fanned herself with her tasseled cap. Except for a few dropped candy canes and one toddler who would absolutely not sit on Santa’s lap and screamed bloody murder despite Tracey’s, Hannah’s, Andrea’s, Michelle’s, and Santa’s best efforts, all had gone smoothly.

Sally was waiting for them in the wings and she handed Santa Wayne another cup of hot tea. “That was even better than last year! Sip some tea, Wayne. Your throat must hurt from talking to the kids.”

“Thanks. Hurts.” His voice was as scratchy as sandpaper and he gave a rattling cough.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Sally told him. And then she turned to Hannah and Tracey. “You were wonderful, Tracey. And Hannah…your speech about Santa’s sore throat was just the thing.”

“Whatever,” Hannah said, waving off the compliment even though she thought it had been pretty good herself.

“Here’s your receipt for the presents, Wayne.” Sally passed him a folded sheet of paper. “Mayor Bascomb did it through the Lake Eden Boosters this year.”

“My receipt?”

“You know, the one you need for your corporate taxes. Mayor Bascomb said to tell your accounting department that the Boosters got their nonprofit status in June last year. He’ll fax you a copy of the paperwork for your files.”

“Right.” He shoved the receipt in his pocket and turned to Hannah. “I’ll need the rest of that candy. I’m playing Santa at the store tomorrow.”

What a cheapskate! Hannah thought. And being a cheapskate was probably how rich people got rich in the first place. Wayne Bergstrom owned Bergstrom’s Department Store, the busiest and most profitable retailer at the Tri-County Mall. He had displays of miniature candy canes at every checkout counter, the tubs stacked one on top of the other like red and white striped pyramids. There was no reason he needed to take what Hannah had come to think of as her leftovers.

“Here,” Hannah said, handing over the basket.

“It’s her basket,” he said, gesturing to Sally. “Dump the candy in my pocket.” Then he held open one of the massive pockets on the jacket of his Santa suit, and waited for Hannah to dump them in.

“I’ll drop off the elf costume at the store tomorrow unless you want it now,” Hannah told him. “It’ll only take me a couple of minutes to change.”

“Keep it. We couldn’t sell it anyway now that you stretched it out. You can use it again next year.”

“No flying pigs around here,” Hannah muttered just under her breath, and she was rewarded by a startled chortle from Sally. When Sally had asked her if she would be Wayne’s regular elf for future Christmas parties at the Lake Eden Inn, Hannah had responded with, Sure, when pigs fly!

With Sally struggling to maintain her composure, Hannah was just searching around for a topic of polite conversation when Sally’s husband, Dick, walked up.

“Good job, Wayne.” Dick clapped him on the back. “The kids loved you. Go change out of your suit and I’ll mix you a Peppermint Martini.”

“Tempting, but not tonight,” he answered in his husky voice. “Got to rest my throat.”

“Hot water, honey, and lemon,” Hannah advised him. “It’s like making hot lemonade. Then pour in a little brandy and top it off with grated nutmeg.”

“Does the brandy help?” he asked her, clearing his throat with obvious difficulty.

“Not really. Your throat still hurts just as much, but after three or four cups, you don’t care anymore.”

PEPPERMINT MARTINI

Hannah’s 1stNote: These recipes are from Richella and Priscilla, Dick Laughlin’s bartenders at the Lake Eden Inn. Dick says if you don’t have martini glasses, you should run right out and buy them. Both Dick and Sally swear that these martinis taste a hundred percent better in martini glasses.

5 ounces good grade vodka

2 ounces white creme d’menthe

1/2 ounce peppermint schnapps

Combine in a shaker and shake with ice. Strain into two martini glasses and garnish with miniature candy canes hooked over the rims of the glasses.

PEPPER MINT MARTINI

Hannah’s 2ndNote: Here’s the second recipe. You may notice that “pepper” and “mint” are separated in the title. The reason will become obvious when you read the recipe.

6 ounces pepper vodka

2 ounces white creme d’menthe

one fresh sprig of mint

Crush the mint with the back of a spoon. Combine with the other ingredients in a shaker and shake with ice. Strain into two martini glasses and garnish with miniature candy canes hooked over the rims of the glasses.

Chapter Two

Hannah gave one more glance in the mirror and this time she smiled. Claire Rodgers, her business neighbor on Main Street, had chosen Hannah’s party outfit from her selection at Beau Monde Fashions. Claire and Hannah had worked out a barter system in the two years they’d been neighbors. Hannah dropped in with cookies for Claire, and Claire sold Hannah fashionable clothing at her cost. Tonight’s outfit was a color Hannah had always wanted to wear, one she thought of as “lavender blue,” the title of one of her grandmother’s favorite folk songs. She’d always assumed it would clash with her hair, but Claire had urged her to try it on and it worked perfectly. The romantic lines of the long, draped jacket hid two of her figure faults, and the black silk pants emphasized her height and made her look thinner.

One last smoothing pat to the curls she’d given up trying to tame while she was still in grade school, and Hannah was ready for the party. She turned to look at the elf costume still hanging on a hook. Wayne had told her she could have it, but she knew she’d never wear it again unless someone had a gun to her head. And even then, she might take several moments to think it over. If she left it there behind the door, perhaps someone would take it before the night was over. Someone who’d enjoy it. Someone who didn’t have bright red hair and ten extra pounds around the middle.

“How’re you doing, Hannah?” a voice greeted her as she stepped out of the dressing room and Hannah turned to see Cory Reynolds, Wayne Bergstrom’s brother-in-law, leaning up against the wall. Since there was no other reason he’d be in this particular hallway, he was obviously waiting for her.

“Fine, Cory. How about you?” Hannah put on a smile. Cory was a nice enough guy, and it wasn’t his fault that his sister had married a rich tightwad like Wayne.

“Things are good. I just wanted to tell you that the story you told about how Wayne lost his voice was great.”

“Thanks. I was hoping it would work. Wayne sounded awful.”

“I know. He’s even worse now. I ran into him outside the back door and he said he was going straight home to have some of that hot lemonade and brandy you told him about.”

“Good. It should make him feel better.”

“I really didn’t think he’d be able to do Santa tonight. I even offered to take over, but he wouldn’t have it.”

Too bad you didn’t, said the voice in Hannah’s head, because maybe you would have given me the rest of those candy canes! But that was meanspirited and this was the Christmas season. She could afford to be a little charitable. “Has Wayne been hoarse all day?” she asked.

Cory shook his head. “He was fine at noon. We had a manager’s meeting at the store during lunch.”

“You mean you had to give up your lunch break?”

“Yeah, but at least it was on a weekday. Sometimes we have managers’ meetings on Saturdays. Or Sundays. Wayne says that anyone who’s not willing to come in twenty-four/seven will never be a manager at Bergstrom’s.”

“I’ll bet that makes him really popular,” Hannah muttered. But she must have said it a little louder than she thought, because Cory gave a startled bark of laughter.

“It doesn’t put him in the top ten for the Best Boss of the Year award. But it’s like he always says…it’s his money and it’s his store. He can run it any way he wants to.”

“What department do you manage?” Hannah continued to make polite conversation.

“Wonderful Weddings. I moved there last year from Men’s Clothing. We book weddings and provide everything the wedding party needs.”

“Sounds nice,” Hannah said, wondering why Cory had chosen to talk to her. Perhaps he was just lonely, now that Wayne had left?

“So tell me about Wayne’s laryngitis,” she prompted. “Sally said he could barely talk when he came in the kitchen door.”

“That figures. He called me around five-thirty on my cell phone and he was already pretty hoarse. I had to ask him to repeat himself a couple of times and it didn’t exactly make him happy. That’s when I asked him if he wanted me to take over for him at the party.”

Hannah heard Sally’s voice over the loudspeaker, inviting everyone to come to the buffet tables. Cory heard it too, and he extended his arm. “Shall we, Hannah?”

“Absolutely. Thank you, Cory.” Hannah took his arm and hoped he hadn’t heard her stomach growl as they headed off to join the line for the buffet.

Sally’s dessert buffet was splendiferous. Hannah eyed a piece of Italian Apple Tort and was about to succumb to temptation when she remembered how tight the tights on her elf costume had been.

“Trying to decide?” Mike asked, causing her to jump.

“Trying to resist,” Hannah corrected him. “How do you do that anyway?”

“Do what?”

“Sneak up on people.”

“We learn it in cop school.” Mike flashed her a grin that made her stomach do a little flip-flop. If someone conducted a poll of the single, divorced, and widowed women in Lake Eden, Minnesota, Mike Kingston, Chief Detective at the Winnetka County Sheriff’s Department, would be a shoo-in for most desirable husband. “Too bad you took off your costume. I thought you looked cute in it.”

Hannah stared at him for a minute in utter disbelief and then she said, “I think the county pays for that.”

“Pays for what?”

“Eye surgery. I understand they’re doing wonders with lasers now.”

Mike laughed so loudly several guests at the buffet turned to look at him. “Very funny, Hannah. But I really did think you looked cute. If you’re not going to have a slice of that apple thing, do you want to dance?”

Did she want to dance? Hannah ranked that question right up there with Do you want to breathe? Did she want Mike to put his arms around her and hold her close? Did she want to look up at him and realize that their lips were only inches apart? Did he even have to ask?!

“Hannah?” Mike prompted, and Hannah came out of her musings to realize that he was holding out his arm.

“Thanks, Mike. I’d love to dance,” she said quickly, accepting his arm and walking with him to the dance floor.

Dancing with Mike must have broken the ice, because once the last notes of music had faded away, Norman appeared to claim her for the next dance. After that, Andrea’s husband, Sheriff Bill Todd, piloted her around the floor. Then there was a series of local men, one right after the other, including Cory Reynolds, Mayor Bascomb, Doc Knight, Reverend Knudson, her host Dick Laughlin, and the town druggist, Jon Walker.

“I’m not moving for at least ten minutes,” she declared, sinking into a chair at the table she was sharing with her sisters. She slipped off her shoes and wiggled her feet, hoping that the feeling would eventually return to her toes.

“Feet hurt from all that dancing?” Andrea asked her.

“Sure do. And skipping in those pointy toed elf shoes didn’t help either.” She glanced around and didn’t spot Bill. Lonnie Murphy, one of Bill’s deputies and Michelle’s date for the evening, was nowhere in sight either. “Where are Bill and Lonnie?”

“Lonnie’s dancing with his mother. His dad’s outside fixing a car,” Michelle explained.

“And Bill’s dancing with Barbara Donnelly,” Andrea named the head secretary at the sheriff’s station. “I’m so glad she’s not married!”

Michelle and Hannah exchanged a Did-you-understand-that? glance, immediately followed by a Not-me! shrug.

“Okay, I’ll bite.” Hannah caved in and turned to Andrea. “Why are you glad Barbara’s not married?”

“Because then her husband would ask me to dance, and I’d have to do it to be polite. And I’m too tired to dance. I made four batches of Whippersnappers this afternoon.”

Hannah stared at her sister in utter amazement. When most women talked about “batches,” they were referring to cookies, brownies, muffins, or some type of baked goods. Surely Andrea had another explanation. As far as Hannah knew, her sister didn’t even know how to turn on her oven, much less mix up a batch of anything and bake it.

“Tracey has her dance class Christmas party tomorrow and I promised Danielle I’d make enough for everybody. Most of the other mothers are bringing refreshments, too.”

There was total silence while Hannah and Michelle digested that information. Refreshments meant food, and both of them knew that Andrea’s only culinary skill was heating water in the microwave for instant coffee or Jell-O.

“What’s the matter?” Andrea asked, realizing at last that her sisters were perfectly silent.

“We’re wondering what…uh…Whippersnappers are,” Michelle explained.

“They’re cookies.”

“You baked cookies?!” both Michelle and Hannah exclaimed in unison.

“Yes, I did. And they were so easy! Carli Spurr e-mailed me with the recipe. You remember Carli, don’t you? She coached the cheerleading squad.”

“I remember,” Hannah said, her mind flying through dire possibilities. Perhaps, through some miracle, Andrea had managed to mix up and bake several batches of cookies, but they couldn’t possibly be good. Of course she couldn’t say that without hurting her sister’s feelings, and Andrea looked very proud of her accomplishment. It would be kinder to pretend that everything was fine, at least until she found out more.

“I’ve never heard of Whippersnappers before,” she commented, fishing for information. “What kind of cookie are they?”

“I made lemon. Carli said you could make any flavor, and Tracey really likes lemon.”

“Lemon’s good.” Hannah gave a quick smile, but she felt more like groaning. Lemon cookies usually called for lemon zest and she was almost positive Andrea had never heard of it.

“Did you have to go out and buy a zester?”

Michelle asked the question, and Hannah turned to give her a quick nod. She was willing to bet that they were on the same page.

“What’s a zester?”

That answered that question! Hannah gave a little groan before she responded. “A zester is like a grater for lemon peel,” she explained.

“Why would I need that? There’s no lemon peel in Carli’s recipe.”

“No lemon zest, either?” Hannah quizzed her, trying to cover all the bases.

“No. What does lemon zest do?”

“It makes things taste really lemony,” Michelle answered her.

“Well, I didn’t need any zest, because my Whippersnappers taste nice and lemony without it. Is that a word?”

“Yes. Zest is the yellow part of the lemon peel,” Hannah told her.

“Not that. I was talking about lemony. Is lemony a word?”

“If it’s not, it should be,” Hannah settled that query and moved on toward her objective. “If Michelle and I drop in at Tracey’s party, can we taste your cookies?”

“Sure, but you don’t have to wait until then. Just give me a ride home and we’ll have some. Bethie caught a little cold and I want to check in on her.”

“Good idea,” Hannah said, giving her sister an approving nod. Andrea had been a nervous first-time mom with Tracey, reading every baby care book she could get her hands on, and trying to follow everyone’s advice. Of course that was impossible, but Andrea still felt like a failure as a mother whenever Tracey cried. Finally, in desperation, she’d gone back to work as a real estate agent and hired the best nanny in Lake Eden, “Grandma” McCann, to take care of Tracey.

“Won’t Bill mind if you leave?” Michelle asked her.

“No. He’s already danced with me twice, and that’s all the time he has for me tonight. He’s got fifteen ladies to go.”

“Fifteen ladies?” Hannah asked, glancing at Michelle, who looked every bit as puzzled as she felt.

“I asked Sally for an advance copy of the guest list and Bill and I made up our game plan last night. A sheriff has certain obligations, you know, especially if he wants to serve more than one term. Bill has to play politics and dance with all the important women here.”

“Are you talking about women who are married to important men?” Michelle asked, frowning a bit.

“Not necessarily. Rose McDermott is on Bill’s list. You might not think she’s important, but a lot of local people go into the cafe. If Rose likes Bill and thinks he’s doing a good job, she’ll mention it and that can influence a lot of people when they go to the polls.”

“You’re right.” Michelle looked thoughtful.

“And then there’s Bertie Straub. She’s not shy about telling her customers down at the Cut ‘n Curl who they should vote for.”

Hannah was amused. The next election for county sheriff was over three years away. “So you’re already launching Bill’s campaign?”

“It’s never too early to play politics.” Andrea glanced around the room and spotted her husband, deep in conversation with Mayor Bascomb. “Just let me tell Bill I’m leaving and we can go.”

“Can I go with you?” Michelle asked, when Andrea had left.

“Sure. But I thought Lonnie was bringing you back to my place.”

“He was. But he’s pulling a late shift and it’ll save him a trip.”

“If you go with us, you’re going to have to taste Andrea’s cookies,” Hannah warned.

“I know. But my nose is all stuffed up and I won’t be able to taste much. I’ll just chew and swallow. And then I’ll tell her how delicious they are.”

Hannah wished that she had a similar ailment, hoping she’d be able to lie convincingly. Praising Andrea’s cookies would constitute a lot more than a little white lie, but it would make her sister very happy.

“It smells like Christmas trees out here!” Andrea said, taking a deep breath and expelling it in a cloud of white vapor.

“That’s because we’re walking past a whole grove of blue spruce,” Hannah told her.

They walked in silence for a moment, and then Andrea held out her gloved hand. “It’s snowing again. I just love knowing that every snowflake is different. We learned it in school. They called it one of nature’s miracles because no two are alike.”

“That’s what they thought back then,” Hannah said. “But then Jon Nelson, a cloud physicist from Kyoto, Japan, found that it’s probably not true for the smaller crystals, the ones that barely develop beyond the prism stage.”

There was another long silence. Hannah was about to tell them more about the physicist from Japan when Michelle almost stumbled over a drift of snow on the walkway.

“Careful,” Hannah warned, and Michelle stopped walking.

“Let’s just stand here for a minute and look at the stars. It feels like you can reach out and touch them, they’re so huge tonight! They weren’t like this last night when Mother had us over for dinner.”

“That’s because it’s darker out here,” Hannah explained. “Lake Eden has streetlights on every corner, and there are lights in all the houses. If you combine the lumens from the old-fashioned globe streetlights Dick and Sally put in on this walkway and add the lights they have at the inn, it doesn’t add up to a fraction of the output of a single arc light in the parking lot at Jordan High.”

Both Michelle and Andrea turned to look at her and Hannah immediately realized her mistake. She was offering science textbooks when what they wanted was poetry.

“Of course maybe it’s not true,” she said, trying to ameliorate the damage.

“Maybe what’s not true?” Andrea asked, and Hannah could tell she was still upset about the snowflakes.

“All of it. But let’s take the snow crystals first. That same cloud scientist compared the number of possible snowflake shapes with the number of atoms in the universe. It would be impossible for scientists to examine them all.”

“So he really doesn’t know.” Andrea looked very relieved. “It’s just a theory, right?”

“That’s right.”

“How about the stars?” Michelle asked.

Hannah stuffed her gloved hands in her pockets. “They could be bigger tonight,” she said, crossing her fingers. “It’s not an absolute certainty. I like to think the stars and the moon react to us when we watch them. That makes the night magical.”

This drew smiles from both of her sisters and Hannah relaxed a bit. She had to remember to curb her impulse to be realistic and practical when her sisters wanted whimsy and romance.

“Uh-oh!” Michelle stumbled again. “I just stepped on something slippery,” she said.

“What?” Hannah asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Hold on a second.” Hannah drew a tiny flashlight from her pocket. “Norman gave this to me the last time I dropped my keys in the snow.” She switched on the light and trained the beam on the walkway. “You were right here and you slipped on…this!”

“What is it?” Michelle asked.

“A miniature candy cane wrapped in plastic.” Hannah held it up so both of them could see it. “It’s one of Wayne Bergstrom’s and he must have dropped it on his way to the parking lot.”

“You seem pretty happy about finding it,” Michelle commented, reacting to the smile on her older sister’s face.

“I am. I know it’s mean of me, but I’m glad he lost it. I wanted to keep the leftover candy canes to try out a new cookie recipe, but he told me he wanted them all back for his next Santa appearance.”

Andrea just shook her head. “Wayne’s such a tightwad. It’s not like he doesn’t have more. And they probably cost him practically nothing. What were you going to use them for?”

“Chocolate Candy Cane Cookies. And now I can’t make them until I buy some candy canes.”

Both Andrea and Michelle gave little groans of dismay and Hannah was gratified. “If Wayne dropped one, he probably dropped more, especially if he’s got a hole in his pocket. Let’s keep looking. I don’t think it’s snowed enough to completely cover them.”

“Are you going to use them for the cookies?” Michelle wanted to know.

“No, I’ll buy my own. I just think it would be really funny if we collected them all and gave them back to Wayne at the store tomorrow.”

“Here’s one!” Michelle called out, spotting another cellophane-wrapped candy at the side of the pathway. “It looks like he’s dropping one every ten feet or so.”

“This is fun,” Andrea commented, rushing ahead to pick up a candy cane. “It’s like in Hansel and Gretel, except there aren’t any birds or breadcrumbs.”

The walk to the parking lot had turned into a game, each sister trying to find the next candy cane. They had about a dozen when the trail of candy canes abruptly stopped.

“What happened?” Andrea, the current holder of Hannah’s miniature flashlight, spread the light around in a circle. “We haven’t found anything for over ten yards.”

“How do you know it’s over ten yards?” Michelle asked.

“Believe me, I know how far you have to go for a first down. Bill used to play football, remember?”

Neither Hannah nor Michelle voiced any argument to that. Not only had Bill been the best quarterback in the whole county, Andrea had been the head cheerleader at Jordan High.

“Do you think Wayne ran out of candy canes?” Michelle asked Hannah.

“I don’t think so. The basket was big and it was over half full when Wayne told me to stuff the candy canes in his Santa suit pocket.”

“The hole in his pocket didn’t mend itself,” Andrea pointed out.

“Right. Wayne must have left the walkway for some reason. Let’s check the sides of the path. If we can find the point where Wayne veered off, we’ll start finding candy canes again.”

Michelle led them back to the point where she’d found the last candy cane. “This is the place,” she said, pointing down to the snowy walkway. “Where do we look now?”

“You and Andrea check your side of the path. If you don’t find anything, come back and give me the flashlight so I can check my side. If Wayne is still leaking candy canes, we’ll find them.”

“Why wouldn’t he be leaking candy canes?” Andrea wanted to know.

“I could be wrong about how many are left. Or maybe he noticed that they were falling out and he put them in another pocket.”

Hannah waited while Andrea and Michelle checked their side of the walkway and came back.

“Your turn,” Andrea said, handing her the flashlight. “We’ll wait right here while you check.”

Hannah moved forward with the flashlight, sweeping the beam over the snow. She was about to give up and admit defeat when she spotted four candy canes near the edge of the path.

“I’ve got some,” she called out and her sisters hurried over.

“Why are there so many here?” Michelle asked, bending down to pick them up. “It looks like they all fell out at once.”

“Maybe he slipped,” Hannah theorized.

“Or maybe he got tired of holding his hand over the hole and decided it wasn’t worth it,” Andrea added her take on it. “I don’t think he’d do that, though.”

“Why not?” Michelle asked her.

“Because he’s too cheap. Every time he dropped one, he’d be adding up how much it cost him. Mother used to say that Wayne had the first nickel he ever made.”

“I remember that,” Michelle said with a laugh. “She told me Wayne pinched it so hard, the buffalo squealed and ran away.”

“Look at this.” Hannah pointed to another candy cane a foot or so away. “The trail picks up again here and keeps going.”

The three sisters followed the candy cane trail to a bank of hard-packed snow the plow had left when Dick had cleared the inn’s parking lot after the last snowfall. Behind it and a few feet back was another bank of snow and ice, rising even higher than the first. By the end of a snowy winter there could be several banks lining the perimeter of the lot. When one berm got too high for the snowplow blade to reach and dump, Dick started another snow bank in front of it.

“I see candy canes going all the way up that snow bank,” Michelle said, illuminating them with Hannah’s flashlight. “I wonder why Wayne climbed way up there.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Hannah told her.

“Not me.” Andrea pointed down at her high-heeled boots. “That’s hard-packed snow and these boots were expensive. I could break off a heel.”

“I can go with you,” Michelle offered.

“No way. Mother just bought you those suede boots and they’re going to get ruined.”

“It’s okay. I really don’t mind.”

“No, but Mother will. And if Mother minds, I’ll never hear the end of it. Just stay here with Andrea and I’ll take a quick peek.”

Hannah dug in with her heels and her hands, and started to climb up the bank of snow. It was a good eight feet tall with fairly steep and slick sides, and the ascent wasn’t easy. She slipped a couple of times, but she kept going until she’d pulled herself up on the top. She opened her mouth to make a joke about being King of the Hill, a reference to the children’s game they’d played in the winter every recess in grade school, but then she saw what was on the other side and the joke died a quick death on her lips. There was a figure spread-eagled on the snow at the base of the berm. It was Wayne Bergstrom and he’d obviously been pushed. Making snow angels wasn’t in his repertoire.

“Anything there?”

Michelle’s voice floated up to her, and Hannah swallowed with difficulty. She took a deep breath, expelled it in a cloud of white, and croaked out one shaky word. “Yes.”

“You sound really funny,” Andrea commented. “Are you all out of breath?”

Hannah knew she wasn’t the one who was out of breath. Wayne Bergstrom was, but she couldn’t quite manage to say anything that sarcastic.

“Hannah?” Michelle sounded worried. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Hannah choked out the words and took another deep breath. Andrea was right. The air did smell like Christmas trees. The stars and the moon seemed bigger too, illuminating the figure at the bottom of the far side of the snow bank in an intensely cold blue light. Everyone said you couldn’t see color at night, but Hannah’s mind filled in the colors. He was wearing red velvet and white fur, and there were candy canes scattered all over around him.

“Hannah?” Andrea asked again, and Hannah knew she had to say more. She didn’t want her sisters to be so worried about her they’d try to climb the berm and see what she was seeing.

“Santa’s dead,” she said, seemingly capable of only two-word responses.

“You mean Wayne?” Andrea asked.

“Right.” Hannah brushed the snowflakes, no two alike, from her sleeve. And that seemed to do the trick because the dam broke and the words rushed out. “Go back to the inn and get Bill and Lonnie. I’ll stay and guard the crime scene until they get here.”

Chapter Three

“He is just the sweetest kitty in the world!” Andrea-crooned, scratching Moishe under the chin. The moment they’d entered Hannah’s living room, the twenty-something-pound, orange-and-white cat that Hannah had found shivering on her doorstep over two years ago, had made a beeline for Andrea and climbed up in her lap.

Hannah just smiled, deciding not to burst her sister’s bubble and mention the fact that she was holding a canister of salmon-flavored treats that Moishe adored, and doling them out to him every time he nudged her with his head.

By tacit agreement, they hadn’t discussed Wayne Bergstrom’s death. It didn’t seem to be an appropriate topic of conversation when they stopped by to check on Bethie and Tracey, and pick up the plate of cookies Andrea wanted them to try. Hannah had pulled Grandma McCann aside to fill her in, but the three sisters hadn’t mentioned Wayne’s name on the trip to Hannah’s condo complex, either. Perhaps it was simply an attempt at avoidance. If they didn’t mention it, it might go away. Or perhaps it was a delaying tactic and all three of them wanted to enjoy their time together for a little while longer before discussing such a gruesome topic. Hannah figured they’d have coffee first, a little fortification with a mug of Swedish Plasma was in order while they tasted Andrea’s cookies, and then they’d talk about Wayne Bergstrom and the distressing sight she’d seen from the top of the snow bank.

“The coffee should be ready soon,” Hannah said, craning her neck to see if the carafe was full. It wasn’t, and she glanced at the plate of cookies that Andrea had baked. The cookies were pretty, a nice rich yellow with powdered sugar on the tops. They looked good, but looks didn’t count for everything when it came to baked goods.

“I hope Bill isn’t late,” Andrea said, frowning slightly. “He told me he thought they’d be here by midnight to take our statements, but something could happen to delay him.”

“If he’s really late, you can catch a nap on the couch,” Hannah told her.

“Or share the guest room with me,” Michelle offered. “It’s a king-size bed.”

Andrea shook her head. “I don’t think I could sleep, not after what I saw tonight!”

“What who saw?” Hannah begged to differ. “You didn’t see anything.”

“No, but you told me about it. And I have a very active imagination. There’s something really awful about Santa being dead.”

“Wayne being dead,” Michelle corrected her. “Don’t think of him as Santa and it won’t seem so bad. Think of him as that old skinflint department store owner who wouldn’t approve you for a Bergstrom’s credit card so you could charge that luggage you wanted for your honeymoon.”

Andrea blinked. “You’re right. And that does help. Not that he deserved to die, but I really didn’t like Wayne at all.” She turned to Hannah. “Do you think that’s really bad of me?”

“Not really. As far as I know, there’s no rule of etiquette that says you have to like somebody just because they’re dead. If you didn’t like them alive, you probably won’t like them after they’re dead, either.” She paused to crane her neck again and gave a sigh of satisfaction. “The coffee’s ready. I’ll go get it and then let’s taste your cookies.”

“Oh!” Andrea looked very nervous. “I really hope you like them. They’re the first cookies I’ve ever made by myself.”

Hannah made quick work of gathering what they needed in the kitchen. The topic of Wayne’s death had come up earlier than she’d expected. When she came back with a tray containing three mugs of coffee and cream and sugar for Andrea, she set it down in the center of the table and reached for one of Andrea’s cookies before she could take the coward’s way out and claim that she was too full from Sally’s Christmas party buffet.

Family love knows no bounds, she said to herself, but the words that came out of her mouth were different. “These look wonderful,” she said, taking a leap of faith and biting into one of her sister’s cookies.

Hannah was well aware that both Andrea and Michelle were watching her like hawks as she chewed. And swallowed. And smiled.

“Good!” she said, doing her best not to sound too surprised. “I like these, Andrea!”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Hannah said and took another bite. “How about you, Michelle?”

Michelle gave her the same look Hannah imagined a prisoner being led to the gallows would wear. But she managed to smile as she obediently took a cookie and bit into it. There was a moment of silence and then an expression of total surprise crossed her face. “These are good, Andrea!”

“Well, don’t look so shocked.” Andrea gave a little giggle. “Carli told me that everybody in her family liked them.”

“They’re wonderful,” Hannah said, finishing her first cookie and reaching for another. “And you actually made them all by yourself?”

“Well…” Andrea faltered a bit and then she shook her head. “Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?” Michelle wanted to know.

“I didn’t do it entirely by myself. Grandma McCann showed me how to preheat the oven and put them on the cookie sheets. But that was only for the first couple of times. After that, I did it by myself.”

Even though they weren’t an overly affectionate family, Hannah couldn’t help it. She reached out to give her sister a hug. “Good for you! Are you going to give me the recipe, or is it a big secret?”

“It’s not a secret, and it’s really easy. They take only four ingredients.”

“You’re kidding!” Hannah was amazed. The cookies had a light but complex lemon flavor. They were soft and a bit chewy inside, and the outside was almost crunchy.

Andrea went on. “I think that’s why Carli sent me the recipe. She remembers the bake sales the cheerleaders used to have to raise money for uniforms.”

Hannah remembered them too. When she discovered that Andrea and her friend, Janie Burkholtz, were buying Twinkies at the Lake Eden Red Owl to sell at the fund-raising bake sales, she started baking homemade cookies for them.

“What are the four ingredients?” Michelle asked.

“A package of lemon cake mix, two cups of Cool Whip, an egg, and powdered sugar.”

Lemon cake mix! Of course! Hannah felt like rapping the side of her head with her knuckles for being so dense. Andrea had told them she hadn’t used zest or lemon juice, but the cookies were still lemony. The flavor had to come from somewhere and making cookies from lemon cake mix should have occurred to her.

“That’s all there is,” Andrea continued. “Just the four ingredients. Any more and I probably couldn’t have done it.”

“Well, you did it very well,” Hannah told her, pouring them all more coffee.

“Thanks. I’m going to try chocolate next. Maybe I could even mix in a few of those tiny chocolate chips. That might be good.”

Hannah just stared at her sister. This was a whole new side of Andrea she’d never seen before.

“And then I was thinking of doing white cake mix with some kind of cut-up fruit like cherries or apricots. Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Because that’s how great recipes are developed. You start with something basic and branch out. Sometimes it can be as simple as running out of one ingredient and substituting something else.” Hannah passed the plate of cookies to Michelle. “We’ve got three left, one for each of us. And then we’d better get down to business.”

“You’re going to figure out who killed Wayne?” Andrea asked, taking her cookie and making short work of it.

“I don’t even know if anyone did…yet,” Hannah reminded her. “It was night, he was at the bottom of the berm, and I was at least eight feet above him. I guess it’s possible he slipped and broke his neck.”

“But why was he up there in the first place?” Michelle asked.

“He could have climbed up to enjoy the view,” Andrea suggested. “What was it like up there?”

“It wasn’t what I’d call a scenic vista. The only thing I could see from the top was the snow bank behind it and the cars in the parking lot.”

“Okay.” Michelle gave a quick nod. “Then maybe he had to…you know. And he didn’t want to walk all the way back to the inn.”

“So he climbed up a slippery eight-foot snow bank instead of just ducking behind a handy tree?” Hannah asked her.

“Never mind. It was a dumb idea,” Michelle admitted.

“Wait a second,” Andrea looked thoughtful. “Maybe he didn’t climb up there. Maybe somebody dragged him up there and pushed him down the other side to kill him.”

“Why go to all that trouble when you could just shoot him, or stab him, or club him to death right there on the path?” Hannah asked the pertinent question.

“Because the killer was afraid somebody might come along and catch him? Or…oh, I don’t know. Let me find out if it was an accident. Bill should know by now.”

“You’re going to call Bill?” Michelle asked as Andrea took her cell phone out of her purse.

“No, I’m calling Sally.”

“Sally at the inn?” Michelle followed up with another question.

“That’s right. She can tell me if Vonnie Blair’s still there at the party.”

“Doc Knight’s secretary,” Hannah said, beginning to get an inkling of what her sister was doing. “And if Vonnie’s still there, it’s probably not murder. Is that right?”

“You got it.”

As Andrea punched in the number, Michelle turned to Hannah. “Maybe you got it, but I didn’t get it.”

“It’s simple. If Doc Knight thinks it’s murder, Bill will ask him to rush the autopsy. Doc knows how important it is and he’ll do it right away. And since Doc has such awful handwriting, he’ll call Vonnie on her cell phone and ask her to come out to the hospital to type up the transcript of the autopsy tonight.”

Michelle’s puzzled expression smoothed out and she looked very impressed. “Wow. Andrea’s devious.”

“She gets it from Mother,” Hannah explained. “Mother can think of the most roundabout ways to get the latest gossip.”

“Thanks, Sally,” Andrea said, and snapped her cell phone shut. And then she looked over at them. “It’s murder. Vonnie left with the paramedics who transported Wayne to the hospital. Doc Knight must have been able to tell right away.”

As usual, Andrea was the scribe. Not only did she have good organizational skills, she also had the neatest handwriting of the three sisters. Michelle’s had deteriorated when she’d gone off to college. After two years at Macalister, her notes were cryptic, filled with abbreviations that only she could decipher. Hannah, on the other hand, tended to print whenever she wrote something she hoped to read later.

“Here you go. A brand new steno notebook.” Hannah handed her sister one from the stash of notebooks she kept in every room. “Do you need a pen?”

“I have one.” Andrea reached in her purse and pulled out what Hannah termed a “dress pen,” since the barrel was gold and studded with sparkling white stones.

“Pretty fancy,” Michelle commented, leaning closer to gaze at the pen. “Are those rhinestones, or diamonds?”

“I’m pretty sure they’re rhinestones. It was a present from a client and the house he bought was a fixer-upper.” Andrea flipped to the first blank page and wrote Wayne Bergstrom’s name at the top. “We don’t know the time of death, or the method. What do you want me to write down?”

“We could list the time I found him,” Hannah suggested, “but I didn’t look at my watch.”

“I did.” Michelle said. “When you said Santa’s dead, I pressed the button to light the time and it said ten twenty-two.”

Andrea started to write it down, but Michelle grabbed her hand. “Put down ten-seventeen,” she said.

“Wait a second,” Hannah was confused. “I thought you said you looked at your watch and it was ten twenty-two.”

“That’s right. But I always set my watch five minutes ahead. It keeps me from being late to class.”

“How does it keep you from being late if you know your watch is five minutes ahead?” Hannah asked her.

“It’s simple. If I start counting on that extra five minutes, I set my watch ten minutes ahead and psych myself out.”

All was silent as Hannah digested that. It seemed her youngest sibling hadn’t inherited the logic gene.

“Okay. Ten-seventeen.” Andrea jotted it down. “Do we know what time Wayne left for the parking lot?”

“Ten after eight,” Hannah responded.

“Are you sure your watch isn’t five or ten minutes fast?” Andrea teased her.

“I didn’t look at my watch. I glanced at the clock in Sally’s kitchen as Wayne went out the back door. We can check it to make sure it’s accurate.”

Andrea flipped to another page and started a list of things they had to do. “Got it. We’ll run out to the inn and check Sally’s kitchen clock tomorrow.”

“That means Wayne was killed between eight-ten and ten-seventeen,” Michelle pointed out. “That’s a window of just a little over two hours.”

“When we go out tomorrow, let’s see how long it takes to walk from Sally’s kitchen to that berm,” Hannah suggested. “Even if you’re poking along taking your time, it can’t be more than five minutes.”

Andrea made another note. “Got it,” she said. “If you’re right, it means that Wayne was probably killed around eight-fifteen, or eight-twenty.”

“Unless he stopped to talk to someone on the path,” Michelle argued. “You know how people are when they meet each other at a party. They stop and talk for a while. He could have met up with his killer after he talked to somebody.”

“Good point,” Hannah said.

“We should get a guest list from Sally and check to see if anyone at the party met Wayne on the walkway.” Merrily winking rhinestones, or diamonds, or whatever they were, Andrea’s pen flew across the page. “It’s a couple of degrees above freezing tonight. If you were dressed for the weather, you could stand there and talk for five or ten minutes without getting cold.”

Michelle nodded. “But Wayne wasn’t dressed for the weather. Hannah said he was wearing his Santa suit.” She turned to Hannah. “Do you think it was as heavy as a parka?”

“I don’t know. It looked heavy, especially with all that fur, but I didn’t actually feel the material.”

“They sell the same Santa suit at Bergstrom’s,” Michelle told them. “I saw a whole rack of them when I was shopping for boots with Mother.”

“We’ll go out there and check.” Andrea added another line to her To Do page, and then she let Moishe capture her pen and bat it around for a moment.

“Mother!” Hannah exclaimed.

“What about Mother?” her sisters chorused in perfect unison.

“When she calls to read me the riot act for finding another body, I’ll ask her to go shopping at Bergstrom’s and check out the Santa suits. It’s her favorite store at the mall.”

“And she’ll be so pleased she’s helping us solve Wayne’s murder, she’ll forget all about criticizing you?” Michelle guessed.

“That’s the general idea.”

“It could work,” Andrea offered her opinion. “Mother’s hard to distract, but a trip to Bergstrom’s right before Christmas could do it.”

LEMON WHIPPERSNAPPERS

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position.

1 package (approximately 18 ounces) lemon cake mix, the size you can bake in a 9-inch by 13-inch cake pan (Andrea used Betty Crocker)

2 cups Cool Whip (measure this—Andrea said her tub of Cool Whip contained a little over 3 cups.)

1 large beaten egg (it’s okay to just whip it up in a glass with a fork)

1/2 cup powdered (confectioner’s) sugar in a separate small bowl (you don’t have to sift it unless it’s got big lumps)

Combine dry cake mix, Cool Whip, and beaten egg in a large bowl. Stir until it’s well mixed.

Drop by teaspoon into the bowl of powdered sugar and roll to coat the cookie dough.

Place the coated cookie drops on a greased (Andrea used Pam, but any nonstick cooking spray is fine) cookie sheet, 12 cookies to each sheet.

Bake the cookies at 350 degrees F., for 10 minutes. Let them cool on the cookie sheets for 2 minutes or so, and then move them to a wire rack to cool completely.

Yield: approximately 4 dozen light and lovely cookies.

Hannah’s Note: Andrea showed me the recipe. Carli wrote that this is an old church recipe and that you can use any flavor cake mix in these cookies. She especially likes Lemon Whippersnappers in the summer because they’re simple to make and very refreshing.

Chapter Four

“No!” Hannah groaned, categorically refusing to open her eyes. She reached for the snooze button on her alarm clock to shut off its infernal electronic beeping before it could fully wake her, but there was something wrong with her arm. It wouldn’t move! She could wiggle it slightly, but that was all. Had she suffered some type of debilitating injury while she slept? Or was she only dreaming that her arm was partially paralyzed?

There was only one way to find out and that was to open her eyes. Hannah groaned again and forced her eyelids up and open. In the dim wattage cast by the nightlight she’d bought the last time she’d climbed out of bed in the dark and stubbed her toe, she could see her arm, under the blanket, stretched out on the bed and perfectly immobile. But there was something different about it. Some time during the night it had swelled up to at least three times its normal size. That didn’t bode well!

Hannah wiggled her fingers, feeling the tingles that accompanied a cut-off blood supply. It was clear her arm had gone to sleep. But why was it swollen? Had she suffered some kind of neurological damage without even waking up?

As Hannah stared at the limb that had betrayed her while she slept, she saw two small peaks rise up from the vicinity of her armpit. The peaks were attached to a round fuzzy orb and for a moment Hannah was puzzled. Then she gave a startled laugh as she realized what had happened. The peaks and the fuzzy orb belonged to Moishe. The temperature must have dropped below freezing in the middle of the night, because he’d left his usual place at the bottom of her bed to seek warmer climes above. No wonder her arm had gone to sleep! It was buried beneath over twenty pounds of dozing cat.

“Come on, Moishe…get off my arm!” Hannah rolled over with difficulty and reached across her own body to give him a push. This elicited a protesting yowl, but he climbed off, and Hannah’s arm was freed from its furry burden.

The first thing Hannah did with her newly restored hand was shut off the alarm. She was awake now, and the urge to slumber for another five minutes was a wee bit easier to resist, especially when she reminded herself that today would be a busy day. Not only did she have cookie and dessert baking to do for her bakery and coffee shop, she’d agreed to cater luncheon at her mother’s regency romance club Christmas meeting.

Michelle had gone home with Andrea last night and they planned to head out early this morning to take care of several items on the To Do list. They’d start off by driving to the Lake Eden Inn to check the clock in Sally’s kitchen, pick up a copy of the guest list for last night’s party, and time their walk from the kitchen door that Wayne Bergstrom had used to the base of the snow bank where Hannah had found his body. During the afternoon, they’d do a little reconnoitering with their male counterparts. Andrea would pump Bill for information about the investigation, and Michelle would find out what Lonnie knew. The three sisters would compare notes that evening when they met at Andrea’s house for dinner.

“Coffee,” Hannah breathed and it was more of a prayer than a statement. She needed caffeine and she needed it now, before Newton’s First Law of Motion, the one about inertia, came into play. A body at rest tended to stay at rest. And applying this principle of physics to her own life meant that if she didn’t get up soon, she might fall under the First Law and just sit on the edge of her bed, staring at the wall all day.

“Coffee. Coffee now!” It was as close to a cheer as she could come up with in the cold predawn of a December morning, but it served to whet her appetite for the hot, aromatic brew her great grandmother Elsa had called Swedish Plasma.

Before she had time to think, which would only have served to confuse her, Hannah was on her feet. And then her feet were moving, heading down the hallway toward the kitchen. The coffeepot that had activated automatically five minutes before her alarm clock had sounded was now sitting on the counter with a full carafe of the world’s most popular life-sustaining potion, just waiting for her to imbibe.

“You, here. Me, there,” she said to the cat who followed her into the kitchen, batting at the ends of the belt she’d forgotten to tie on her robe. Moishe appeared to understand his mistress’s pidgin English because he backed off immediately and took up a position of hope by his empty food bowl.

Hannah had her priorities straight. It took every corner of her partially alert mind to do it, but she opened the combination padlock on the broom closet, pulled out the forty-pound sack of kitty kibble that Moishe loved, and dumped a full measure into his bowl. She replaced the kibble, replaced the padlock, and then she poured her first cup of coffee.

“Uff-dah!” she groaned, audibly revealing her Minnesota roots as she sank down on one of the chairs that had come with her Formica-topped breakfast table. She glanced over to see if Moishe was eating and was about to pick up her mug of coffee for that first bracing sip, when she saw something red out of the corner of her eye.

It was a red scarf tied around the handle of her refrigerator. For several moments Hannah was genuinely puzzled, but then she caught sight of the mixing bowl and utensils washed and stacked on the counter, and everything became clear. When everyone had left last night, at shortly before two in the morning, Hannah had intended to go straight to bed. Unfortunately her mind was still racing and there was no way she could sleep. Instead of wasting valuable time tossing and turning, she’d flicked on the lights in the kitchen and mixed up a batch of cookies. They were experimental, something she’d been planning to try for several months, and the dough was chilling in the refrigerator. That was the reason she’d tied her scarf around the handle of the refrigerator. It was to remind her to take the dough with her when she left for work, so that she could bake it at The Cookie Jar. If the cookies were as good as she expected them to be, she’d serve them at her mother’s club luncheon.

First things first, Hannah told herself, raising the mug of coffee to her lips. She breathed in deeply, inhaling the antioxidants in the steam that some researcher claimed would save coffee kiosk employees from lung cancer. Hannah thought that would be lovely, but she didn’t believe it for a second. On the other hand, what could it hurt? She’d been inhaling the steam from coffee for years simply because she loved the aroma.

Another deep coffee-flavored sniff and it was time to enjoy the brew. Hannah was just about to take that first scalding sip when the telephone rang.

“Mother!” she exclaimed, in the same voice she would have used if she’d skidded off the road and into a ditch. She swallowed fast, taking a sip while she could, and glanced over at her Mother-barometer. Sure enough, Moishe’s fur was bristling and he’d puffed up like a Halloween cat. He’d also begun to make the growling sound, deep in his throat, that meant, Maybe you’re bigger than I am, but I’m gonna shred those pantyhose you’re wearing. It wasn’t a guarantee that Delores Swensen was on the other end of the line, but Hannah’s feline roommate was right a whole lot more than he was wrong.

Hannah took another sip of her coffee and then she stood up to reach for the wall phone. She sat right back down again, knowing that no previous conversation with her mother had ever lasted less than fifteen minutes, and answered. “Hello, Mother.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that, Hannah!” Delores gave a deep sigh that was so forceful, it almost tickled Hannah’s ear. “What if I wasn’t me?”

“Then you’d need to see a psychiatrist, because you’d have an identity crisis.”

“Hannah!”

“Sorry, Mother.”

Delores gave an exasperated sigh that was almost as loud as her previous sigh. “You always say that, and you still answer the phone that way. But I didn’t call to argue with you.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Hannah said, winking at her cat, who was still puffed up several times his size, preparing to take on any predator.

“I’m not going to argue, but I do have a bone to pick with you, Hannah.”

Hannah took another sip of coffee, wisely saying nothing. Her mother was only mildly upset. If she’d been extremely upset, she would have called Hannah by her first and middle names.

“Bill called me this morning to ask me about Melinda.”

“Melinda who?” Hannah asked, wondering what in the world her mother was talking about.

“Melinda Bergstrom, Wayne’s wife. Surely you remember Wayne Bergstrom. You found his body last night. And you found it practically in front of your sisters!” Delores delivered another sigh that made the phone give an odd little sound that probably meant it had exceeded its decibel level. “You have got to stop doing this, Hannah Louise!”

Uh-oh! Hannah’s mind shouted out a warning. Delores only used her middle name when she was what her father had called, “loaded for bear.”

“I’d love to stop doing it! It’s not like I enjoy finding murder victims, or anything like that. I only climbed up on that snow bank because we were curious and I didn’t want them to do it.”

There was silence for a moment. Delores was thinking it over. “Well…” she said finally, “that’s good. It’s good that you were sparing your sisters’ sensibilities. That’s an admirable quality.”

Hannah came very close to gasping out loud in surprise. She’d never gotten off so easily before. It was best to change the subject now, while she was still ahead of the game.

“Thank you, Mother. Now about the luncheon today, I need some sort of a timeline.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re having quiche and it’s best if it’s warm. How many awards will you be presenting before you want me to serve lunch?”

“Let me see…three of our members are getting their five-year manor houses. They’re darling little miniatures of English Manor Homes. I found them in a catalogue and ordered them from London.”

“Will there be speeches after you present them?”

“No, dear. They’re limited to thirty seconds to thank us. But there will be three more presentations. Carrie’s getting her ten-year curricle with a matched pair.”

Hannah knew her mother was talking about a carriage pulled by two horses. “To put in front of her manor house?” she guessed.

“Exactly. Since she’s the oldest living member, I told her she could have one minute to speak.”

“Okay,” Hannah said, hoping her mother wouldn’t use that particular phrase. Carrie Rhodes, her mother’s friend and partner in the antique business, wouldn’t appreciate being called the oldest living member. And come to think of it, did that imply that the Lake Eden Regency Romance Club also had members who were dead?

“Did you hear me, Hannah?”

Her mother’s voice pulled her back from contemplating whether one had to be alive to be a member of an organization, and Hannah was quick to apologize. “Sorry, Mother. I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I asked you if you’d have enough quiche so that Norman could eat with us. He’s coming to take pictures of the award ceremony on his lunch hour.”

“Of course. I always have extra. You know that, Mother.”

“And you did remember that I asked for a vegetarian alternative?”

“I did. We’re having two kinds of quiche, one vegetarian and the other with meat.”

“How about dessert? Did you manage to come up with something authentic to the time period?”

“I think so. I call them Regency Seed Cakes. They had oranges back then, didn’t they? I seem to remember someone talking about a greenhouse-type room with fruit trees.”

“That would have been an orangery, dear. It was like a solarium with exotic plants and trees. Most of the expensive mansions had them.”

“Good. Well, these are a little like lemon poppy seed cake, except that they’re cookies made with oranges and poppy seeds.”

“They sound wonderful, dear!”

I hope so, Hannah thought, but she didn’t want to worry her mother by telling her the Regency Seed Cakes were last night’s invention and she hadn’t had time to test them yet. It was much safer to say nothing and change the subject. “What time do you want me to serve the quiche, Mother? If you can give me an estimate of the time, I’ll make sure they’re still warm.”

“Let me think, dear.” There was silence for a moment and then Delores spoke again. “We’re starting at noon and the awards are first. I think we should be through in ten minutes. Although…we do have a special award for Jenny Perkins, of course.”

“Jenny who?” Hannah asked. She was almost certain she’d never met a Jenny Perkins at any of her mother’s club meetings.

“You knew her as Jenny Bergstrom, but now she’s Jenny Perkins again. She took back her maiden name after the divorce.”

Hannah hadn’t known that Wayne’s ex-wife was in town!

“I’ll call her this morning to make sure she’s coming. I hope so. Poor Jenny will need the support of friends at this sad time in her life.”

“What sad time? Haven’t Wayne and Jenny been divorced for at least five years?”

“Six, to be exact. But Jenny married Wayne right out of high school and she was utterly devastated when he filed for divorce. He was her first love, and a woman never gets over her first love. Wayne’s death is bound to open old wounds for Jenny.”

“Just as long as Jenny didn’t open new wounds in Wayne,” Hannah muttered just under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, Mother. Just thinking out loud. You said you’d call Jenny this morning. Is she staying with friends?”

“No, she didn’t want to put any of us out. We all offered our guest rooms, but she booked a room at the inn.”

Hannah decided not to plumb for any more information. If Delores suspected that Jenny had just moved to the top of her eldest daughter’s suspect list, she’d go right back to being angry again.

“Will you call me at the shop as soon as you know if Jenny’s coming?” Hannah asked.

“Of course. But why?”

So that I can watch her like a hawk and maybe even interrogate her while I’m serving the quiche, Hannah thought. But of course she didn’t say that to her mother. Instead she settled for, “I’ll pack up some chocolate cookies and send them back to the inn with her.”

“That’s a good idea, dear. Chocolate always helps in times of stress. I was thinking of picking up some chocolate truffles at Fanny Farmer’s.”

The lightbulb went on in Hannah’s mind and grew into a powerful halogen. Fanny Farmer’s was in the Tri-County Mall, and so was Bergstrom’s Department Store. Now was the perfect time to ask her mother to find out about the Santa costumes they sold at Bergstrom’s. “Chocolate truffles would be great, Mother. And since you’re going to the mall anyway, could you do one little thing for me?”

“You want me to buy you that absolutely darling purse I told you about?” Delores guessed.

Her mother sounded so hopeful, Hannah almost caved in. It was true that her huge shoulder bag purse was showing some serious wear. But the purse Delores had wanted to buy for her was one-fourth the size of her current bag. What would she do with all of the absolutely essential items she now carried?

“That’s very sweet of you, Mother,” Hannah hedged. “Thank you for offering, but that’s not it. What I really want is for you to do a little sleuthing.”

“Sleuthing? Does that mean you’re going to work with Mike on the case?”

“Not exactly. Mike’s going to work on the case. And I’m going to work on the case. But we’re not necessarily going to work together. He was here last night to take our statements and he warned me to stay out of it.”

Delores gave a laugh. “Oh, he always warns you to stay out of it! And we’ve never listened to him before. He gets his nose out of joint every time we come up with a good lead, but he knows how much he needs our help. He just can’t admit it, that’s all.”

Hannah grinned. Her mother was using the plural personal pronoun and that meant she was ready to join in the hunt for Wayne’s killer. “You’re probably right, Mother.”

“I know I’m right. On the other hand, there’s no sense in antagonizing him. He is the law, after all. We’ll just have to be very hush-hush about what we’re doing. Now what sleuthing can I do for you at the mall, dear?”

“Could you go into Bergstrom’s and pick up one of those big tubs of miniature candy canes for me? I’ll pay you back later.”

“Of course I can. But what does that have to do with Wayne’s murder?”

“Absolutely nothing. But while you’re there, I’d like you to take a look at the Santa suits they sell. I need to know how warm they’d be if you wore one of them outside in the winter.”

“Oh, my! I had no idea!”

Hannah was confused. “No idea of what?”

“That poor Wayne was wearing his Santa suit when he was murdered! Just wait until I tell the girls! Of course I have to be careful not to say anything in front of Jenny. I wouldn’t upset her for the world.”

Hannah just shook her head. Delores had one foot on the end of the dock and the other in the rowboat. It would be interesting to see which foot won out. Would it be friendship? Or juicy gossip?

“I have to hang up now, dear. I need to call Carrie and fill her in. I’ll take her out to Bergstrom’s with me. Her niece works in Fine Jewelry and we can pump her for information.”

There was a click and the line went dead. Hannah shrugged, hung up the phone, and turned to glance at her kitchen clock. Her mother’s call had lasted less than five minutes. That was a new world’s record.

“It’s okay. She’s gone now,” she said to the cat who was staring at the phone with deadly intent. He had taken an instant dislike to Delores and not even the shrimp she occasionally brought him had sweetened his opinion of her. “Come on, Moishe. Let’s get you some more breakfast.”

Under normal circumstances the word breakfast would have resulted in an immediate dash to the food bowl. But this time the culinary magic of kitty crunchies didn’t work. Moishe continued to stare at the phone with his fur bristling and his tail swishing back and forth like a scythe.

“Uh-oh,” Hannah breathed, wondering what she should do. She had to take a shower and get ready for work, but there was no way she could leave Moishe alone with the phone without risking a cord peppered with puncture wounds.

“Okay. I’m calling in the big guns.” Hannah picked up the phone and dialed. A moment later she had Lisa on the phone.

“Did I wake you?” she asked.

“No, we were just sitting down to breakfast. I heard about Wayne Bergstrom on KCOW.”

Hannah sighed. She should have known that Jake and Kelly, the wacky radio hosts of News at O’Dark-Thirty, would have the latest scoop. “Did they say anything about me?”

“Oh, yes.” Hannah’s young partner gave a little chuckle. “They said you discovered Wayne’s body. And then they joked around about how Lake Eden’s Cookie Lady had murder on the menu again.”

“We’re going to be packed today,” Hannah said with a groan. “And I’ve got the Regency club luncheon.”

“That’s okay. I can handle the shop by myself.”

“I know you can handle it on a normal day, but everybody and their cousin’s going to stop in to ask questions.”

“And you won’t be there to answer them,” Lisa pointed out. “So I guess they’ll just have to sit there and buy more cookies and coffee while they wait for you to come back.”

“Okay, but I’m still going to call around and see if I can get some help for you.”

“It’s all taken care of. I talked to Marge and Dad and they’re going to help out.”

“Great!” Hannah glanced down at her feline and remembered the reason she’d called Lisa in the first place. “Do you have time to do a quick favor for me?”

“What is it?”

“I’m going to hold the phone out and I want you to say hi to Moishe. Otherwise he’s going to hop up on the table and kill it while I’m taking my shower.”

There was silence for a moment and then Lisa laughed. “Your mother called?”

“That’s right. Just let him hear your voice and he’ll calm right down.” Hannah lowered the phone toward her feline and held it out. “Listen to this, Moishe. It’s Lisa.”

“Hi, Moishe.” Hannah could hear Lisa’s voice faintly as she held the phone at arm’s length. It sounded tinny and very small, the same sort of voice a mouse might use if mice could speak.

Moishe pulled back, away from the sound at first. But then he seemed to realize that the voice was talking to him and he moved closer again.

“How are you this morning?” Lisa continued the conversation and Hannah began to smile. Moishe had moved another step closer and he’d started to rub his cheek against the phone.

“You’re such a good boy, Moishe,” Lisa said, and Hannah’s cat began to purr. “Did Mommy give you your breakfast yet?”

Moishe turned and made a beeline for his food bowl. That surprised Hannah so much, she almost forgot to reclaim the receiver.

“Are you still there, Moishe?” Lisa asked.

“It’s me,” Hannah said with a grin. It was the first time she’d ever been mistaken for her cat! “Thanks for talking to him, Lisa.”

“You’re welcome. Did he know it was me?”

“Absolutely. When he recognized your voice, he started to nuzzle the phone and purr. And then you mentioned breakfast and he went straight to his bowl. I think he’s forgotten all about…”

“Don’t say it and remind him!” Lisa cautioned, before Hannah could utter her mother’s name.

“Right. I’ll see you at the shop in an hour.”

Once she’d hung up the phone, Hannah poured herself another cup of coffee and carried it into the bathroom. It was the old carrot and the stick routine. Her mug of hot coffee would sit on the counter by the sink while she took her shower. If she hurried, it would still be hot and tasty when she emerged. If she took too long, it would be tepid. As she stepped in under the steaming spray, she thought about incentives and how well they worked. Money was a powerful incentive and it could act as a motive for murder. If she could find out the details of Wayne’s will and who would inherit his considerable estate, it could lead them to his killer.

REGENCY SEED CAKES

DO NOT preheat oven—this dough needs to chill.

1 cup (2 sticks, 1/2 pound) butter

2 eggs

21/2 cups white (granulated) sugar

6 Tablespoons poppy seeds

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon orange extract

1/2 teaspoon orange zest (optional)

5 cups flour (don’t sift it)

3/4 cup orange juice (I used three-quarters cup Minute Maid)

You will also need: 1/2 cup white (granulated) sugar in a small bowl for later, when you bake the cookies.

Hannah’s 1stNote: You can mix up these cookies by hand, but it’s a lot easier with an electric mixer.

Melt the butter in a pan on the stove, or in the microwave in a small bowl or measuring cup for 1 minute 15 seconds on HIGH. Let it cool while you mix up the following ingredients:

In a large bowl combine the eggs with the white sugar. Beat them until they’re well blended.

Add the poppy seeds, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Mix them in thoroughly.

Add the orange extract and then the orange zest, if you decided to use it. (Orange zest is finely grated orange peel—just the orange part and not the white. The white is bitter and leaves a bad aftertaste.) If you can’t find orange extract in your store, you can use vanilla instead. Mix well.

Cup your hands around the bowl with the melted butter. If it’s not too warm to hold comfortably, start your mixer and pour it slowly into your mixing bowl. (That’s so it doesn’t slosh over the sides!) If it’s still too hot to add and you think it might cook the eggs in your bowl, let it cool a little longer before mixing it in.

Add two cups of the flour now. Mix it in.

Add the orange juice to your bowl. Mix it in and then add the rest of the flour. (You should have three cups left to add.) Mix thoroughly. This dough will be quite stiff.

Give the bowl a final stir by hand and cover it with plastic wrap. Stash it in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours. Overnight is fine too!

When you’re ready to bake, preheat your oven to 375 degrees F., rack in the middle position.

Prepare your baking sheets by lining them with parchment paper and spraying the paper with Pam, or another nonstick cooking spray.

Hannah’s 2ndNote: If it’s snowing outside and you’re all out of parchment paper and your car won’t start for the trip to the store to get more, don’t worry about it. Just spray your cookie sheets with Pam or whichever nonstick cooking spray you have on hand. If you do this, you’ll have to let the cookies cool on the sheets for at least 5 minutes before you transfer them to wire racks, but that’s okay. It’s a lot better than trudging a mile through the snow to get to the store when you don’t have to.

Take the chilled dough out of the refrigerator and make dough balls, about an inch in diameter, with your hands. Drop them in the small bowl with the sugar and roll them around to coat them. Then place them on the cookie sheets, 12 to a standard-size sheet. Press them down slightly when you place them on the sheets so they won’t roll off on the way to the oven.

Bake the cookies at 375 degrees F. for 7 to 10 minutes. (Mine took about 9 minutes.) Let them cool on the pan for a minute and then pull off the parchment paper and transfer the paper and cookies to a wire rack.

Hannah’s 3rdNote: If you didn’t use parchment paper, follow the cooling directions in my 2ndnote.

If the dough begins to get sticky and you start to have trouble rolling it with your hands, return it to the refrigerator while the cookies are baking and take it out again when you need to make more dough balls.

Yield: approximately 8 dozen tasty cookies.

Chapter Five

Hannah had just finished packing up everything she needed for the luncheon when Lisa came in through the swinging restaurant-style door carrying a tub of miniature candy canes, and a large shopping bag with Bergstrom’s logo emblazoned on the front. “Your mother was just here and she dropped these off for you,” she said.

“I know about the candy canes. I asked her to pick them up for me. I’m almost afraid to ask, but…what’s in the shopping bag?”

“Two things. The first is a Santa suit.”

“But I wanted her to look at it, not buy it!”

Lisa laughed. “That’s exactly what she said you’d say. She bought it for Bill so that he could play Santa at the sheriff’s department Christmas party. She says she’ll give it to him later, after you take a good look at it.”

“Okay. What’s the second thing in the bag?”

“A new purse. She says she just wants you to see it. You don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to.”

Hannah groaned. “So you think she’ll be insulted if I don’t keep it?”

“She’s your mother. Of course she’ll be insulted. You’ll have to use it at least once, Hannah.”

Hannah wanted to object, but Lisa was right. It was inevitable. Delores was determined to give her the purse and it might just be time to clean out her old one, although she hated to admit it. “Later,” she said, deciding to tackle that problem once she’d solved Wayne’s murder.

“You’d better get going if you want to preheat those ovens down at the community center.”

“I’m just going to crush some of those candy canes for the batch of Chocolate Candy Cane Cookies I’ve got in the cooler.”

“I’ll do that while you’re gone. Do you need help loading your truck? Marge and Dad are out front taking care of the customers so I can carry stuff out for you.”

“Not a problem. I’ve got it covered.” Hannah glanced at her partner. Lisa was wearing the frilly dress apron they used in the coffee shop and her light brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She looked like what Hannah’s grandmother would have called “a slip of a girl,” but Grandma Ingrid would have been wrong to dismiss Lisa Herman Beeseman so lightly. Not only did Lisa work full time at The Cookie Jar, she also kept what Hannah’s grandmother would have termed a “preacher-ready house,” cooked nutritious meals for her new husband every night, and visited her father, who had Alzheimer’s, at least five times a week. Lisa was on the go every second, and Hannah often wished she had that kind of energy. She told herself it was because a twenty-year-old possessed double the energy of women who’d passed the thirty-year milestone, but that probably wasn’t true.

“Did you use the invisible waitress trick?” Hannah asked her, referring to the strange phenomenon she’d discovered the first day she opened her coffee shop. If two customers were having a private conversation, they kept right on talking about confidential matters while Hannah or Lisa refilled their coffee mugs, or delivered their cookie orders. It was as though the moment Hannah or Lisa picked up a coffee carafe, or a tray of cookies, they became incapable of overhearing anything that was said. Armed with the invisible cloak of a frilly serving apron, they ceased to exist as living, breathing human beings and turned into part of the woodwork.

“You bet I used it,” Lisa replied with a grin. “When you first told me about it, I thought you were crazy, but it works every time I do it. I didn’t hear anything though, not unless you want to count Cyril Murphy’s crazy theory about what happened to Wayne.”

“What’s Cyril’s theory?”

“The part I heard had to do with alien abductions gone bad.”

“I didn’t know Cyril believed in aliens!”

Lisa shrugged. “It doesn’t surprise me. It’s a lot like believing in the Little People. Cyril tells everybody he believes in them.”

“He’s Irish. He has to say he believes in Leprechauns even if he doesn’t. It goes with the territory along with the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, kissing the Blarney stone, and drinking green beer on St. Patrick’s Day. What did you hear Cyril say?”

“I have to tell you what happened first.”

“Okay.” Hannah motioned to a stool at the stainless steel work counter and Lisa sat down. “Go ahead.”

“Cyril came in with Brigit and they sat at a table with Rick and Jessica,” Lisa named Cyril’s wife, oldest son, and daughter-in-law. “Jessica was talking about how nice Sally’s party was and how much fun they were having until Mike came over and put Rick to work interviewing everybody.”

“Go on.”

“Then Brigit asked Rick for more particulars about how Wayne died, and Rick told her he wasn’t supposed to give out any information. And Brigit wanted to know why not since Jake and Kelly had announced on KCOW that it was a massive blow to the back of the head that had caved in Wayne’s skull and caused his death.”

Hannah made a mental note to try to get her hands on the crime scene photos. If she remembered correctly, Wayne had been wearing his Santa hat when she found him. The hat was made of thick, furry red material and it had a wide cuff of white fur all the way around it. The blow must have been delivered with considerable force to cave in Wayne’s skull right through his padded hat.

“Then they started to talk about who could have killed Wayne. Rick didn’t say much and I figured he was a little uncomfortable about maybe leaking some information without meaning to do it, but Jessica and Brigit were talking about all the people Wayne had overcharged at the store. And then Cyril spoke up and said he knew exactly how Wayne had died, and the killer was going to get away with it.”

“That’s when the subject of alien abduction came up?” Hannah guessed.

“That’s right. But first Cyril asked them if they’d noticed how bright the moon was last night. And they all said they’d noticed.”

“Cyril’s right about that. I noticed it, and so did Andrea and Michelle. We even commented on it when we were walking to the parking lot.”

“Well, Cyril said the reason it was that bright was because the aliens were refracting the moon’s energy with the hull of their giant space ship. And what they’d thought was the moon was really the hull of the ship.”

Hannah snorted. She couldn’t help it. “Oh, boy!”

“That’s not all. Cyril claimed that the aliens practiced thought control on Wayne, drawing him off the path and making him climb up the side of that steep snow bank.”

“Why would they do that?”

“That’s what Jessica asked him. And Cyril said the reason they wanted Wayne to climb up to the top was so they could take a better look at him.”

“They were too nearsighted to see him on the ground?” Hannah’s grin grew wider.

“I guess so. Or maybe they just didn’t refract enough of the moon’s energy to light him up.” Lisa gave a little giggle. “Anyway, that was when Brigit had to leave the table. She pretended to have a bad cough, but I could tell she was laughing.”

“Can’t blame Brigit for that.”

“I know. I almost lost it, too. But Cyril kept right on talking. He said that when the aliens caught sight of the white fur on Wayne’s Santa costume, they assumed he was an animal instead of a human. And since they had already abducted enough animals, they pushed him back down the snow bank.”

“Killing him in the process?”

“That’s what Cyril said. Is he crazy, or what?”

Hannah was about to agree that the master mechanic who fixed her cookie truck had slipped several cogs. But before she could say that, she remembered a small notice she’d read in the Lake Eden Journal. The Wolf Pack Lodge would be holding their annual Whopper Contest next week. If she remembered correctly, Cyril had won last year with his story about how the porcupine got its quills. “He’s not crazy,” she said.

“He’s not?”

“No, he’s just practicing for the Whopper Contest.”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “I don’t think it’s very nice to joke about murder. Of course Cyril isn’t exactly mourning Wayne Bergstrom, either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Herb said they got into a really big fight a couple of days ago at the garage. Herb was picking up his squad car and there they were really going at it. Cyril was accusing Wayne of trying to put him out of business, and they were yelling, and shaking their fists, and…oh, gosh!” Lisa stopped speaking and her mouth dropped open. When she recovered enough to speak again, she raised shocked eyes to Hannah. “You don’t think that…?”

“Anything’s possible,” Hannah told her. “One thing’s for sure. I’m going to call Herb the minute I get those ovens turned on and find out all about it.”

Edna Ferguson, the head cook at Jordan High and Hannah’s helper for the luncheon, came into the kitchen at the community center and sniffed appreciatively. “They’re going to love your quiches,” she said.

“I hope so.” Hannah stared down at the lineup she’d just taken from the oven. “What’s our E. T. L.?”

Edna looked puzzled for a moment and then she laughed so hard, her tightly wound gray curls bounced. “Estimated Time of Luncheon?” she asked.

“That’s right.”

“I’d say twenty minutes. The last club member just came in and your mother’s getting ready to present the awards.”

Hannah was confused. Delores had called her at the shop to say that Jenny Perkins had canceled, and so had one other award recipient. “I talked to Mother this morning and she thought the awards would take only ten minutes.”

“It always takes longer than they think it will. I’ve been coming to these things for years now, and everybody always wants to thank somebody. It’s their time in the limelight, you know? I call it the Oscars at Lake Eden.”

“You’re right,” Hannah said. But unlike the Academy Awards, she couldn’t crank up the music to get the winners to stop talking. There was one thing she could do though, and she turned to Edna with a question. “Do you know if there’s a fan around here?”

“You mean an exhaust fan?”

“No, a window fan. It doesn’t have to be very big.”

Edna turned on her heel and headed for the big walk-in pantry. In just a moment, she was back with a small round fan that looked ancient. “How’s this?”

“Perfect, if it still works.”

“It does. I used it last summer. Where do you want me to set it up?”

“Behind the row of quiches. Then I want you to open the shutters to the pass-through window an inch or two, and turn on the fan.”

Edna looked puzzled as she hooked up the fan and opened the shutters. “What are you doing, Hannah?” she asked.

“Aroma therapy.”

“Aroma ther…oh!” Edna gave a very girlish-sounding giggle for someone who’d passed the age of consent more than thirty years previously. “You’re a clever one, Hannah! And it ought to work. Once they get a whiff of your quiches, the only person they’ll want to thank is the cook!”

COUPLE OF QUICK QUICHES

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position

Hannah’s Tips on Quiche: Quiche is easy. Really. Yes, the title is French, but really it’s just egg pie. It’s a custard, a rich savory one, (that means it’s not sweet like a caramel custard or a traditional custard pie,) and it’s filled with meat and cheese, and other good stuff to eat. Quiche is not just a ladies’ luncheon entree, served in slim slices on fine china and accompanied by an impertinent little Chardonnay. It’s real food that guys enjoy. Even if your husband drives a truck, swears like a trooper, rolls up his T-shirt sleeves to hold his cigarette pack, and can shovel the driveway with one hand tied behind his back even after a night on the town, he’ll still love a hearty, meaty quiche. (Hint from Hannah: Try Quiche Lorraine first, and call it “Bacon & Egg Pie”.)

One quiche will serve from three to six people. (Six if you have other things to eat on the side, three if you’re going to serve just a salad and quiche.) Decide how many people you want to serve and plan accordingly. I always make at least 2 quiches. It gives my guests a choice for the second piece and the leftovers are great for breakfast the next morning.

QUICHE LORRAINE

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position.

The Quiche Lorraine Pie Shell:

You can mix up your favorite piecrust recipe and line a 10-inch pie plate. Or…you can buy frozen shells at the grocery store. (If you decide to go the grocery store frozen pie shell route, buy 9-inch deep-dish pie shells.)

Hannah’s 1stNote: There’s no need to feel guilty if you choose to use the frozen pie shells. They’re good and it’s a real time saver. I happen to know that Edna Ferguson, the head cook at Jordan High, has been known to remove frozen pie shells from their telltale disposable pans and put them in her own pie tins to bake! (Sorry Edna—I just had to tell them.) Stack your pie shells in the refrigerator, or leave them in the freezer until two hours before you’re ready to use them.

Prepare your piecrust by separating one egg. Throw away the white and whip up the yolk with a fork. Brush the bottom and inside of your piecrust. Prick it all over with a fork and bake it in a 350 F. degree oven for 5 minutes. Take it out and let it cool on a wire rack or a cold stovetop while you mix up the custard. If “bubbles” have formed in the crust, immediately prick them with a fork to let out the steam.

The Quiche Lorraine Custard:

5 eggs

11/2 cups heavy whipping cream ***

Hannah’s 2ndNote: You can do this by hand with a whisk, or use an electric mixer, your choice.

Combine the eggs with the cream and whisk them (or beat them with an electric mixer) until they’re a uniform color. When they’re thoroughly mixed, pour them into a pitcher and set it in the refrigerator until you’re ready to assemble the rest of your quiche. You may notice that you’re not adding any salt, pepper, or other seasoning at this point. You’ll do that when you assemble the quiche.

Hannah’s 3rdNote: You can mix up the custard ahead of time and store it in the refrigerator for up to 24 hours. When you’re ready to assemble your quiches, all you have to do is whisk it smooth and pour it out from the pitcher.

The Quiche Lorraine Filling:

2 cups grated Gruyere cheese (approximately 7 ounces)***

1 cup diced, well-cooked and drained bacon

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1/4 teaspoon ground cayenne pepper (optional—use if you like it a bit spicy)

1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg (freshly grated is best, of course)

Sprinkle the grated cheese in the bottom of your cooled pie shell.

Spread the cup of diced bacon on top of the cheese.

Sprinkle on the salt, and grind the pepper over the top of the bacon.

Sprinkle on the cayenne pepper (if you decided to use it).

Grate the nutmeg over the top.

Put a drip pan under your pie plate. (I line a jellyroll pan with foil and use that.) This will catch any spills that might occur when you fill your quiche with the custard mixture.

Take your custard mixture out of the refrigerator and give it a good whisk. Then pour it over the top of your Quiche Lorraine, filling it about half way.

Open your oven, pull out the rack, and set your pie plate and drip pan on it. Pour in more custard mixture, stopping a quarter-inch short of the rim. Carefully push in the rack, and shut the oven door.

Bake your Quiche Lorraine at 350 degrees F., for 60 minutes, or until the top is nicely browned and a knife inserted one-inch from the center comes out clean.

Let your quiche cool for 15 to 30 minutes on a cold stovetop or a wire rack, and then cut and serve to rave reviews.

This quiche is good warm, but it’s also good at room temperature. (I’ve even eaten it straight out of the refrigerator for breakfast!)

HOLIDAY QUICHE

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position.

The Holiday Quiche Pie Shell:

You can mix up your favorite piecrust recipe and line a 10-inch pie plate. Or…you can buy frozen shells at the grocery store. (If you decide to go the grocery store frozen pie shell route, buy 9-inch deep-dish pie shells.)

Hannah’s 1st Note: There’s no need to feel guilty if you choose to use the frozen pie shells. They’re good and it’s a real time saver. Stack your pie shells in the refrigerator, or leave them in the freezer until two hours before you’re ready to use them.

Prepare your piecrust by separating one egg. Throw the white away and whip up the yolk with a fork. Brush the bottom and inside of your piecrust. Prick it all over with a fork and bake it in a 350 F. degree oven for 5 minutes. Take it out and let it cool on a wire rack or a cold stovetop while you mix up the custard. If “bubbles” have formed in the oven, immediately prick them with a fork to let out the steam.

The Holiday Quiche Custard:

5 eggs

11/2 cups heavy whipping cream ***

Hannah’s 2ndNote: You can do this by hand with a whisk, or use an electric mixer, your choice.

Combine the eggs with the cream and whisk them (or beat them with an electric mixer) until they’re a uniform color. When they’re thoroughly mixed, pour them into a pitcher and set it in the refrigerator until you’re ready to assemble the rest of your quiche. You may notice that you’re not adding any salt, pepper, or other seasoning at this point. You’ll do that when you assemble the quiche.

Hannah’s 3rd Note: You can mix up the custard ahead of time and store it in the refrigerator for up to 24 hours. When you’re ready to assemble your quiches, all you have to do is whisk it smooth and pour it out from the pitcher.

The Holiday Quiche Filling:

1 red bell pepper, washed, seeded and diced into bite-sized pieces

1 green bell pepper, washed, seeded and diced into bite-sized pieces

1 cup herb-seasoned stuffing mix ***

1 cup grated Swiss cheese (I used Jarlsberg)

1 cup grated Monterey Jack cheese

1/2 teaspoon onion powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon black pepper (freshly ground is best)

Hannah’s 4th Note: This is the vegetarian quiche I served at Mother’s Regency Romance Club Christmas luncheon. If you’d rather have it with meat, just sprinkle a cup of cubed ham, chicken, or turkey over the bell peppers when you assemble it. Norman wants me to try it with anchovies. Norman LOVES anchovies.

Spread the red and green pepper pieces out in the bottom of your pastry-lined pie pan.

Sprinkle the cup of herb-seasoned stuffing mix over the top of the peppers.

Spread the grated Swiss cheese and the grated Monterey Jack cheese on top of the stuffing mix.

(Put the meat in here if you want to use it, or the anchovies.)

Sprinkle on the onion powder and the salt.

Grind the pepper on top.

Put a drip pan under your pie plate. (I line a jellyroll pan with foil and use that.) This will catch any spills that might occur when you fill your quiche with the custard mixture.

Give your custard mixture a good whisk. Then pour it over the top of your quiche, filling it about half way.

Open the oven, pull out the rack and set your pie plate and drip pan on it. Pour in more custard mixture, stopping a quarter-inch short of the rim. Carefully push in the rack, and shut the oven door.

Bake your Holiday Quiche at 350 degrees F., for 50 to 60 minutes, or until the top is nicely browned and a knife inserted one-inch from the center comes out clean.

Let it cool for 15 to 30 minutes on a cold stovetop or a wire rack, and then cut and serve.

I think this quiche is better when it’s warm, but Lisa says Herb likes it cold.

Chapter Six

“This is really sweet of you, Norman,” Hannah said, opening the back door of his car and placing the bags of cookies she’d prepared on the seat. Once she’d stashed the goodies, she got into the front seat and smiled. It was warm inside Norman’s car. And warmth was a luxury in the winter in Minnesota. Even though Mike had fixed the heater on her cookie truck, it was still drafty and the cavernous space in the back was always cold in the winter months.

“I enjoy going places with you, Hannah.” Norman backed out of the parking spot and headed down the alley that ran in back of Hannah’s shop. “You know I like helping you investigate, and Doc Bennett’s filling in for me for the rest of the day at the clinic.”

Hannah glanced at Norman’s profile as he drove down the alley and turned onto Third. He wasn’t what any woman would call a heartthrob, but he was nice looking. It was his personality that catapulted him straight to the top of the handsome category. Her great grandmother Elsa used to say, Handsome is as handsome does, and it was true. Norman was kind, intelligent, sweet, and caring. They were qualities that Hannah held dear, right along with Norman’s sense of humor, his kindness, and his willingness to indulge her chocolate-loving soul.

The afternoon sun sparkling on the snow that had fallen the previous night was so bright that Hannah almost wished she’d worn sunglasses. And then, before she could do more than think it, Norman had opened the glove compartment and was handing her a pair.

“Here,” he said. “It’s really bright out today.”

Hannah slipped on the sunglasses. “So how long have you been doing it?”

“Doing what?”

“Reading my mind.”

Norman waggled his eyebrows at her. “As kindred souls we share our thoughts in a way that others can only envy.”

“Very poetic!”

“I know. It must be a reaction to all that flowery language at the Regency luncheon.”

“That could be. But you did read my mind.”

“Not really. I just noticed that you were squinting, that’s all.”

Norman clicked on his turn signal and they made a left turn at the bright green shamrock-shaped sign that spoke of Cyril’s heritage. Hannah’s truck hadn’t required Cyril’s services for several months and she hadn’t had occasion to visit the garage. During this time, a new building had been erected between the huge corrugated shed that housed the used cars Cyril sold, and the garage itself. The garage was a fairly large structure containing four work bays in the rear and gas pumps out in front. The new building was attached to the side of the garage and there was a bright green sign just under the roof that read, SHAMROCK LIMOS. The building had a door that was presently rolled up and Hannah could see three sparkling white limousines parked inside.

“Looks like Cyril is branching out,” Norman said, pulling past the pumps and parking at the side of the new building. “The last time I was out here, he had just one limo.”

“Business must be good,” Hannah said, reaching in back to select one of the bags while Norman got out and walked around the car to open her door. They had arrived at an unspoken arrangement over two years ago. Norman knew that Hannah could open her own car door, but he liked to do it for her. And although Hannah bristled slightly, sitting there and waiting for him to do something she could perfectly well do for herself, she let him do it because it pleased him.

Norman took her arm and Hannah let him. This time it wasn’t an unspoken arrangement; it was necessity on both of their parts. It was icy and their chances of falling were greatly diminished if they hung on to one another. Slipping and sliding, they made it around the side of the building and through the door to the garage.

Cyril was sitting behind the counter, talking to one of his mechanics. Hannah knew he was a mechanic because everyone who worked at Murphy’s Garage wore shamrock-green coveralls. Cyril gave them a wave to acknowledge them, said something about rotors, tolerances, and millimeters, and the mechanic hurried back into the first work bay.

“Hannah. Norman.” Cyril gave them a smile that made his eyes crinkle. He was what Hannah’s dad would have called “black Irish.” His hair was curly black and his eyes, under dark expressive brows, were such a deep blue color, the pupils were just barely distinguishable from the irises. “Something wrong with the cookie truck?”

“Not a thing,” Hannah answered, handing him the bag of cookies. “These are for you. They’re Christmas Date Cookies.”

Cyril looked pleased as he accepted the bag. “Thanks, Hannah. They’re my favorites. What did I do to deserve cookies?”

“It’s not what you did. It’s what you’re going to do.”

“Uh-oh.” Cyril gave a long sigh. “This must be about Wayne Bergstrom. I figured you’d hear about that fight we had sooner or later, and it looks like it’s sooner. Who told you?”

“Two people,” Hannah said and left it at that. It was a slight exaggeration, but it all depended on how you counted. Lisa had told her about the fight, but Herb had been the one to tell Lisa.

“So you think I killed Wayne?”

“Of course not!” Hannah shook her head. “You couldn’t have done it. You’re Irish.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“Your heritage is part of your personality. My dad was part Irish and he explained it to me. If an Irishman’s mad enough to kill somebody, he doesn’t lie in wait like some coward and attack when nobody’s looking. He takes his enemy on fair and square in front of everybody in town.”

Cyril threw back his head and laughed. “Your dad was part Irish, all right! He told you a whopper and you bought it.”

“I guess I did,” Hannah said with a laugh, glad that the story she’d made up on the spur of the moment had worked to relax Cyril. “But you didn’t lay in wait and kill Wayne last night, did you?”

“No. I was mad enough to do it, but I had another sort of revenge in mind.”

“What was that?” Norman asked.

“I was going to undercut him and sabotage his limo business. It probably would have bankrupted me before it was over, but it would have been worth it.”

It took a few minutes and some cogent questions for the story to come out, but at last they had the facts. The reason Cyril had bought two more white limousines was that Wayne had promised to use his limo service for the weddings he booked through the new Wonderful Weddings department at the store.

“I thought it was all set. Wayne promised to use Shamrock Limos, and I promised I’d get two more cars.”

“But Wayne reneged on his promise?” Hannah guessed.

“That’s right!” Cyril’s eyes glittered and both Hannah and Norman could tell that he was still steaming about it. “Wayne decided to start his own limo service. And since we didn’t have a signed contract, I couldn’t prove he’d agreed to use Shamrock Limos.”

“That would have burned me up, too!” Norman said, and then he turned to Hannah. “Can we take Cyril off the suspect list?”

“Just as soon as he tells us his alibi.” Hannah pulled out her steno pad and flipped to the suspect page. “Did you watch Wayne play Santa last night?” she asked Cyril.

“Sure did. And right after that, I went out to take a look at Florence Evans’s van. She said it was cutting in and out, and she didn’t want to get stuck on the way home.”

“And that was in the parking lot?”

“No, she parked in front in the loading zone. She told me she figured she was entitled since she was carrying all the Christmas stockings the Women’s Club stuffed for the kids at the Home.”

“Works for me,” Hannah said. “As far as we know, Wayne left by the back door and went around the side of the building to the path that leads to the parking lot. Did you see him?”

Cyril shook his head. “I must’ve been busy working on Florence’s car. I fixed the problem, it was a loose spark plug, and then we went back inside.”

“And you were with Florence the whole time?”

“Most of it. She went back in a couple of times to bring me coffee, but she wasn’t gone more than five minutes. When we got back inside, Sally was telling everybody the buffet was open and we got in line with Brigit.”

Hannah and Norman said their good-byes and left the warmth of the garage. A light snow had started to fall and as they walked to Norman’s car, Hannah was thoughtful. Cyril had an alibi, but it wasn’t exactly a get-out-of-jail-free card. Even if Florence substantiated his story, it was possible that Cyril had seized his opportunity and killed Wayne in the few minutes that Florence was inside getting coffee for him.

“Where to?” Norman asked, once he’d settled Hannah in the passenger seat and climbed in behind the wheel.

“The mall?” Hannah phrased her answer in the form of a question, something that had always driven her a little bit crazy when she watched Jeopardy. “I’d like to check with Wayne’s brother-in-law Cory if he’s in today. He’s head of the Wonderful Weddings department.”

“Fine with me. I need to pick up something for Mother anyway. So far, all I’ve got is a book and that’s not enough for Christmas. Maybe you can help me choose something.”

Hannah was about to make a sarcastic crack about the blind leading the blind when she remembered something Delores had told her. “I think you should buy her a silk wreath.”

“You mean…a Christmas wreath?”

“No, a flower wreath. Delores just bought one made from dried pink roses for her guest bath and Carrie thought it was beautiful. She said she might look for one for herself, but she wanted hers to be blue hydrangeas.”

“I’m not really big on flower names. Are hydrangeas the velvety looking blue flowers clumped together on a stalk?”

“Good description! But hydrangeas aren’t just blue. They can also be pink, depending on the pH value of the soil.”

“That’s interesting,” Norman said, and Hannah knew he was one of the few guys who would think so.

“Grandma Ingrid liked the pink ones,” Hannah went on. “She used to take me outside to garden with her and I remember helping her dig around the hydrangea bushes so she could sprinkle in some chemical.”

“It was probably lime. She would have used aluminum sulfate or sulfur if she’d wanted the blue. Maybe I should plant some hydrangeas. They’re like nature’s litmus strips.”

“Red cabbage.”

“What?”

“Red cabbage really is nature’s litmus strip. I noticed it when I tested Minnie Holtzmeier’s recipe for Scandinavian Red Cabbage for the Lake Eden cookbook.”

“Now why doesn’t this surprise me?” Norman glanced at her, gave her a quick smile, and then quickly returned his attention to the road. He’d been in Minnesota long enough to know that it was dangerous to get distracted when you were driving in the winter. “What, exactly, did you notice?” he asked her.

“I shredded some red cabbage in the food processor and kept it in some cold tap water in the cooler until I was ready to use it. By that time it was bluish purple instead of red. Tap water is slightly alkaline, isn’t it?”

“Usually. I’m almost sure it is here in Lake Eden.”

“That’s what I thought. When I’d finished gathering the other ingredients, I drained the red cabbage. The water was fairly blue by that time. Then I added the dry red wine the recipe called for and the cabbage turned red again.”

“The red wine was acidic.” Norman gave her another quick glance. “You would have made a good scientist, Hannah. You’re very observant.”

“And you’re not,” Hannah smiled to take the sting out of her words.

“What makes you think I’m not observant?”

“Because we just passed the last entrance to the mall and now you have to look for a place to turn around and drive back.”

CHRISTMAS DATE COOKIES

Do not preheat oven quite yet. This dough must chill before baking.

2 cups chopped pitted dates (You can buy chopped dates, or sprinkle whole pitted dates with a quarter-cup flour and then chop them in a food processor. I couldn’t find chopped dates, and a 10-ounce by weight container of whole pitted dates ended up being exactly 2 cups when I chopped them in my food processor.)

3/4 cup boiling water

1 cup melted butter (2 sticks,1/2 pound)

2 cups white (granulated) sugar

2 teaspoons baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

4 beaten eggs (just beat them up in a glass with a fork)

2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips (that’s a 12-ounce package)

51/2 cups flour (don’t sift—pack it down in the cup when you measure it)

1/2 cup white (granulated) sugar in a small bowl for later

Pour the boiling water over the chopped dates, give them a stir with a fork, and set them aside on the counter to cool.

Melt the butter in a microwave-safe bowl (I used a pint Pyrex measuring cup) for 90 seconds on HIGH. Set the melted butter on the counter to cool.

In the bowl of an electric mixer, combine the white sugar, baking soda, salt and eggs. Beat well. (If you don’t have an electric mixer, don’t worry. You can do this by hand, but it’ll take a bit of effort.)

Feel the bowl with the date mixture. If you can hold it comfortably in your hands, add it now and mix thoroughly. If it’s too hot, let it cool another couple of minutes.

Once the dates are mixed in, add the chocolate chips to your bowl and mix. Then add the melted butter and mix thoroughly.

Add the flour in half-cup increments (that’ll be 11 half-cups) beating after each addition. Take the bowl from the mixer, give it a final stir by hand, cover it with plastic wrap, and place it in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours to chill. (Overnight is fine, too.)

When you’re ready to bake, preheat the oven to 325 degrees F., rack in the middle position. (Yes, that’s 325 degrees F.—most of my cookies bake at 350 degrees F., but these are best if they bake slowly at a lower heat.)

Roll the dough into walnut-sized balls with your hands. This dough may be sticky, so roll only enough for the cookies you plan to bake immediately and then return the bowl to the refrigerator.

Roll the dough balls in the bowl of white sugar and place them on a greased (or sprayed with nonstick cooking spray) cookie sheet, 12 to a standard sheet. Flatten them slightly with your hand so they won’t fall off on the way to the oven.

Bake at 325 degrees F. for 10 minutes. Cool on the cookie sheet for a minute or two and then remove the cookies to a wire rack to finish cooling.

Yield: 8 to 10 dozen great cookies. You can freeze any extras for up to 3 months in freezer bags.

Hannah’s Note: All the Murphy men are crazy about Christmas Date Cookies. Michelle said she baked a whole batch one day when Lonnie was visiting her at Macalister. They ate about a dozen and then they ran out of milk. Michelle dashed to the corner grocery to buy some and when she got back, every single cookie was gone!

Chapter Seven

The shadows of the pine trees were beginning to lengthen and cant toward the east as Hannah and Norman turned in at the Tri-County Mall. It was two-thirty on a Saturday afternoon and it seemed that everyone who lived in the Tri-County area was out at the mall shopping.

“I’ve never seen it this crowded before,” Hannah said, eyeing the rows of cars in the parking structure.

“Only fifteen shopping days before Christmas.”

Hannah turned to him in surprise. “I didn’t know you counted things like that.”

“I don’t. There was a big sign at the entrance.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“I know. So now who’s the observant one?”

“Neither one of us. Or maybe both of us. Whatever.” Hannah grinned and shrugged it off. “I think we’re going to have to park in the back forty and walk in.”

“The back forty?”

“It dates back to the days when there were large family farms. The back forty was the section of land farthest away from the farmhouse.”

“Oh. Like the toolies.”

“Right.”

Norman turned down another row and braked to a stop when he encountered a driver parked in the middle of the garage, effectively blocking traffic from both directions.

“There’s one in every parking lot,” Hannah commented. “She’s waiting for that couple to load all their packages in the trunk and she’s determined to get their space.”

“And she’s going to make everyone behind her wait until she does,” Norman added.

“Makes you wish for an accordion car.”

It took Norman a moment, but then he nodded. “One with collapsible sides?”

“You got it. Then we could skin right past her, idle in front of her and snag that parking spot before she could get it. But they don’t make accordion cars, so we’re stuck. Do you want a cookie while we wait?”

“Sure. Do you have anything in chocolate?”

Hannah laughed. “I’ve got four different kinds and three are chocolate. Do you want Angel Pillows, Devil’s Food Cookies, or Chocolate Candy Cane Cookies?”

“Hold on. I’ve never had a Chocolate Candy Cane Cookie. What are those?”

“They’re rich dark chocolate cookies with a sugary candy cane topping.”

“Sounds great! I’d like to try one of those.”

Hannah turned around and reached into the backseat for the correct bag. “I brought another dozen of these in one of my signature bags for Cory.” She pulled out two cookies and handed one to Norman. “Here you go.”

The cookies were exactly as she’d described them, and the contrast of the sweet, dark chocolate with the tongue-tingling peppermint coating was deliciously startling.

“These are your best cookies,” Norman said, finishing his first cookie and dipping in the bag for a second.

“I thought the Old Fashioned Sugar Cookies were your favorites.”

“They were until I tasted these.”

“Fickle,” Hannah teased him.

“If I am, it’s understandable. My favorite cookie is the cookie I’m eating at the moment.” Norman stepped on the gas as the driver ahead of them finally pulled into her parking spot and ceased being a roadblock. “I feel lucky. Let’s try that first row again.”

Norman’s lucky feeling turned out to be a premonition of good things to come. As they turned down the first row, a van parked right next to the entrance backed out. Norman quickly nabbed the spot and before you could say Jolly Old Saint Nicholas, Hannah and Norman were stepping through the double entrance doors and into the mall.

“Whoa,” Hannah said, stopping in her tracks.

“This way, Hannah.” Norman pulled her out of the mainstream of traffic and over to the side. “What’s wrong?”

It was a rare occasion for Hannah. She was completely at a loss for words. Strains of loud Christmas carols were assaulting her ears, the combined scents of popcorn and potpourri were overpowering, and the voices of hundreds of holiday shoppers created a roaring buzz in her head.

“Are you okay?” Noman asked her.

“I will be. It’s just too much to take in all at once.” Hannah eyed the milling crowds of people, the flashing colored lights, and the Christmas decorations. Combined as a class that she called holiday madness, they seemed to be occupying every available foot of wall and floor space. “All these people. All these flashing lights and decorations. All this noise. Christmas is breaking out all over!”

Norman laughed. “You don’t do much Christmas shopping at the mall, do you?” he said, and it was more a statement than a question.

“Not if I can avoid it. If Claire doesn’t have what I need at her dress shop, and I can’t get it from the drugstore, I pick up the phone and order it from a catalogue. Maybe we should just forget it, Norman. I’m not sure if Cory’s here today anyway. I can always call him at home tonight.”

“No way. We drove all the way out here and at least we can check to see if he’s there.” Norman reached out to take her arm. “Just hang on to me and I’ll get you to Bergstrom’s.”

“But really, Norman…maybe we should just…” Hannah’s protests died a quick death as Norman pulled her forward and out into the Christmas melee.

It was exactly as advertised; shopping was better in Bergstrom’s. It had nothing to do with the quality of the merchandise or the availability of helpful, well-informed salesclerks. The interior of the posh department store was quiet, almost hushed compared to the hubbub outside in the mall. There were considerably less people in Bergstrom’s and Hannah thought she knew why. The exclusive department store was expensive and the words “clearance,” “blowout sale,” and “rock bottom price” had never passed the lips of the staff. Bergstrom’s was not the place to shop if you were looking for a Christmas bargain. Everyone including Hannah knew that.

“Better?” Norman asked, leading Hannah toward the escalator in the central part of the store.

“Much better. We’d better find a clerk and ask where the wedding department is.”

“I know where it is. It’s on the third floor, right across from the travel agency.”

“You’ve been there?” Hannah was so surprised she almost stumbled as she stepped onto the escalator.

“No, but I’ve used the travel agency. They booked my flight to the dental convention in Seattle last year. There was a wall with a sign on it that said, MORE PROGRESS AT BERGSTROM’S. PLEASE EXCUSE OUR DUST. When I asked one of the workers what they were building, he said they were putting in a wedding department.”

Hannah felt vaguely disappointed as they rode up to the third floor. She wasn’t sure why. She was glad that Norman hadn’t made plans for a wedding when he’d asked her to marry him, plans that he would have had to cancel when she’d decided not to marry anyone quite yet. At the same time, it would have shown his commitment and proven to her that his proposal hadn’t been just a gut reaction to the fact that Mike had proposed first. Telling herself she had no right to want such a commitment when she was unwilling to reciprocate, she stepped off the escalator, turned toward the wedding department, and came face to face with a pair of giant gold wedding bells tied together with a giant gold ribbon that said, WONDERFUL WEDDINGS.

“This is it,” Norman said, quite unnecessarily.

Hannah eyed the huge bells that adorned the tall gold archway leading into the department. “Pretty fancy!”

“Shall we?” Norman held out his arm.

Oh boy! Hannah muttered under her breath as she took it. If anyone they knew saw them walking into the wedding department arm in arm, tongues would wag all over Lake Eden.

“Hannah!”

Hannah turned to see Cory Reynolds coming toward them. “Hi, Cory. I’m so sorry about your brother-in-law.”

“So am I,” Cory said. “Wayne was a wonderful man. Melinda can’t seem to stop crying. She tried to come in today, to say a few words to the staff, but I made her stay home.”

“Very wise,” Norman said.

“Thank you. But please let’s not mar this happy occasion with sad tidings. How may I help you two today?”

Hannah was stunned for a moment, but then she recovered her voice. “Actually…it’s not quite like that. Norman and I aren’t here for a wedding. We came because we really need to ask you some questions about Wayne. Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

“Yes. Of course.” Cory turned and led the way down a hallway to several rooms. He chose one, opened the door, and motioned them inside. “Will this do?”

“It’s perfect,” Hannah said, admiring the comfortable look the decorator had achieved. The room resembled a living room with comfortable furniture, some tasteful flower prints on the walls, and a tray containing bottled water and an ice bucket.

“Water?” Cory asked them.

“No thanks,” Hannah answered for both of them.

“I hear you’re looking into Wayne’s death,” Cory opened the conversation as he took a bottle of water for himself.

“Yes, unofficially,” Hannah made that clear. “It’s just that I saw Wayne only minutes before he died and then I found him like that.”

Cory shivered slightly. “I know. All night I kept thinking that if I’d walked out to the parking lot with him, I might have prevented it.”

“Or you might have been killed right along with your brother-in-law,” Norman pointed out.

Cory was silent for moment. He was clearly thinking it over. “You’re right. What ifs don’t do any good. I didn’t go out to the parking lot with Wayne, so I’ll never know what would have happened if I had.”

“We need to ask you about Cyril Murphy,” Hannah said, taking charge. “Did you know that Wayne promised Cyril he’d use Shamrock Limo Service for weddings booked through your department, and he reneged on his promise?”

“Wayne said it was all a giant misunderstanding, and I know he talked to Larry about it.”

“Larry?” Hannah asked.

“Larry Helms. He’s been Wayne’s lawyer for years.”

Hannah filed the name of the lawyer away for future reference. “It sounds like more than a misunderstanding to me. I heard they were yelling at each other.”

“I know they were yelling at each other.”

Hannah stared at him in surprise. “How do you know that?”

“I gave Wayne a ride to the garage and I was sitting in the car waiting for him. I saw the whole thing. They were yelling at each other and waving their fists. I thought I was going to have to break up a fight, but then Wayne stalked away and came back to the car.”

“Do you think there was bad blood between Cyril and Wayne?” Hannah asked.

“You mean…do I think Cyril Murphy might have killed Wayne over that limo thing?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I mean.”

Cory propped his elbows on the table and covered his eyes with his hands. It was a contemplative pose and he thought about it for a long moment. Then he lowered his hands. “It could have happened that way.”

“Okay. That’s exactly what I wanted to know.” Hannah stood up and Norman followed suit.

“So…no wedding?” Cory asked, giving a small smile.

“Not yet,” Norman answered. “But we’ll let you know when. And where.”

Hannah shot him a quick look and decided to let it go. This wasn’t the time to discuss the risk of assuming too much.

“These are for you,” she said, producing the bag of cookies she’d earmarked for Cory. “I thought you might be able to use a little chocolate. The endorphins will make you feel better.”

Cory gave her a smile that wavered slightly. “Thanks, Hannah. That was really sweet of you. I’ll give some to Melinda.”

“That’s okay. We’ve got some for her, too.” Norman spoke up quickly. “Do you think we could drop them off? We wouldn’t stay, of course. We know how devastating this whole thing must be for her.”

Hannah shot a quick glance at Norman. He didn’t take the lead in an interrogation often, but when he did, he was usually right.

“Yes,” she said, quickly adopting Norman’s vernacular. “We thought Melinda might appreciate a tangible expression of friendship and comfort.”

Cory hesitated for a long moment. “Well…I think that would be very kind of you, provided you didn’t stay too long. She’s exhausted, you know. Poor Melinda is still suffering from the shock of losing her husband.”

“Of course, the poor dear!” Hannah said, pouring it on with both pitchers. The flowery language was difficult to master and she wished she’d taken lessons from Digger Gibson, Lake Eden’s mortician and funeral director. “Not to worry. We’ll just drop the cookies off and leave.”

“That’s fine. Thank you for being so understanding. I’ll give Melinda a call and tell her to expect you.”

CHOCOLATE CANDY CANE COOKIES

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position.

Cookie Dough:

4 squares unsweetened baking chocolate (4 ounces)

11/4 cups (21/2sticks, 10-ounces) chilled butter

2 cups white (granulated) sugar

2 beaten eggs (just whip them up in a glass with a fork)

2 teaspoons baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/3 cup corn syrup (I used white Karo syrup)

2 Tablespoons water

1 Tablespoon (3 teaspoons) vanilla

4 cups flour (pack it down in the cup when you measure it)

Topping:

1/4 cup white (granulated) sugar

1/4 cup finely crushed mint candy canes (about 12 mini candy canes)

Melt the butter and the chocolate squares together, mix them thoroughly, and set them on the counter to cool. You can do this in a microwave-safe bowl for 3 minutes on HIGH, or in a pan over low heat on the stovetop. (I do it by microwave in a Pyrex one-quart measuring cup.)

Hannah’s 1stNote: If you like a strong peppermint flavor, use 2 teaspoons of vanilla and one teaspoon of peppermint extract instead of the Tablespoon (3 teaspoons) of vanilla extract that’s called for in the recipe.

In a large bowl, combine the white sugar and the eggs. Beat the mixture until it’s a uniform pale yellow color.

Add the baking soda and salt. Mix them in well.

Mix in the corn syrup, water, and the vanilla.

Hannah’s 2ndNote: Whenever I measure something sticky like corn syrup, maple syrup, or honey, I spray my measuring cup with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray first. Then the sticky stuff slides right out and it’s easy to wash the cup.

Add half of the flour to your bowl. (That’s 2 cups.) Mix it in. Then add the remaining flour (that’s 2 cups) and mix thoroughly.

Give the bowl a final stir by hand, cover it with plastic wrap, and let it rest on the counter while you spray your cookie sheets with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray and crush your candy canes.

Hannah’s 3rdNote: I unwrap my candy canes, stick them in a heavy plastic bag, and hit them with a little rubber mallet I got from Dad’s hardware store before we sold it. Lisa says she does hers almost the same way, except she puts a board over the bag and bangs on the board with a hammer. Any way you want to crush the candy is fine—just be really careful with hammers and mallets if you have ceramic tile counters. You can also break the candy canes in pieces with your hands and then pulverize them in a food processor with the steel blade. (Read your instruction manual to make sure the food processor you have will handle a task like this.)

I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but last summer when Andrea, Michelle, and I were staying out at Mother’s lake cottage, we couldn’t find a hammer, so I put the candy canes in a triple layer of plastic bags and Michelle backed over them several times with the car. (It worked.)

Measure out a quarter cup of finely crushed candy canes and place them in a small bowl. Add a quarter cup white granulated sugar and mix it all up with a fork. (The goal is to get an equal amount of sugar and crushed candy cane on each of the dough balls that you’ll make.)

Roll the dough into one-inch diameter balls with your hands. This dough may be sticky, so roll only enough for the cookies you plan to bake immediately and then put the bowl in the refrigerator.

Roll the dough balls in the bowl of topping and place them on the greased cookie sheets, 12 balls to a standard sheet. Flatten them slightly with a metal spatula or the heel of your impeccably clean hand.

Bake the cookies at 350 degrees F. for 8 to 10 minutes. Cool them on the cookie sheet for a minute and then remove the cookies to a wire rack to complete cooling. (If you leave them on the cookie sheet for more than a minute, they may stick. It’s not the sugar—it’s the crushed candy canes. They melt and then stick to your baking sheets.)

Yield: approximately 8 dozen yummy cookies

Chapter Eight

The special elevator that carried them up to the penthouse over Bergstrom’s department store had been opulent with gold-tone mirrors and a pink velvet bench that ran around its perimeter. Hannah had never seen an elevator with seating before, and she was even more impressed when it rose to the fifth floor in one smooth motion and the doors whispered open to reveal even more luxury.

The foyer they stepped into could have graced any one of several five-star hotels. Two walls were covered with a silvery silken material that matched the pillows on the pink and light green silk couches. Wing chairs in light blue silk were grouped around oval-shaped gold tables with mirrored tops, their beveled edges trimmed in gold. The other two walls were made entirely of glass, affording a spectacular view of the pine-dotted snowscape outside.

“Holy Hannah!” Hannah breathed, taking her own name in vain. “This is even better than Teensy’s Penthouse!”

“Better than what?”

“Teensy’s Penthouse. Tracey put it on her Christmas wish list. It’s the hot item this year and all the stores I called are sold out. There was one that had it, but they wanted a hundred and twenty dollars. And that was without Teensy!”

“And Teensy is a doll?”

“She’s not just a doll,” Hannah corrected him. “Teensy is a fully articulated reproduction of a female child in miniature. She has her own series of children’s books and DVDs, and there’s a Saturday morning cartoon. She’s a little rich girl with a fabulous wardrobe and all sorts of places they call environments like ski chalets, thoroughbred horse farms, and ocean cottages. Teensy lives in the lap of luxury.”

Norman smiled. “Correction. Teensy’s manufacturer lives in the lap of luxury.”

“Sir? Madam?” The same maid who’d answered the door and taken their coats addressed them from the doorway. “Mrs. Bergstrom will see you now. Please follow me.”

Hannah and Norman were led past priceless artwork and more ornate furniture as they traversed the wide carpeted hallway to an arched doorway near the rear of the penthouse.

“Through here, please,” the maid said, opening the arched door and stepping aside. “Mrs. Bergstrom wishes to meet with you in the indoor garden. She designed it shortly after her marriage and it’s her favorite spot to entertain. Just follow the path to the seating area by the fountain.”

As Hannah and Norman entered the warm, humid space, they gave nearly simultaneous gasps of surprise. It was a tropical paradise filled with exotic plants, ferns, and even trees. Flowers in riotous colors were blooming everywhere, enough to keep a florist in business for the whole winter season.

“Wow!” Hannah said, turning to Norman. “The only other time I get to see this much green in the winter is on St. Patrick’s Day. This is just like Mother’s orangery.”

“Your mother’s what?”

“Orangery. Mansions in England had them during the Regency period. It was a solarium, an indoor greenhouse, with all sorts of exotic plants, fruit trees, and flowers.”

“I think this probably qualifies,” Norman said, gazing around him. “It’s like a jungle in here. Or maybe a rain forest. I’m not that well acquainted with the difference.”

“It’s paradise,” Hannah said, “especially in the dead of winter.” It was true. Melinda’s solarium was a paradise requiring only constant temperature and humidity monitoring, and expert gardening. To add to the sensory delights, the indoor garden had two walls and a ceiling made of glass. The frigid winter scene outside was a startling juxtaposition to the lush tropical illusion inside.

“This way,” Norman indicated a path made of smooth round stones. “She said there was a fountain and I can hear falling water.”

Hannah looked down at the stones on the walkway as she followed Norman. She figured they were probably fabricated. As far as she knew, stones were like snowflakes. If you made it your life’s work, you might find two that were exactly the same, but you certainly wouldn’t be lucky enough to find the thousands of identical pebbles it had taken to line Melinda Bergstrom’s solarium walkway.

Hannah hadn’t seen Melinda recently, but the former-model-turned-wife hadn’t changed one iota. She was seated in a rattan peacock chair by the fountain and she was just as svelte and impeccably groomed as she’d been when she’d strolled down the runway. She was wearing what Hannah assumed was a designer pantsuit made of black velvet that set off her light ash-blond hair and her peaches-and-cream complexion. Her feet were encased in black sandals with stiletto heels, something that gave Hannah pause. Would a grieving widow wear stiletto heels? Perhaps, if she happened to be a former model. But wouldn’t a grieving widow who’d been crying all night and day have swollen eyelids and blotchy cheeks? She’d have to ask Andrea if there was a way to hide prolonged tears with makeup.

“Mrs. Bergstrom.” Norman stepped forward to take Melinda’s outstretched hand. “We’re so sorry for your loss.”

Hannah took her cue from Norman. “This must be a very difficult time for you.”

“Oh, it is. I can’t seem to stop blaming myself. I should have gone with Wayne instead of keeping my appointment with Pierre.”

“Pierre from Le Petit Salon?” Hannah asked, naming the exclusive beauty shop downstairs in the mall.

“That’s right. Pierre came up to style my hair at seven-thirty, right after they closed the salon. He was still here when the deputies came to tell me that Wayne was…was…” Melinda gave a quavering sigh and her voice trailed off.

“I’m glad you had someone with you,” Hannah said, filing away the information she’d been given for later. “Cory probably told you, but Norman and I came up to bring you some of my Devil’s Food Cookies. We thought maybe the chocolate might help to make you feel better.”

“How sweet of you!” Melinda accepted the bag Hannah handed her and peeked inside. “They smell so good.”

“They’re very popular down at The Cookie Jar. Have one and tell me if you like them.”

“I really shouldn’t. So many calories. You make them with real butter?”

“Yes.” Of course she made them with real butter. Minnesota was a dairy state and no scientist had yet found a perfect substitute for butter.

“Maybe I’ll have one tonight after dinner.” Melinda folded the bag closed and set it on the rattan table in front of her chair. “Do sit down. Would you care for coffee? Or tea?”

Hannah shook her head. “No, thank you. I’d like to use your powder room, though, if that’s all right.”

Norman shot her a startled look. He knew she’d gone off to the ladies’ room shortly before they’d caught the elevator to the Bergstrom penthouse.

“Certainly. I’ll ring for Emily. She can show you the way.”

“There’s no need to call your maid.” Hannah stood up. “Just give me directions and I’ll find it.”

“Turn left when you leave here, and then turn to the right when you get to the next hallway. There’s a guest bath three doors down on your left.”

As Hannah walked away, she heard Norman begin to praise Melinda’s design for the solarium. Norman might not know exactly what she was up to, but Hannah knew he’d keep Melinda busy talking until she got back.

Instead of following Melinda’s instructions, Hannah turned in the opposite direction. She passed a huge master suite and noticed a large piece of mahogany furniture against one wall. It was a valet stand, the sort of standing rack that held a man’s hat, suit, and shoes. This piece of furniture was a quadruple valet stand with an upholstered bench in the center. Each side was flanked by two valet stands, one raised as high as the mirror in back of the bench, and the one at normal height. The massive piece of furniture was decorated with carvings of stag, and deer, and moose. It was the most magnificent piece of furniture Hannah had ever seen.

Hannah paused, letting her eyes roam the room. This master bedroom was larger than her whole condo. There were walk-in closets on either side of the room and the doors were open. Hannah spotted men’s clothing in one closet, and absolutely nothing in the other. Had Melinda moved out of the master bedroom, unable to bear the loneliness of the suite she’d shared with her husband?

Afraid she might be caught staring for too long, Hannah moved on down the hallway. She turned the corner and passed another bedroom with an open door. This one was obviously Cory’s. There was a shirt hanging just inside the door. It was in a see-through dry cleaner’s bag and she recognized the distinctive gold and silver shirt that Cory had worn the previous evening.

Hannah walked on to the next room. The door was ajar and she made it even more so. This was a woman’s bedroom. There were fresh flowers on the ornate dresser, and another set of see-through dry cleaner bags containing party dresses and women’s suits. Hannah was about to go on to greener pastures when something she spied turned this room into a shade of emerald she couldn’t resist.

It was a photo album, sitting on a table by the window. Photos could be revealing, and Hannah wanted to take a quick peek. If a guest was staying here with Melinda and Cory, she might have information about why Wayne was murdered. There was only one way to tell who that guest was. Hannah had to get a look at the photo album before Melinda’s maid came in search of the wayward visitor who had missed the guest bathroom and was in some other part of the penthouse.

Hannah glanced up and down the hallway. No one was in the immediate vicinity. She knew she was taking a chance, but she ducked in the open door and hurried to the table with the album.

The photo album had initials on the front in fancy gold script. The letters were so stylized that they were difficult to read, but Hannah was almost positive that they were M. A. A.

In the space of no more than a heartbeat, she opened the album and looked inside. It was a family album. There was a wedding with people Hannah didn’t recognize. And then there was a baby in a baptismal gown. The father holding her looked proud and happy and the mother, who was standing at his side, looked a lot like Melinda Reynolds Bergstrom!

She was taking a chance standing here snooping, but there was no way she could squelch her curiosity. Hannah flipped through the pages, gazing at pictures of a small girl being steadied by her dad on a hobbyhorse, a preschooler riding a tricycle, and a little girl getting on a school bus, waving at whoever was holding the camera. There were pictures of family vacations with mom, dad, and daughter. One was taken at the Wisconsin Dells. Hannah recognized Storybook Gardens. There was another series of snapshots of Crystal Cave in Wisconsin. These were obviously Melinda’s parents, and as Melinda grew older, Hannah recognized her. But where was Melinda’s brother, Cory? He wasn’t in any of these early family photos.

Hannah made a lightning quick search of the album. Christmas in grade school, no Cory. A family trip to Itasca to see the origin of the Mississippi River, no Cory. The family at Melinda’s high school graduation, no Cory. There wasn’t one single picture of Melinda’s brother, and that was unusual to say the least!

Now for the room. Was it Melinda’s? Hannah thought that it must be. There were several framed magazine covers that Melinda had posed for, hanging on the walls. When had she moved here, next to Cory, instead of sharing the master suite with her husband? Hannah made a quick survey of the bedroom, gathering information. There was an archive-size stack of modeling magazines in the white wrought-iron bookcase against the far wall, and every inch of the closet was filled with clothing. There were personal items in the dresser. Hannah pulled out a few drawers to check the contents, and she noticed gardening books on another table, their pages marked by colored tabs. One gold-colored slipper peeked out from beneath the bed, and a silk dressing gown was tossed on a chair in the corner. It was an assumption, but Hannah made it without quibbling. This was Melinda’s room and she’d been using it for quite a while.

Hannah’s head snapped up as she heard footsteps. Someone was coming! She glanced around quickly, and headed straight for the bathroom. She shut the door just a heartbeat before she heard someone enter the bedroom.

“Miss Swensen?” It was a voice Hannah recognized. Emily the maid was looking for her. “Are you in here, Miss Swensen?”

“I’m in the bathroom,” Hannah answered, flushing the toilet to add credence to her words. She was busted, caught red-handed, snooping in Melinda’s bedroom. But why was Melinda sleeping in this bedroom when the master bedroom was right down the hall?

There was no time to think about that now. She was going to have to do some fast talking and hope that Emily would buy it. Hannah took a deep breath, opened the door, and gave the maid her brightest smile.

“I hope I found the right bathroom,” she said. “I forgot whether Melinda said to go left, or right.”

The maid looked suspicious for a brief moment and then she smiled. “You didn’t, but that’s all right. I’ll escort you back to the garden. Mrs. Bergstrom paged me. She was afraid you were lost.”

“I guess I was!” Hannah said. “But I’m glad you’re here, Emily. I’d like to know if this is Melinda’s bedroom.”

“Oh! Well…yes. Yes, it is. But that’s Mrs. Bergstrom’s private business. I can’t say anything more.”

“Of course you can,” Hannah interrupted her. “Your employer’s dead, murdered in cold blood, and his widow doesn’t seem to be grieving very much. Do you think she cares?”

“Not that one!” Emily said, shaking her head. “There’s no love lost there and there wasn’t on his side, either.” She moved closer and continued in a whisper. “I’m almost sure Mr. Bergstrom was going to divorce her, not that he said anything to me, of course. But it wasn’t a real marriage, if you know what I mean. And now…I’d better take you back before she comes after both of us.”

Once back inside the tropical paradise, Hannah ignored Norman’s curious glance, and sat down next to Melinda. They made polite conversation for a moment or two, and then Melinda took them on a tour of the most unusual and exotic flora that she had imported. Hannah admired brightly colored blooms that looked more artificial that real to her, smelled scents so heady they came close to making her sneeze, and pretended overwhelming interest in natural fertilizers and climate control. Then, mercifully, it was time to render their polite good-byes, repeat their condolences, and leave.

“Well?” Norman asked when they had boarded the elevator and were safely on their way down to the store.

“Well, what?”

“Well, why were you gone so long? And what did you discover?”

“No Cory,” Hannah said, summing up her findings in two words.

“What?”

“I found Melinda’s family photo album. There were lots of pictures of Melinda and her parents, but not one single picture of Cory. Maybe Cory had a big fight with his parents and they took all his pictures out of the photo album. Or maybe Melinda did, and she removed them. Or…maybe there was something wrong with Cory that he didn’t get fixed until he left home.”

“Like what?”

“Like a birthmark he had removed. Or maybe Cory was really Melinda’s sister Corrine before she had the sex change.”

Hannah started to laugh, but she quickly sobered as she thought of another possibility. “Or…maybe Cory isn’t Melinda’s brother and that’s why he isn’t in the family album.”

“That’s interesting,” Norman commented. “Don’t you want to know what I found out while you were gone?”

“Absolutely.”

“I found out everything I really didn’t need to know about exotic plants, flowers, and berries.”

“Lucky you.” Hannah stepped off the elevator and spotted the decorator dried wreath department, right where Delores had said it would be. “Let’s go buy a peony wreath for your mother, and then go straight back to The Cookie Jar. I want to see if Lisa’s hit pay dirt with her invisible waitress trick.”

DEVIL’S FOOD COOKIES

Do not preheat oven—this dough needs to chill.

2 cups flour

13/4 cups white (granulated) sugar

1/2 cup cocoa powder ***

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 cup melted butter (1 stick, 1/4 pound)

1 beaten egg (just whip it up in a glass with a fork)

1/2 cup extra strong coffee (I brewed French Roast double strength)

1/2 cup white sugar in a small bowl (for later)

When cocoa is used in any of my recipes, make sure to use plain old American cocoa (I usually use Hershey’s unsweetened cocoa.) There are many designer cocoas on the market. They’re wonderful in their own right, but they won’t work in my recipes. Make sure you don’t buy cocoa mix, which has powdered milk and a sweetener added. Stay away from Dutch process cocoa—it has alkaline added. Also beware of cocoas that are mixed with ground chocolate or other flavorings. They won’t work either. Things were simpler in my grandmother’s day (and this Devil’s Food Cookie is one of her recipes.) If you’re in doubt, check the ingredients that are listed on the container of cocoa. It should say “cocoa” and nothing else.

In a large bowl, mix the flour, sugar, cocoa powder, salt, and baking soda. Once these dry ingredients are combined, add the melted butter and mix thoroughly.

Add the beaten egg and mix thoroughly.

Add the strong coffee and mix thoroughly.

Chill the dough in the refrigerator for at least one hour. (Overnight is fine, too.)

When you’re ready to bake, preheat the oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position.

Roll the dough into one-inch diameter balls with your hands. This dough may be sticky, so roll only enough for the cookies you plan to bake immediately and then return the bowl to the refrigerator. Roll the dough balls in the bowl of white sugar and place them on a greased cookie sheet, 12 balls to a standard sheet. Flatten them slightly with the heel of your impeccably clean hand so they won’t roll off on their way to the oven.

Bake at 350 degrees F. for 8 to 10 minutes. Cool on the cookie sheet for a minute or two and then remove the cookies to a wire rack to finish cooling. (If you leave them on the cookie sheet for too long, they’ll stick.)

Hannah’s Note: When Lisa wants to make these fancy for a cookie catering job, she drizzles them with fine horizontal lines of white powdered sugar icing. Then she mixes up chocolate powdered sugar icing and drizzles them with fine vertical lines. Here are the frostings she uses:

White Powdered Sugar Icing:

1 cup powdered (confectioner’s) sugar

1/2 teaspoon vanilla

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 to 4 Tablespoons light cream

Lisa’s 1stNote: There’s no need to sift the powdered sugar unless it has big lumps.

Line up your cookies, shoulder to shoulder, on a sheet of waxed paper.

Mix the powdered sugar with the vanilla and the salt. Add the light cream gradually until the frosting is the consistency you want.

Put the frosting into a plastic food storage bag. Twist the top closed and cut off one of the bottom corners to let out the frosting. Squeeze it out and drizzle it in fine lines over your cookies.

Chocolate Powdered Sugar Icing:

1 cup powdered (confectioner’s) sugar

1/4 cup cocoa

1/2 teaspoon vanilla

1/4 teaspoon salt 3 to 6 Tablespoons light cream

Turn the paper with the partially frosted cookies 90 degrees so that the thin lines of chocolate frosting will crisscross the white frosting.

Mix the powdered sugar with the cocoa. Blend it in until the resulting mixture is a uniform color. Add the vanilla and the salt. Add the light cream gradually until the chocolate frosting is the consistency you want.

Put the chocolate frosting into a plastic food storage bag. Twist the top closed and cut off one of the bottom corners to let out the frosting. Squeeze it out and drizzle it in fine lines over your cookies.

Let the frosting dry thoroughly and then pack the cookies in single layers in a box lined with wax paper.

Lisa’s 2ndNote: If you want to be really fancy, you can make powdered sugar icing with food coloring and use other extracts besides vanilla.

Chapter Nine

“It was all speculation,” Lisa answered Hannah’s query when they got back to The Cookie Jar, “but there was one interesting thing.”

“And that was?” Hannah prompted.

“Carrie thinks Jenny Bergstrom was in the family way when she left Lake Eden.”

Norman raised his eyebrows. “My mother actually said, in the family way?”

“Yes.” Lisa turned to Hannah. “And your mother said, No way, Jose. Dream on.”

Norman gave a huge sigh, but Hannah noticed that his eyes were twinkling. “I always suspected it, but now I know it’s true.”

“What’s true?” Hannah asked.

“Your mother is cooler than my mother.”

Lisa cracked up, and both Hannah and Norman turned to look at her.

“Sorry,” she said, still giggling. “It’s not cooler anymore. Now it’s rad, or phat, or something like that. It changes every month, or so. The only way you can keep up is to watch the sitcoms on television.”

Hannah turned to Norman and gave him a little pat on the arm. “It’s okay. I knew exactly what you meant.”

“Vernacular aside, do you think my mother knew what she was talking about?” Norman asked Lisa.

“She seemed pretty sure of herself.” Lisa turned to Hannah. “And she managed to convince your mother.”

“If she convinced Mother, it’s probably true.”

“Jenny left town before she started to gain weight, or anything. And she never said anything about it in her letters to her friends in Lake Eden.”

“Okay.” Hannah got up to pour more coffee for all of them. Marge and Jack were still manning the shop and they had a little time to talk. “What else did Carrie say?”

“She said she almost came right out and asked Jenny, but then she heard about the divorce and she thought she must be wrong.”

“Why?” Hannah was curious.

“Because Wayne always wanted children and he would have forgotten all about marrying the bimbo,” Lisa glanced at Norman, “your mother’s word, not mine, and gone straight back to Jenny if she’d told him that she was pregnant.”

“Oh, boy!” Norman gave a little groan. “The one thing I always loved about Lake Eden was that it could never be featured on a reality show. But now…I’m not so sure.”

Hannah laughed. “Don’t worry about it. Gossip in a small town isn’t that interesting unless you live there, and Dancing with the Bovines won’t make it. Unless they decide to hold the summer Olympics on Winnie Henderson’s farm, Lake Eden doesn’t have a prayer of being on national television.”

“Hey, Hannah.”

Mike strode in shortly after Norman had left and Hannah’s heart began to beat like a trip hammer. Why did he have this effect on her? She wished she could control it, but that sudden breathlessness and leap in blood pressure seemed to be eons beyond the control of biofeedback.

“Mike,” Hannah replied, pouring two mugs of coffee from the kitchen pot while her hand was still steady. “Would you like a couple of Linda’s Shortbread Pecan Cookies?”

“Who’s Linda?”

“Lisa’s cousin. She sent us the recipe.”

“Sure, I’ll try a couple. I promise I’ll never refuse anything you offer me. You can count on that.”

Mike gave her a devilish grin and Hannah almost didn’t make it to the work island with the mugs of coffee intact. He was implying a lot more than he should, but she didn’t really dare to react. If she accused him of a suggestive comment, he’d act all innocent and tell her it was all in her head.

“Hold on and I’ll get a plate of cookies,” she said, setting the coffee down on the work island and never quite meeting his eyes.

It didn’t take long to fill a plate with cookies and put them down in front of Mike. Hannah waited until he’d eaten two and washed them down with a whole mug of coffee. Then she got up to pour them more. “So how did you like them?” she asked, sitting down across from him once more.

“Great! Cover them with a napkin or something, will you, Hannah? Otherwise I’m going to eat them all.”

“You’re going back out to the sheriff’s department, aren’t you?”

“Right after I leave here.”

“Mother picked up something for Bill and she doesn’t want him to hang it in his closet at home. She’s afraid Tracey will see it and stop believing in Santa Claus.”

“I take it it’s a Santa costume?”

“Bingo. She bought it this morning at Bergstrom’s.”

“No problem. I’ll take it out there and hang it in Bill’s closet.”

Hannah waited, but Mike didn’t say anything else. The man was a genius when it came to holding his tongue. They sat there in silence for the space of a half-cup of coffee and then Hannah caved in.

“How’s the investigation going?” she asked.

“It’s going. How about you?”

“What do you mean?” Hannah assumed the most innocent expression she could muster.

“I know you’re asking questions. And I know people talk to you. Do you have anything I should know about?”

Hannah took a brief second to consider what she should give Mike so that he could give her something in return. “One thing,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“I know the name of Wayne’s lawyer if you want to ask about his will.”

“That was next on my list, but you can save me some time. Who is it?”

“Larry Helms. He’s with Helms, Jackson, and Connors out at the mall.”

Mike reached in his pocket for his notebook and pen, and wrote it down. “Thanks, Hannah.”

“You’re welcome. Did you happen to examine the Santa suit that Wayne was wearing?”

“Not personally. The crime lab has it. What did you want to know about it?”

“I was just wondering if there were any candy canes left in Wayne’s pocket.”

“Why do you want to know that?”

“Just curious. Wayne was such a tightwad about those candy canes. I asked him if I could have the ones that were left, and he told me he needed them for the next time he played Santa, and he told me to pour them in his pocket. I guess they all fell out the hole.”

“What hole?”

“The one in Wayne’s pocket. There must have been a hole. And the candy canes dropped out of the hole and onto the path. That’s how we found him. We followed the trail of candy canes.”

“Right. Do you want me to find out about the hole and the candy canes?”

“Sure, if you’ve got a spare minute. But I’m just satisfying my curiosity. I figured Wayne was being cheap when he said he needed to use the rest of the candy canes.”

“I’ve heard that before!”

“Heard what?” Hannah asked, wondering how many other people had asked about Wayne’s candy canes.

“What a cheapskate Wayne was. Even his ex-wife implied that. She thought it might relate to his murder. But I came away with the impression she still had a lot of affection for him.”

“You talked to Jenny?”

Mike flipped open his notebook. “Jennifer Perkins Bergstrom. That’s right.”

“What did you think of her?”

“I told you already. She’s the only one I’ve talked to so far who seemed really sorry her ex-husband was dead.”

“I hope she’s okay. I have to go out to the inn to see her tonight.”

“To ask her questions?”

“No, to deliver cookies. Mother wants me to take a dozen of something chocolate to Jenny. She thought it might help.”

“Good idea. It doesn’t happen often, especially when I’m working a murder investigation, but I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. She was the grieving widow. The current wife didn’t seem all that upset.”

“I agree,” Hannah said, before she could think better of it.

“You saw Melinda Bergstrom today?”

“Actually…I brought her some cookies. Chocolate.”

“Your mother’s idea again?”

“No, it was Cory’s. Norman and I drove out to the mall to get a Christmas gift for his mother. We ran into Cory and he mentioned that Melinda had been crying all night. I had some cookies with me, and we took her some.”

“Hmm.” Mike gave her a long, level glance. “What did you think of Melinda?”

To give, or not to give. That was the question. Hannah decided that it couldn’t hurt to have the law on her side. “Melinda didn’t seem to be mourning Wayne’s death very much, but you already know that. I found it particularly interesting that she didn’t share the master suite with her husband. Her bedroom’s down the hall right next to her brother’s.”

“She told you that?”

“No. I just…” Hannah searched for a phrase to explain that she’d fibbed and snooped, but she couldn’t come up with one that was socially acceptable. “I just found out, that’s all.”

Mike gave her another long, level glance, and Hannah was sure it was the same glance he used in the interrogation room. “What else did you just find out?” he asked.

“Well…nothing really. Except that she knows a lot about plants. Her maid is named Emily, if that helps.”

“Right.” Mike stood up to go. “Let me know if you hear anything you think I should know. And remember to leave the investigating…”

“…up to the professionals,” Hannah finished the sentence in tandem with him. “Hold on a second and I’ll wrap up these cookies. You can take them out to the station with you.”

LINDA’S PECAN SHORTBREAD COOKIES

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position.

1 cup white (granulated) sugar 1 cup brown sugar***

1 cup (2 sticks, 1/2 pound) salted butter 1 cup vegetable oil (Canola is NOT a vegetable—the oil’s from a weed!)

1 beaten egg

2 teaspoons vanilla

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon cream of tartar (critical!)

1 cup uncooked oatmeal (I used Quaker’s Quick)

1 cup Rice Krispies

4 cups flour

2 cups chopped pecans (measure after chopping)

Put one cup of white sugar and one cup of brown sugar in the bowl of your mixer. Zoop them up together to make really light brown sugar.

You have two choices with the butter. You can let it come up to room temperature on its own, or you can soften it in the microwave. If you’re in a hurry and you don’t want to wait for nature to take its course, do this:

Unwrap a stick of refrigerated butter. Put it on a paper plate. Nuke it for 5 seconds on HIGH in your microwave. Roll it forward so the topside is now on the side. Nuke it for another 5 seconds on HIGH. Roll it forward again and nuke it for another 5 seconds on HIGH. Repeat rolling forward again and nuking for 5 seconds once again. You’re done. Take the plate out of the microwave and dump the butter into your mixing bowl.

Repeat the whole thing for the second stick of butter.

Once you’ve added the butter to your mixing bowl, mix it until it’s smooth.

Pour in one cup of vegetable oil and add one egg. Mix it all up together at slow speed.

Add the vanilla, baking soda, salt, and cream of tartar. Mix it all up together.

Add the cup of oatmeal and the Rice Krispies. Mix thoroughly.

Add 4 cups of flour to your bowl in half-cup increments, mixing after each addition.

Take the bowl from the mixer, give it another stir with a spoon, and mix in 2 cups of chopped pecans by hand.

With your hands, roll dough balls approximately 1-inch in diameter and place them on the cookie sheet, 12 to a standard-sized sheet.

Bake at 350 degrees F. for 12 to 15 minutes or until golden brown around the edges. (Mine took exactly 12 minutes.)

Let cool on the cookie sheet for 2 minutes and then transfer to a wire rack to complete cooling.

Yield: 9 to 11 dozen yummy shortbread-type cookies

Chapter Ten

Hannah removed another leftover quiche from Andrea’s seldom-used oven and set it out to cool on a rack. Their dinner plans had gone awry. Michelle had begged off. She was having dinner with Delores and Carrie, and then the three of them were going to call everybody who’d been at Sally’s Christmas party. Even though the deputies had already interviewed everyone who’d been there, Delores had decided it was worth a try. They’d already divided the guest list into three parts. There were the people Carrie knew best, the people Delores knew best, and the younger crowd that Michelle knew best. When Hannah had talked to her sister earlier, Michelle had been certain that the three of them could get more candid information from a friendly phone call than the sheriff’s deputies had gotten at the party last night.

Another few minutes and the quiche would be cool enough to cut and then it would be time for the second shift to eat. She’d fed Tracey and Grandma McCann while Andrea had spoon-fed baby Bethany, who had recently graduated from purees to small chunks. Then the kids and “Grandma” had gone off to the den to watch a new Christmas movie with animated penguins who’d lost their Christmas presents and had to find them before Christmas Eve. Andrea had gone upstairs to change. They were going to go out to the inn to talk to Wayne’s ex-wife right after they’d eaten their dinner.

“Is it cool enough to eat?” Andrea asked when she came into the kitchen again.

“I hope so. I’m hungry.” Hannah sliced the quiche while Andrea dished up salads. They sat down across from each other, picked up their forks, and for long moments there was silence broken only by the sounds of chewing.

“This quiche is absolutely delicious,” Andrea finally said, finishing the last of her slice and looking longingly at the three slices still left on the serving plate.

Hannah smiled her thanks. “I’m glad you liked it. Have another piece.”

“I’m thinking about it. It’s made with cream, right?”

“Yes.”

“Uh-oh. And there’s butter in the crust?” Andrea waited until Hannah nodded and then she asked her next question. “How about cheese?”

“There are a couple of kinds of cheese.”

“A couple? Uh-oh. How much cheese?”

Hannah thought about dissembling, but it wasn’t nice to mess with somebody else’s diet. “Quite a bit of cheese,” she admitted, “probably the equivalent of two ounces per slice.”

Andrea gave a little whimper. “I don’t suppose you used low-fat cheese.”

“Nope.”

“Uh-oh. Tell me about the bacon pieces.”

Hannah thought about that for a moment. “They’re well drained,” she said.

“Oh good!” Andrea gave a relieved smile. “Then I guess I’ll have another piece!”

The parking lot at the Lake Eden Inn was full, but Hannah “found” a space by parking at an angle with the rear end of her cookie truck partially elevated on the rim of hard-packed ice that had been left by the snowplow around the perimeter.

“Okay,” she said, opening her door. “You’re wearing boots, aren’t you?”

“Of course. They’re the ugly silver moon boots Bill gave me when I got pregnant with Tracey and he was afraid I’d slip on the ice.”

“I thought you hated those.”

“I do, but they keep me from slipping on the ice. And besides, nobody’s going to see me until I get inside and then I’ll change to my shoes.”

Hannah glanced down at her old moose-hide boots. She’d left her shoes at The Cookie Jar. Unless she wanted to leave her boots in the cloakroom and pad up to see Jenny in her stocking feet, she’d better look for the pair of ballet-type pull-on slippers she usually carried in the back of her truck.

“You do have shoes, don’t you?” Andrea asked, glancing down at Hannah’s boots.

“I do.” Hannah did her best to exude confidence as she opened the back of her truck and rummaged around for her slippers. Luck was with her and she found them. “Here they are,” she announced, holding them up for Andrea to see.

“Great. Let’s go then. It’s freezing out here.”

The air was crisp, the night inky black with the moon shining blue and cold against the snow. When Hannah looked up at the night sky, the stars appeared jagged, as if they were made of shattered ice crystals. There was a beauty in the frosty night that made her wonder what it would have been like to live in an ice cave. If anyone could live in an ice cave. She really wasn’t sure.

“Brrrr! It’s must be close to zero!” Andrea moved a little closer to Hannah. “I’m worried about the crab apple tree Bill and Tracey planted in the backyard. I hear it’s supposed to drop down to minus fifteen tonight.”

Her sister’s comment brought Hannah back from thoughts of wooly mammoths and glaciers. “Where did you hear that?”

“I saw the weather report on KCOW,” Andrea named the local television station.

“Then don’t worry. They’re always wrong.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Remember last August when they said we were going to have a whole week of rain? They called it the storm of the century and said it would bring us at least six inches before it cleared up. And then it was sunny and warm every day?”

“I remember. I stood in line to buy a new umbrella and I never used it.”

“Hold on,” Hannah said, grabbing Andrea’s arm. “Stand right here and look over at the inn.”

“But why should…” Andrea swallowed the rest of her own question as realization dawned. “Never mind. I get it. This is where you left the path last night. And you found Wayne’s body just a few feet from here.”

“Exactly. That’s why I want you to look at the inn. How many windows can you see from here.”

There was a moment of silence while Andrea peered into the night. “I can’t see the first floor at all,” she said. “The trees are too tall. But I can see the last four rooms on the second floor. And if I can see them, they can see us.”

“Exactly. The moon was bright last night and if someone in one of those rooms happened to be looking out toward the parking lot…”

“They could have seen Wayne’s killer!” Andrea interrupted her. “Do you want to check with Sally to see who had those rooms last night?”

“Absolutely. Chances are, all Sally’s guests were at the party and those rooms were empty at the time Wayne was murdered. But it can’t hurt to ask.”

The rest of the walk was accomplished in silence. Both sisters were chilled from the winter cold and didn’t feel like speaking until they were sitting on a bench in the cloakroom changing from boots to shoes.

“Do you want to see Jenny first?” Andrea asked.

“No. We’ll get the names from Sally and then we’ll go up to visit Jenny.”

“Fine with me. Just let me comb my hair and fix my makeup.”

Hannah thumped the side of her head with her hand. “Makeup. I knew I was forgetting something. If a woman cries all night and all morning, is there anything she can do with cosmetics in thirty minutes or so to make herself look as if she hasn’t been crying?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Not in thirty minutes or so. Cosmetics are really good, but they can’t perform miracles.”

“So if somebody cried that long, it would show?” Andrea nodded and Hannah asked her next question. “How would it show?”

“Well…there’s the obvious. Her eyes would be swollen and the skin on her face would be puffy. It would be blotchy too, but she might be able to cover that up with makeup. Are we talking about Melinda Bergstrom here?”

“Yes. Norman and I saw her this afternoon and she looked just as beautiful as she did when she was modeling.”

“Then she was lying if she said she’d been crying all night and most of the morning.”

“She didn’t say it. Her brother Cory did.”

“Then Cory was lying. There are things you can do to reduce the swelling, but they all take time. Melinda wouldn’t have looked beautiful unless…what was the lighting like?”

“It was daylight. We met her in a solarium filled with plants and it had a glass ceiling. The sun was shining.”

“That cinches it!”

“What?”

“Sunlight. Even if she used the best makeup and applied it like an artist, there’s no way she could hide it in strong sunlight.”

“That’s what I thought, but I wanted to check to make sure.”

Andrea slipped on a pair of forest green shoes that went perfectly with her stylish pantsuit. “It’s pretty clear Melinda didn’t love Wayne since she didn’t shed any tears for him. Do you think the maid was right and Wayne was planning to divorce her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe Wayne told her he wanted a divorce and she killed him.”

“Impossible.”

“Why not? It happens all the time on television. The rich older husband says he wants a divorce, the gorgeous trophy wife sees all that money flying out the window, and she kills him before he can file the papers.”

“That makes perfect sense except for one thing.”

“What thing is that?”

“Melinda’s got an airtight alibi. Pierre from Le Petit Salon was with her from seven-thirty on. I stopped there to check before Norman and I left the mall. He did Melinda’s hair at the penthouse and they were having a glass of wine in the solarium when Mike and Bill knocked on the door to notify her that Wayne was dead.”

“Drats!”

“I know. It would have tied everything up in a neat little bow.”

Getting the list from Sally was easy. Resisting the dessert buffet they were serving in the dining room was difficult. Hannah was still thinking sinful thoughts about Sally’s newest chocolate creation as they walked down the hallway and pushed the button for the elevator. “Mike told me about his interview with Jenny. He said she seemed to be grieving for Wayne a lot more than Melinda was.”

“Really?”

“That’s what he thought. It’s up to us to see if we agree with him. When we get up to Jenny’s room, make sure you sit right next to her so you can check her makeup. I want to know if she’s been crying.”

Andrea looked a bit shocked. “But we know Jenny! She’s a friend of Mother’s!”

“I know that, but this is a murder case. Everyone’s a suspect until they’re eliminated.”

The elevator doors slid shut and it shuddered slightly. Then there was a series of whooshes and faint faraway machinery sounds that boomed and banged as they were lifted to the second floor. The doors slid open to reveal a coral pink wall with a gilt-edged mirror hanging over a granite-topped table that Hannah was willing to bet had come from the quarries at Cold Spring, Minnesota. There was a bouquet of fresh flowers on the top of the table, but it was clear that the bouquet had other origins. Since it was winter in the Midwest, Hannah was willing to bet that the flowers came from warmer and sunnier places.

“Sorry,” Andrea said as they stepped out of the elevator and started down the thickly carpeted hallway. “It’s just that I remember Jenny, and I let my emotions get in the way. I’ll check her makeup for you.”

“Thanks. I remember her too, and I liked her. Mike said she was in her room alone at the time of Wayne’s murder, and that means she doesn’t have an alibi. Let’s just hope that she’ll tell us something that’ll clear her.”

The room Jenny occupied was at the end of the corridor and it had a perfect view of the path leading to the parking lot. It was a beautifully decorated mini-suite with a sitting room containing a couch by the window, a television set, and two chairs on either side of a coffee table. The sleeping area was hidden behind two decorative folding doors that could be closed or left open. Jenny had them open and Hannah could see a queen-size bed with a flowered coverlet, a tall dresser with ample drawers for any guest, a walk-in closet with mirrored doors, and an archway that Hannah assumed would lead to the bathroom.

Jenny was just as Hannah had remembered her, a pleasant-looking woman in her late forties with brown hair, stylishly cut, that was streaked with gray. She was dressed in black slacks and a black sweater that was embroidered with Hannah’s favorite flower, lilacs.

“Hello, Jenny.” Hannah stepped in first and handed her the cookies. “These are called Angel Pillows.”

“Some of your famous cookies. Thank you, Hannah.”

“We wanted to bring you something, because we’re so sorry for your loss.”

The moment that the words were out of her mouth, Hannah wished that she could call them back. They were exactly the same words that Norman had spoken to Melinda. But in this case, they seemed more appropriate. One look at Jenny’s swollen face, and Hannah was willing to bet that Mike was right and she’d been crying all night and all day over her ex-husband’s death.

Andrea gave Jenny a big hug. “This is so awful for you. I can tell you’ve been crying your eyes out for hours and hours. You still loved him, didn’t you?”

Hannah tried not to look as shocked as she felt. Andrea had jumped in with both feet. She waited until her sister and Jenny had seated themselves on the couch next to the window and then she took a chair directly across from them and waited for Jenny’s response.

“It’s true,” Jenny said with a sigh, “even though Wayne could be a real pain at times. And both of you know how cheap he could be. It used to make me angry when he’d give me something I really needed for birthdays and Christmases, like a set of tires for my car, or a new steam iron, or a toaster. He just hated to spend money on anything he thought was frivolous. I think it was probably a reaction to his background.”

“Really?” Andrea prompted.

“Wayne’s father owned a small general store in South Dakota. Wayne told me it was thriving when he started first grade, but then his father made some bad investments and he lost everything. They had to move to Wayne’s grandparents’ farm and they barely made both ends meet. I’m no psychiatrist, but I think Wayne was afraid he’d lose it all, the way his father did, and he’d have to go back to a life like that. And that’s why he hated to spend any of the money he earned.”

“You’re probably right,” Andrea responded. “That would be enough to turn anyone into a careful spender.”

“Careful spender?” Jenny gave a little laugh. “That’s a polite way to put it. Wayne was a tightwad. There’s no two ways about it. But he was my tightwad and I loved him. That’s one of the reasons I left town. I was devastated when he filed for divorce so he could marry that…” Jenny stopped and swallowed hard, “…that model of his. And he spent so much money on her. Every time he gave her a gift, my friends would call to tell me about her new piece of jewelry, or her new car, or whatever.”

Andrea looked very sympathetic. “That must have been difficult to hear, especially when he’d been so cheap with you.”

“Oh it was, believe me! But I really thought he’d come to his senses and admit he’d made a big mistake.”

“And he’d come crawling back to you?”

“That’s right. But he didn’t. And after the divorce was final and they set a wedding date, I had to leave.”

“But he gave you enough money to get along, didn’t he?”

“Yes. I didn’t get rich, but I got a decent settlement.”

“Do you mind if I use your bathroom, Jenny?” Hannah broke into what had been basically a two-person conversation.

“Of course I don’t mind. Just go through the bedroom and to the left.”

Hannah was glad when Andrea started talking, claiming Jenny’s attention once again. She got up and headed out of the room, wondering just how long she could be gone. The bathroom excuse had worked really well at Melinda’s penthouse and it was worth trying here in Jenny’s mini-suite. Hannah was almost positive that Jenny had loved Wayne, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t killed him.

Since the folding doors were open and Jenny could be watching, Hannah headed straight for the bathroom. Once inside she was hidden from view, and Hannah leaned against the doorjamb, letting her eyes do a search of the room.

Everything was perfectly ordinary, from the three nice suits hanging in the closet to the array of cosmetics on the dresser table. Hannah was actually considering crawling across the floor to search under the bed when she spotted something unusual in the corner.

It was a large pink box with purple stars scattered across its surface. Because she’d tried to buy it for Tracey, Hannah knew that Teensy’s environments came in bright pink boxes with purple stars. But what was a divorced woman on a tight budget doing with an expensive children’s toy? Could Carrie be right? Had Jenny been pregnant when she’d left Lake Eden? There was only one way to find out and Hannah got straight to it.

“I see you’ve got a Teensy environment,” Hannah addressed Jenny as she came out into the living room again.

“Oh, yes. Yes, I do. I picked it up at the airport in Minneapolis right after I landed.”

“Is it for your daughter?”

Jenny clasped her hands together tightly as she nodded. “Yes, it’s for Anna. She’s five now. But I never told anyone here in Lake Eden. How did you know?”

“Carrie thought you were pregnant when you left, but she wasn’t sure. Is Wayne her father?”

“Yes.”

“Did he know?”

Jenny’s face turned pale. “I was going to tell him this morning. He…He’s the reason I came back here.”

The story came out in bits and pieces, interspersed with fresh tears, but Hannah managed to put it all together. Wayne had called Jenny in Florida and asked her to come back to Lake Eden. He told her that he’d made a terrible mistake when he’d left her for Melinda and he begged for her forgiveness.

“He said he wanted to get back together.” Jenny stopped to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief that had been drier at the start of their conversation. “And he said he’d already told Melinda. We were supposed to meet this morning for breakfast and work out the details.”

“And that’s when you were going to tell him about Anna?” Andrea asked her.

“Yes. I didn’t want to do it on the phone. I wanted to see his face, judge his reaction, make sure he really wanted his daughter.”

She wanted Wayne alive, not dead, Hannah thought. But the lack of discernable motive didn’t completely clear her.

“I didn’t tell the police everything I did,” Jenny admitted, looking more than a little embarrassed. “I guess I was afraid that handsome detective would think I was acting like a teenager with her first crush.”

“Why? What did you do?” Hannah asked, giving her an encouraging smile.

“Wayne and I had a signal when we were in high school. He lived on the next block and when he walked by my window and I was home, I used to open it and coo like a mourning dove. It was my way of saying, ‘I love you.’ He’d whistle back like a whippoorwill and that was his way of saying, ‘I love you, too.’”

“That’s sweet,” Andrea said.

Sweet, but silly, Hannah thought, but of course she didn’t say it. Instead, she asked, “Did you coo at Wayne when he walked past your window?”

“No. I was all ready to do it, but he never walked past.”

“Is it possible you missed him?” Andrea asked her.

“No. I sat right there waiting. I was really excited to see him again, even if it was just through a window. I kept looking for Wayne right up until I saw all the flashing lights when the deputies drove up in front.”

ANGEL PILLOWS

Preheat oven to 275 degrees F., rack in the middle position.

(Not a misprint—that’s two hundred seventy-five degrees F.)

Hannah’s 1stNote: Don’t even THINK about making these if it’s raining. Meringue does best on very dry days.

3 egg whites (save the yolks to add to scrambled eggs)

1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar

1/2 teaspoon vanilla

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 cup white (granulated) sugar

2 Tablespoons flour (that’s^1/8cup)

1 cup chocolate chips (6-ounce package—I used Ghirardelli’s)

1/2 cup chopped nuts (I used pecans)

Separate the egg whites and let them come up to room temperature. This will give you more volume when you beat them.

Prepare your baking sheets by lining them with parchment paper (works best) or brown parcel-wrapping paper. Spray the paper with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray and dust it lightly with flour.

Hannah’s 2ndNote: You can do this by hand, but it’s a lot easier with an electric mixer.

Beat the egg whites with the cream of tartar, vanilla, and salt until they are stiff enough to hold a soft peak. Add the cup of sugar gradually, sprinkling it in by quarter cups and beating hard for ten seconds or so after each sprinkling. Sprinkle in the flour and mix it in at low speed, or fold it in with an angel food cake whisk.

Gently fold in the chocolate chips and the chopped nuts with a rubber spatula.

Drop little mounds of dough on your paper-lined cookie sheet. If you place four mounds in a row and you have five rows, you’ll end up with 20 cookies per sheet.

Bake at 275 degrees F. for approximately 40 (forty) minutes, or until the meringue part of the cookie is hard to the touch.

Cool on the paper-lined cookie sheet by setting it on a wire rack. When the cookies are completely cool, peel them carefully from the paper and store them in an airtight container in a dry place.

Hannah’s 3rdNote: The refrigerator is NOT a dry place!

Yield: 3 to 4 dozen melt-in-your-mouth cookies.

Chapter Eleven

“Sorry I’m so late tonight, Moishe,” Hannah apologized to her furry roommate as she spooned some vanilla yogurt into one of the antique cut glass dessert dishes that Delores had given her several Christmases ago. It had been seven-thirty by the time she’d dropped Andrea off at her house and driven home. Of course she’d fed Moishe right away, and now it was time for a little dessert.

“Go ahead and eat,” Hannah told him carrying the dish out to the coffee table and setting it down. “I’ll have mine later. I need to make a few notes while the conversation with Jenny is still fresh in my mind.”

While her cat licked rather daintily at the yogurt, oblivious to the fact that Hannah’s mother would have suffered a coronary event if she’d seen how her expensive gift was being used, Hannah paged through what she thought of as her murder book and jotted down the new facts she’d learned from Wayne’s ex-wife.

“Wayne had to walk around the side of the building,” she said, causing Moishe to look at up her in midlick. “There’s no other way to get to the parking lot. But Jenny swears he didn’t and that’s substantiated by Cyril Murphy, who also swears he didn’t see Wayne.”

Chin in hand, unaware that she was a modern, female, clothed version of Rodin’s The Thinker, Hannah went through the possibilities. “There’s only one conclusion to reach. Even though I saw him go out that way, Wayne didn’t walk from the back door to the parking lot.”

Moishe looked up at her and purred, and Hannah interpreted that as approval for her logic. “Thanks. I know my conclusion is logical, but it doesn’t make sense. I followed the trail of candy canes that fell out of the hole in Wayne’s pocket and his body was only a few feet from the path. The way it stands now, I said good-bye to Wayne and he went out the back door in his Santa suit. He disappeared before he went around the side of the building and down the path to the parking lot, but he reappeared behind the snow bank, dead. That’s impossible. Or if it’s not impossible, I can’t think of any scenario that could account for it.”

The phone rang, and Hannah almost cheered. It temporarily interrupted her frustration and she was smiling as she reached out to answer it. It was Norman and her smile grew wider.

“Hi, Norman. What’s new with you?”

“A lot. I just finished doing a little research. One of the plants Melinda showed us this afternoon has small pink blossoms that contain deadly poisonous stamens in the center.”

“Which plant was that?”

“Fresindodendrun Rhochlepeous, the giant variety. The dwarf is perfectly benign.”

“I don’t remember it.”

“No reason you should. It was just a plant with green leaves and small pink blossoms. The only reason I looked it up was that you said it was pretty, and Melinda gave kind of a funny smile.”

“But she must have shown us a hundred different plants. How did you remember the name?”

“I didn’t. I took along my pocket recorder and…hold on. Cuddles is climbing the bookcase again and she’s stuck on The Republic.”

Hannah waited while Norman rescued Cuddles, the cat he’d recently adopted, and he was back on the line. “I didn’t know you read Plato.”

“One of my friends in Seattle gave me his complete works. She thought it would expand my mind.”

Hannah gripped the phone a little tighter, wondering if the “friend” had been Beverly Thorndike, Norman’s former fiancee who was now a dentist in Seattle. But before she could even think about asking, which she wouldn’t have done in any case, Norman went on talking.

“The plant’s common name is Flower of the Shroud, and the symptoms of poisoning are virtually undetectable unless you already suspect it and know what to look for.”

“And you know what to look for?”

“I do now. It causes renal failure over a period of several weeks. The symptoms are swelling and a slight yellowing of the skin. She did it, Hannah. And when the poison didn’t work fast enough, she hit him over the head.”

“For the money?”

“Yes. It’s a powerful motive, Hannah.”

“But Melinda couldn’t have done it. You know that. You were with me when we talked to Pierre. He swears he was with her the whole time. And for proof, he said to just look at her roots and see if we could find any brown.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. It’s a blonde-thing. Andrea explained it to me. Did you think he was lying?”

“No. I just wish I could ignore the facts and go with my gut instinct. I know Melinda had something to do with Wayne’s death. Everything about her is such a fake.”

Hannah couldn’t help but smile. That was exactly the way she felt about Melinda.

“Okay, so maybe Melinda’s in the clear,” Norman went on. “How about Cory? He seems devoted to her. I think Melinda could have talked him into killing Wayne.”

“Maybe she could have, but he didn’t do it, either. Cory was with me when Wayne was killed.”

There was a long silence while Norman thought that over. And then he gave a long sigh. “Pretty handy, if you ask me! They’ve both got motives and they’ve both got alibis.”

“I know. Hold on a minute and let me write down what you said about the poison.”

Hannah’s pen flew across the paper as she jotted notes. She only hoped that she could read them later. It was possible that Melinda had been poisoning Wayne with stamens from the plant that Norman had mentioned when his life had been ended, much more abruptly, by a blow to the head. If that were the case and Doc Knight collaborated that Wayne’s liver was enlarged, Melinda could be charged with attempted murder.

“Hannah?”

“I’m here. I’m just wondering if I can get Doc Knight on the phone tonight and find out if Wayne’s liver was enlarged.”

“I’ll do it, and I’ll call you as soon as I know. Are you going out tonight?”

“I might run out to the mall. I want to question Cory again.”

“Why? You said he couldn’t have done it.”

“I need to find out the name of Melinda’s gardener.”

“Okay. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Take your new cell phone with you and don’t forget to turn it on. Doc Knight will probably have to get back to me, and I’ll let you know as soon as I know.”

“Thanks, Norman,” Hannah said, hanging up the phone and turning to the cat, who couldn’t be less interested. “I have to know if Melinda or Cory requested that particular plant, or if either of them knew it was poisonous. I’ll think of some excuse to ask Cory for the gardener’s name.”

Moishe looked up at his mistress and gave a yowl that was midway between, Figure something out, lady with no fur, and, If you’re leaving, don’t forget to give me more food. Hannah recognized the look, and gave him more food. She was about to go out the door when the phone rang again.

“So soon?” she said, assuming it was Norman with Doc Knight’s answer.

“So soon what?”

It was Mike’s voice. Hannah did an abrupt turn-around and apologized as she did so. “Sorry, Mike. I thought you were someone else.”

“I was me the last time I checked.”

“Of course you were. So what’s up?”

“There isn’t any.”

“There isn’t any what?”

“Hole. There’s no hole, Hannah. I called the crime lab and they checked it for me. No hole.”

It all came back in the rush. She’d asked Mike to check the Santa suit Wayne was wearing for the hole in the pocket. But there wasn’t a hole. And that meant that Andrea had been right about her Hansel and Gretel analogy. The miniature candy canes had been dropped deliberately. Had Wayne known that he was in danger and dropped candy canes to lead someone to the scene of his murder?

Hannah reined in her imagination. No, that was simply too far-fetched. But what if the killer had murdered Wayne and then dropped the candy canes deliberately so that the body would be found?

“Are you okay, Hannah?”

“I’m fine,” Hannah pulled herself together enough to answer normally.

“Anything new on your end?”

“Not really. It’s all speculation.”

“Okay, then. Let me know if you get anything.”

“I will.”

Hannah felt a bit guilty as she hung up the phone, but she told herself that there was no reason to tell Mike about the poisonous plant that Norman had discovered growing in Melinda’s orangery. She’d tell him if Doc Knight confirmed that Wayne’s liver was enlarged, but not before. In the meantime, she had to hurry if she wanted to get out to the mall before it closed for the night.

Chapter Twelve

The mall was closing. Hannah could tell by the long string of cars coming toward her as she approached the entrance. One frustrated Christmas shopper was beeping his horn, as if the sound might make the dozens of cars in front of him go faster.

Hannah turned in at the outside entrance to Bergstrom’s Department Store. There was no one behind her and the parking lot that flanked the Christmas tree lot at the side of the store was deserted. Hannah pulled right up in the loading zone next to the lot and jumped out of her truck to rush toward the door. She ran past a sign saying that they were expecting a fresh shipment of Douglas fir trees tonight, past another that listed the prices per foot, and around the corner of the building to the entrance. The bright lights were off and there was only dim lighting inside the store, but she hoped she could catch an employee leaving late who would call Cory and ask him to come down from the penthouse and talk with her.

The door was locked, but she could see someone moving inside. Hannah hammered on the door with gloved fists until she got his attention and he moved toward her. The lights were dim, but as he drew closer she realized that he was in a Santa suit.

“I’m Hannah Swensen and I need to see Cory,” she shouted, hoping he could hear her through the heavy glass door. “It’s really important.”

“Hold on,” the man dressed as Santa shouted back. Then he unlocked the door and ushered her in.

“Is Cory still here?” Hannah asked him.

“He’s here.”

The Santa gave a chuckle and pulled off his hat, white wig, and beard. It was Cory! Hannah was so startled, her mouth dropped open.

“I didn’t recognize you in that costume,” she said, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I guess you must have been playing Santa tonight.”

“That’s right. The guy I hired to replace Wayne called in sick.”

“Well, you make a great Santa,” Hannah complimented him, and then she got down to business. “I came out here to ask you a couple of questions.”

“Ask away.” Cory said.

“The first thing I need is the name of Melinda’s gardener.”

“Why do you need that?”

Hannah was all ready with her excuse. She’d devised it on her drive out to the mall. “I told Mother about Melinda’s beautiful solarium and one of her friends wants to hire her gardener to do something similar on a smaller scale for her.”

“Okay. It’s Curtis something-or-other. I can’t think of his last name right now, but he comes tomorrow and I’ll get his card for you.”

“There’s one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m having trouble with the timeline on the night that Wayne was killed. I saw him leave the inn the back way, wearing his Santa suit. And that’s the last time I saw him alive. I found his body later in the evening.”

“Right. What’s troubling about that?”

“Cyril Murphy was out in front of the inn, working on Florence Evans’s car. He didn’t see Wayne walk past and Wayne had to walk past him to get to the path where I found him.”

“That’s easy to explain. Come with me for a second. I need to turn off more lights.” Hannah walked into the interior of the store with Cory as he continued to talk. “Wayne wouldn’t have said anything to Cyril. For one thing, they were on the outs because of the limousine thing. And for another thing, Wayne had laryngitis. If Cyril didn’t see him, Wayne probably hurried on by and figured that was a good thing.”

“That’s exactly what I thought, at first. But when I went out to the inn tonight, I talked to one of Sally’s guests and her room has a perfect view of the side of the building and the path to the parking lot. She was in her room when Wayne left the stage. She heard the applause he got. That’s when she started watching for him to pass by her window. But he never did.”

“She must have looked away for a minute or two and missed him. I watched him walk around the corner and then I dashed back in. It was cold out there! And I know he didn’t come back inside for any reason. I was standing right there waiting for you, and I would have seen him down at the end of the hall.”

“I’m sure you would have.” Hannah gave a quick nod. “It’s not like he could blend with the party crowd. That Santa suit would stick out like a sore thumb.”

“You’re absolutely right. Do you mind if I take this off, Hannah? These things are really heavy.”

“Go ahead.”

Hannah watched while Cory took off the top part of his Santa suit. He was wearing a regular shirt under it and that gave her an idea. “Think about this, Cory,” she said. “What if Wayne was wearing regular clothes under his Santa suit? Then he could have taken off the suit, hidden it somewhere, and slipped back inside. Would you have seen him if he’d done that?”

Cory began to frown. “I’m not sure. Maybe not.”

“Was Wayne in the habit of wearing regular clothes under his Santa suit?”

Cory’s frown deepened. “I don’t know. Let me call Melinda and I’ll find out.”

As Cory disappeared around the corner, Hannah came close to laughing. He looked ridiculous in big red Santa pants with white fur cuffs, topped by a regular shirt. It reminded her a bit of a centaur, the top half of a man rising from the back half of a horse. If he’d greeted her that way at the door, she would have recognized him immediately. But it was almost impossible to tell who was inside a Santa suit. Unless you recognized the voice, of course.

It was one of those frightening moments of clarity when the pieces of the puzzle flew together from every direction. They locked into place with a series of lightning fast clicks, sounding like a million tiny firecrackers that illuminated the dim and confused picture in her mind. Cory killed Wayne. He’d rolled Wayne’s body behind the snow bank, planted the candy canes so someone would discover him, and then, while everyone was waiting for Wayne to appear as Santa, he’d put on another Santa suit, perhaps even the one he was wearing tonight, and appeared in Sally’s kitchen as Santa Wayne with laryngitis. It was the reason he’d seemed a bit confused when Sally had handed him the receipt from Mayor Bascomb. Santa Wayne would have known what it was, but Santa Cory didn’t.

Immediately after the party, Santa Cory had stepped outside the back door, ditched his Santa suit, and stepped back in, dressed for the party.

He used me as his alibi and I fell for it! Hannah thought, gritting her teeth. Norman’s gut is right. Cory is probably in it with Melinda. And at almost the same time she had another thought that had her moving at top speed toward the door. He knows I know and he’s going to kill me!

A third thought, one in bright neon capital letters for emphasis, flashed across the screen in her mind. RUN, it said. RUN FAST!

Hannah ran faster than she’d ever run in her life, and she arrived at the heavy glass door, breathless. Locked. It was locked and Cory had the keys. There had to be another way out!

Another thought flashed through Hannah’s mind. They expect another shipment of trees and I parked in the loading zone. The moment it occurred to her, Hannah rushed toward the annex.

The annex was a large enclosure with three cinderblock walls. The fourth wall was the back wall of the store. In the summer, this area was used as a garden center and shade cloth was attached to form a temporary roof. In December, a sliding roof was attached. It was capable of being opened when the weather permitted, and closed at night when the store was locked. Right now it was locked and a single rope of white twinkle lights were strung across the ceiling to provide a bit of light. Tall space heaters, the type used in patio restaurants, sat every few feet to provide warmth. Now they were cold and dead, the way Hannah would be if she didn’t get out the delivery door and into her truck before Cory caught her.

Dozens of frozen trees were stacked by the far wall, far away from the nearest space heater. They were still in their protective netting and they looked like cone-shaped green carrots. Employees would take them into the thawing and flocking tent, a large area draped with heavy construction plastic that held in the heat from several space heaters. The trees would thaw and their branches would loosen so that prospective buyers could see their real shapes.

The delivery door was right in front of her. Hannah grabbed the handle to jerk it open, but the corrugated metal door didn’t budge. It was locked. The stacked trees she’d seen must have been the Douglas firs and they’d been delivered already.

Hannah eyed the wall. It was at least twelve feet high. Even if she could somehow manage to climb it, the sliding roof was closed. There was no escape there. Her only chance of surviving was to hide and hope that Cory hadn’t seen her dash into the annex. He couldn’t search the whole store. It would be impossible. She might be able to elude him until time for the store to open in the morning.

Attempting to think positive thoughts was difficult. It was cold in the annex and although she was dressed for winter, a parka wouldn’t protect her all night. If Rayne Phillips on KCOW television was right, and Andrea had reported it accurately, it was going to be a bitterly cold night.

The warmest place in the annex would be the thawing and flocking tent. Hannah lifted the flap, dashed into the tent, and gave a huge sigh of relief. The large area was filled with thawed trees and their branches would hide her from view. And it was at least twenty degrees warmer than it had been in the main part of the annex.

Hannah chose a spot in the very center of the group of trees waiting to be flocked because those had the fullest branches. The tree in front of her bore a tag saying that it had been purchased by Doug Greerson for the lobby of the Lake Eden First Mercantile Bank. The word “white” was written under Doug’s name and Hannah knew that he always ordered a tree flocked in white, and Lydia Gradin, his head teller, trimmed it with blue lights and decorations.

At least there was no snow on the ground. Hannah shifted from foot to foot, trying to stay warm. She judged it to be several degrees above freezing in the warming tent, but the frozen ground beneath her feet seemed to send up cold waves through the soles of her boots, and she shivered. It would help if she could move closer to the space heater, but the trees surrounding it were just starting to thaw and their branches weren’t full enough to hide her.

Hannah glanced at the tree on her left. It was for Bertie Sraub, the owner of Lake Eden’s beauty parlor, the Cut ‘n Curl. Naturally Bertie’s tree would be pink. Two cans of pink flocking sat on the ground under her tree, caps already loosened, all ready to be used in the morning. The former owner of the Cut ‘n Curl had decorated the shop with pink flamingoes. While Bertie wasn’t as wild about the huge birds as the former owner had been, she did like pink and she’d left the walls and the shades that color.

Hannah’s heart leapt into her throat as she heard heels clicking against tile. Someone was coming! The door to the annex opened, letting in a bright burst of light, and Cory stood there in silhouette.

“I know you’re here, Hannah. I saw you run in the door.”

Hannah’s heart raced, thumping so loudly she was almost afraid he’d hear it. Cory knew she was here! But perhaps he was just faking, hoping that she’d panic and give away her position.

“Guess the cat’s got your tongue, but that’s fine. We can do this the hard way. I haven’t played Hide ‘n Seek since I was a kid. You can change hiding places if you like. I’ll be right back.”

The door closed, cutting off the bright light. Hannah wasn’t sure whether Cory had left, or not. It didn’t really matter. She had chosen the optimal spot and she wasn’t going to move unless she had to.

A weapon. Hannah glanced around in the dim light and cursed neat employees. There was nothing useful on the ground, no carelessly dropped screwdrivers, hammers, or metal Christmas tree stands. Except for the two cans of pink flocking under Bertie’s tree, the area was as spotless as an army barracks right before an inspection.

Hannah moved quickly, flipping off the caps and shaking the cans of flocking. She didn’t have much in her arsenal, but she planned to use what she had. If she could hide here until Cory lifted the flap and came into the tent, she could hit him in the face with…

There was an explosion of lights and sound that made Hannah’s senses reel. Cory had turned on the bright lights and music. Santa’s Winter Wonderland tree lot was in full swing. Through Hannah’s slightly blurred perspective behind the plastic sheeting, the red and green Christmas train chugged its way around the perimeter of the area, the colored lights on the huge Christmas trees in the corners flashed on and off, and the loudspeakers blared the strains of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” sung by a chorus of penguins with red and green stocking caps next to the cash register.

For one long moment, Hannah just stood there, too shocked to do more than blink. And then she saw Cory coming straight toward the thawing and flocking tent with an ax in his hand, and her survival instinct kicked in. When in doubt, attack. It was one of her father’s favorite phrases. She’d always thought it was original with him until she’d heard it in an old movie. But it seemed appropriate now, and Hannah wasted no time thinking about it. She just waited until Cory lifted the flap and stepped inside, and then she hurtled forward and blazed away with double-barreled spray cans, covering his face with pink flocking before he could even raise his arms.

Cory screamed as the spray hit his eyes. He clawed at her but a blind, pink-flocked adversary was not that difficult to elude. Hannah stepped to the side, sprayed him again, and he dropped the ax. Hannah grabbed it and tossed it into the stand of trees behind her.

He was trying to wipe his eyes and Hannah knew it would be only a matter of time before he recovered enough to strike out at her. She had to render him immobile while he was still reeling from pain and shock.

The netting machine. The moment that Hannah remembered the machine she’d seen right outside the entrance to the tent, she grabbed his arm and pushed him through the opening. Another spray in the eyes and another shove with her hand, and he fell onto the chute where trees were placed for netting so that they could be carried home on the roofs of cars. Two more sprays for good measure and she turned on the machine. With a grinding of gears caused by a burden that was twice as heavy as usual, Cory was carried forward to be wrapped with several layers of netting that rendered him immobile and covered him with bright yellow plastic mesh from head to toe.

There was a phone on a pole decorated like a candy cane with red and white stripes. Hannah dialed nine, the usual code to get an outside line, and was rewarded by a dial tone. Nine-one-one seemed unnecessary. Cory was trussed up like a mummy, and there was no way he could get free. Instead of dialing the police, Hannah called Norman.

“Hi, Hannah!” Norman sounded glad to hear from her. “I tried calling you a couple of minutes ago, but your cell phone was off.”

“It’s recharging,” Hannah said, crossing her fingers at the little white lie she’d just told, and hoping he wouldn’t be too upset with her if he ever discovered that she had it in her purse, but it was turned off and she’d forgotten it was there. “Did you hear from Doc Knight?”

“He called me back about five minutes ago. I was way off base, Hannah. He checked and Wayne’s liver was fine.”

“That’s okay. I’m sure Melinda would have tried to poison him if she’d known that her plant was poisonous. But it doesn’t matter now. I’ve got the killer. It’s Cory.”

“Cory?! But I thought he was with you when Wayne was murdered.”

“That’s what he wanted us to think. Will you call Mike for me? I’ve got Cory netted up here at Bergstrom’s Christmas tree annex, and I need him taken into custody before someone hangs lights and tinsel on him and props him up in the living room.”

Chapter Thirteen

Hannah was on top of the world. Not only had she caught Wayne’s killer, Jenny had insisted on giving her Teensy’s Penthouse so that Tracey would have it for Christmas. It was currently sitting under Andrea’s Christmas tree, wrapped in gold paper and tied with a huge red bow. It was the night after Cory had been taken into custody and they were all gathered at Andrea’s house for coffee and dessert.

“This is just wonderful, Andrea,” she said, even though she was seated on the couch between Norman and Mike. It was a small couch and she couldn’t help but feel like the filling in a Norman and Mike Oreo.

“It’s a gorgeous tree,” Michelle said, admiring the huge Norway pine that sat in front of the picture window.

“Thanks. Bill picked it out at Bergstrom’s. I love to get trees there. They’re so careful with the netting.” Andrea stopped and made a face. “Sorry, Hannah. I forgot for a second.”

“That’s okay. I’m just glad their netting machine could take a few extra pounds!”

“That reminds me…” Norman leaned forward to talk to Mike. “How’d you get that netting off Cory?”

“We rolled him on his back and used scissors.”

Norman shook his head. “It’s a good thing I’m not a cop.”

“Why’s that?” Bill asked him.

“Because I might have been temped to hit him with a stun gun for what he almost did to Hannah.”

Hannah turned to smile at Norman. He looked perfectly serious.

“What makes you think I didn’t?”

Hannah turned to look at Mike. He looked perfectly serious, too.

“Time for coffee,” Andrea announced, getting up to take the tray from Grandma McCann, who’d just come in from the kitchen. “I hope you left room for dessert. Hannah brought her Candy Cane Bar Cookies.”

“Because Cory’s behind bars?” Norman asked.

“Of course.” Hannah turned to Bill. “I just wish we could have gotten Melinda for something or other. I know she didn’t poison Wayne, but I wish she wouldn’t inherit all that money.”

“She won’t. Want to tell her, Mike?”

Mike turned to Hannah. “I did a little checking after we talked. I kept thinking about how his former wife was the one who was grieving. And she was getting nothing. And Melinda, who didn’t seem to care about Wayne at all, was inheriting everything. So I ran her.”

“Jenny?”

“No, Melinda.”

“And you came up with something?” Hannah crossed her fingers, a leftover habit from childhood.

“It turns out she’s Melinda Ann Ames Reynolds Bergstrom.”

“Melinda Ann Ames?” Hannah asked, remembering the photo album with the initials M.A.A. on the cover.

“Ames was Melinda’s maiden name. Reynolds was the name of her first husband. And she never bothered to get a divorce from Cornell Reynolds.”

“Cory?”

“One and the same. They had a good thing going, living in luxury at Wayne’s expense. They had it made until Wayne told Melinda that he was divorcing her so he could remarry his ex-wife.”

“Then they had to do something quick if they wanted the good life to continue,” Bill picked up the story. “So Cory killed Wayne right before he was ready to leave for his Santa appearance, put his body in the trunk of his car, and drove out to the Lake Eden Inn. When he got there, everyone was already inside, so he dumped Wayne’s body behind the snow bank, left the trail of candy canes that you found in the road, and went inside to play Wayne as a Santa with laryngitis.”

“And I bought it,” Hannah muttered. “I was standing right next to him and I didn’t know he wasn’t Wayne.”

Norman patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t feel bad. He had us all fooled.”

“Can you charge Melinda for conspiring with Cory to murder Wayne?” Michelle asked.

Mike shook his head. “I wish we could, but the D.A. says there’s not enough evidence. Cory won’t talk and Melinda’s being very careful not to implicate herself.”

“So she’s going to get off with no charges at all?” Andrea looked highly disappointed.

“That’s right,” Bill answered her, “but she’ll also get off with no money. Cory and Melinda were still married when Melinda tied the knot with Wayne. According to Stan Levine, that’s bigamy and it makes any claim she has on Wayne’s estate invalid. Thanks to you and Hannah, we know about Wayne’s daughter. She’s his closest living relative and she’ll inherit.”

“That’s perfect!” Hannah was pleased. “Maybe now Jenny will move back here with her friends.”

Grandma McCann appeared in the doorway, carrying baby Bethany. Tracey walked beside her, bearing the tray that Hannah had brought with Candy Cane Bar Cookies.

“Sorry,” Tracey said, setting the platter on the coffee table. “Bethany and I had two from the middle.”

Hannah laughed. It was true. There were two bar cookies missing from the middle of the platter. “That’s okay. How did you like them?”

“I’m not sure,” Tracey said, reaching out for another. And then when Andrea gave her a censorious look, she pulled her hand back. “May I have another one, please?”

“Yes.” Andrea struggled to keep a straight face.

“Chock-it!” Bethany said, reaching out toward the platter. And then, when everyone turned to look at her, she repeated, “Chock-it!”

“Did she just say chocolate?” Bill asked Andrea.

“I think so. I don’t know what else it could be.”

Bill started laughing. “But she hasn’t even said Daddy yet!”

“That’s my niece,” Hannah said, grabbing a bar cookie and holding out her arms for another niece after her own heart.

CANDY CANE BAR COOKIES

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position.

1 cup butter (2 sticks, 1/2 pound)

1 cup white (granulated) sugar 1 egg (just whip it up with a fork in a glass)

1/4 teaspoon peppermint extract

1/2 teaspoon salt

2/3 cup finely crushed miniature candy canes (measure after crushing)

6 drops red food coloring

2 cups flour (not sifted—pack it down when you measure it.)

1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips (that’s a 6-ounce bag)

2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips (that’s a 12-ounce bag)

Melt the butter in a microwave-safe bowl for 1 minute 30 seconds on HIGH. Set it on the counter to cool.

Place the sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer (you can also do this by hand, but it’ll take some muscle,) add the egg, and beat it until it’s a uniform color.

Add the peppermint extract, salt, and finely crushed miniature candy canes. Mix it all up.

Add the 6 drops of red food coloring. Mix it in thoroughly.

Feel the bowl with the butter. If you can cup your hands around it comfortably, you can add it to your mixing bowl now. Mix it in slowly at low speed. (You don’t want it to slosh all over!) If it’s still too warm to add, wait until it’s cooler and then do it.

Add the flour in half-cup increments, beating after each addition.

Take the bowl from the mixer and stir in one cup chocolate chips by hand.

Spread the batter evenly into a greased (or Pammed) 9-inch by 13-inch pan. Bake it at 350 degrees F. for 25 minutes or until it feels firm on the top.

Remove the pan from the oven and sprinkle it with the remaining two cups of chocolate chips. Immediately cover the pan with a piece of heavy-duty foil or a cookie sheet. (That keeps the heat in.) Let it sit for three minutes. Then take off the cookie sheet, or foil, and spread out the melted chips like frosting with a rubber spatula or frosting knife.

Cool completely and then cut into brownie-sized pieces.

Index of Recipes

Baking Conversion Chart

These conversions are approximate, but they’ll work just fine for Hannah Swensen’s recipes.

VOLUME:

WEIGHT:

OVEN TEMPERATURE:

Note: Hannah’s rectangular sheet cake pan, 9 inches by 13 inches, is approximately 23 centimeters by 32.5 centimeters.

THE DANGERS OF CANDY CANES

LAURA LEVINE

For my loyal theater companion and technical advisor,

Michele Serchuk

Chapter One

Ah, Christmas in Los Angeles. There’s nothing quite like it. Chestnuts roasting on an open hibachi. Jack Frost nipping at your frappucino. Santa in cutoffs and flip-flops. It’s hard to get in the holiday spirit when the closest you get to snow is the ice in your margarita, but I was trying.

On the day my story begins, I was attempting to take a picture of my cat Prozac for my holiday photo card. I thought it would be cute to get her to pose in a Santa hat. Prozac, however, was not so keen on the idea. And I still have the scars to prove it.

The only holiday Prozac gets excited about is Let’s Claw A Pair of Pantyhose to Shreds Day. Not a national holiday, I know, but one celebrated quite often in my apartment.

I kept putting the Santa hat on her head, only to find it on the floor by the time I picked up my camera.

“Oh, Prozac!” I wailed after about the thirtieth try. “What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you wear a simple Santa hat?”

She glared at me as if to say, I refuse to look like a fool for the amusement of your friends and relatives. I’ve got my dignity, you know.

This from a cat who’s been known to swan dive into the garbage for a chicken McNugget.

I was beginning to think E. Scrooge may have had the right idea about Christmas when the phone rang. I recognized the voice of Seymour Fiedler of Fiedler on the Roof Roofers, one of the not-so-long list of clients who use my services as a freelance writer.

“Jaine, you’ve got to come over to the shop right away.”

I wondered if he wanted me to punch up the Yellow Pages ad I’d just written for him. Although for the life of me I couldn’t see how I could possibly top Size Doesn’t Matter. We Do Big Jobs and Small.

But he wasn’t calling about the Yellow Pages ad.

“I’m in big trouble,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m being accused of murder!”

Mild-mannered Seymour Fiedler, a man I’d never once heard utter an angry word, accused of murder? Impossible!

“Hang on, Seymour. I’ll be right over.”

I grabbed my car keys and headed for the door, just in time to see Prozac celebrating a whole new holiday—Let’s Poop on A Santa Hat Day.

Chapter Two

Seymour’s shop was in the industrial section of Santa Monica, a no-frills box of a building whose only concession to whimsy was a huge plaster fiddle on the roof.

His wife, Maxine, who doubled as his bookkeeper, sat at her desk out front, weeping into a Kleenex.

“Oh, Judy!” she cried, looking up at me with red-rimmed eyes. “It’s all too awful!”

Maxine was a fifty something woman with fried blond hair and a fondness for turquoise eye shadow, most of which had now rubbed off on her Kleenex. For as long as I’d been working for Seymour, she’d been calling me Judy. Every paycheck she’d ever written had been made out to Judy Austen, often in the wrong amount. Not exactly the sharpest blade in the Veg-O-Matic.

“Seymour’s waiting for you,” she said, gesturing to his office.

I found Seymour behind his desk, guzzling Maalox straight from the bottle. Normally a jovial butterball of a guy, Seymour showed no hint of joviality that day. His pudgy face was ashen, and sweat beaded on his balding scalp.

“Seymour,” I said, “what on earth happened?”

He took a swig of Maalox and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“One of my customers was putting up Christmas decorations on his roof last week and fell. He landed on the driveway. Cracked his skull and died instantly.

“And now,” he groaned, “they’re blaming me.”

“But why?”

“I’d just finished re-roofing his house. And apparently some of the shingles were loose. They say that’s why he fell. His wife is hitting me with a wrongful death lawsuit. I might even be arrested on criminal charges.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

“The police are conducting an investigation,” he said, “but they’re just going through the motions. They’re pretty much convinced it was my fault.”

“Any chance one of your workmen screwed up?” I asked, wondering if maybe the cops were right.

“No way. I personally inspected the job when they were through.

“Oh, Jaine!” he said, mopping his scalp with an already-damp hankie, “I’m going to be ruined.”

“Don’t you have insurance for things like this?”

He let out a big sigh.

“That’s just it. Maxine’s been distracted lately. Our daughter’s getting married, and she’s been so busy planning the wedding, she forgot to mail in the last two premiums.”

Holy Tarpaper. Poor Seymour was in deep doo doo.

“I swear, Jaine, when I left that roof, every shingle was nailed down tight as a drum. Something fishy’s going on here and I want you to investigate.”

“You think somebody was trying to kill your client?”

“That’s exactly what I think. The only way those shingles could’ve gotten loose was if somebody went up there and loosened them.”

Now those of you who picked up this book for Hannah Swensen’s latest recipes are probably wondering: Why was Seymour Fiedler asking a freelance writer to investigate a murder? Shouldn’t he be talking to a private eye?

Well, it just so happens I’ve solved a few murders in my time. It’s a life-threatening hobby, I know, but it adds zest to my days and breaks up the monotony of writing about No-Leak Roof Warrantees.

“Of course, Seymour,” I said. “I’ll be happy to investigate.”

“How can I ever thank you, Jaine?” His eyes shone with gratitude.

Money might be nice, I couldn’t help thinking.

“Of course, I’ll pay you your going rate,” he said, as if reading my thoughts.

Now my eyes were the ones shining with gratitude. My job docket was a tad on the empty side, and I desperately needed the money for Christmas gifts.

“In fact,” Seymour said, “let me pay you something right now.”

He whipped out his checkbook and wrote out a check with a heartwarming number of zeroes.

I was sitting there thinking of the lavish gifts I could buy my parents and, not incidentally, a new cashmere sweater I’d been lusting after at Nordstrom, when Seymour broke into my reverie.

“I, um, wouldn’t try to cash that check right away.” He looked at me sheepishly. “I don’t exactly have enough in my account to cover it. Between our daughter’s wedding and my lawyer’s retainer, I’m sort of strapped.”

Bye-bye, cashmere. Hello, polyester.

“But I’m sure the check will clear some time in February,” he added hopefully. “Or March. Maybe April.”

I told him not to worry and scooted out of his office before he had me cashing the check in July.

I stopped at Maxine’s desk on my way out to say good-bye.

“So long, Judy,” she sniffled, her Kleenex by now pulverized in her palm.

“Try not to worry.” I gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m sure everything will be okay.”

I was sure of no such thing, but she looked so damn pathetic sitting there with mascara tracks down her cheeks, I had to say something.

“I hope so. I don’t know what I’d do if they ever arrested Seymour.”

My attention was momentarily diverted from Maxine’s grief by the sight of an untouched cheeseburger at her side.

Gosh, it smelled good.

“Would you like my cheeseburger?” she asked, following my gaze.

“Oh, no, thanks,” I said, eyeing the cheese oozing out from the sides.

“You sure? I’m so upset about what happened with those insurance premiums, I’ve totally lost my appetite.”

One thing I’ve never lost is my appetite, and that burger smelled like heaven on a bun. But I couldn’t possibly say yes, not if I expected to squeeze into a bathing suit by Christmas.

And squeezing into a bathing suit was definitely on my Holiday To Do List. That’s because every year I spend Christmas with my parents in their retirement condo in Tampa Vistas, Florida—much of that time on display at the Tampa Vistas pool. True, I’m not rich or wildly successful like some of the other kids on display, but I’m all they’ve got, and my parents are determined to show me off.

It’s a trip I dread every year. And not because I don’t love my parents. I do. If it were just the three off us, I’d be fine. But it’s not just the three of us. Every year my parents invite my Aunt Clara and Uncle Ed and my cousin Joanie to join us, along with Joanie’s husband Bradley and son Dexter. All of us bunking in a two-bedroom condo.

My mom calls it “cozy.” I call it hell.

Joanie and her family get to sleep in the guest bedroom. Uncle Ed and Aunt Clara camp out in the den. And lucky me—I get to sleep on the living room sofa right next to the Christmas tree. You haven’t lived till you wake up Christmas morning with pine needles up your nose.

And if all that weren’t bad enough, I have to spend an entire week feeling like a blimp next to my cousin Joanie, a perfect size two—and that’s after giving birth to Dexter.

Suffice it to say, the last time I wore a size two, I was in preschool.

All of which explains why I turned down that cheeseburger. I simply had to shed a few pounds before Florida.

True, I was feeling a bit hungry, but I made up my mind to stop off at the market and buy myself a nice healthy 100-calorie apple. That would tide me over till dinner. No burgers for me. No way. No how.

Okay, so I didn’t stop off at the market for an apple. I stopped off at McDonald’s for a quarter pounder. What can I say? I got in my car with the noblest of intentions, but the smell of Maxine’s burger hounded me like a hari krishna at an airport, and I couldn’t resist.

After licking the last of the ketchup from my fingers, I drove to the home of Garth Janken, Seymour’s recently deceased customer. Janken lived in the megabucks north-of-Wilshire section of Westwood, a bucolic bit of suburbia, which—in the interests of protecting the innocent and staving off a lawsuit—I shall call Hysteria Lane.

The houses were straight out of a Town & Country spread, dotted with gracious elms and white picket fences running riot with rosebushes.

At this time of year, however, landscaping took a backseat to Christmas decorations. Clearly the people on Hysteria Lane took their decorating seriously. No mere Christmas-lights-and-a-tree-in-the-window on this block. Everywhere I looked, I saw animated Christmas figures. Santas waved, reindeers nodded, elves pranced. For a minute I thought I’d made a wrong turn and wound up at Disneyland. A far cry from my own modest neck of the woods, where the only animated figure I’d ever seen on a lawn was Mr. Hurlbut, the guy in the duplex across the street, after he’d had one eggnog too many.

The theme of Garth Janken’s house was Christmas in Candyland. I could tell this was the theme by the gold-embossed CHRISTMAS IN CANDYLAND banner draped out front. Candy canes and sugarplums dotted the pathway to the front door, and perched on the roof on a carpet of pink flocking, amid a jungle of even more candy canes, was an elfin creature that I assumed was either the Sugarplum Fairy or Mrs. Claus after gastric bypass surgery.

As I climbed out of my car, I saw a mailman approaching. I decided to question him, hoping he’d seen something that would get Seymour off the hook.

“Excuse me.” I flashed him my most winning smile. “Can you spare a few minutes?”

“I’m afraid I’m sort of busy right now,” he said, sorting through some letters. “These weeks before Christmas are nuts.”

He was an energetic guy, in a pith helmet and USPS shorts, tanned and well-muscled from toting all that mail in the sun. What a difference from my mail carrier, a somewhat less than motivated employee who manages to deliver my Christmas cards just in time for Valentine’s Day.

“I promise it won’t take long. I’m investigating Garth Janken’s death.”

“You a cop?”

“No,” I demurred, “I’m a private investigator.”

He looked me up and down, taking in my elastic waist jeans and unruly mop of curls lassoed into a scrunchy.

“You’re kidding, right?”

I get that a lot. There’s something about elastic waist jeans and scrunchies that tend to take away your credibility as a P.I.

“No, I’m not kidding. I’m representing Seymour Fiedler of Fiedler on the Roof Roofers, and I want to ask you a few questions about Mr. Janken’s death.”

“Man, what a mess,” he said, shaking his head. “They’ll never get the blood out of the driveway.” He looked over at the Jankens’s house and sighed. “Poor Mrs. Janken. Such a nice lady. I hope she’ll be okay.”

“Do you know if Mr. Janken had any enemies?”

He barked out a laugh.

“Ring a doorbell on this street, you’ll find an enemy. Garth was an attorney. One of those sue-happy characters always threatening to haul somebody into court. Just about everybody disliked the guy.”

“Anybody dislike him enough to want to see him dead?”

He blinked in surprise.

“You think what happened to Garth was murder?”

“Possibly.”

His eyes took on a guarded look.

“Hey, I don’t want to go accusing anybody of murder.”

Rats. I hate it when people are discreet.

Then he took a deep breath and continued.

“But Mr. Cox sure looked like he wanted to kill him sometimes.”

Yippee. He wasn’t so discreet after all.

“Mr. Cox?”

He pointed across the street to a mock Tudor house with an elaborate display of animated reindeer out front.

“Willard Cox. He and Garth were always at each other’s throats. Especially this time of year, over the Christmas decorations.”

“They fought over Christmas decorations?”

“It’s nuts, I know. But the neighborhood association gives out an award for the best decorations, and the competition gets pretty fierce. Folks around here will do anything to win. You know what Garth’s dying words to his wife were? Not ‘I love you’ or ‘Hold me close.’ No, his dying words were, ‘Call in a decorator and finish the roof!’ Which is exactly what she did as soon as the police let her.

“Anyhow, Garth always won the contest and it drove Willard crazy. Before Garth and his wife moved here, Willard used to take home the prize every year. He was constantly accusing Garth of stealing his ideas and sabotaging his displays. Last year he claimed Garth beheaded his Santa Claus. Things really blew up a few months ago when Garth ran over Pumpkin.”

“Pumpkin?”

“Willard’s dog. Willard and his wife used to keep Pumpkin out in the front yard. She barked a lot and Garth was always complaining about her. One day Pumpkin got loose from the yard while Garth was backing out of his driveway, and he ran her over. He claimed it was an accident, but Willard was convinced he did it on purpose. That’s when I thought he was gonna kill him.”

Wow, this guy was a fount of information, Wolf Blitzer with a mailbag.

But the fount was about to run dry.

“Hey,” he said, checking his watch, “I’ve really got to go now.”

“Just one more question.” I trotted after him as he started up the street. “You ever see anybody up on the roof in the days before Mr. Janken’s death?”

“Nope. Nobody but the roofers.”

Sad to say, it was an answer I was to hear over and over again in the days to come.

I thanked him for his time, and headed back to Candyland to speak with the bereaved widow.

Cathy Janken was a real-life version of the sugarplum fairy on her roof—a delicate blonde with porcelain cheeks and enormous blue eyes. She came to the door in a pastel pink sweat suit the same color as the flocking on her roof, her platinum hair caught up in a wispy ponytail.

I gazed at her enviously. Sure, her husband had just died. But on the plus side, the woman actually managed to look skinny in a pink sweat suit. If I dared to wrap my body in pink velour, I’d bear an unsettling resemblance to the Michelin man.

“Mrs. Janken?” I asked, trying to figure out if her ashen pallor was a result of grief or sunblock.

“Yes,” she said, blinking out into the bright sunshine. “Can I help you?”

Something told me she might not want to talk to me if she knew I was a private eye, not when she was in the midst of suing my client for several million dollars. So I’d decided to try another tactic.

“I’d like to speak with you about your husband’s unfortunate demise,” I said in my most professional voice. “I’m an insurance investigator with Century National.”

I flashed her my auto insurance card which I’d cleverly had laminated on my way to McDonald’s. It’s amazing how laminating things makes them look official.

“You representing Seymour Fiedler?” she asked.

“Yes, I am.”

Doubt clouded her baby blues. “I don’t know if I should be talking with you. What with the lawsuit and all.”

“I’m afraid you have to, Mrs. Janken. California state law. Plaintiff in a wrongful death suit must give a deposition to the defendant’s insurance representative.”

A law I’d just made up on the spot. But she didn’t know that. At least I hoped she didn’t.

“Okay,” she sighed. “C’mon in.”

Bingo. She bought it!

She ushered me into her living room, a fussy space done in peachy silks and velvets.

Above the fireplace was a framed portrait of Cathy and a fleshy man with dark, slicked-back hair, a feral grin, and a predatory gleam in his eyes that even the artist couldn’t quite camouflage. Presumably, the late Garth Janken. I could easily picture this barracuda fighting tooth and nail to win the Christmas decorating contest.

Cathy perched her wee bottom on a silk moire sofa, and I took a seat across from her on a dollhouse-sized armchair. I teetered on it cautiously, hoping I wouldn’t break the darn thing, whose arms were as fragile as twigs.

Resting on a coffee table between us was a cut glass bowl of candy canes.

I happen to have a particular fondness for candy canes, along with just about anything else containing the ingredient sugar, but no way was I going to have one, not after that burger I’d just scarfed down.

“Help yourself,” Cathy said, gesturing to the bowl.

Somehow I managed to say no.

“Garth loved those things.” At the mention of her husband’s name, her eyes misted over with tears. “I always told him they’d ruin his teeth, but he couldn’t resist. ‘Just one,’ he used to say. ‘It’s not going to kill me.’

“Oh, God,” she moaned. “If only he hadn’t gone up on that roof!”

Suddenly the mist in her eyes became a downpour, and she was crying her heart out.

Now I happen to be a world class cynic, but it was hard to believe the sobs racking her body were an act. For whatever reason, Cathy Janken seemed to have genuinely loved her husband.

“Can I get you something?” I asked. “Some water?”

“No, I’m okay.” She took a hankie from the pocket of her sweatpants and blotted her tears. “I’ve been like a faucet ever since the accident.

“So,” she said, forcing a smile, “how can I help you?”

I took a deep breath and began my spiel, choosing my words carefully. She seemed awfully fragile, and I didn’t want to start her crying again.

“We at Century National are very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Janken, but we don’t believe our client is responsible for your husband’s death. Mr. Fiedler insists every shingle was firmly nailed down when he completed the job.”

“They certainly weren’t nailed down when Garth fell.”

“Actually, there’s a distinct possibility your husband’s death was not an accident.”

“What?” Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Can you think of anyone on the block who might’ve wanted to see him dead?”

“No, of course not. True, Garth had his differences with some of the neighbors. He could seem tough on the outside, but he was a pussycat underneath. You just had to know how to handle him.”

Something told me “handling him” involved lots of fishnet stockings and peekaboo lingerie.

“But I can’t believe anybody wanted him dead.”

“Not even Mr. Cox? I was talking to your mailman just now, and he said there was quite a bit of animosity between the two of them.”

“Willard Cox is certifiably insane!”

Her porcelain cheeks flushed pink with anger.

“Last year he accused my husband of beheading his Santa Claus! Did you ever hear of anything so ridiculous? The head probably fell off in the wind. The year before that, he said Garth stole the nose off his Rudolph. He was just jealous because Garth kept beating him in the decorating contest. He even accused Garth of bribing Prudence Bascomb.”

“Prudence Bascomb?”

“President of the homeowners association. She judges the contest each year. Garth didn’t have to bribe her. Garth won because his decorations were the best!”

I wasn’t about to say so out loud, but I wasn’t convinced Garth’s decorations were the best on the block. I’d seen the prancing reindeer on Willard Cox’s lawn and they looked pretty darn impressive. I wondered if Garth had indeed been bribing the judge. I could easily imagine the barracuda in the portrait with payola up his French cuffs.

“I’m telling you,” Cathy said, as if sensing my doubts, “Willard Cox is crazy.”

“I heard he accused your husband of purposely running over his dog.”

“Can you believe it?” Once again, her cheeks were dotted with angry pink spots. “He ran around telling everybody that Garth was a dog killer! Garth threatened to sue him for defamation of character. That finally shut him up.”

“So do you think it’s possible that Mr. Cox might have wanted your husband dead?” I asked.

She chewed on her pinky, and gave it some thought.

“I hadn’t really considered it before, but I suppose so.”

“And are you certain nobody else on the block might have wanted him…um…gone?”

“No. Nobody on this street is as crazy as Willard. The man is nutty as a fruitcake.”

She was wrong about that. It turned out that Willard Cox had some stiff competition in the nutty-as-a-fruitcake department. As I would, much to my regret, soon discover.

Chapter Three

“Feliz Navidad, honeybun!”

Kandi Tobolowski, my best friend and constant dinner companion, raised her margarita in a toast. We were seated across from each other in our favorite Mexican restaurant, Paco’s Tacos, a colorful joint famous for their yummy margaritas and burritos the size of silo missiles.

I took an eager gulp of my margarita. I’d spent a fairly frustrating afternoon questioning the neighbors on Hysteria Lane about Garth Janken’s death. Willard Cox, my leading suspect, hadn’t been home when I’d rung his bell. The few neighbors who were home on a weekday afternoon were no help whatsoever. They all agreed that Garth had been an unpopular guy, but nobody had any idea who might have hated him enough to kill him, nor had they seen anyone up on the roof in the days before his death—except for Seymour’s roofers in their distinctive red Fiedler on the Roof baseball caps.

So it felt good to be here at Paco’s, mellowing out with my good buddies, Kandi and Jose Cuervo.

“You’ll never guess where Dennis and Kate and I are going for Christmas this year,” Kandi beamed excitedly.

Dennis and Kate were Kandi’s parents, a pair of avant garde freethinkers who thought it “cool” to be on a first name basis with their only child. (My parents, on the other hand, would never dream of letting me call them by their first names. I was practically in college before I even knew their real names weren’t “Mommy” and “Daddy.”)

“We’re going skiing!” Kandi gushed. “In Aspen.”

“Do you even know how to ski?”

“Well, no,” she admitted, “but it doesn’t matter. I can fake it.”

“Kandi, I don’t think you can fake skiing.”

“We’ll take lessons. It’ll be fun!”

She grinned at me over her margarita, and suddenly I was flooded with envy.

Kandi would have fun. I could just picture her sipping hot toddies by a roaring fire, flirting with a cute ski instructor, while I was sipping Metamucil at the Tampa Vistas clubhouse, listening to my father and Uncle Ed fight over who won at shuffleboard.

By now our basket of chips was empty (final score: Jaine, 17; Kandi, 11/2), and I was happy to see our waiter approaching with our main courses. I’d debated between the low-cal chicken tostada and a simple grilled mahi mahi. It was an interesting debate. But in the end I went with two deep-fried chimichangas smothered with sour cream.

Kandi, as always, ordered the chicken tostada. Which is why she’s an enviable size six—on a fat day.

I speared a hunk of guacamole from the top of my chimichanga. Yum!

“So where are you off to for Christmas?” Kandi asked, ignoring her tostada, although how anyone can ignore their dinner—even something as boring as a tostada—is beyond me. “Florida again?”

I nodded wearily.

“What are you going to do with Prozac? You’re not taking her with you, are you?”

Once again, I nodded.

“You’ve got to be crazy. Didn’t the airline threaten some kind of lawsuit last year?”

“Yes, but they never went through with it.”

There’s no doubt about it. Flying with Prozac is as close as you can get to hell without actually dying. Last year, she yowled nonstop for thirty minutes until the flight attendant broke down and brought her a first class meal.

She invariably manages to escape from her carrier and makes a beeline down the aisle for the one person on board violently allergic to cats. Last Christmas, Prozac’s victim was not only allergic, but terrified of cats, and ran headlong into an oncoming beverage cart, knocking a carafe of very bad coffee into the lap of a nearby passenger. Hence the threatened lawsuit.

“I still don’t see why you can’t leave her home and have someone come in and feed her,” Kandi said.

“Last time I tried that, I came back to find kitty pee on every pillow in my apartment. I was lucky I still had an apartment.”

“Can’t you leave her in a kennel?”

“I’m still paying off the medical bills from the last place she stayed. How she managed to bite her way through that kennel attendant’s work gloves, I’ll never know. But the poor guy had to be rushed to the emergency room for stiches. Anyhow, I can never go back there again. I’d be violating the restraining order.”

Kandi shook her head in disbelief.

“Someday I’m gonna see that cat on America’s Most Wanted.”

We plowed through our meals (well, I plowed; Kandi plucked), and as Kandi chattered about her nifty new ski togs and the chalet she and her parents had rented, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for myself. For once I’d like to spend Christmas with my parents, just the three of us. A nice quiet Christmas, sleeping in the guest room, free from invidious comparisons to my bikini-clad cousin Joanie.

Oh, well. I couldn’t let myself wallow in self pity. So I did what I always do when I’m feeling sorry for myself: I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and ordered dessert.

I woke up the next morning still in a funk about my trip to Florida.

As I lay in bed, I thought of Kandi enjoying an elegant candlelit dinner with her parents while I sat watching Uncle Ed pick Christmas turkey from his teeth with a matchstick.

But there was nothing I could do about it. Like it or not, I was stuck at Tampa Vistas for the holidays. Hauling myself out of bed, I shoved all thoughts of Florida to that dusty corner of my mind reserved for unpaid bills and tax estimates.

After a nutritious breakfast of Paco’s leftovers, I hunkered down on the living room sofa with the morning paper.

A headline in the Calendar section caught my eye.

GIRLFRIENDS CHANGE LIVES

I read the article with interest. It was about a volunteer organization called L.A. Girlfriends, founded by a nun named Sister Mary Agnes, where women volunteered to become mentors to motherless girls. It was a touching story, filled with heartwarming tales of women like me who’d managed to make a difference in the life of a young girl.

And suddenly I felt ashamed. Big time. I bet Sister Mary Agnes wasn’t sitting around feeling sorry for herself. No, Sister Mary Agnes was out there, doing good in the world. It was high time I forgot my petty discontents, and did something noble with my life.

“I’m so ashamed of myself,” I said to Prozac, who was curled up next to me on the sofa.

You should be. You haven’t scratched my back for a whole six minutes.

“But that’s all going to change. I’m going to forget about my trivial cares, and do something worthwhile.”

You mean like getting me my own TV?

“I’m going to make a difference in the world!”

I’d like flat screen, if possible.

Wasting no time, I called the offices of L.A. Girlfriends and made an appointment to see them that morning. I’d zip over there on my way to Hysteria Lane.

I hurried off to shower and dress, filled with a newfound sense of purpose. Not only would I get Seymour Fiedler off the hook for that pesky criminal charge, but I’d bring joy to the heart of a motherless child.

I wondered if Mother Teresa started like this.

I was hoping to meet Sister Mary Agnes when I showed up at the modest mid-Wilshire offices of L.A. Girlfriends, but the birdlike woman manning the reception desk explained that the good Sister was away on a fund-raising tour. I’d be meeting with one of her valued associates, she informed me, leading me down the hallway for my interview.

“Ms. Austen,” she said, opening the door into a small but sunny office, “meet Tyler Girard.”

I blinked in surprise. I hadn’t been expecting to see a guy, and certainly not one this cute. He had the kind of boyish good looks I’m particularly fond of. Big brown eyes, sandy hair that flopped onto his forehead, and a smile—as I was about to discover—sweeter than a Hershey’s Kiss.

“So nice to meet you, Ms. Austen,” he said, flashing me his sweet smile.

Usually I’m wary when it comes to members of the sloppier sex. You’d be wary, too, if you’d been married to The Blob. That’s what I call my ex-husband, a charming fellow who wore flip-flops to our wedding and clipped his toenails in the sink. But flying in the face of past experience, my heart was doing carefree little somersaults.

“Have a seat,” he said, “and I’ll tell you about L.A. Girlfriends.”

As he talked about how Sister Mary Agnes started L.A. Girlfriends fifteen years ago in a church basement, I found myself staring at the laugh lines around his mouth and wondering if he liked old movies and Chinese food as much as I did.

This totally inappropriate reverie went on for some time until I came to my senses. I hadn’t come here to meet a guy, I reminded myself. I was here to do good in the world. I quickly banished all romantic thoughts from my mind and forced myself to focus.

“So,” Tyler said, after he’d finished giving me a rundown on the organization, “tell me a little about yourself.”

I told him about my life as a jack-of-all-trades wordsmith—writing ads, brochures, resumes, and industrial films—and how lately I’d been wanting to do something more meaningful with my time, to contribute something to society, as it were, and that L.A. Girlfriends seemed like the perfect venue for my charitable impulses.

I chattered on in this noble vein for a while, carefully omitting any references to the Jaine Austen who has been known to watch Oprah in the middle of the afternoon with a cat and a pint of Chunky Monkey in her lap.

He nodded thoughtfully throughout my spiel.

“Have you ever worked with young people before?”

“I used to babysit when I was a teenager. But I don’t know if that counts. Most of the time,” I admitted, “the kids were asleep.”

For what seemed like an eternity but was probably only seconds, he looked into my eyes, saying nothing. I could see he was trying to get a reading on me. Oh, dear Lord, I prayed. Please don’t let him see my shallow, selfish side, the side that filches ketchup packets from McDonald’s and tears the Do Not Remove Under Penalty Of Law tags off pillows.

Finally he broke his silence with a smile.

“I have good vibes about you, Ms. Austen.”

He had good vibes about me! I was going to be an L.A. Girlfriend!

“Why don’t you fill out our application? We’ll do a background check on you, and get back to you in a few days.”

Phooey. It looked like I wasn’t a shoo-in, after all.

“Don’t worry,” he said, seeing the disappointment in my eyes. “I don’t anticipate any problems. I’m sure you’ll check out just fine.”

He flashed me another achingly sweet smile and I left his office on a high, ready to start my new altruistic life, thinking of how I’d soon be bringing joy to a motherless young girl.

Okay, so I was thinking about that smile of his, too. Heck, I’m only human.

Chapter Four

This time, the Coxes were home when I rang their bell. Willard’s wife, Ethel, came to the door, a short, rosy cheeked woman in an old-fashioned housedress and apron, her hair a cap of tightly permed gray curls.

“Can I help you?” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron.

I flashed her my trusty Century National card and told her I was an insurance investigator looking into Garth’s death. It had worked so well with Cathy Janken, I figured I’d try it again.

“Oh, my,” she said, shaking her curls in disbelief. “I still can’t believe that poor man is dead.”

“You didn’t happen to see anybody on the roof in the days before he died, did you?”

“Only those roofers,” she said. “The ones with the red baseball caps.”

“Do you mind if I talk to your husband? Maybe he saw something.”

She hesitated a beat, trying to decide whether I was a burglar posing as an insurance investigator.

I guess I passed inspection.

“Come in, won’t you, Ms.—what did you say your name was? I didn’t get a very good look at your card.”

“Austen. Jaine Austen.”

“Such an interesting name!” she said, her eyes lighting up. “Are you any relation to the real Jane Austen?”

“Afraid not.” I smiled weakly, having answered that question about 8,976 times in my life.

“Willard’s out back,” she said, waving me inside. “Come with me.”

I followed her past a living room that clearly hadn’t been decorated since Nixon was president, and into her homey kitchen.

“I was just fixing lunch,” she said as my eyes zeroed in on a bowl of egg salad on her kitchen counter, thick with mayo and studded with chunks of hard boiled eggs.

Yikes, it looked good. I hadn’t had lunch, and I was starving.

“He’s in the yard.”

“Who?” I asked, lost in thoughts of egg salad.

“Willard. My husband.”

“Oh, right.”

“He’s putting CDs in the orange trees.”

“CDs in the orange trees?”

“It’s supposed to scare away the squirrels. Personally, I think it’s a lot of nonsense, but Willard insists it works.

“Willard, dear,” she called out the back door, “there’s an insurance investigator who wants to talk to you.”

I walked out into the yard, lush with bougainvillea and orange trees. Yes, I know it’s not fair that we Californians get to pick oranges off our trees in December, but on the downside, we get to crawl along on the freeways at ten miles an hour for most of our commuting lives.

Willard Cox was standing on a ladder at one of the orange trees, stringing CDs from the branches, an athletic man in his seventies. The guy was obviously capable of climbing onto the Jankens’s roof, I thought, as I watched him move with agile grace.

“Hello, Mr. Cox,” I called up to him. “Mind if I have a word with you?”

“Just a minute,” he barked, with clipped military diction. “I’ll be right down.”

Seconds later, he clambered down from the ladder, the CDs on his orange tree twinkling in the reflected light of the sun.

“Keeps the squirrels away,” he said, pinging one of the CDs. “They don’t like the glare. Bet my wife told you they don’t work, but they do.”

He snapped his ladder shut and propped it against the garage.

“So you’re an insurance investigator.” He looked me over with piercing gray eyes.

Uh-oh. It wasn’t going to be easy to fool this guy.

“Yes. I’m representing Seymour Fiedler, the roofer who was working on Mr. Janken’s house.”

“Is that so? What company you with?”

“Century National,” I said, praying he wouldn’t ask me for identification. He’d never fall for my phony laminated card.

I breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t.

“So how can I help you?” he asked.

“We at Century National don’t believe Mr. Janken’s death was an accident. We believe someone tampered with the shingles on the roof.”

“What are you saying? You think it was murder?”

“Yes, we do.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. I hate to speak ill of the dead,” he said, not hating it a bit, “but that man was a no good cheat and a liar.”

“I heard he beat you a few times in the Christmas decorating contest,” I prompted.

Blood rushed to his weathered face.

“He didn’t win fair and square. He bribed the judge, that’s why he won all the time. Not only that, he cheated. Last year he beheaded my Santa Claus! He claimed it fell off in the wind, but it didn’t just fall off. It was sawed off!

“Let me show you something.”

He grabbed the ladder and I followed him as he brought it into his garage, a spotless haven complete with workbench and fancy built-in storage cabinets. A handyman’s dream.

Propped up along one of the walls, in stark contrast to the white cabinets, were a chorus line of large red-and-white striped neon candy canes.

“Garth saw these being delivered to my house. And before I had a chance to put them up, he had candy canes up on his roof. He stole my idea!”

“Oh, Willard, honey. He didn’t steal your idea. It was a coincidence.”

We turned and saw Ethel standing in the doorway.

“Please, Ethel. He saw those candy canes being delivered, and beat me to the punch.”

“Whatever you say, dear,” she sighed. “I just came to tell you lunch is ready. You’re welcome to join us if you like, Ms. Austen. I’ve made an extra sandwich.”

“Oh, no,” I said, thinking of all the mayo in the egg salad. Not after those chimichangas I had last night. I really had to exercise some self-restraint if I expected to cram myself into a bathing suit in Florida. “Thanks, but no.”

Two minutes later I was sitting across from Willard and Ethel at their vinyl-topped kitchen table tucking into one of Ethel’s heavenly egg salad sandwiches.

What can I say? I’m impossible.

When I finally came up for air, I resumed questioning the Coxes.

“Do you have any idea who might’ve wanted to see Garth dead?”

“Me, for starters,” said Willard.

Ethel put down her sandwich, horrified. “Willard, how can you say such a thing?”

“He killed Pumpkin, didn’t he?”

“It was an accident, Willard. A tragic accident. I simply can’t believe Garth would run over a helpless little poodle on purpose.”

“Well, I can.”

At that moment, there was so much hate in his eyes, I thought he really might be the one who sabotaged the roof.

“I can’t pretend I’m sorry he’s dead,” he said, as if reading my thoughts, “but I didn’t do it.”

“Anybody else on the block dislike him enough to want to see him dead?” I asked.

“There’s Mrs. Garrison next door,” Willard said. “She hated his guts ever since he reported her to the city for illegally removing a tree from the front of her house. She had to pay a big fine, and she was furious.”

“You think she might’ve loosened those tiles on the roof?”

“I doubt it.” Ethel smiled wryly. “She’s eighty-six and uses a walker.”

“How about Libby Brecker?” Willard suggested, beginning to enjoy this game of finger pointing. “She looks like a potential killer to me.”

“What an awful thing to say, Willard!”

“I’m serious,” Willard insisted. “There’s something about that woman that’s downright creepy. She’s just a little too perfect, if you know what I mean. Like one of those Stepford Wives.”

“Just because she takes pride in her house doesn’t make her a Stepford Wife.”

Ethel rolled her eyes, exasperated.

“I haven’t felt right about Libby since the day she moved in,” Willard said, ignoring his wife’s objections. “They say she’s a widow. I’d like to know what happened to her husband.”

“I’m sure he died of perfectly natural causes,” Ethel said, taking a dainty bite of a gherkin pickle.

“That’s the trouble with you, Ethel. You’re too trusting. You believe any cock and bull story someone hands you.”

“What was Libby Brecker’s relationship like with Mr. Janken?” I asked, steering the conversation away from Ethel Cox’s personality flaws and back to the murder.

“Hated him,” said Willard.

“I’m afraid she did,” Ethel conceded. “She accused Garth of poisoning her roses. Those roses of hers were her pride and joy.”

“Why would Mr. Janken want to poison her roses?”

“Libby claims Garth was getting even with her for calling the police when one of his parties got too loud.”

“Which house is Libby’s?” I asked, eager to question this promising suspect.

“It’s the two-story Spanish across the street,” Willard said, “with the Swarovski Rudolph on the lawn out front.”

“The Swarovski Rudolph?”

“Rudolph the Reindeer’s nose is a Swarovski crystal,” Ethel said. “Lord only knows how much it cost!”

“I tell you,” Willard said, wagging his gherkin at me, “there’s something strange about that woman.”

I thanked the Coxes for their time and their egg salad and headed back outside, contemplating the nature of life on Hysteria Lane. Who would’ve thought there’d be so much hostility lurking beneath the surface of this picture-perfect block? It made the Middle East look like a picnic in the Amish country.

I was in the middle of a war zone, all right. Trouble was, I didn’t know the good guys from the bad.

The nose on Libby Brecker’s Rudolph was indeed a red crystal, in all probability a genuine Swarovski.

I found Libby on her lawn spritzing it with Windex. She was a plump woman with bright brown eyes and hair so glossy, I could practically see my face in it.

Once again posing as an insurance investigator, I flashed her my Century National card and explained that I was looking into Garth’s death on Seymour’s behalf.

“If it’s all right with you, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Go ahead,” she chirped. “Ask away.”

By now she was down on her knees, buffing the runners on an elaborate wooden sleigh that was probably once owned by Currier & Ives.

I asked her if she’d seen anyone on the roof in the days before Garth’s death and like everybody else I’d spoken with, she gave me the same disappointing answer.

“Just the roofers. Who, incidentally, seemed to be doing an excellent job. I was thinking of using them myself, but after what happened to Garth, that’s not going to happen.”

Poor Seymour. I was certain most people would react the way Libby had. If word of Garth’s death got around, his business would be ruined.

“Of course, Garth was foolish to go up on the roof in the first place,” she said. “You really need to hire a professional for that. I always do. But then I’m acrophobic. Dreadful fear of heights,” she added, in case my vocabulary didn’t extend beyond three-syllable words. “I get dizzy in high heels. Ha ha.”

(Translation: If you’re hinting at foul play, sweetie, don’t even think of trying to pin this on me.)

“Are you sure you didn’t see anyone else up on the roof, other than the roofers?

“Omigosh!” she cried, hitting her forehead with the palm of her hand. “I just remembered!”

At last! A lead!

“My cookies!” she said. “I’ve got cookies in the oven!”

So much for leads.

“C’mon inside, and we’ll talk there.”

I followed her into her house, past a border of newly planted rosebushes, little stubs with the nursery tags still on them. Probably replacements for the ones that had been poisoned.

“Take your shoes off,” Libby instructed, kicking hers off. “I just waxed and buffed the floors, and I don’t want to track in any mud.”

We put our shoes on something Libby called her “mud rug,” an area rug so pristine, it was hard to imagine it had ever been sullied by a speck of actual mud.

“I’ll be right back,” she trilled. “Make yourself comfortable in the living room.”

She pointed to a room off the foyer and then scurried to the back of the house.

I made my way through an arched entranceway to the living room.

Yikes, I thought, looking around. The place was a real-life issue of Martha Stewart Living.

The furniture was upholstered in a palette of white and beige, accented by colorful throw pillows and strategically placed vases of fresh-cut flowers. Cinnamon spice potpourri scented the air. And framed in the window was a magnificent Christmas tree, studded with what looked like exquisite handmade ornaments—angels and snowflakes and fragrant pomander balls. What a masterpiece. It made the one at Rockefeller Center look like a blue light special at Kmart. I wondered if the resourceful Libby had grown the darn thing herself.

Padding around the room in my socks, hoping I wouldn’t skid into a tailspin on the freshly waxed floors, I came across a pine etagere filled with artfully arranged photos and mementos.

There was Libby on the beach with a sunburned potbellied man, both of them wearing leis, smiling into the camera. Her deceased husband, I presumed. There were several pictures of twin boys at various stages in their lives, from diaper days to high school graduation. But what caught my attention was a framed newspaper photo of Libby grinning at the camera, clutching a trophy. The headline above the photo read: LIBBY BRECKER, 42, WINS ANNUAL ROSE COMPETITION FOR FIFTH CONSECUTIVE YEAR. And indeed, proudly displayed and dramatically lit on a center shelf were five golden trophies from the West Los Angeles Gardening Club for Most Beautiful Rose.

Interesting, I noted, how the roses got better shelf space than her husband and kids.

Libby was crazy about her roses, all right. Crazy enough, I wondered, to have killed someone she thought poisoned them?

“I see you’re looking at my family pictures.”

I turned to see Libby sailing into the room with a tray of cookies and milk.

“The twins just went off to college this year,” she said, putting the tray down on a gleaming pine coffee table. “Golly, I’ve missed them. Empty nest syndrome, you know.”

Why did I get the feeling she was secretly relieved not to have to worry about the twins tracking mud onto her floors?

“I brought us some cookies.”

She waved me over to the matching white sofas that fronted the fireplace and I sat across from her, sinking into a luxurious down cushion.

“Have one,” she offered. “They’re chocolate chip.”

As if I didn’t know. I can smell a chocolate chip cookie baking in Pomona. And these looked particularly scrumptious, studded with chunks of chocolate and walnuts.

Of course, I couldn’t possibly allow myself to have a cookie, not after the brownie I’d just had at Willard and Ethel’s. (Okay, so I had a brownie at Willard and Ethel’s. Okay, two brownies. Oh, don’t go shaking your head like that. I’d like to see what you’re eating right now.)

The last thing I needed was another calorie clinging to my thighs. But I couldn’t say no, could I? Not after all the trouble she’d gone to put them on a tray and bring them out to me. No, under the circumstances, the only polite thing to do was eat a cookie. But just one, that was all.

“Thanks,” I said, grabbing one. “They look scrumptious.”

“They are,” she said, with a confident nod.

I took a bite. I thought I’d died and gone to cookie heaven.

With great effort, I forced myself to resume my questioning.

“So do you know anyone on the block who might’ve wanted to see Garth dead?”

“Of course not!” Libby exclaimed, plucking an errant cookie crumb from her lap. “He wasn’t a very popular man, but nobody actually wanted him dead.”

“Nobody?” I asked, suppressing the urge to reach for another cookie. “Are you sure there wasn’t anybody who had it in for Garth?”

“Well, maybe Willard Cox,” she conceded. “He and Garth fought like cats and dogs. But I doubt Willard actually climbed up on Garth’s roof and jimmied the shingles, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Speaking of Mr. Cox,” I said, grateful for the opening she’d just given me, “he happened to mention an altercation you had with Garth.”

“Me?” A brief blip of annoyance flashed across her face.

“Yes, he said you accused Mr. Janken of poisoning your roses.”

“Willard said that? How absurd!” She laughed a tinkly laugh about as genuine as Maxine Fiedler’s hair color. “I never accused Garth of any such thing.”

“I heard the same thing from a few other people,” I lied, trying to rattle her.

But she was a cool customer.

“Golly, no,” she smiled serenely. “Garth and I had a perfectly cordial relationship. I pride myself in bringing out the best in even the most difficult people.”

“So you don’t think he poisoned your roses?”

“Not at all,” she cooed. “Roses get sick and die all the time. I’m sure Garth had nothing to do with mine dying, and if Willard Cox or anyone else said anything to the contrary, they’re sadly mistaken.

“Gracious!” she said, jumping up from the sofa. “Look at the time!

“If I don’t get started refinishing the twins’ bedroom shutters, they’ll never get done in time for Christmas break.”

Her lips were smiling but her eyes had turned to steel. My audience with Libby had clearly come to a close.

I retrieved my shoes from her “mud rug” and as I did, I was gratified to see a defiant pink dustbunny clinging to the baseboard of her floor. Somehow the little devil had managed to escape annihilation during Libby’s recent waxing and buffing fest.

More power to you, little dustbunny, I thought, as I put on my shoes.

I thanked Libby for her time and headed back out to my Corolla.

I wasn’t buying her Little Miss Sunshine act, not for a minute. I’d bet my bottom Pop Tart her relations with Garth had been about as cordial as a Ku Klux Klan reception for Martin Luther King.

No, Libby Brecker had been lying through her perfectly whitened teeth. Now all I had to do was prove it.

Chapter Five

That night, after a Spartan dinner of tuna and a toasted English muffin (honest, that’s all I ate!), I went out to the storage space behind my duplex and dug out my Christmas tree.

It was one of those wimpy tabletop models, with the ornaments already glued on—a sorry sight compared to the towering extravaganza at Libby’s.

I used to have real trees with real ornaments, but Prozac, convinced the ornaments were evil spirits from hell, was constantly diving at them with the ferocity of a kamikaze pilot. The poor trees never stood a chance.

And so I was stuck with my pathetic tabletop model.

I plopped it down on an end table, and after dusting it off and draping it with tinsel, I turned to where Prozac was lounging on the sofa.

“How does it look, sweetie?”

She glared at it through slitted eyes and got to her feet. Tail erect and waving in anticipation of an ornament ambush, she cautiously approached it. Then she put her nose to one of the branches and took a sniff.

“So?” I asked. “What do you think?”

She sniffed under the tree, then turned to me.

What? No presents?

Then, having decided the tree was free of lurking enemies, she curled up and went to sleep.

Minutes later, I settled down next to her on the sofa with a cup of cocoa and a stack of Christmas cards. I’d long since conceded defeat to Prozac in the photo-card skirmish, and had picked up some cards with an old-fashioned drawing of Santa on the cover.

I got out my address book and began my task. I tried to think of heartfelt personalized messages in twenty-five words or less, but I couldn’t concentrate. Ever since I’d left Libby’s house that afternoon, I’d had the nagging feeling I’d seen something significant there. An elusive something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

Now I drummed my pen against my teeth, trying to remember exactly what it was. Images began flitting through my brain: The Swarovski Rudolph, the family photos, the newspaper clipping, the trophies, the handmade Christmas angels, the “mud rug,” the defiant pink dustbunny—

And that’s when it hit me. It wasn’t a dustbunny I’d seen clinging to Libby’s baseboard—it was a piece of flocking. Pink flocking. Just like the pink flocking I’d seen on Garth’s Candyland roof!

True, Libby could have been working on a project of her own that involved pink flocking. The woman was probably working on more projects than the NASA space team. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help wondering if she’d picked up that piece of pink fluff while jimmying the shingles on Garth Janken’s roof.

Yes, folks. It’s very possible that Libby Brecker’s latest project had been Attempted Homicide.

Armed with my Dustbunny Discovery, I paid a visit to the cop in charge of the Janken case, Lt. Frank DiMartelli.

DiMartelli worked out of the West Los Angeles precinct, a concrete bunker of a building in a none-too-glamorous part of town. I spent a good twenty minutes on a wooden bench exchanging pleasantries with a 6′4″ transvestite named Cheyenne before the good lieutenant ushered me to his desk.

A laconic guy with droopy bloodhound eyes, DiMartelli nodded absently as I told him of my suspicions, all the while fiddling with a chocolate Santa on his desk. Occasionally he picked up a yellow legal pad and jotted down a note, but I had the sneaky suspicion he was working on his Christmas list.

“In other words,” he said when I was through, “you’re accusing Libby Brecker of murder because you saw a dustbunny on her baseboard.”

“It wasn’t a dustbunny. It was a piece of flocking.”

“Are you sure it was flocking?”

“Of course, I’m sure.”

He shot me a penetrating look from beneath his droopy lids.

“Pretty sure, anyway,” I hedged.

“We’ll check into it,” he said. “When hell freezes over.”

Okay, so he didn’t say the part about hell freezing over, but I knew that’s what he was thinking. Clearly he’d written me off as an interfering nutcase.

“Well, thanks for your time,” I said, not feeling the least bit grateful. “And bon appetit,” I added, with a nod to the chocolate Santa.

Then I got up and headed out the door.

I glanced back just in time to see him wad up the notes he’d just taken and toss them in the trash.

All in all, not a terribly satisfying meeting.

There was, however, some good news to report that week. I’d just come home from my fruitless visit to Lt. DiMartelli, and was stretched out on my sofa, trying to dredge up the energy to tackle my Christmas cards. I’d abandoned my original plan to write heartfelt personal messages, settling for the slightly less imaginative “XOXOXO, Jaine.” But now even X’s and O’s seemed like a lot of work, and I was lying there staring at the ceiling, when the phone rang.

After fishing it out from between two sofa cushions, I heard a soft male voice come on the line.

“Jaine? It’s Tyler Girard.”

Omigosh, the sweetie from L.A. Girlfriends!

I bolted up, suddenly rejuvenated.

“Congratulations, Jaine. You’re now officially an L.A. Girlfriend.”

“That’s wonderful!” I squealed.

“I told you there wouldn’t be any problems. We’ve already matched you with your Girlfriend.”

“When do I meet her?”

“I’ll fax you her background information and phone number, and you can set up a date.”

“I can’t wait!” I said, eager to start my life of selfless giving.

“I’ll also send along a copy of our Girlfriends Guidelines. Some rules and regulations you need to follow. Nothing major. Suggested venues for your dates, stuff like that.”

“How can I ever thank you for giving me this marvelous opportunity?”

“No need to thank us, Jaine. We’re happy to have you on board. Oh, and while I’ve got you on the phone, there’s something else I’d like to ask you.”

No, I’m not married, and yes, I’d love to go out with you.

But he was not, alas, about to ask me out on a date.

“You mentioned at our meeting that you’re a writer.”

“Yes, I am.”

“It so happens we’ve been looking for someone to write press releases for us. Have you ever done any PR?”

Okay, so it wasn’t a date, but it was the next best thing. A potential job, always a welcome prospect at Casa Austen.

“Oh, yes,” I assured him. “I’ve done lots of PR. Why, just last year I won an award for a promotional campaign I wrote.”

“Really? Who was your client?”

Drat. I was hoping he wouldn’t ask me this.

“Um. Toiletmasters Plumbers.”

Not exactly the Fortune 500 image I was hoping to impart.

“And what were you promoting?”

Phooey. I was hoping to avoid this one, too.

“A new product of theirs. Called Big John.”

“Big John?”

“A large-sized commode for large-sized people.”

“Really? And you won an award for that?”

“Yes,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster. “The Golden Plunger Award from the Los Angeles Plumbers Association.”

Miraculously, he did not burst out into gales of derisive laughter. On the contrary, much to my amazement, the next words out of his mouth were: “Do you think you might be interested in doing some work for us?”

“Absolutely,” I assured him.

“Great! I’ll introduce you to Sister Mary Agnes at the Christmas party, and you can set up an interview with her.”

“The Christmas party?”

“Yes, every year L.A. Girlfriends has a big Christmas bash.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you there.”

Was it my imagination, or was there a hint of romance in his voice? Was Tyler possibly angling for an L.A. Girlfriend of his own?

I hung up in a happy glow. I’d started out to do something charitable, and already I was being rewarded. Not only was there a possible job on my horizon, there might even be a date. With a really nice guy.

But the biggest reward, I reminded myself, would be the satisfaction I’d get from making a difference in the life of a motherless girl.

Yes, I, Jaine Austen, was about to leave the world of the Self-Involved and become one of life’s Noble Givers.

Chapter Six

I had a date with an angel.

Really. That was my L.A. Girlfriend’s name: Angel Cavanaugh, a twelve-year-old only child living with her dad, whose interests were listed on her profile as “outdoor activities” and “the arts.”

When I phoned to set up the date, she was in the shower, and her father took the call.

“We’re so grateful you’re doing this,” he said. “It means the world to us.”

How wonderful to feel so appreciated. Why hadn’t I discovered this volunteer stuff years ago?

I asked him what Angel wanted to do on our date, and he said anything I planned would be okay with her.

Then I hung up and went into a planning frenzy, making and discarding a dozen ideas. I finally decided that, since Angel liked outdoor activities, it might be fun to drive out to the Santa Monica Pier and toss a frisbee on the beach. One of the rules in the Girlfriends Guidebook was to stay away from expensive venues. The girls, they warned, mustn’t see their mentors as a source of financial support. Which was lucky for me, since I was having trouble enough supporting myself.

The day of my “Girlfriends” date dawned clear and bright, with a hint of winter chill in the air. A Los Angeles winter, that is—the temperature had dipped all the way down to the low seventies. A perfect day for a trip to the beach.

And so it was with an air of eager anticipation that I fed Prozac her Savory Salmon Entrails and nuked myself a bagel. I couldn’t wait to get started on the first chapter of my new altruistic life. After a quick shower, I threw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, and grabbed a hoodie in case it got chilly out on the pier.

“Bye, Pro,” I called out, when I was ready to leave on my great adventure. “Wish me luck.”

She looked up from where she was napping on my keyboard.

I still don’t see why you have to spend the day with some needy kid when you could stay home and scratch my back.

But she couldn’t work a guilt trip on me. Not today. I headed out to my Corolla, brimming with good intentions, Mother Teresa in elastic-waist jeans.

I drove over to the address Angel’s dad had given me, which turned out to be a low-rent apartment building a fender’s throw from the 405 freeway. It was one of those two-story affairs with an outdoor stairway that looked like it had been a motel in a former life. As I climbed the metal steps to the Cavanaughs’s apartment on the second floor, I could hear the dull roar of the freeway in the background.

Kevin Cavanaugh answered the door, a skinny guy in his late thirties. With hollow cheeks and dark circles under his eyes, he had the look of a guy in desperate need of a vacation. Or, barring that, a nap.

“So happy to meet you,” he said, pumping my hand. “C’mon in.” He ushered me into his living room, and once again I was reminded of a motel. All the essentials were there—sofa and TV and coffee table, but none of the frills. No sign of a woman’s touch anywhere.

“Angel, honey.” he called out. “Jaine is here.”

We stood there smiling awkwardly at each other, waiting for Angel to come out. When some time had passed and there was still no sign of her, he shouted, “You ready, or what?”

“I’m commmmming!”

And then, to my amazement, a twelve-year-old hooker walked into the room.

Her skinny body was jammed into spandex capris and a midriff-exposing T-shirt, the words JAIL BAIT emblazoned in sequins across her flat chest. Completing the outfit were a pair of kitten-heel flip-flops and a faux leopard skin minipurse.

Good heavens. She looked like she was auditioning for a remake of Taxi Driver.

“For Pete’s sake, Angel,” her dad sighed. “You’re not going to wear that, are you?”

“Yessss.” She rolled her eyes. “I am.”

“Well, come and say hello to Jaine,” he said, shrugging helplessly.

Angel clomped over on her kitten heels and gave me the once-over.

Up close I could see that underneath her cloud of heavily teased dishwater blond hair, she was actually quite pretty. Clear gray eyes, nice little nose. Slightly protruding teeth, but all in all, a cute kid.

“She’s my girlfriend?” she whined, eyeing my elastic-waist jeans and baggy T-shirt. “I told them I wanted someone who looked like Jennifer Anniston. Somebody who dresses nice.”

Uh-oh. Maybe my new life of selflessness wasn’t going to be so rewarding, after all.

“Angel, that’s no way to talk,” her dad chided. “Apologize this minute.”

“Okaaaaay,” she said, with another roll of her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Kids,” he said, shooting me an apologetic smile. “What’re you gonna do?”

“A little discipline might help.”

Of course, I didn’t really say that. Lord only knew what it was like trying to rein in this kid.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, with a confidence I didn’t feel. “I’m sure we’re going to get along just fine.”

I shot her a hopeful smile. “Right, Angel?”

“Let’s go already,” was her cheerful reply.

“Do you have to go to the bathroom before you leave?” Kevin asked her.

“No, I don’t have to go to the bathroom.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yesss. I’m sure.”

“What about a sweater? You’re gonna need one in that top.”

“Your father’s right, Angel,” I said. “We’re going to the beach. It might get chilly out there.”

“I don’t need a sweater,” she snapped. “Now are we going, or what?”

Kevin Cavanaugh shot me one last apologetic smile as we headed out the door. I was beginning to understand his hollow cheeks and baggy eyes.

“Good luck.” With a feeble wave good-bye, he shut the door behind us. How I envied him being on the other side of that door.

Angel and I started down the metal steps, Angel clomping along in her rickety heels.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay in those shoes?”

“Yes,” she hissed. “I’m going to be okay.”

“Here’s my car!” I said, trying to sound chirpy as I led her over to my Corolla.

“This is it?” She eyed my geriatric Corolla with unalloyed disdain. “Ugh. If I wanted to ride around in a crummy car, I could hang out with my dad. And even our car is nicer than this.”

“Just get in,” I said, resisting a sudden impulse to leap in and drive off without her.

She settled down on the passenger seat with a petulant plop.

“Buckle your seat belt,” I instructed.

“I don’t want to buckle my seat belt. It’ll wrinkle my top.”

“Buckle your belt!” I said through gritted teeth.

With an exasperated sigh, she buckled the belt and we took off.

“I don’t want to go to the beach,” she whined as I swung onto Santa Monica Boulevard and headed out to the ocean. “I want to go to the mall.”

“We’re not going to the mall.”

“But I hate the beach. I want to go shopping.”

“It said on your profile you liked outdoor activities.”

“I do. I like shopping at outdoor malls.”

“Forget it, Angel. We’re not going shopping.”

“But you’re my Girlfriend. Aren’t you supposed to buy me gifts?”

“No, I’m not supposed to buy you gifts. It specifically says so in the Girlfriends Guidebook.”

“Oh, fudge.” Only that’s not the F word she used. “I woulda never signed up for this stupid Girlfriends thing if I knew there weren’t gonna be any presents.”

“You’re not getting any gifts. And watch your language.”

We rode the next few minutes in a tense silence, broken finally by Angel announcing: “I gotta go to the bathroom.”

“For crying out loud, Angel, your dad told you to go back in the apartment.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“It’s too late now,” I snarled. “Hold it in.”

“Okay, okay. Don’t have a snit fit.”

By now my knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The enormity of my mistake was beginning to hit me.

I no longer felt the least bit like Mother Teresa. No, as I piloted our way those final blocks out to the pier, I felt like a lion tamer in a cage without a whip and a chair.

The Santa Monica Pier juts out into the Pacific, a rustic boardwalk dotted with restaurants and souvenir shops, right next to a small amusement park.

The minute I parked the car, Angel sprinted out to use the bathroom at one of the restaurants. I followed her inside and found myself in a tacky seafood joint with fishermen’s netting draped on the walls and a giant stuffed swordfish hanging over the bar. As Angel hustled off to the ladies’ room, I took a seat on a bar stool and eyed a bottle of Jose Cuervo. You’ll be ashamed of me, I know, but I seriously contemplated ordering a margarita. At eleven in the morning. But sanity prevailed. Instead I asked for a glass of water, and gulped down a few Tylenol to quell the headache that was now throbbing in my skull.

I sat there for a while, waiting for the pills to take effect and ruing the day I ever saw that story in the paper about L.A. Girlfriends.

Then I checked my watch and realized that ten minutes had passed since Angel had gone down the corridor to the ladies’ room. That’s an awfully long time for a trip to the bathroom. And suddenly I panicked. Dire scenarios began flashing in my brain. What if she’d run away? What if she slipped out a back door? Or wriggled out a bathroom window? For all I knew, she was turning tricks in the men’s room. Oh, Lord. Her father would never forgive me.

I jumped off the barstool and raced down the corridor to the ladies’ room, or as it was known in this particular establishment, The Little Mermaids’ Room.

“Angel?” I shouted, pounding on the door. “Are you in there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

My knees buckled with relief.

“What’s taking you so long?”

“I’m coming. I’m coming.”

A few seconds later, she sauntered out with enough makeup on her face to stock a Cover Girl display.

“What on earth have you done to your face?”

“My dad doesn’t like me to wear makeup, so I wait till I’m out of the apartment to put it on.”

I considered making her take it right off again, but I knew it would be a battle royale and frankly, I didn’t have the energy.

“Let’s go.” I took her by the hand and hustled her outside.

“So what’re we supposed to do now?” she asked, squinting into the sun.

My first choice, going back inside for a round of margaritas, was clearly out of the question.

“How about a ride on the merry-go-round?” I suggested.

“Are you kidding?” she sneered. “That’s for kids.”

“What about the roller coaster?”

“Nah. I don’t want to mess my hair.”

“Then let’s just walk around the pier.”

“Okay, but if we run into any kids from my school, pretend you don’t know me.”

I ground my teeth in annoyance, wondering if anybody would notice if I tossed her over the pier.

And right away I felt ashamed. I really had to stop this negative thinking, and give the kid a chance. So Angel was a little difficult. That was all part of being a mentor. I bet Sister Mary Agnes dealt with lots of difficult kids over the years. I had to try to establish an emotional rapport, like they said in the Girlfriends Guidebook, and get her to open up to me.

“So tell me about yourself,” I said. “What’s your favorite subject in school?”

“Puh-leeese. I hate that place. It’s like a prison. They won’t even let you wear bustiers.”

“You have any idea what you want to do when you grow up?”

“Marry a rich guy and move to Bel Air.”

Why was I not surprised?

I asked her a few more questions, most of which were greeted with monosyllabic grunts. It was like talking to a fire hydrant.

“Look,” she said, when I’d finally run out of steam. “There’s a souvenir shop.”

“Forget it, Angel. I’m not buying you a present.”

“Well, you have to buy me lunch,” she pouted. “I’m hungry.”

For once, we were on the same page. I was a little peckish myself.

“How about a burger?” I said, pointing to a nearby burger stand.

“I don’t want a burger,” she whined. “I want nachos.”

Needless to say, they didn’t have nachos at the burger stand two feet away from us. So we trekked to every restaurant and snack shop on the pier till we finally found a place that sold them.

I got a burger and Angel got her precious nachos and we settled down on a bench to eat them.

“Mmm, this burger is good,” I said, wolfing it down with impressive speed.

Angel took two bites of her nachos and yawned. Then, before I could stop her, she tossed them in the trash.

“What did you do that for?” I wailed. “We traipsed all over the pier for those stupid nachos.”

“I wasn’t hungry any more,” she shrugged.

“Why’d you throw them away? I could’ve eaten them.”

“I bet you could,” she said, her voice ripe with innuendo.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” All wide-eyed innocence. “You said you could eat them, and I agreed.”

“C’mon.” I wadded my burger wrapper and slammed it into the trash. “Let’s go play frisbee.”

“Do we have to?”

“Yes, we have to.”

“But I’ll ruin my shoes.”

“So take them off.”

I took her by the hand and practically dragged her down to the beach.

“I’m cold,” she whined, as we made our way toward the ocean.

“Your dad told you to take a sweater.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“Take mine.”

I took off my hoodie and handed it to her. She looked at it like I’d just handed her a dead rat.

“Do you want it, or don’t you?”

“Oh, all right,” she said, putting it on. It hung on her tiny body like a bathrobe.

I reached in my purse and fished out the frisbee I’d brought along for our carefree day at the beach. Then I tossed it to her, only to have her gaze at it vacantly as it whizzed by.

“Do I have to go get it?” she moaned, staring at where it had landed. “It’s so far away.”

“Yes, Angel. You have to get it. That’s how playing frisbee works. If you miss the frisbee, you have to go get it.”

She took her sweet time and sauntered over to pick it up. At the rate she was going, I’d be on Medicare by the time she threw it back to me. At last she got it and tossed it back. A feeble toss that landed practically at her feet.

“Now it’s your turn to get it,” she smirked.

My jaw clenched in annoyance, I ran over to her and picked it up. I was standing so close to her when I tossed it back, she had no choice but to catch it.

“Okay,” I grunted, “now throw it back.”

I’d had gum surgery more fun than this.

Then, to my surprise, she flung her arm back and hurled the frisbee with decathlon force. I watched as it sailed into the ocean.

“Your turn to get it,” she trilled.

For a minute I was tempted to let it float out to sea, but that’s just what the little brat wanted.

So I took off my shoes, rolled up my jeans and waded out into the surf. The ocean was rough, and for a minute it looked like the frisbee was a goner, but then I saw it drifting back toward the shoreline.

I raced over and snatched it out of the water, holding it aloft in triumph.

So there, you little monster!

I stood at the shoreline, waving the frisbee at Angel and savoring my victory. Which was a major mistake. If I hadn’t been standing there flapping that damn frisbee, I would’ve seen the wave that was about to break right behind me. And break it did, with a big wet thud against my fanny. The next thing I knew, I was sopping wet and dripping with seaweed.

I looked over at Angel. For the first time all day, she was smiling.

I checked my watch, and to my dismay, I saw that we’d been at the beach for little more than an hour. Funny, it felt like decades. I’d planned on spending the whole afternoon with her, but I simply could not face five more minutes with this brat.

“C’mon,” I said, yanking her by the elbow. “Time to go home.”

“Fine with me,” she snapped, and we trudged back together in icy silence to my car.

I dried myself off as best I could with a mildewy beach towel from the trunk of my car, then sped back to Angel’s apartment with my foot on the accelerator, cursing every red light in our path.

At last, we pulled up in front of her building and got out of the car.

“So,” she said, as we headed to the rickety metal staircase, “you taking me to the L.A. Girlfriends Christmas party?”

Was she crazy? Not if my life depended on it. I didn’t care how nice Tyler was. Or what sort of job Sister Mary Agnes might offer me. Never in a million years was I seeing this spawn from hell again.

“Probably not. I think I’m going to be out of town on a business trip.”

Was it my imagination, or did I see a flicker of disappointment in her eyes?

“Who cares?” she said, with an exaggerated shrug. “I didn’t want to go anyway. I bet it’s just a bunch of dorks standing around drinking punch.”

And then, out of nowhere, she started gasping for air.

“Angel, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head, unable to speak, and groped around in her purse. Finally she found what she was looking for. An inhaler. She clamped her lips around it and began pumping intently.

After a few terrifying seconds, she began breathing normally again. “Quit worrying,” she said, seeing the fear in my eyes. “It’s nothing. Just asthma. I’ve had it since I was a little kid.” She tossed the inhaler back her purse. “Well, see ya round.”

Then she started up the steps to her apartment, her bony shoulders stiff with pride.

As I watched her pathetic leopard skin purse flap against her hip, I was suddenly overcome with guilt. This poor kid was not only motherless, she had a debilitating illness. What sort of cold-hearted bitch was I to bail out on her after just one hellish date?

“Wait a minute,” I called out.

She stopped in her tracks and turned to look at me.

“Yeah? What is it?”

“That business trip. I think I maybe be able to get out of it.”

“Don’t do me any favors. You just feel sorry for me because I’ve got asthma.”

“That’s not true,” I lied. “I really think I can make it.”

She shot me a skeptical look.

“Honest.” By now I was begging. “I really want to go.”

“Well, okay,” she said, clomping back down the steps to my side. “And in case you decide to bring me a gift, here’s what I want.” She thrust an ad torn from a newspaper into my hand.

The kid never gave up, did she?

Then she tore up the steps to her apartment and began banging on the door with the relentless drive of a jackhammer.

“Pop!” she shrieked. “Open up!”

Kevin Cavanaugh opened the door, his face crumpling at the sight of her.

“Back so soon?” he called out to me over the roar of the freeway.

I pretended I didn’t hear him and, with a merry wave, dashed off to the sanctuary of my Corolla.

Chapter Seven

I woke up the next morning, still recuperating from my encounter with Angel Cavanaugh (or, as I was now calling her, Rosemary’s Other Baby).

I’d staggered home from our date, damp and shivering, and spent the next hour or so soaking in the tub, Prozac gazing down at me from her perch on the toilet tank.

I told you you should’ve stayed home and scratched my back.

I’d whiled away the rest of the day mindlessly watching sitcom reruns, getting up only to run out for some Chinese take-out. Okay, so I ran out for some Ben & Jerry’s, too—to reward myself for surviving a whole hour and forty-six and a half minutes (but who’s counting?) with Angel.

Now, after a restless night dreaming I was being chased down the Santa Monica Pier by a giant nacho, I lay in bed, gazing up at the ceiling. I thought about bailing out on L.A. Girlfriends and leaving Angel to another mentor, preferably one who’d spent some time as a prison warden.

But then I remembered how vulnerable she’d looked gasping at her inhaler, and I knew I had to give her another chance. Somehow, I vowed, prying myself out of bed, I had to make our relationship work.

I’d just sloshed some Hearty Halibut Guts into a bowl for Prozac and was standing at the kitchen counter, breakfasting on a cold egg roll, when the phone rang.

Seymour Fiedler came on the line, sounding light years more cheerful than the last time we’d spoken.

“Good news, Jaine. I just talked with my lawyer, and I may be off the hook for Garth Janken’s death.”

“That’s great, Seymour.”

“Now the cops think it was premeditated murder. In fact, they just brought somebody in for questioning. A guy named Willard Cox. Apparently they found some incriminating evidence linking him to Garth’s death.”

“What evidence?”

“I have no idea. All I know is they’re questioning him.”

“Do you want me to continue my investigation?”

“You may as well. Just in case they change their minds.”

I hung up with an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Some of it was probably indigestion from that egg roll. But mainly, I was concerned about Willard. Something in my gut told me he was innocent.

I know he hated Garth, but there’s a big difference between wishing somebody were no longer around to bother you, and actually trying to kill him. Besides, if Willard were really the killer, would he have been so openly vitriolic about Garth?

No, my gut was telling me that the cops had brought in the wrong suspect for questioning.

But what, I wondered, was the incriminating evidence they’d found?

I decided to pay a little visit to Ethel Cox and find out.

I made my way past the frolicking reindeer on the Coxes’s front lawn and rang the bell.

Ethel came to the door, still in her nightgown. A far cry from the happy hausfrau I’d met the other day, her gray curls had lost their bounce and her once rosy cheeks were drained of color.

“Ethel,” I asked, in what had to be one of the Top Ten World’s Most Rhetorical Questions, “are you okay?”

“Willard’s gone!” she cried, her eyes wide with fear. “The police took him away for questioning!”

“Try not to worry, Ethel. They’ll probably release him in a few hours. Let me come in and make you some tea.”

She nodded numbly and allowed me to lead her down the hallway to her kitchen.

Minutes later, we were seated across from each other with steaming cups of tea, laced with lemon and plenty of sugar. The warmth from the tea seemed to calm her a bit.

“Oh, Ms. Austen,” she said, taking a grateful sip. “It’s just awful. The police found a Fiedler on the Roof cap in Willard’s toolbox out in the garage. They think he was the one who loosened those shingles on Garth’s roof.”

So that was the evidence Seymour had been talking about.

“I don’t know how it could’ve gotten there,” she said, bewildered.

Clearly this woman didn’t have a suspicious bone in her body.

“Somebody may have put it there, Ethel. To frame Willard for Garth’s murder.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Did any of the neighbors have access to the garage?”

“Actually, they all did. There’s a little door on the side of the garage we never lock. In case the gardener wants to get in.

“To think,” she said, the color rushing back to her cheeks, “that some awful person would try to blame Garth’s death on Willard. Who would do such a terrible thing?”

The first person who sprang to my mind was my lead suspect, Libby Brecker. Hadn’t she said she’d been watching the roofers work? What if she’d seen one of them leave his cap behind? How easy to snatch it up, disguise herself as a roofer, and clamber up the roof to set Garth’s deathtrap. And how easy to slip over when the Coxes were away and plant the cap in Willard’s toolbox.

My musings were interrupted by the shrill ring of a phone.

“Oh, dear!” Ethel said, jumping up. “Maybe that’s Willard!”

She hurried out of the room, her granny gown billowing behind her.

I sat there, stirring my tea, wondering whether Libby Brecker was indeed Garth’s killer and/or whether Ethel had any brownies left over from the other day.

I know. I’m impossible, thinking about food at a time like this. I bet Sherlock Holmes never sat around wondering if Dr. Watson had any brownies in his kitchen.

I was in the midst of giving myself a stern lecture when Ethel came bursting through the door.

“Willard’s in jail!” she cried.

“They arrested him?”

She nodded miserably. “He got into a fight with one of the police officers and threatened to ‘punch his lights out.’ Now they’re holding him without bail.”

She sank into a kitchen chair, dazed.

“Oh, Willard,” she moaned, “what have you done now?”

Then she turn to me and said: “Do you know how to write a check, Jaine?”

I nodded, confused. Where the heck had that come from?

“Willard told me to pay the gas bill.”

“And?”

“And I don’t know how to write a check. Can you believe that? I’m seventy-two years old, and I don’t know how to write a check.”

She put her head on the table and burst out sobbing.

“Oh, God. What am I going to do without him?”

I jumped up and wrapped my arms around her.

“Don’t worry, Ethel. They can’t keep him there for long if he’s innocent.”

She looked up at me, her eyes wild with panic.

And in that moment I knew that, even worse than the fear of coping by herself, Ethel was afraid her husband might have really killed Garth Janken.

After teaching Ethel the fine art of check writing, I left her with a hug and a promise to keep in touch, and headed out into the bright sunshine, convinced that somebody had planted that roofer’s cap in Willard’s toolbox. I simply couldn’t believe he’d be foolish enough to leave it there himself.

My money, as you know, was on Libby Brecker. But I had no proof she was the killer. I wasn’t even certain that the flocking I saw on her rug came from Garth’s roof, or that it was indeed flocking.

I had no idea where to turn next. My interviews with the residents of Hysteria Lane had been a bust, yielding no leads whatsoever. No juicy gossip about Decorating Wars or poisoned roses. Just some tepid complaints about Garth hosting loud parties, turning away trick or treaters at Halloween, and being—in the words of eighty-six-year-old Mrs. Garrison—“an old grouchpuss.”

It was one of those moments when a lesser detective would have given up hope and drowned her frustrations in Ben & Jerry’s. But not me. I wasn’t about to waste valuable detecting time driving around in search of ice cream. No, sir. I drowned my frustrations in an Almond Joy I found buried at the bottom of my purse.

Actually, the rush of sugar was just what I needed. Standing there, inhaling my candy bar, I remembered that there was someone I still hadn’t questioned—Prudence Bascomb, president of the local homeowners association. The lady Willard had accused of taking bribes from Garth.

Old Mrs. Garrison had pointed out her house to me, but so far I hadn’t been able to catch her at home.

Licking chocolate from my fingers, I crossed over to Prudence’s impressive white colonial.

Interesting, I noted, that her only Christmas decoration was a simple wreath on the door. Perhaps as judge of the decorating contest, she’d decided to put herself above the fray.

I rang her bell, but there was no answer. I was just turning back down the path when I saw the mailman coming up the street.

“Hey, there!” he waved, the sun glinting off the hair on his well-muscled forearms. I still couldn’t get over the difference between this guy and my mail carrier, who bears an uncanny resemblance to Frankenstein’s aide-de-camp, Igor.

I guess everything gets more attractive when you live north of Wilshire.

“How’s your investigation coming along?”

“Slowly,” I sighed. “This is where Prudence Bascomb lives, right?”

“Yep,” he said, coming up the path with her mail. “But she’s never home during the day. She’s an attorney.” He deposited the letters in her slot with brisk efficiency. “Has her own law office. In Century City, I think.”

“Thanks. I’ll try reaching her there.”

“No problem,” he said, hustling off on his rounds.

I whipped out my cell phone and got the phone number for Prudence Bascomb, Esquire, then called her office to set up an appointment.

“Her first available slot is two weeks from Monday,” her secretary informed me curtly.

The Law Biz was clearly booming for Prudence.

“I was hoping for something a bit sooner. Like today.”

“Are you kidding?” she said, as shocked as if I’d just asked her for a loan. “That’s out of the question.”

“Just tell Ms. Bascomb I want to talk to her about Garth Janken’s death.”

“Hold on,” she commanded. For the next few seconds I was treated to the soothing strains of classical music, and then Ms. Congeniality came back on the line.

“Can you be here in twenty minutes?”

I could, and I was.

Chapter Eight

Prudence Bascomb got up to greet me, a tall, cool redhead in a designer suit that cost more than a Kia.

To call her fortieth floor corner office “impressive” would be like calling the Grand Canyon “large.” Furnished with sleek modern furniture straight out of a decorator’s showroom and carpeting so plush I could hardly see my Reeboks, it was an executive’s dream come true.

But the most impressive feature was the view. Sweeping floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a breathtaking panorama of the city. On a clear day, which it was, you could see out to the ocean.

With an office practically in the clouds, one thing was certain: Prudence Bascomb was not afraid of heights.

I stood in the doorway, suitably awed.

“Come in,” she said, waving me inside. “Have a seat.”

She gestured to a sleek chrome and leather chair.

I sat down across from her, marveling at her sculpted cheekbones and startling green eyes.

“Can I have my secretary get you an Evian?”

“No, thanks.”

When it comes to no-calorie water, I’m always able to Just Say No.

“Then let’s get started, shall we? You wanted to talk about Garth Janken’s death?”

“Yes, I’m afraid his fall from the roof may not have been an accident.”

“Oh?” she said, her face an impassive Chanel mask.

“I think someone tampered with the shingles. Someone who wanted to kill Garth.”

“Isn’t that a little far-fetched?” she asked with a dismissive smile.

“Not really. In fact, the police think so, too. They just arrested Willard Cox this morning.”

“Willard Cox?” Her brows lifted a fraction of an inch, her version of surprise. “I knew he and Garth had their differences, but murder? I find that hard to believe.”

“I agree with you. I think somebody else is trying to frame him for Garth’s death. The real killer.”

“And who might that be?”

“I’m not sure. That’s why I came to see you. Do you know anybody who might’ve wanted to see Garth Janken dead? Anybody he was at odds with?”

She smiled wryly.

“Garth Janken was ‘at odds’ with half the neighborhood. The man made enemies like Pringles makes potato chips. But I can’t believe anybody on Hysteria Lane is a killer.”

Same old, same old, I thought, stifling a sigh.

“Wait a minute,” she said, tapping a perfectly manicured nail on her cheek in thought, “there was somebody else he was fighting with.”

I sat up, interested.

“Who?”

“Peter Roberts. Garth’s law partner. I heard through the grapevine that he and Garth were going through a particularly vicious split up.”

How foolish of me. All along I’d been limiting my suspects to people on Hysteria Lane. I should’ve known that a guy like Garth would make enemies wherever he went.

“Not that I’m saying Peter killed Garth, mind you,” Prudence quickly added. “I’m not about to implicate anybody in a murder.”

Spoken like a true attorney.

“Well,” she said, her cool smile still lodged firmly in place, “if those are all your questions…?”

“Just one more,” I said, coming to the point of my visit. “What was your relationship with Garth like?”

“Mine?” She laughed a laugh singularly devoid of mirth. “I hardly knew him. Just to wave and say hello.”

“You judged his house every year in the Christmas decorating contest, didn’t you?”

For the first time since I walked in the door, a look of discomfort flitted across those gorgeous green eyes.

“Oh, yes. The contest. One of my chores as president of the homeowners association. I’ve really got to step down one of these days. It takes up way too much of my time.”

“He won first prize five years in a row, didn’t he?”

She reached for a crystal water glass at her elbow, and took a careful sip.

“Garth may not have been very popular, but he was amazing when it came to Christmas decorations. A true artist.”

“Willard Cox says he was bribing you.”

Bingo. I’d hit a nerve. Prudence’s eyebrows shot up a whole half inch.

“That’s absurd!” she said, an angry flush creeping up her cheeks. “Do I look like I need the money?”

I had to admit she didn’t. But something about that contest had her worried. I’d bet my bottom Pop Tart on it.

“Garth Janken won first prize every year because he deserved to,” she said, in a tone that brooked no further discussion. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve really got to get back to work.”

And before I knew it, I was in an elevator, zipping down forty-plus floors to the Peon Level of the garage.

I headed to my car, filled with a much-welcome sense of accomplishment. My ten minutes with Prudence Bascomb had yielded two important facts.

Fact Number One: There was something decidedly fishy about the Hysteria Lane Christmas decorating contest.

And Fact Number Two: Garth Janken had a law partner who hated his guts.

But both of those facts paled in comparison to Fact Number Three, one I was about to discover as I made my way toward the exit—that parking in Prudence’s Century City garage was a jaw-dropping fifteen bucks an hour.

I made a mental note to write a letter to the mayor about the exorbitant parking rates in Century City and headed back to my apartment for a bite of lunch.

In spite of the Almond Joy I’d wolfed down on Hysteria Lane, I was hungry. I had an untouched order of pork potstickers in my refrigerator which I intended to demolish the minute I got home.

Back in my apartment, I raced past the eternally napping Prozac and made a beeline for the kitchen. I grabbed the potstickers from the refrigerator and put them in the microwave, counting impatiently as the seconds ticked by. It’s amazing how long thirty seconds can seem when you’re starving.

Then, wouldn’t you know, just when I’d snatched them out, the phone rang.

Argggh! Why does the phone always ring when you’re about to shove a potsticker in your mouth?

“I’ll be right back,” I promised the little darlings, and raced to the living room to get the phone.

“Yes?” I growled, answering the dratted thing. Probably some stupid telemarketer.

“Am I speaking with Jaine Austen?”

“Yes, what is it?”

“It’s Tyler Girard.”

Oh, shoot. In my frenzy to get at those potstickers, I hadn’t recognized his voice. Why had I been so grouchy? I wanted him to think I was sweet and upbeat, not a snarling harpy.

“Oh, hi, Tyler!” I gushed.

“It sounds like you were in the middle of something.”

“Well, yes, actually. I was baking cookies for the homeless.”

Huh? Where had that come from? Why on earth had I made up such an outrageous lie?

“For the Union Rescue Mission,” I added in a fit of lunacy, referring to a local soup kitchen.

“Really? I didn’t know they accepted homemade goods. I thought the stuff had to be packaged for security reasons.”

“Oh, they know me down there. I’ve been doing it for years. In fact, they call me The Cookie Lady.”

If I told one more lie, I’d be struck by lightning.

“So,” he asked, “how was your date with Angel Cavanaugh?”

“Fine! Terrific. We definitely began to bond.”

Would the whoppers never end?

“That’s so gratifying to hear. It’s always nice to know we’ve made a good match. I hope we’ll see you at the Christmas party.”

“We?”

I smelled a Significant Other lurking in the wings.

“Yes, I told Sister Mary Agnes all about you, and she can’t wait to meet you.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. The “she” in his “we” was Sister Mary Agnes.

“Well, you’d better get back to those cookies.”

“Cookies?”

“For the homeless.”

“Oh, right. My cookies.”

I hung up, vowing to some day actually donate cookies to the homeless, and praying that Angel wouldn’t spill the beans about our disastrous date. Then I hurried back to the kitchen for my potstickers, whose heavenly aroma had now drifted out into the living room.

What happened next was absolutely heartbreaking. Sensitive readers may want to get out their hankies.

I bounded into the kitchen, only to find Prozac curled up on the kitchen counter, belching softly, surrounded by what just five minutes ago had been my potstickers. Now they were mangled bits of dough, pathetic dim sum corpses.

Prozac, the little devil, had burrowed her way through the doughy wrappings and devoured every speck of pork inside.

“Prozac!” I wailed. “How could you? That was my lunch.”

And quite delicious it was, too.

I picked up a limp piece of dough and stared at it balefully.

“How can one cat eat so much, so fast?”

Pretty impressive, huh?

For a desperate instant I considered eating the shards of dough, but don’t have the vapors. I didn’t.

Instead I had a nutritious lunch of English muffins and martini olives.

After which, I put in a call to Garth’s law partner, Peter Roberts.

“Law offices of Janken and Roberts,” a perky receptionist answered. “Oops, I mean law office of Peter Roberts.”

Interesting, I noted, that Janken had top billing in the law practice.

“May I help you?” she asked in a friendly voice, about a zillion times more friendly than Prudence Bascomb’s dragon lady secretary.

I asked if I could speak with Peter.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, he’s in court all week. Would you like to leave a message?”

Once again, I posed as an insurance investigator looking into Garth Janken’s death, and asked her to please have Mr. Roberts call me back as soon as possible.

“Of course,” she promised. “I’ll get the message to him right away.”

Not two minutes after I hung up, the phone rang.

Wow, that was fast. Miss Perky really had gotten the message to him right away.

I answered it eagerly.

“Mr. Roberts?”

“No, this is not Mr. Roberts,” a no-nonsense woman replied. “Am I speaking with Jaine Austen?”

“Yes.”

“This is Elizabeth Drake from Century National Insurance Fraud Unit.”

Gulp. I smelled trouble ahead.

“Ms. Austen, we received a call from a Mrs. Libby Brecker, inquiring about a Century National investigator named Jaine Austen.”

Damn that Libby.

“The only Jaine Austen we have on our records is you, and you’re a customer.”

“A loyal customer, too,” I hastened to assure her.

“Be that as it may, I must insist that you cease posing as a Century National representative or we shall be forced to terminate your policy.”

After much groveling and promising to behave myself, I finally got off the phone.

Oh, well. It served me right for trying to pawn off my insurance card on Libby. I should’ve known that a woman who spent her days Windexing reindeer noses would turn out to be a sniveling tattletale.

Somewhat shaken from my brush with the formidable Ms. Drake, I settled down on my sofa to work on my Christmas cards while I waited for Peter Roberts to return my call.

By the time I’d XOXOXO’d my way through my address book at five P.M., I still hadn’t heard from him.

It wasn’t until later that night when Prozac and I were in bed watching Roman Holiday (Prozac has a thing for Gregory Peck), that he finally called.

I launched into my theory about Garth’s roof being sabotaged and asked him if he had any idea who might have done it. I wasn’t the least bit surprised to learn he had no idea, none whatsoever.

But then I got down to why I was really calling.

“By the way,” I said, trying to sound casual, “I hear that you and Mr. Janken were on the verge of dissolving your partnership.”

“As a matter of fact, we were. We’d been together fifteen years, and we decided it was time to call it a day. It was an amicable parting of the ways.” Accent on the amicable. “Garth and I were very good friends.”

He sounded about as believable as a congressman running for office.

“That’s not what I heard. I heard your break-up was pretty ugly.”

“Whoever told you that was wrong,” he said, daggers in his voice. “Dead wrong.”

And then he did a little casual questioning of his own.

“My secretary tells me you’re an insurance investigator. Exactly who do you work for?”

“Oh, no,” I said, eager to stay out of the clutches of the Century National Fraud Unit. “Your secretary must’ve misunderstood. I’m a private investigator.”

“Is that so? Got a license?”

“Of course,” I lied, and got off the phone before he could grill me any further.

That was no help at all. Peter Roberts would go to his grave, or possibly mine, insisting that he and Garth Janken were best buds. How the heck was I going to find out the truth behind their split up?

And then I remembered his perky secretary, and thought of an idea.

Chapter Nine

The next afternoon I got gussied up in a bizgal pantsuit I keep around for job interviews and IRS audits, and headed downtown to pay a little visit to Peter Roberts’s secretary.

Peter’s office was in a glass-and-steel high rise right off the freeway. A glance at the directory in the lobby told me the place was a veritable beehive of attorneys.

I took the elevator up to the twelfth floor and made my way down the hallway to The Law Offices of Janken and Roberts. I was happy to see that Peter hadn’t gotten around to taking Garth’s name down from the door. It would make it that much easier to bring it up in conversation.

I checked my watch. Ten of five. Right on schedule.

Launching Phase One of my plan, I took a deep breath and poked my head in the door. Peter’s secretary, a pert Latina in her early twenties, sat at her computer, biting her lower lip in concentration as her fingers flew over the keyboard.

“Oh, hi!” she grinned, when she noticed me. I was relieved to see that she was as friendly in person as she had been over the phone. “I’m afraid Mr. Roberts isn’t in right now. He’s away in court all week.”

Just what I’d been counting on.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, I just had a job interview down the hall and I’m wondering if you can tell me what it’s like working here in the building. I’m trying to scope the place out before I make a decision.”

“No problem,” she said, waving me in. “Give me a sec and I’ll be right with you. I was just finishing up for the day.”

Exactly why I’d waited till late afternoon to drop by.

I sat down across from her, gazing enviously at her creamy olive skin and eyelashes thick as velvet. I really had to start moisturizing more often.

“Finito!” She closed out her program with a flourish and swiveled to face me.

“So which attorney did you interview with?”

“Allison Whittaker,” I said, reeling off a name I’d seen on one of the offices down the hall. “Of Whitttaker and Wertz.”

Her lush lashes blinked in surprise.

“Allison’s secretary is leaving? Betty?”

“Yes, Betty,” I nodded.

“I wonder why she didn’t tell me. I guess her husband must’ve landed that job in Bakersfield.

“Hold on a sec,” she said, reaching for the phone. “I’m gonna call Betty and congratulate her.”

Acck. This was definitely not part of my plan.

“You can’t do that!” I cried.

“Why?”

“Um. Because Betty just went home. I saw her get on the elevator.”

“Oh, well,” she shrugged. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

Much to my relief, she put down the receiver and began filling me in on the doings at Whittaker and Wertz.

“You’ll like working for Ms. Whittaker. Once in a while she’ll ask you to pick up her dry cleaning, but that’s about as bad as it gets. Watch out for Wertz, though. Their office is known around here as Whittaker and Flirts. The man comes on to all the secretaries. Which is pretty nauseating, considering he has a wife and three kids and a gut the size of the Goodyear Blimp. He made a pass at me my first day on the job. My boyfriend was furious when he found out. Correction. I should say, my fiance. Hector and I just got engaged last month.”

She thrust out her left hand, beaming with pride. A tiny diamond sparkled on her wedding finger.

“How lovely,” I cooed.

“It’s a whole half-carat. I told Hector I didn’t need a real diamond. I said, Hector, cubic zirconia is good enough. But he insisted. Nothing but the best for my Sylvia, that’s what he said. That’s my name, incidentally. Sylvia Alvarez.”

“I’m Charlotte,” I lied, just in case she remembered my name from my earlier phone call. But her mind was miles away from office business.

“Hector and I are getting married in June!” she announced proudly.

“How wonderful. Congratulations.”

“Hey, let me ask you something.” She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a copy of Modern Bride.

“Which dress do you like better?” she asked, pointing first to a picture of an elegant Vera Wangish A-line and then to a frilly traditional nipped-at-the-waist model.

“They’re both really nice.”

“But if you had to choose.”

“I guess I’d go with the A-line.”

“Really?” Her brow furrowed in doubt. “I like the clean lines, but I’ve always dreamed of getting married in a Cinderella dress.”

“With a figure like yours, you’re bound to look great in either one.”

A little shameless flattery couldn’t hurt. And besides, I wasn’t lying. The fattest part of her body were her eyelashes.

“You don’t think I need to go on a diet?”

Why do the skinny ones always want to go on a diet?

“Absolutely not,” I assured her. “You look amazing.” And then I added, in what I must confess was a brilliant segue: “I guess you stay thin working for two attorneys. They must keep you hopping. What are they like, anyway?”

“Oh, I only work for Mr. Roberts. Mr. Janken is deceased.” She lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “A horrible accident. He fell off his roof putting up Christmas decorations! Did you ever hear of anything so gruesome? I told my father, ‘Papi, don’t you dare put Christmas lights on the roof this year. You could fall and hurt yourself. A tree in the window is good enough.’”

It looked like little Sylvia was a bit of a chatterbox. Now all I had to do was get her to chatter about Garth and Peter.

“What about Mr. Roberts? What’s he like?”

And just like that, an invisible screen slammed down between us.

“Oh, he’s a very nice gentleman,” she said, stiffly.

Although perfectly willing to share the details of her wedding and her parents’ Christmas decorations, she wasn’t about to badmouth her boss, not yet, not until she knew me better. Clearly I’d have to win her trust.

Which was where Phase Two of my plan went into effect.

“So,” I asked. “Is there a place to have lunch here in the building?”

“Oh, sure. There’s a coffee shop downstairs. The food’s pretty good.”

“Any place to unwind after work?”

“There’s The Legal Eagle, right next door. They have a fantastic happy hour. People from the building go there all the time.”

Just what I wanted to hear.

“I love their buffalo chicken wings. I’ve tried to make them at home, but I can never get the spices right. I think I’m adding too much cumin. Or maybe it’s chili powder. I always get the ‘c’ spices confused.”

“Hey,” I said, as if I’d just thought of it on the spur of the moment. “Want to go there right now? I’m sort of wiped out from that interview and I could really use a margarita.”

“I don’t know,” she hesitated. “I really should get home.”

“My treat. For helping me out.”

She flashed me another grin. “Okay, what the heck? Hector’s working late tonight anyway.”

She locked up the office and off we trotted to The Legal Eagle, Phase Two of my plan now in full swing. With any luck, I’d get Sylvia tootled enough to dish the dirt about Garth and Peter and their “amicable” split up.

Sylvia was right about those buffalo wings. They were scrumptious. Spicy, but not too spicy. I absolutely could not allow myself to eat more than two. Three, tops. Okay, five at the outside.

Happy Hour had just begun when we showed up and the place was doing a brisk business. It was one of those ersatz turn of the century pubs with a massive mahogany bar and mock gaslight sconces on the walls. We managed to snag two seats at the bar, in grabbing distance of the buffalo wings, and I quickly proceeded to order us two frosty margaritas.

I was thrilled to see Sylvia suck hers up like a Hoover.

This was going to be a piece of cake. She’d be tootled in no time, and dishing the dirt with a trowel!

Or so I thought.

She got tootled all right, but all she wanted to talk about was that dratted wedding of hers.

“So do you really like the A-line?” she asked, the minute we were seated.

It took me a minute to realize she was still talking about her wedding dress.

“Oh, yes,” I assured her, “it’s lovely.”

“I’m afraid it’s too plain.”

“Then maybe you should go with the Cinderella dress.”

“I know, but that might be too fussy.”

I took a healthy slug of my margarita. Yes, this was definitely going to be tougher than I thought.

No matter how much I tried to deflect the conversation away from her wedding, she kept coming back to it like a well-trained homing pigeon. I learned every detail of her floral arrangements (violets, to match her bridesmaids’ lilac gowns), her deejay (Hector’s cousin Ricardo, aka “Little Ricky,” who, in case you’re interested, does a dynamite Elvis impersonation), and the cake (an agonizing fifteen minute dissertation on the merits of yellow cake with chocolate cream frosting versus white with strawberry preserves). I thought I’d died and gone to Wedding Planning Hell.

“The thing that’s really got me worried,” she said, starting in on her second margarita, “is Estella.”

“Estella?”

“Hector’s mother. What a witch. I can’t tell you how awful she’s been.”

Oh, yes, she could. And she did. Another excruciating half hour dragged by as I heard each and every one of Estella’s many character flaws.

By now I’d long passed my five-Buffalo-wing limit and was inhaling them faster than the speed of light.

“She’s always criticizing me,” Sylvia whined. “Nothing I ever do is good enough. The first time I cooked dinner for Hector and his parents, I made a roast chicken. Okay, so I was stupid and didn’t know anything about cooking, and I forgot to take out the plastic bag with the liver and gizzards and stuff.

“Well, you’d think the world came to an end. That was three years ago, and to this day, Estella tells anybody she meets about the time I cooked the chicken with the plastic bag inside.”

I tsk-tsked in sympathy, desperately trying to keep my eyelids propped open.

“I just know she’s going to ruin my wedding. Somehow she’ll think of a way to screw things up. I wouldn’t be surprised if she interrupts the ceremony to tell that stupid chicken story.”

“I’m sure she won’t do that.”

“Don’t bet on it,” she said, polishing off her second margarita and signaling the bartender for a third. “The woman is capable of anything. Did I ever tell you about the time I caught her going through my underwear drawer?”

“Yes, I believe you mentioned that about ten minutes ago.”

“Let me tell you, it’s been utter hell to live through.”

And listen to, too.

“At least there’s no stress at your office,” I said, gamely trying to steer the conversation back to Garth and Peter. “Your boss sounds like a really nice guy.”

“He’s okay, I guess,” she said, licking the last of the salt from the rim of her margarita glass. “Although he can be awfully fussy when it comes to his coffee. He swears he can tell the difference between Equal and Sweet ‘N Low. Heaven forbid I make a mistake and get him Sweet ‘N Low—”

Enough, already! I had to be firm and nip this Artificial Sweetener Tangent in the bud.

“I guess you must really miss Mr. Janken.”

“Are you crazy? He was one nasty S.O.B.”

“Really?” I sat up straight, finally interested in what she had to say.

“Thank goodness I wasn’t his secretary. He ran through them like water. Couldn’t keep one to save his soul. So demanding. He made Estella look like a saint.”

“How did he get along with Mr. Roberts?”

“He didn’t. Peter put up with him for years, but finally he had enough. He wanted to dissolve the partnership. At first Garth didn’t seem to care. But then when he learned that his biggest client was switching his account over to Peter, he hit the roof. Garth stormed into Peter’s office, screaming at the top of his lungs.”

At last—after packing away three margaritas and two $12 shrimp cocktails—she was finally on a roll!

“I was sitting at my desk, and I heard him clear as day: If you think you’re taking The Great Litigator with you, he shouted, you’re crazy!”

“The Great Litigator?”

“That’s what Garth called his client, because the guy was constantly suing people. You’re not taking him or anybody else with you, he told Peter. I know what you did back in Ohio, and I’ve got evidence to prove it. I intend to report you to the bar association. And when I do, you’re going to lose your license so fast your head will be spinning.”

“Ohio? What did Peter do in Ohio?”

“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “Little Ricky called to talk about wedding music then and I got distracted.”

Darn that Little Ricky.

Oh, well. I’d still gotten quite an earful. Garth had been threatening Peter with disbarment. Which sounded like a viable motive for murder to me.

“Gosh, look at the time,” I said, making a big show of checking my watch. “It’s been fun chatting, but I really should be going.”

“Thanks for the margaritas, Charlotte. And the shrimp cocktails. I can’t believe I ordered two of them.”

Neither could I. But I assured her it had been my pleasure and waved to the bartender for the check.

He brought it over with impressive speed, and just when I was stifling a gasp over the total, I heard someone say:

“Hey Sylvia, how’s it going?”

I looked up and saw a tall well-dressed black woman heading toward us.

“Betty!” Sylvia blinked, confused. “What are you doing here? Charlotte said she saw you leaving hours ago.”

Oh, crud. It was Betty, the secretary I was supposed to have met this afternoon.

“Do I know you?” she asked me, puzzled.

“Sure,” Sylvia piped up. “You guys met when Charlotte interviewed for your job today.”

“What are you talking about?” Betty said. “I’m not leaving my job. And I didn’t go home hours ago.”

Uh-oh. My cue to exit.

“Well, see ya round.”

And without any further ado, I slapped fifty bucks on the bar, grabbed a chicken wing for the road, and got the heck out of there.

I drove home, filled with a sense of accomplishment—and enough Buffalo wings to stock a chicken farm.

Thanks to my successful, if costly, rendezvous with Sylvia, I now had a new suspect to add to my list.

Garth had been threatening to rat on Peter Roberts to the bar association. What incriminating evidence had Garth been holding over Peter’s head? And more important, how the heck was I going to get my hands on it?

I’d bet my bottom Pop Tart it was stashed away somewhere in Garth’s house.

Which meant I had no choice, really, but to tootle over to Hysteria Lane and break into the place.

Chapter Ten

At seven A.M. the next morning, I was parked across the street from Cathy Janken’s house on my first ever professional stakeout.

It had been hell hauling myself out of bed at six to get ready for this gig, but now that I was here I was starting to feel quite Private Eye-ish. I’d come fully prepared with breakfast, lunch, a thermos of coffee, and an audiotape of Anna Karenina I’d bought ages ago and never got around to listening to.

And, of course, a bottle to tinkle in.

Hey, I’d seen Stakeout I and II. I knew the ropes.

I was prepared to camp out in my car until I saw Cathy leave her house. At which point I’d scoot over and do a little Breaking and Entering.

I was keeping my fingers crossed, though, that none of my stakeout accessories would be necessary. I remembered the sweat suit Cathy had been wearing when we first met, and I was hoping she was one of those maddeningly noble people who start the day with a workout at the gym.

But no such luck.

Hour after hour dragged by with no sign of Cathy.

By eight A.M., I’d finished my breakfast. By nine A.M., I’d finished my lunch. I tried to get into Anna Karenina, but in spite of three cups of coffee zinging through my veins, I was bored to tears. By the time the last chapter rolled around, I was rooting for the train.

Five hours, four coffees, and two diet Cokes later, I was desperate to take a tinkle.

I took out the empty liter bottle of Sprite I’d brought along for this purpose and eyed it with dismay. How on earth was I ever going to do this? I could never get my aim straight in the ladies room at my gynecologist’s office; no way was I going to do it in a Sprite bottle. Had I lost my mind, bringing along a bottle with such a tiny neck?

Now what the heck was I supposed to do?

I couldn’t very well ring a neighbor’s bell and ask to use their bathroom.

For a few agonizing minutes I tried to hold it in, but it was impossible. With an angry curse, I started the car and sped over to the nearest Jack in the Box where I availed myself of their facilities. Okay, so I picked up an order of fries while I was at it. It had been ages since I’d eaten my lunch at nine A.M., and I was hungry.

Grabbing my fries, I got in the Corolla and raced back to Hysteria Lane. Just my luck, Cathy had probably strolled out of the house the minute I’d gone.

But no. Lady Luck finally decided to give me a break.

Just as I was pulling back into my stakeout space, I saw Cathy come out of her house and drive off in her SUV.

The minute she was gone, I leapt out of the Corolla and grabbed a gift-wrapped box from the backseat. There was nothing actually inside the box. I’d brought it along in case one of the neighbors saw me snooping around. I’d just tell them I was bringing Cathy a Christmas gift. Clever of me, wasn’t it?

A darn sight smarter than the Sprite bottle, anyway.

I reached back in the car for a final handful of fries, then trotted across the street and rang Cathy’s bell. I wanted to make sure nobody was home. Maybe there was a cleaning lady inside just waiting to pounce on me.

But nobody answered the door, and satisfied that the coast was clear, I crept around the side of the house, testing for open windows.

Everything was sealed tighter than a Beverly Hills facelift.

And suddenly I was overcome with doubts. What if none of the windows were open and I had to force open one of the doors? I’d brought along my professional Breaking and Entering Tool (a shish kebab skewer I’d grabbed at the last minute), but really, I had no idea how to force open a door. I had a hard enough time getting the wrapping off a CD. What made me think I’d be able to hack my way past a dead bolt? And even if I did, what if Cathy had an alarm system? True, there weren’t any security signs out front, but what if she had one?

Just when I was about to slink back to the Corolla in defeat, I spotted a small window above a jasmine bush at the back of the house. The bush was camouflaging the window, but on closer inspection, I saw that it was open.

Thank heavens. I wouldn’t have to force any doors and set off any alarms.

I scurried to the window and tossed my empty Christmas package under the jasmine bush. Then I hoisted myself up to the ledge, which was no easy feat with those prickly jasmine branches scratching my fanny.

Shoving my upper body in the room, I saw that it was a guest bathroom. What a lucky break that Cathy had left the window open.

And that’s when my luck came to a screeching halt. The upper half of my body sailed through the window without incident, but sad to say, my lower half did not have such an easy time of it. Somewhere in the dreaded hip/tush zone, I’d come to a standstill. Yes, like 99 percent of all the bathing suits I’ve ever tried on in my life, the window frame was too small for me. My hips simply wouldn’t squeeze through.

In defense of my hips, I should tell you that the window was pretty darn small. That’s probably why Cathy had left it open in the first place. Clearly she wasn’t expecting any anorexic cat burglars. I should’ve realized I might not have squeezed through, but I hadn’t, and it was too late now. I’d just have to climb down and give up this stupid breaking and entering plan.

I started to push myself back out of the window. But, to my horror, I couldn’t budge.

Oh, crud. I was stuck.

What a nightmare. Eventually one of the neighbors was bound to notice a tush hanging out of Cathy Janken’s house. Why the heck had I scarfed down all those chicken wings last night? Not to mention breakfast—and lunch—this morning. And that last handful of fries. What if those last few fries had wedged me in for good?

By now I was in an advanced state of panic. Any minute now the cops would come and arrest me! My name would be splashed all over the papers. I could see the headlines: FANNY BANDIT FOILED IN REAR ENTRY!

Just when I was cursing the day I ever heard of Seymour Fielder and Fiedler on the Roof Roofers, I noticed a jar of hand lotion on the bathroom counter. Could I possibly use that as a lubricant and grease my way loose? It was a long shot, but worth a try. I reached for the lotion, but it was just out of my grasp. Grinding my teeth in frustration, I tried once more.

And then a miracle happened. Somehow, in stretching my muscles, I must’ve loosened up that fraction of an inch I’d needed to set myself free. Because suddenly I found myself popping through Cathy’s window like a human champagne cork.

I slid onto her imported tile counter, gasping for air, and clinging to a towel rack for dear life.

Me and my hips had made it, after all.

Plucking jasmine blossoms off my rear, I set out in search of Garth’s home office. After everything I’d just been through, I sure hoped he had one. I found what I was looking for at the front of the house, across from the living room: A masculine library cum office, with built-in bookcases, leather furniture and hunting prints galore. Very British Lord of the Manor. But what caught my eye was the cherrywood desk by the window, complete with laptop and hand-tooled leather desk accessories.

Wasting no time, I scooted over to it and began rifling through the drawers.

The top drawer contained the usual assortment of rubber bands and paperclips, as well as a bottle of Viagra and a lifetime membership card from The Hair Club For Men.

I now knew that the impressive mane of hair I’d seen in Garth’s portrait wasn’t his own, and that he’d needed a little help in the dipsy doodle department. All very interesting, but no help whatsoever in my search for incriminating evidence against Peter Roberts.

I hoped I’d have better luck with the two deep file drawers on either side of the desk. The first one contained nothing but some old computer manuals and a pair of gym socks. And the other was locked.

Oh, well. I’d just have to break out my trusty shish kebab skewer and bust the lock open.

But, as I was about to discover, shish kebab skewers are totally useless when it comes to breaking a lock. After a frustrating ten-minute struggle, I gave up on the skewer and finally managed to pry the drawer open with Garth’s Mark Cross letter opener.

Much to my relief, I saw that it was filled with files.

I quickly started rifling through them. First, under the P’s for Peter. Then the R’s for Roberts.

Nothing.

Then I remembered what Sylvia overheard Garth saying to Peter: I know what you did back in Ohio.

I looked under the O’s. And sure enough, there it was: A file labeled OHIO.

Inside I found a single piece of paper: a reprint of a newspaper clipping from the Cleveland Plain Dealer, dating back twenty years, about the arrest of Peter Robert Simmons, 19, for grand theft auto.

You didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out that Peter Roberts and Peter Robert Simmons were one and the same. Young Peter had no doubt gone straight, dropped the Simmons from his name, and become a successful attorney. And he would’ve gone on suing people happily ever after if Garth hadn’t dug up his criminal past and threatened to rat on him to the bar association.

All of which meant Peter Roberts had a perfect motive for murder.

That clipping had just catapulted him to the Number One spot on my suspect list. I debated about whether I should take it with me and hand deliver it to the cops, but I decided against it. Removing it from the house without a warrant would probably be tampering with state’s evidence. I’d just have to leave it there, and tell the cops about it later.

I was putting it back in the drawer when I saw a familiar name on one of the files. In my earlier haste to find Peter’s name, I hadn’t noticed it. But now it popped out like a neon sign. Right behind PLUMBING EXPENSES, I saw a folder labeled PRUDENCE.

I reached for it eagerly, and pulled out an 8 x 10 photo of a gorgeous redhead, posed against a velvet backdrop, wearing nothing but a smile and a G-string. Down at the bottom of the picture, it said: Brandy Alexander, Stripper Extraordinaire.

I’d never seen that naked body before, but the face was unmistakable. It was Prudence Bascomb. A lot younger and a lot trashier. But it was Prudence, all right.

Holy Moses. Garth hadn’t been bribing Prudence to win the Christmas decorating contest. He’d been blackmailing her. For all I knew, he was putting the squeeze on her for money, too.

What a mother lode of evidence I’d just uncovered. Between digging up dirt on Peter and Prudence, Garth had been one busy little extortioner.

Thrilled with my discoveries, I returned Prudence’s file to the drawer and headed back out to the foyer. I just hoped Cathy wouldn’t notice the mangled lock on the desk.

I was about to slip out the front door, when I glanced into the living room and saw the bowl of candy canes that had been there the day I first visited Cathy.

Gosh, they looked good.

Oh, for crying out loud. What was I thinking? Hadn’t I just gone through the humiliation of having my hips wedged in a bathroom window? I couldn’t possibly allow myself to feed them one more empty calorie! Absolutely not. No way. No how.

As if.

Two seconds later I was sprinting into the living room, reaching for one of the little suckers.

Just as I was about to grab it, I heard the front door open.

“Come on in,” I heard Cathy saying.

Damn it! Cathy was home, and she had someone with her.

I looked around for a place to hide. Not a closet or armoire in sight. So I made a mad dash for the sofa and crouched down behind it.

Please don’t let them come into the living room, I prayed. Let them go to the kitchen or the dining room. Anywhere but the living room.

“Come on into the living room,” Cathy said.

Argggh.

“I can’t stay long, babe,” I heard a man reply as they walked into the room. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

Whoa, Nellie. There was a man in the house and he was calling Cathy “babe.” Something told me this wasn’t a condolence call.

“C’mon, Jimmy,” Cathy cooed. “Work can wait. And besides, didn’t you have a present you wanted to give me?”

“So I did, dollface. So I did.”

Before I knew it, Cathy and this Jimmy guy were on the sofa, going at it like two crazed rabbits. Clothes started flying—lace bra, thong undies, a pair of boxer shorts. Finally, a man’s blue denim shirt sailed over the back of the sofa and landed at my feet. And not just any blue denim shirt. I blinked in amazement when I saw a US Postal Service logo on the front.

Yikes. It looked like Cathy Janken was having an affair with the hunky neighborhood mailman!

I’ll spare you the details of what happened next.

Let’s just say I’m surprised they didn’t set fire to the sofa cushions.

“Oh, Jimmy,” Cathy sighed when it was over. “We’re going to be so happy together. You’ll never have to lift another mail pouch for as long as you live. I’ve got more than enough money for both of us. Garth left me a very wealthy woman.”

“You know I don’t care about money,” Jimmy protested feebly.

Yeah, right. Just like I didn’t care about pepperoni pizza.

“I really gotta get back to work now, babe,” he sighed. “I still got mail to deliver.”

Acck. The moment I’d been dreading. Any second now, he was going to reach behind the sofa to pick up his shirt and discover me cowering there.

I thought about making a run for the door, but was too terrified to move.

“Don’t go,” Cathy pleaded. “Not yet. How about a nice hot bath for two?”

Yes! Yes! Please take a bath! You both need one after the gymnastics you’ve just been through!

“Let’s make it a quick shower. I got a million packages in my truck.”

Okay, a shower’s good, too. Just go!

And they did. Limp with relief, I heard them scampering up the stairs.

The minute the shower started running, I crawled out from behind my hiding space and raced into the foyer, past Jimmy’s mail cart, and out the front door.

The last thing I heard as I made my break for freedom was Cathy singing “Besame Mucho” at the top of her lungs.

So much for the grieving widow.

My muscles had been through the wringer that afternoon, what with crouching behind a sofa for twenty minutes and being shot like a cannonball from a bathroom window.

So the minute I got home, I ran myself a steamy, muscle-relaxing bath, billowing with strawberry-scented bubbles. I sank down into it and sighed in ecstasy.

What a difference forty-eight hours makes.

Just two days ago, I had one measly suspect, and now I had them coming out of my ears.

For starters, there was Cathy Janken. I was still reeling over the tender love scene I’d just witnessed. Clearly her tears on my first visit had been an act. She probably disliked Garth as much as everybody else. Maybe even more. The question was, had she bumped him off to bankroll a happy new life with her macho mailman?

Next, there was Peter Roberts. Garth was threatening to expose his criminal past and get him disbarred. Had Peter sent him tumbling to his death before Garth could carry out his threat?

And what about Prudence Bascomb, aka Brandy Alexander, stripper extraordinaire? Did she scamper up Garth’s roof to put an end to his pesky blackmail demands?

Last but not least, there was Libby Brecker. I hope you haven’t forgotten that pink flocking stuck to her baseboard. I sure hadn’t. No, she was still very much alive and well on my suspect list.

“So who did it?” I asked Prozac, who was sprawled on top of the toilet tank. “What do you think?”

I think it’s time you got out of that tub and fixed me dinner.

She jumped down from the toilet and started waving her tail in her patented Feed Me wag.

“Forget it, Pro.”

Minced Mackerel Guts would be nice.

“It’s not going to happen.”

With bacon bits on top.

“I am not budging from this tub. Not for at least a half hour. There’s dry food in your bowl if you want some.”

But I want Minced Mackerel Guts.

More tail waving, accompanied by a plaintive yowl.

“You’ll get your Minced Mackerel Guts. In a half hour. Not a minute sooner.”

Okay, be that way.

She shot me a dirty look and slunk out the door.

I really had to start disciplining that cat more often; the way she bossed me around was disgraceful. No wonder she ran riot on an airplane. She was spoiled rotten. I vowed that from then on, I was going to be a new sterner cat owner.

I was lying there, feeling quite proud of the new Disciplinary Me, when Prozac came sashaying back in the room with a brand new pair of pantyhose dangling from her mouth.

How that cat manages to open my lingerie drawer is beyond me, but she does it all the time. I’m surprised she hasn’t figured out how to call for pizza.

I think I’ll nibble on your pantyhose while I’m waiting for dinner.

Needless to say, thirty seconds later, I was in the kitchen, water puddling around my ankles, opening a can of Minced Mackerel Guts.

Prozac stood at my feet, gazing up at me with what I could swear was a smirk.

I thought you’d see it my way.

“Some day I swear I’m going to put you up for adoption.”

Yeah, yeah. In the meanwhile, don’t forget the bacon bits.

Chapter Eleven

You know how sometimes you go to sleep with a problem and you wake up the next morning and the answer to your problem is staring you right in the face?

Well, that may happen to you, but it sure didn’t happen to me.

I got up the next morning, still clueless about which of my suspects had sabotaged Garth’s roof.

Oh, well. I’d just have to let everything percolate in my brain and hope that the answer would come to me eventually. In the meanwhile, I needed to take time off from the case and go Christmas shopping.

Every year I vow to buy gifts early and avoid the last-minute crunch. But you know me. I make a lot of vows I don’t keep. (See Discipline the Cat Vow.) In just a matter of days I’d be boarding a plane to Florida and so far, I hadn’t bought a single gift. I couldn’t afford to procrastinate one minute more.

So, fortified with a wholesome breakfast of peanut butter on a Pop Tart, I headed off to do battle at the mall.

I zipped over to Century City and pulled into a coveted parking space right near the escalators, congratulating myself for getting out of the apartment by ten A.M. and beating the crowds.

My game plan was simple.

This year, I would not stand in a daze agonizing over what to buy. I would be a kamikaze shopper, choosing my gifts quickly and decisively.

It didn’t matter what I bought, anyway. Whatever the gift, my mom always says, “Oh, darling. I could’ve bought it for less on the shopping channel.” Really, if you bought my mom a new house, she’d tell you she could get it for less on the shopping channel.

No, this year, I would march into Macy’s and buy practical gifts that everybody could return for something they really wanted. No dithering, no shilly-shallying. If I stuck to my schedule I’d be out of there in an hour.

Hah!

Three hours later, I was still wandering around in a daze, wasting time looking at impractical, impossible-to-pack items like rotisserie cookers, musical flowerpots, and macrame hammocks (perfect for Cousin Joanie’s Chicago condo).

By the time I finally managed to get my act together and pick out my unimaginative assortment of ties, scarves, pajamas and slippers, the stores were crowded and long lines were snaking at the registers. What would’ve taken minutes to buy hours ago, now took forever.

Finally, when the whole horrible ordeal was over and my credit card lay gasping in my wallet, begging for mercy, I headed over to the food court to reward myself with a corn dog and fries.

Which, I have to say, were pretty darn delicious.

I sat there, inhaling my food, grateful that I had a whole 364 days before I had to go through this nightmare again.

And then, just as I was polishing off my fries, I remembered Angel Cavanaugh, and her sledgehammer hints for a Christmas gift.

I’d checked out the L.A. Girlfriends guidebook, and sure enough, although normally frowned upon, “modest gifts” were permitted at Christmas.

I rummaged in my purse till I found the newspaper ad Angel had given me, for a pair of jeans from a store named Hot Stuff. Scrawled in the corner of the ad, in Day-Glo pink marker, were the words: “I wear a size 0.”

I almost choked on my Coke when I saw what they cost: Eighty bucks!

No way was I spending $80 on that kid. Twenty dollars was “modest” enough for me and my MasterCard.

Then I remembered Angel sucking at that inhaler of hers, gasping for air, and a wave of sympathy washed over me. I thought of her crummy apartment and her overworked dad. Something told me she wasn’t going to be getting a lot of gifts this Christmas. Or any other Christmas, for that matter.

Oh, what the heck? I was already in hock to MasterCard for decades to come. What was another $80?

With a weary sigh, I tossed my corn dog wrapper in the trash, and set out to buy a pair of Hot Stuff jeans.

Luckily, there happened to be a Hot Stuff store in the mall. But not-so-luckily, when I got there, I discovered they were sold out of jeans in Angel’s miniscule size 0.

“Would you like me to see if I can find a pair in another store?” the bouncy teenage clerk asked.

Hot Stuff was one of those stores geared to the Clearasil Set, whose idea of a size Large was my idea of a handkerchief.

“That would be great.”

She called around and minutes later got off the phone, grinning.

“Good news! They’ve got one pair left out in Glendale. I told them to hold it for you.”

“Glendale?”

I gulped in dismay. Do you know what it’s like getting from Century City to Glendale in L.A. Christmas traffic? Think the Donner Party, with palm trees.

No way was I going to trek all the way out there for Angel Cavanaugh.

Then once more the image of Angel sucking on that inhaler flashed before my eyes, and the next thing I knew I was crawling along on the freeway, watching my fingernails grow. I swear, I would’ve made better time on a walker.

It took me nearly two hours to get there, and another twenty minutes to circle around looking for a parking spot. Finally I found one at the far end of the lot and hiked over to the Hot Stuff store.

A vacant-eyed teenager sat at the checkout counter, chatting on the phone in what I could only assume was a personal call.

“She didn’t! Really, Cheryl? She actually said that? Why, I’d never speak to her again if I was you, Cheryl. No, sir. I’d tell her exactly where she could put that pom-pom of hers!”

I stood there listening to this fascinating monologue for a few minutes, then finally managed to get her attention.

“Hey! You, with the phone glued to your ear. You’ve got a customer. Remember us? The people you’re supposed to be helping?”

Okay, so what I really said was “Ahem,” but she got the message.

“Hold on a sec,” she said to Cheryl, then turned to me with an irritated sigh. “How may I help you?”

“You’re supposed to be holding a pair of jeans for me at the register.”

She stared at me blankly. “I don’t have any jeans here.”

“Sure, you do. They called a couple of hours ago from Century City.”

“I dunno about any call. I just started my shift five minutes ago.”

“Could you please just look behind the counter for a pair of jeans.”

“Oh, all right.”

With a grudging sigh, she poked behind the counter.

“Nope,” she gloated. “No jeans here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Look for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

I looked, and she was right. Nada. Zip. A jeans-free zone.

Grinding my teeth, I showed her the ad from the paper.

“You have any of these jeans?”

“Over there,” she said, pointing vaguely to a rack in the back of the store.

I hurried over to the rack and checked out the jeans. Thank heavens, there was one pair left in a size 0. I was just about to reach for them when I felt someone tap me on my arm.

I turned to see a short roly-poly woman at my side.

“Would you mind helping me out?” she said, smiling sweetly. “I need one of those sweaters.”

She pointed to some sweaters stacked on a shelf above the jeans.

“No problem,” I said.

“Thank you so much! I need a pink one in a size small. It’s for my niece. All the kids seem to love this place.”

“Don’t I know it,” I said, reaching up to get the sweater.

I turned to hand it to her and I saw, to my consternation, that she’d taken my size 0 jeans from the rack.

“Excuse me. I was going to buy those.”

“Oh?” she said, still smiling sweetly. “So was I.”

“But I saw them first.”

“Well, I’ve got them now.”

For the first time I noticed a glint of steel behind that smile of hers.

“You don’t understand. I called the store and told them to put these jeans on hold for me.”

“What a pity they didn’t.”

“I drove out here all the way from Century City in rush-hour traffic.”

“And all for nothing!” she tsk-tsked. “Well, thanks for helping me with the sweater.”

She traipsed off with the jeans clutched to her ample bosom. And I went a tad ballistic. I charged after her, lunging for the jeans like a bull with anger management issues. But she wasn’t about to let go of them. Not without a fight.

And that’s exactly what happened.

I’m ashamed to say we had a most undignified tussle over those jeans.

I leapt into the fray with confidence. My roly-poly adversary was a good twenty years older than me. Surely I could take her down.

But she was a surprisingly tough fireplug of a lady. After much mutual pushing and clawing, she managed to land a powerful shove that left me flat on my fanny, the contents of my purse scattered on the floor around me.

“Bye, now!” she trilled, skipping off to the register. “And thanks again for the sweater.”

Muttering a string of curses not fit for your delicate ears, I gathered my belongings and stormed over to the checkout counter, where the clerk was ringing up her sale.

“I just love the holiday season!” she chirped to the bored teenager. “It’s such a happy time of year, don’t you think?”

“Whatever,” grunted the clerk.

“I hope you can live with yourself,” I hissed in Ms. Fireplug’s ear.

But she went on chatting, blithely ignoring my eyes boring holes in her back.

Finally the clerk finished her end of the transaction and asked Ms. Fireplug for her credit card.

“Of course, dear!”

She reached into her purse, and suddenly her good mood vanished.

“My wallet,” she gasped. “I’ve lost my wallet!”

“Hah!” I crowed. “That’s what you get for being such a lowdown sneak.”

“If you’re not gonna buy this stuff,” the clerk sighed, “I gotta do a void.”

“I’ll take those jeans,” I piped up.

Together the clerk and I managed to pry the jeans from Ms. Fireplug’s fingers. And after the original sale was voided, I whipped out my credit card and paid for them.

Now it was Ms. Fireplug’s turn to stand glaring at me.

“There you go, Ma’am,” the clerk said, handing me the jeans in a gift box. “Have a nice day.”

“Oh, I will. I most definitely will.”

Then I reached into my pocket for a little something I’d found when I’d been crawling on the floor picking up the contents of my purse.

“I believe you dropped this in our scuffle,” I said, tossing Ms. Fireplug her wallet.

And then I headed out into the mall, the sweet sounds of her curses following in my wake.

I had just started the Himalayan trek back to my car when I noticed a store that stopped me in my tracks. The place was called The Cap Shack, and a sign in the window said: PERSONALIZED BASEBALL CAPS FOR ALL OCCASIONS.

And there in the corner of the window was a bright red cap with the words Fiddler on the Roof embroidered across the front. Fiddler, not Fiedler. The play, not the roofers. It was the only theatrical title among the Old Fart, I Love Grandma, and Kiss Me, I’m Irish baseball caps on display. What, I wondered, was it doing there?

Suddenly the wheels in my brain, rusted from a day at the mall, started spinning. I had a hunch how the Fiddler cap got there and I marched inside to see if I was right.

A skinny kid with a bobbing Adam’s apple sat behind the counter, a baseball cap on his head.

“Welcome to The Cap Shack,” he intoned with all the enthusiasm of a funeral director.

“Hi, Francis.” I knew his name was Francis because it said so on his hat. “I’m hoping you can help me out.”

“You looking for work? Trust me. You don’t wanna work here. It stinks.”

“No, I’m not looking for work. I just want to know if you keep a record of your job orders.”

“Sure. We keep ‘em for six months.”

“You think I could take a look at them?”

“Sorry,” he said, with a lugubrious shake of his head, “I’m not allowed to divulge personal information about our customers.”

Now before I write another syllable, you’ve got to promise that what happened next stays between us. Don’t go ratting on me to Century National, okay?

In spite of the stern warning I’d received from Elizabeth Drake, I whipped out my Century National insurance card and gave one last performance as Jaine Austen, Insurance Investigator. (I swear, Elizabeth, if you’re reading this, I’ll never do it again!)

“You’re really investigating a murder?” Francis asked, his eyes bugging with excitement.

“Yes,” I nodded solemnly. “And I need to see those books.”

Lucky for me, Francis was a gullible soul, and minutes later I was sitting behind the counter poring through a thick looseleaf binder of Cap Shack back orders.

It wasn’t long before I came across what I’d been hoping to find—a work sheet for a red Fiedler on the Roof cap.

All along I assumed someone had stolen one of Seymour’s caps to sabotage Garth’s roof. But I was wrong. Someone had the cap specially made to order. Someone who later planned to take advantage of Willard Cox’s very public feud with Garth and frame him for the murder.

Eagerly, I checked out the customer’s name.

Claudia Jamison.

It had to be a pseudonym. Oh, well. What did I expect? That the killer would use her real name?

But at least now I knew it was a woman.

The question was—which woman? Cathy, the cheating wife? Prudence, the ex-stripper? Or Libby, the Stepford homemaker?

Unfortunately, “Claudia” had paid for the cap in cash, so there was no way to track her down through a credit card.

“Do you remember this woman?” I asked Francis, showing him the work order. “Claudia Jamison?”

I had a feeling this guy had trouble remembering his own name, but it was worth a shot.

“Are you kidding?” he said. “You know how many customers we get in here?”

Not many from the looks of it, but I wasn’t about to contradict him.

“Wait a minute. Here’s my supervisor. Maybe he’ll remember.”

I looked up to see Francis’s “supervisor,” a beanpole of a kid who couldn’t have been more than eighteen.

“Hey, Denzel,” Francis said to his boss. “This lady’s an insurance investigator. She’s investigating a murder.”

“Cool.” Denzel smiled, revealing a mouthful of braces.

“Do you remember this order, Denzel?” I asked, showing him the work sheet. “For a Fiedler on the Roof baseball cap?”

His eyes lit up with what looked like actual intelligence.

“As a matter of fact, I do. We made a mistake on it, and had to do it over again. The first time we wrote Fiddler on the Roof.

“Actually,” he said, pointing to the red cap in the window, “that’s our mistake over there.”

I gave myself a mental pat on the back. That’s what I’d thought had happened.

“Do you remember the lady who ordered it?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Really?” I felt like kissing him, braces and all. “What did she look like?”

“She was a tiny lady, wearing a pastel sweat suit.”

Ta-da. Puzzle solved. At last I knew who’d climbed up Garth’s roof.

Not tall, statuesque Prudence. Or plump, stumpy Libby. Neither one of them was remotely tiny. But Cathy, a delicate doll of a woman, fit the description to a “T.” And she had a pastel sweat suit; she’d been wearing one the day I first came to visit.

What’s more, her initials were C. J. As in Claudia Jamison.

Yes, folks. It looked like I’d just found myself a killer.

Chapter Twelve

It had been ages since I’d scarfed down that corn dog at lunch, and by the time I got home, I was starving.

And I wasn’t the only one. Prozac looked up from her perch on top of the TV and greeted me with a hostile stare.

Where the heck have you been? I’m fainting with hunger.

“Oh, don’t be such a drama queen,” I said, dumping my Christmas gifts on the sofa. “There are cats in Asia who could live for a week on one of your snacks.”

Just move it, okay?

After feeding Prozac a gourmet dinner of Luscious Liver Tidbits and grabbing a fistful of pretzels for myself, I put in a call to Lt. DiMartelli, eager to tell him about Claudia Jamison aka Cathy Janken. But he wasn’t there, so I left a message, begging him to pretty please get back to me as soon as possible.

I figured I’d wait for his call soaking in the tub with a glass of wine and a pepperoni pizza. But when I checked my phone messages, all plans for a catered bath went flying out the window.

Hey, Jaine. Tyler Girard’s voice came on the machine. I’m calling to remind you tonight’s the night of the L.A. Girlfriends Christmas party. Hope you haven’t forgotten.

Acck! I sure had.

The fun starts at seven. See you there!

Seven? Holy mackerel. It was already 6:45.

Kissing my bath good-bye, I showered and dressed with Indianapolis 500 speed.

Then I grabbed Angel’s gift and headed for the door.

“Bye, Pro!”

She didn’t look up from where she was snoring on my computer keyboard. Now that she’d gotten what she wanted, she had no more use for me.

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was my ex-husband.

I drove over to the party, humming an off-key version of “Frosty the Snowman,” not the least bit tired from my eight grueling hours at the mall.

On the contrary, I was feeling quite perky at the thought of seeing Tyler. How nice of him to call and remind me about the party. I couldn’t help thinking that he was interested in me. And not just as a volunteer.

I pulled into the parking lot of St. Philomena’s, a beautiful old church out in Santa Monica where the party was taking place, and checked my hair in the rearview mirror. Not a pretty picture. There’d been no time to blow it straight, and now I was stuck with the ever-popular Finger in the Light Socket Look.

Oh, well, I thought, getting out of the car, there was nothing I could do about it. At least I’d managed to throw together a decent outfit: jeans, a red cashmere turtleneck, and a yummy pair of high-heeled suede boots I’d bought on sale at Nordstrom.

Pulling my sweater down over the dreaded hip/tush zone, I sucked in my gut and headed inside.

The unmistakable aroma of Swedish meatballs greeted me like an old friend when I walked in the door. The party was in full swing, L.A. Girlfriends milling about, filling their plates from a buffet table groaning with goodies.

A Christmas tree was set up in a corner of the room. And in an ecumenical nod to the minorities, a Hanukah menorah and Kwanzaa candleholder were both aglow with candles.

I was relieved to see that most of the Girlfriend Volunteers were pleasant, average-looking gals, much like Yours Truly, hovering in the non-threatening Middle to Upper Middle of the 1-10 scale.

When it came to Tyler Girard, I didn’t need any competition, thank you very much.

“Hey, Jaine. I was afraid you weren’t going to make it.”

Speak of the darling devil, there he was at my side, smiling that endearing smile of his. I’d been so busy scoping the competition, I hadn’t seen him come up behind me.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I said, thinking how nice he looked in his chinos and crew neck sweater.

“Oh, I understand. Traffic’s a bear. Sister Mary Agnes just called. She’s going to be late, too.”

“How nice,” I murmured.

Uh-oh. That hadn’t been the right thing to say, had it? I’d been staring at Tyler’s eyes, trying to decide if they were brown or hazel, and hadn’t really been paying attention.

“I meant, how nice that I’ll finally get a chance to meet her.”

“She’s really looking forward to meeting you, too.” Then he glanced down at my Hot Stuff package. “I see you brought a present for Angel.”

“Who?”

“Angel. Your Girlfriend.”

Drat. I really had to stop staring at him and concentrate.

“Oh, right.”

“It looks expensive. I hope you didn’t go over the twenty dollar limit.”

“Actually, I did. I know I shouldn’t have, but it’s something Angel had her heart set on.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“Well, Angel and I really bonded on our date.”

At that moment I caught a glimpse of Angel at the buffet table, and the sight of her skinny arms reaching out to fill her plate brought on a fresh wave of sympathy for the kid. Maybe we hadn’t bonded on our date. But I knew we would, eventually.

“I’m so glad it worked out,” Tyler said. “I was afraid she might be a handful.”

“Oh, no,” I fibbed. “Not at all.”

“Well, now that you’re here, let’s go get you some dinner. You hungry?”

“A little,” I said, trying not to look like the kind of person who can pack away a dozen Swedish meatballs in a single seating.

“We’d better grab your chow before the festivities begin.”

“Festivities?”

“Yes, after dinner, we open the presents and then Sister Mary Agnes gives a little speech. And then we wrap things up with dessert and coffee.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Oh, it will be.”

He beamed me another heart-melting smile which I beamed right back at him. And then, just as we were establishing meaningful eye contact, a willowy blonde came sashaying over to his side—one of the few 9’s in the crowd—and grabbed him by the elbow.

“Tyler, honey,” she cooed. “I’m going to steal you away.”

I glared at her, fuming.

“Beat it, blondie.”

Okay, I didn’t really say that. I just stood there, faking a stiff smile, fighting my impulse to strangle her.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” she said. “I want to introduce you to my husband!”

With that my smile turned genuine, and my homicidal urges subsided. This harmless woman was married.

Tyler shrugged helplessly.

“Catch you later,” he called out to me as she pulled him away.

I stood there for a dreamy minute wondering what it would be like to be caught by Tyler, preferably in the Honeymoon Suite of the Four Seasons Hotel.

Then I headed over to the Christmas tree. This whole L.A. Girlfriends thing had worked out wonderfully well. True, my initial date with Angel was a bit of a disaster, some might say of Titanic proportions, but that was bound to change. Gradually she’d open up to me, and we’d form a bond that would no doubt last all our lives.

I put Angel’s gift under the tree, lost in a reverie of Angel all grown up and graduating from Berkeley, valedictorian of her class, thanking the woman who changed her life, Jaine Austen Girard, when I heard someone calling my name.

I turned and saw Kevin Cavanaugh, in a frayed sport coat that hung loosely on his thin frame.

“I’m so happy to see you here,” he said. “I thought maybe you’d given up on Angel, the way you raced off the other day.”

“Oh, that. I had an emergency with my cat. A dental problem. Abscessed tooth. Had to be pulled. You don’t know what it’s like trying to find a cat dentist on a weekend.”

What was wrong with me? Couldn’t I just tell a fib without writing a novel about it?

“I’m just glad you’re here. You don’t know how much this means to Angel. I realize she can be difficult, but she’s had a pretty rough time of things.”

“Oh, I know,” I nodded sympathetically. “What with her asthma and all.”

“Asthma?” Kevin blinked, puzzled. “Angel doesn’t have asthma.”

“What?”

“Don’t tell me that’s what she told you.”

“Well, actually—”

“No, I mean it. Don’t tell me. If I hear that kid has told one more lie, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

He shot me a pleading look, his pale eyes watery with despair. The guy was just a step away from jumping off a cliff into a mental breakdown. And I wasn’t about to push him over the edge.

“Oh, no!” I assured him. “She never said that. I must’ve misunderstood. I’ll go have a little talk with her now and straighten everything out.”

I gave him a cheerful wave good-bye, hoping he couldn’t see the vein in my neck that was throbbing with fury, and marched over to Angel, who was still at the buffet table.

I thought of all the trouble I’d been through to get those jeans, the hours stuck in traffic, the horrible battle with Ms. Fireplug. All because I felt sorry for the poor little asthmatic waif. I was so mad, I was surprised steam wasn’t coming out of my ears.

I found Angel in front of the Swedish meatballs, poking another little girl in the chest.

“But I can’t afford to pay you protection money,” the other kid wailed.

Stepping between them, I took the other kid by the shoulders and knelt down so we were face to face.

“Don’t pay Angel a dime, sweetheart,” I told her. “If she threatens you again, call me. I’ll take care of it.”

I gave her one of my business cards, then got up and turned to Angel, breathing fire.

“Did you bring my present?” she had the nerve to ask.

“Yes,” I snarled, “I brought your present.”

“Good. I’m gonna get it right now and make tracks outta here. This party’s nothing but a bunch of dorks.”

“Not so fast, kiddo,” I said, grabbing her by the elbow. “We need to talk. In private.”

My hand a vise around her wrist, I dragged her to a small pantry behind the buffet. Inside was a table laden with the desserts that were to be served after the gift-opening ceremonies. I was glad to see that nobody else was there.

“Whaddaya want?” she whined, as I yanked her inside and shut the door behind us.

“The truth. I know you don’t really have asthma.”

She shot me a defiant stare.

“So?”

“So, you lied to me.”

“And you fell for it.”

And then she smirked. The little monster was actually proud of herself.

“What about that inhaler?”

“I found it in the garbage.”

Still smirking.

“I’m really angry, Angel.”

“Oh, wow. I’m shaking in my shoes.”

“Do you have any idea how much I paid for those jeans?”

“Yeah. $79.99. Plus tax.”

And then, with that smirk planted firmly on her face, she said one more word that pushed me over the edge: “Sucker.”

“That’s what you think, kiddo,” I hissed.

I turned and started for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To get my gift back.”

“You can’t do that!” she wailed.

“Oh, yeah? Watch me.”

I’d just made it to the door and was about to reach for the knob when I felt something soft and squishy hit me in the neck.

I scraped it off and looked down at the remains of a chocolate eclair on my fingers. And my cashmere sweater. And my beautiful suede boots. Which, needless to say, weren’t so beautiful anymore.

Angel’s smirk had now blossomed into a malicious grin.

I marched back to the dessert table, determined to wipe it off her face, and grabbed an eclair.

“You wouldn’t dare hit a kid,” Angel sneered, as I held it aloft.

I hated to admit it, but she had a point. I was a grown woman. I wasn’t actually going to demean myself by getting into a food fight with a twelve-year-old, was I?

Apparently, yes.

Because the next thing I knew I was smushing that eclair in Angel’s face. And loving every minute of it.

“Hah!” I cried.

Actually, I only got as far as “H—” Because just then, she lobbed me in the mouth with a double fudge brownie. (Which, I might add, was quite delicious.) But for once I did not take time to savor my chocolate. I lobbed her right back with a wedge of pumpkin pie, and she zapped me with a fistful of mocha mousse. I retaliated with a volley of Christmas trifle, and she let me have it with a hunk of marshmallow-studded Jell-O.

I don’t know how long we continued in this disgraceful vein. All I know is she’d just dumped the entire contents of an eggnog bowl over my head when I heard: “Jaine, what’s going on here?”

Wiping eggnog from eyes, I looked up and saw Tyler in the doorway, staring at us, aghast.

“She attacked me!” Angel said, suddenly the wide-eyed innocent.

“She started it!” I cried.

“She squished an eclair in my face,” Angel sniffled, summoning fat tears to her eyes.

Man, this kid deserved an Oscar.

“Did you actually hit her with an eclair?” Tyler asked me, radiating disbelief.

“Only because she hit me first!”

“And then she threw pumpkin pie at me. And trifle, too!” Angel moaned piteously, channeling Orphan Annie, Little Eva, and Tiny Tim all in one.

Tyler’s disbelief had turned to disgust.

“How could you, Jaine? She just a little girl.”

“Oh, no, Tyler. That’s where you’re wrong. She’s not a little girl. She’s the devil’s spawn. Five minutes with this kid is like a year in Guantanamo. I drove two hours in freeway traffic to buy her a pair of $80 jeans and had to fight Ms. Fireplug all because I thought she had asthma which was a total lie, and I don’t care if I did find Garth’s killer at the mall, she got the inhaler from the garbage!”

Okay, so I was rambling a tad. I was upset.

“Killer? What killer?” Tyler asked. “And who’s Garth?”

I never got to answer his questions because just then we were joined by another visitor.

“What on earth is happening in here?”

Tyler gulped. “Sister Mary Agnes!”

I looked over at the stumpy woman standing in the doorway, and blinked in disbelief.

Omigosh.

It was Ms. Fireplug!

Whatever happened to the good old days when nuns wore wimples and long black robes so you knew they were nuns and didn’t wind up wrestling them to the floor for a pair of Hot Stuff jeans?

I mean, really, if I’d had any idea that Ms. Fireplug was a nun that afternoon, I would’ve handed over the jeans, wished her a Merry Christmas, and trotted off to the food court to drown my frustrations in a frozen yogurt.

“I knew she was trouble the minute I saw her,” she now said to Tyler.

“Do you two know each other?” he asked.

“We’ve met,” I managed lamely.

“She stole my wallet.”

“That’s not true!” I protested. “She dropped it and I was returning it to her.”

Tyler stared at me, slack jawed, disillusionment oozing from every pore. Whatever spark I’d felt between us had been stomped to oblivion.

“It’s no use trying to explain,” I sighed. “I’ll just go.”

“Maybe you’d better,” he said softly.

By now a gaggle of L.A. Girlfriends had gathered around the pantry door, whispering among themselves.

With as much dignity as I could muster under the circumstances, I plucked a piece of fudge brownie off my fanny and walked past the gauntlet of their disapproving glares.

Outside the church, I passed a statue of Philomena, the patron saint of lost causes. She seemed to be gazing down at me, pity in her eyes.

Sorry, kiddo, I could almost hear her saying. Wish I could help, but you’re too much of a lost cause, even for me. Try Bernadette over at Lourdes.

Then I trudged to my car and drove home in a cloud of humiliation and assorted desserts, leaving chocolate stains on the seat of my Corolla that I have to this day.

Chapter Thirteen

For two blissful seconds the next morning I had no memory of the Girlfriends debacle, but then it all came rushing back to me like an overflowing septic tank.

What was wrong with me, getting into a food fight with a twelve-year-old? I was a failure as a volunteer and a disgrace to freelance writer/private eyes everywhere.

What’s more, I’d totally scotched things with Tyler, and had about as much chance of getting a writing gig from Sister Mary Agnes as I had of fitting into Angel’s size 0 jeans. Which, incidentally, I never did take with me when I left. So the little brat would get to wear them, after all.

Oh, well. I had to keep reminding myself that if I hadn’t been out in Glendale, I would never have discovered Garth’s killer.

I made up my mind to forget about last night’s fiasco and get back to Garth’s murder, which, after what I’d just been through, was beginning to look like a ride in the wine country.

I put in another call to DiMartelli, but he wasn’t in. The desk sergeant told me he was expected around noon, and I planned to be there the minute he walked in the door. Willard Cox would be convicted and serving a life sentence before the good lieutenant ever returned my call, and I was determined to tell him my story.

After a gourmet breakfast of Pop Tarts and Pancreas Entrails (the entrails were for Prozac), I got dressed and drove over to my dry cleaner. I figured I might as well get some errands done while I waited for DiMartelli to show up.

The clerk had a hearty chuckle when I asked him if he could get eggnog/eclair/brownie/chocolate mousse stains off my cashmere sweater and suede boots. Yes, indeed. Just about broke the meter on his giggle-o-meter.

I bid him a haughty good-bye and was heading back to my car with my ruined clothing when I realized I hadn’t filled Ethel Cox in on what I’d discovered at the mall. She had no idea that, thanks to yours truly, her husband would soon be out of jail. So I decided to make a quick pit stop at Hysteria Lane and tell her the good news.

“Sweet little Cathy Janken?” Ethel blinked in surprise. “A killer?”

We were seated across from each other in her living room, where I’d just finished telling her about my adventures at The Cap Shack.

“Absolutely,” I nodded. “She’s having an affair with another man and wanted out of the marriage. So she sabotaged the roof, then later planted her specially ordered roofer’s cap in Willard’s toolbox to frame him for the murder.”

“Oh, dear.” Ethel shook her head in dismay. “That’s just awful. To kill her own husband, and then to blame poor Willard.”

Clearly she hadn’t glommed onto the plus side of the story.

“Don’t you see, Ethel? As soon as I tell the police how Cathy Janken aka Claudia Jamison ordered that roofer’s cap, Willard will be off the hook.”

“Do you really think the police will let him go?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Oh, Jaine! That’s wonderful!” And for the first time since this mess began, I saw a smile on her face. “How can Willard and I ever thank you?”

Just seeing her smile was thanks enough. After my dismal failure as an L.A. Girlfriend, I was happy to finally bring joy to someone’s life.

“I know!” she said. “Let’s celebrate with some tea and homemade brownies.”

You’d think after last night’s flying dessert-a-thon I’d never be able to look at another brownie again, but you’d be wrong.

“Sure,” I said, as always unable to resist the lure of chocolate.

“Make yourself comfy, sweetheart,” she said, bustling off to the kitchen, “while I make the tea!”

Alone in the room, I got up to admire the Coxes’ stately Christmas tree in the corner, heavily laden with elaborate reindeer ornaments. With any luck, Willard would soon be home to celebrate his reindeer-themed Christmas.

I wandered over to the fireplace, where a single stocking hung from the mantel, embroidered with the name “Pumpkin.” Poor Pumpkin, I sighed. Clearly Ethel was having trouble letting go of her beloved pet.

I was just about to head back to the sofa when I noticed an airline ticket lying on the mantel. Snoop that I am, I picked it up and peeked at it. It was a round trip ticket to Bermuda, in Ethel’s name, leaving Christmas day.

How odd. Why would Ethel be going to Bermuda at a time like this? Maybe she had relatives there and was going for emotional support. Still, it was strange she’d be leaving Willard alone in his time of crisis.

And then I saw something else on the mantel, something that sent a chill down my spine. It was a brochure for a quaint bed and breakfast. It wasn’t the inn itself that jolted me. In fact, it looked like a very lovely place. No, what made the little hairs on my neck stand at attention was the name of the inn: The Claudia Jamison House.

Holy Moses. Could it be? Was Ethel Claudia Jamison?

At that moment I became aware of footsteps behind me. I whirled around to see Ethel coming at me—not with tea and brownies—but wielding one of Willard’s huge neon candy canes.

The last thing I noticed before it came crashing down on my skull was what Ethel was wearing:

A pastel sweat suit.

Just like Claudia Jamison.

I came to on the floor near the Christmas tree, my wrists and ankles bound tightly with packing twine, my head throbbing like a bongo drum.

Ethel was kneeling over me, putting the finishing touches on the twine around my ankles.

How wrong I’d been about Ethel. All along, I thought she was a helpless housefrau. The woman was about as helpless as a Sherman tank.

I tried to lift my head and set off a thousand drumbeats of pain.

“Oh, dear!” Ethel looked around, startled. “I didn’t realize you’d come to. You poor thing,” she said, clucking in sympathy, “your head must be pounding. I’d give you an aspirin, but you’ll be dead soon anyway. So why waste an aspirin?”

I gulped at this latest news bulletin, setting off a fresh wave of bongo beats. If indeed I was headed for my final reward, I’d be darned if I was going to go without a fight.

“So you killed Garth,” I said, stalling for time.

“Well, duh, as you young people say. Of course I did. Such fun pretending to be a roofer and loosening those shingles!”

“But why?”

“Because he killed Pumpkin. That was no accident. Garth ran over my poor baby on purpose. So naturally he had to die.”

“But I don’t understand. Why frame Willard for the murder?”

“Oh, Willard,” she said, with a dismissive wave. “I’m so tired of that man, always bossing me around. Gave me his lunch order every day like I was a waitress at a restaurant. I swear, I never want to cook another meal for him as long as I live.”

So Cathy Janken wasn’t the only one who’d wanted to dump her husband. I’d been pinning my suspicions on the wrong desperate housewife.

“What a pill!” Ethel grumbled. “Forty-three years of marriage and we went on the same dratted vacation every summer. Fishing on Lake Arrowhead. I hung around the cabin all day, bored silly, while he caught fish. And then I had to clean the stinky things.

“I begged him to take me places. All my life I’ve wanted to lie on the sand in Bermuda, but no, he’s so selfish. Everything’s got to be his way or no way.

“So you see, dear, I had to get rid of him.”

“Ever hear of a little thing called divorce?”

“Oh, no!” Ethel blinked, horrified. “I could never do that. It’s a sin, you know.”

Yikes. Murder and sending her husband to jail was okay, but divorce was a no-no. The woman had enough loose screws to open her own hardware store.

“I’d never kill Willard. I just wanted him out of the way. Besides, prison will be good for him. It’s time he learned to take orders from somebody else for a change.”

Our cozy chat was interrupted by the sound of my cell phone ringing in my purse.

“Don’t get up, sweetheart,” Ethel said. “I’ll see who it is. Ha ha. That was a joke.”

“I got it.” And yet, I wasn’t laughing.

Ethel scooted over to the sofa where I’d left my purse and checked out my caller ID.

“It’s the police.”

Great. Now they’re getting back to me.

“I’m afraid you won’t be returning this call,” she said. “Or any other calls, for that matter.”

She picked up a china tea cup from the coffee table and headed back to me.

“What a shame,” she sighed. “If only you hadn’t interfered. I didn’t mind killing Garth, but you seem like such a nice girl. I hate to have to kill you, too.”

“Then don’t. I swear, I won’t say a word to the cops. Honest. Garth was an awful man; he deserved to die. And as for Willard, hey, prison’s not so bad.”

“I wish I could believe you,” she said, kneeling at my side, “but I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Now drink this, sweetheart. I brewed it while you were sleeping.” She gently propped my head into a sipping position. “It’s some lovely Constant Comment tea, with a tad of rat poison.”

“Sounds tempting, but I’ll pass.”

“I really wish you’d drink it, dear. Otherwise I’ll have to bludgeon you to death with my candy cane, and I really hate getting my carpet all bloody. But I will if have to.”

“Just what do you intend to do with my body?”

“Oh, I’ll put it in the freezer till I get back from Bermuda. I’ll figure out something then.

“Bottoms up,” she said, holding the tea cup to my lips. “Just remember. If you don’t drink it, I’ll bash your head in. And that won’t be very pleasant, will it?”

No way was I going to open my mouth and drink this stuff. I had to do something to stop her.

“Okay,” I lied, “I’ll drink it. But can you grant me one last wish before I die?”

“That depends. What’s the wish?”

“I’d really love one of your brownies. They were so darn delicious.”

“How sweet of you to say so.” She blushed with pleasure. “It’s so nice to get a compliment for a change. I must’ve cooked 60,000 meals for Willard but did I ever get a thank you? No, I did not.”

“So can I have one?”

“I’m afraid they’re in the freezer.”

“Can’t you nuke one for me? And maybe heat up the tea? It looks sort of cold.”

“Well, okay. But after the brownie, then you promise you’ll die without a fuss?”

“Cross my heart.”

Much to my relief, she got to her feet and started off for the kitchen.

“Don’t even think of crying out for help while I’m gone,” she warned. “Otherwise I’m going to have to gag you.”

Damn. Plan A just went flying out the window.

As she skipped off to fix my Last Snack, my mind started racing. How the heck was I going to get out of this mess?

I craned my neck, looking for something sharp to cut the twine binding my wrists and ankles, but saw nothing.

Then I thought of another plan. It was a long shot, but it was the only shot I had. My head throbbing with every bump, I manage to roll myself behind the Christmas tree. Lucky for me, Ethel was not an expert in bondage. She’d bound me only at the wrists and ankles, which meant I could still bend my knees and elbows. And that gave me some degree of mobility. I had just managed to prop myself into a sitting position with my back up against the wall when Ethel returned with my brownie and poisoned tea.

“Oh, Jaine,” she sighed. “Aren’t you silly, trying to hide. I’m certain to find you.”

She looked around the room and then spotted me behind the tree, as I was hoping she would.

“There you are, you foolish girl!”

She started toward the Christmas tree.

This was it, the moment of truth.

I raised my knees to my chest and sent up a last desperate prayer to the heavens.

Get me through this, and I swear I’ll never have a food fight with a twelve-year-old or wrestle with a nun for as long as I live!

Then, with every ounce of strength in my body, I kicked the tree trunk.

For a terrifying fraction of a second, it looked like it wasn’t going to fall, but then my prayers were answered. Ethel’s eyes widened in shock as the tree toppled over, sending reindeer ornaments flying and pinning her underneath.

Now it was her turn to lie on the floor unconscious.

I scanned the wreckage for something sharp enough to cut twine. Not two feet away, I saw my instrument of escape. A shattered teacup, the one that had just a few seconds ago held my poisoned tea.

I maneuvered myself over to it, and managed to pick up a sharp shard of china. It wasn’t easy with my wrists bound together, but eventually I sawed through the twine on my ankles. Then I sprang to my feet and raced over to Ethel’s phone. Somehow I managed to punch 911 and scream for help.

Five minutes later, just as I was cutting through the twine on my wrists and the cops were banging at the door, Ethel regained consciousness.

She looked up at me, bewildered, from under the tree.

“That’s the police,” I told her.

She moaned softly.

“Don’t get up, sweetheart,” I said. “I’ll let them in.”

Chapter Fourteen

After checking out my story, the cops carted Ethel off to the prison wing of County General Hospital. When I finally limped home, I swallowed a fistful of Tylenol and spent the next heavenly hour or so soaking my aching muscles in a marathon bath. After which I collapsed into bed where I slept for twelve straight hours (near-death experiences tend to tucker me out) until Prozac lovingly clawed me awake for her breakfast.

In spite of a bump on my head the size of a potato puff, I felt fine. And starving. If you don’t count those Tylenol, I hadn’t had a thing to eat for nearly twenty-four hours. So I drove over to Junior’s deli and treated myself to a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs, hash browns, and an English muffin with strawberry preserves.

I’d come home and was working off my breakfast with a strenuous nap on the sofa, when somebody rang my doorbell.

You’ll never guess who it was.

Angel Cavanaugh.

She stood on my doorstep in a Hello Kitty T-shirt and flip-flops, barely big enough to cast a shadow, a bouquet of flowers in her hand.

Her dad stood at her side, holding a shopping bag.

“Don’t you have something to say to Jaine?” he said, nudging her with his elbow.

“I’m really sorry,” Angel said, looking up at me with sheepish eyes. “For lying to you. And for getting you in trouble with Sister Mary Agnes.”

Alert the media. She actually seemed to mean it.

“These are for you.” She held out a bunch of supermarket daisies.

“Why, thank you!” I have to admit, my heart melted just a tad. “Won’t you come in?”

I ushered them inside and hurried to the kitchen to put the daisies in water.

When I came back out, they were sitting on the sofa. Prozac, the shameless flirt, had wandered in from the bedroom and was shimmying in ecstasy against Kevin’s ankles.

“Wow, you’ve got a cat!” Angel said. “I always wanted a cat.”

“I’m not sure you want this one.”

Prozac glared at me through slitted eyes. I swear, that cat understands English.

Don’t listen to her, kid. I’m adorable.

With that, she leapt into Angel’s lap and began purring like a buzzsaw.

“You have something else for Jaine, don’t you?” Kevin said, once again nudging Angel with his elbow.

Reluctantly she plucked Prozac from her lap, and walked over to me with the shopping bag her dad had been carrying.

“Here are the jeans,” she said, taking them out of the bag. “You shouldn’t have spent so much money.”

This time, I could tell her heart wasn’t in it.

“That’s okay,” I said. “You keep them.”

“Thanks!” She grabbed them back so fast, she almost got whiplash. “Can I go put them on?”

“Sure. You can change in my bedroom,” I said, pointing down the hall.

“I can’t tell you how much those jeans mean to her,” Kevin said when she’d dashed off. “Angel doesn’t get very many gifts. I’m all the family she’s got. And, as you can imagine, she doesn’t make friends very easily.”

I could imagine, all right. In Technicolor and Dolby stereo.

“We’ve tried other mentoring programs, and you’re the first person who ever stuck it out for more than an hour.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish. That’s why I’m so grateful to you. Anyhow, I called L.A. Girlfriends and explained how Angel lied to you about having asthma, and how she goaded you into the food fight. Which, incidentally, she loved. She said she hadn’t had so much fun since the time she fingerpainted on our living room walls.” He shuddered at the memory. “It took three coats of paint to cover that mess.

“Anyhow, Sister Agnes has agreed to take you back. That is, if you want to see Angel again.”

He looked at me like a puppy begging for a bone.

Acck. The thought of a date with Angel without intravenous Valium was daunting, to say the least.

But before I could fumpher an excuse, Angel came bouncing back into the room in her new jeans.

“They’re great!” she beamed, a radiant smile lighting up her pinched face. “Thank you so much.”

At the sight of that smile, my heart melted again.

“I was just telling Jaine the good news about L.A. Girlfriends.”

“Yeah,” Angel said. “They want you back. So how about it, Jaine?”

Angel smiled shyly. “Will you be my Girlfriend?”

By now my heart was the consistency of a pint of Chunky Monkey in the microwave.

“Of course,” I said. “I’ll be your Girlfriend.”

“Great! They’re having a sale at The Limited. Wanna go?”

“Forget it, Angel.”

“Hey,” she shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

Okay, so it wasn’t going to be easy.

But like the kid said, it was worth a shot.

Epilogue

You’ll be glad to know that Ethel Cox got her wish. She never has to cook another meal as long as she lives. The state is providing her with three meals a day at a prison for the criminally nutsy.

At first Willard visited her regularly, in spite of the fact that she refused to see him. After a while, though, he gave up. Last I heard, he was dating a woman he met in the Christmas decorations department of Home Depot.

Peter Roberts and Prudence Bascomb (aka Brandy Alexander) are still practicing law, and frankly I’m glad I never got around to telling the cops about what I’d discovered in Garth’s file. So what if they’ve got dark secrets in their pasts? What attorney doesn’t?

And remember Peter’s secretary, Sylvia Alvarez? I saw her wedding picture in the paper not long ago. She and Hector finally tied the knot. I only hope the priest managed to get a word in edgewise during the ceremony.

Even more good news: Seymour Fiedler and his merry band of Fiedlers are back in business, plying their trade on the roofs of Los Angeles. In fact, they just finished Libby Brecker’s place.

Speaking of Libby, I saw her the other day when I took a sentimental spin over to Hysteria Lane. She was out front, buffing her door knocker. She congratulated me for my work on bringing Ethel to justice (the police were kind enough to mention my name in their account of Ethel’s arrest) and told me that Cathy Janken had sold her house and was living in an apartment in Van Nuys. Contrary to Cathy’s expectations, Garth left her saddled with debt, which may have been the reason Jimmy the mailman dumped her for the UPS delivery gal he’d been seeing on the side.

Angel and I “dated” for a few months, until her dad got transferred to Sacramento. It was tough sledding at first (I wanted to throttle her when she threw her house keys into the La Brea Tar Pits to see if they’d sink), but gradually she stopped acting out, and I grew quite fond of her. We never bonded in the lovey-dovey way of my fantasies. But we definitely Scotch Taped.

Things were never the same between me and Tyler. Maybe because it’s hard to have romantic feelings for a woman once you’ve seen her with chocolate mousse up her nose. But mainly because Tyler and Sister Mary Agnes (who, as the authorities discovered, wasn’t really a nun) ran off to Acapulco with the proceeds from an L.A. Girlfriends fund-raiser. I should’ve known there was something fishy about a nun who’d go mano a mano for a pair of Hot Stuff jeans.

Finally, I’m happy to report I had a very merry Christmas that year.

Daddy and Uncle Ed got into a big fight over a Monopoly game, and when Daddy threw Uncle Ed’s hotels—along with his toupee—in the Tampa Vistas pool, Uncle Ed got so mad, he checked his whole family into a Ramada Inn.

So Prozac and I had the guest room—and my parents—all to ourselves. How lovely to eat all the Christmas cookies I wanted, free from invidious comparisons to Cousin Joanie and her string bikinis.

And the flight to Florida wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Prozac didn’t throw up on a single passenger.

Nope, this trip, she threw up on the captain.

But Homeland Security finally took her off their Most Wanted List, so we’re free to travel again.

Catch you next time.

PS. If you’re reading this during the holiday season, Prozac and I want to wish you a marvelous Christmas, a heavenly Hanukah and/or the coolest Kwanzaa ever.

Well, I do, anyway. Prozac just wants you to scratch her back.

CANDY CANES OF CHRISTMAS PAST

LESLIE MEIER

Prologue

A fire was crackling in the grate, Christmas carols were playing on the stereo and Lucy Stone was perched on a step ladder in the living room arranging strings of twinkling fairy lights on an eight-foot balsam fir her husband Bill had cut in the woods behind their old farmhouse on Red Top Road in Tinker’s Cove, Maine.

“Watch out, Lucy,” warned Bill, coming into the room with several battered brown cardboard boxes of ornaments. “You don’t want to lose your balance and fall.”

“I’ve just finished,” said Lucy, slipping the last loop of wire over a branch and stepping down from the ladder.

Bill put the boxes on the coffee table and stood back, arms akimbo, admiring the tree. “It’s the best we’ve ever had, I think. I’ve had my eye on that tree for a couple of years now.”

“A special tree for a special Christmas,” said Lucy, wrapping her arms around his waist. “It’s Patrick’s first.”

“Not that he’ll remember it,” said Bill. “He’s only nine months old.”

“We’ll remember. After all, it’s our first Christmas as grandparents.”

As if on cue, the dog’s barking announced the arrival of Toby and Molly and the baby, who had come from their house on nearby Prudence Path. Feet could be heard clattering down the stairs as Zoe, at eleven the youngest of Lucy and Bill’s children, ran to greet them. Behind her, moving more sedately but unable to resist the allure of their nephew, came her older sisters, Sara, who was a high school sophomore, and Elizabeth, home from Chamberlain College in Boston, where she was a senior.

“Look at how big he’s gotten!” exclaimed Elizabeth, who hadn’t seen the baby since Thanksgiving.

“Can I hold him?” asked Sara.

“No, let me!” demanded Zoe. “Let me hold him!”

“Careful there,” cautioned Lucy, asserting her grandmotherly prerogative and scooping little Patrick up in a hug. Then she sat down on the couch with him in her lap and began unzipping his snowsuit, revealing a blond little tyke in a plaid shirt and blue jeans that matched his father’s, and his grandfather’s. She nuzzled his neck and Patrick crowed and bounced in her lap, delighted to be the center of attention.

“Elizabeth, you can get the cookies and eggnog, and everybody else can start trimming the tree. Patrick and I will watch. Right, Patrick?” But as soon as the boxes were opened and the first ornaments taken out, Patrick was no longer content to watch. He wanted to pull the paper out of the boxes and touch the ornaments, too. Deftly, Lucy distracted him with a cookie and took him over to the window, to look at the Christmas lights strung on the porch.

“It’s starting to snow,” she said. “It’s going to be a white Christmas.”

“Nothing unusual about that,” said Bill, who was attaching a hook to a round red ball.

“We’re only supposed to get a couple of inches,” said Toby, pulling a plastic trumpet out of the box. “Hey, I remember this,” he said, blowing on it and producing a little toot.

“Look at this one!” said Zoe. “It’s baby Jesus in his manger, and if you shake it the snow falls on him!”

“Poor baby Jesus,” said Molly, making herself shiver. “He must be cold.”

“It snowed on me in my crib, when I was a baby, right in this house,” said Toby. “Right, Mom?”

“He’s making that up,” declared Sara.

“And how could he remember, if he was a baby?” asked Elizabeth.

“That’s silly,” said Zoe. “It can’t snow in the house!”

Lucy looked around the room, at the strong walls and the tight windows, the carpeted floor, and the brick fireplace where the fire crackled merrily, and then her eyes met Bill’s. “We-e-ll,” she said, “this house was in pretty bad shape when we first moved here.”

“It was a nor’easter,” said Bill, exaggerating. “The wind blew the snow through a crack. It was easy to fix, the window just needed some caulking.”

“See, I was right,” declared Toby.

“It was Christmas Eve,” said Lucy. “Toby was two. I found him in his crib, with a little dusting of snow. But how did you remember?”

“I think you must’ve told me,” said Toby. “To tell the truth, it just popped in my head this morning when Patrick woke up and I went into his room to get him.”

Lucy smiled fondly at her grandson, who looked so much like his father at that age. Things had certainly changed since that awful winter of 1983….

Chapter One

December 1983

Only a week until Christmas. Not that it felt like Christmas. Lucy Stone was crouched awkwardly on the cracked linoleum kitchen floor in front of an elderly gas range, trying to reach all the way back inside the broiler despite her six-month pregnant belly to relight the oven pilot light that was always going out. No wonder, considering how drafty the old house was.

The flame finally caught and she sat back on her heels, gathering up the collection of wooden matches she’d used and groaning a bit as she hauled herself to her feet. She tossed the matches in the trash and washed her hands in cold water—it took a while for the balky hot water heater to produce anything remotely warm, much less hot—before returning to the cookie batter she was mixing. Spritz cookies, just like her mother always made. Except this year she had to make them because she wouldn’t be seeing her mother, or her father, this Christmas. They were staying in New York City because Dad was making a poor recovery from heart surgery and was lingering in the hospital, needing all Mom’s attention. That left Lucy, who could use some attention herself, out in the cold.

Literally out in the cold, she thought, switching on the mixer to cream the butter and sugar together. It didn’t get much colder than coastal Maine and that’s where she was, in the nowhere town of Tinker’s Cove. It was certainly a far cry from the Upper West Side of New York City, where she and Bill and Toby, who was almost two, had lived in a tight three-and-a-half rooms overlooking Central Park. But what did space matter when you had the entire park with playgrounds and a zoo and even a carousel, and the American Museum of Natural History and the Metropolitan Museum of Art just steps away? When you could hop the subway to Battery Park for a breath of sea air and a walk along the water? Or a night out at a Broadway show? Or a quick trip to Bloomingdale’s where they sprayed you with the newest fragrances and you could find the cutest little outfits for Toby?

Lucy switched off the mixer and set it on the kitchen table, then began adding the flour by hand. It was hard work but she was glad to have something to occupy her, something that would make it seem more like Christmas. Which was weird, she thought, because Tinker’s Cove was one of those picture-perfect New England towns that looked as if it could be on a Christmas card. But even though the air smelled piney and the houses all had wreaths with red bows and the big fir tree in the center of town was decked with colored lights, it wasn’t nearly as festive as Rockefeller Center where they set up a proper Christmas tree above the skating rink and played Christmas carols on loudspeakers and Fifth Avenue was filled with shoppers carrying bags that bulged with presents.

Just the thought of presents made Lucy groan. There weren’t going to be presents this year, at least not the lavish presents of Christmases past. She and Bill had agreed to exchange one modest gift apiece, reserving the rest of their limited budget for toys for Toby. Limited being the operative word here, thought Lucy, who had a fifty-dollar bill folded in the back of her wallet and was keeping an eye on the assortment of trucks and stuffed animals at the IGA, anxiously hoping they held out until Christmas Eve when Dot, the friendly cashier, promised her prices would be cut by half.

Somehow she hadn’t expected it would come to this when she agreed to Bill’s plan to dramatically change direction, exchanging a well-paying job as a stockbroker and their comfortable life in the city to realize his longtime dream of living in the country and working with his hands. Back then he’d just gotten a fat bonus and it seemed that they could easily afford the fixer-upper farmhouse they’d found in Tinker’s Cove. He’d learn by doing, he said, gaining the skills of a restoration carpenter by refurbishing the big nineteenth-century house room by room. But everything was more expensive than they anticipated and the fat bonus shrank rapidly, going to the hardware store and the lumber yard and the electric company and the grocery store and the oil company. Especially the oil company. When Bill tore out the old, rotted plaster and lath he discovered there was no insulation, and sometimes not even proper studs, in the walls. Which meant it was always cold even though the furnace ran constantly, burning oil at a ferocious rate.

Even worse, Bill’s career change had alienated him from his parents. Bill Sr. and Edna had seemed so jolly, so easygoing when Lucy first met them but that had all changed when Bill announced his plan to give up corporate life. Bill Sr. had listened stony faced as Bill explained his reasons for quitting the brokerage firm he bitterly referred to as “Dewey, Cheatham and Howe.”

“They don’t care about the clients, Dad, all they care about is making a big profit. There’s so much pressure to churn accounts to generate commissions, to sell limited partnerships and other products that aren’t going to produce a dime until most of my clients are long gone. And there’s the insider trading. I tell you, it’s just a matter of time before the SEC gets on to these guys.”

“You have a responsibility to your employer, son,” said his father, looking grim. “They’re paying you handsomely to make money for them. It’s not some sort of welfare scheme, you know.”

“You said it,” snapped Bill. “They’ve got me taking from the poor and giving to the rich and I’m not going to do it. We’re going to get out of this filthy town and go somewhere where the air is clean and people are honest.”

“I’m warning you, son,” said Bill Sr. “I can’t approve of you putting your family and your livelihood at risk like this. Don’t come whining to me looking for a handout when the wolf is at the door.”

Lucy smiled grimly to herself. Despite Bill’s high hopes they hadn’t found either clean air or honest people. The local weather forecast announced frequent bad air days, thanks to prevailing winds that carried pollution from the entire country. And the big story last week in the town’s little newspaper alleged that a sweet-faced church secretary, beloved by the entire congregation, had embezzled several thousand dollars for a trip to Las Vegas. Bill had succeeded, however, in bringing the wolf to the door, but there was no way he was going to give his father the satisfaction of asking for help. That would be admitting defeat and Bill wasn’t about to do that. So they wouldn’t be seeing the elder Stones this year, either.

So here she was, she thought, looking around the kitchen and not liking what she saw. There were no cabinets, no counters, just a stained old Kenmore gas range that was at least twenty years old that stood next to a nasty old porcelain sink with exposed plumbing beneath. The refrigerator stood across the room in lonely splendor, its white porcelain door speckled with rust and its rounded top a slippery slope for anything that she set on top of it. Which she did, having no other place to store things she didn’t want Toby to get into. The wallpaper, a flamboyant pattern featuring black swirls punctuated with red and yellow teapots, was torn, and the patches of plaster that were revealed were painted in various colors of green and beige. Lucy regularly washed the green speckled linoleum that covered most of the worn wood floor but no matter how hard or how often she scrubbed, it still looked dirty and dingy. And this, she thought with a sigh, was just the kitchen. She didn’t even want to think about the rest of the house, especially the breezy, rattle-trap room that served as a nursery where Toby was napping under a pile of quilts and blankets.

The cookie dough was ready, she realized, mixed to perfection as she fumed about her situation and she chuckled to herself. Anger and resentment were good when you needed muscle power, but not good for the soul. Or for relationships, she thought, hearing Bill banging nails in the living room. It was definitely time she adopted a more positive attitude. It was Christmas after all, and she wanted their first Christmas in their own home to be special.

Lucy was smiling as she stuffed the dough into the cookie press and screwed on the end cap. She heard the hiss of the burner as the oven heated and she switched on the radio, turning the dial until she found a station playing Christmas carols. She hummed along, turning the crank and squeezing out perfect little rosettes onto the cookie sheets. When she’d filled both sheets she placed a bit of glazed cherry in the center of each cookie and slipped the pans into the oven, which the thermometer she’d hung from the rack indicated was a perfect three hundred and fifty degrees.

Toby was stirring upstairs so she climbed the rickety back stairs that led to the second floor bedrooms. She pushed open the door and peeked inside, ignoring the walls that had been stripped down to the studs and the windows that rattled and went straight to the crib, where Toby was sitting in a nest of blankets and talking to himself.

“Did you have a nice nap?” she asked, lifting him out of the crib, nosing his tousled hair and sniffing his sweet baby scent, then took him by the hand and led him to the bathroom where he stood on a stool while she undid his overalls and then slid him on the blue plastic kiddie seat that sat on the toilet. The bathroom was another room that didn’t bear close examination, she thought, refusing to look at the spotted mirror on the medicine cabinet and the cracked pink tiles. She checked the diaper he still wore for naps and found it dry; something to smile about. “You’re getting to be such a big boy!” she exclaimed, and was rewarded with a tinkle. “You went in the toilet! Just like Mommy and Daddy!”

Finished, he raised his arms and bounced in the seat. Lucy slid him off and stood him on the floor where he squirmed and wiggled as she pulled on training pants and hooked his overall straps. At the second click he bolted shoeless for the door and she grabbed him by the back of his OshKosh’s. “Shoes,” she said, leading him back to the nursery where he protested loudly as she wrestled him into a pair of almost new Stride Rite oxfords that were already getting a bit tight. She was out of breath as she helped him down the back stairs to the kitchen.

Funny, she thought, helping Toby onto his booster seat. The cookies ought to be nearly done by now but there was no delicious buttery smell. She filled his sippy cup with milk and then reached for the oven door, intending to give him a warm cookie. But when she peered inside the oven she discovered it was no longer hot, it was barely warm and the cookies hadn’t even browned.

She bit her lip and walked across the room to the refrigerator, where she reached for the box of graham crackers that was sitting on top. She opened it and pulled one out for Toby. She stood there, looking at the dry little brown square of cracker, and burst into tears.

“What’s the matter?” Bill was at her side in a flash, his hammer still in his hand. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m not okay at all. I can’t live like this. Look at us! We’re living in a wreck!” Her voice rose and she went on, unable to stop herself. “This is a big mistake. You’re never going to be able to turn this dump into a house. You don’t know what you’re doing. It’s been months and we don’t have walls, or electric outlets or hot water. We’re freezing and it’s only December. I hate to tell you buddy but there’re two, three more months of winter to get through.” She marched over to the stove and pulled out the cookie sheets with her bare hands, slamming them onto the table and raising a little cloud of flour. “And the oven doesn’t work!” she shrieked, shaking with sobs.

“That’s simple,” he said, taking the box of matches off the shelf and dropping to his knees, where he lit a match and reached into the broiler producing a satisfying whoosh. “See, all fixed,” he said, leaning back on his heels and giving her a satisfied smile.

“It’s not fixed,” she said. “It’ll go out again, next time the wind blows through these pathetic excuses for walls.”

“Mo’,” mumbled Toby, holding out his sippy cup for a reill.

Bill stayed in place, head bowed, while Lucy got the milk container out of the refrigerator. “I know it’s tough, Lucy, but I’m really making progress.”

“Great. That’s terrific,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “And what are Toby and I supposed to do in the meantime?”

Bill got to his feet and picked up Toby, hoisting him high above his head and making him shriek with delight. Then he settled him on his shoulders. “We’re managing. We’re doing okay. You’re just feeling overwhelmed right now.”

Lucy looked at him, at his sweet sincere face and his sparkling blue eyes. He needed a haircut and a hank of brown hair kept falling into one eye; he shook it back and grinned at her. She couldn’t resist that cocky grin. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you’re working hard.” The oven, which had been hissing, fell silent as the pilot light went out again. “I just wanted to make my mom’s Christmas cookies.”

“We’ll get it fixed, I promise. I’ll call Sears right away. Meanwhile, you need to get out of the house. You should take some time to yourself, go into town, do a little shopping. Toby and I will hold the fort, right Toby?”

Toby giggled. He loved sitting on his father’s shoulders.

Lucy considered. It had been quite a while since she’d had any time to herself. “Okay,” she said. “That’s a good idea. Thanks.”

“No problem,” he said, swinging Toby down to the floor and taking his hand. “Come on, buddy. Let’s find your tools. We’ve got some hammering to do.”

When Lucy left the house, she could hear them both banging away. Bill was nailing up sheetrock and Toby was imitating him, pounding the pegs on his toy workbench. I wonder how long that will last, she thought, closing the door behind her.

She slid behind the wheel of Auntie Granada, the secondhand Ford they’d bought for her to drive. It was another expense they hadn’t anticipated. Coming from the city they’d been shocked to discover there was no public transportation in rural Maine and that everyone had to provide for themselves. But Auntie Granada was one of the few things in their new life that actually worked and Lucy enjoyed cruising along the country roads with the radio blasting oldies. “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” was playing as she turned out of the driveway onto Red Top Road and headed for town.

But where to go in town, she wondered, as she hummed along to the tune. There was no Bloomingdale’s in Tinker’s Cove, just a quaint little country store called Country Cousins that sold duck boots and rugged plaid shirts and corduroy pants. They had nothing at all for children, and only a few decidedly unstylish items for women. Definitely not the sort of place you went to spend your mad money.

Proceeding down Main Street she passed the newspaper office and the police and fire stations, eventually coming to Jake’s Donut Shack. She considered stopping there and treating herself to a hot chocolate, but dismissed the idea. The few times she’d gone inside she’d felt uncomfortable, as if Jake’s was some sort of exclusive club. Everybody seemed to know everybody else and regarded outsiders with suspicion. It was the same, Bill had told her, at the local fisherman’s bar down at the harbor. The Bilge had a faithful clientele of regulars who were practically hostile to newcomers.

Reaching the end of Main Street, Lucy turned down Sea Street to the town pier, where she circled the parking lot. Nothing going on there, just a lot of boats sitting on shore and a lot of ice covering the harbor.

Well, so much for my afternoon out, thought Lucy, I might as well go home. So she headed back along Main Street where she noticed lights glimmering through the arched windows of the squat gray stone building that housed the Broadbrooks Free Library. Maybe they’ll have some new magazines, she thought, turning into the parking lot. Or maybe even a new mystery.

The librarian looked up from the cards she was sorting at the main desk when Lucy entered. She was a white-haired crone but she greeted Lucy with a warm smile and a cheery hello. “Are you interested in anything particular?” she asked, eager to be helpful.

“Not really,” said Lucy.

“Ah,” said the old woman, looking at her shrewdly. “Just need a bit of a distraction?”

“That’s it exactly,” said Lucy.

“You’re new in town, aren’t you? You and your husband bought that old farmhouse on Red Top Road, right?”

Lucy was amazed. “How’d you know?”

The old woman flapped a veined and spotted hand. “It’s a small town,” she said, with a shrug. “You’ve taken on quite a challenge with that place. I understand the building inspector was just about to condemn it.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Lucy. “But my husband is determined to fix it up.”

“Well, more power to him.”

Lucy smiled ruefully. “He’ll need it.”

“It must be difficult for you,” said the librarian, nodding at Lucy’s tummy. “Especially with a toddler on your hands.”

Lucy was taken by surprise at the woman’s directness and was embarrassed to feel tears pricking at her eyes. She turned away, blinking furiously. “I’m managing,” she finally said.

“Oh, dear,” fretted the old woman, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s been a difficult day,” admitted Lucy, wiping her eyes with a crumpled tissue she found in her coat pocket.

“Well, I have just the thing,” said the librarian, coming round the desk and taking her by the elbow. “Come on into my office. I have a comfortable chair there and I can give you a cup of tea. Would you like that?”

“I’d love it,” said Lucy.

It was warm and toasty in the office and the librarian, who introduced herself as Miss Tilley, brewed a bracing cup of tea. Lucy found herself downing several cups as she related the day’s mishaps and actually found herself laughing as she described her struggles with the oven.

“I very much doubt that Sears will get to you before Christmas,” said Miss Tilley, nodding sagely. “There’s just the one repairman and I happen to know he’s flat out.”

“That’s too bad,” said Lucy, her face sinking. “I really wanted to make those cookies.”

“Why not make them at my house?” suggested Miss Tilley. “My oven’s working fine.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to put you to the trouble,” demurred Lucy. “Besides, I can’t really leave my little boy.”

“Bring him along. I love children.”

Lucy looked at the prim old lady, in her spotless white blouse with a cameo pin at the neck and her dark plaid skirt. “I don’t think…”

“Nonsense. I’ll expect you bright and early tomorrow. At eight. That will give us plenty of time because the library doesn’t open until three on Thursdays.” She peered at her through her wire-rimmed glasses. “You know where I live?”

Lucy suddenly felt inadequate. “I know I should but I’m afraid…”

“No reason you should know. You just moved here. I’m on Parallel Street, which is aptly named because it’s parallel to Main Street, at the corner of Elm. Do you know it?”

“I do,” said Lucy.

“And now, before you leave, perhaps I could suggest a few books. Do you enjoy mysteries?”

Lucy’s spirits were much brighter as she drove home. She had a small stack of well-thumbed mystery novels on the seat beside her and she was taking a different route, following Miss Tilley’s directions. It took her along Shore Road, past enormous summer cottages perched high above the bay. The view of rocky shore studded with tall pines, the dazzling expanse of blue ocean and the overarching blue sky was absolutely spectacular and Lucy began to feel once again that living in Maine wasn’t so terrible after all.

New York City had nothing like this, in fact, the city could be pretty depressing sometimes. The subway smelled awful, the streets were full of litter, there was graffiti everywhere, and you couldn’t walk down the street without having to step over at least one homeless person. And most important of all, Bill had truly been miserable at his job and that was something she couldn’t tolerate. More than anything she wanted him to be happy.

Coming to the end of Shore Road, Lucy turned onto Packet Road which Miss Tilley assured her would eventually lead her to her own Red Top Road after she passed a cluster of houses. Lucy was exploring this new territory with interest and when she noticed a sign advertising a yard sale she impulsively pulled off the road and followed the hand-drawn arrow down a narrow dirt track of a driveway, eventually coming to a stop in front of a ramshackle log cabin. With a sagging porch and broken windows patched with cardboard and rags, it seemed to be in even worse shape than her house.

Undaunted, she turned off the ignition and got out of the car, eager to see what bargains she might find. Lucy had discovered soon after moving to Maine that yard sales offered the biggest bang for the buck, and a buck was just about all she had to spend. You never knew what might turn up, maybe she’d find a present for Bill, or a toy she could recycle for Toby. He wouldn’t mind if it didn’t come in a box, brand new.

But this yard sale didn’t really deserve the name. There was only one small card table of household goods, with a carton beneath. And the items for sale verged on the pathetic: a stack of empty margarine tubs, a plastic ice cube tray, a few tattered copies of Family Circle magazine, and a plastic Christmas wreath that had faded from green to beige. Lucy was turning to go when the door opened and a young woman popped out.

“Hey!” she yelled. “I didn’t hear your car.”

“That’s okay,” Lucy yelled back. “I was just leaving.”

The woman was zipping up her jacket, a dirty white parka that had long ago lost its puffy look and had gone flat. She tucked her dirty blond hair behind her ears and shuffled across the dirt yard in leopard-print fuzzy slippers. She wasn’t wearing socks and her bird-thin ankles were blue from the cold.

“Did you see the box?” she asked, taking Lucy’s arm. “There’s some good stuff in there.”

Lucy knew she was stuck. The woman, actually really only a girl, now that she had a good look at her, wasn’t going to let her go unless she bought something and Lucy didn’t blame her. For the first time in her life she was experiencing poverty and she recognized this woman as a longtime sufferer. The woman turned her head quickly, looking over her shoulder, and Lucy spotted two little children peering out of the broken window. She realized that this pathetic excuse for a yard sale was probably an effort to raise some money for Christmas.

“Well,” said Lucy, reaching for her wallet. “I guess you can never have too many containers for leftovers.”

The woman smiled, revealing a few missing teeth. “These work great,” she said, nodding enthusiastically and reaching for the pile of margarine containers. “Fifty cents?”

“Sure,” said Lucy, plucking two quarters from her purse and reminding herself that she wasn’t getting rooked, paying a ridiculous price for something she didn’t need, but should consider it charity.

Encouraged by the sale, the woman pulled out the cardboard box from under the table. “Take a look,” she said. “Some of this stuff is old.” She paused. “Real old. Like antique.”

Lucy planned to take a cursory look and then make a quick escape, but her eye was caught by a gleaming flash of red and white. She leaned closer, to investigate, and pulled out a giant candy cane made of…of what? She thought it was plastic but now that she was holding it she thought it was glass.

“What’s this?” asked Lucy.

“A glass cane,” said the woman, shrugging. “Go figure.”

“There must be some story behind this,” said Lucy, intrigued.

The woman didn’t answer. She was looking down the drive where an aged blue pickup truck was lumbering towards the house. “Do you want it?” she asked, obviously nervous. “You can have it for a dollar.”

“Okay.” Lucy pulled out a dollar, the last of her week’s grocery money.

“Thanks,” said the woman, stuffing it in her pocket. She tilted her head toward the truck. “You better go now.”

Lucy turned and saw a heavyset man with a bushy red beard getting out of the truck. Like nearly every man in Maine, he was wearing a plaid wool shirt-jacket, blue jeans, and work boots. “What’s going on here?” he demanded, clumping across the yard and grabbing the woman by the wrist. “Didn’t I tell you, didn’t I say no way?”

“C’mon Kyle, you’re hurting me,” whined the woman, trying to twist away.

“I don’t really…I mean, I’d be happy to give this back, if it’s a problem,” said Lucy, eager to defuse a situation that seemed to be getting out of control.

“You get out of here,” snarled Kyle, spraying her with spittle. “This is between Dora and me.”

Lucy looked questioningly at Dora, who nodded her head in quick little jerks.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“GET OUT!” bellowed Kyle. “I got a shotgun, if you need convincing.”

“No,” said Lucy, backing away. “I’m convinced.”

She was shaking when she got back behind the wheel of the car. She started the engine and backed around, catching sight of Kyle and Dora in the rearview mirror just as Dora broke free of his grip. Kyle raised his hand, and for a minute Lucy thought he was going to hit Dora, but instead he turned and waved at her, giving her a big gap-toothed smile.

Lucy stuck her hand out the window and waved back, signaling that she’d gotten the message. Everything was cool. He wasn’t abusive, not at all. She’d just witnessed an unfortunate misunderstanding and the sooner she forgot all about it, the better. It was none of her business, was it?

Or was it? Lucy wasn’t sure, as she bounced down the dirt track. She was certain Dora was a victim of domestic abuse but she hadn’t seen enough to go to the police, and she doubted there was much they could do in any case. From what she’d read, most abused wives declined to press charges against their abusers for fear of even worse violence in retaliation.

But one thing was certain, she decided, trying to quell the queasy feeling in her stomach. She wasn’t feeling sorry for herself any longer. There were people a lot worse off than she was, and it was time to count her blessings: a gentle husband who loved her, an adorable baby boy, a new friend. And if the glass cane was really an antique, it would make a great Christmas present for Miss Tilley.

Chapter Two

When she arrived at Miss Tilley’s neat little antique house Lucy began to feel hopeful that their old farmhouse might someday look like something. Taking in the polished wide plank floors, the windows with their tiny panes of hand-blown wavy glass and the smoothly plastered walls and ceilings she found herself sighing in admiration. “What a lovely house,” she said, setting Toby and her tote bag on the floor so she could take off her coat. She looked around eagerly taking in every detail as she pulled off his boots and mittens and unzipped his snowsuit: the gleaming antique pine furniture, the glowing colors of the Persian rug, the table top Christmas tree trimmed with tiny glass balls, the silvery sheen of the pewter plates displayed in a hutch, the portrait over the fireplace where a bright fire blazed merrily.

“My father,” said Miss Tilley, indicating the rather stern gentleman pictured in the oil painting. “He was a judge.”

“He does look judgmental,” said Lucy, quickly biting her tongue. “No, I didn’t mean that. Judicious. He looks quite judicious.”

“He was named after General William Tecumseh Sherman, you know, the Civil War general, and I was named after Julia Ward Howe.” She smiled, her eyes twinkling. “It’s a family tradition, naming people after relics of the past.”

Lucy scooped up Toby, who was heading for the fire, and perched him on her hip. “Toby was named after my great grandfather Tobias.”

“It’s a good old-fashioned name,” said Miss Tilley, leading the way to the kitchen.

“We were trying to avoid the Js,” said Lucy, using her free hand to grab the tote bag that was overflowing with toys, extra clothes and diapers, a bowl of cookie dough, a cookie press and baking tins. “Names like Jason, and Justin, and Jennifer are all the rage now.”

“I have noticed quite a few of them at the library.”

“Oh, my,” said Lucy, startled to see an enormous black and chrome Glenwood coal stove taking pride of place in the middle of the Miss Tilley’s kitchen. “That’s a beautiful stove but I don’t know how…”

“Never mind that old thing,” said Miss Tilley, dismissing the gleaming monster. “I have a modern electric stove, too.”

Indeed she did. A slim electric model was tucked into a bank of cabinets that was built against one wall and also included a double stainless steel sink set beneath a window with red and white gingham curtains. A porcelain-topped table sat in the middle of the room, on top of a cozy red and blue braided rug, and a hutch stood against the wall, filled with blue and white Canton china. Lucy felt as if she’d wandered into a Tasha Tudor book.

“I prefer the table for baking,” said Miss Tilley, reaching for Toby. “Now, young man, we need to let your mother get on with her cookies.”

Lucy expected Toby to resist but instead he smiled and reached out with his arms. The transfer was smoothly made and Miss Tilley carried him into the living room where she joined him on the rug and engaged him in building towers of blocks which they knocked down with a ball. Toby found this enormously entertaining and Lucy could hear him laughing as she set about the business of scooping dough into the press and squeezing out the shaped cookies onto the tins, then she decorated them with bits of candied fruit and colored sugar before popping them into the oven. Soon the whole house was filled with the buttery scent of baking cookies. Lucy was just sliding the last pan into the oven when Miss Tilley appeared, leading Toby by the hand.

“I think this young man is ready for a snack,” she said, pulling an antique oak high chair out of the corner and setting it by the table. Lucy hoisted him into the chair and put a couple of warm cookies on the tray while Miss Tilley poured a small glass of milk. “Those cookies smell absolutely delicious,” she said.

“Please, have some. I’m going to leave you some, too,” said Lucy, with a nod to the overloaded wire cooling racks that were covered with dozens of perfect cookies, golden and brown around the edges. “I really appreciate…”

“Nonsense,” said the old woman, with a wave of her hand. “We’ve enjoyed ourselves, haven’t we, Toby?”

Toby took a bite of the cookie he was holding in his fat little hand. “Mmm,” he said.

“I agree,” said Miss Tilley, after taking a bite of cookie. “Mmmm.”

Toby laughed and kicked his feet. “Mmmm.”

Lucy was amazed at how Miss Tilley could turn the simplest thing into a game, making sounds that Toby imitated, playing peekaboo, reciting “This Little Piggy” while wiping his fingers with a washcloth. Soon the last cookies were out of the oven and Toby was rubbing his eyes.

“Why don’t you put him down for a nap?” suggested Miss Tilley. “Then you could get off your feet for a bit while I wash up these pans.”

“Oh, I couldn’t let you…” protested Lucy, even though her feet and back were killing her.

“I insist,” said Miss Tilley, using the voice that had maintained quiet in the library for thirty-odd years. She nodded toward a little downstairs room, the borning room she called it, and Lucy settled Toby on a daybed, removing his shoes and covering him with a handmade crocheted afghan. A copy of The Night Before Christmas was lying on the bedside table so she sat on the side of the bed and read him a few pages, closing the book when he was settled into a deep sleep and going out to the living room. There she found Miss Tilley waiting for her by the fire, along with two glasses of golden sherry and a plate of cheese twists.

“I think we both deserve a bit of a treat,” said Miss Tilley, lifting her glass.

Lucy was about to protest that she rarely drank alcohol, and never in the morning, but the scene was so inviting that she changed her mind. “This looks lovely,” she said, sinking into the down couch cushions.

“It is,” said Miss Tilley, taking a sip and smacking her lips. “Dry Sack. Yummy.”

The sherry was delicious and Lucy finished hers before she remembered the glass cane which she had left out in the car. She jumped to her feet. “I almost forgot,” she exclaimed. “There’s something in the car I need to get.”

She hurried out and came back with the cane, awkwardly wrapped in white tissue with a big red bow. “I have a Christmas present for you.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” protested Miss Tilley, stretching out her hands to take the gift.

“I hope you like it,” said Lucy. “When I saw it I thought of you.”

“That is intriguing,” said Miss Tilley, examining the oddly shaped package. “May I open it now?”

“Please do,” said Lucy, eagerly anticipating the joyful reaction she was certain the cane would evoke.

But when Miss Tilley tore off the tissue there were no smiles, no raptures, no expressions of thanks. There was only shock and stunned silence as a single tear traced a path down the old woman’s wrinkled face until it reached the corner of her mouth and she quickly licked it away with a flick of her tongue.

Lucy was dismayed at her reaction. “I didn’t mean to distress you,” she said.

“Forgive me,” she said, as if coming out of a trance. “I was just overcome. This is wonderful. So thoughtful of you. An antique glass cane.”

“I’ll take it back. I’ll get you something else,” said Lucy. A bottle of Dry Sack came to mind. It would be expensive, but at least she could be sure Miss Tilley would enjoy it.

“Not at all.” Miss Tilley got to her feet and laid the cane on the mantel. “This is remarkable, a wonderful find. And so festive.” Her voice became soft and reflective. “I haven’t seen one of these in years.”

“So you know what it is. You’ve seen one before?”

“Oh, yes. There used to be a glass factory in town many years ago and canes like this turned up frequently. But of course they’re fragile and I suppose a lot of them got broken and now they’re quite rare. This one is a real find.” She looked at Lucy. “Do you mind telling me where you got it?”

Lucy blushed, embarrassed. “Actually, well, it was at a yard sale.”

“A yard sale,” mused Miss Tilley, reaching for the sherry bottle. “Would you like a bit more?”

“None for me, I have to drive home,” she said, watching the old woman refill her glass, setting the bottle on the table beside it.

“Where was this yard sale?” asked Miss Tilley, emptying the glass of sherry and refilling it.

“Out on Packet Road.”

“Ah,” she said, nodding. “Kyle and Dora. How interesting.”

“That’s right,” said Lucy, who continued to be surprised at the way Miss Tilley seemed to know everyone in town.

Miss Tilley sighed. “I suppose I owe you an explanation.”

“Not at all,” said Lucy, wishing desperately that Toby would wake up and she could get out of there, away from her embarrassing gaffe and back home. But Miss Tilley was not about to be deterred.

“It was Christmas Eve,” she began, taking another sip. Her eyes had lost their focus and she was looking inward, seeking the past. “I was just a girl. I’d been out skating on Blueberry Pond and when I got home the house was quiet. Very quiet, which was unusual, because my mother was an invalid and there were usually people around, a nurse, a cook, a maid. There was always someone in the kitchen, people going up and down the stairs. It was the stairs, you see. She’d fallen down the cellar stairs. Mama was there at the bottom, crumpled in a heap, and there was a glass cane, red and white like this one, on the floor beside her. Smashed to smithereens.”

Horrified, Lucy’s hand flew to her mouth. “I had no idea,” she said.

“Of course not. How could you have known?” Miss Tilley’s voice was thoughtful. “Nobody knew, really. It was all kept very quiet. Papa didn’t want people to know the details, that Mama was wandering about the house as if nobody was taking proper care of her. He let people assume that she died a respectable death in bed, surrounded by her loving family.”

Lucy’s mind was full of questions but she wasn’t at all comfortable asking them. She sat, trying to think of something appropriate to say, and watching as Miss Tilley refilled the glass yet again.

“It was horrible. He made me help, you see. He made me help carry Mama upstairs to her bed.”

“Who did?” It popped out before Lucy could stop herself.

“Papa did. He took her by the shoulders and told me to lift her by the ankles. He said she wouldn’t, she couldn’t be very heavy, not after being sick for so long, but she was heavy. We kind of bumped her up the stairs, two long flights. And then he sent me back downstairs to sweep up the glass and tidy the basement while he put her in a fresh nightgown and tied her hair with a ribbon and tucked the covers around her, folding her hands around a Bible and laying them on her chest.” Miss Tilley looked her straight in the eye. “Then he called the doctor.”

Lucy found her eyes going to the portrait over the mantel. The stern, righteous man pictured there suddenly didn’t look quite so respectable. That gleam in his eye, was it the light of truth and justice, or was it something more sinister?

Lucy thought of her own great grandfather Tobias. He wore flannel shirts and khakis in the house, where he spent his days reading and watching baseball on TV from his armchair in the living room and making wooden furniture in his basement workshop, but he never went outside in such casual clothes. He put on a starched white shirt, a dark suit, shiny black shoes and a hat for the short walk down the street to buy the newspaper. “Times change,” said Lucy. “When I was a little girl I wore white gloves to church. And my great grandfather wouldn’t go out of the house without a hat.”

Miss Tilley nodded. “Straw between Memorial Day and Labor Day, felt for the rest of the year.”

“Exactly,” said Lucy, smiling. “So it’s not surprising that your father would want to protect his family from gossip. Every funeral’s the same: everybody wants to know all the details. Did she smoke? Was it expected or was it sudden? Did she suffer? I can see why he wanted to keep some things private. He wanted to preserve your mother’s dignity, even in death.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Miss Tilley. “Mama rarely got out of the house except to go to church on Sunday even before she got sick. She may have looked like a fine lady then, in her silk dress and her flowery hat, but at home she worked like a slave. Everything had to be just so for Papa. She even ironed his morning paper before he read it.”

Lucy had never heard of such a thing and her eyebrows shot up.

“Oh, yes,” continued Miss Tilley. “He had to have fresh linens on his bed every night, fresh towels every day, starched napkins and those shirts of his.” She rolled her eyes. “The slightest little wrinkle, even a pucker from the iron and he’d have a fit. My goodness, the hours my poor mother spent at the ironing board. There was no permanent press then and if there had been Papa certainly wouldn’t have allowed it. When I think of her, before she got sick, I think of her standing at that ironing board, her sleeves rolled up and her hair falling down, her face shiny with sweat.”

“She didn’t have any household help?”

“Not until she got sick.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she got sick on purpose,” said Lucy, attempting a joke.

Miss Tilley’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, she would never do that. It was the doctor who insisted that she needed bed rest and even then she would try to get up and make sure everything was just as Papa liked it.”

“Perhaps that’s what she was doing the day she fell,” said Lucy. “She was probably weak and collapsed.”

“An accident?” Miss Tilley looked at her empty glass and reached for the bottle, sighing when she realized it was empty. “I don’t think it was an accident.”

Lucy glanced at the portrait. “You don’t?”

“There was a tense atmosphere in the house that morning. That’s why I went skating. I wanted to get out.”

“Did they have an argument of some sort?” asked Lucy.

“No. I never heard them fight, but I’d know that something was wrong. Papa would be very abrupt, his tone would be very sharp, and Mama would watch him anxiously, as if she were afraid of him.”

“Oh dear,” said Lucy, remembering the scene she’d witnessed the day before, with Kyle and Dora.

“I’ve always suspected that Papa pushed her down the stairs.”

Lucy gasped. “That’s a terrible thing to think about your father,” she finally said.

“Yes, it is,” agreed Miss Tilley, looking up at the portrait. “I loved him, I still do, but every time I look at that picture I have the same dark suspicion. If only I could know for sure what happened that day.”

Lucy thought of the book she was reading, Josephine Tey’s Daughter of Time about a British police inspector who attempts to solve the fifteenth-century murder of the Little Princes in the Tower of London. “Maybe we can try to solve the mystery,” she said. “Just like Inspector Grant.”

“I thought you’d like that book,” said Miss Tilley. “But it’s fiction. This is real life.”

“But that mystery was hundreds of years old. Your mystery is much more recent.”

“But the princes and Richard III were historical figures, things were written about them, there were documents and books.”

“A lot of which was propaganda put out by Richard’s enemies.”

“And a lot of it was written quite a bit later, long after anyone who might have known the truth was dead,” agreed Miss Tilley.

“Which is not the case here,” said Lucy. “You were on the scene.”

“But it’s been so long,” said Miss Tilley.

“Why don’t we give it a try,” coaxed Lucy. “You might be surprised what you remember.”

Chapter Three

Miss Tilley sat primly on the little Victorian sofa with her ankles neatly crossed and gazed out the window, collecting her memories. “Papa was a terribly difficult man to live with,” she began, rubbing the knobby knuckles of one age-spotted hand with the other. “He was always conscious of his position as a judge and believed his own behavior—and that of his family—had to be above reproach.”

“That’s understandable,” said Lucy, with a little smile. “If a judge is going to enforce the law he has to obey it, right? Otherwise he’d be a hypocrite.”

“This went beyond obeying the law,” said Miss Tilley, speaking slowly, her gaze turned inward. “It was as if he believed he had received the rules for acceptable behavior from a Higher Power, rather like Moses receiving the Ten Commandments.” She gave a small, rueful smile. “Only there were a lot more than ten, and Mama and I, and my sister Harriet—she was named for Harriet Tubman—had to follow them to the letter. We all rose at six, except for Mama who got up earlier, and we had to be washed, and combed and dressed, with our beds made and our rooms tidied before breakfast, which was served in the dining room at six-thirty sharp.” She looked at Lucy. “From time to time Papa would conduct a surprise inspection and, oh dear, there was such a fuss if a slipper was left lying on the carpet or the windowsills were dusty.”

“What sort of fuss?” asked Lucy. “My mother says her father used to spank her with a hairbrush.”

“Nothing like that. No hairbrushes. It was worse, really. We’d have to listen to a long lecture on irresponsibility and wickedness and ungratefulness and by the end I would feel absolutely worthless. And, of course, there’d be no breakfast for the sinner who would have to remain in her room to reflect on her crime until Papa decided—or remembered—to let her out.”

“He locked you in your room?”

“He didn’t have to. We simply didn’t dare leave until we’d received permission.”

Lucy, an only child who had always been able to convince her father to grant her every wish, found this hard to understand. “And what about your mother? Did he treat her like that, too?”

“Oh, yes. If Mama failed to live up to his expectations he would scold her, too.” She shook her head. “Looking back it all seems ridiculous. A piece of burnt toast was treated as if you’d burned down the house. It was all out of proportion, but we were so cowed we didn’t realize it. Except for Harriet. She was always more rebellious than I and refused to give up her friends from school—Papa considered them unsuitable companions—even when he threatened to send her away to boarding school. She was convinced that he was too miserly to pay tuition and she was right. Papa predicted she would come to a bad end and I guess she did, at least in his book. She ran away with a young man Papa did not approve of. He was a labor organizer and a big supporter of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, and of course Papa believed Franklin Delano Roosevelt and his wife, Eleanor, were earthly embodiments of Satan himself.” She paused and licked her lips. “Especially Eleanor.”

“My great grandfather Tobias thought that, too,” said Lucy. “What happened to Harriet?”

“I’m ashamed to say that I don’t know.”

Lucy was shocked. “You don’t know?”

“No. Papa disowned her and we never heard from her again.” She sighed. “It was a great sadness to my mother. In fact, it was right after Harriet eloped that Mama’s health began to fail and she became bedridden.

“I suspected she had tuberculosis and I knew she was terrified of being sent to a sanatorium. That’s what they did back in those days. They packed people off to the mountains and hoped the good clean air and lots of hearty food would cure them. Mama didn’t want to leave home so she insisted she had woman troubles because all you had to do was say that in those days and everyone changed the subject fast.”

Lucy couldn’t resist chuckling. “It’s not so different now, at least in my house.”

Miss Tilley shook her head. “No. I don’t imagine your home is anything like that. My parents’ house was a house of secrets. When you’re afraid the truth will get you in trouble, you lie. You hide things. Everything becomes dangerous, even ideas, so you keep them to yourself. That’s what happened to us. Mama, Papa, and I became strangers to each other, strangers living in the same house.”

The baby inside her kicked and Lucy placed her hands on her tummy. “A house of secrets and strangers,” she said.

“Exactly,” said Miss Tilley, with a little nod. “But it all changed when Papa hired a nurse to take care of Mama. He resisted for a long time, but when I fell ill, too, the doctor insisted. Papa didn’t like the idea, of course, especially when the doctor recommended a nurse who was obviously Italian. As you’d expect, Papa did not approve of anyone whose name ended with a vowel—and he wasn’t too keen on the Irish either. Angela DeRosa was her name and I’ll never forget it because she was just like an angel to me, and to Mama, too. She was like a breath of fresh air, so efficient, so caring. You felt better the moment she entered your room, you just did. She was young and pretty and sang to herself as she made the beds and spooned out the medicine. But Papa always grumbled about having to pay a nurse as well as a cook and a maid.”

Now we’re getting somewhere, thought Lucy, mentally adding the nurse, the maid, and the cook to the judge as possible suspects. “What was the cook like?”

“Her name was Mrs. Sprout, if you can believe it.” Miss Tilley snorted. “Helen Sprout. She was no angel, that’s for sure. She was big and fat, and grouchy and she slammed around the kitchen, banging pots, and chopping up chickens with a cleaver, and punching the bread dough, and pounding potatoes with a big wooden masher. I stayed clear of her, that’s for sure.”

“Were you afraid of her?”

Miss Tilley reflected. “I guess I was, now that I think about it. There was something out of control about her. She was unpredictable, like a human whirlwind. Plates would break, smoke would billow from the stove, the sink would overflow, things like that were always happening.”

“How was the food?”

“Fine. Really good. It was the oddest thing. You’d think everything would be awful, burned to cinders, but it wasn’t. And after Papa had a taste of her apple pie, why there was no question about letting her go. He loved all her cooking, but especially her pies. That woman certainly had a knack—even Mama’s pie crust wasn’t as flaky as Mrs. Sprout’s.”

“My mother makes good pies,” said Lucy, “and she’s tried to teach me but mine are never as good as hers.” She thought of her father, drifting in and out of consciousness in the hospital, and her mother who was spending every free minute with him and suddenly wanted desperately to talk with them. Later, she promised herself, maybe after dinner when Bill gave Toby his bath. “What about the maid?” she asked.

“Which one?” chuckled Miss Tilley. “We went through quite a few of them, if I remember correctly. There was a Brigid, and several Marys, and a Margaret. They never lasted very long.”

“Your father?”

“Oh, no. He never took any notice of them. It was Mrs. Sprout. She made them work awfully hard. And I think some of them were afraid of Mr. Boott,” said Miss Tilley, giving an involuntary little shudder.

Lucy’s interest perked up. “Boott? Was he related to the Bootts on Packet Road?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Kyle is probably his grandnephew. Mr. Boott never married. He was a sort of handyman. He cut the grass and painted the trim and tended the coal furnace and sometimes he drove Mama when she went to see the doctor.”

“Did he have a first name?”

“Oh, yes. Emil.” Miss Tilley paused. “You know, I think that’s why I didn’t like him. I didn’t like his name.”

“Maybe there was some other reason?” prompted Lucy.

“Well, he was a convict, a trusty, from the county jail.”

Lucy’s eyebrows shot up. “A prisoner?”

“Yes. Papa had some arrangement with the sheriff and men from the prison often worked for him. They painted the house, I remember. Things like that.”

“No wonder you were afraid. They must have been in jail for a reason, right?”

“I don’t think Mr. Boott did anything very terrible, or Papa wouldn’t have had him around the house.”

“But he was in jail for a long time, right? So it must have been a fairly serious crime.”

“You’re right, Lucy. I never thought of it that way before. He must have worked for us for at least twenty years and he was a prisoner the whole time.”

“Twenty years is a long sentence,” said Lucy.

“Even for Papa,” said Miss Tilley. “He was tough but he rarely sentenced anyone for more than a year or two at most.” She paused. “Only the very worst criminals, like murderers and embezzlers got long terms. He believed in getting them back to work as fast as possible so the taxpayers wouldn’t have to support them, or their families.”

“Your father sounds like a peach,” said Lucy, sarcastically.

“Speaking of peaches, I almost forgot Miss Peach.”

“Miss Peach?”

“Oh, that wasn’t her real name. That’s what Mama called her, because she was from Georgia. She was my father’s secretary. Miss Katherine Kaiser.”

“It sounds as if your mother was a bit jealous.”

“I think she was and who could blame her? Miss Peach was everything she wasn’t. She had a career as a trained secretary, she was independent, she could spend her salary any way she wanted. And what she wanted was to buy clothes. She always looked lovely, in beautiful suits and hats and high-heeled shoes with peep toes. And she went to the beauty salon every morning just to have her hair combed! Harriet and I were pretty impressed, you can be sure of that. Imagine! Going to the salon just to have your hair combed.”

“That is pretty impressive,” said Lucy. She heard Toby stirring in the borning room and struggled awkwardly to her feet, belly first, and cracked the door to take a peek. He was sitting up in bed, sucking his thumb. She quickly changed his diaper, then he scrambled off the bed and ran out to the living room, stopping short when he saw Miss Tilley.

“I think he forgot me,” she said.

But Toby hadn’t forgotten. “Mmmm,” he said, remembering the game they’d played earlier.

“Mmmm,” she went, right back at him, and he laughed.

“I guess I better get this little fellow home for lunch,” said Lucy. “Come on Toby, let’s pick up your toys.”

It was a slow process but eventually everything was packed up, including the cookies, and Toby and Lucy were zipped in their winter jackets, and muffled in hats, scarves, and mittens, ready to go.

“Thanks for everything,” said Lucy. “It wouldn’t be Christmas without the cookies. And I haven’t forgotten about your mother. We’ve got a list of suspects and I’m going to see what I can dig up.”

“Suspects?”

“Your father, Emil Boott, Mrs. Sprout, Angela DeRosa, Katharine Kaiser, even the maids—any one of them could have given your mother a fatal push down the stairs.”

“I never thought of it that way but I suppose you’re right. They’re all suspects.”

But when Lucy had finally strapped Toby into the car seat and stowed everything in Auntie Granada’s enormous trunk, and was starting the car, she realized she had to add another suspect to her list: tuberculosis. As Miss Tilley had told her, the disease had ravaged families right up until World War II when lifesaving treatments were developed. It seemed a lot more probable that poor, ill Mrs. Tilley had fallen down the stairs as a result of a coughing fit or a fainting spell than at the hands of a household intimate.

Chapter Four

When Lucy got home she found Bill had heated up the pot of split pea soup they had been having for lunch for the past week. The soup never seemed to end, it just got thicker with each reheating even though they kept thinning it down with the vegetable cooking water Lucy always saved. The chunks of ham and carrot which had been plentiful in the beginning had become scarcer with each reheating, however.

“‘Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold,’” chanted Lucy, as she unzipped Toby. “‘Pease porridge in the pot nine days old,’ and that’s no lie. It’s lovely pea soup for lunch again.”

Toby didn’t seem to mind. He kicked his feet in the high chair and spooned the stuff up eagerly, chasing down the little oyster crackers that Lucy sprinkled on top. She wasn’t quite as enthusiastic but reminded herself that homemade pea soup was nourishing and tasty and certainly helped stretch the food budget. She was trying to think of something new to do with a pound of hamburger for supper when Bill came in the kitchen to heat some water for tea.

“Daddy! Daddy!” chortled Toby, flinging a spoonful of soup over his shoulder.

“So how did the cookie baking go? I’d be happy to conduct a taste test,” he asked, automatically reaching for the sponge and wiping the soup spatter off the wall, where it had landed.

Watching him, Lucy wondered why he bothered. Another stain on the wall would hardly matter. “Sorry,” she said, rousing herself. “Toby already did that. He said they were fine.”

Hearing his name Toby laughed, then picked a cracker out of his soup with his fingers and stuck it on his nose.

“I don’t know if he’s entirely reliable in matters of taste,” said Bill. “I’ve had a lot more experience when it comes to cookies.”

“You mean you don’t wear them?” asked Lucy.

“Exactly,” said Bill, plucking the cracker off Toby’s nose and popping it in his son’s little mouth. “I know that food goes in the mouth.”

“Down!” ordered Toby, who had lost interest in lunch and was raring to go.

The kettle shrieked as Lucy wiped his hands and face with a washcloth and set him on the floor, where he made a beeline for the wooden crate that served as a pot cupboard. She put tea bags in two mugs, filled them with hot water and arranged a half-dozen cookies on a plate and, stepping nimbly over the pots that Toby was scattering on the floor, carried it all back to the table.

“Mmm,” said Bill, savoring a bite of cookie.

“Mmm,” said Toby.

Bill raised his eyebrows curiously. “Mmm?” he said

“MMM,” hummed Toby, louder than before.

“It’s a game Miss Tilley taught him. He loves it.”

Bill’s next mmm was very soft, but Toby didn’t take the hint. His MMMM was louder and longer than ever.

“Is there a way to stop it?” asked Bill, reaching for another cookie.

“Don’t go mmm anymore,” said Lucy.

“MMMMM!”

“I will if you will,” said Bill. “So did you have an interesting morning?”

“A lot more interesting than I bargained for. You know that cane I bought for Miss Tilley?” When Bill nodded she continued. “Well, she started to cry when I gave it to her. It seems her mother actually died on Christmas Eve many years ago, this must have been back in the thirties, and a red and white glass cane was found smashed beside her body.”

“That’s quite a coincidence,” said Bill, taking a slurp of tea.

“I know. And it gets weirder. She told me she’s always suspected her mother was killed by her father. He was a mean old character if ever there was one.”

“She told you all this while you were baking cookies?”

“Uh, well, Toby fell asleep and we drank some sherry,” admitted Lucy. “I only had a very small glass but Miss Tilley pretty much drained the bottle. I think it may have loosened her lips.”

“I guess so,” said Bill. “It doesn’t seem the sort of conversation you have with a new friend.”

“Not at all, but that’s the funny thing. It didn’t feel as if we were getting to know each other, it seemed as if we’d known each other forever. Like we were old friends, maybe in some earlier reincarnation or something.”

Bill looked at her skeptically. “I think you need to get out more, Lucy.”

“Well, I was thinking I might do a little investigating and see if I can’t find out how her mother really died. There were a lot of people in and out of the house and one of them might have been a murderer.”

“How are you going to do that? They’ve probably all been dead for years.”

Lucy looked down at her empty mug. “I don’t exactly know myself,” she admitted. “But people don’t live in a vacuum. There are bound to be records, newspaper accounts. After all, old cases do get solved from time to time. That’s what the mystery I’m reading is about.”

“That’s a book, this is real life,” he said. “And besides, you’re already overlooking an obvious clue.”

“I am?”

“Sure, the cane.”

“You’re right!” exclaimed Lucy, hopping up and running around the table to kiss him. “In fact, it just so happens that I bought the cane from some people named Boott, and the Tilley family had a handyman named Boott. And, get this, he was a trusty from the jail.”

“Sounds like a prime suspect to me,” said Bill, scratching his chin. “I’m thinking of growing a beard. What do you think?”

“I think you’d look like a real Mainer.”

He pulled her into his lap. “It will be scratchy at first,” he said, giving her a long, lovely kiss.

“Mmmm,” said Lucy. “I won’t mind.”

“MMMM!” hummed Toby, banging a pot with a wooden spoon.

Surprised, they jumped apart, laughing. “I guess I better get back to work,” said Bill. “That sheetrock isn’t going to hang itself.”

Lucy took the dirty dishes over to the sink and began washing them, looking out the window as she worked. She had a clear view of the rutted dirt driveway, the fence with its missing and broken pickets, and the road that nobody except the mailman ever seemed to use. And here he was now, in his little Jeep.

Checking to see that Toby was busy with his pots she threw her coat over her shoulders and ran down the driveway, hoping the day’s mail included something good. A big fat check would be best, maybe they’d overpaid their income tax and the IRS was sending them a refund. But she’d settle for a card from a friend, or a Christmas gift.

Opening the flap on the front of the box, she smiled to see a small package wrapped in brown paper and string along with the usual bills and junk mail. The return address indicated it came from her mother, which surprised her because she knew her mother was spending all her time at the hospital with her father.

Back inside the kitchen, she found Toby was still busy arranging the pots so she threw the coat over a chair and sat down at the table to open the package. She slipped off the string and paper and found a slim little book, an old and worn copy of O. Henry’s famous story, “The Gift of the Magi.” It wasn’t wrapped and there was no card but she didn’t need one, she knew it came from her father. It was his tradition to read the story every Christmas.

Now, she realized, he was sending it to her so she could carry on the tradition. It was his way of saying good-bye. She pressed the musty, brown volume to her chest and tears filled her eyes.

“Book!” said Toby, attempting to climb into her lap.

She wiped her eyes and hoisted him up onto her lap. Then she began reading aloud, expecting Toby to lose interest. But he didn’t. He was content to sit in her lap and listen as she read the familiar story of Della, who sold her beautiful hair to buy a gold chain for her husband’s pocket watch, and Jim, who sold his pocket watch to buy combs for Della’s hair. In the end, he had a watch chain and no watch and she had combs for her hair but no hair to hold them, but they had their love for each other which was the best gift of all.

Finishing the story, she set Toby in his high chair with a sippy cup of juice and a handful of Cheerios and reached for the phone, dialing the number she had learned as a child. Her mother answered.

“I got the book. Thank you so much.”

“He insisted. I told him I didn’t have time, it’s a long bus ride to Montefiore you know, but he kept after me and kept after me. You’re wasting your strength I told him, you should be thinking about getting well instead of worrying about a Christmas present for Lucy, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“Well I really appreciate it. I know how much Dad needs you.” She paused. “How is he?”

“The same.”

Lucy reached over and stroked Toby’s silky head. He popped a Cheerio in his mouth and smiled at her. “The same? What does that mean?”

“It means he’s not getting better and he’s not getting worse.”

“Can’t they try something different? Some new medication?”

“He won’t let them.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s refusing treatment.” Lucy heard the anger in her mother’s voice. “He’s giving up.”

Lucy found herself slumping, as if a heavy blanket of sadness had dropped on her. “Do you want me to come?” she asked.

“There’s no need.” Her mother’s voice was sharp.

“But if he’s dying…,” Lucy paused, realizing it was the first time since her father became ill that she’d said the word, “if he’s dying I want to say good-bye.”

“He isn’t going to die. I’m not letting him. I’m seeing a lawyer and I’m going to court and I’ll become his guardian and then I’ll tell the doctors to do whatever they can to keep him alive.”

Lucy bit her lip. “Are you sure that’s the right…”

“Of course it’s the right thing to do. I have to go now.” Then there was a click and the line went dead.

Lucy wanted to tear her clothes and pull her hair, she wanted to yell at her mother, she wanted to feel her father’s strong arms around her one more time, but she couldn’t do those things so she lifted Toby onto his feet, standing him in the high chair, and gave him a big hug. Inside her, the baby seemed to do a somersault.

Toby wasn’t interested in hugs and after his long morning nap he wasn’t interested in his usual after-lunch nap. He was interested in banging pots but Lucy was developing a headache, so she decided to take him outside for a walk around the yard. It wasn’t Central Park, with its zoo and merry-go-round, but it did offer fresh air and occasional sunshine.

Toby needed a hand getting down the porch steps, but then he was off and running, heading down the driveway. Lucy ran after him, scooped him up and swung him around, pointing him in the opposite direction. He tried to dodge past her, determined to flirt with death in the road, but she blocked him and scooped him up again. “Let’s find a ball,” she said, and this time he ran for the safer territory of the backyard. As she followed she thought about her conversation with her mother and tried to sort out her feelings.

It seemed to her that through the years she had played out this same scenario many times. She had always felt closer to her father than her mother, but whenever any real intimacy began to develop her mother would somehow intervene. It started when she was quite small. If Pop invited her to go for a walk down the street to the candy store, her mother would come up with some chore he had to do first and the little walk would be forgotten. Even when she was in college she could remember several instances when he called to say he would be in the area on a business trip and would take her out to dinner, just the two of them, but it never happened. A sudden crisis always seemed to arise—Mom suddenly developed a mysterious ailment or her car was making a suspicious noise—and he’d have to cut the trip short and return home.

Toby had found the ball, a big playground ball, and was running with it. When he got about ten feet from her he threw it to her, making a great effort, and she laughed at the sight. He was so cute. She couldn’t imagine shutting him out or turning away from him, but that’s what her mother had done to her. She’d always felt like a third wheel, like an intruder in her parents’ life together, and she’d assumed that was the natural order of things. Now she knew differently. She caught the ball and threw it back, gently, so Toby could catch it.

Back in the house she put a Care Bears tape in the VCR for Toby and set a pot of water to boil, planning to cook macaroni for American chop suey. It wasn’t fine cuisine, but it sure stretched a pound of hamburger. While she waited for it to boil she called Miss Tilley at the library. After thanking her for letting her bake the cookies and minding Toby and giving her sherry, Lucy got to the point of her call. “Do you know anything about the glass cane your mother had?” she asked. “Was it a family treasure?”

“I’d never seen it before, nobody had,” replied Miss Tilley.

“Perhaps it was a gift she was intending to give someone?”

“I don’t know where she would have gotten it. She hadn’t been out of the house for months.”

“Maybe someone gave it to her,” suggested Lucy.

“She was too sick for visitors by then.”

“I see,” said Lucy.

“I’m afraid I’m not being very helpful,” said Miss Tilley.

“On the contrary,” said Lucy, who was beginning to think she was on to something. She might not be Sherlock Holmes, but she could use his method. It was simple logic that if the glass cane wasn’t in the house before the murder, and if Mrs. Tilley had no way of obtaining it herself, then the killer must have brought it. Find the owner of the cane and she would find the murderer.

She was explaining this to Miss Tilley when the pot began to steam and the lid rattled. “Oops, got to go,” she said, “before the pot boils over.”

Next morning it was the diaper pail that was demanding attention. Now that Toby was becoming more interested in using the toilet, the pail filled more slowly and had plenty of time to ripen. She sniffed the familiar odor and decided something had to be done. Fortunately, the septic system hadn’t been giving much trouble lately, the sink and bathtub drained nicely, the toilet flushed properly without even a hiccup, so Lucy decided to risk running the washer. She filled it with hot water, added detergent and bleach, and dumped in the diapers. The machine chugged and swished and Lucy enjoyed the sense of virtue that came from knowing she wasn’t polluting the planet with disposable diapers. Not that she wouldn’t, of course, if she could have afforded them. But that didn’t lessen the fact that she had made the ecological choice.

The cycle had almost finished and she was considering running a second load when she heard an ominous bubbling sound in the kitchen sink. She went into the bathroom and discovered the toilet was burping, a sure sign that the cesspool was nearing capacity and needed time to drain. That second load would have to be done at the Laundromat.

Lucy put the diapers in the dryer and got it going, then she packed up the dirty laundry, zipped Toby into his snowsuit, and advised Bill not to flush unless absolutely necessary. She didn’t mind having to go to the Laundromat. It got her out of the house, and she planned to make a second stop at the Winchester College museum to inquire about the glass factory.

A light snow was falling as she steered Auntie Granada toward Main Street, passing the large old sea captains’ houses that had been built in the town’s nineteenth-century heyday. Back then there were huge fortunes to be made at sea, taking ginseng to China, and bringing back tea, and porcelain, and furniture. Those days were gone but the substantial houses had endured and were decked in holiday greenery, with wreaths and swags and garlands. A few even had decorative arrangements of fruit—pineapples, and oranges, and apples—fixed above their doors. Continuing on past the Community Church she spotted the traditional creche on the lawn and decided to show it to Toby.

She parked right in front of the church and climbed the hill to the creche, holding Toby by the hand. Another woman was already there, with a little girl a few years older than Toby.

“Hi!” said Lucy. “What a charming creche.”

She wasn’t exaggerating. The creche featured a collection of large plaster figures depicting Mary and Joseph, the shepherds, and the animals. In a wooden manger filled with straw a plaster baby Jesus lay with his plump arms and legs in the air.

“If that’s a newborn baby, Mary is a better woman than I,” said the woman.

Lucy looked at her, taking in her smartly tailored black coat with padded shoulders, her Farrah Fawcett hairdo, her red lipstick and her high-heeled platform boots. The little girl was also beautifully dressed, in a red wool coat with leggings, and a matching hat that screamed Saks Fifth Avenue’s children’s department. “Pardon me for saying so, but you don’t look as if you’re from around here,” she said. “I’m Lucy Stone and this is Toby. We just moved here a few months ago from New York.” Then she added, “City,” just to be clear.

“Sue Finch, and this is my daughter, Sidra. We’ve been here about a year.” She sighed meaningfully “We used to live in Bronxville but my husband, Sid, didn’t get tenure so he decided to become a carpenter.”

“That’s too bad,” said Lucy, expressing heartfelt sympathy. “My husband wanted to get back to the land and work with his hands. He used to be a stockbroker.”

“Why Maine?” asked Sue.

“Bill read an article years ago in Mother Earth News….”

“I think Sid read the same one! So here we are.” Sue held out her hands. “Strangers in a strange land.”

Lucy laughed. “Look, I have to get going, but would you like to exchange phone numbers? Maybe we could get together for tea and sympathy?”

“You’ve got a deal,” said Sue, scribbling on a piece of paper and giving it to Lucy.

Lucy tore off the bottom half and wrote her number on it. “Call anytime,” said Lucy, visualizing the calendar full of empty white squares that hung on the kitchen wall.

“I will,” said Sue. “By the way, do you think you could give us a lift to the IGA? My car got a flat and Mike at the garage said it won’t be ready before noon.”

“No problem,” said Lucy, as they walked down the hill together. Sidra, she noticed, was making faces at Toby and he was clearly fascinated.

But when they got to the car, she was embarrassed by the mess of toys and papers, not to mention the dirty laundry, and began to try to clear the passenger seat for Sue.

“Never mind,” she said, seating herself on top of some crumpled junk mail.

But Lucy did mind. She figured her new friendship was over before it began. Who would want to hang out with a slob like her?

Lucy had a laundry basket full of neatly folded clothes sitting beside her on the front seat and Toby was nodding off in his car seat in the back when she pulled into the museum parking lot at Winchester College. The college’s venerable brick buildings and quad reminded her of her own college days and she felt a bit wistful as she maneuvered Toby out of the car seat and into the umbrella stroller. She decided to take Toby for a little walk around the quad before going to the museum, hoping that the motion would lull him to sleep and the little toddler dozed off before she was halfway around. She enjoyed the reaction of the students she passed: the boys generally ignored Toby but the girls all smiled at him, probably imagining themselves as mothers some day. Good luck to them thought Lucy, whose back was beginning to ache.

Back at the museum, Lucy wheeled Toby inside, pausing to examine an Egyptian mummy that was displayed in the front hall. Wondering how it ended up in this backwater corner of Maine, she studied a directory posted on the wall and discovered the curator’s office was on the third floor. She took the elevator and when the doors slid open encountered a thirty-ish man wearing the academic uniform of tweed jacket, oxford shirt and bow tie. “Can I help you?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Lucy assumed he didn’t get too many visitors, especially not mothers with toddlers in tow. “I’m looking for the curator,” she said.

“Well you found him,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Fred Rumford. What can I do for you?”

“I’m Lucy Stone,” she said, taking his hand and finding it pleasantly warm and his shake firm. “I’m looking for information about a glass factory that used to be here in town.”

“Come with me,” he said, ushering her back into the elevator and pressing the number two. “We have a display.”

The second floor of the museum was devoted to local industry such as fishing and farming, and a corner featured enlarged photos of the Brown and Williams Glass Company, as well as samples of the wares it produced such as bottles, oil lamps, and fancy dishes. There wasn’t a glass cane in sight, but the photos of workers caught her eye. One picture of office workers had a list of names beneath the rather glum group and she leaned closer for a better look. Sure enough, she realized with mounting excitement, there was Emil Boott standing in the back row, dressed as the others were in a dark suit. His face was round and bland and gave no hint that he was a criminal, headed for prison.

She pointed him out. “See that fellow there, in the wire-rimmed glasses? He did something very bad and was sent to prison for twenty years.”

“You don’t say,” said Fred. “He looks nice enough.”

“You never can tell, just by looking at someone,” said Lucy, thinking of the photos she’d occasionally seen in the newspaper of murderers and other criminals. She studied them, looking for a clue to what made them commit such evil acts, but they usually looked like anyone else.

“Back in the nineteenth century they used to think there was a criminal physiognomy, that you could identify criminals by the shape of their heads,” said Fred.

“If only it were that simple,” said Lucy, with a sigh. “I’m interested in a particular item, a glass cane,” she said.

“A whimsy.”

“A what?”

“Whimsy. They were items the workers made out of leftover glass at the end of the day to amuse themselves.”

“Would there be a record of who made them, or who bought them?”

Fred shook his head. “No. In fact, since they had to be left out overnight to cool, they were often appropriated by whoever got to work first the next morning.”

“So a fellow like this Emil Boott, an office worker, could have taken a cane or two if he got to work early, before the glassblowers.”

“Well, sure,” said Fred. “But I don’t think he went to prison for twenty years for taking a whimsy.”

Lucy bent closer and took another look at the man identified as Emil Boott and remembered Miss Tilley saying that her father only gave long sentences to the very worst criminals, like murderers. Had he misjudged Emil Boott when he put him to work around the house? Had Emil Boott killed Mrs. Tilley?

“You’re right. He must have been more than a petty thief,” agreed Lucy, wondering how she could find out exactly what crime Emil Boott had committed to earn such a long sentence.

Fred cleared his throat. “I really have to get back to work,” he said, with a sigh. “Budget projections are due next week.”

Lucy’s face reddened. “Oh, don’t let me keep you. I really appreciate your help. Is it okay if I look around a bit?”

“Be my guest,” said Fred, pushing the elevator button. “We don’t get too many visitors, except for school groups.” The doors slid open and he stepped aboard. “Don’t miss the mummy,” he said.

Lucy started to ask how the museum came to possess a mummy, but before she could form the question the doors closed and Fred was gone. “Another mystery,” she said to Toby. “This town is full of them.”

Chapter Five

When they lived in the city Lucy had always looked forward to the weekend when Bill didn’t have to go to work. That meant they could sleep a little later, and then enjoy a leisurely breakfast while deciding what to do with the rest of the day. Sometimes it would be a car trip out of the city, with a stop at a farm stand. Sometimes it would be an excursion to the zoo or the botanical gardens, or a museum. And other times they would simply go for a walk, perhaps stopping for a big doughy pretzel or a hot dog from a street vendor. It didn’t matter what they did, really, because there was a special holiday feel to the weekend that made it special.

But now that Bill worked at home, weekends were just the same as every other day. He couldn’t take the time, he said, because there was so much work to be done on the house. And anyway, there wasn’t really anywhere interesting to go. Tinker’s Cove didn’t offer much in the way of culture apart from the library and the museum, and Lucy was already familiar with them. The movie theater was only open in summer; it closed up tight for the winter. There was nature, of course, lots of it. Acres and acres of woods, lakes and ponds, and the endless expanse of ocean. But, oddly enough, everybody seemed to take it for granted and there was very little public access. Hunters roamed the woods, to be sure, but there were few easy trails suitable for family hiking. And most of the shore was privately owned, and rocky to boot, except for the little town beach. There was no open expanse for walking, like the beaches she knew on Cape Cod.

So here it was, a bright and sunny Saturday morning, and Lucy was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and leafing through the Pennysaver newspaper, looking for something to do. Toby was by her side, in his high chair, supposedly eating scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast. Maybe he would be the next Jackson Pollack, thought Lucy, watching as he smeared the eggs on the tray.

“Ready to get down?” she asked, reaching for a washcloth to wipe his face and hands.

“No.” He shook his head and began chewing on a toast triangle.

“Okay,” she said, turning the page and studying the “Things to Do” column. That’s what it was called, but there was precious little that interested her. Goodness knows she didn’t need Weight Watchers, she wasn’t interested in seeing the new holiday line of Tupperware products, she didn’t have money to spend on Mary Kay cosmetics and, darn it all, they’d missed the pancake breakfast with Santa at the fire house. “Maybe next year,” she promised Toby. “We’ll keep an eye out for it.”

Toby rewarded her with a big smile, revealing a mouth full of half-chewed chunks of toast. Not a pretty sight, even if he was her own child. She turned back to the paper, where an announcement for an open house at the historical society caught her eye. Maybe someone there would be able to give her some leads on her investigation, especially concerning her prime suspect, Emil Boott. “It says there will be refreshments,” she promised Toby, ignoring his protests and removing a soggy wad of toast from his little fist and cleaning him up. “Better save some room for punch and cookies.”

It was almost eleven when Lucy parked Auntie Granada in front of the Josiah Hopkins House and wrestled Toby out of the car seat. As they walked along the uneven blocks of sidewalk to the open house she examined the antique house that housed the historical society. Built circa 1700, according to a sign next to the front door, the little Cape-style house was supposed to be the oldest house in town. It was named for its builder, Josiah Hopkins, who was reputed to be the first European to settle in Tinker’s Cove. The white clapboard house appeared to be quite small from the front, with a low roof set over two pairs of windows and a center door, but a series of ells had been tacked onto the back as the family grew and stretched in an uneven line that ended at a lopsided barn.

Unsure whether she should knock on the wreathed door or just walk in, Lucy paused on the grindstone that served as a stoop. “I thought there’d be more people,” she told Toby, as she hoisted him up and perched him on her hip. She was just about to knock when the door flew open.

“We saw you coming,” said a little old lady who bore an unnerving resemblance to an apple-head doll. Her hair, which was carefully curled and blued, was an odd contrast to her wrinkled and puckered face. Her eyes, however, were sharp as ever and didn’t miss a thing. “Ellie, Ellie,” she called. “Come and meet this adorable little tyke.”

She was quickly joined by another little apple-head doll of a woman, right down to the matching hair. “Isn’t he the little man!” she proclaimed. “Come in, come in.”

Lucy set Toby on his feet and unzipped his jacket, then grasping him firmly by the hand, introduced herself.

“Oh, you’re the young folks who bought the old farmhouse on Red Top Road,” said Ellie. “Emily, they’re the folks who bought the place out by the Pratts.”

“We’re the Miller sisters,” said Emily. “We’re twins. I’m Emily and this is Ellie.”

“You can tell us apart because I’m the pretty one,” said Ellie, repeating what Lucy suspected was a well-worn joke. Lucy made a quick mental note, observing that Ellie was wearing the pink twin set and Emily was in blue.

“Never mind her,” said Emily. “We’re so glad to welcome you to our open house. Do enjoy the house and we’ll be happy to answer any questions you have, and be sure to have some holiday punch and cookies in the dining room.”

“Thank you,” said Lucy, who was admiring the wide plank floors and the simple woodwork which had been painted a deep shade of red. A small fire blazed in the hearth, which was ringed with a simple wooden bench, a rocking chair and a tall settle. Cheery print curtains hung at the windows and a hutch displayed a collection of antique china.

“All the furnishings have been donated by our members,” said Emily, noticing her interest.

“Did your members do the restoration work, too?” asked Lucy, keeping a watchful eye on Toby, who was fascinated by the fire.

“Most of it. We also hired some craftsmen. We got a lot of advice from the state historical commission.”

“I see,” said Lucy, eager to see the rest of the house. She took Toby by the hand and together they explored the kitchen, with its enormous hearth, the buttery where food was stored, the pantry where dishes were kept, and climbed the cramped little staircase to the tiny bedrooms tucked under the eaves. Pulling Toby away from a display of antique toys she went back downstairs to the dining room, where black-and-gold Hitchcock chairs surrounded a cherry drop-leaf table that held a crystal punch bowl with a silver ladle and enough cookies for an army.

“Would you care for some punch?” asked Emily, popping through the door. Or was it Ellie, wondered Lucy, afraid she’d mixed up pink and blue.

“Be sure to taste the mincemeat cookies,” advised Ellie, or was it Emily?

“Thank you,” said Lucy, holding the crystal cup so Toby could drink from it, then handing him a cookie. “It’s a beautiful house,” she said, taking a bite of a lemon bar. “It must have taken a lot of work.”

“A labor of love,” said Emily.

“That’s right,” said Ellie, nodding along.

“I wonder,” said Lucy, excited by an idea that was taking shape in her mind, “does the society have information about the early residents of Tinker’s Cove? I’m thinking of census records, genealogies, wills, things like that.”

The two Miller sisters exchanged a glance.

“We used to,” said one.

“Before the fire,” said the other.

“It was all lost.”

“We were lucky to save the house and the furniture.”

“Oh, dear,” said Lucy, feeling extremely disappointed.

The sisters exchanged another glance.

“Would you like to sit down, dear?” asked one.

“Is there something in particular that you want to know?” asked the other. “Because most people in town have deep roots. Their families have been here for a very long time.”

“A long time, that’s right.”

Lucy sat down and the sisters refilled her cup and passed her a plate of cookies. She sipped and nibbled and thought. She was reluctant to admit that she was investigating Mrs. Tilley’s death, which might or might not have been murder, but she didn’t want to pass up this opportunity, either. So far, the Miller sisters were her only lead.

“Well,” she began, “I’m doing some research on a household. Sort of a social history, if you know what I mean. A well-off family and their helpers.”

The sisters nodded. “Like that TV show.”

“Upstairs, Downstairs.”

“Right,” agreed Lucy. “I have all the information I need about the upstairs family, but it’s the downstairs folks I’m having trouble tracking down.”

The sisters nodded.

“I need information about a man named Emil Boott.”

They shook their heads. “There’s a family named Boott out on Packet Road,” said Emily.

“Oh I don’t think she wants to visit them,” said Ellie, with a sniff.

“Oh, I’ve met them,” said Lucy. Seeing the sisters shocked expressions she quickly added, “At a yard sale.”

“I’d steer clear of that lot, if I were you,” said Emily.

“Oh, yes. Oh, dear yes,” chimed in Ellie. She lowered her voice. “Kyle’s a bit, um, unpredictable.”

“So I gathered,” replied Lucy, with a nod. “Is there a violent streak in the family?”

The ladies exchanged glances but didn’t reply. Lucy sensed she’d gotten all she was going to get from them concerning the Boott’s and pressed on. “Angela DeRosa?”

They shook their heads.

“Katherine Kaiser.”

The sisters exchanged glances, again, and sighed in unison. Lucy had the distinct feeling they knew something but weren’t going to share it with her. She continued down her list. “Helen Sprout.”

The two broke into smiles and giggles. “There are lots of Sprouts around,” said Emily.

“Old Hannah Sprout, she must be going on eighty herself, lives over in Gilead.”

“I bet she’d love to talk to you.”

“I bet she would, too.”

Lucy was about to ask how she could contact Hannah Sprout when she suddenly remembered Toby. He’d been right there, eating cookies, and now he was gone. She jumped to her feet. “Where’s Toby?”

“He can’t have wandered far,” said Ellie.

“No, no, no,” agreed Emily.

But Lucy was imagining the worst as she searched frantically through the maze of little rooms. He might have fallen in the fire. He might have fallen down the stairs. He might have wandered out a back door. He might have been abducted.

Then she heard one of the sisters sing out, “I found him.”

Lucy hauled herself up the crooked little staircase as fast as she could, considering her condition. She was out of breath when she found Toby sitting on the floor in the room that was decorated as a child’s nursery, surrounded by that valuable collection of antique toys. The toys, and Toby, appeared to be unharmed.

“Isn’t it sweet?” trilled a sister.

“He found the toys!”

“I hope nothing’s broken,” said Lucy, pulling him to his feet and leading him to the stairway. She took a deep breath. “We’ll pay if there’s any damage.”

“Oh, no, no, no damage,” chorused the sisters. “No harm done.”

As Lucy zipped up Toby and buttoned her coat and headed straight for the door, she had the feeling that a tragedy had been barely averted. “Thanks for everything,” she said, as the door closed behind her and she let out a big sigh of relief.

Toby didn’t see it quite the same way, however. Once outside he yanked himself free and threw himself on the brown grass, shrieking and kicking his heels in a full-blown temper tantrum. “Horsey! Horsey!” he repeated, over and over, at the top of his lungs.

Lucy had read about two-year-olds and their famous temper tantrums in the child care books, but so far she hadn’t experienced one. She stood there, in the middle of town, trying to remember the recommended course of action. Nothing came to her except an acute sense of embarrassment. Thank heavens nobody seemed to be on the street, at the moment, but if Toby continued screaming that was sure to change. The last thing Lucy wanted was to attract a crowd.

“Toby, stop it!” she said, in her firmest, most authoritative voice.

He kicked his heels harder.

Maybe bribery? The experts discouraged it, but it had been remarkably successful on the few occasions she’d tried it. “Toby, stop fussing and be a good boy and I’ll buy you some ice cream.”

The screams grew louder.

It was time to bring out the big guns. “Toby, if you don’t stop that this minute I’m going to get in the car and leave you here all by yourself.”

Not a good idea. The shrieks were now punctuated with hysterical sobs. Lucy felt her cheeks reddening, she felt angry and incompetent and frustrated and embarrassed, all at once. And now, she saw, a group of women were advancing down the sidewalk. Mature, matronly women who had mastered the art of motherhood. She had to get out of there. Adrenaline surged, she grabbed Toby by the hood of his jacket and the seat of his pants, and, tucking the screaming and kicking boy under her arm, she hauled him to the car and wrestled him into the car seat. Once he was securely strapped in, she slid behind the steering wheel and caught her breath.

The group of women, she noticed, nodded approvingly. One even smiled sympathetically at her and she gave them a little wave. Then, resolutely closing her ears to the din coming from the backseat, she started the engine and pulled onto Main Street, right in the path of a battered blue pickup truck. The driver honked and swerved, missing a collision, but Lucy’s heart was racing when the truck braked and the driver turned to glare at her. To her horror it was Kyle Boott, and he looked as if he was spoiling for a fight. Stomach churning, she rolled down the window and stuck her head out, stretching her lips into a smile. “I’m soo sorry,” she yelled. “I didn’t see you. No harm done, I hope.”

He didn’t answer and for a moment Lucy thought he was going to get out of the truck, but instead he slammed it into gear and took off, leaving rubber. Weak with relief she turned round to face Toby “It’s all your fault!” she declared. “How can I drive with you making this racket?”

Confronted with his mother’s anger, Toby ratcheted up his screaming, which was now punctuated with sobs and hiccups. By now Lucy was sobbing, too, and all she could think of was to get home. So once again she gripped the steering wheel with trembling hands and turned on her blinker and checked her mirrors and very slowly and carefully pulled out of her parking spot.

The drive home was nightmarish. Lucy drove slowly and extra carefully, concentrating on the road as if she were taking a driver’s test, and trying not to worry about Toby. How long could he keep this up? Could he stop? Maybe she should go to the emergency room? But then they’d probably call in social services, maybe they’d decide she couldn’t cope and would take Toby away from her. Maybe she was a bad mother, maybe she shouldn’t have children.

She was following this train of thought when she turned onto Red Top Road and the house came into view and Toby fell asleep, all at once. By the time she’d turned into the driveway he’d sunk into a deep sleep, punctuated by hiccups. He didn’t even stir when she lifted him out of the car seat and carried him into the house.

“Look at that sweet little guy,” cooed Bill, who was fixing himself a cup of tea in the kitchen.

“Appearances can be deceiving,” muttered Lucy, lugging the baby upstairs and settling him in his crib.

Bill had followed and watched as she slipped off Toby’s jacket and shoes and covered him with a blanket. “He’ll probably wet the bed,” she observed, with a sniffle.

“So what’s the big deal?” asked Bill, leaning against the door jamb and sipping his tea. “He’s just a baby.”

“This so-called baby of yours is a monster,” snapped Lucy. “You should have seen the tantrum he had, right in the middle of town.”

“What do you expect?” asked Bill. “He’s almost two years old and they don’t call it the ‘terrible twos’ for nothing.”

Lucy suddenly felt very alone. He didn’t understand and she didn’t have the energy to make him. “I’m tired. I’m going to lie down for a bit,” she said.

“I was hoping you’d go to the lumber yard for me,” said Bill. “I don’t ask for much but I could use a little help now and then, you know. I’m beginning to think I’m a one-man show.”

Lucy’s chin dropped and she turned to face him. “One-man show! Is that what you think?”

“Well, yeah,” said Bill, rising to his full height. “I don’t see you pitching in.”

Lucy stared at him, speechless. “Pitch in yourself,” she finally said and marched out of the nursery, across the hall and into the bedroom. She would have slammed the door but that would have wakened the baby.

She lay there, staring at the stained and cracked ceiling, and listened to Bill’s footsteps as they retreated down the hall to the front stairs. By the time he’d reached the bottom, she was sound asleep.

Two hours later she woke with a start, awakened by Toby’s cries. Just regular cries, she realized with relief, he wasn’t having another tantrum. She threw off the covers and shoved her swollen feet into her slippers and shuffled into his room. He stopped crying when he saw her and she picked him up, nuzzling his damp head with her nose and getting a distinct whiff of ammonia. As she expected his overalls were soaked and all the bedding needed to be changed. She sighed and led him into the bathroom, where she set him on the potty.

“Are you up?” Bill’s voice echoed up the stairwell.

“Up and at ‘em,” she yelled back.

“Someone named Sue called,” he said.

Lucy suddenly felt better.

“I got her number and said you’d call back.”

“Thanks,” said Lucy, pulling off Toby’s wet overalls, even his socks were soaked. She sighed. It would be a while before she could make that call.

Chapter Six

“I don’t think this is such a good idea, Lucy,” complained Bill. He was standing in front of the mirror in the bedroom and fiddling with a necktie. “I can’t believe I wore a tie every day back in the city. This thing is an instrument of torture.”

“You look very nice,” said Lucy, adjusting the tie and giving him a little kiss.

“I can’t really take the time,” he continued. “Why don’t you and Toby go and I’ll finish insulating the nursery?”

Lucy held his jacket for him. “Don’t be silly. It’s the last Sunday before Christmas and we haven’t been to church even once. It will give you some Christmas spirit.”

“I’ve got plenty of Christmas spirit,” said Bill, slipping his arms into the sleeves.

Lucy set her jaw in a stubborn expression. “Well, I want to hear the carols,” she said, pulling the jacket up over his shoulders and smoothing it out. “Do it for me.”

Bill rolled his eyes. “You are a stubborn woman, Lucy Stone.”

Lucy’s temper flared. “I don’t think…”

“But I love you anyway,” he said, silencing her with a kiss.

When they arrived at the little white Community Church with the tall steeple they found it was bursting at the seams but people cheerfully slid down the pews and squeezed together to make room for everyone. Lucy assumed the crowd was made of folks her mother called “Christmas and Easter Christians,” people who only came to church on holidays, a group which Lucy had to acknowledge she and Bill had joined. But a quick perusal of the bulletin revealed that the usual sermon would be replaced by the Sunday School’s annual pageant, a local tradition which brought entire families out in force. She nudged Bill, who was holding Toby in his lap, and pointed out the notation.

“It ought to be really cute,” she whispered.

“Hmph,” said Bill.

But even he was smiling when the children, dressed as shepherds, advanced down the aisle, some holding stuffed lambs and other animals, including a few neon colored Care Bears, and arranged themselves in a tableau vivant around the teenagers playing Mary and Joseph. Mary was keeping a nervous eye on baby Jesus, who was a real baby, and Joseph seemed ready to flee; Lucy wondered if they were presenting a more accurate version of the actual events than they knew. The arrival of the youngest children, dressed as angels in white robes and homemade wings, with tinsel haloes, was greeted with coos from the congregation, and everyone joined in singing “Away in a Manger.” Then came the Three Wise Men, a trio of high school girls with fake beards, robes, and turbans made out of upholstery material (Lucy recognized the pattern as one her mother had chosen years ago for a slip cover) accompanied by the singing of “We Three Kings,” which was followed by Lucy’s favorite, “Silent Night.” When it was over the entire congregation burst into applause. This was new to Lucy, and an indication that it had indeed been some time since she had been to church and things had changed while she’d been away.

When the service was over most people trooped down the aisle to the front of the church where there was a door leading to the parish hall where coffee was served. Bill started to go in the opposite direction, but Lucy stopped him.

“Let’s get a cup of coffee,” she pleaded. “Maybe we’ll meet some people.”

Bill was less than enthusiastic. “Aw, Lucy….”

She cut him off. “It won’t kill you to be sociable, you know,” she said, taking Toby by the hand and marching down the aisle. Bill followed, a glum expression on his face.

The parish room was crowded and there was a happy buzz as adults greeted each other and children, still dressed in their shepherd and angel costumes, dashed around and helped themselves to more cookies than was wise before lunch. Appetites would certainly be spoiled, thought Lucy, accepting a Styrofoam cup of rather weak looking coffee. She chose a plain sugar cookie for Toby and looked around for a familiar face. Bill, she noticed, was already deep in conversation with a man she recognized from the lumber yard. She was sipping her coffee and feeling rather hurt that he hadn’t thought to include her in the conversation when she saw the Miller twins approaching her.

“So nice to see you, Lucy,” said Emily.

“And Toby, too,” said Ellie. “Maybe he can be in the pageant next year. He’ll be old enough to be an angel.”

“He will have to be quite an actor to pull that off,” said Lucy, remembering the previous day’s tantrum.

The two ladies’ eyebrows shot up in surprise, then Ellie smiled. “It’s a joke, dear,” she told her sister. “Just look at that angelic little face.”

Lucy looked at Toby, trying to see him through another’s eyes. He was angelic looking, she realized, with his blond curls and pink cheeks. “Thank you,” she said. “It was a lovely pageant. I really enjoyed it.”

“They do it every year,” said Emily. “It’s always the same.”

“And it’s always wonderful,” said Ellie. “We were in it, years ago.”

“Ellie got to be Mary,” complained Emily. “It wasn’t fair.”

“Emily was supposed to be Joseph,” said Ellie. “She wasn’t happy about it.”

“No, I wasn’t. I got Hannah Sprout to take my place. Oh, my goodness, here she comes.”

Lucy watched as a tall, gray-haired woman in a bright red suit with a Christmas brooch pinned on the shoulder crossed the room. “Good morning, ladies,” she said, looking curiously at Lucy. “Wonderful pageant, wasn’t it?”

“We were just telling Lucy here, oh, this is Lucy Stone and her little boy Toby. They moved into the old farmhouse on Red Top Road.”

“Nice to meet you, Lucy. I’m Hannah Sprout.”

“We were telling Lucy about the time you had to play Joseph in the pageant because Emily wouldn’t wear that beard.”

“I don’t blame her one bit,” said Hannah. “That thing was scratchy. But, my word, that was a long time ago. We were just kids.”

“Actually, Lucy’s interested in the old days,” said Emily. “She was asking about your mother.”

Hannah turned to face Lucy. “Mother? What do you want to know about her?”

Toby was pulling on Lucy’s hand so she picked him up and balanced him on her hip. She was beginning to put one and one together. Hannah Sprout, she realized, must be Helen Sprout’s daughter.

“Was your mother a cook? Did she work for Judge Tilley?” asked Lucy.

“She sure did. But why do you want to know about that? That was ages ago. Before the World War.”

“I’m doing a bit of research. I’m trying to write a sort of Upstairs, Downstairs sort of thing.”

“For TV?” Hannah’s eyes were big.

“Possibly,” said Lucy, relieved to see Bill coming toward her. Toby was squirming in her arms and her back was beginning to hurt. She greeted him with a big smile, handing over Toby as she introduced him to the ladies.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked, perching Toby on his shoulders.

“Actually, I’d like to chat a bit more. Would you mind taking Toby outside to play?”

“Take him to the general store,” suggested Emily.

“They have penny candy,” said Ellie.

“You have to go to Country Cousins after church,” added Hannah. “It’s the Eleventh Commandment.”

Bill knew when he was beat. “Okay,” he said, nodding at Lucy. “I’ll meet you at the car in ten minutes.”

“Every mother deserves a break now and then,” said Hannah, nudging Lucy.

“A break, that’s right, a break,” chorused Ellie and Emily.

“So tell me about your mother,” said Lucy. “Did she ever talk to you about Judge Tilley and his wife?”

“All the time,” said Hannah. “It was so sad, you see. ‘That poor woman,’ she used to say. ‘How she suffers!’ She was talking about Mrs. Tilley, of course. She was very ill and nobody, really, was taking care of her. The judge was occupied with important matters and the two daughters, well, Mother always said she thought Mrs. Tilley kept her true condition from them, didn’t want them to worry or fuss. Not that it did her a lot of good, considering how that wicked Harriet ran off with that labor union fellow, eloped she did, and I don’t think she was ever heard of again. But it wasn’t until the judge finally hired that nurse that things began to improve. A blessing that was, at least that’s what Mother used to say.”

“Did your mother ever talk about Mrs. Tilley’s accident?”

“Did she? She talked about nothing else for the longest time. She was devastated, you see, because she wasn’t there. The cellar stairs were right off the kitchen, you see, and if she’d been there she could have stopped her from going down. She never would have let her attempt those stairs, not if she was there, but it was Christmas Eve and the judge told her to go home to her own family.”

“Was the judge usually that considerate of the staff?” asked Lucy.

“Now that you mention it, he certainly was not. He made sure he got every cent’s worth he could out of them, and more.” Hannah leaned closer. “Mother didn’t think much of him,” she whispered. “Not that she actually came out and said it in so many words but I got the idea that the judge was having an affair with that secretary of his.”

Emily and Ellie nodded and chimed in, encouraged by Hannah’s frankness. “She was a fast one,” said Ellie.

“Put on airs,” sniffed Emily.

“I heard she went to the beauty salon every morning to get her hair combed,” said Lucy.

“She did worse than that,” crowed Hannah.

“She did?” Emily and Ellie were all ears.

“Now, remember, this was a long time ago, when people felt differently about what we call single mothers nowadays. They used to be called unwed mothers and that was most certainly not a term of approval.” Hannah nodded knowingly. “But a week or so before poor Mrs. Tilley finally got her blessed release and went to her heavenly reward, that secretary left town for six months or more to care for a sick relative.”

“Ooh,” said Emily, her mouth round with shock.

“I never,” added Ellie, with a sharp intake of breath.

“So you think she was pregnant, with Judge Tilley’s child?” asked Lucy.

Hannah winked. “Oh, I never said that.”

“Oh, no,” said Emily, shaking her head.

“No, not at all,” said Ellie, pursing her lips.

“I see,” said Lucy, understanding that in this case no meant yes. Then she remembered Bill, who was waiting for her outside, in the cold. “I’ve got to get going, but thanks for all the information. It’s been very interesting.”

“Oh, yes, interesting,” said Emily, nodding.

“Very interesting,” said Ellie, licking her lips.

Lucy took her time walking around the church to the lot where Bill had parked the car. She rarely had a moment to herself and she was determined to make the most of it. A couple of inches of snow had fallen overnight and the reflected sunlight made everything bright. It wasn’t too cold, though, and she was enjoying the fresh air and the quiet, as the snow muffled sounds.

She was thinking how strange it was that Judge Tilley’s affair with his secretary was still a delicate subject, almost as if it had happened yesterday instead of fifty or more years ago. And even stranger, that their love child had remained a secret to many people for all those years. She was especially curious about the fact that even though Katherine Kaiser’s child was born around the time of Mrs. Tilley’s death, the lovers had not gotten married. Why not? They could have waited for a decent interval, tied the knot, and then added the child to their family claiming it was adopted. But the fact that hadn’t happened seemed to indicate the need to continue keeping their relationship a secret. And that, Lucy thought, could have been because the judge didn’t want people talking and speculating about his wife’s death. It might have appeared a bit too convenient, and might have drawn attention to the judge and his mistress as possible murderers. And then there was the fact that he had dismissed Mrs. Sprout early on Christmas Eve. Did he want her out of the way?

Lost in thought, Lucy would have walked by the car if Bill hadn’t honked. Startled, she jumped, then climbed in beside him. Toby was sitting in his car seat, contentedly nibbling on a long pretzel stick. “Two cents at the general store,” said Bill, with an approving nod.

“Quite a bargain,” said Lucy.

Bill shifted into reverse and backed out of the parking space. “So what were you thinking about? Christmas? The baby? You were miles away, you know.”

“Both,” said Lucy, smiling at Bill and rubbing her tummy. She hardly wanted to admit she was thinking about a scandal and murder. “Weren’t those kids cute?” she asked.

Back home, Lucy decided to leave the pea soup in the fridge and splurged by making tuna-melt sandwiches for lunch. Toby could barely keep his eyes open to finish his and Lucy gratefully settled him down for what she hoped would be a long nap. Then, ignoring Bill’s suggestion that she strip the ugly old wallpaper in the hall, she picked up the phone and called Sue.

“Sorry I missed your call yesterday, I was napping,” said Lucy.

“Good for you. I was wondering if you’d like to grab some coffee tomorrow morning. At Jake’s, maybe?”

“Sure,” said Lucy. “Ten? Eleven?”

“Let’s make it ten-thirty,” said Sue. “The place quiets down around then.”

“Great,” said Lucy, who was already looking forward to their get-together. “Gee,” she added, in a burst of candor, “this is pathetic. I can’t tell you how excited I am about actually having some place to go and getting out of the house.”

“I hear you,” said Sue. “Sometimes I just pack my bag and head to my mother’s for a night, just to get some time to myself.”

Lucy felt a stab of jealousy. “Does she live nearby?”

“Boston. Close enough, but not too close, if you know what I mean. The drive’s long enough that I have time to decompress, get rid of that ‘I’d like to kill my husband’ feeling.”

Lucy was a bit shocked by Sue’s frankness. “Doesn’t your husband mind when you leave?”

“No. To tell the truth, I think he enjoys it. I mean, he probably wants to kill me sometimes, too, impossible as that seems.”

“Not that impossible,” said Lucy. “I think that if anybody was counting they’d discover that lots more wives are killed by their husbands than vice versa.”

“I know,” agreed Sue. “And I can never quite understand. Take that awful guy in Boston who shot his wife and killed her and then shot himself to make it seem like they were attacked by some entirely innocent black man—all that fuss when he could have just filed for divorce.”

“Divorce is no picnic, either,” said Lucy. “Imagine thinking you’re in a perfectly happy marriage and then one fine day, your husband looks at you over the morning paper and says ‘Honey, it’s been great, but I’ve found this hot little chick and I like her much better than you, she never nags me about taking out the trash like you do, so what do you say we get a divorce?’”

Sue laughed. “I see your point. If he shoots you, well, he’s a real bastard and all, but at least you can go to your death without feeling like a failure because he’s having an affair.”

“Yeah,” agreed Lucy, thinking of Judge Tilley’s insistence on maintaining appearances. “Like it was a perfect marriage right up to the moment he killed you.” From the distance, she heard Bill calling her. “Gotta go save my marriage by stripping the wallpaper in the front hall.”

“Honey, you’d do better to strip yourself.”

“Point taken,” said Lucy. “See you tomorrow.”

Chapter Seven

Lucy knew she couldn’t leave Toby with Bill when she met Sue for coffee so she didn’t even ask. She was as big a believer in women’s liberation as anyone, but it was unrealistic to expect anyone to keep an eye on an active preschooler while working with dangerous tools to perform tasks that required a great deal of concentration. Bill had explained this to her so many times that she’d come to believe it, though she did wonder why it didn’t apply to her. After all, she managed to keep an eye on Toby while she chopped up chicken with a cleaver, or used pins and needles to mend a tear, or boiled up a kettle of water to cook pasta. Those were every bit as dangerous as his work with saws, and hammers and nails.

She explained it all to Sue when she joined her at a table in the back corner of Jake’s Donut Shack. As Sue had predicted, the place was quiet, with only a scattering of retirees who had time to linger over their morning papers.

“Bill,” she told Sue, “has a male brain. He can only concentrate on one thing at a time, which makes it impossible for him to mind a child at the same time he’s cutting a board. I, on the other hand, have a female brain, which we know is larger and generally superior in that it can accommodate several thoughts at once.”

“Right,” said Sue. “Like how there’s a designer handbag sale at Filene’s Basement and a coat sale at Jordan Marsh.”

“Exactly,” said Lucy, smiling and nodding.

“I fundamentally agree with you,” said Sue, tearing open a pink packet of low-calorie sweetener and stirring it into her coffee, “but what I can’t quite figure out is how, if we’re so smart and all, we always seem to get stuck with the kids.”

“It’s because,” said Lucy, taking a sip of coffee, “we remember the fact that we actually have a child. Men’s brains can’t handle that information, which is why they tend to lose the children on the rare occasions that they take them anywhere.”

“I think you’re on to something,” said Sue. “My husband, Sid, completely forgot he was supposed to pick up Sidra from nursery school the other day.”

“Nursery school,” said Lucy, wistfully, watching as Toby ripped open a sugar packet and poured the contents all over the table. “I wish we could afford nursery school.”

“You know,” said Sue, setting down her cup, “you’re not alone. I bet there are a lot of people here in town who need child care but can’t afford it. Maybe we could get some sort of cooperative going or something.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” said Lucy, watching as Toby licked his finger and then dipped it into the sugar. For some reason the repeated licks and dips reminded her of a video she’d seen at the American Museum of Natural History. “If he used a spoon, he’d be as smart as a chimpanzee,” she said.

Sue looked at her oddly. “I’m going to talk to some people, see if we can’t get some start-up money from the Seaman’s Bank. Maybe the church. Maybe the town, even. There’s definitely a need here.”

Toby was squirming, trying to get out of the high chair. “I guess it’s time to go,” said Lucy, reluctantly. “We ought to do this again. It’s been great to have an adult conversation.”

Sue smiled. “Men don’t count, do they?”

“No,” said Lucy, grinning. “But they are good for killing spiders, opening jars, and heavy lifting.”

“I’ll call you,” promised Sue.

Toby seemed to have lots of energy so Lucy decided to take him for a little walk before putting him back in the car seat for the ride home. It was a typically gray December day, the temperature was around the freezing mark and the snow lingered on lawns and was piled alongside the cleared roads and sidewalks. She held Toby’s little mittened hand tightly as they walked along Main Street, careful not to step on any cracks, just like in the A.A. Milne poem. They played the name game as they walked along, naming the colors of cars, the kinds of stores and the items displayed in their windows, the shapes of the signs. But all the while, Lucy’s mind was busy mulling over the information she’d uncovered in her investigation. Everything she’d learned so far pointed to two suspects: Judge Tilley himself and Emil Boott. Mrs. Sprout, the cook, was out for the simple reason that Lucy liked her daughter, Hannah, and found her account of life in the Tilley household entirely believable. She was also inclined to cross the nurse, Angela DeRosa, off the list of suspects. Nobody seemed to have a bad word to say about her. And then there was Miss Peach, Katharine Kaiser. Nobody seemed to have a good word to say about her, but Lucy didn’t have a sense that anybody suspected her of murdering Mrs. Tilley. Lucy was inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt, especially since she’d been pregnant at the time. She found it hard to believe that a woman could be both a creator and a destroyer of life, especially at the same time. But maybe that was a fallacious assumption, she told herself, especially considering Miss Kaiser’s self-indulgent and independent lifestyle. But there was an even more compelling reason to cross her off the list: Miss Kaiser had been out of town, purportedly caring for a sick relative, when Mrs. Tilley died.

It wasn’t long before they reached the library and Lucy decided to pay a visit to Miss Tilley. She wanted to update her on the progress of her investigation, but she wanted to do it as delicately as possible. After all, a father’s infidelity would be a sensitive subject for anyone.

Miss Tilley was sitting in her usual spot at the circulation desk when Lucy and Toby entered and greeted them warmly. As far as Lucy could see there wasn’t anybody else in the library, so she could talk frankly. She pulled off Toby’s hat and mittens and unzipped his jacket and let him loose in the children’s corner, where he made a beeline for the box of toys and began pulling them out and tossing them over his shoulder.

“Toby! That’s no way to play,” she reminded him.

“Never mind,” said Miss Tilley. “We’ll help him tidy up afterward.” She leaned forward. “How’s the investigation going? I’m eager to hear what you’ve learned.”

Lucy looked at Miss Tilley, taking in her frail, birdlike shape and her wispy white hair, caught in a bun that barely held together despite an enormous quantity of hairpins. She seemed the very model of a typical old maid, right down to the cameo pin that caught both wings of her starched white lace collar. Suddenly Lucy wasn’t sure she wanted to bring up such a sexually charged topic as Judge Tilley’s infidelity.

“I understand you’ve been talking to Hannah Sprout,” coaxed Miss Tilley.

“That’s right,” admitted Lucy, wondering if she was doing the investigating or being investigated. “How did you know that?”

“I ran into Emily Miller at the IGA. This is a small town, you know, and all we really have to talk about is each other.”

It was true. Lucy thought of the “Social Events” column in the weekly Pennysaver newspaper that included items such as “Mrs. William Mason and her daughter, Mrs. Henry Tubbs, entertained Mrs. Hildegarde Wilson and Miss Susan Wilson for tea on Wednesday afternoon,” and “Mr. and Mrs. James Nesmith recently took a motor trip to Prince Edward Island in Canada where they visited with Mrs. Nesmith’s cousin, Winifred MacDonald.” She always read it, finding it oddly fascinating since she rarely recognized any of the names.

“Well, she’s right. I did talk to Hannah Sprout at the coffee hour after church on Sunday….”

“So you’re a churchgoer?” inquired Miss Tilley.

“Occasionally,” said Lucy. “It was the Christmas pageant. I think the whole town was there.”

“Not me,” said Miss Tilley. “I’m boycotting.”

Lucy was surprised. “Why?”

“Oh, something that happened a long time ago. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“Okay.” Now Lucy was truly flummoxed. She’d been encouraged by the fact that Miss Tilley probably knew all about her conversation with Hannah Sprout, but now it seemed the librarian was setting limits and she was afraid once again of offending her. “Well,” she began, blurting it out all at once, “Hannah Sprout said her mother thought your father was having an affair with his secretary, and she left town for six months because she was pregnant with his child.”

Lucy held her breath, waiting for Miss Tilley’s reaction.

“Papa always was one for the ladies,” said Miss Tilley, smacking her thigh with her hand. “He was an old devil.”

Lucy exhaled. “So you’re not upset.”

“Not a bit. It just confirms what I always thought.”

“You thought he had an affair with Katherine Kaiser?”

“I thought he was a mean, selfish hypocrite.”

Lucy couldn’t help it. She was shocked. Not knowing quite what to say, she looked across the library to the children’s corner, where Toby was pushing a wooden truck across the floor.

“I suppose the affair could be a motive for killing your mother,” she finally said. “But why didn’t he marry Katherine Kaiser?”

“I expect he thought it would be an admission that he wasn’t as pure as the driven snow.”

The baby kicked and Lucy rubbed her stomach. “I can’t quite imagine a man turning his back on his own flesh and blood like that and letting somebody adopt his child.”

“I don’t think men make the connection between the sex act and the arrival of a child nine months later. Not unless they’re married, that is.”

“Not even then,” said Lucy, laughing.

“Well, you would know better than I. I can only draw on what I’ve observed. And my experience as a child, but it seems to me that men throughout history have had remarkably little interest in assuming responsibility for their offspring, especially female and illegitimate offspring. My father always behaved as if Harriet and I were my mother’s hobby, like stamp collecting or knitting, and had nothing to do with him.”

Just then there was a crash and Toby began to cry, so Lucy jumped up and hurried over to the children’s corner, where she found Toby had knocked over a tower of blocks which came tumbling down on his head. She picked him up and kissed the boo-boo, a little bruise on his forehead, assuring him that he was all better. When she returned to the circulation desk, carrying him on her hip, Miss Tilley had a cookie waiting for him. She sat down with him in her lap.

Miss Tilley beamed at him, tickled his tummy and gave him another cookie. “So where do we go from here?” she asked.

“Well, I guess I better get Toby home for lunch before you spoil his appetite with any more cookies,” said Lucy.

“I was referring to the investigation.”

Toby leaned back against his mother, chewing on the cookie. “Well,” said Lucy, “I think we can safely eliminate two suspects: Mrs. Sprout and Miss Kaiser. Your father sent Mrs. Sprout home on Christmas Eve, so she wasn’t there when your mother fell. According to her daughter she always blamed herself for leaving, wishing she could have prevented the fall.”

“And it appears that Miss Kaiser, vain and wicked vixen that she most certainly was, was also out of town and otherwise occupied at the time of my mother’s death.”

“But both those facts tend to point toward your father,” said Lucy, smoothing Toby’s hair with her hand. “But we also can’t eliminate the handyman, Emil Boott, and the nurse.”

Miss Tilley shook her head. “I knew Angela. I simply can’t believe she would have hurt a hair on my mother’s head. Or anyone else’s, for that matter.”

“Well, there is a link of sorts between Emil Boott and the glass cane. He worked in the office at the glassworks, but that’s all I’ve been able to find out about him.”

Miss Tilley leaned forward. “I never trusted him, you know. There was something about him, the way he looked at me, that made me afraid.”

Lucy tapped her chin thoughtfully. “The glassworks must have kept records about their employees. Do you have any idea what happened to them when it closed?”

“No, I don’t,” said Miss Tilley. “But I do know someone who may be able to give you some information about Emil Boott. His name is Sherman Cobb, he’s a lawyer here in town and his father was the sheriff who ran the prison when my father was on the bench.”

“I’ll talk to him,” promised Lucy, “but now I’ve got to get this little boy home for his nap.”

Toby’s eyes were drooping when Lucy buckled the car seat and she drove as fast as she could, hoping to get home before he fell asleep. She knew from experience that if he dropped off, even for a minute, she’d never get him to settle down for a nap.

But as she sped along the route that was already becoming so familiar to her, she found herself thinking about men and women. She and Sue had been joking when they made fun of their husband’s short attention spans but she sensed that Miss Tilley had a deeper antipathy toward men. Lucy remembered reading somewhere that a woman’s relationship with men depended on her relationship with her father. A woman like herself, who had a strong relationship with a caring father, generally had successful relationships with men. Daddy’s girls, who had flirtatious relationships with their fathers, rarely found men who measured up. And girls who were abused or neglected by their fathers had destructive relationships with men, or avoided them altogether.

It was all pseudo psychology, she admitted, turning into the driveway, but she thought there was some truth to it, especially in Miss Tilley’s case, but it did make her wonder if she could trust the librarian’s assessments of Judge Tilley and Emil Boott. She turned off the ignition and turned around to see if Toby was still awake and that’s when she heard the boom and felt the car shake.

The noise, she realized, had come from the house. Something had blown up inside the house. Toby was shrieking in the backseat, strapped into his car seat. She was still sitting in the car, hanging on to the steering wheel for dear life. But Bill was inside the house. She didn’t know what to do. She hopped out of the car and ran toward the house, then she ran back to the car, afraid the house might blow up with her inside, leaving Toby an orphan. She was standing, flapping her arms, torn between her husband and her son, when the door opened and a puff of smoke blew out, followed by Bill. She ran to him.

“Ohmigod, what happened?” she cried, taking in his soot-blackened face, singed eyebrows and hair. He was holding his hands out in front of him, the sleeves of his shirt and sweater were burned off and the skin was red and black and blistered.

“I tried to fix the stove,” he said.

“Get in the car,” she ordered.

“No, Lucy. Don’t start the car. Get Toby and we’ll go to the neighbors.”

“Right, right,” she said, yanking the door open and un-snapping the car seat straps with shaking hands. Bill was already halfway down the drive, walking like an automaton. He must be in shock, she thought, hurrying to catch up to him.

They could hear the sirens before they even reached the road; the neighbors they didn’t even know must have called the fire department. So they stood there and waited as an engine and a ladder truck and, finally, an ambulance, screamed to a halt in front of their house. Forty minutes later it was all over. Bill’s burns were treated and wrapped in gauze, the gas was turned off, the house was vented, and they were given permission to go inside.

“You got off lucky this time, believe me,” said the fire chief. “The whole house coulda gone, you coulda been cooked. So if I were you I wouldn’t attempt any more repairs. Leave the gas appliances to the professionals.”

“Right,” said Bill, thoroughly chagrined.

“Whew, that was a close one,” said Lucy, surveying the damage. The stove had opened and collapsed like a cardboard box, and everything else in the room was covered with a greasy gray film. That included the ceiling, the walls, the sink and refrigerator, the table and chairs, even the floor, which also had big, muddy footprints.

“Like the man said, it could have been worse,” said Bill.

Lucy remembered that awful moment after the boom, when she didn’t know if Bill was alive or dead. “I was so afraid,” she said, tears springing to her eyes.

“I know,” said Bill, enfolding her and Toby in his bandaged arms. “I didn’t see my whole life go before my eyes but I did see you, both of you,” he said. “And at that moment, I loved you so, so much. It was really, really intense.”

“How about now?” asked Lucy.

“Well, I still love you but I gotta admit I’d trade you both for a pain pill.”

“I’ll call Doc Ryder right away,” said Lucy. “He can call a prescription in to the pharmacy.”

When she finished talking to the doctor, Lucy carried Toby upstairs and settled him down in his crib for a belated nap. The tired little boy was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Returning to the kitchen she found Bill staring at the remains of the stove.

“Lucy, what do you say we give each other a new stove for Christmas?”

“My thoughts exactly, Santa,” said Lucy, slipping into her jacket and reaching for the car keys. “But next time, try coming down the chimney, okay?”

“Very funny,” he said. “And hurry back with those pills.”

An icy drizzle was falling when Lucy left the house and had turned to snow by the time she got to town. She drove slowly and carefully down Main Street, which was slick with icy patches and, observing the signs that prohibited parking in front of the pharmacy, slid into a spot a few doors down. The sidewalk was icy, too, and she was relieved when she made it to the door without falling.

Inside, at the prescription counter, the pharmacist greeted her and told her the prescription would be ready in a few minutes. Lucy was tired, so she decided to sit in the waiting area. Turning the corner to the secluded nook that held a few chairs and tattered magazines, she found Dora Boott crouching there with a baby in her arms.

“Hi,” she said. “Remember me? I bought the glass cane.”

Dora raised one hand to cover her face as she turned toward Lucy. “Hi,” she said, mumbling into her upturned collar.

Lucy wasn’t fooled. It was clear that Dora had recently suffered a severe beating, probably at the hands of her husband. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

“Baby’s sick,” she said, avoiding meeting Lucy’s eyes. “Doc said he’s got to have some medicine.”

Lucy’s eyes fell on the baby, who was lying listlessly in his mother’s arms. His face was quite flushed and his hair damp, he obviously had a high fever. “And what about you?” asked Lucy. “Did you have an accident?”

“Yeah,” growled Kyle, suddenly coming around the corner. “She walked into a door.”

“I don’t think so,” said Lucy, leveling her eyes at him. “It looks to me as if somebody hit her.”

“C’mon,” he said, grabbing Dora by the arm and yanking her to her feet. “Let’s get out of here.”

“But, Kyle,” protested Dora, in a whisper. “We haven’t gotten the medicine.”

“I’ll come back tomorrow and get it,” he growled, pulling her toward the door.

“But the doctor said he needs it tonight,” she whispered, even more softly.

“Shut up!” he growled, shoving her. “I’ve had just about enough of you. Now git!”

Bowing her head and curving her body protectively around the baby, Dora obeyed, shuffling down the aisle toward the door in her bedroom slippers. Kyle followed, turning to glare at Lucy before slamming the door open and leaving. The door had just closed behind them when the pharmacist called out “Boott” and plopped the little bag of medicine onto the counter.

Jumping to her feet, Lucy grabbed the bag and raced after them. Running toward the glass door, she could see them standing outside, face to face, on the sidewalk. Dora was apparently pleading with her husband, begging him not to leave without the prescription. Kyle was becoming increasingly frustrated and Lucy could see him raising his hand, ready to smack Dora on the head, as she pushed the door open and went flying across the icy sidewalk, right into Kyle.

Recovering her balance, she watched in horror as he slid in slow motion toward the curb just as a small, gray sedan driven by an elderly woman came skidding sideways across the street. The woman’s mouth was an O and her eyes were wide with shock as Kyle stumbled, then momentarily regained his feet and finally fell beneath the car which rolled right over him before coming to a stop. Only Kyle’s arm was visible; his hand twitched a few times and then was still.

Speechless, Lucy turned to Dora, who was still hugging the baby.

“Thank you,” she said, looking Lucy straight in the eyes and taking the prescription. She glanced at the tag stapled to the bag and pulled herself up to her full height. “Three ninety-nine,” she said, her voice clear as a bell. “I guess I’d better go inside and pay for this.”

Chapter Eight

Lucy just couldn’t get over it. She felt sick every time she thought of the accident, which she replayed over and over in nauseating slow motion in her mind. But as awful as Kyle’s death was, she had to admit it had its upside. Now Dora and the children could begin a new life without the constant fear of his violent outbursts. And Dora’s recovery had been amazingly quick, she didn’t seem to have the least shred of grief for her late husband. In fact, the elderly driver of the car that hit him was far more shaken than Dora and had to be taken to the hospital for observation. Not Dora, though. She refused the sedatives offered by the doctor and when the EMTs expressed their condolences she only said, “Well, he had it coming. The wages of sin, I guess.”

Lucy soon discovered there was also a positive side to Bill’s accident with the stove, too. Since he couldn’t work on the house with his bandaged hands he was free to mind Toby while she went on a fact-finding mission at the appliance store. She felt almost giddy the next morning as she hopped down the porch stairs and slid behind Auntie Granada’s steering wheel, without having to break her back wrestling Toby into the car seat. Then she was off, flying down Red Top Road with the radio blaring Donna Summers and BeeGees tunes, mixed in with Christmas carols. She hummed along, tapping her foot to the beat, and before she knew it she was making the turn onto Main Street.

Proceeding at a more sedate pace she passed the library, the Community Church and the town hall. Slack’s Hardware and the Appliance Mart were in the next block, but her eye fell on the sign for Sherman Cobb’s law office. Funny, she thought as she braked and turned into the parking area beside the little white clapboard building, she’d never noticed it before. But now here it was, right in front of her, and there would never be a better time to ask him about Emil Boott.

When she entered the office’s neat little waiting room she was greeted by the receptionist, a tall woman about her own age with long brown hair. The plaque on her desk gave her name: RACHEL GOODMAN.

“Hi,” she said, “what can I do for you?”

“I’d like to talk to Mr. Cobb,” said Lucy.

“I’m afraid he’s not in,” said Rachel. “His partner, my husband Bob, is available.”

“I’m afraid I need to speak to Mr. Cobb,” said Lucy.

“Bob is a very good lawyer,” said Rachel, smiling. “And I’m not just saying that because he’s my husband. He really is.”

“I’m sure he is,” said Lucy, laughing. “I’m not here about a legal matter. I’m doing some research on local history and Miss Tilley, the librarian, suggested I speak to Mr. Cobb.”

“I see,” said Rachel. “Well, he just went out for his morning cup of coffee. He should be back in a few minutes if you want to wait.”

Lucy looked at the comfy plaid couch, the brass lamp and the stack of magazines on the pine coffee table and decided she could spare a few minutes. “Thanks,” she said. “I think I will.”

She tucked her gloves in her pockets and unbuttoned her coat, making herself comfortable on the sofa. Before she’d become a mother she never would have believed that the opportunity to spend a few minutes checking out the latest magazines would seem like such a luxury. She picked up a copy of People magazine and began flipping through the pages.

“I’ve seen you around town,” said Rachel, breaking into her thoughts. “You have a little boy, don’t you?”

“That’s right. Toby’s almost two.”

“And you live out on Red Top Road?”

“I guess I’ll have to get used to everybody knowing all about me,” said Lucy. “It wasn’t like this in the city.”

“I suppose not,” said Rachel. “Tinker’s Cove is a pretty small town. Everybody knows everything about everybody.”

“You said it,” said a middle-aged gentleman, coming through the door. He had salt-and-pepper hair and was wearing a suit underneath his red-and-black plaid jacket.

“Mr. Cobb, this is Lucy Stone. She wants to ask you about some local history.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right man,” said Cobb, setting his paper cup of coffee on Rachel’s desk, hanging his jacket on the coat tree and extending his hand toward Lucy. She grasped it in hers, then Cobb opened his office door with a flourish and she preceded him through it. Once inside he pulled out a chair for her and she sat down, facing his desk. He sat down facing her, carefully setting his coffee on the blotter.

“So it’s local history you’re interested in,” he prompted.

Lucy looked around the office, which was decorated with Civil War memorabilia including Matthew Brady photographs, a small and tattered Confederate flag in a frame, and a shadow box containing two lead bullets and a minnie ball.

“Actually, I’m looking for information about a man named Emil Boott. He was a trusty who worked for Judge Tilley.”

“Emil Boott, Emil Boott, the name sounds familiar but I don’t remember him. Kyle Boott, of course. Now that was quite an accident. Everybody’s talking about it.”

Lucy blushed. “I feel just terrible about that,” she said.

He looked at her curiously. “Don’t tell me you were the woman who…?”

“I’m afraid I was. I slipped on the icy sidewalk at the same moment that poor woman lost control of her car. It was a freak accident.”

“I’d say it was good work,” said Rachel, appearing in the open doorway. “He was a brute and certainly won’t be missed.”

Sherman Cobb pursed his lips and furrowed his brow, and Rachel scurried back to her desk. “May I ask why you want to know about Emil Boott? Is it something to do with the accident?”

“Oh, no. It’s just a coincidence. I’m interested in social history, sort of an American Upstairs, Downstairs. I’m studying the late Judge Tilley’s household, in fact.”

“For a television show? Do you write for TV?”

“Possibly,” said Lucy, aware that she was prevaricating. “Right now I’m thinking more along the lines of a story for a women’s magazine. How times have changed, that sort of thing.”

“I expect you’ll find they’ve improved quite a bit,” said Sherman, prying the lid off his coffee. “I’m a Civil War reenactor and I can tell you life wasn’t very comfortable back then. Clothes were itchy, shoes didn’t fit very well, food was monotonous and a bath was a real luxury.”

“And that’s only the male side of things,” said Lucy. “Think of all the work the poor women had to do.”

“It killed a lot of them, you know. The old cemetery behind the Community Church is full of old sea captains who have three or four wives buried beside them. You’d think going to sea would be dangerous but it was more dangerous for the women staying home.”

“Childbirth was the big killer,” said Lucy, patting her tummy. “I, for one, am thankful for modern obstetrics.”

“And disease, well into this century. The judge always maintained that Mrs. Tilley died of exhaustion but most people thought it was TB.”

“Did you know the family well?” asked Lucy.

“Not Mrs. Tilley. I came along after she was gone. But Judge Tilley took an interest in me. You could say he was my mentor.”

“Really?” Lucy was surprised. “Everything I’ve heard seems to indicate he was rather stern and forbidding.”

“There was that side to him, definitely. But he helped pay for my schooling, right up through law school. And he gave me plenty of encouragement and good advice when I started to practice.” He took a swallow of coffee, then chuckled. “I often wonder what he’d think of the present day system.”

“What do you mean?”

“The judge believed justice should be swift and sure. He actually tended to give rather short sentences, he wanted folks to learn their lesson and get back to work supporting their families. I’ve talked to some of people he sent to the county jail and they’ve told me jail was a picnic compared to the talking-to he gave them. Made them think, he did. He wouldn’t approve of all these long trials and people sitting on death row for years and years of appeals.”

“Did he ever sentence anyone to death?”

“No. He didn’t believe in it. He said that should be left to God.”

Lucy shook her head in amazement. “I had an entirely different impression of him.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” said Cobb. “He was a tough taskmaster, believe me. I clerked for him when I graduated from law school and I have never worked so hard.”

“You worked for him, but you don’t remember Emil Boott?”

“I worked at the courthouse. I was never invited to the house.”

“Isn’t that odd?”

Cobb shrugged. “The judge was a private man. He drew a distinction between his work and his home.”

Lucy nodded, remembering Miss Tilley’s assertion that she had grown up in a house of secrets.

“Come to think of it,” continued Cobb, “my father did the same thing. He was the county sheriff, he ran the jail, and you can be sure my mother and I had absolutely no contact with the inmates.”

“There must be records at the jail, right?” asked Lucy.

“Well, this was some time ago, and I don’t know if they kept all those old records or not. It’s certainly worth checking out, though. I do know that my father would have kept meticulous accounts of the inmates’ progress. He was a big believer in prison reform, you see, and thought it was important to rehabilitate the prisoners, not just punish them.”

Cobb’s phone gave off a little beep and he glanced at the clock. “I’m sorry, but that was Rachel, reminding me that I have an eleven o’clock appointment.”

“I’d better get going, then,” said Lucy, rising. “I can’t thank you enough for your time and your knowledge.”

Cobb blushed. “Nonsense. I enjoyed our little chat.”

Back in the waiting room, Rachel helped Lucy into her coat. “Was Mr. Cobb able to help you?” she asked.

“He was very helpful,” said Lucy, fastening the buttons.

“You know,” said Rachel. “I have a little boy, too. Richie. He was two last month. Maybe we could get together for a playdate? I only work mornings so I’m free in the afternoons.”

“That’s a great idea,” said Lucy, jumping at the chance. “What about this afternoon?”

“Let’s say two o’clock.” Rachel scribbled down the address.

“Great,” said Lucy, taking the slip of paper. “See you later. By the way, do you know where the county jail is?”

Lucy felt like kicking herself as she proceeded on foot down the street to the appliance store, leaving the car in the parking lot. The sun was actually peeking through the clouds and it seemed too good to waste. But what on earth must Rachel think of her, seizing on her invitation like that? She was probably already regretting getting involved with a woman who knocked people underneath cars and visited the jail. Respectable people stayed as far away from jail as they could, didn’t they? She hoped Rachel didn’t think she had some personal interest in the jail, like an incarcerated relative, something like that. Then again, she reminded herself, Rachel worked in a law office and her husband was a lawyer, and lawyers often had to go to the jail to interview their clients, at least they did on TV. Maybe she didn’t think Lucy’s interest in the penal system was at all unusual.

She hoped so, she decided, stepping inside the Appliance Mart and viewing the ranks of harvest-gold, avocado-green, and poppy-red refrigerators and washing machines. What happened to white? she wondered. And how soon could she get a stove delivered?

Not until after Christmas, she discovered.

“I’ll take a floor model,” begged Lucy.

“I’m sorry,” said the salesman, writing up the order. “Three weeks is the soonest I can promise.”

“But how am I going to cook?” wailed Lucy.

“My wife finds a Crock Pot quite handy,” said the salesman. “And we have those in stock.”

Reluctantly, Lucy reached for her wallet and unfolded the fifty dollar bill she’d been saving for Christmas presents. She felt badly about it, but as she headed home with an electric frying pan as well as the Crock Pot, she had to admit that life certainly seemed a bit brighter with the prospect of a hot meal.

Bill, however, wasn’t quite as enthusiastic. “What do you mean we can’t get a stove for three weeks?”

“That’s what the man said,” said Lucy, with a shrug.

“And where have you been all this time? Do you know what it’s like to be stuck in the house for hours on end with a two-year-old when you don’t feel all that well?”

Lucy folded her hands on her tummy and looked at him. Was he kidding? She was about to ask that very question in a rather sarcastic tone when she noticed the sheen of perspiration on his forehead. It certainly wasn’t from the heat; the furnace could barely keep the house above sixty degrees.

“I’ll get you one of those pain pills,” she said. “Why don’t you have a little rest while I make lunch?”

A beef stew, a bit light on the beef but with plenty of healthful vegetables, was simmering in the Crock Pot when Lucy and Toby left for the playdate at Rachel’s house. Lucy was curious to see Rachel’s place; until now Miss Tilley’s house was the only house in Tinker’s Cove that she’d been inside of.

She was a bit disappointed to discover the Goodmans lived in a modern ranch, part of a small development tucked behind the school complex. The houses were all variations on a single theme featuring a picture window with three rather stunted rhododendron bushes beneath. The Goodmans’ house was gray with white trim.

When Rachel opened the door, however, Lucy was enchanted by the vibrant Persian rug on the living room floor and the curvaceous Victorian settee that sat beneath that picture window. “This is lovely,” said Lucy, as Rachel took their coats and hung them in the hall closet.

A hall closet, she realized, was something you took for granted in a modern house but was definitely lacking in her own antique farmhouse. Modern houses certainly had their advantages. She was pretty sure Rachel had a working stove, too.

Following her into the kitchen, she noticed that Rachel not only had a stove and a side-by-side refrigerator, she also had a dishwasher. But the modern appliances were offset by cheery gingham curtains, a pot rack holding baskets and bunches of herbs, and a gorgeous golden oak table and chairs.

“I have to admit I’m dying with jealousy,” said Lucy, stroking the table’s gleaming surface. “What a find.”

“It didn’t look like that when we bought it, believe me,” said Rachel. “It was painted pea green.”

“Who refinished it?”

“Bob. It’s a hobby of his.”

“Make yourself comfortable,” said Rachel, setting the kettle on the stove. “I’ll get Richie. He’s a little shy.”

When she returned, Richie was clinging to her hand and holding a sad looking binky against his cheek. But when Rachel spilled a basket of Fisher-Price trucks and little people on the floor the two boys were soon absorbed in play.

“Have you lived here in Tinker’s Cove for long?” asked Lucy, accepting a cup of tea.

“A couple of years,” said Rachel, taking a pressed oak chair opposite Lucy’s.

“What brought you here?”

“Bob answered Sherman Cobb’s ad,” said Rachel, stirring some milk into her tea. “He saw an article about Maine in the Mother Earth News.”

Lucy laughed. “So did my husband! And do you know Sue Finch? I met her the other day. Her husband read that article, too.”

“That article has a lot to answer for,” said Rachel, in a rather dark tone. She sipped her tea. “Sue Finch? She’s that woman with the Farrah Fawcett hair and high heels?”

“That’s her,” said Lucy.

“Fashion’s not really my thing,” said Rachel, smoothing the sleeves of her orange sweater. “That’s one of the things I like about Tinker’s Cove. But I am glad to see more young people moving in. I mean, I went to a Women’s Club meeting when we first moved here and there wasn’t a single woman under fifty. And all they wanted to talk about was their most recent operations.”

“Miss Tilley—the librarian—isn’t like that at all,” said Lucy. “In fact, I’m helping her solve a family mystery.”

“She’s a character,” said Rachel, watching as the two little boys headed down the hall to Richie’s room. “They seem to be getting along well.”

“Yeah. I’m sure Toby really misses his playmates from the city. I used to take him to the park almost every day.”

“So tell me about this article you’re working on,” coaxed Rachel.

She listened intently as Lucy recounted her investigation. “It’s interesting that Miss Tilley never married, don’t you think?” she said, when Lucy had finished.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it seems she had an unresolved conflict about marriage and the role of women, probably because of her parents’ troubled relationship.”

“You sound like a psychiatrist,” said Lucy.

“Actually, I was a psych major in college.”

“So tell me, doctor,” began Lucy. “Was it a psychosis or a neurosis?”

“I’m not sure,” said Rachel, “but I think something was definitely not right in the Tilley household. So what’s your next step?”

“Well, I want to get over to the county jail to look for information about Emil Boott.”

Rachel glanced at the clock on the wall over the sink. “It’s only three, why don’t you go now? I’ll keep an eye on the boys.”

Lucy couldn’t believe it. “Really? You’d do that?”

“Sure. They’re happy as clams and if they get tired I’ll let them watch Sesame Street.”

“I’ll be back before Sesame Street is over, I promise,” said Lucy, grabbing her bag.

It only took Lucy about fifteen minutes to make the drive over to the neighboring town of Gilead, and before she knew it she had parked the car and was climbing the hill to the fortresslike county jail. Built of gray stone, it looked like a medieval castle with towers and turrets, but instead of a moat it had a tall chain-link fence topped with vicious looking coils of razor wire. Once inside, however, she was pleasantly greeted by a rather plump uniformed guard.

“I’m sorry but visiting hours are on Mondays, Thursdays, weekends and holidays,” he said, folding his chubby pink hands on the counter. “I can take a message if you want.”

“I’m not here to visit anyone,” said Lucy, feeling slightly offended. “I’m looking for information about a former prisoner named Emil Boott.”

“Never heard of him. Must’ve been before my time.”

“Around 1930, I think.”

“That was some time ago,” he said, scratching his smooth chin. “Was he a relative of yours?”

Lucy was about to protest, then thought better of it. “Actually, yes. Emil was the black sheep of the family. I’m writing a family history, you see, and I want to include him. Do you have records going that far back?”

“Don’t get much call for ‘em but I s’pose we do, down cellar.”

“Could I look?” asked Lucy.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” said the guard, shaking his head.

Lucy bit her lip in disappointment. “Is there some way…?”

“I’ll jes’ run down and see what I can find. You keep an eye on things up here for me, okay? If anybody comes lookin’ for me tell ‘em I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” said Lucy. She’d never been in a jail before but she had the distinct impression they were generally somewhat stricter than this. If she were so inclined, she realized, spotting a big metal hoop filled with keys, she could let everyone out.

She wasn’t so inclined, however, and was sitting on a convenient chair when the guard returned carrying a dusty cardboard box. “You’re in luck,” he said. “I found a big, thick file. Emil Boott must have been here for quite a while.” He set the box on the counter and took out a fat manila folder, which he opened. “Yup. Twenty years for embezzlement,” he said, closing the file and sliding it across the counter to her.

Lucy’s heart was beating fast as she took the file. What secrets did it hold? But when she’d gone through every page she wasn’t much wiser. As the careful notations documenting his days in the prison showed, Emil Boott was a model prisoner. His photo, a close-up much clearer and larger than the group shot in the museum, revealed a rather ugly, pockmarked face and Lucy could well imagine why Miss Tilley was afraid of him, but his records showed he was the mildest of men. He never denied embezzling several hundred thousand dollars from his employer, the Brown and Williams Glass Company, but he claimed he planned to give the money to workers who had been cheated out of overtime wages due them.

The jury hadn’t been convinced, and even if they had been sympathetic, Judge Tilley’s instructions made it clear that if they believed Boott had broken the law he must be found guilty. Embezzlement, he told them, was not a minor crime but an assault on the very foundations of civilized society. As for Boott, he accepted his punishment without bitterness, according to Sheriff Cobb’s notes, and was soon assigned to the prison’s woodworking shop. From there he moved on to a work-release program and was eventually assigned on a permanent basis to Judge Tilley’s household. Upon his release, after serving his sentence of twenty years, he wrote a remarkable letter to the Sheriff.

Dear Sheriff Cobb, he wrote, It is with great sadness that I will soon depart these walls that once appeared so forbidding but within which I found a true home. It is here that I learned the good Lord above forgives us all if only we ask for forgiveness. It is here that I learned the value of work and friendship. And it was through my work here that I met that most remarkable of women, Mrs. Leonora Tilley, whose kindness toward me, a vile criminal, I shall always remember. If anyone is certain of admission to Heaven it is certainly she and I hope that by following the pure path of virtue which she has showed me that I will someday join her there. Your most grateful and humble servant, Emil Boott.

Lucy sat for a long time, reading and rereading the letter. Finally, the guard asked, “Lady, are you all right?”

“Yes I am,” she said, folding the paper and returning it to the file. “I’m fine.”

And so was Emil Boott, she decided, as she left the prison. He may or may not have been a Depression-era Robin Hood who stole from the rich and gave to the poor, but she was convinced he would never have harmed a hair on Mrs. Tilley’s head.

“So how’d it go?” asked Rachel, opening the door for her. The two little boys were sitting side by side on the couch, apparently under Big Bird’s spell.

“I found the information I was looking for,” said Lucy, recounting her discovery of the letter, “but it only proved Emil Boott didn’t kill Mrs. Tilley.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Rachel. “Maybe he had a guilty conscience and was trying to prove his innocence.”

“Ah, Dr. Freud, thank you for that insight. I never would have thought of that.”

Rachel smiled and shook her head. “You would assume, though, that with his criminal record he would have been a suspect if there was any indication of foul play.”

“There was never an investigation,” said Lucy. “After all, she’d been sick for a long time. Her death was not unexpected.”

“I saw a lot of TB when I was in the Peace Corps,” said Rachel. “I was in Haiti and it’s practically epidemic there. People die of it all the time.”

“So you think that’s what killed her?”

“Probably,” said Rachel, joining the boys on the couch as the familiar tune for Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood began to play. “Want to stay for Mr. Rogers? I love Mr. Rogers.”

Chapter Nine

Lucy and Bill didn’t need an alarm clock: Toby woke them up every morning around six o’clock. On Christmas Eve he was reliable as ever but Lucy ignored his cries, hoping Bill would go so she could catch a few more minutes of sleep. Then she remembered Bill’s burned and bandaged hands and got up. Bill hadn’t heard a thing, he was sleeping soundly.

Toby was standing up in his crib when Lucy went into the nursery. She shivered a bit in her in flannel nightgown but Toby was warm and toasty in a fleecy footed sleep suit. She picked him up and nuzzled his head with her chin, surprised to find that his hair was damp. He didn’t seem to have a fever so she couldn’t imagine where the dampness came from. She looked around the room for a leak and discovered a dusting of snow on his pillow. It had snowed during the night, she realized, and some of the snow must have blown through a crack in the wall. No wonder she was chilly, she realized, staring at the snow. The temperature in the unheated room must be below freezing, or the snow would have melted.

This was crazy, she thought, hugging Toby close and carrying him downstairs where it was somewhat, but not a whole lot warmer, and sat him in his potty seat. “We’re going to have a white Christmas,” she told him, listening for the tinkle. “It’s Christmas Eve and tonight….” She bit her tongue. There was no sense getting the little guy all excited about Santa Claus because the truth was that Santa didn’t have much for him. Most of the fifty dollars she was going to spend on half-price toys at the IGA had gone for the electric frying pan and Crock Pot. That meant all Toby was going to find under the Christmas tree were the two packages Bill’s folks had sent him, and the $50 savings bond her mother had sent.

The tinkle began and ended and Lucy didn’t move. Really, all she wanted to do was go back to bed and sleep through Christmas.

“Up!” Toby, still perched on the potty seat atop the toilet was growing impatient. Lucy helped him down, zipped up his sleep suit and watched him run into the kitchen. Well, she thought, at least he didn’t know what Christmas was supposed to be like. Maybe the tree would be exciting enough for him.

The tree, she thought, her emotions taking a nose dive. Bill had cut the tree a couple of days ago and set it outside in a bucket of water, intending to bring it inside on Christmas Eve. Now he wouldn’t be able to do it, so she would have to cope with the bucket of ice and the eight-foot tree all by herself. Could she do it?

A clatter, alas not the “clatter and pawing of each little hoof,” but a clatter of pots spilling onto the floor brought her into the kitchen. Toby had found his favorite toys. Goodness knows she had no use for them, without a stove. But the Crock Pot, she discovered when she lifted the lid, did a fantastic job cooking oatmeal overnight. Too bad she couldn’t fit a turkey in there for Christmas dinner.

When Lucy and Toby finished their bowls of oatmeal there was still no sign of Bill so Lucy made a tray and took it upstairs to him. She found him sitting in bed, awkwardly holding a pencil and scratching away at a yellow legal pad.

“I thought you were asleep,” she said.

“Just doing some figures,” he said, putting the pad aside so she could set the tray on his lap. “Oatmeal, again,” he said.

Lucy almost started to remind him that it was cheap and filling but caught herself. Christmas Eve was going to be hard enough this year and there was no sense dwelling on the negative. “It’s oatmeal a la Crock Pot,” she said, with a big smile. “Surprisingly good. I even put in some brown sugar and a few raisins.”

“Ooh, goody,” said Bill, rather sarcastically. “I hope you didn’t blow the budget.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” asked Lucy, glancing at the legal pad. “Budgeting?”

Bill shrugged. “Since I can’t work I thought I’d put together some financial projections, figure out what materials we need, see where we stand.”

Lucy was collecting clothes for herself and Toby, intending to take them downstairs where it was warmer to get dressed. “Don’t take too long,” she said. “I’m going to bring in the Christmas tree so we can decorate it.”

“Can you manage? It’s pretty heavy.”

“Sure I can,” said Lucy, flexing her arms in a muscle-man pose. “‘I am woman. Hear me roar.’” She raised her chin and gave a wolf howl and Bill actually smiled for the first time since the explosion. Christmas presents didn’t have to be wrapped, she reminded herself as she went downstairs. Sometimes a smile would do.

Lucy was singing “Deck the Halls” when she and Toby went out to get the tree, and Toby was chiming in on the fa la la la las. Some six inches of snow had fallen, but it was light, fluffy stuff, and Lucy had no trouble shoveling it off the porch and making a path to the car. Toby had a little shovel, too, but he preferred to roll around in the snow like a frisky little puppy. Lucy knew it wouldn’t be long before he was wet and cold, so she immediately addressed the issue of the tree, which was now frozen solid in the bucket. She considered loosening it with boiling water, but without a stove she didn’t have a way to boil water. The hair dryer might work, she decided, but she’d have to find an extension cord.

The really good thing about two-year-olds, Lucy decided as she stood outside in the snow attempting to defrost the tree with the hair dryer, was that they really didn’t know how things were supposed to be so they didn’t mind when things didn’t go according to plan. So long as Toby got his three meals and two snacks, his Sesame Street and bedtime story, things were fine with him. She watched as he knocked the snow off the bushes, making snow showers, and gave the tree a budge. It moved, and she noticed that a small puddle was beginning to form in the bucket. She wiggled it a bit more and the puddle grew larger. Toby was now climbing onto the bottom porch step and jumping off into the snow, repeating the process again and again. Then he decided to go up two steps.

“Don’t do that,” she warned, as he launched himself, landing hard on the bottom step instead of the soft snow. He started to wail and she turned off the hair dryer.

Bill was still working on the figures when she took Toby inside. She stripped off his wet clothes, set him in the high chair next to Bill and gave him a cup of instant hot cocoa, made with lukewarm water from the kitchen tap. Then she was back outside and this time the tree came out of the bucket. She hugged it in a prickly embrace and dragged it across the lawn to the front door, then pulled it trunk first up the stoop and into the front hall. Then, because her heart was thumping, she sat on the stairs to rest and catch her breath. Now all she had to do was set it in the stand, string the lights, get the ornaments out of the attic, and trim it. Not bad, since she had all day. But first, she realized, hearing Bill yelling in the kitchen, Toby must have finished his cocoa and wanted down from the high chair.

“You smell like a pine tree,” said Bill.

“It put up a heck of a fight, but I won. I’ve just got to get it in the stand, put the lights on and it will be ready for the ornaments.”

“Don’t forget that box your mom gave you at Thanksgiving,” reminded Bill, as she lifted the tray so Toby could scramble down. “I think it’s in the pantry.”

Lucy had forgotten all about it, but when they visited at Thanksgiving her mother had insisted she take the ornaments, old family pieces she said she no longer used since she’d bought a small artificial tree. Lucy hadn’t even looked inside the box, she’d been tired from the long drive and Bill had unloaded the car. Now, as she set the box on the table and peeked inside she saw shining and glittery reminders of her childhood. There was a red and silver plastic trumpet that made a horrible noise if you blew on it, a “Baby’s First Christmas” card picturing a baby lamb that hung from a twisted red cord, several heavy glass kugels in the shape of grapes.

“I wasn’t allowed to touch these,” said Lucy, lifting out the red and green and silver ornaments. “They’re very old.”

“They’re really beautiful,” said Bill.

Lucy remembered her mother hanging them carefully, one by one, on sturdy bottom branches of the tree. Lucy always held her breath until the delicate operation was complete, and waited impatiently for the magic moment when her father would plug in the string of lights and the kugels would glow as if lit from within.

Suddenly nostalgic, Lucy decided to call home.

“Merry Christmas,” she said, by way of greeting, when her mother answered the phone.

“It’s not Christmas yet and it’s not merry, either,” said her mother.

“That’s why I called,” said Lucy. “To cheer you up. And to thank you for the ornaments. I’d forgotten how beautiful the kugels are.”

“Don’t let Toby play with them.”

As if she would. Lucy sighed. “How’s Dad?”

“They’re giving him oxygen.”

“Does it help?”

“He keeps pulling off the mask.”

Lucy knew her father hated having anything on his face or head, not even hats or Halloween masks. “He hates…”

“I know, I know,” replied her mother, sounding tired. “He could try to cooperate. It’s only for his own good.”

“I guess you’ll be spending Christmas at the hospital.”

“Of course.”

Suddenly, Lucy felt quite bereft. She wanted—she needed—her parents’ attention right now, but she couldn’t have it. Her father was hovering near death and her mother was so consumed with caring for him that she hadn’t even asked Lucy how she and Bill and Toby were doing. “Well, I’ll be thinking of you,” she said.

“I’ll call if there’s any change,” said her mother, then hung up.

“And ho, ho, ho to you,” said Bill, who had been listening. “I could call my parents and then we’d be so depressed we could commit suicide and end it all.”

“You should call them,” said Lucy. “They sent that nice box of presents….”

“That was my mom,” said Bill.

“And you’d feel better if you worked things out with your dad. I feel better, I do, just hearing my mother’s voice.”

“Liar,” said Bill.

“Well, at least I have the satisfaction of knowing I tried.”

“That’s something I guess. You’re a good daughter.”

“And you’re a bad son,” said Lucy, perching on his lap and stroking his hair. Bits here and there felt stiff and brittle, singed from the explosion. “You should call them.”

“You know that’s why you fell for me,” said Bill, changing the subject. “The good girls always go for the bad boys.” And then he turned her face toward his with his bandaged hand and kissed her.

“Bad boys are the best kissers,” said Lucy, coming back for seconds.

A couple of hours later it really was beginning to feel a lot like Christmas. Now that the tree was decorated the living room’s half-finished sheetrock walls, stained ceiling and uneven floorboards weren’t so noticeable. Swedish meatballs were cooking in the Crock Pot, giving off a spicy, beefy aroma. When Toby woke from his nap Lucy got the popcorn popper going for a snack and popped a Christmas video in the VCR.

“Light the tree for him,” said Bill, settling beside them on the couch.

Lucy hopped up. “Good idea,” she said, crouching on all fours and reaching behind the tree to retrieve the end of the cord. She plugged it into the socket—and everything went black.

“What the hell!” exclaimed Bill. “This shouldn’t happen. The first thing I did was have the house rewired.”

“Well I guess it wasn’t done right,” said Lucy.

“Maybe it’s a blackout,” said Bill. “Maybe everybody’s lights are out.”

“Maybe you ought to go down in the cellar and check the circuit breakers,” said Lucy.

“Maybe you could light a candle, in the meantime,” said Bill.

“We don’t have any candles,” said Lucy. “Get the flashlight.”

“The flashlight’s dead,” said Bill.

“Don’t we have any batteries?”

“I used ‘em up.”

“Well you should’ve bought more.”

“You’re right, I should have, but I didn’t. They’re expensive and I’ve been trying to economize.”

Lucy’s jaw dropped. She had no idea things were this bad. “I can’t do this, Bill,” she said, her voice steely. “We’re going to have a baby in a few months and I am not bringing that baby home to this.” She waved her arm. “Do you know there was snow in Toby’s crib this morning? Snow! Inside the house, in his bed, on our child. That is unacceptable.”

“I’ll caulk the window….”

“No.” Lucy shook her head. “I’m not staying. I don’t know where I’m going—maybe my mother’s, maybe your folks’, maybe a friend, I don’t know—but I am taking Toby someplace where there are walls that keep out the weather and lights that work and a stove that cooks.”

Bill looked at her for a long time. “You’re right,” he finally said. “I’m a failure. I tried, and I can’t do it. I was kidding myself. I’ll never be a restoration carpenter. It’s time to go back to Wall Street.”

Lucy had wanted to hear those words for months, but now that Bill had actually said them she didn’t feel happy at all. Instead she felt guilty and terribly sad. “I didn’t mean for you to give up your dream. You can finish up here and I’ll stay at my Mom’s and come back with the kids when the house is ready.”

Bill shook his head. “We’re broke.” He shrugged. “And besides, being with you and Toby means more to me than any stupid, unrealistic dream.”

“You worked so hard.”

“It wasn’t enough,” he said. “But I’m okay with it.” He looked out the window at the rapidly dimming sunlight. He opened his wallet and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. “This is it, the family fortune. I guess I’ll get some batteries, so we can get the lights back on.”

He left and Lucy sat in the darkening room, holding Toby in her lap and blinking back tears. This was not the way Christmas was supposed to be.

Chapter Ten

A sharp rap on the door roused Lucy and she stood up, perched Toby on her hip, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before opening the door. It was Wilf Lundgren, the postman, with a package.

“This came in the last delivery and I thought I’d bring it along since it was on my way,” he said, looking for all the world like Santa with his red nose and cheeks. “Otherwise you wouldn’t get it until Tuesday, Christmas being on Sunday and all.”

“Thanks,” said Lucy, her voice still thick from crying.

“Have you got some trouble here?” asked Wilf, looking past her into the dark kitchen. “I see the lights are out.”

“I must’ve overloaded a circuit.” Lucy shifted Toby to the other hip. “My husband went to get some flashlight batteries.”

“Is that all? I’ve got a flashlight in the truck,” he said, turning and hurrying down the walk to the driveway. In a moment he was back carrying the biggest flashlight Lucy had ever seen and marching straight to the pantry and lowering himself through the hatch to the cellar. “Better unplug a few things,” he said, before ducking beneath the floor. “Ready?” he called.

Lucy dashed around the kitchen, unplugging appliances, and scurried into the living room to turn off the TV. “Ready,” she called back and in a moment the lights were on and the Christmas tree was radiant with glowing colors.

“Well, isn’t that a beautiful sight?” said Wilf, who had emerged from the cellar and was standing in the doorway.

Toby, excited by the sight of the tree, was bouncing in her arms. “Now it feels like Christmas,” said Lucy, setting him down and keeping a watchful eye as he toddled toward the tree. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“It was nothing,” said Wilf. “Just being neighborly, that’s all.”

“Well, I really appreciate it,” continued Lucy, who was terrified of the old-fashioned root cellar beneath the pantry and the spiders and mice and snakes she imagined lurked there. “I mean, you went down into the cellar…and you brought that package, too, when you didn’t have to. It was really awfully nice of you…can I give you a cup of coffee or something before you go back out in the cold?”

“I wouldn’t mind a cup,” said Wilf, amused by Lucy’s extreme expressions of gratitude.

“The pot’s still hot,” sang Lucy, pouring a cup for him and one for herself, too, and setting some of her precious Christmas cookies on a plate. Toby had followed them into the kitchen and she hoisted him into his high chair, pouring a glass of apple juice for him.

“Very good,” said Wilf, approvingly, chewing on a cookie. “Looks like you’ve got company,” he observed, glancing out the window.

“Probably Bill,” said Lucy, going to the door. But it wasn’t Bill, it was Miss Tilley she saw walking carefully along the path.

“Come in, come in,” said Lucy, opening the door and shivering in the cold blast. “Come out of the cold.”

“I was just making my rounds, oh, hi there, Wilf,” began Miss Tilley. “And I thought you might like some of my eggnog. It’s an old family recipe.”

“That’s so kind,” said Lucy, accepting two old-fashioned glass milk bottles filled with creamy liquid.

“I wouldn’t mind trying some of that,” said Wilf.

“You know, I didn’t get a chance to taste it myself,” said Miss Tilley. “I wanted to make my deliveries and get home before the snow starts.”

“Well, let’s all have some,” said Lucy, popping into the pantry to get the punch cups she received as a wedding present but had never used.

“If you’re getting cups, you’ll need some more,” called Miss Tilley. “The Miller sisters have just pulled into the driveway.”

“Really?” asked Lucy, staggering out with the heavy crystal punch bowl filled with a dozen cups. “What brings them here?”

“Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!” chorused the sisters, entering the kitchen which was becoming a bit crowded.

“We brought you some cookies,” announced Emily, or was it Ellie?

“That’s right. We made them ourselves,” added the other, holding out an enormous tin with a jolly Santa design. “Sand tarts.”

“I haven’t had those in years,” said Wilf.

“My mother used to make them,” said Miss Tilley.

“Well, let’s all have some eggnog and cookies,” invited Lucy. “Can I take your coats?”

She was just hanging the ladies’ matching red coats on the hooks by the door when there was another knock on the door. Lucy was beginning to wonder if this was some sort of planned invasion, or perhaps it was just what people in small towns did at Christmas. Whatever was going on, the table was filling up with people and the house was filled with chatter and laughter. She opened the door, hoping whoever it was had brought food, and found Sherman Cobb holding a foil-covered pan that looked like it contained a turkey. A turkey! And behind him she recognized Rachel Goodman and Richie, along with a man she assumed was Bob, Rachel’s husband. They were all holding foil-covered dishes, except Richie, who had a can of cranberry sauce.

“What is all this?” she asked.

“We heard your oven was broken,” began Sherman, smiling in Miss Tilley’s direction. “So we brought you Christmas dinner. Are you going to let us in?”

“Oh, please, please do come in,” said Lucy.

“By the way, we haven’t met, but I’m Rachel’s husband,” said Bob. “Do you have a stereo?”

“In the living room,” said Lucy.

“Great. I brought some Christmas cassettes,” he said, handing off a bowl of stuffing and heading down the hall with a shopping bag slung over his arm. Moments later the house was filled with Bing Crosby’s mellow voice.

Lucy was standing there, holding a bowl of stuffing and trying to decide what to do with the turkey when there was yet another knock on the door and Fred Rumford stuck his head in.

“Hi, everybody,” he called, marching in and setting a jug of wine and a case of beer on the table. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!” they all cried back.

“Now it’s a party,” said Wilf, reaching for a beer.

“Where’s your dining room?” asked Rachel. “I think we better set the food up there.”

“This way,” said Lucy, feeling rather dazed as she lead the way. “I can’t believe this.”

“I hope it’s all right,” said Rachel. “You didn’t have other plans, did you?”

“No, no. We were just going to have a quiet celebration,” confessed Lucy, shaking out a cloth and spreading it on the table. From the kitchen she heard voices and laughter, there was music in the living room and Toby and Richie were chasing each other through the rooms. “This is much better.”

“Good,” said Rachel, setting down the turkey. “Now we’ll need plates and silverware….”

“In the pantry. I’ll be right back.”

Entering the kitchen she encountered Sue Finch, who had arrived with her daughter and a man dressed in a Santa suit. “This is Sid,” she said.

“Not Sid, Santa,” he replied, hoisting a bulging red bag. “And I brought presents.”

The party was in full swing when Bill arrived. Plates were filled, glasses were emptied, music was playing, and the kids were dancing around the tree. Everybody was having a great time.

“What’s all this?” he asked.

“The neighbors dropped by to wish us a Merry Christmas,” said Lucy, giving him a peck on the cheek. “Eggnog?”

“Sure,” he said, taking a cup and shaking his head in amazement.

Lucy and Bill were still amazed several hours later, when everyone had left and they were tidying up.

“I just can’t believe it,” said Bill. “They gave us an entire Christmas. Food. Drink. Even presents for Toby.”

“I think Miss Tilley organized it,” said Lucy, clearing off the kitchen table. She was gathering up paper napkins and wrapping paper when she found the package Wilf had delivered. “I forgot all about this,” she said, taking a closer look. “It’s from your parents.”

Bill glanced over. “It’s probably fruitcake,” he said with a marked lack of enthusiasm. “They send them every year.”

“Oh,” said Lucy, rather disappointed. “I suppose it’s nourishing, with all that fruit and nuts.”

“If you can digest it,” said Bill.

“Don’t you want to open it?” asked Lucy. “Maybe it’s not fruitcake. Maybe it’s a surprise.”

“My parents don’t do surprises,” said Bill, cutting the tape with a knife. “It’s fruitcake.”

Lucy took the box and opened the top, hoping he was wrong. He wasn’t. Inside was a gold and brown tin with MOTHER’S TRADITIONAL HOLIDAY FRUITCAKE printed on the top. “There’s a note,” she said, handing him a cream-colored envelope.

“You open it,” said Bill, whose hands were still bandaged. “It’s probably just a printed card. ‘Holiday Greetings from the Stones.’”

“So it is,” said Lucy, “but there’s something else.” She unfolded a piece of notepaper and a blue check fell out onto the table.

“Is that a check?” asked Bill, who had seen it out of the corner of his eye.

“It is,” said Lucy, sitting down.

“The usual fifty bucks?”

“Not exactly,” said Lucy, who was holding the little slip of paper in trembling hands. “More like fifteen thousand.”

Bill’s jaw dropped. “Say that again.”

“It’s for fifteen thousand dollars,” repeated Lucy. “And there’s a note.”

Bill took the check. “I can’t believe it. What possessed him?”

“Read the note,” said Lucy, handing the folded piece of paper to him.

Bill’s eyes quickly scanned his father’s neatly printed, squarish letters.

“Out loud,” prompted Lucy.

He cleared his voice. “‘Dear Son, Your mother and I figured this might come in handy about now. We’ve had some experience with home renovations and we know they always cost more than you expect.’” Bill snorted in agreement. “‘We also want to wish you well in your new endeavor which we’re sure will be successful.’ Mom must have twisted his arm,” said Bill, pausing.

“Give your father some credit,” said Lucy. “Is that all?”

“No. He goes on. ‘I have to confess, now that I’m facing retirement and looking back on my career, I wish I’d had your courage and pursued my dreams instead of a paycheck. Love, Dad.’”

“Wow,” said Lucy.

“Wow,” echoed Bill. “I guess I’d better give him and Mom a call.”

Later that night, while Bill snored gently beside her, Lucy was still too excited to sleep. She knew people always said Christmas was a time of miracles, but this was the first time she had actually experienced it. For the most part, truth be told, Christmas had always been a bit of a disappointment, never quite living up to the hype. But this, this was amazing. Now Bill would be able to finish the house and start his new career. And, even better, the ruptured relationship with his parents that had hung over them like a dark cloud had been cleared. Now they could look forward to family gatherings, and Toby would once again have grandparents to shower him with love and attention.

Lucy smiled and turned over, spooning her body against Bill’s. She would never forget the way her new Maine friends and neighbors had given them such a wonderful Christmas. Living in Tinker’s Cove certainly had its advantages; she couldn’t imagine her neighbors in New York City behaving like this. There, people gave to charity, but they didn’t concern themselves with their neighbor’s misfortunes. In fact, she realized, she herself had never given a thought to little Miss Delaporte down the hall in 12G, who was at least eighty and never had a visitor. Maybe she could have dropped in with a plate of cookies, but she’d never bothered to take the time.

From now on, she resolved, she would be more like Miss Tilley. She would take an interest in her neighbors and if she saw someone in need, she would try to help. In a way, that’s what she had tried to do when she attempted to solve the mystery of Mrs. Tilley’s death. But it hadn’t gone the way she’d hoped. Her eyes were heavy and her breathing was becoming regular, she was sinking into sleep, and her last thought was regret that she had failed to bring peace of mind to Miss Tilley.

Christmas dawned clear and bright, the sunlight magnified by the fresh snow that had fallen during the night. Outside was a glittering white wonderland and inside was the usual chaos as Toby opened his presents: new clothes and books and a go-cart from Bill’s parents, and an impressive assortment of marked-down plastic trucks and balls and a super-sized teddy bear Bill had picked up when he bought the batteries. When they added the recycled toys that Sid Finch had brought, it added up to quite a pile and Toby was happily investigating his haul, playing first with one and then another. Lucy and Bill took advantage of the moment to exchange their gifts for each other.

“You go first,” said Lucy, handing him a cheerfully wrapped present.

“I thought we’d agreed….” protested Bill.

“It’s little enough,” said Lucy, smiling as he unwrapped a Walkman cassette player.

“This is great,” he said. “How’d you know I wanted one?”

“I didn’t. I just thought you might like to listen to music while you work.”

“I do. This is perfect. Thanks. Now you go,” he said, handing her a drugstore bag tied with a big red bow. “Sorry about the wrapping.”

“I guess I’ll forgive you this time, since your hands are burned.”

“Right,” he said. “Open it.”

Lucy withdrew a paperback book, a compendium of New England crimes. “This is great,” she said, delighted. “How’d you think of it?”

Bill blushed. “Well, I knew you were interested in what happened to Miss Tilley’s mother, and you’ve been reading mysteries.”

“That was very thoughtful. Thank you,” she said, opening the book and scanning the table of contents. One listing immediately caught her eye: The Angel of Death. Settling back into the corner of the couch she turned the pages and began reading, fascinated by the story of a nurse who was thought to have killed more than twenty of her patients using a variety of hard-to-detect methods such as drug overdoses, poison and smothering. “Oh my God,” she breathed, her eyes glued to the page.

“I didn’t think you’d like it this much,” complained Bill, who was feeling ignored.

“You won’t believe this. This woman, this nurse, she’s the one who killed Mrs. Tilley. It fits, exactly. It all fits.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. It’s all here. Even her name. Well, her aliases. Anne DePasquale, Andrea Dale, Anita DeSouza. Always a first name beginning with A and a last name beginning with D. Angela DeRosa, that was the name she used when she was supposedly caring for Mrs. Tilley. Everybody thought she was an angel, but she was actually killing off her patients.”

“How’d they figure it out?”

“People started getting suspicious when none of her patients ever seemed to recover,” said Lucy. “One man who happened to be a chemist analyzed the medicine she was giving his wife and found it was arsenic and went to the police.”

“Did they arrest her?”

“They tried,” said Lucy, reaching the end of the chapter, “but she killed herself before they could take her into custody. A lethal dose of strychnine.”

“She must have been nuts,” said Bill, lifting Toby onto his lap and opening a picture book.

“I’ve got to call Miss Tilley,” said Lucy, heading for the phone.

Miss Tilley answered the phone with a cheerful “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you,” replied Lucy. “And thank you for yesterday. It was a wonderful surprise.”

“I think everyone enjoyed themselves,” said Miss Tilley. “I put quite a bit of brandy in the eggnog, just to help things along.”

“So that’s your secret,” said Lucy. She paused. “I think I’ve found your mother’s murderer—and it wasn’t your father.”

“Who was it?”

“The nurse. Angela.”

“No, no. She was so kind….”

“It’s in a book. She killed at least twenty of her patients, maybe more.”

“She was convicted?”

“No. She killed herself before there could be a trial. There was an investigation, though, and some of her victims were exhumed and their bodies contained poison.”

“I can hardly believe it.”

“Nobody could. That’s how she had so many victims.”

“Papa never liked her.”

“He had good instincts.”

“He was innocent!” announced Miss Tilley, joyfully.

“Absolutely,” said Lucy. “I just wanted you to know, but I’ve got to get back to my family….”

“Thank you. This was a wonderful Christmas present. The best Christmas present I ever had.”

“But I still don’t know where the cane came from,” said Lucy. “Maybe it was a gift from Emil Boott.”

“Or maybe my mother planned to give it to my father as a Christmas gift.”

“We’ll never know,” said Lucy.

“No, that will have to remain a mystery,” said Miss Tilley. “Merry Christmas!”

CHRISTMAS SPRITZ COOKIES

Lucy’s mother always made these cookies every Christmas. They require a cookie press, which is a gizmo rather like a caulking gun that is available in kitchen supply stores.

11/4 cups sugar

2 cups butter

2 eggs

5 cups flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon almond extract (or vanilla)

Cream butter, adding sugar gradually. Add unbeaten eggs, then sift dry ingredients and extract. Dough will be stiff.

Fill cookie press and press cookies out onto cookie sheet and decorate. (Lucy sprinkles colored sugar on the long strip cookes and puts bits of candied cherry in the center of the flower shapes.)

Bake at 375 degrees for 10-12 minutes, remove to rack to cool. These cookies keep well in a tightly sealed tin, but you’ll have to hide it well if you want to save them for Christmas.

SAND TARTS

These cookies are named for the dusting of cinnamon sugar that looks like sand. They’re delicious and not very well known anymore. Lucy remembers them from her childhood, when her grandmother used to make them. This is her recipe, written in her style.

Cream 1/2 cup butter.

Add:

1 cup sugar

2 beaten egg yolks

1 tablespoon milk

1/2 teaspoon vanilla

Beat mixture until light.

Sift together:

11/2 cups flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

Add to first mixture and blend well. Chill for several hours. Roll dough very thin and cut with a star or circle cookie cutter. Place on buttered baking sheet and put a split blanched almond on each cookie. Brush with unbeaten egg whites and sprinkle with mixture of 1 tablespoon sugar and 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon.

Bake at 375 degrees for 10 minutes. Cool on racks.

SUGAR COOKIE MURDER

Hannah bent over to examine the large lump of fur. The animal she thought she’d seen was really the expensive fur coat that Martin’s new wife was wearing. The only other animal in sight was the reindeer sugar cookie that was broken near Brandi’s feet, along with the pieces of a Christmas tree cookie, and a bell decorated in red and green icing. Brandi must have taken several cookies from the dessert table and come out here to eat them. The big question was, did she also take the antique cake knife?

Hoping that she’d just slipped and fallen, Hannah reached down to tap Brandi on the shoulder. “Brandi? Do you need help getting up?” she asked, shaking her a little harder and wondering if she should go for help.

Hannah certainly wouldn’t risk moving Brandi, but she’d taken a first aid class in college and she knew there was a pulse point just under the jawbone on the side of a person’s neck. The collar of Brandi’s coat was in the way and Hannah pushed it back. This caused the coat to fall open and Hannah gave a strangled gasp as she caught sight of Brandi’s chest.

“Hannah? Are you out there?” Edna called from the kitchen.

“I’m here.”

“Did you find the knife?”

Hannah glanced down at her mother’s valuable antique knife, buried to the hilt in Brandi’s too-perfectly-proportioned-to-be-natural chest. “I found it…”

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

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

JOANNE FLUKE

SUGAR COOKIE MURDER

A HANNAH SWENSEN HOLIDAY MYSTERY WITH RECIPES

KENSINGTON BOOKS

www.kensingtonbooks.com

This book is for Haley, Rachael, and Madeline.

Acknowledgments

Thank you to Ruel, my in-house story editor.

And thanks to our kids who say things like, “You should make a cookie that tastes like German Chocolate Cake.” (I’ve almost got it, and it’ll be in the next Hannah book!)

I’m grateful to our friends and neighbors:

Mel and Kurt, Lyn and Bill, Gina and the kids, Jay, Bob M., Amanda, John B., Dr. Bob and Sue Hagaman, and to everyone who came running when I said I was testing potluck recipes for this book.

Thank you to my talented editor, John Scognamiglio, for his constant support.

Editors don’t come any better than John.

And thanks to all the good folks at Kensington who keep Hannah Swensen sleuthing and baking to her heart’s content.

Thank you to Hiro Kimura, my cover artist, for his incredible artwork.

Big hugs to Terry Sommers and her family for critiquing my recipes and for letting me use their family recipe, Aunt Grace’s Breakfast Muffins.

Happy Birthday, Terry!

Thanks to Jamie Wallace for shepherding my Web site MurderSheBaked.com

Thank you to Laura Levine (she writes the Jaine Austen mysteries),

Helen Kauffman, and Charlene Timms, for the title suggestions.

They were all great, and you may see them in print yet.

Thanks to Merle and Tracy for information about Alzheimer’s, and to Doris Hannon for asking about “Hot Stuff” and “Silver Fox.”

A big hug to all my e-mail and regular mail friends who share their feelings, their baking experiences, and their love for Hannah with me.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Appetizers

Baked Brie

Busy Day Pate

Caviar Pie

Deviled Eggs

Fiesta Dip Platter

Herring Appetizer

Misdemeanor Mushrooms

Seafood Bread Dip

Spinach Quiche

Spinach Rollups

Hannah’s Addition to Susan’s Rollups

Soups

Corn Chowder

Cream of Cheat Mushroom Soup

Quick Irish Chili

Sally’s Radish Soup

Summer Gazpacho

Salads

Dilly Onion Rings

French Dressing

Ginger Ale Jell-O

Holiday Jell-O Mold

Pretty Coleslaw

Quick Pickle Salad

Waldorf Salad Jell-O

Breads

Aunt Grace’s Breakfast Muffins

Can Bread

Cheesy Spicy Corn Muffins

Cranberry Muffins

Gina’s Strawberry Bread

Sally’s Banana Bread

Soda Bread

Entrees

Baked Fish

Barbecued Anything

Chicken Paprikash

Country Ham Casserole

E-Z Lasagna

Festive Baked Sandwich

Hawaiian Pot Roast

Hot German Potato Salad with Bratwurst

Hunter’s Stew

Irish Roast Beast

Meatloaf

Minnesota Hotdish

Not So Swedish Meatballs

Rose’s Restaurant Turkey

Salmon Loaf

Sauerbraten

Smothered Chicken

Sides

Apple ‘N Onion Dressing Balls

Corn Pudding

Green Bean Classic With a Twist

Holiday Rice

Make-Ahead Mashed Potatoes

Oodles of Noodles

Potato Bake or Party Potatoes

Scandinavian Red Cabbage

Silly Carrots

Spinach Souffle

Sweet Potato Casserole

Desserts: Cakes

Christmas Date Cake

Chocolate Fruitcake

Coffee Cake

Jell-O Cake

Lady Hermoine’s (Hannah’s) Chocolate Sunshine Cake

Poppy Seed Cake

Rose’s Famous Coconut Cake

Desserts: Pies

Coconut Green Pie

Pecan Pie For A Holiday Crowd

Pumpkin Pie For A Thanksgiving Crowd

Desserts: Cookies

Cherry Bomb Cookies

Christmas Sugar Cookies

Heavenly Tea Cookies

Lisa’s Pieces

Blueberry Shortbread Bar Cookies

Hannah’s “Hot” Brownies

Rhubarb Bar Cookies

Desserts: Other Sweet Treats

Candied Pecans From Lois

Chocolate Fruit Platter

Beverages

English Eggnog

Dimpled Duchess

Extras (that didn’t fit anywhere else)

Mrs. Knudson’s Season Salt

Werner Herman’s Catfish Bait

Baking Conversion Chart

Chapter One

It was a meatball, a really big meatball, and it was rolling out of her closet. It stopped a few feet from the end of the bed, and that was when she noticed its eyes and its face. The eyes stared at her in abject disappointment, and two tears of gravy rolled down its fat bumpy cheeks. It looked so miserable Hannah wanted to reach out and give it a hug.

“You forgot me,” the meatball said, “and I’m an entree. And from what I hear, your entrees aren’t that good.”

“Yes, they are. We’ve got…”

“I’m doing my best not to take this as a personal insult,” the meatball interrupted her, “but you know I’m a lot more delicious than your mother’s Hawaiian Pot Roast. What really makes me mad is that you left me out, but you put in four of your sister Andrea’s Jell-O molds. Well, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to dump a can of fruit in some Jell-O. If you want her name in the cookbook, you ought to teach her to cook.”

What was the meatball talking about? No ordinary mortal could teach Andrea to cook! Her sister was firmly entrenched among the ranks of the culinary-impaired. Hannah sat bolt upright in bed, prepared to give the Swedish treat a piece of her mind. But there was no longer a round, brown entree with the delectable scent of mushrooms and beef positioned in front of her closet or at the foot of her bed. With the exception of Moishe, who was curled up at her feet sleeping peacefully, she was alone.

Hannah blinked several times, and then the truth of the situation dawned. She’d been dreaming. The talking meatball had retreated into whatever corner of her mind had created it, but the message it had delivered remained. Hannah had goofed big time. She’d forgotten to include Edna Ferguson’s recipe for Not So Swedish Meatballs in the packet to be tested at tonight’s potluck dinner.

“Uh-oh,” Hannah groaned, feeling around under the bed for her slippers. When she’d wiggled her feet inside the fake fur lining, she patted the mattress to wake the orange and white tomcat who’d been her roommate for the past year and a half. “Come on, Moishe. Time to wake up and smell the kitty crunchies.”

Moishe opened one yellow eye and regarded her balefully. Then the phrase “kitty crunchies” must have registered in his feline brain, because he jumped off the bed with an athletic grace that Hannah could only envy, and padded down the hallway at her side as she headed for the kitchen.

Once Moishe had been fed and watered and she’d poured herself a cup of strong coffee, Hannah sat down at the kitchen table that was on the cusp of becoming an antique and considered the problem of Edna Ferguson’s meatballs. Since the whole thing was her fault for forgetting to include them, she’d have to find time to test them herself. One thing for sure…Edna wouldn’t be the soul of understanding if she couldn’t find her favorite recipe in the cookbook.

Hannah glanced down at her coffee mug. Empty. And she didn’t even remember drinking it. If she showered and dressed right now, before she was fully awake, the lure of a second mug of coffee would make her hurry.

Before the second hand on her apple-shaped wall clock had made twelve complete revolutions, Hannah was back in the kitchen. Instead of her robe, she was wearing jeans and a dark green pullover sweater. Her feet were encased in fur-lined, moosehide boots to stave off the chill of the first cold week in December, and her towel-dried hair was already springing up into a riot of red curls.

“Coffee,” Hannah breathed, pouring a mug, inhaling the fragrance and taking the first steaming sip, “is almost as good as…” but before she could decide exactly what it was almost as good as, the phone rang.

“Mother!” Hannah muttered in the same tone she used when she stubbed her toe, but she reached for the phone. To let the answering machine get it would only delay the inevitable. Delores Swensen was relentless. If she wanted to talk to her eldest daughter, she’d keep on calling until she was successful.

“Good morning, Mother,” Hannah forced a cheery note into her voice and sank down in a chair. Conversations with Delores had been known to last as long as an hour.

“Good morning, dear. You sound like you got up on the right side of the bed,” Delores replied, matching Hannah’s cheery tone and raising her a cliche. “I know this Christmas potluck has been a lot of work for you and I called to see if there was anything I could do to help.”

Warning bells went off in Hannah’s head. When Delores tried to be this helpful, she had an ulterior motive. “That’s nice of you, Mother, but I think I’ve got everything covered.”

“I thought so. You’re so organized, dear. Did I tell you that Luanne found an antique silver cake knife with a provenance that dates back to the Regency period?”

“No, you didn’t,” Hannah said, getting up to pour more coffee and stretching out the phone cord to within an inch of its life. Luanne Hanks was Delores and Carrie’s assistant at Granny’s Attic, the antique store they’d opened right next to Hannah’s bakery, and she was a genius at finding valuable antiques at estate auctions.

“I thought you might want to use it tonight. It has a lovely old-fashioned Christmas tree on the handle.”

“Didn’t you say it was Regency?”

“That’s right, dear.”

“But I didn’t think they had Christmas trees in Regency England.”

“They didn’t. But don’t forget that the Regent’s family was German. And since this particular knife was used at court, it’s decorated with a German Christmas tree.”

“I’d love to use it,” Hannah said. “It’ll fit in perfectly.”

“That’s what I thought. When I showed it to Winthrop last night, he thought it would be appropriate to cut a cake from the period.”

Hannah frowned at the mention of her mother’s “significant other.” She had no basis in fact, but she had the inkling that “Winnie,” as her niece Tracey called him, wasn’t precisely on the level. She’d asked Norman Rhodes, Carrie’s son and the man she occasionally dated, to check Winthrop out on the Internet. Norman had done it, but he hadn’t found anything shady about the British lord who was visiting Lake Eden “for a lark.”

Hannah pulled herself back to the problem at hand. “I think using the cake knife is a great idea, but as far as I know, no one is bringing a cake made from a Regency recipe.”

“Yes, they are, dear. You’re forgetting about Lady Hermoine’s Chocolate Sunshine Cake.”

“Lady Hermoine?” Hannah’s voice reached a high note that would have shocked the Jordan High choir director who’d assigned her to the second alto section. “Who’s Lady Hermoine? You know that’s my original recipe!”

“Of course I do, but there’s a slight problem, dear. You see, the knife is very valuable. I didn’t want to let just anyone use it, so I fibbed a bit.”

“What’s a bit?”

“I said that Lady Hermoine’s Chocolate Sunshine Cake originated a lot earlier. If it’ll make him happy, is there any harm in letting Winthrop think the recipe’s been in our family for hundreds of years?”

Hannah sighed. She didn’t like lying even when it was for a good cause, and Winthrop’s happiness wasn’t high on her list of good causes. “Your fib won’t work, Mother. My cake uses frozen orange juice concentrate and that certainly wasn’t around back then!”

“That’s all right. Winthrop won’t notice. And on the off chance he does, I’ll say the original recipe called for orange marmalade.” Delores gave a sigh and when she spoke again, her voice held a quaver. “That’s all right, isn’t it?”

Hannah thought about it for a second or two and then she caved. That little quaver in her mother’s voice always got to her. “All right, Mother. I won’t lie if Winthrop asks me straight out, but as long as he doesn’t, I’ll play along.”

“Thank you, dear! And now I’d better rush. Carrie’s picking me up in ten minutes and I still have to do my makeup.”

Hannah said her goodbyes and hung up, but the moment she placed the phone back in the cradle it rang again. “Mother,” she muttered, grabbing for the phone. Delores often called back immediately if she’d forgotten to say something she felt was important.

“What is it, Mother?” Hannah asked, not bothering with a greeting. She had to leave her condo soon or she’d be late for work.

“I’m not your mother,” a male voice replied, chuckling slightly. “It’s Mike.”

Hannah sat down in her chair with a thunk. Hearing Mike Kingston’s voice always made her knees turn weak and her heart beat faster, but she took a deep breath and tried to ignore it.

“I called to find out who’s testing my pate tonight.”

Hannah took another deep breath and fought her urge to cave in without a whimper. Tall, rugged, and more handsome than any man had a right to be, Mike wasn’t easy to deny. “I can’t tell you. You know the rules. The recipe tester has to remain anonymous. Otherwise there could be hard feelings.”

“But I really need to know. I might have forgotten to put something in the recipe.”

“What?” Hannah asked. She remembered Mike’s recipe and there were only two ingredients.

“I need to make sure I wrote down horseradish sauce and not just horseradish. If the tester uses straight horseradish, it’ll be too spicy for some people.”

“No problem, Mike,” Hannah’s response was immediate. “You specified horseradish sauce.”

“But how do you know, unless…you’re testing it!”

Hannah groaned softly under her breath. Mike was the head detective at the Winnetka County Sheriff’s Department, and he’d picked up on her blunder right away. “Uh…I can’t confirm or deny that.”

“Of course you can’t, but thanks for putting my mind at ease about that horseradish sauce. How about tonight? Do you want me to pick you up?”

“I think it’d be better if we met at the community center. I’m going to leave work around three, head home to get dressed and pick up the food I’m bringing, and get there early to make sure Edna has all the help she needs in the kitchen.”

“Okay. I’ll see you there.”

Was that a sigh of relief she’d just heard in Mike’s voice? “You sound happy that you don’t have to pick me up.”

“It’s not that. I’d pick you up if you needed me. It’s just that Shawna Lee asked me if I’d take her to the party.”

Hannah closed her eyes and counted to ten. Shawna Lee Quinn had been Mike’s secretary in Minneapolis and he’d convinced her to follow him to Lake Eden. She’d landed a job at the Winnetka Sheriff’s Department and Mike had found her an apartment in the complex where he lived. He insisted that they were just friends, and Hannah had done her best not to be jealous, but it was difficult to stave off the green-eyed monster when the Southern beauty who’d been crowned Miss Atlanta called Mike every time her car wouldn’t start.

“Hannah? Is something wrong?”

Hannah took a deep breath and forced herself to be calm. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought we had a date.”

“We do. I’m just giving Shawna Lee a lift there, that’s all. She’s meeting someone and she’s got her own way home.”

“Oh. Well…okay,” Hannah said, hoping that the person Shawna Lee was meeting would show up and she wouldn’t turn out to be a third wheel on their date.

“You’re really a nice person, Hannah.”

“What brought that on?” Hannah asked and immediately wished she hadn’t. She’d broken one of her mother’s cardinal rules: If a man compliments you, don’t argue with him. Just smile and say thank you.

“Shawna Lee told me you accepted her brownie recipe for the cookbook.”

“That’s right. The person who tested it thought her brownies were really good.”

“But you had the power to veto it and you didn’t.”

Hannah hoped Mike would never find out how close she’d come to relegating Shawna Lee’s recipe to the circular file. As the “author” of the Lake Eden potluck cookbook and the head of the cookbook committee, Hannah had the power to accept or reject as she saw fit. The only thing that had stopped her in Shawna Lee’s case was the fear that someone might find out and accuse her of being petty. “Of course I didn’t use my veto. Why would I veto a perfectly good recipe?”

Mike chuckled, and Hannah felt her toes tingle. It was an intimate chuckle, one that should be heard up close and personal, not transmitted over telephone wires. “Have you tasted those brownies yet?”

“Not yet.” Hannah’s eyebrows began to knit, but she stopped in mid-frown. The magazine she’d paged through in the supermarket line had warned that frowns caused wrinkles in women over thirty, and she’d passed the three decade mark a couple of months ago.

“They’re the best brownies I’ve ever tasted, and I’ve tasted a lot. I told Shawna Lee she should call them hot brownies.”

“Hot brownies?”

“Yeah. Hot as in ‘terrific’ not hot from the stove. You know what I mean?”

“I get it.”

“Anyway, they’re definitely hot, and if I work it just right, I might be able to talk her into letting you add them to your menu, especially if you call them Shawna Lee’s Brownies. What do you think about that?”

“Impressive,” Hannah said, envisioning the anvil she’d like to impress into the top of Mike’s head. Bake Shawna Lee’s brownies for her shop? Not a chance!

Five minutes later, Hannah was still sitting at her kitchen table, staring down into her half-filled and rapidly cooling coffee mug. Hot brownies. The best Mike had ever tasted. The slow burn she’d started to do when Mike had first uttered those words had grown into a sizable conflagration. If Mike liked hot brownies so much, she’d give him hot brownies. They wouldn’t be “hot” as in “terrific.” And they wouldn’t be “hot” from the stove. Her brownies would be “hot” as in “five-alarm-chili-hot” and she could hardly wait to hear Mike yowl when he bit into one!

Chapter Two

“Hi, Hannah,” Lisa Herman called out as she came in the back door at The Cookie Jar. “It’s really snowing out there. I had to brush off the whole top of the…what’s that?”

Hannah glanced up at her young partner and started to laugh. Lisa looked absolutely horrified at the sight of the box of brownie mix Hannah had just upended into her bowl. “It’s brownie mix.”

“I can see that. But why are you using it?”

“Mike called me this morning and he told me all about Shawna Lee Quinn’s brownies. He said they were hot as in terrific. I thought about it after I hung up and I decided I should make him some of my hot brownies.”

“Okay. But I still don’t understand why you’re using…” Lisa stopped speaking as Hannah picked up an open can of diced jalapeno peppers and dumped them into the bowl. She blinked a couple of times as if she couldn’t believe her eyes, and then she laughed. “I get it. Hot brownies.”

“Very hot. And I didn’t want to waste time and effort baking something that Mike’s going to trash ten seconds after he tastes it.”

Lisa picked up the empty can and took a sniff. Then she immediately grabbed for a paper towel to dab at the tears that were beginning to run down her cheeks. “One sniff and my eyes are watering. Those must be some really potent peppers.”

“Florence said they were,” Hannah named the woman who owned the Lake Eden Red Owl grocery. “She told me she put one can in a pot of chili and it was so hot, nobody could eat it.”

Lisa hung up her coat, switched from her boots to her shoes, and headed for the sink to wash her hands. “Are you going to call Mike and have him come here to taste them?”

“No way! He’s armed, you know. I’ll just run them out to the sheriff’s station and leave them for him.”

“Anonymously?”

“That would be my choice, but he’s a good detective. He’d figure out who sent them. I’ll just drop them off at the front desk and come straight back here.”

“Sounds like a wise decision,” Lisa said, rolling her apron up at the waist and tying it in place by wrapping the strings around her twice. She was petite, and the chef’s aprons were designed for someone Hannah’s size. “What do you want me to do first?”

“You can check the cake in the cooler. I need to see if the raspberry Jell-O is set.”

“Raspberry Jell-O?”

Hannah glanced up at Lisa. It was clear from the expression on her face that she was thoroughly mystified. “It’s Andrea’s recipe for Jell-O Cake, and it needs two different colors of Jell-O. She got it in late, but I promised I’d bake it and test it at the party tonight.”

“So you’re going to put it in the cookbook?”

Hannah sighed deeply. “I’ll have to include it if it turns out all right. It’s a family obligation, you know?”

“I know all about family obligations. I barely managed to keep Dad from submitting his father’s catfish bait recipe.”

“He should have done it. I would have put it in.”

Lisa’s mouth dropped open in shock. “You’re kidding!”

“No, I’m not. Tell him I want it. As far as I’m concerned, every book needs a sprinkling of humor.”

“Even a cookbook?”

“Especially a cookbook. All the recipes are so precise. I miss those days when it was a pinch of salt, a smidgen of pepper, and a snippet of parsley. Of course that was before Fanny Farmer standardized level cooking measurements.”

Lisa turned to Hannah with surprise. “I didn’t know Fanny Farmer did that! And she was from Minnesota! So was Betty Crocker.”

“Actually, Betty Crocker wasn’t from anywhere. It’s the name General Mills came up with to market their first cookbook. But General Mills is based in Minnesota so I guess you could say they both came from here.”

“Good. I love it when important people besides Sinclair Lewis come from Minnesota.”

Hannah blinked. What Lisa said was a jump in logic. “You’ve got something against Sinclair Lewis?”

“Not really. I realize he’s important, but his books are depressing. I’m already living depressing. My mother’s dead, my dad’s got Alzheimer’s, and the wedding’s off.”

“Whoa!” Hannah pushed Lisa down on a stool at the workstation and made an end run to the kitchen coffeepot. This was a crisis. “What’s this about the wedding? Did you have a fight with Herb?”

“Of course not. I love Herb and he loves me. That’s not the problem.”

“What is?” Hannah filled two mugs, put one down in front of Lisa, and sat down on the opposite stool.

“It’s a matter of timing. Herb and I talked about it last night and we both agreed to call off the wedding.”

“For good? I mean, you don’t have to tell me if it’s too personal, but…”

“It’s not personal,” Lisa interrupted her. “And no, it’s not off for good. We just decided to wait to get married until everything’s settled with Dad.”

“He’s okay, isn’t he?” Hannah felt a quick jolt of fear. Lisa adored her father and she’d given up her college scholarship to stay home and take care of him.

“Dad’s fine. It’s just that Marge found a new doctor for him, a really good neurologist, and he was accepted in a new drug-testing program. It’s some kind of cocktail thing, three drugs that work together to boost a brain-signaling chemical that improves memory. Dad’s all excited about it, but the only thing is, the study starts this coming Monday and it lasts for two months. Herb and I didn’t think it was fair for us to get married in the middle of the program, especially since we’ll be switching houses and all.”

“That makes sense,” Hannah said, breathing a sigh of relief. As far as she was concerned, Lisa and Herb made a perfect couple. And Herb’s mother, Marge Beeseman, was really stepping into the breach to help with Lisa’s dad. She was giving them her house as a wedding present and she was moving into Jack Herman’s home to become his caretaker. And even though Marge was a widow and Jack was a widower and they used to date in high school, no one in town was saying boo about the living arrangements. “So when do you think you’ll get married?”

Lisa looked down at her engagement ring and gave a little smile. “We’re shooting for the middle of February. That’s when Dad’s test program is over. But instead of a big wedding, we’re just going to run down to the courthouse.”

“Not fair,” Hannah said, getting up to stash her crock full of meatballs in the cooler and making a mental note to take it down to the community center at noon and let it cook until time for the party.

“What’s not fair?”

“Your dad told me he was looking forward to walking you down the aisle. And Tracey’s all excited about being your flower girl. Not only that, your bridesmaids already ordered their dresses.”

“I know.” Lisa looked worried. “Herb and I talked about that and we decided we’d pay everybody back. It’s the right thing to do.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s not?”

Hannah shook her head. “Nobody would take your money, and that’s not the point anyway. Everybody’s looking forward to seeing you marry Herb. Why don’t you just postpone the wedding until the middle of February?”

“I always wanted to get married on Valentine’s Day,” Lisa sounded wistful, “but it’s impossible, Hannah. I want to be with Dad while he’s going through the clinical trials, and I won’t have time to make all the arrangements.”

“No problem. Just ask Andrea to do everything for you. She loves to plan weddings.”

“But she’ll be busy with the new baby.”

“No, she won’t. She told me she hired ‘Grandma’ McCann to come in during the week, just like she did when Tracey was born, and Al gave her three months maternity leave. Andrea’s going to have nothing but time on her hands, and she’ll be so bored, you’ll be doing her a favor.”

“Do you think so?” Lisa’s smile was pure golden.

“I think so.”

“It would be just wonderful if all we had to do was show up for the ceremony. That’s my idea of a perfect wedding. But…are you sure Andrea would be willing to take on a big job like that?”

“Wild horses couldn’t stop her,” Hannah said. “I’ll call her just as soon as we’re through here.”

“Is Andrea coming to the party tonight?”

“I hope so. She’s got an appointment with Doc Knight this morning and she’s going to try to talk him into letting her go.”

“I’ve got my fingers crossed for her. She’s probably going stir-crazy at home with her feet up on pillows. I want to work right up until they rush me off to the delivery room.”

Hannah turned to give Lisa a sharp look. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Of course not! Herb and I aren’t even married yet.”

“Marriage isn’t always a prerequisite for parenthood.”

“Maybe not for some people, but it is for me,” Lisa said. “I’ll get that cake and see if the Jell-O’s set.”

Hannah kicked herself mentally as Lisa ducked into the walk-in cooler to retrieve the cake. It was clear that she’d stepped over the line into an area Lisa didn’t want to discuss, and this was her partner’s way of changing the subject.

“The Jell-O’s set,” Lisa announced, carrying the cake to the workstation. “Do you want me to finish making it for you?”

“That would be great. The recipe’s on the counter.”

Lisa set down the cake and glanced through the recipe. “This sounds really good.”

“It is. Andrea always makes it for Tracey’s birthday. It’s the one time of year she uses her oven.”

“It must be strange having a sister who doesn’t cook.”

“Not really,” Hannah said with a shrug. She’d gotten quite accustomed to being the baker in the family. Delores didn’t “do” desserts, and Andrea avoided the oven with a passion. The only other member of the family who showed signs of inheriting Grandma Ingrid’s love of baking was Hannah’s youngest sister, Michelle. She was constantly calling Hannah for recipes to try out on her college roommates.

Lisa stuck some water on to boil and opened the lemon Jell-O packet. “When I’m done with this, I’ll do the baking for the day. You can concentrate on the recipes you have left to test for tonight.”

Hannah gave her a grateful smile. Lisa was only nineteen, but she was more responsible than others who were twice her age. Hannah had never regretted the day, only a little over a year ago, when she’d offered her diminutive assistant a partnership in The Cookie Jar.

Once the baking was done and Hannah had returned from her run to the sheriff’s station with the brownies for Mike, Lisa and Hannah settled down in the back booth of the coffee shop with fresh mugs of coffee.

“So what did Mike say when you gave him the brownies?” Lisa asked.

“He wasn’t there. I just wrote a quick note, put them on his desk, and came straight back here.”

“I wonder what time we should start hiding.”

Hannah laughed. “Not before noon. I checked with Barbara and she thought he’d be out in the field all morning. If he does come back early and he charges in here, he’ll be so bowled over by your decorations, he’ll forget all about being mad.”

“You like them?”

“They’re even better than last year. I never would have thought to paint Christmas designs on the mirror with Glass Wax and powdered tempera.”

“It’s just an idea I got from a magazine. When you wash it off, it cleans the mirror at the same time.”

“Well, it makes the whole place look fantastic.” Hannah glanced up at the silver and gold streamers Lisa had hung from the ceiling and admired how nicely they fluttered as the ceiling fans whirred softly overhead. She’d even hung mistletoe from the pull chains, a little extra that Hannah hadn’t noticed when she’d first seen the decorations. “It’s a good thing Moishe isn’t here.”

“Why?”

“Because mistletoe berries are poisonous for cats. So are poinsettia leaves.”

“I didn’t know that!”

“Most people don’t. Christmas is very hard on cats, especially if their people don’t know how dangerous it is. Sue told me Dr. Bob had three feline patients last Christmas who almost died from eating tinsel. It gets tangled up in their insides and causes all sorts of problems.”

Lisa just shook her head. “Maybe it’s a good thing Herb wants us to get a puppy.”

“Not necessarily. Poinsettias and mistletoe are poisonous for dogs too, and tinsel’s not good, either. And then there are the glass balls that people use to decorate trees.”

“A dog might bat at them and break them?”

“Yes, and swallow some of the pieces. And then there’s chocolate. A lot of people leave a box of chocolates out on a coffee table for guests. That’s perfect dog height, and too much chocolate can kill a dog.”

“That’s a real pity,” Lisa sounded very sympathetic. “At least if we eat too much chocolate, all we get is hyperactive. And that reminds me…we’d better stoke up on the chocolate tonight, because we have to be on our toes.”

“Why is that?”

“Martin Dubinski got married in Vegas, and he’s bringing his new wife to the Christmas party.”

“Uh-oh,” Hannah groaned. “Shirley submitted her Poppy Seed Cake recipe for the cookbook and it’s being tested tonight.”

“That’s what I mean. The ex-wife and the new wife. It’s straight out of a soap, especially since Shirley wants Martin back.”

“She does?” Hannah was surprised.

“I think so. At least that’s what I heard.”

“I wish I’d known that before! Now I feel really guilty about going out with Martin.”

“You went out with Martin?” Lisa looked positively mystified. “Why did you do that?”

“Mother. But it was only once. Tell me what you know about Martin’s new wife.”

“Well…” Lisa paused to take a fortifying sip of coffee. “She’s a Las Vegas dancer named Brandi Wyen. Get it?”

“Brandywine. I get it. How did Martin meet her?”

“I don’t know for sure, but what I heard was he married her just five hours after he flew to Las Vegas for a conference.”

“That doesn’t bode well. What else?”

“Before Martin and Brandi flew back here, he took her to a furrier and bought her a twenty-thousand-dollar coat so she wouldn’t be cold.”

Hannah groaned again, envisioning the old cloth coat Shirley had worn for the past three years because she hadn’t been able to afford a new one. “Do you think there’ll be fireworks at the party tonight?”

“It’s a pretty safe bet, especially since there’s another woman in the picture.”

“Another woman?” Hannah was mystified that even one woman would be attracted to Martin, much less three! He was a nice enough man, but her date with him had been boredom personified. Why he’d thought she’d be interested in discussing the newest tax laws was beyond her!

“I stopped in to see Janice Cox at Kiddie Korner after I dropped Dad off at the Senior Center,” Lisa explained. “She went to school with Martin’s secretary, Laura Jorgensen. Janice said Laura didn’t exactly confide in her, but she was pretty sure that Laura was in love with Martin.”

“Oh, boy!” Hannah breathed, almost wishing that she had gone on for her doctorate and was now teaching in a rarified academic atmosphere that was hundreds of miles from what would probably happen when Laura and Shirley met Martin and Brandi. “I guess it’s a good thing that Laura has an accounting class at the junior college tonight.”

“Not anymore. Janice said Laura’s class was cancelled and she’s going to be at the party to make sure that whoever tested her Smothered Chicken did a good job.”

Hannah just shook her head. It was a disaster in the making, perhaps even another Titanic on a slightly smaller scale. “At least we can get one thing settled before the crockery starts flying.” Hannah stood up and headed for the phone by the cash register. “I’m going to call Andrea and ask her if she’ll handle your wedding arrangements.”

“Tell her she can have complete control of everything. I’ll go along with whatever she wants to do.”

“That’ll sweeten the pot.” Hannah started to grin as she punched in the number. “If I know Andrea, she won’t be able to resist.”

Andrea sounded chipper when she answered the phone. “Hi, Hannah.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“I just got a new cell phone with built-in caller I.D. It’s a very important tool for a real estate professional.”

“No doubt,” Hannah said, grinning a little. Andrea always had state-of-the-art electronics, and she always said she needed it because she was a real estate agent. “I called to tell you that Herb and Lisa have to postpone their wedding until Valentine’s Day.”

“That’s too bad. Hang on a second, will you?” Hannah hung on and waited for several seconds. Then Andrea came on the line again. “Sorry about that. So why are they postponing the wedding?”

“Jack Herman’s been accepted in a test program for a new Alzheimer’s drug. Lisa and Herb want to wait until the trials are over.”

“That makes sense. So why did you call me?”

“Lisa needs to spend all her free time with her dad and she won’t have time to arrange the wedding. She’d love it if someone else would take charge and I thought maybe you might…hold on a second.” Hannah put down the phone and motioned to Lisa. “I think I hear someone knocking at the back door. Can you go let them in?”

“Sure.”

“Sorry, Andrea.” Hannah directed her attention back to the phone. “Someone’s at the back door and Lisa went to let them in. It’s probably Mother or Carrie.”

“No, it’s not.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s me.”

“What are you talking about?” Hannah was thoroughly confused, especially because her phone had suddenly developed a strange new echo.

“Turn around, Hannah. Lisa just let me in and I’m standing right behind you.”

Chapter Three

Hannah whirled around and practically bumped into her hugely pregnant sister. Andrea was standing there grinning, her cell phone to her ear. Despite the fact that she was almost as big around as she was tall, Andrea still managed to look glamorous. She’d arranged her shining blond hair in an elaborate twist, her make-up was perfect, and she’d draped a forest-green cashmere scarf over her fawn-colored coat so artfully, she could have been the cover model for a maternity fashion magazine.

“You can hang up now, Hannah,” Andrea said.

“Right.” Hannah hung up the phone and hurried to take her sister’s arm. “Come with me. You’d better sit down. I’ll get another chair so you can put your feet up.”

“I don’t need to put my feet up. Doc Knight lifted every single one of my restrictions and gave me the green light to resume normal activities.”

Hannah glanced at Lisa, who looked every bit as shocked as she did. “But I thought he told you to take it easy until the baby was born.”

“He did…but that was then, and this is now. When he tested me this morning, he said he can’t wait much longer for me to go into labor. I’m overdue.”

“What does that mean?” Hannah asked.

“It means I should have delivered last week, or maybe even the week before. Doc says I’m getting too big, and that’s not good for the baby.” Andrea shrugged out of her coat, handed it to Hannah, and pointed at the middle of her wine red maternity dress. “See?”

Hannah’s eyes widened. She’d seen Andrea at the beginning of the week, but now it looked as if her normally petite sister had swallowed a large beach ball.

“Doc’s giving me until next Friday,” Andrea went on. “If I don’t have the baby by then, he’ll put me in the hospital and speed things up.”

“How is he going to do that?” Lisa asked.

“You don’t want to know. As a matter of fact, I don’t want to know, so I didn’t ask. I’m just hoping that if I move around enough, the baby will decide it’s time to get born.”

“Horseback riding,” Lisa suggested.

“What?” Hannah turned to her with a puzzled frown.

“That’s what my mother used to do. If she went past her due date, she just went out to my grandfather’s farm and went for a ride. She said that always did the trick.”

Hannah laughed and shook her head. “Thanks for telling us, but I don’t think this is the time for Andrea to hone her equestrian skills.”

“That’s right, especially since the one time Bill took me riding, I fell off. I’d much rather drive around town, but first I need coffee. I haven’t had a good cup of coffee for weeks! And then I need some chocolate to give me energy. After that, I want you to give me something to do.”

“Like what?” Lisa asked, as Hannah went off to get the coffee and cookies.

“Like…that’s up to you, but there’s absolutely nothing for me to do at home. Grandma McCann was just in to clean and get the nursery all ready.”

“How about decorating for Christmas?” Hannah suggested. “Once you have the baby, you might be too busy to put up the tree and everything.”

“It’s already up and the house is all decorated. Lucy Dunwight organized the whole thing with a couple of the other kindergarten mothers and we had a party at my house. They did everything and the kids helped them. All I had to do was supervise from the couch.”

“That’s nice,” Hannah said, setting a mug and a napkin containing two Twin Chocolate Delights in front of her sister.

“So I have absolutely nothing to do. And I just thought that since tonight’s the Christmas party, you might have a last-minute recipe you don’t have time to test. I need to stay busy.”

“Thanks, Andrea, but I think we’ve got it covered.” Hannah gave Lisa a warning glance that was meant to remind her that Andrea was among the ranks of the cuisine-challenged.

Lisa just smiled, ignoring Hannah completely. “Hannah’s right. We’ve got everything under control here, but I ran into Edna this morning and there’s something she really needs for the party.”

“Really?” Andrea took a sip of coffee and swallowed with obvious pleasure. “Why is your coffee so much better than mine?”

Hannah just shrugged, biting back the obvious answer. Freshly brewed coffee from freshly ground beans was bound to be better than instant coffee made in a microwave.

“So what does Edna need?” Andrea turned to Lisa again. “Whatever it is, I can make it. I’m not a very good cook, but I’ve got all day to get it right.”

Hannah came close to groaning out loud. Any dish that Andrea prepared was bound to fail through no fault of its own.

“It’s not food,” Lisa explained. “Edna said people always forget to bring serving spoons and I promised to find someone who could round them up for her.”

“I can do that. It’s absolutely perfect for me. I’ll canvass house to house and while I’m at it, I’ll pass out calendars for Al. He’s got a really good one this year. It features twelve of the best homes sold through Lake Eden Realty, one for every month. And I sold ten of them!”

“I’m surprised it wasn’t all twelve,” Hannah said, grinning at her sister. Andrea was so good at talking people into things, she could probably get desert nomads to buy kitty litter. “So how about Lisa’s wedding? Will you take care of the arrangements?”

“Was there ever any doubt?” Andrea turned to Lisa with a laugh. “All you have to do is give me the guest list, and tell me your favorite color and your favorite flower. You can leave everything else up to me.”

“Thanks, Andrea. This really means a lot to me.” Lisa finished her coffee and stood up. “I’m going to start decorating those sugar cookies we baked for the party. Call me when it’s time, and I’ll open.”

Once Lisa had gone through the swinging door to the kitchen, Andrea leaned across the table. “If you give me two more cookies and a refill on the coffee, I’ll tell you what I just heard.”

Hannah wasted no time getting what her sister wanted. Andrea always exacted payment for the latest Lake Eden gossip. “If it’s about Martin Dubinski’s new wife, Lisa already told me.”

“That’s old news. If you were a real estate professional like me, you would have heard about it yesterday.”

“Yes, but do you know about the twenty-thousand-dollar fur coat?”

“Twenty-two thousand,” Andrea corrected her. “At least that’s the way I heard it. But what I’ve got to tell you is new news, not old news. And it’s going to knock your socks off.”

“Okay. What is it?”

“It’s about Shawna Lee Quinn!”

“What about her?” Hannah took a deep breath and held it, hoping that her sister’s gossip didn’t include Mike.

“She’s leaving town tonight.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Would I kid about something that important? Bill called me from the station to tell me. There was a death in the family and Shawna Lee’s going back home to Georgia.”

Hannah curbed her impulse to cheer at Shawna Lee’s impending absence and did her best to react to the gravity of the situation. “I’m sorry for her loss. Who died?”

“Vanessa’s husband. And from what Shawna Lee told Bill, it wasn’t unexpected.”

“Who’s Vanessa?”

“Shawna Lee’s younger sister. They’re less than a year apart and they were really close growing up. Vanessa’s husband was an octogenarian.”

Hannah’s eyebrows shot up. Shawna Lee was in her middle twenties, and it seemed unlikely that her younger sister would marry a man who was sixty years her senior. “Her husband was in his eighties?”

“That’s what octogenarian means. Shawna Lee told Bill that they’d been married for a little over a year before he died.”

Hannah didn’t comment. It could have been a love match, but the term gold digger came to mind. She was trying to figure out a polite way to pose the question, when Andrea nodded.

“I know what you’re thinking and you’re right. He was a rich octogenarian and he owned a whole string of home improvement stores. Vanessa inherited everything and from what Shawna Lee told Bill, it amounts to a lot of money!”

“How long is Shawna Lee staying?”

“I don’t know, for sure, but Bill asked her when he gave her the standard form to fill out.”

“Yes?” Hannah asked, holding her breath. She hoped it was a good long time.

“She said she wasn’t sure, that she’d been homesick for her sister and her family and she could hardly wait to go home for Christmas, even under these sad circumstances. She also promised to call him in two weeks to let him know whether she’d be coming back to her job…or not.”

“You mean there’s a chance she won’t come back?” Hannah could hardly believe her good fortune.

“That’s what it sounds like to me. Bill has to hold her job for a month. That’s a union regulation. But after that, the job can be posted at the sheriff’s discretion.”

“And Bill’s discretion will be right away?”

“It will be if I have anything to say about it! I feel the same way about Shawna Lee as you do, and her sister sounds like more of the same. I mean…I suppose it’s unfair of me to judge her when I’ve never even met her, but think back to when you were twenty-three.”

“Okay.” Hannah thought back to her college days and she remembered the efficiency apartment she’d rented in a crumbling stucco building six blocks from campus. She’d fixed it all up with low-cost decorations, and it hadn’t seemed to matter that if she took longer than a three-minute shower, she’d run out of hot water.

“You were young and you had the whole world ahead of you, right?”

“Right.”

“And you dated guys your own age, or a little older, right?”

Hannah shrugged. “I would have, if they’d asked me.”

“Good enough. Anyway…there you are, surrounded by all these good-looking guys your age. Would you have fallen in love with a sick old man in a wheelchair?”

Hannah did her best to think of a scenario that would fit the situation, but she came up blank.

“I didn’t think so,” Andrea said, interpreting Hannah’s silence as assent. “Vanessa married him for his money. There’s no other explanation. Let’s just hope she shares all that cash with Shawna Lee and both of them stay put in Georgia!”

Chapter Four

It wasn’t until the predictable eleven-thirty break that Hannah remembered Mike’s brownies. When she did, she let out a gasp that made Lisa rush to her side in alarm.

“It’s okay,” Hannah reassured her. “I just remembered Mike’s hot brownies, that’s all. I’d better call him and tell him not to eat them.”

“You mean because Shawna Lee’s leaving town and you don’t have to compete with her anymore?”

“That’s right. The green-eyed monster made me start the brownie wars, and I’m a little embarrassed.”

Lisa shrugged. “I don’t see why. Mike deserved it. He still deserves it. He didn’t have to suggest that you serve Shawna Lee’s brownies in here!”

“True, but I think I’d better keep the peace if I want a date for tonight.”

“There’s always that,” Lisa said with a grin, “especially since you bought a new outfit. Why don’t you call Barbara before she goes to lunch? She can snatch the brownies off Mike’s desk and toss them, and he’ll never have to know anything about it.”

“Good idea.” Hannah headed for the phone. A moment later, she had Barbara Donnelly, the head secretary at the sheriff’s station, on the line.

“Hi, Hannah.” Barbara sounded glad to hear from her. “All ready for the party tonight?”

“I’m ready. How about you? Your Irish Roast Beast’s being tested, you know.”

“I know. I’ve been on pins and needles about it all day. Did you hear about Shawna Lee?”

“I heard. Bill told Andrea and Andrea told me.”

“Some wives around here are going to be mighty relieved, that’s all I have to say. And at least she won’t be flirting with your guy anymore.”

“Which guy?”

“That’s a good one!” Barbara said with a laugh. “I forgot for a minute that you had two guys.”

“I’m not sure I’ve got either one of them, but I do need to talk to Mike.”

“He’s not here, Hannah. He came in about an hour ago, but before he could even hang up his jacket, he got a call to go out again.”

Hannah took a deep breath and asked the important question. “I put a package on his desk this morning. Do you happen to know if it’s still there?”

“Hold on a second and I’ll check.”

Hannah heard a click, and she found herself listening to a tape of winter driving tips, read by someone who sounded as if he had a cold. She already knew about carrying a candle and matches in a coffee can so that if she was stuck in her car, she could heat the interior and melt snow for drinking water. The announcer was just pontificating about the wisdom of putting a twenty-pound sack of kitty litter in the trunk for traction when Barbara came back on the line.

“It’s gone, Hannah. Mike must have taken it with him.”

Hannah had all she could do to keep from groaning. It would be bad enough if Mike tasted the brownies at work in front of the other deputies, but if he bit into one when he was alone in his cruiser, navigating an icy patch of highway, he might just end up in the ditch. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“I don’t think he will be, not today. He’s coordinating with two other law enforcement agencies, and that means conferences and meetings all afternoon. He’ll probably go right home when he’s through. He could call in, though. If he does, do you want me to give him a message?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll see him tonight. Thanks, Barbara.”

Hannah did her best to grin and bear it as she dashed to the community center with Edna’s meatballs. She got back just in time for the noon rush, when dozens of people wanted their after-lunch cookies and coffee. Hannah manned the cash register and took care of the take-out cookies customers ordered, while Lisa waited tables. It was a system they’d worked out together. Things were just slowing down again when Hannah looked up to see a familiar face at the door. It was Norman, and he was carrying something in a Granny’s Attic bag.

“Hi, Norman!” Hannah greeted him, smiling warmly. Norman certainly wasn’t movie star handsome, with his slightly thinning brown hair and stocky frame, but Hannah considered him one of the most attractive men she’d ever met. He had an open, friendly look about him and his sense of humor meshed with hers perfectly. As Delores and Carrie were fond of saying, especially if they’d just come from one of their Regency romance group meetings, Norman and Hannah made a perfect match.

Hannah waited until Norman had hung his parka on the coat rack near the front door and taken a seat at the counter. “Coffee?”

“Of course. You make the best in town. And a couple cookies of your choice. I’m in the mood to live dangerously.”

“Dangerously?” Hannah turned and glanced at the glass serving jars behind the counter. “How about a Cherry Bomb?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s one of Grandma Ingrid’s recipes and I’m trying it out for the first time today.”

“I’ll be your guinea pig,” Norman declared, twitching his nose.

“That’s exactly what the guinea pig at Kiddie Korner does!”

“I know. Janice Cox called me with a dental emergency on Wednesday when Mr. Whiskers got a seed stuck between his front teeth.”

“Did you make a house call?” Hannah asked, realizing she hadn’t talked to Norman in a few days.

“Of course. Mr. Whiskers is fine now. I got the seed out.”

“How did you do that?”

“Very carefully. And very quickly, too.” Norman glanced at the cookies Hannah placed in front of him. “They look like little white bombs with a red fuse.”

“The fuse is a cherry stem. That’s a little square of dough wrapped around the cherry and then baked. And the reason they’re so white is because they’re dipped in powdered sugar. You’re supposed to pick them up by the stem and eat the bottom part.”

“Okay,” Norman said popping the white part into his mouth and chewing. “They’re good! The cherry sort of explodes when you bite into it, so Cherry Bomb is a good name.”

Once Norman had tasted the second Cherry Bomb and pronounced it as good as the first, he set the Granny’s Attic bag on the counter. “Your mother sent this over for you.”

“What is it?”

“Her antique cake knife. She asked me to bring it to you for safekeeping.”

Hannah opened the bag and drew out an elaborately carved wooden case. “Have you seen it?”

“Yes, it’s beautiful. Take a look.”

The carvings were lovely, and Hannah admired the box for a moment. Then she lifted the lid and gasped as she saw the knife. “It’s gorgeous! And it’s not what I expected at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s narrower than the combination cake knife and server I’m used to seeing and it looks a whole lot sharper.”

“Your mother said it was especially crafted for the court by a well-known sword maker of the period.”

“No wonder it looks so sharp! The Christmas tree on the handle is beautiful and I just love the colored stones they used to decorate it.”

“Those colored stones are small blue and yellow sapphires, rubies, and emeralds. And the star at the top is a perfect diamond. I think you’d better put it away in a nice safe place.”

“I will,” Hannah said, closing the lid of the box reverently. “I suppose it’s very valuable?”

Norman glanced around, but no one at the counter was paying any attention to them. “Yes, if it’s genuine. And everyone at Granny’s Attic, including Luanne, thinks it is.”

“Thanks for telling me.” Hannah slipped the box back in the bag and secreted it behind the counter. “I’d better keep it under wraps until it’s time to cut the cake, or someone might use it to carve the turkey.”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem. I’m bringing the turkey, and it’s Rose’s recipe. She swears it’s so tender it practically falls off the bones.”

“Rose’s turkey is great,” Hannah said, glancing out the window. Her eyes narrowed and she gave a deep sigh. “You might know it! It’s starting to snow. It’s a good thing that Minnesotans aren’t afraid of a little winter weather. Unless it turns into a full-scale blizzard, they’ll still show up for the dinner and stay for the dancing.”

“Of course they will. Nobody wants to miss the feast.”

Hannah had just refilled Norman’s coffee mug when the phone rang. She reached out to answer it. “The Cookie Jar. Hannah speaking.”

“Hello, Hannah. It’s Kurt Howe.”

“Hi, Kurt,” Hannah said, hoping that nothing was wrong. Kurt was her editor at Savory Press, and the last time he’d called, he’d asked Hannah to get the cookbook recipes ready several months before the due date in the contract she’d signed. “You’re not going to move up the deadline again, are you?”

Kurt chuckled. “No, but I do have a question about one of the recipes you submitted.”

“Which one?”

“Fudge Cupcakes. Are you sure it’s baking soda?”

“Baking soda?” Hannah began to frown.

“That’s what it says.”

“Hold on a second.” Hannah motioned for Lisa and asked her to run to the kitchen to get the master recipe list. Then she turned back to her phone call. “Lisa’s checking on it right now, but I think it’s supposed to be baking powder. Baking soda would make them puff up too high in the oven and then they’d fall like craters.”

“That’s what my publisher thought and I told her I’d check with you.”

Hannah took the three-ring binder Lisa handed her and glanced down at the Fudge Cupcake recipe. “It’s baking powder, Kurt. One and a half teaspoons of baking powder.”

“That’s what we thought.”

“I’m really sorry about that,” Hannah said, her cheeks coloring in embarrassment. “I proofread all those recipes before I sent them to you, and that mistake got right past me.”

“It happens, especially when you know how it’s supposed to be written. You read right past the error and don’t notice it. But that’s only one of the reasons I called. I’m driving in for the Christmas dinner party.”

“That’s great! Then you can taste the recipes yourself!”

“I’m looking forward to it. I just got off the phone with the staff photographer. I wanted him to come along to take some food photos and some candids of the crowd for the cookbook.”

“That would be perfect, especially if he can get a picture of Mother’s antique cake knife. It’s gorgeous, Kurt, and we’re going to use it to cut one of the cakes.”

“That would have been a great photo.”

“Would have been?”

“That’s right. Our photographer can’t make it, and that means we may have to re-stage some of the food photos.”

“Maybe not,” Hannah said, glancing over at Norman. “I know a local photographer and I’m sure he’d be willing to take some photos of the party for you. Hold on and I’ll ask him.”

Norman nodded at Hannah before she could even ask. “Tell him I’ll be glad to bring my camera, but I don’t have any experience with food photography. I know it’s highly specialized.”

“I heard that,” Kurt said in Hannah’s ear. “Tell him anything he gets is all to the good. I’m going to leave the office early. If the traffic’s not terrible, I should get to Lake Eden around five or five-thirty. Where will you be?”

“At the community center. We’re closing the shop at three and I’ll be there early to help Edna in the kitchen.”

“Better tell him it’s snowing here,” Norman reminded her.

“I heard that,” Kurt responded before Hannah could tell him. “Maybe I’ll leave a little earlier than I planned, just to be on the safe side. See you tonight, Hannah.”

Hannah was smiling when she hung up the phone and turned to Norman. “Do you have time to run back to Granny’s Attic for a second before you go back to the dental clinic?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“It’s only fair to tell all the contributors that our editor is coming to the party. But I really don’t have time to call everyone.”

“So you want the mothers to call for you?”

“All they have to do is make one call. They’re part of the Lake Eden gossip hotline. It’s like a telephone tree. If they call one person, that person calls another couple of people. And then those people call other people and before you know it, the whole town knows. I figure that if you get to Mother and Carrie by one, everyone in Lake Eden will know before one-thirty at the latest.”

Chapter Five

“So how do I look?” Hannah asked, turning around for the benefit of her I-couldn’t-look-less-interested-if-I-tried roommate, who was perched on the back of the couch.

Moishe glanced her way for a moment, but then he went back to staring at the television. Since Hannah had tuned it to one of the animal channels and they occasionally showed documentaries about flightless birds and small furry rodents, she guessed she couldn’t blame him. Basic instinct was compelling. It was the reason why Moishe was hoping for easy prey, even if it turned out to be pheasant behind glass screen.

Hannah had also relied on basic instinct when she’d dressed for the party tonight. She was wearing the most alluring outfit she owned, a brand new cobalt-blue knit dress with a flared skirt that emphasized her figure plusses, all one of them, and minimized her figure minuses, all four of them, not counting the biceps she’d developed from lifting fifty-pound bags of flour and sugar. As usual, Claire Rodgers at Beau Monde Fashions had urged her to try on the dress, and, as usual, Claire had chosen well. One look in the mirror, and Hannah said she’d take it without even asking the price, something that would be risky in a shop where she didn’t get a hefty discount for owning the business next door.

“I’m so glad you approve,” Hannah said, realizing full well the folly of asking her resident feline a fashion question…or any question at all other than, “Are you hungry?” or “Would you like another kitty treat?”

“Your food bowl’s full and you’ve had your vitamins. I’ll be leaving now, if that’s okay with you.” Hannah shrugged into the black coat that acted like a magnet for orange and white cat hairs, and picked up the ridiculously small purse Claire had insisted she buy to go with the dress. She grabbed her gloves and the bag containing Mike’s pate, tossed several more salmon-flavored treats shaped like little fish toward the couch, and informed the cat, who still wasn’t interested in anything except the television screen, “I may be late. You don’t have to wait up.”

As she stepped outside, testing the door to make certain it locked behind her, Hannah found herself wishing she’d worn a ski mask, or at least a knit cap. The air was frigid, and it would be even colder by the time she came home tonight. She hurried down the outside stairs, thankful for the roof that the builder had designed to keep them free of snow, navigated an icy patch of sidewalk, and then went down the six concrete steps that led to the underground garage, barely missing bowling over her downstairs neighbor, Phil Plotnik.

“Sorry, Phil,” Hannah apologized as he steadied her on her feet. “You don’t have to say it. I really ought to watch where I’m going.”

“I wasn’t going to say that. I was going to remind you to unplug your truck.”

“Thank you! I always forget when I’m in a rush, and I’ve already totaled two cords this winter.”

“I’d better make sure it doesn’t turn into three.” Phil reversed his direction and walked her to her truck. “What’s your record?”

“You mean in one winter?”

“Right.” Phil went to the line of electrical outlets specifically designed for plugging in the head bolt and dipstick heaters that were so necessary during a cold Minnesota winter, and unplugged Hannah’s extension cord.

“Seven. It was the first year I bought my truck. I just couldn’t seem to get used to unplugging it. Are you coming to the Christmas party tonight?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Sue wants to get a picture of Kevin in front of the Christmas tree. We tried to do it last year, but he was too young to sit up. She’s going to order some of those photo cards to send to the relatives.”

“They’re bound to like that. Thanks for helping me, Phil. I’ll see you all later at the party.” Hannah was smiling as she climbed inside her candy-apple-red Suburban with the vanity license plate that read COOKIES. Her taxman claimed that the plate and the gold lettering on the sides that advertised The Cookie Jar constituted a write-off.

As Hannah drove up the ramp and along the narrow road that wound through her condo complex, lights winked on in several of the units. It was only four in the afternoon, but the shadows of the pine trees on the snow had darkened from lavender to indigo blue, and the horizon would soon be indistinguishable. Hannah switched on her headlights. At dawn and dusk visibility was poor, and even at the slow speeds that were posted in the complex, it was possible to have an expensive fender-bender.

In the few minutes it took Hannah to exit her complex, darkness fell completely. She turned left onto Old Lake Road, switched on her wipers to deal with the snow that was striking her windshield, and tuned her car radio to her favorite local station. The news on the hour was just ending and Rayne Phillips, KCOW’s meteorologist, was in the process of wrapping up his weather report.

“…chance of snow flurries later this evening. Presently, we have clear skies with temperatures ranging in the teens across Winnetka County. It’s a beautiful night, folks. Get out there and enjoy it.”

Hannah grumbled, turning up the speed on her windshield wipers to handle the rapidly falling snow. “You’re an idiot, Rayne. If you just look out the window, you’ll know it’s already snowing!”

Edna Ferguson looked surprised as Hannah stepped into the kitchen at the community center. “What are you doing here so early? I didn’t expect you before five.”

“I thought maybe you could use some extra help.” As Hannah stashed Mike’s pate in the refrigerator, she noticed that Andrea’s Jell-O Cake was already there on a shelf. “Lisa was here?”

“Come and gone. She said she had to rush home to get dressed. She dropped off the sugar cookies, and they’re just beautiful.”

“Lisa’s a whiz with a pastry bag. How about Andrea? Did she bring you the serving spoons?”

“She did, and I don’t know how she does it, as big as she is. That sister of yours is really something.”

“You mean because of the serving spoons?”

Edna shook her head so hard, her tightly permed gray curls bounced like springs. “That too, but mostly because of the decorations. The decorating committee was here when Andrea came in, and she asked as nice as pie if she could help. It was just the Hollenbeck sisters. Bernice Maciej was supposed to come too, but her back was acting up. Anyways, they didn’t want to let Andrea help at first, her being in the condition she is and all. But then she said she’d call a couple of her friends to do all the lifting, and they admitted they could use the help. You should have seen the whirlwind once those younger gals started working. Why, they finished it all in less than two hours, including the eighteen-foot-tall Christmas tree!”

“That’s Andrea. She really knows how to get things done with a couple of phone calls.”

“She did more than that. I tell you, I almost dropped my teeth when I saw her up on the ladder, putting the angel on top of the tree.”

Hannah was glad that she hadn’t witnessed that particular folly. She doubted that Doc Knight had realized the full ramifications when he’d told Andrea to resume her normal activity.

“Go turn on the lights and have a look.” Edna motioned toward the door. “It’s just beautiful!”

Hannah went back out into the dining room. Only a few lights had been on when she’d come down the stairs, and she hadn’t really noticed the decorations. She flicked on the bright lights and blinked in astonishment at the wonders her sister had accomplished.

There were four long tables at the front of the banquet hall, each covered with a different color tablecloth and sporting a large centerpiece of poinsettias, pine boughs, and gold Christmas balls. Stuck inside each one was a hand-lettered flag on a candy cane pole. The red table was for appetizers. It said so right on the flag. The gold was for entrees and sides, the silver was for desserts, and the green was for salads, soups, and breads. Another table, covered in red and green plaid, had been set up with coffee, tea, and a cooler that would contain bottles of milk, water, and juice.

More long tables were set up in a geometric pattern around the room, each decorated with Christmas tablecloths sporting snowmen, Santas, Christmas trees, holly, and snowflakes. Three centerpieces, scaled-down versions of the ones that were on the food tables, were placed equidistant down the middle of each table.

Hannah glanced up and was surprised to see that a canopy that had been woven overhead from red, green, gold, and silver crepe-paper streamers crisscrossed in an intricate pattern. Everything was lovely and festive, especially the Christmas tree that resided in what her Regency-enamored mother would have called pride of place in the center of the room. Hannah walked over to switch it on and actually gasped as thousands of miniature bulbs lit up in a rainbow of colors.

“It’s gorgeous, all right,” Hannah announced to the empty room, turning to walk back to the kitchen. Andrea had done a superb job today, and it was good to have her back in the mainstream of life in Lake Eden. They’d never been close growing up, but working together to investigate the murder that had earned Andrea’s husband his detective badge had taught them to appreciate each other, at least when they had a common problem to solve.

Hannah crossed her fingers, a habit left over from childhood, and wished that the Christmas buffet dinner would be a huge success. And then she headed back to the kitchen to see if she could lend a hand until Edna’s work crew arrived.

Forty minutes later, Hannah took up her position at the foot of the stairs. She’d been shooed out of the kitchen by Edna and her minions, and sent here to greet the people who were soon to arrive. Soft Christmas music was playing over the sound system, something that sounded suspiciously like a late-night-television, not-sold-in-stores Christmas collection available for nineteen ninety-five plus seven ninety-five postage and handling, and if you called within the next five minutes, you got a second CD free.

“Hi, Hannah.” Kirby Welles, the Jordan High band teacher, was the first down the stairs. He was followed by the Jordan High Jazz Ensemble, ten members in all. The boys were dressed in red satin jackets with black pants and the girls were wearing green satin dresses.

“You look great!” Hannah said, admiring the new outfits each student had bought for the occasion. The jazz ensemble was scheduled to play for the dancing that would take place after dinner and to provide music during the dessert course. “What do you need, Kirby? I’ll help you set up.”

“I’ve got it covered,” Kirby said, flashing teeth that just might have been whitened by Norman. He was a well-muscled bachelor in his middle twenties, and over half of the female population at Jordan High had visions of dating him. “I was down here this morning to arrange everything. All we need is folding chairs. We brought everything else with us in the school van.”

Hannah directed Kirby to the area beneath the stairs where the extra tables and folding chairs were kept and hurried back to her post. She was just in time, because Kurt Howe was the next to arrive.

“Hi, Kurt!” Hannah called out, greeting him before he’d even started to descend the stairs. “I’m glad you made it.”

Kurt hurried down the steps. “I would have been here sooner, but it started snowing when I hit Elk River, and that slowed me down. Something sure smells good in here!”

“That would be food,” Hannah said, taking his arm. “Everybody knows you’re coming, so let me introduce you to Edna and the ladies in the kitchen before they gang up on us out here. And then I’ll get you a good place to sit and we can wait for Norman. He should be here any minute and you can cue him in on what shots you want him to try for tonight.”

Once Kurt had met the kitchen staff, Hannah settled him at a table and served him a relish dish that was typical of Minnesota cuisine. It was a small bowl with crushed ice in the bottom and it was filled with celery sticks, carrot sticks, radishes, and dill pickle spears. A second small dish, special fare for tonight’s party, contained pickled green beans, mushrooms, beets, and baby onions.

Hannah had just explained that the contents of the second dish of appetizers were all homegrown and pickled in farm kitchens, when Norman came down the stairs with his camera bag slung over his shoulder. He was carrying a box wrapped in Christmas paper, and Hannah thought he looked very dashing in a tan suede jacket, black turtleneck sweater, and black pants, with his fur-lined parka draped over his arm.

Norman came straight over to Hannah and hugged her a few seconds longer than some older and more conservative Lake Eden residents might say was appropriate. Then he handed her the box. “This is for you. It’s an early Christmas present, and Claire thought you might want to wear it tonight.”

“Thank you, Norman,” Hannah said, and wasted no time opening the box. Inside was an appliqued Christmas sweater that perfectly matched her dress. “I love it! It’s gorgeous!” Hannah slipped it on immediately and turned around so that Norman could see.

“It looks even better than Claire said it would.” Norman gave her another hug and then he turned to Kurt. “Hi, Kurt. Good to see you again.”

“Same here,” Kurt said, patting the chair next to him. “Sit down and have some of these appetizers with me.”

“I will in a second. I just have to go hang up my parka.”

“I’ll take it,” Hannah said, taking Norman’s parka before he could step away from the table. “I want to dash into the ladies’ room and look at my new sweater in the mirror. And you need to talk to Kurt about what sort of photos he needs.”

After Hannah had hung Norman’s parka in the long, narrow cloakroom and admired her new sweater in front of the ladies’ room mirror, she went back to her post at the foot of the stairs. Her next few minutes were spent greeting several dozen Lake Eden residents and telling them where to deliver casseroles, bowls, and platters. She was about to dash back to the kitchen to grab a mug of coffee when Mike arrived with Shawna Lee.

“Hi, Hannah!” Shawna Lee walked gracefully down the stairs balancing a platter, something Hannah wouldn’t even have attempted, especially in four-inch high heels. “I really hope I did these right. I followed the recipe exactly.”

“I’m sure they’re just fine,” Hannah said, hoping that her words would be prophetic. She’d given the blond secretary one of the easier recipes, Susan Zilber’s Spinach Rollups. Once the spinach had been cooked and drained, there was no other cooking involved.

“I hope they make the cookbook. The only thing I did different was I cut them on the slant. I think they took better that way.”

Hannah glanced down at the platter Shawna Lee was holding. It was covered with plastic wrap and the rollups looked just fine to her. “They’re very attractive.”

“I know. And they’re good, too. I tasted the end pieces when I cut them off.”

“Cook’s prerogative,” Hannah commented, smiling at Shawna Lee. She could afford to be charitable now that her rival was leaving town. “Just take them in the kitchen and give them to Edna. She’ll see that they get out to the right table when it’s time to serve. And tell her what we should do with your platter after it’s washed.”

“Oh, Mike can take it home for me. He’s got the key and he knows where it goes in the cupboard.”

Hannah saw red, and that made her forget all about being charitable. Only a frequent visitor to Shawna Lee’s kitchen would know where her dishes belonged. Visions of intimate candlelight dinners and early breakfasts danced through Hannah’s mind and made her long for retribution.

“I’m really sorry I can’t stay for the dinner,” Shawna Lee interrupted Hannah’s contemplations of double homicide. “I just know it’ll be wonderful! But I’ve got a ten o’clock flight and I have to be at the airport two hours early. Mike’s taking me. Isn’t that nice of him?”

“Nice,” Hannah said, putting on a smile that wouldn’t have fooled anyone except perhaps a brand-new acquaintance with a severe visual problem.

“While you’re in the kitchen, why don’t you see if the coffee’s ready?” Mike suggested, giving Shawna Lee a little push in that direction. “I could use a cup before we hit the road.”

“Cream, two sugars, right? Except in the morning, when you don’t take cream.”

“Right.” The moment Shawna Lee had left, Mike turned to Hannah. “I need to talk to you about those brownies.”

Hannah gulped slightly, glad that she had witnesses just in case this turned ugly. “Look, Mike. I’m really sorry about…”

“I haven’t had a chance to taste them yet,” Mike interrupted her, “but I wanted to thank you in advance. That was really nice of you, Hannah. I would have opened them right away and had a few, but it’s been a totally impossible day. I just put them in my drawer so the other guys wouldn’t snitch them and I never got back to my desk.”

Hannah nodded, but she hadn’t really listened to anything Mike had said beyond the first sentence. “So…you haven’t had a chance to taste the brownies?”

“Not yet. They’re still in my center desk drawer. Do I have to refrigerate them or anything? Or will it be all right if I leave them there until tomorrow?”

“They’ll be fine in the drawer. Absolutely.” Hannah gave him what she hoped was an innocent smile, her mind already working on a way to retrieve them before Mike had the chance to take the first bite. “I’m sorry you’re going to miss the buffet.”

Mike slipped his arm around her shoulder and gave her a little hug. “What do you mean? Just keep a chair warm for me. I’m going to drop Shawna Lee off at the airport and come straight back. Maybe there won’t be much food left by the time I get here, but there’s no way I’m going to miss my first Lake Eden Christmas party with you.”

Chapter Six

Once Mike and Shawna Lee had left, each carrying a large frosted sugar cookie for the trip to the airport, Hannah went back to her greeting duties. She could hear the wind whistle every time the upstairs door opened to let in another group of hungry arrivals. If there were children in the group, they squealed in excitement as they spotted the miniature Christmas village in the lobby of the community center. The Jordan High shop class had made it as a holiday gift to the city of Lake Eden three years ago, and they kept making improvements and adding structures to the basic design. Last year George Baxter’s students had put in lights that twinkled from the windows. And this year, his senior boys had built three churches with stained glass windows that were exact replicas of the three churches in Lake Eden. Pam Baxter, George’s wife and the home economics teacher at Jordan High, had decided to help with the project. Her girls had made tiny wreaths for the doors and decorated the windows of the stores.

“Hi, Aunt Hannah,” a familiar voice called out.

“Hello, Tracey.” Hannah gave a big smile as her niece came down the stairs. Andrea and Bill’s daughter was dressed in a dark green velvet jumper with a white lace blouse for tonight’s festivities, and with her shining blonde hair tumbling down in a mass of natural curls, she looked just like a Christmas angel. “Where’s your mother?”

“She’s still talking to Mrs. Beeseman and Mr. Herman in the lobby. Aunt Lisa and Uncle Herb are there, too.”

“You didn’t want to stay and talk?”

Tracey shook her head. “It was boring, all about fur coats, and diamond rings, and some kind of drink.”

“A kind of drink?” Hannah was stymied. What did fur coats and diamonds rings have to do with a kind of drink? Unless…“Do you mean brandy?”

“That’s it! Anyway, Mommy said I could go downstairs and mingle until she got here.”

“Your mother told you to mingle?” Hannah wondered if her five-year-old niece knew what the word meant.

“Not like that exactly. She said to go talk to the people I know. But that’s mingle, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Hannah assured her, impressed, as always, with her niece’s vocabulary. “Norman’s around here somewhere, and he’s taking pictures. You should go say hello to him.”

“I will. I like Uncle Norman. How about Uncle Mike?”

“He’ll be here later. He’s taking Shawna Lee Quinn to the airport.”

“In his new yellow Hummer?”

“That’s right.”

“Uncle Mike took Daddy and me for a ride. It bounces a lot, but you probably know that since he takes you out on dates. Which one do you like best? Uncle Norman’s? Or Uncle Mike’s?”

“That depends on how far I’m riding,” Hannah said with a grin.

Tracey had just left to find Norman when Andrea came down the stairs. She looked lovely in a deep purple velvet maternity pantsuit, and Hannah was relieved to see that she was holding tightly to the rail.

“Hi, Hannah. What’s up?”

“Nothing. Martin and his new wife haven’t arrived yet.”

“Maybe they’re not coming. That would be good as far as Shirley’s concerned, but I’m dying to get a good look at her. Do you suppose she’ll wear gold spandex and glitter in her hair?”

“I doubt it. She’s probably perfectly nice.”

“With a name like Brandi Wyen?”

Hannah thought about it for a moment and then she smiled. “Point well taken. Is Bill here?”

“Not yet. If he gets held up, I’m supposed to save him a piece of Jell-O Cake. It’s his favorite thing that I bake.”

“It’s the only thing that you bake.”

“Well…there’s that, too. See you later, Hannah. I’m going to see if I can round up Tracey. She’s probably in the kitchen trying to talk Edna into letting her help.”

“She’d probably do better than some of the help Edna’s had over the years.” Hannah smiled, watching her sister set out for the kitchen. She was just thinking about how pregnant women resembled sailing ships in a high wind, when she heard voices at the top of the stairs.

Hannah put on the best smile she could muster, but since she’d been meeting and greeting for well over thirty minutes, it was beginning to wear a little thin around the edges. Then she caught sight of the couple coming down the staircase and her smile gathered lumens until it was full wattage.

Hannah greeted the mayor and his wife and then dissolved into a burst of spontaneous laughter, despite her effort to keep a straight face. Mayor Bascomb’s tie was splendiferous. It was the old-fashioned wide type and the background was studded in red sequins. A green felt Christmas tree was tacked to the front, and it actually lit up with tiny colored lights that flashed on and off. “Great tie, Mr. Mayor.”

“Steffie found it out at the mall. Runs on one of those little disk batteries they use for cameras.” Mayor Bascomb tucked his wife’s arm through his and patted her hand. “She’s the world’s best shopper, aren’t you, honey?”

Stephanie Bascomb gave a very nice smile, but Hannah noticed that it didn’t reach her eyes. She also pulled her hand away from her husband’s, and Hannah concluded that there was trouble in Lake Eden’s first family. The Bascombs would put on the appearance of connubial bliss for the crowd of constituents that had gathered for the party, but it was all for show.

“Lovely dress, Mrs. Bascomb,” Hannah said, admiring the white wool dress with white-on-white embroidered snowflakes forming a border around the hem and the neckline. Tiny snowflake earrings made of small diamonds twinkled at her ears, and Hannah suspected the worst. It was a well-known fact that Stephanie Bascomb bought herself an expensive new outfit every time she thought her husband was cheating on her. And this time she’d bought diamond earrings, too.

“Thank you, Hannah,” Stephanie said, shrugging out of her coat and handing it to her husband. “Hang this up for me, Richard. I want to see if they need any help in the kitchen.”

Hannah just shook her head as the mayor trotted obediently to the cloakroom while his wife headed off to the kitchen. She’d been in the kitchen enough times to imagine the scene that would ensue. Stephanie would offer to help. Edna would say that was so nice of her, but she sure wouldn’t want Mrs. Bascomb to get that beautiful dress mussed. Once these polite proprieties were fulfilled, Stephanie would leave, and the scorecard would be even. The mayor’s wife would get credit for the offer without doing anything, and Edna would get credit for keeping Stephanie out of the kitchen so that the ladies who were there could gossip about whether Mayor Bascomb’s eye was roving again.

A few minutes later, relief arrived in the person of Barbara Donnelly, who said Edna had sent her to take over as greeter. Hannah was on her way to the table where Norman and Kurt were still in deep discussion about the photographs Kurt wanted for the cookbook when she spotted one of the possible combatants of the night. Shirley Dubinski was sitting at a table with her ex-mother-in-law, Babs. While they hadn’t gotten along that well when Shirley and Martin were married, it appeared that the shock of Martin’s surprise marriage had brought them together. Shirley and Babs looked tighter than thieves.

“Hi, Babs,” Hannah greeted the woman who’d talked Delores into setting her up for a date with Martin. “That’s a lovely pin.”

“Thank you. Shirley gave it to me for Christmas two years ago and I just love it.” Babs reached up to touch the gold wreath pin she wore at the neck of her dark red silk blouse. “I suppose you’ve heard the news?”

“Just this morning.” Hannah let it go at that and turned to Shirley. “You look great tonight, Shirley. That’s a gorgeous suit, and you’ve cut your hair, haven’t you?”

Shirley beamed, happy that Hannah had noticed. “I had it done when I went to Chicago last week. I got a promotion, you know. Del and Benton Woodley decided that DelRay should be represented at all the big trade shows, and that’s my job.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“It is. I found out I’m a better salesman than I thought I was. They were so pleased when I came back from Chicago with two new contracts, they decided to give me a clothing allowance. Can you believe that? And since Babs agreed to take care of the boys for me while I’m traveling, I don’t have to worry about a thing.”

“Are the boys here?” Hannah asked, realizing that Shirley and Martin’s young sons were nowhere in sight.

“No, they’re with my mother. Babs and I thought it was best, since”—Shirley faltered slightly—“since Martin plans to be here with her.”

“Oh. That’s probably wise. I mean, the boys might not understand…” Hannah’s voice trailed off as she spotted Martin Dubinski and his new wife entering the banquet room. For a new groom, Martin didn’t look very happy, and Hannah briefly wondered why. But that thought left her mind completely when she caught sight of the woman on Martin’s arm.

“Good heavens!” Hannah joined in the collective gasp that emanated from the throat of almost every person in the room.

Brandi Wyen Dubinski deserved a gasp and then some. She was drop-dead gorgeous. The auburn-haired beauty’s skin was flawless, her eyes were a delightful shade of sea green, her lashes were long, her hair was lustrous, and her figure was so remarkable, there was complete silence in the crowded banquet room. Martin’s new wife was tall, and she was obviously comfortable with her height, because she was wearing silver high-heeled boots that clung to her calves like plastic wrap.

“Wow!” Hannah breathed, blinking hard. The vision was almost too perfect to be true. Brandi was poured into a gleaming silver satin dress with a low neckline, and it was so snug it must have been tailored to hug her every curve. The smile Martin’s new wife gave to the assembled multitude showed incredibly white and even teeth. She was glamour personified, theatrical and stunning. Lake Eden had never set eyes on anyone of her magnitude before.

Hannah sneaked a quick glance at Shirley. Martin’s ex-wife was staring at her replacement with a slack jaw and a glazed look in her eyes. As Hannah watched, Babs nudged Shirley and whispered in her ear. Whatever Babs said, it worked. Shirley closed her mouth, sat up a little straighter, and pretended she was fascinated by the Christmas tree that sat in the middle of the room, and not in the least bit interested in the new Mrs. Martin Dubinski.

“Uh-oh,” Hannah said, under her breath, wondering what she could do to defuse the situation. The tension grew as Martin spotted his mother and started to bring Brandi over to her table. Then he noticed that Shirley was there and reconsidered. It was an awkward situation, with Martin and Brandi eyeing Babs and Shirley warily; mother and ex-wife seated at the table, and husband and new wife standing only a few feet away.

There was no way Hannah was about to let the tension grow any thicker. She looked around for Andrea, caught her eye, and motioned toward Martin and Brandi. Andrea, the quintessential politician’s wife now that Bill had won the race for Winnetka County sheriff, caught on immediately and headed over to greet Martin and Brandi and show them to a table as far away from Babs and Shirley’s as the architecture of the banquet room would allow.

“Oh, there’s Mother,” Hannah said, spotting Delores as she came down the stairs. “You two enjoy the dinner. I’ve got to go say hello.”

Hannah hurried to the bottom of the stairs and greeted her mother. And then she stared up expectantly. “Where’s Winthrop?”

“Parking the car in the lot. He dropped me off right by the door. He’s just so considerate that way.” Delores Swensen waltzed into the room, looking for all the world like a grand duchess. “Would you take my coat, dear? I see a spot at that table over there that would be just perfect for us. Winthrop’s gauche, you know.”

“Gauche?”

“In the true sense of the word.”

“You mean…left-handed?”

“That’s right. He needs to sit at the end of the table on my left. Most people don’t realize what a true handicap that is. Practically everything is designed for right-handed people.”

“No doubt,” Hannah said, accepting what she suspected was a new dress coat from her mother.

“Do free yourself up soon and come over to meet Winthrop, dear. He’s been asking about you. And remember, we added the orange juice concentrate as a modern innovation to dear Lady Hermoine’s Chocolate Sunshine Cake.”

Hannah greeted a few more people, and then she spotted what could only be described as a dapper gentleman coming down the stairs. It had to be Winthrop. Hannah eyed him suspiciously as he walked toward her mother’s table, smiling a greeting.

Delores caught Hannah’s eye and waved. It was an order for a command appearance. Not one to dare resist such a summary summons, Hannah turned on her heel, squelched the urge to salute, and headed straight for her mother’s table.

“You must be Hannah,” her mother’s companion stated, shooting to his feet as Hannah approached them. “So nice to meet you, my dear. Delores told me you were the beauty in the family.”

Hannah resisted the urge to accuse Winthrop of being a bald-faced social liar and gave a polite little laugh. “She must have gotten me mixed up with my sisters. But anyway, we meet at last. Mother’s told me a lot about you.”

“All good, I hope?” Winthrop asked, exuding confidence that his question would be answered in the positive.

“Naturally.” Hannah smiled, taking in her mother’s significant other at a glance. Winthrop Harrington II matched Hannah’s mental picture of a Regency romance heartthrob, and that meant he was right up her mother’s alley. He was suave, sophisticated, handsome in a quietly understated way, and from the way his clothing fit, it had been tailored just for him. Winthrop exuded an air of quality, and he looked as if he wasn’t hurting for cash, or what her mother would refer to as blunt if she were in Regency mode. Still, Hannah wasn’t convinced Winthrop was all he claimed to be, and she eyed him the way a wary rabbit might regard a snake.

“Is the antique cake knife here, dear?” Delores asked, reacting to her daughter’s silence and seeming to sense that Hannah was contemplating the wisdom of asking Winthrop some embarrassing questions.

“Yes, it’s right next to the cake on the dessert table. Norman wanted us to bring out some of the prettiest desserts early so that he could take photos. Kurt Howe was really impressed when he saw your knife. He told me to tell you that it’s gorgeous.”

“I think so, too. And Luanne is a real genius for finding it. I tell you, she goes through all those estate sale flyers with a fine-toothed comb. This one just said, ‘old silver cake knife.’ When Luanne told me she had a hunch it might be something good, I sent her down to St. Paul for the auction. And the rest is…history!”

“How droll, my dear,” Winthrop said, chuckling appreciatively and patting Delores’s hand. Hannah knew she had to excuse herself soon or she’d say something she’d later regret.

Perhaps it was one of those unspoken mother-daughter communications, but Delores seemed to sense that her eldest daughter had reached the end of her patience, and she stepped in quickly. “I hate to speed the departing guest, but I know you’re busy, dear. I just wanted you to meet Winthrop. You’ll get to know each other much better over the holidays.”

“Right,” Hannah said, trying not to react to the hint that Winthrop would be taking part in their family celebrations. “See you later, Mother. Winthrop? Charmed, I’m sure.”

My daughter, the humorist, Hannah imagined her mother saying, as she walked away. She resisted the urge to go back and really quiz Winthrop about his intentions, and she settled for catching Andrea’s eye. Her sister was sitting with Martin and Brandi, looking about as comfortable as an overdue pregnant woman suffering from terminal boredom could look. Hannah gave her a high sign that meant she’d relieve her in a few minutes and they’d compare notes about Winthrop. Andrea nodded, catching Hannah’s drift perfectly. They’d always been able to communicate without words, perhaps the result of living with a mother who always had to have the last word on everything.

Hannah glanced toward the kitchen doorway to see Edna gesturing for her. It was time to set out the food. She hurried into the kitchen, and moments later she was carrying out dishes according to Edna’s instructions. Once the appetizer table was ready and Norman had photographed it, Mayor Bascomb told everyone that they were welcome to dig in. The crowd converged and Hannah rejoiced in the oohs and ahhs of the admiring diners as they sampled Spinach Rollups, Busy Day Pate, Fiesta Dip Platter, and Caviar Pie. There were dozens of appetizers on the groaning board, including Baked Brie, Bill Jessup’s Misdemeanor Mushrooms, Mrs. Knudson’s Herring Appetizer, and Seafood Bread Dip, one of the appetizer recipes Carrie Rhodes had submitted for the cookbook.

Hannah took a thin sliver of her Spinach Quiche. Since they had plenty of entrees, Edna had cut it into as many thin slices as possible and arranged them on a platter as an appetizer. Then she walked over to join her sister, who had gone up to the appetizer table with Martin and Brandi and was still sitting with them.

After the introductions had been made and Hannah had congratulated the newlyweds, she leaned forward to attempt polite conversation with Brandi. “Your dress is beautiful.”

“I know. Martin said I could have anything I wanted, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t expect it to go to four figures.”

Hannah did her best to keep the friendly smile on her face. She knew four figures meant a thousand dollars at the least. She also knew that Martin’s small business didn’t make a fortune and he had two children to support. “I guess Lake Eden must be quite a change from Las Vegas.”

“You can say that again.”

Hannah had the urge to do just that. At least it would give her something else to say. What she really wanted to know was why Brandi had married Martin in the first place, but it would be rude to ask.

“So…you married?” Brandi asked, glancing down at Hannah’s bare fingers.

“No, I’m not.” Hannah felt the urge to babble just to fill the silence, and she gave in to it. “I haven’t found the right man yet, I guess.”

“You won’t, not here. These small towns are death for single women, especially when they get to be your age. But don’t get me wrong…you’re not bad looking and some men like that natural, untouched look. I bet I could have lined you up with somebody really hot in Vegas.”

Hannah frowned. She didn’t even want to think about the type of man Brandi might have picked out for her and she quickly changed the subject. “Have you met Martin’s sons yet?”

“No. I’m not big on kids, but at least they’re boys. I get along a lot better with boys.”

I’ll bet you do! Hannah thought, but of course she didn’t say it. Making conversation with Brandi was like trying to drive a truck out of a mud hole. Every time she managed to crawl forward a few feet, she slipped right back in the muck.

“Who’s that?” Brandi gestured toward a table at the front of the room.

“Who’s who?”

“That guy with that awful Christmas tie. He looks familiar.”

“That’s our mayor, Richard Bascomb.”

“He looks like somebody I met a while back, but the name’s not familiar.”

Hannah nodded, but her mind was racing. Mayor Bascomb had flown to Las Vegas for a convention a couple of months ago. If he’d hooked up with Brandi and wanted to maintain his anonymity, he might not have used his own name.

“Excuse me a second, will you? I have to talk to Marty.”

Hannah breathed a sigh of relief as Brandi huddled with Martin. Now she was free to talk to Andrea. “So where’s Bill? I thought he’d be here by now.”

“He just called me. The Tri-County Sheriff’s Coalition meeting is running late, and he might not be here for hours.”

Brandi turned to tap Andrea on the arm. “I never thought to ask you when Marty said your husband was the sheriff, but is there a problem with crime in this area?”

“Not at all,” Andrea assured her, and Hannah almost choked on her bite of quiche. It was clear that her sister wasn’t about to mention the murder cases they’d helped Bill and Mike solve.

“Oh, good! Then maybe I’ll put my new fur coat in the cloakroom after dinner.” Brandi reached out to stroke the coat that she wore draped over her shoulders. “Since it was so expensive, I didn’t want to leave it unattended, but Marty said it was perfectly safe. I was just hoping that he was right…about that, at least.”

Hannah stifled a groan at the last four words of Brandi’s sentence. It sounded to her like trouble in paradise, and they’d been married for less than a week.

“Martin’s right,” Andrea said, smiling at Brandi. “Theft has never been a problem in Lake Eden. Some people don’t even lock their doors. Did you happen to notice the silver cake knife on the platter next to the chocolate cake?”

“I saw it when we were standing in line for the appetizers. It’s really pretty. I like all those colored stones on the Christmas tree.”

“They’re gemstones. The big one on the top is a star-cut diamond and the smaller ones are sapphires, rubies, and emeralds. The knife is a solid silver antique worth thousands.”

“But…it’s just sitting there in plain sight and no one’s even keeping an eye on it.”

“I know,” Andrea zeroed in to prove her point, “and that just goes to prove that you don’t have to be worried about somebody stealing your fur coat in Lake Eden. People here are as honest as the day is long.”

When Brandi had returned to her conversation with Martin, Hannah tapped Andrea on the shoulder. “If Bill gets hung up, I’m sure Mike will give you and Tracey a ride home.”

“In his Hummer?” Andrea looked delighted when Hannah nodded. “That’s just great! Tracey said it was bumpy, and it might work as well as Lisa’s mother’s horseback ride!”

Chapter Seven

Hannah stood up as Edna motioned to her from the kitchen door. It was time to set out the salad, soup, and bread course. “Nice to meet you, Brandi. Sorry I can’t stay, but I have to help set out the next course. Andrea?”

“Yes?”

“You wanted to check on that Jell-O salad, didn’t you?”

“Jell-O…” Andrea looked blank for a split second and then realization dawned. “Yes! Thanks for reminding me.” She turned to Martin and Brandi. “It was nice chatting with you, Brandi. And congratulations, Martin. I wish you two all the best.”

Hannah heard her sister give a relieved sigh as they stepped away from the table. She’d been sitting with the newlyweds for over thirty minutes, and that was above and beyond. She turned to say thank you for helping out, but that thought vanished when she noticed the shocked expression on Andrea’s face.

“What’s the matter?”

“Hot Stuff. And that’s got to be Silver Fox.”

“What?” Hannah grabbed her sister’s arm. Did pregnant women start spouting nonsense when they went into labor? She really should have read one of the pamphlets Andrea had given her about childbirth.

“Hot Stuff.” Andrea pointed toward an older couple at one of the long tables. “That’s Vera Olsen’s screen name. Don’t you remember the e-mail she was answering when we were searching her attic apartment?”

“Right.” Hannah felt a wave of relief sluice down from the top of her head to her toes. Andrea wasn’t in labor and she wasn’t crazy. She was talking about Vera’s on-line romance with a man who called himself Silver Fox.

“Vera looks fabulous. She’s lost weight and had her hair streaked. I think she might have had a lift, too.”

Hannah glanced over at Vera. Andrea was always right when it came to noticing appearance enhancements and she could spot a facelift or a new hairstyle from a block away. “You’re right. Vera looks a lot younger.”

“Do you think he’s Silver Fox?”

“I think so.” Hannah tried to recall the photo she’d seen on the computer screen. If she remembered correctly, the handsome older man sitting beside Vera bore a close resemblance to the picture of Silver Fox standing at the helm of his boat.

“He’s certainly dressed well. That’s a cashmere vest and an Armani suit. And his hair’s been styled by someone really good. Not only that, his manicure is perfect.”

“Silver Fox has a manicure?” Hannah squinted, but there was no way she could match her sister’s eagle eye for spotting nuances of personal grooming.

“Manicures aren’t just for women, you know. Big executives make appointments for manicurists to come to their offices. I bet that’s what he is.”

“A manicurist?” Hannah asked, knowing that wasn’t what her sister meant, but unable to resist teasing her a bit.

“Of course he’s not a manicurist! He’s got to be someone with a big, important…” Andrea stopped in mid-thought and made a strangled sound.

Hannah tightened her grip on her sister’s arm. “Is there something wrong? Do you want to sit down? Is it the baby?”

“None of the above. And stop holding my arm in that death grip. I’m going to bruise.”

“Sorry.” Hannah dropped Andrea’s arm, but she kept her hand at the ready, just in case. “Why did you make that sound?”

“Just take a look at Vera’s finger and you’ll understand.”

Hannah took a look and made an identical strangled sound as she spotted the glittering diamond ring on Vera’s third finger left hand. It was easy to see, perhaps because Vera was using her left hand to wave to everyone she knew. “Does that mean Vera’s engaged?”

“I think so. I’m going to try to find out.”

The sisters parted ways at the food tables. Andrea headed for the section where Vera and the man they’d tentatively identified as Silver Fox were sitting, and Hannah headed for the kitchen. She found Edna standing at the counter, surveying the platters, bowls, and the army of Crock-Pots that stood at the ready. “Where do you want the soup bowls, Edna? At the end of the table?”

“Good idea. I’ll take them out and you can bring the soups.”

“Do we have enough ladles?”

“Thanks to your sister we do. Put Vera’s Gazpacho first, since her boyfriend flew in special for the holidays. She told me she paid a fortune for hothouse tomatoes so she could make it for him.”

“He looks nice,” Hannah commented, fishing for information as she picked up the large tureen Vera had brought in and followed Edna to the serving table.

“He seems all right, but you can never tell about a man until you’ve known him for a while…unless you meet him in church.”

Hannah bit back a startled laugh as she thought of some notable exceptions to Edna’s caveat, and headed back to the kitchen to get the four other soups. There was Sally’s Radish Soup, the one she served at the Lake Eden Inn, with its delicate pink color and surprising depth. Hannah let Edna float a few thinly sliced radishes over the top while she went back for Bridget Murphy’s Quick Irish Chili.

“I’ve got the toppings for the chili,” Edna called out following on Hannah’s heels with a platter containing dishes of diced onions, sour cream, chopped black olives, and lightly sauteed celery slices. “You get the Corn Chowder, and I’ll bring my Cream of Cheat Mushroom Soup.”

Once the soups were set out with regular bowls and a multitude of tiny cups for those who wanted to taste all four, Hannah and Edna went back to the kitchen.

“I’ll take care of the Jell-O molds,” Edna said, gesturing toward the breads she’d already set out in baskets, on plates, and on breadboards. “You can put those breads out now, and come back for the Jell-O.”

It took Hannah several minutes to set out the breads. Most of the local ladies had their favorites, and there was Sally’s Banana Bread, Gina’s Strawberry Bread, Cranberry Muffins, and Aunt Grace’s Breakfast Muffins. Once those were in place, opposite the soups, she went back for Cheryl Coombs’s Can Bread, which Edna had pre-sliced and arranged on a platter. She’d also cut Bridget Murphy’s Soda Bread into pie-shaped wedges and reassembled them in a round on a breadboard. There was a basket of Cheesy, Spicy Corn Muffins, and a big round wicker bowl of oyster crackers that Edna had provided for Mayor Bascomb, who categorically refused to eat soup without them.

When Hannah returned to the kitchen again, she saw that Edna was ready with two of the four Jell-O molds.

“Put the Pretty Coleslaw first,” Edna instructed, “and then the Waldorf Salad. I’ve got to tell you, Hannah, I’m having second thoughts about this Ginger Ale Jell-O mold.”

“Didn’t it set up right?”

“That’s not it. It’s nice and firm, and it looks really good. But since it’s got fruit in it, I’m wondering if it should go on the dessert table.”

Hannah thought about that for a moment and then she shrugged. “That’s up to you, but we’ve got a lot of desserts already.”

“That settles it then. It’s a salad. You can take it out now. I’m still trying to unmold your sister’s Holiday Jell-O.”

By the time Hannah got back to the kitchen, Edna had resorted to using the dunk method to get the last mold on its platter. She’d half-filled a bowl with hot water and she was immersing the mold in the bowl to within an inch of the rim. “That should do it,” she said, lifting the mold and drying the bottom with a kitchen towel. “Hand me that platter, will you, Hannah?”

Hannah handed over the platter, and Edna centered it over the top of the mold. Then she held the assembled mold and platter with both hands and inverted it by twisting her wrists.

“Perfect,” Hannah said as the Jell-O plopped cooperatively onto its platter. “There’s one more salad, isn’t there?”

“Just a big bowl of greens tossed with Claire’s French Dressing. I’m going to put a couple of Ellie’s Dilly Onion Rings on the top and leave the rest in a bowl for those that want them.”

“How about Reverend Knudson’s Quick Pickle Salad?”

Edna thumped her forehead with the heel of her head. “Bless you, Hannah. The Reverend’s too nice to say anything, but not the rest of the congregation. I’d never hear the end of it if I forgot to put that out!”

“Okay, Norman.” Hannah gave him the high sign as she placed the last dish on the table.

“It looks great, Hannah. Kurt wants to know when you’re going to get a chance to eat.”

“Soon, I hope.” Hannah glanced over at the table where Kurt was sitting and saw that he had a fully laden plate. “I see he’s sampling some of the dishes.”

“He’s had a bite of everything so far, I think.” Norman moved into a better position for a shot of Andrea’s Jell-O molds. “Just let me get a couple of overviews of the table, and then you can cue in Mayor Bascomb.”

Once Norman had taken his last few shots and stepped back from the table, Hannah waved at the mayor, who wasted no time inviting people to sample the next course. The diners converged, and within a few seconds people were filling their plates and soup bowls. Hannah noticed that Norman was taking shots of the line that had formed, and when he’d finished that, he moved to the tables and took shots of the Lake Eden citizens, who were clearly enjoying the dinner.

Hannah held her breath as Norman approached Martin and Brandi’s table. She hoped he’d brought plenty of film, because there was no way a photographer could resist snapping multiple shots of a woman who was that photogenic. Come to think about it, any man, with or without a camera, would have lingered as long as humanly possible to bask in the light of a beauty like Brandi.

But Norman only snapped one picture and moved on, surprising Hannah so much, she gasped out loud.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Hannah said, whirling around as she heard a familiar voice behind her. “Michelle!”

A smile spread over Hannah’s face and she stepped forward to hug her baby sister. A sophomore at Macalester College in St. Paul, Michelle wasn’t exactly a baby anymore, but she was Hannah’s youngest sister. “What are you doing here?”

“I just came for the food,” Michelle quipped, hugging Hannah right back. “Don’t worry, Big Sis, I didn’t cut any classes. I hopped a bus this afternoon and Lonnie picked me up at the Quick Stop.”

Hannah glanced around and spotted Lonnie Murphy talking to his brother and sister-in-law several tables away. Even though the youngest sheriff’s deputy was carrying on a conversation, he kept glancing over at Michelle.

“Is that him?” Michelle asked.

“Is who what?” Hannah asked, not caring that they’d just broken at least two cardinal rules of grammar.

“Winthrop Harrington II. Over there with Mother.”

“That’s Winthrop.”

“He looks pretty buff for a guy in his sixties.”

“Late forties. He’s younger than Mother.”

“She didn’t mention that.” Michelle frowned slightly at this news. “Have you met him yet?”

“Just a few minutes ago. When you get a second, go over and introduce yourself. I want to get your take on him.”

“Will do. I’ve got to meet the man who’s responsible for Mother’s shoes.”

“Mother’s shoes?”

“I just noticed them. They’re really sexy sandals with thin little straps and high heels, the kind that just kill your feet. Only a woman on the make wears shoes like that.”

“On the make?” Hannah asked, feeling a little like a parrot as she repeated Michelle’s words again.

“You know…a woman who’s trying to attract a guy. It’s pretty obvious Mother’s trying to attract Winthrop. And from where I’m sitting, it seems to be working.”

While Hannah tried to catch a glimpse of her mother’s shoes, Michelle glanced around the room, waving at a few people she knew. When she spotted the new Mrs. Martin Dubinski, she nudged Hannah. “Who’s that?”

“Brandi Wyen Dubinski. She’s a dancer from Vegas, and she married Martin a couple of days ago.”

“Martin married a stripper?”

“Michelle! You don’t know that!”

Michelle giggled. “Maybe not, but I bet you thought the same thing when you heard her name.”

“Me? Of course I would never jump to…” Hannah stopped in the act of denying it and laughed instead. “Okay. I’ll admit it. I did. But it’s possible that Brandi was a legitimate showgirl.”

“Sure it is. And it’s also possible that she had parents who thought it was funny to give her a really terrible name. I’ll go meet Winthrop and then I want to talk to Martin and Brandi.”

“To find out about her name?”

“Not unless it comes up. I’m trying out for the part of a Vegas showgirl in the spring play, and I want to ask her some things about routines and dancing. Not only that, I’m dying to find out if they really use bubble gum to keep those skimpy tops up.”

Hannah was chuckling as Michelle walked away. Her baby sister could always make her laugh. She watched Michelle shake Winthrop’s hand and seized the opportunity to look at her mother’s shoes as Delores got to her feet to hug Michelle.

“I’ll be!” Hannah breathed, shaking her head slightly. Delores was wearing the sexy new shoes she’d bought on sale last year, the same shoes she said she was going to throw away because they hurt her feet. If Michelle was right and only a woman on the make would wear sexy but uncomfortable shoes, Mother was definitely after Winthrop.

That gave Hannah an idea, and she glanced around for Martin’s ex-wife. Shirley was just coming back to her table, and Hannah had a clear view of her shoes. For a practical, no-nonsense person, Shirley had broken all the rules tonight. She was wearing cream-colored suede high-heeled ankle boots with fur around the tops. Since they were totally unsuitable for a Minnesota winter, and taking into account Michelle’s sexy footwear theory, Hannah could only conclude that Shirley was on the make for someone, probably Martin.

“What a mess,” Hannah sighed, her eyes roving the room again until she located Laura Jorgensen, standing at the food table. Laura was wearing red backless slings with high narrow heels, and she looked as if her feet hurt. She was definitely on the make…also for Martin?

Hannah had one more pair of shoes to check out, and she zeroed in on them. It was easy, because her baby sister was sitting with her back to Hannah and she had one leg crossed over the other. Along with Michelle’s completely acceptable tan slacks and bright red sweater, she was wearing tan boots with flat rubber soles that looked as if they’d seen better days.

Hannah breathed a sigh of relief. According to Michelle’s own theory, her youngest sister was not on the make. And if Hannah wanted to carry things further and look at her own feet, she wasn’t on the make, either. Hannah’s moccasin boots were designed for comfort, not allure. She’d worn them because she’d known from day one that she’d be helping Edna carry food to the serving tables.

And how about the sexy shoes you brought along in your tote bag? The ones that are hanging from a hook in the cloakroom? Hannah’s conscience spoke up. You’re going to put those on when the dancing starts, aren’t you?

Hannah didn’t like it, but her conscience was right. She’d planned to switch to the Italian ankle-strapped high heels right after she was through helping Edna, because they made her legs look so good.

Before Hannah could peruse any other shoes, or think about the advisability of trying to get rid of her conscience, she saw Edna waving at her from the kitchen. It was time to set out the main dishes and sides for the crowd that was already beginning to say that this was the best Christmas potluck dinner yet.

Chapter Eight

Hannah surveyed the entree table with a frown. She’d carried out Edna’s Not So Swedish Meatballs, her mother’s Hawaiian Pot Roast, E-Z Lasagna, Rose’s Restaurant Turkey, Luanne’s Festive Baked Sandwich, Laura’s Smothered Chicken, Chicken Paprikash, Hunter’s Stew, Esther’s Meatloaf, and Irish Roast Beast. There was also Trudi’s Hot German Potato Salad with Bratwurst, Country Ham Casserole, Sauerbraten, Baked Fish, Barbecued Anything, and something no Lake Eden potluck dinner could be without, Minnesota Hotdish. Hannah stood there holding a crock of Scandinavian Red Cabbage that was growing heavier each passing moment. Every inch of space was filled. There simply wasn’t enough room for the sides.

“What’s the matter?” Norman came up behind her, prepared to take photos of the table.

“We ran out of room, and we still have at least ten sides in the kitchen on the counter.”

“Sides?”

“Noodles, potatoes, rice, and veggies. Sides are all the things you put on your plate with the main course. We really need them on the same table, but it’s just not possible.”

“Sure, it is.” Norman patted her on the back. “Go set that down in the kitchen and see if you can rustle up another tablecloth. I’ve got an idea that’ll work just fine to almost double your table space.”

By the time Hannah got back with the tablecloth, Kurt and Norman had combined the leftovers from the first two serving tables and appropriated the second empty table. They’d placed it at right angles so that it butted up to the center of the entree table. The new T-shape was perfect for the sides, since it was smack dab in the center of the entrees, and Hannah wasted no time covering the table with the fresh cloth and helping Edna carry things out. By the time they were finished, Party Potatoes, Apple ‘n Onion Dressing Balls, Holiday Rice, Sweet Potato Casserole, and Make-Ahead Mashed Potatoes were arranged on one side of the table, while Silly Carrots, Spinach Souffle, Corn Pudding, Green Bean Classic with a Twist, Oodles of Noodles, and the red cabbage Hannah had been carrying earlier had been placed on the other side.

“That looks good enough to eat,” Norman said, earning a volley of chuckles from Edna, who’d never been known to laugh while managing a dinner party. Before she could protest, he snapped a picture of her smiling face and promised that he wouldn’t give anyone a copy if she didn’t like it.

When Norman finished photographing the main courses and sides, Mayor Bascomb called everyone to the serving tables. Instead of standing in line with the other diners, Hannah got a cup of strong black coffee and headed in the opposite direction to collapse in a chair at the empty table where Norman and Kurt had been sitting. There was only one more course to go, and that should be a snap, since they’d already set out some of the desserts for the early photographs Kurt had directed.

Hannah glanced around the banquet room, and she wasn’t disappointed by people’s reactions. There wasn’t much conversation because everyone was busy eating. “The sound of great food is silence,” Hannah murmured, remembering what her Great-grandmother Elsa had told her.

Curious about how the new Mrs. Dubinski would react to a Midwestern potluck dinner, Hannah glanced over at Brandi and Martin’s table. Their chairs were vacant, and a quick examination of the food line told Hannah that they weren’t filling their plates. So where were they? And come to think of it, where was Michelle? Hannah had seen her leave Mother and Winthrop and head toward Brandi and Martin, but now their whole table was vacant.

It didn’t take long to spot Martin. He was standing at his mother’s side. Brandi and Michelle must have gone to the restroom, and Martin had taken this opportunity to mend fences with his mother and ex-wife.

“You look tired,” Kurt said, putting his plate on the table, pulling out the chair next to hers, and sitting down.

“I am, but it’s worth it. What do you think of the food?”

“Everything I’ve had is phenomenal.” Kurt tasted the ribs and groaned. “I wish I’d saved more room. These are the best ribs I ever tasted.”

“They’re Norman’s recipe. He calls it Barbecued Anything. Make sure you tell him you like it.”

“I will. Why don’t you get yourself some food, Hannah? You look like a strong wind could blow you over.”

Hannah laughed. “It would take a typhoon, or at least a major squall. But getting some food is a good idea. I want to have some Chicken Paprikash. It’s a favorite of mine.”

“I put my helping over Edna’s Make-Ahead Mashed Potatoes. It’s great that way.”

“But those are meatballs, not chicken,” Hannah corrected him, pointing to the relevant section of his plate.

“I know that. I ate the part with the chicken while I was walking back to the table. Go ahead, Hannah. I want to dig into this E-Z Lasagna of your mother’s. It looks fantastic, and I just know Marcia’s going to want the recipe.”

“How is Marcia?” Hannah asked, knowing that Kurt had married his publisher’s daughter despite the wishes of her family.

“She’s just fine. And we just found out last month that we’re pregnant.”

“That’s wonderful,” Hannah said, wishing she could pick a bone with the women who insisted on that terminology. It was inaccurate. Men didn’t get pregnant; women did. Of course men were equally responsible for the pregnancy, but the phrase, we’re pregnant, set off klaxons in Hannah’s logical mind. Sharing the experience of pregnancy was one thing; blatant disregard for the accuracy of the English language was another.

“Is there something wrong?” Kurt asked, picking up on Hannah’s silence.

“Oh, no! Nothing!” Hannah quickly assured him.

“Would you bring me back one of those cranberry muffins?” Kurt asked, popping the last bite of soda bread into his mouth.

“Sure. I’ll be right back,” Hannah promised, heading off to the food table and wondering whether she really had turned into the pedantic curmudgeon Andrea had often accused her of being.

“I’m back!” Mike declared, catching Hannah just as she’d finished filling her plate.

Hannah reveled in the feel of his arm around her shoulder for a brief moment, and then she smiled up at him. “That was fast. Did you get Shawna Lee to the airport okay?”

“Of course, but it started coming down pretty heavy on the way back. It’s a good thing I took my Hummer and not the squad car.”

“Right,” Hannah said, biting back a smile as Mike pulled out her chair and held it as she sat down. Mike was a guy’s guy, and he had the biggest, most powerful vehicle around. His Jeep hadn’t been a wimpy vehicle, but Mike had wasted no time in trading it in on a Hummer last month. It wasn’t the most comfortable ride for passengers, something Shawna Lee had undoubtedly discovered for herself, but it was powerful enough to get through almost anything a Minnesota winter could throw at a motorist.

“Thanks, Hannah,” Kurt said, as Hannah handed him his muffin. He put it on his plate and turned to Mike, who’d just sat down next to him. “Did I hear you say it was coming down hard out there?”

“Yeah. Visibility isn’t good at all.”

“Do you think the roads are still passable? I have to get back to the Cities tonight.”

Mike thought about it for a moment. “I think you’ll be all right if you leave right now. The storm’s blowing in from the north and you should be able to keep ahead of the worst of it. What type of car do you have?”

“A mid-size SUV.”

“Four-wheel drive?”

“All-wheel drive with anti-lock brakes.”

“High profile?”

“Not that high, but it has good clearance.”

“You should be fine, then. I’ll go out to the parking lot with you and help you shovel out. When I drove past, I noticed there’s a big snowdrift at the exit.”

“Thanks, but I’m not in the lot. I came in early and there was still parking on the street.”

After Kurt had tendered his apologies for cutting the evening short, Mike walked him out to make sure he got on his way safely. Hannah noticed that on Mike’s way back in, he stopped at her mother’s table to say hello, and it was clear Delores introduced Winthrop, because the two men shook hands. Hannah had already marshaled the questions she wanted to ask Mike about his impression of her mother’s date when Mike came back to take Kurt’s vacant chair.

“That’s the guy you and Andrea are so worried about?” Mike got in the first question, despite Hannah’s resolve to quiz him.

“What did you think of him?”

“He seemed all right to me. Have you met him yet?”

“Yes, tonight. He was perfectly polite to me, but he’s just so…” Hannah paused to struggle for the word that most correctly described her feelings, an unusual predicament for someone who’d come within a thesis of getting her doctorate in English Literature.

“Slick?”

“That’s it exactly! There’s nothing glaringly wrong with him, and I can see why Mother’s so attracted to him. But I don’t feel comfortable around him, and I still have my suspicions.”

Mike gave her shoulder a supporting squeeze. “No problem. Did you know that Bill ran him this morning?”

“I had no idea. Did Andrea ask him to?”

“I don’t think so. Anyway, absolutely nothing turned up. The guy’s so squeaky clean, he’s never even had a speeding ticket. You girls can stop worrying. Your mother’s not going out with an axe murderer.”

“I know that! But I can’t seem to get rid of my reservations. I mean, he’s younger than she is, for Pete’s sakes! And he picked up on her at dance class when they were learning the tango, or the mambo, or whatever it was.”

Mike was silent for a moment and then he leaned closer. “So maybe you have reservations because you don’t want to see your mother with anyone other than your dad?”

“That’s not it!” Hannah said, reacting immediately. But then, after she thought about it for a moment, she backtracked. “You could be right, but I’m not willing to admit that quite yet. Why don’t you go get some food before it’s all gone? I’ll save your place for you.”

After Mike had gone off to the food tables, Hannah thought about what he’d said. Her dad had been dead for almost four years now, and maybe it was time for her mother to look for someone new. The problem was that whenever Hannah thought about another man in her mother’s life, it seemed disloyal to her father’s memory. She realized that her attitude wasn’t fair, or perhaps not even rational, but that didn’t change the way she felt about it.

Rather than dwell on this unhappy problem for any longer, Hannah gazed around the room while she waited for Mike to come back. Norman was off snapping pictures, the students from the Jordan High Jazz Ensemble were setting up their music stands and chairs for an interlude of music during dessert, and Brandi’s chair was still vacant. Hannah glanced over at Babs and Shirley’s table. Babs wasn’t in her chair and neither was Shirley. The whole Dubinski family seemed to be missing.

Lonnie Murphy caught Hannah’s eye and waved. As Hannah waved back, she noticed that Lonnie was sitting next to an empty chair. Was Michelle still in the ladies’ room with Brandi, asking her about her showgirl career, while Martin was off somewhere talking to his mother? Or was Babs in the ladies’ room with Brandi, grilling her about how she came to marry Martin, while the man in question was off with Shirley, trying to explain how he had spent so much money on Brandi? There were just too many possibilities, and Hannah gave up. The only thing she could be sure of was that Martin wasn’t in the ladies’ room. If he’d followed Michelle, his ex-wife, his mother, or his new wife in there, Hannah would be hearing one heck of a commotion.

“Great job on the pate,” Mike said, sliding into his chair. “You made it just the way my sister does.”

Hannah was about to say that there was no way anyone could mess up such a simple recipe, but this time she remembered her mother’s warning. “Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him. Then she turned to glance at Delores to see if her mother-daughter radar was working and she somehow knew her eldest daughter had taken her advice. But Delores seemed oblivious to anything anyone else was doing or saying, because she was too busy smiling up at Winthrop.

Was it a sign of neurosis when a grown woman felt the urge to mother her mother? Hannah pondered that for a moment as she watched her mother put her hand on Winthrop’s arm and give him a little pat. What did that mean? Was Delores being casually affectionate, or was Hannah’s mother actually falling for the lure of tailored clothes, a title, and a country manor with hedgerows and primroses an ocean away from home?

“Hannah?” Mike, nudged her.

“Yes?”

“I think Edna wants you for something. She’s signaling with her arms and pointing in our direction.”

“You’re right,” Hannah said, recognizing the I-need-you expression on Edna’s face. She gave Edna a wave to acknowledge that her message had been received, and pushed back her chair. “Save my place. I’ll be back.”

“You’d better be,” Mike growled, giving her his best fierce look. “We’ve got a date, remember?”

“Then you’d rather I wouldn’t set out the desserts?”

Mike pondered that for a moment and then he grinned. “I didn’t say that. I just don’t want you to forget you’re going home with me.”

“Right.” Hannah answered his grin with one of her own and headed for the kitchen. Then she realized what Mike had said and came dangerously close to stopping in her tracks. Going home with him? That hadn’t been discussed or decided. It hadn’t even been mentioned before this! Of course it could have been a figure of speech that meant Hannah shouldn’t forget that they were leaving the community center together.

“Oh, boy!” Hannah breathed, startling a teenager who was carrying a trombone case toward the alcove by the cloakroom.

“Excuse me, Miss Swensen?” he said, phrasing it as a question.

Hannah smiled, more amused than embarrassed. “Just talking to myself. It’s something people do when they get old.”

“But you’re not old!”

“Thank you,” Hannah said, rewarding him with a smile. She’d have to ask Kirby the trombone player’s name. Not only was he cute with his curly blond hair and runner’s physique, he had the gift of saying the right thing at the right time, something Bridget Murphy would call blarney. This boy could go far.

Several people stopped Hannah on her way and she ended up answering questions about such diverse things as what next Friday’s pie was going to be, to who she thought should play Santa at the Lake Eden Children’s Christmas Party. She was just passing the alcove where the jazz ensemble had set up, when one of the students called her name.

“Miss Swensen?” It was Beth Halvorsen, the flute player they’d so sorely missed at the Fourth of July parade.

“Hi, Beth.” Hannah reacted to the worried expression on Beth’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Mr. Welles isn’t here yet, and it’s almost time for us to start playing. Do you know where he is?”

“Sorry, Beth. I haven’t seen him. Can’t you just start playing without him?”

“No way, Miss Swensen. Mr. Welles is filling in for our regular drummer, and we’d sound awful without percussion.”

Hannah caught movement out of the corner of her eye and she turned to see Kirby Welles rushing up.

“Sorry, I got held up,” the bandleader apologized to his ensemble. “Are you ready to play?”

Everyone nodded, including the trombone player Hannah had found so personable. She gave them a wave and headed off to the kitchen as the strains of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” followed her. The music was perfectly audible, but not too loud to impede conversation. In other words, it was perfect for a dinner party. Hannah resolved to tell Ken Purvis, Jordan High’s principal, that Kirby’s jazz ensemble was perfect for the occasion.

“Took you long enough,” Edna grumbled when Hannah came through the kitchen doorway. “We’ve got a crisis here.”

“What?” Hannah asked, feeling her heart rate gear up to what she thought was crisis mode.

“It’s not on the table!”

“What’s not on the table?”

“Your mother’s cake knife!” Edna wailed, reaching out to grab Hannah’s arm. “It’s missing, and I can’t find it anywhere!”

Chapter Nine

Hannah groaned as Edna’s words sank in. “Mother’s cake knife is missing?”

“That’s what I said.”

“And you looked on the dessert table?”

“That’s what I said, too!”

“All right. Don’t panic. It’s got to be here somewhere.”

“Where? I looked everywhere!”

“Take a deep breath and let it out slowly,” Hannah advised, taking a moment to do exactly that. “When is the last time you saw it?”

Edna did exactly what Hannah said, inhaling and exhaling slowly. It was proof of how upset she was, since Edna rarely took anyone’s advice about anything. “It was on the dessert table when I carried out the second crock of meatballs. I remember thinking how pretty it looked under the lights.”

Hannah glanced at the elaborately carved wooden container on the kitchen counter. “Maybe someone put it back in the chest?”

“Nope. I checked that right off. That box is as empty as Redeemer Lutheran on the Sunday after Jordan High’s homecoming game.”

Hannah bit back a laugh at Edna’s description. It was true that most people celebrated a bit too much on homecoming weekend and not that many had the urge to get up early on Sunday morning and make it to church.

“I’m sure you’re right, but…I just have to check for myself.” Hannah walked over to the box and raised the lid. It was empty, just as Edna had said. “Sorry, Edna.”

“That’s all right. I checked it twice myself.”

Both women leaned up against the counter to think about the seemingly insurmountable problem at hand. They were so quiet Hannah could hear the kitchen clock ticking as the minute hand moved up a notch.

“Do you think someone could have used it for something else?” Hannah finally asked, after another notch had clicked off. “I mean, picture this…someone in the buffet line needs another knife for the turkey, or whatever. They’re about to go back to the kitchen to get one when they notice Mother’s knife on the dessert table. So they take it and use it and…”

“And they leave it on the entree table!” Edna interrupted, somehow managing to look doubtful and hopeful at the same time.

“Exactly right. It could have happened that way.”

“That means we’d better check the other buffet tables. I don’t want your mother to know it’s missing until we know for sure. Will you do it…um…you know…”

“Surreptitiously?” Hannah supplied the word she thought Edna was trying to say.

“That’s exactly what I mean. I’m so upset, I couldn’t think of the polite word for sneaky.”

A cake knife the size and commanding presence of her mother’s antique silver heirloom couldn’t hide for long on any of the other tables. Just to be sure, Hannah lifted platters and checked under bowls and centerpieces, but she really hadn’t expected to find it, and she wasn’t surprised when it didn’t turn up.

“You didn’t find it,” Edna said, reading Hannah’s expression when she returned to the kitchen.

“I’m afraid I didn’t.”

“Your mother’s going to kill me. You know that, don’t you? We’ve just got to find it before she realizes that it’s missing.” Edna sat down on a kitchen stool, thought for a moment, and raised her head to look at Hannah. “Do you think someone stole it?”

“In Lake Eden?”

“You’re right. Nobody here would do something like that.”

“Chances are it’s just misplaced, and that means it has to be around here somewhere. Why don’t you take a look to see if anything on the tables needs replenishing? I’ll stay in here and go through every cupboard and drawer in this kitchen.”

“Good idea,” Edna said, taking the top from a huge Tupperware container shaped like a dress box. “While I was out there looking for the cake knife, I noticed that some of your Christmas cookies were gone. Can’t say as I blame the folks that took ‘em early. Your cookies are prettier than the ones they show in the magazines.”

“The pretty part is Lisa’s doing. She decorated them. All I did was bake them.”

“They’re tasty, too. Sweet and crunchy, with the taste of butter in every bite.”

“You ate one?” Hannah was surprised. When Edna managed a potluck dinner, she waited to eat until they’d carried the food back into the kitchen. And unlike Hannah, who sometimes couldn’t resist sampling something yummy, Edna wasn’t the type of person to eat dessert first.

“It was a Santa with one leg broken off. If I’d put it on the platter that way, sure and shootin’ some child would have had nightmares about it.” Edna headed for the door, but she turned back for a final comment. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, but I’m going to keep my fingers crossed.”

Once Edna had left to restock the cookie platter, Hannah searched systematically, determined to go through every cupboard and drawer. Edna buzzed in and out, putting out more food where it was needed. Then she began to get out the rest of the desserts and prepare them for presentation.

Hannah met Edna’s eyes several times while the older woman was cutting cakes and pies in even slices and arranging platters of cookies and cookie bars. Each time Edna’s eyebrows elevated in a question, Hannah shook her head. The missing cake knife was still missing, and Hannah’s hope that she’d find it stuck away in a drawer or mixed in with other serving implements was dwindling faster than an ice cube in a mug of steaming hot coffee.

It took awhile, but at last Hannah knew she’d left no metaphorical stone unturned. She’d been so thorough, she would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that her mother’s cake knife was not in the Lake Eden Community Center kitchen. Hannah headed for a stool at one of the center work islands. She had to tell Delores the bad news before she discovered it for herself. There was no way Hannah would shirk that duty, but she did need time to think of a way to phrase the message that wouldn’t immediately result in the death of the messenger.

Delivering bad news had never been one of her skills. Hannah tended to blurt things out, a bit like jerking a bandage from a wound rather than inching the tape off. She didn’t think she was quite as outspoken as Edna, but people weren’t that far wrong when they accused her of having no tact.

The pantry door was open slightly and Hannah noticed that the light was on. She hadn’t bothered to check the pantry, because she’d assumed that no one had used it. Since it was a potluck dinner, everyone had brought in fully cooked dishes. Edna and her helpers had simply kept things warm or chilled, depending on the dish, until it was time to serve.

Hannah’s mind spun, imagining a possible scenario. Someone who’d brought in a dessert suddenly realized they’d forgotten powdered sugar to sprinkle over the top. Rather than rush home to get it, the frantic cook stepped into the community center pantry hoping to borrow some. Had that person also picked up the antique cake knife, intending to use it to slice her dessert? It was certainly possible…perhaps unlikely, but still possible.

Rising quickly, Hannah hurried to the pantry and opened the door. A quick scan of the neatly stocked shelves disproved the theory that had seemed plausible only moments ago. The cake knife was nowhere in sight. Hannah was about to turn off the light and step back out into the kitchen when she noticed that the dead bolt on the door to the parking lot wasn’t locked.

Hannah opened the door and took a step outside. Through the blowing snow, she could see the icy hulks of parked cars. This was the delivery entrance and since it opened onto the parking lot, it would be a perfect escape route for a thief. If someone really had stolen her mother’s antique knife and ducked out to the parking lot through this door, they’d be long gone by now.

A blast of cold wind carrying icy needles of snow made her shiver. Hannah was about to step back into the warmth of the pantry when she noticed something bulky on the ground between two of the parked cars. It looked furry, like some sort of animal, but it was too small for a bear, and too large for a dog.

Curiosity trickled, gathered force, and grew into a mighty waterfall. There was no way Hannah could turn around and go back inside without finding out what kind of animal was in the parking lot. She headed out at a trot, glad that she was wearing her all-purpose footwear, the moosehide moccasin boots that were so politically incorrect with people who’d never even seen a moose…or smelled one, for that matter.

Hannah’s sweater was dusted with flakes of snow by the time she got close enough to see. She bent over to examine the large lump of fur, and reached out to steady herself on the nearest car. The animal she thought she’d seen had been made into an expensive fur coat that Martin’s new wife was wearing. The only other animal in sight was the reindeer sugar cookie that was broken near Brandi’s feet, along with the pieces of a Christmas tree cookie, and a bell decorated in red and green icing. Brandi must have taken several cookies from the dessert table and come out here to eat them. The big question was, did she also take the antique cake knife?

Hoping that she’d just slipped and fallen, Hannah reached down to tap Brandi on the shoulder. “Brandi? Do you need help getting up?”

There was no answer and Hannah began to frown. This didn’t look good. “Brandi?” she called out again, shaking her a little harder and wondering if she should go for help. The former dancer wasn’t moving, but she could be faking it. If Hannah left her alone and Brandi had the cake knife, she might make a run for it with the valuable antique.

Hannah knew that it was dangerous to move someone who had undetermined injuries. Accident victims had died from the ministrations of well-meaning bystanders who had tried to move them without backboards and stabilizing collars. Hannah certainly wouldn’t risk moving Brandi, but she’d taken a first aid class in college and she knew there was a pulse point just under the jawbone on the side of a person’s neck.

The collar of Brandi’s coat was in the way and Hannah pushed it back. This caused the coat to fall open and Hannah gave a strangled gulp as she caught sight of Brandi’s chest.

Hannah felt for a pulse, even though her rational mind told her it was useless. No one could live with a wound that deep. She’d just straightened up, dizzy and slightly sick to her stomach at the sight of the blood that had been soaked up by the expensive fur, when the pantry door banged open and she heard Edna’s voice.

“Hannah? Are you out there?”

“I’m here.”

“Did you find the knife?”

Hannah glanced down at her mother’s valuable antique knife, buried to the hilt in Brandi’s too-perfectly-proportioned-to-be-natural chest. “I found it.”

“Thank the Lord,” Edna shouted out gratefully. “Bring it here before your mother realizes it’s missing.”

Hannah considered that for a moment. The urge to jerk the knife out of Brandi’s chest and head for the kitchen at a run was strong. But equally strong was the awareness of her civic duty. Brandi didn’t stab herself, and that meant murder. And disturbing a crime scene by removing the murder weapon was a big no-no. “Sorry, Edna…I can’t bring it in.”

“Why not?”

“Because Brandi’s got it.” And with that said, Hannah turned and headed back to the kitchen to explain.

Chapter Ten

Once she’d told Edna what had happened and sworn her to secrecy, Hannah went back into the banquet room and tapped Mike on the shoulder.

“Hi, Hannah,” Mike said, smiling up at her. “How are the desserts coming?”

“The desserts are fine. The dessert knife isn’t. You need to come with me. There’s something you have to know.”

“Now?” Mike asked, looking down longingly at his helping of Sauerbraten.

“Right now,” Hannah said, practically dragging him from his chair. “I’ll have Edna save your plate for you. Take your jacket.”

“We’re going outside?”

“Just smile, Mike. I don’t want anyone to think there’s something wrong.”

“But there is something wrong?”

“Oh, yes,” Hannah confirmed it, leading him into the kitchen and handing his plate to Edna. “Will you save this for Mike? And can I borrow your parka?”

“‘Course,” Edna said, slipping Mike’s plate into the microwave and gesturing toward the stool that held her parka.

“Another murder in the pantry?” Mike asked, as Hannah opened the pantry door.

“No.”

“Good! For a second there, I thought history was repeating itself. So there’s no dead body this time?”

“I didn’t say that.” Hannah opened the delivery door and grabbed Mike’s arm. “There’s a dead body, but this time it’s in the parking lot.”

Things moved fast once Mike took charge of the crime scene. He used Hannah as an errand girl, sending her in for Doc Knight, who was just finishing a double helping of Esther’s Meatloaf.

Doc took his time examining the body, and then he looked up at Mike. “Okay. I’m through for now.”

“Time of death?” Mike asked, flipping open his notebook.

“I’d say no longer than thirty minutes ago, give or take ten.”

“Is it murder?” Hannah asked, moving slightly closer. She’d been standing as far away as she could while Doc examined Brandi’s body.

Doc looked over at her and raised his eyebrows. “Well, it’s certainly not a suicide.”

“Why’s that?”

“A woman who intends to kill herself doesn’t usually choose to do it with an antique cake knife on the coldest night of the year in a parking lot.”

“Too bad it’s snowing,” Mike said, staring down at the drift that was beginning to pile up around Brandi’s body. “Any tracks the killer left are long gone by now. At least we know one thing for certain.”

“What’s that?” Doc Knight asked.

“The killer went back inside after he stabbed Brandi.”

Hannah’s jaw dropped open for a second and then she closed it with an audible clack. “How do you know that?”

“There’s no way anybody drove over that snowdrift at the exit. It’s just too deep. And if they’d tried to walk over it, they would have sunk down to their eyeballs. I’m almost positive that nobody has come or gone from this lot since I got back.”

“But how do you know for certain that Brandi was alive when you got back here?” Hannah posed the important question.

“I was looking around for you and I noticed her.”

Hannah wasn’t sure whether she should be flattered, or angry. Mike had just admitted he’d been looking for her, but he’d noticed Brandi. Was that a plus or a minus in the grand scheme of things?

“Uh-oh,” Doc Knight said, reaching for the cell phone in his pocket. “They weren’t supposed to call me unless it was an emergency.”

Hannah and Mike stood there trying to pretend they weren’t listening as Doc Knight took the call. Of course they couldn’t help but hear what he said. Other than the occasional whoosh as the wind picked up and blew snow against the parked cars, nothing else was happening out here in the parking lot.

“Appendectomy,” Doc said, returning his phone to his pocket. “I’ve got to go. Do you want me to send my paramedics for the body?”

“Yes,” Mike said. “We’ll preserve the crime scene until they get here.”

“I’ll send them just as soon as I get back to the hospital. I don’t want her to freeze before the autopsy.”

Hannah shuddered and it wasn’t from the cold. Even though she knew that Brandi was dead, she’d prefer not to think about her freezing.

“Thanks, Doc,” Mike reached out to clap him on the shoulder. “You’re not parked back here, are you?”

“I double-parked in front. I figured that if I had to get out, it would be a medical emergency. And it is. Gonna give me a ticket?”

“No way,” Mike said, deferring to the Winnetka County coroner. “You’ve got a county exempt placard on your dash. That entitles you to park wherever you want.”

“But I don’t park illegally unless I really need to. That would be misusing the power of the office. I take it you want me to keep mum about what happened out here?”

“That would be best until I get it sorted out. Do you want me to come with you to make sure your car starts? Hannah can stay here with the body.”

Hannah bit her tongue so she wouldn’t say anything. There was no way she wanted to stay here with the body, but it was pretty clear she didn’t get a vote.

“No, that’s all right. My truck can get through just about anything, and I’ve got my cell phone if I run into trouble. Earl Flensburg’s on call with his tow truck, and he’ll come right out to get me.”

Hannah waited until Doc Knight had left, and then she turned to Mike. “Would you really have made me stay out here with…with her? All by myself?”

“Why not?” Mike asked, clearly puzzled. “You were out here with her before. And you were by yourself.”

“I know, but I didn’t know she was dead then. It’s different when you know they’re dead.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Mike said, but he put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a little squeeze. “Sorry, Hannah. Sometimes I forget you’re not one of the guys.”

The arm around the shoulders was nice, and the squeeze was nice. But forgetting she was a woman wasn’t nice at all. Still, two out of three wasn’t that horrible, and Hannah snuggled a little closer. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“You bet. Could you go back inside and tell Rick Murphy to come out here?”

“Sure.” Hannah shoved her hands in Edna’s parka pockets. The wind was starting to blow harder and her fingers felt numb. “Anything else?”

“Find Lonnie and put him in charge of securing the perimeter, one guard for every outside door. No one leaves, not without running it past me.”

“Got it,” Hannah said, resisting the urge to salute.

“Actually…nobody should leave anyway.”

“Why not?”

“The wind’s picking up. This could turn into a real blizzard and it’s just not safe. Some of these folks have a long ways to go on country roads.”

“You’re right,” Hannah said. Strong winds whipping up snow from flat stretches of landscape could make the roads impassible in the space of a few minutes. The snow could swirl so fiercely, a driver could lose sight of the road. Sense of direction was the next thing to go, and that was when people ended up in the ditch. “I’ll tell Lonnie not to let anyone leave. Anything else?”

“I want only the essential people to know that Brandi’s dead. If the killer doesn’t know that her body’s been found, he may do or say something to give himself away.”

“You mean…you really think the killer’s still here, sitting around waiting for dessert?!”

“I’m almost positive he is.”

“But how do you know he wasn’t parked in front? He could have waltzed back inside, made some excuse about having to leave early, and gone out through the front door as big as you please.”

“Maybe, but when I came back in after seeing Kurt on his way, I noticed that Lisa and Herb were sitting at a table in the lobby eating their dinner. They would have seen anyone who left.”

“Do you want me to ask them?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. How about Bill? Are you going to try to contact him?”

“Of course. I’ll call dispatch and they’ll find him.” Mike took his arm from Hannah’s shoulder and turned her to face him. “Now do you want to go inside and take care of all those things for me? Or have you changed your mind and do you want to stay here with…”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Hannah said, heading for the kitchen door at a pace that would have done a runner proud.

“Excuse me, Lonnie.” Hannah tapped him on the shoulder. “Could I speak to you for a minute? You too, Rick.”

Once she’d pulled the Murphy deputies to the side and delivered Mike’s messages, Rick headed out to the parking lot to relieve his superior, and Lonnie quickly found enough personnel to man the exits. Since Lonnie had decided to take the front door himself, Hannah headed up the stairs with him to quiz Herb and Lisa about anyone who’d gone out or come in.

“Just Mike and Kurt Howe,” Lisa responded to Hannah’s question. “Kurt drove away, Mike took his parking spot, and then he came back in.”

“And Doc Knight,” Herb reminded her. “He left about ten minutes ago. What’s going on, Hannah? Lonnie’s trying to be discreet about it, but I can tell he’s guarding the front door.”

Hannah thought about it for a moment and came to a decision. Mike had said to tell only the essential people and as far as Hannah was concerned, Lisa and Herb were essential. Besides, Herb was a sworn law enforcement officer. It didn’t matter that it was only parking enforcement. Herb could still help in a situation like this.

“It’s murder,” Hannah said, motioning them closer so that she could tell them all about it.

Less than ten minutes later, everything was under control. All of the exits were staffed with deputies, Herb had gone to find Mike to see if there was anything he could do to help, and Hannah and Lisa had helped Edna carry out the last few desserts. Norman had taken pictures and Hannah was about to give Mayor Bascomb the okay to invite people for dessert, when she saw Mike make a beeline for the mayor.

Mike and Mayor Bascomb conferred for long moments. Then the mayor walked over to Kirby Welles and the jazz ensemble stopped playing abruptly, right in the middle of “The First Noel.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mayor Bascomb sounded very serious as he took the mike and addressed the crowd. “I’ve got some news you’re not going to like.”

Lisa looked surprised as she nudged Hannah. “I thought you said Mike didn’t want to tell anyone.”

“That’s what he said, but maybe he changed his mind.”

Mayor Bascomb looked around the room, and a grin spread over his face. “I know how tough this is going to be, but I’m afraid we’re stuck here for at least a couple more hours, maybe longer, with all this good food and music.”

There were several hoots of laughter from various tables and the mayor acknowledged them with a smile. “It’s a good thing we’re having fun in here, because it’s not fun outside. The national weather service is predicting a blizzard and I believe they’re right, for once. I was just outside, and the wind nearly knocked a big guy like me off his feet.”

Laughter rang out from several tables again. It was no wonder that Mayor Bascomb was serving his fourth term. He really knew how to talk to a crowd.

“Anyway, you’re a lot safer here than you would be out on the roads, and the community center can accommodate everyone until the winds die down and it’s safe to go home. If you absolutely must leave, tell me or one of the sheriff’s deputies I’ve stationed at the doors, and we’ll arrange for a snowplow escort to get you wherever you need to go. Barring an emergency, I want everyone to sit tight. I value each and every person here, and a winter storm as bad as this one isn’t anything to fool with.”

Many heads nodded at the mayor’s last statement. Minnesotans who’d survived other blizzards weren’t about to take the chance of getting caught alone and exposed to the elements.

“While we’re waiting for the weather to clear, Janice Cox is going to open Kiddie Korner for the little ones. She’s got games, books, and toys. She’s even got blankets and cots, if this ends up being a long night. I think we’ve got some high school student aides here tonight, don’t we?”

There was a cheer from a table near the back where a crowd of Lake Eden teenagers were sitting together.

“I thought so! Well, this is your big chance to get some more on-the-job training. If some of you want to help Janice entertain the kids, she says she’d appreciate it.”

Hannah wasn’t surprised when the table emptied and a dozen teenagers headed over to the stairs where Janice was waiting. Many Lake Eden kids grew up taking care of younger siblings, and they enjoyed helping.

“Herb Beeseman checked and the cable’s out, but if some of you older kids want to watch a movie, there’s a whole shelf of them up in the senior center. And down here, we’ll have dancing and”—Mayor Bascomb paused and let the tension build until everyone was leaning forward, just waiting for the word—“dessert! And speaking of dessert, Edna wants me to read you this list. It says, Candied Pecans, Christmas Date Cake, Poppy Seed Cake, Chocolate Fruitcake, Lady Hermoine’s Chocolate Sunshine Cake, Coconut Green Pie, Pumpkin Pie for a Thanksgiving Crowd, Pecan Pie for a Holiday Crowd…. Do I need to go on?”

“No!” several people shouted in unison, and laughter filled the air.

“Well, I could go on. I haven’t even started in on the cookies, and we’ve got at least a half-dozen different kinds. And for those who want to be healthy, there’s a whole box of oranges that were shipped here from California with a cluster of kumquats on top. You know what a kumquat is?”

The no’s outnumbered the yes’s and Hannah could understand that. A kumquat was rather exotic, and not many were seen in Minnesota.

“Hannah? Tell them what it is!”

Hannah wanted to tell the mayor to buzz off, but all eyes were on her and she had to answer. “It’s a small citrus fruit that’s not worth the trouble of peeling. But you should try one and make up your own mind.”

Laughter erupted at Hannah’s answer, and Mayor Bascomb looked pleased. “Edna says to tell you that the dessert table’s all ready. There’s enough to feed an army so you can get right up and help yourselves.”

“He did a wonderful job!” Lisa breathed, staring at Mayor Bascomb with a mixture of shock and admiration. “I guess I never realized that he was so…so…”

“Political?”

“Maybe, but what do you mean by that?”

“I mean, he told people that they were locked in and they couldn’t go home. And they love him for it.”

“I guess that is political. But how does he pull that off?”

“Years of practice,” Hannah said, and she didn’t add, lying to his wife. “Come on, Lisa. We need to find Mike and tell him that nobody left while you and Herb were upstairs.”

“Hannah!” Delores called out, swooping down on her eldest daughter.

“Hello, Mother. Where’s Winthrop?”

“In the necessary, dear. Need I say more to someone who’s familiar with Regency England?”

It took a moment for the memory banks to attain warp speed, but then Hannah remembered that a necessary in Regency England was a men’s room in today’s terms. “Okay, Mother. I understand.”

“Did you use the knife to cut your cake, dear?”

“I certainly did,” Hannah said truthfully, not mentioning that it had also been used to cut certain parts of Brandi’s anatomy. “Norman took pictures and Kurt wants to use one in the cookbook.”

“Wonderful! Winthrop will be so proud.”

Hannah’s mind did a quick backstep. “You mean Winthrop’s family has something to do with the cake knife?”

“No, it’s just that it’s old English, and Winthrop reveres things that are old English.”

“Right,” Hannah said, wondering why, if that were true, Winthrop wasn’t involved with the duchess of someplace-or-other, rather than her mother.

“So do you think we could leave soon, dear? I know what Ricky Ticky said,” Delores used the nickname she’d given Mayor Bascomb the summer she’d been his babysitter, “but it’s not really that serious, is it?”

“It’s that serious.”

“You mean…they won’t even let us go home?”

Hannah shook her head. And all the while she was asking herself, Where’s home? Would that be Mother’s place? Or Winthrop’s? “You can’t leave, Mother. I’d really worry if you did.”

“You would?” Delores looked pleased.

“Oh, yes,” Hannah gave her heartfelt response. Of course she’d worry, but not about the blizzard. She’d be worrying about Winthrop.

“Well…I guess we’ll just stay then. Winthrop said he wanted to taste Lady Hermoine’s cake. And perhaps we can get Kirby to play something a little more upbeat for dancing.”

Lisa waited until Delores was far enough away and then she turned to Hannah. “So…? Should I tell Herb to start heating up the tar? And do you want me to start plucking birds for feathers?”

“Not quite yet. I’m tempted, but he could be exactly what he says he is, an English lord on vacation.”

“But you don’t think he is.”

“No. But I’m naturally protective when it comes to my mother. And I’m naturally paranoid by nature. So…Winthrop could be okay, but I’ll bet the farm that he isn’t.”

Chapter Eleven

“Just a second, Hannah!”

Hannah turned to see Martin Dubinski rushing up to her. She started to smile politely, but then thought better of it. If Mike had informed him of Brandi’s death, it wouldn’t be appropriate to smile. On the other hand, if Mike hadn’t told him, Hannah didn’t want to alert Martin that anything was wrong. Hannah settled for what she hoped was a pleasant and totally inexpressive expression, the same one worn by the teddy bear she’d lugged around as a child.

“I’m so glad I found you,” Martin said, smiling broadly. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Brandi, but thank you for putting Shirley’s cake in the cookbook. It was her mother’s favorite recipe, and she passed it on to Shirley.”

“It’s a good cake,” Hannah said, taking note of Martin’s smile. If he was smiling, Mike hadn’t gotten to him yet, and it was appropriate for her to smile back.

“Have you seen Brandi?”

The smile Hannah had just decided to wear slipped alarmingly before she could stop it. Of course she’d seen Brandi, but she’d rather not remember that. And she didn’t want to admit that anything was wrong until Mike had spoken with the husband of the dearly departed.

“I’m really worried about her. She went to the ladies’ room an hour ago, and I haven’t seen her since. I even asked Kate Maschler to go in and see if she was okay, but Brandi wasn’t there.”

Hannah sighed, accepting the inevitable. Since she’d stumbled into the middle of this mess, she was caught between lying and telling Martin that his new wife was dead. Neither option pleased her, so she’d just have to settle for taking Martin to the room that Mike was using as an office and letting the long arm of the law take charge.

“Have you seen her, Hannah?” Martin asked again.

“I’ve seen her. Come with me, Martin. I want you to talk to Mike Kingston. He knows exactly where Brandi is now.”

Thankfully, the room that Mike was using for his office was only a few steps from the top of the stairs and Hannah was able to successfully dodge questions as she walked Martin down the hall and knocked on the door. Once she’d delivered her lamb to the slaughter, Hannah went in search of Andrea, to see how her heavily pregnant sister was reacting to Bill’s absence and the blizzard warnings that were blanketing the state.

“Hi, Hannah,” Andrea greeted her. She was sitting on a chair near the cloakroom, eating a piece of Chocolate Fruitcake. “This cake is absolutely delicious. I think it’s my very favorite dessert.”

“Glad to hear it. You’re feeling all right, aren’t you?”

“Just fine.”

“And you’re not nervous about Bill and the blizzard?”

“Why should I be? He’s got a cell phone, a car phone, and a radio to connect him to dispatch. If he goes in the ditch on the way here, he’ll have plenty of help getting out.”

“You’re right, and I’m glad you’re not worried. Since Doc Knight took you off restriction, do you feel like doing a little investigating?”

“Investigating?” Andrea’s eyes widened. “You mean there was a murder?”

“Yes.”

“Right here at the party?”

“Yes.”

“Who got killed?”

“Brandi.”

“Where? How?”

Hannah knew her answer would sound as if they were playing a game of Clue, but she gave it anyway. “In the parking lot with Mother’s antique cake knife.”

“Good thing I’m eating chocolate.” Andrea looked a little sick, but that didn’t stop her from popping the last bite into her mouth. “I have a feeling I’m going to need all the energy I can get. Have you told Mother?”

“No.”

“Are you going to?”

“Not just now. Mike wants only the essential people to know that Brandi’s dead.”

“I’m essential?” Andrea looked pleased when Hannah nodded. “Okay, you can count on me to do whatever you need.”

“Your napkin.”

“What?”

“I need something to write on.”

“Oh. Sure.”

Hannah took the paper napkin that Andrea offered and flipped it open to write on the inside, where it was free of cherubic angels with halos floating in a star-studded sky. She retrieved the pen she’d found in the kitchen and stuck behind her ear, and used the wall as a desk. “Okay. The first thing we need to figure out is who might want to kill Brandi, and why.”

“You mean besides Shirley? And Laura Jorgensen, because they’re both jealous?”

“Yes.” Hannah jotted down their names.

“Okay, there’s Martin’s mother. From what I heard, Babs didn’t approve of Brandi, but I’m not sure that’s a strong enough motive for murder.”

“I’ll put her on the list anyway. Let’s try to think of something less obvious. This could be the work of someone from Brandi’s past, or some Lake Eden person she knew that we don’t know she knew.”

“Huh?” Andrea looked mystified.

“Maybe someone from Lake Eden went to Vegas and met her there. And maybe they didn’t like the fact she married Martin,” Hannah suggested, thinking of Mayor Bascomb.

“Got it. It’s jealousy again.”

“A very powerful motive,” Hannah reminded her. “Other than the fact every woman here wanted to kill Brandi for looking so gorgeous, there have to be other motives. You talked to Brandi and Martin for at least a half hour before I came over to their table. Did you learn anything important about her?”

“I certainly did! Brandi’s mink coat wasn’t just any old mink. It was a Blackglama ranch mink stroller.”

“Stroller?”

“That’s a coat that comes to the knees. It’s what Mother used to call a car coat. And the price tag was twenty-two point five, not just twenty-two. Do you think someone killed her for her coat?”

“If they did, something scared them off before they could take it. Brandi was still wearing it when I found her and that’s why I didn’t see blood in the snow. The lining of the coat soaked it up.”

Andrea’s face turned pale and Hannah reached out to steady her. “Are you all right?”

“I think so. I’m just sick about it, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry I was so descriptive. I shouldn’t have mentioned that part about the lining.”

“It’s not that. I was just thinking about what a waste it is. Martin probably couldn’t afford that coat in the first place and now he can’t even sell it back to the furrier.” Andrea stopped and looked thoughtful. “I wonder if a really good dry cleaner could get out Brandi’s blood.”

“Maybe. Forget about the coat. When you were talking to Brandi and Martin, did you learn anything personal about her?”

Andrea thought about that for a moment and then she shook her head. “Not really. All she could talk about was how she’d given up her career to marry Martin.”

“Did she mention where she worked?”

“No, I was listening for that. She didn’t really give me any information at all, not even how old she was. It was like she didn’t want anybody to know anything about her.”

“That’s interesting.”

“That’s what I thought. It was almost like she was in the witness protection program, or something like that. She just didn’t say anything about her background. She did tell me all about their wedding, though. An Elvis look-alike performed the ceremony, and they did it at three in the morning at some wedding chapel on the Strip.”

“Do you remember the name of the chapel?”

“I don’t think she mentioned it. She just talked about how good the minister’s Southern accent was and how much he sounded like the real Elvis when he got out his guitar and sang Love Me Tender in honor of their marriage.”

“The theme song from Titanic would have been more appropriate,” Hannah muttered, and immediately felt mean for saying it. Brandi might have been an opportunistic stripper who’d latched onto Martin for what she could get, but she certainly hadn’t deserved to die.

“So what do you want me to do first?”

Andrea’s question brought Hannah back to the here and now. “Will you try to find Shirley Dubinski? I really need to talk to her. Just give me the high sign when you do and I’ll come over to you.”

“You don’t want me to tell her about Brandi, do you?”

“Absolutely not. Mike said to keep it under wraps. He’s hoping that the killer will say or do something incriminating.”

The color fled from Andrea’s cheeks. “You mean…Mike thinks the killer’s still here?”

“Yes. That’s why it’s so important to be on our toes.”

“I will be…at least metaphorically,” Andrea said, levering herself out of the chair.

“You mean figuratively.”

“Whatever. I’ll go look for Shirley, but first I’m going to get another helping of dessert. I have a feeling I’m going to need all the chocolate I can get.”

With Andrea off locating Shirley, Hannah looked around for Michelle. She found her youngest sister sitting at the table that Lonnie had recently vacated.

Michelle stood up to greet her and whispered in Hannah’s ear, “Murder?”

“How do you know?”

“Lonnie’s upstairs guarding the front entrance, Mike’s talking to people in the room down the hall with the door closed, and every time I look around for you, you’re either deep in conversation with Andrea, or you’re running around like a chicken with your head cut off.”

“It’s true I was talking to Andrea, but I’m not running around like a chicken with its head cut off.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m…well, maybe I am,” Hannah conceded. “Do you want to help us investigate?”

“Of course I do. Who got killed?”

“Brandi. Did you get to talk to her?”

“Right after I left Mother and Winthrop. And we need to talk about him later. Anyway, I got over to Martin and Brandi’s table just as she was excusing herself to go to the ladies’ room.”

“And you went along?”

“Of course. You know how that goes here in Minnesota…you can’t go alone.”

“I know,” Hannah frowned slightly. She’d never understood why women had to go into the ladies’ room in pairs, but that’s the way it was in the Midwest.

“Brandi was talkative once we got away from Martin and the other people at the table.”

“What did she say?”

“A lot. She married Martin only five hours after she met him, and she grew up not very far from here.”

Hannah appropriated someone’s fairly clean napkin, turned it wrong side out so she didn’t have to write around the garlands of holly, and grabbed the pen she’d stuck behind her ear. “Did Brandi say where?”

“No, but she remembered the Quick Stop when it was still a bar and she said she wished the Tri-County Mall had been built when she was living here.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. Brandi’s real name is Mary.”

“Mary what?”

“She didn’t say. All she told me was that she ran away from home when she was sixteen, hitched a ride to Vegas with a trucker who was driving straight through, and ended up living with an older guy who ran a tattoo parlor until she landed her job dancing.”

“Anything else?” Hannah asked. It seemed that Michelle had inherited the family trait of being able to get information from a stone.

“She told me a lot. Do you want to know what Brandi’s first roommate talked her into piercing?”

“I don’t think so,” Hannah answered quickly. “I think I could live a very long time without that particular information.”

“That’s probably best. But Brandi was very forthcoming—even showed me her tattoos—probably because I complimented her on her dress.”

“That was smart,” Hannah said, giving her sister a smile.

“It was just that she seemed to want to talk and I was nonthreatening. She said she’d forgotten what small towns were like, how boring it was because there wasn’t anything to do at night, and how everybody knew everybody else’s business.”

“That’s all true. What else did she say?”

“She was upset because she had a fight with Martin on the way to the community center.”

Hannah readied her pen. This could be pay dirt. “Do you know what the fight was about?”

“Yes. Brandi wanted to wear her engagement ring tonight to show it off, and Martin said she shouldn’t.”

Hannah thought back to when she’d joined Brandi and Martin at the table. Try as she could, she couldn’t remember anything about Brandi’s engagement ring. “Did you see the ring?”

“You bet, and it was beautiful!”

“Could you be a little more descriptive?” Hannah asked, her pen hovering over the napkin.

Michelle sighed, shrugging slightly. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I really don’t know that much about gemstones.”

“Just describe it the best you can.”

“There was a big green stone in the center and it had what looked to me like diamonds around it.” Michelle looked up, meeting Hannah’s eyes. “Do you want to know why Martin didn’t want Brandi to wear it?”

“Of course I do.”

“Well…Martin was afraid that people would think she was showing off if they saw Brandi in her fur coat and an expensive engagement ring.”

Hannah thought about that for a moment and then she re-folded the napkin, stuck it in her sweater pocket, and perched the pen behind her ear. “Okay. I think you ought to go upstairs and tell Mike what you learned from Brandi.”

“Are you kidding?” Michelle looked shocked. “What’s going on, Hannah? I thought you liked to keep the results of your questioning to yourself.”

“I do…usually. But it’s different tonight. Mike’s really short-handed and I want to help him.”

“Okay, if you say so.” Michelle didn’t look convinced, but she let Hannah lead her up the stairs and down the hall to the room that Mike had commandeered. “Should I tell him everything?”

“Everything,” Hannah said, feeling generous. Shawna Lee was gone, perhaps never to return, and Mike was all hers if she wanted him. She thought she did, at least partially. And unless Mike got high-handed and told her to back off on his investigation, she’d help him all that she could.

Chapter Twelve

Hannah chatted with a few people while she was waiting for Andrea to find Shirley. She was on a fishing expedition for reactions to Martin’s new wife without letting anyone know that Brandi was dead. Most women thought it was a shame that Martin had brought his younger, more glamorous wife to the party, since it was bound to upset Shirley. Most men just shrugged and claimed they really didn’t have an opinion, but Hannah saw the gleam in their eyes, and she knew that Brandi had made an impression even if they wouldn’t admit it in front of their wives.

“I’m sorry, but I have to run. Andrea’s waving at me,” Hannah said, spotting Andrea and Shirley behind the dessert table and excusing herself from a conversation with Immelda Giese, Father Coultas’s housekeeper. A devout Catholic, Immelda had just told Hannah that despite the tenets of Christian charity, she thought Shirley should scratch Brandi’s eyes out.

Hannah arrived at her sister’s side slightly winded. People were still hovering in front of the dessert table, and she’d had to excuse herself more times than she could count. She turned to Shirley and smiled. “I’m glad Andrea found you. We really need to talk.”

“What about?” Shirley asked.

“Martin. And Brandi.”

“Oh,” Shirley said, drawing a deep breath and looking a lot like Moishe the last time he’d tipped over his litter box.

“Where were you for the past hour?”

“Do you really need to know?”

“Yes, I do.” Hannah put on the most no-nonsense expression she had, the same one she’d used when she’d told Moishe never to tip over his litter box again. It hadn’t worked with him, but she hoped it might work with Shirley.

“Well…” Shirley clasped her hands together and gave a deep sigh. “I guess I’d better confess.”

Andrea gasped, and Hannah gave her a warning glance. “Confess to what, Shirley?”

“I still love Martin and he still loves me. That’s why we were together for the past hour. When Brandi went to the ladies’ room, he came over to our table and talked to us for a few minutes. Then he said he needed to talk to me in private, and we went to that space under the stairs where they store all the tables and chairs.”

“What happened once you got there?” Hannah asked, hoping she wasn’t about to hear something risque.

“Martin said he had a real problem on his hands, that he’d made an awful mistake.”

“His marriage?” Andrea asked.

“That’s right. He said he was a fool not to realize how much he still loved me. And then he said that just as soon as he could get rid of Brandi, he wanted to marry me again.”

“He said he was going to get rid of Brandi?” Hannah repeated, picking up on that ominous phrase.

“Yes, right away. And I said I’d help him any way I could.”

“Oh, boy!” Hannah sighed, glancing over at her sister who looked equally distressed. “Did you tell anybody else about the conversation you had with Martin?”

“Of course I didn’t. It was private, just between Martin and me. And I knew that if I repeated it, Brandi would be embarrassed. You girls have known me for a long time now. I’m not the sort of person to embarrass anyone in public.”

“Actually…you couldn’t embarrass Brandi if you tried,” Hannah said, deciding it was time to cue Shirley in.

“Why not?”

“Because Brandi’s dead. She was killed out in the parking lot.”

“What?” Shirley gasped, swaying slightly on the heels of her boots and looking completely dumbfounded. She just stared at Hannah for a long moment and then she asked, “Was she in an accident?”

Hannah gestured to Andrea who grabbed Shirley’s arm to steady her for the next bout of bad, or good news, depending on your perspective. “It wasn’t an accident. Brandi was murdered.”

“That’s…that’s horrible! You must have thought I was awful when I was talking about getting rid of her. I meant that Martin was going to divorce her, that’s all.”

“We were sure that was all you meant,” Andrea comforted her.

“Murder,” Shirley repeated, her voice quivering slightly as she looked up at Hannah. “When did it happen?”

“Almost an hour ago.”

“At least no one can blame Martin! I was with him the whole time except for the past twenty minutes or so.”

“Then you alibi each other,” Andrea pointed out. “Nobody can suspect you, either.”

“Thank goodness for that! Does Martin know yet?”

“I’m sure he does, by now,” Hannah said. “I took him up to see Mike about ten minutes ago and he’s probably still there. It’s that little conference room right next to the library. Why don’t you run upstairs and confirm Martin’s alibi?”

“I’ll do that right now.”

“Good. And don’t mention it to anyone else on your way up there. Mike’s trying to keep everything under wraps for now.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

Hannah watched Shirley as she threaded through the crowds of people and reached the stairs. True to her word, Shirley hadn’t stopped to talk to anyone.

“I guess you can cross her off,” Andrea said, “and Martin, too. Who’s left?”

Hannah reached into her pocket and pulled out the crumpled napkins she’d been using for notes, instead of her steno pad. “Babs, and Laura Jorgensen. Let’s get Babs first.”

Babs Dubinski was easy to find. She was still sitting at the same table, drinking coffee and eating a piece of Andrea’s Jell-O Cake. “Hello, girls. This is a wonderful cake. It’s so moist, and it’s pretty, too.”

“Thank you. It’s my recipe.” Andrea gave her a big smile, and it was clear she was pleased. “Did you have some of Hannah and Lisa’s Christmas Sugar Cookies? I think they’re my favorites.”

Babs gestured toward a red and green dessert plate with a few cookie crumbs on it. “I had a star. It was delicious.”

“I need to ask you some questions,” Hannah spoke up before the discussion of desserts could continue.

“You look serious, Hannah. Is there something wrong?”

“I’m afraid so. Can you tell me where you’ve been for the past hour?”

“Me? Well…right here, mostly. Martin came over and talked to us for a while. And then, after he left with Shirley, I went back for some of Kitty’s Salmon Loaf. On the way back, I stopped to talk to a couple of people, and then after Mayor Bascomb made his announcement, I got in line at the dessert table. I went to the ladies’ room, too. I almost forgot about that. And…I really can’t account for every minute, Hannah. Is it important?”

“Very important.” Hannah took a deep breath and prepared to deliver the news. “Brandi was killed in the parking lot.”

“You mean…Martin’s Brandi?” Babs looked astonished when Hannah confirmed the news. “Was Martin with her? Is he hurt?”

“Martin’s fine. He’s upstairs talking to Mike Kingston right now, and Shirley’s with him. And no, he wasn’t with Brandi.”

“Thank goodness for that! So what happened?”

“Someone stabbed her with my mother’s cake knife.”

“Saints preserve us!” Babs fanned herself with her paper napkin. “You mean she was murdered?”

“That’s what it looks like. Mike’s investigating it as a homicide until the results of Doc Knight’s tests are in.”

Babs fanned a bit faster. “I hope no one thinks that Martin did it!”

“No one does. Martin was talking to Shirley at the time, and that provides them both with an alibi.”

Babs looked relieved for a moment, but then she stared hard at Hannah. “So that’s why you were asking me all those questions about where I was! You think I did it!”

“We couldn’t ignore that possibility,” Andrea stepped in, giving Babs her sweetest smile. “Of course, we didn’t really believe you could do anything like that, but we couldn’t let our fondness for you get in the way of a murder investigation.”

Hannah didn’t say a word, but her mind was busy forming compliments for her sister. Good going, Andrea. I wish I could learn to be that smooth. Obviously, the smooth gene passed me by, because I would have grilled her to within an inch of her life.

“I can understand why you suspected me,” Babs said. “It’s no secret that I was upset over Martin’s marriage.”

“Of course you were!” Andrea glanced over at Hannah to let her know she’d taken over the questioning. “What a disappointment that must have been for you! I know how much you like Shirley, and you must have hoped that they’d put aside their differences and get back together for the sake of the boys.”

“I did hope that,” Babs admitted.

“It must have been terribly painful for you when Martin came back from Las Vegas and announced that he was married.”

“It was, especially since I had no warning. He just brought Brandi over to the house and introduced her as his new wife.”

“What did you think of her?”

“I tried not to think,” Babs said candidly. “I was polite to her, of course, but I couldn’t help feeling that Martin had made a terrible mistake by marrying her. But they were married. And there wasn’t anything I could do about that except grit my teeth and make the best of it.”

Andrea smiled and shook her head. “I’m not sure I would have been so forgiving in your place. Then you were ready to welcome Brandi into the family?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. But I love my son and there’s no way I wanted to alienate him. I didn’t have to like Brandi, but I did have to get along with her.”

Andrea glanced at Hannah, who shook her head. There was nothing more to ask Babs. Andrea expressed their condolences and made the appropriate parting comments. Hannah cautioned Babs not to tell anyone else that Brandi had been killed, and then the two sisters headed their separate ways. Andrea went up to check on Tracey at Kiddie Korner, and Hannah walked over to the Jordan High Jazz Ensemble to give them some well-deserved kudos.

“Nice job,” Hannah said to Kirby Welles, who was just getting ready to step off the riser the ensemble was using as a stage.

“Thanks, Hannah. The kids are going to take a break for dessert. Edna said she’d save some goodies for them in the kitchen.”

“Great. I’d hate to think they missed out. I just came over to compliment you on the music and warn you that it could be a long night.”

“I know. The blizzard. It’s okay, Hannah. We’ve got a big repertoire.”

“I hope it’s gigantic.” Hannah considered it for a moment and then she decided that Kirby would have to be one of the essential people she told about Brandi’s murder. She hopped up on the riser, took his arm, and walked him a couple of steps toward the back of the stage. “I have to talk to you, Kirby.”

“Not right now, Hannah. I’ve got something really important I have to do.”

“This is more important. I need you to keep this under your hat, but it’s not just the blizzard that’s keeping people from leaving. Martin Dubinski’s new wife was murdered in the parking lot and Mike thinks the killer’s still here.”

Kirby’s face paled and he reached out to steady himself on a music stand. “You mean…Brandi?”

“That’s right.” Hannah watched as Kirby’s hands started to shake. She was no doctor, but Jordan High’s music teacher looked as if he were about to collapse. “Are you okay?”

“Shock,” Kirby forced the word out between bloodless lips.

“Come on. You’d better sit down.” Hannah guided Kirby to a chair and took one for herself. Kirby still looked as if a puff of air from a hair dryer could blow him over. Was he this squeamish at the mere mention of murder? Or did he have a personal reason for being so upset?

“I’m sorry I just blurted it out like that,” Hannah apologized, deciding to go for a fake pass and an end run. “I didn’t realize that you knew Brandi.”

Kirby blinked and a little color began to come back to his face. “I didn’t. Not really. Martin introduced us tonight. How was…” Kirby gulped and cleared his throat. “How was she killed?”

“She was stabbed with my mother’s antique cake knife.”

Kirby groaned as if he couldn’t help himself, and Hannah went on full alert. His reaction was certainly overboard for someone who claimed he’d met Brandi only an hour or so ago. Rather than trying to couch her question in polite terms, as Andrea or her mother would have done, Hannah just came out with it.

“So…” she said, staring at Kirby closely. “Don’t you think you overreacted if you just met Brandi tonight?”

Kirby nodded, looking a little embarrassed. “I know I did. It’s just that murder is so horrible, especially when it’s violent. And she was alive just minutes ago. It made me think of how short life can be, and it scared me silly.”

“I understand,” Hannah said, even though she wouldn’t have bought Kirby’s excuse at a fire sale. It was true that most people would be disturbed if someone they’d just met was killed. And some of those people might think about life and how transient it was. But Kirby had come close to fainting before she’d pushed in him down in the chair. No one was that sensitive just hearing about the death of someone they barely knew.

“Kirby?” Hannah roused him. It was time to get down to business and pursue his strange reaction later.

“Yes?”

“Can your group play for a couple more hours? Mike needs to keep people distracted while he investigates.”

“Of course we can,” Kirby said, looking a little calmer now that Hannah had given him a task to do. “Are they going to make an announcement about…you know?”

“No. No one except a few select people know about it. That’s why we need you to keep this completely under wraps and play for as long as you can. We want people to think that everything is completely normal, except for the weather.”

“Got it,” Kirby said, nodding sharply. “Don’t worry about us, Hannah. I brought extra sheet music just in case. We can play all night, if that’s what it takes.”

Chapter Thirteen

Hannah was about to go trolling through the crowded room for her sister when Andrea came up carrying another dessert plate. “This pecan pie of yours is just wonderful! Remember when I was afraid I’d have the baby at Thanksgiving and I wouldn’t get to have your pie?”

“I remember.”

“Well, I had your pie at Thanksgiving, and now I’m having it again. And I still haven’t had the baby!”

“No one can hurry nature,” Hannah intoned, realizing how pompous that sounded, but unable to take it back.

“Sure they can. If there was a horse here right now, I’d take Lisa’s mother’s suggestion and ride him around the room until something happened.”

“And I’d probably boost you up in the saddle,” Hannah said, picturing the scene that would make and exploding in laughter. A scant second later, Andrea began to laugh, too. It was one of those wonderful moments when sisters who were very different happened to be on the same wavelength. When she was able to speak again without sputtering, Hannah said, “While we’re waiting for that horse, I’ve got a question for you. I need to know about Brandi’s engagement ring. Michelle saw it, but she couldn’t describe it except to say that she thought it looked expensive. Did you notice it?”

“Of course I did! It was gorgeous, and it looked like a really valuable antique.”

Hannah grabbed Andrea’s napkin, turned it inside out so she could write on a spot that wasn’t covered by Santa and his reindeer, and held her pen at the ready. “Okay. Describe it for me.”

“It was a square-cut emerald, at least two carats, surrounded by a frame of Tiffany-cut diamonds.”

Hannah gave a low whistle. Even though she knew next to nothing about jewelry, the ring Andrea was describing sounded expensive.

“The diamonds were blue-white, a really excellent color, and they had to be at least a half-carat apiece. And the setting was platinum. That’s more expensive than gold or silver.”

“Okay,” Hannah jotted it all down. “Do you have any idea how much a ring like that would cost?”

“Not really, but I’d guess it was worth a lot more than her fur coat. And Brandi and Martin were fighting about it.”

“Fighting?” Hannah asked, leaning forward.

“She wanted to wear it and he told her to take it off. They stared each other down for a minute and then she took it off her finger and dropped it in her purse. Is that all you need? I want to go back to the dessert table for some Candied Pecans.”

“Hold on, Little Piggy,” Hannah said, smiling to show her sister that it was a term of endearment. “Do you have your cell phone with you?”

“Of course I do! I’m a real estate professional.”

“Could you help me out and call all the wedding chapels in Las Vegas to find out where Brandi and Martin got married? There’s something I need to know.”

“Sure. It shouldn’t be that hard, especially since I know an Elvis impersonator married them. Once I find the right chapel, what do you want me to ask?”

“Try to get them to tell you what name Brandi used on the marriage license. Michelle found out that her real first name was Mary, and Brandi let it slip that she grew up not too far from here.”

“I knew that had to be a stage name,” Andrea gave a little snort. “It was just too cutesy to be real. Brandi Wyen. I mean…really! I’ll go up to the lobby to call. The reception’s better up there.”

“Okay, just stick close to Lonnie. Don’t forget that there could be a killer in the building.”

“I won’t forget,” Andrea said, looking very serious as she headed up the stairs.

As Hannah approached the dessert table, she noticed that the Candied Pecans were almost gone. Since Andrea was doing her a favor and might miss out on the dessert she wanted, Hannah got in line, grabbed one of the little paper cups Edna had set out, and took some.

“Hey, Hannah?”

Hannah turned around to see Earl Flensburg, the county snowplow and tow truck driver, standing there in his boots and jacket. “Hi, Earl. Since you’re here, why don’t you get something to eat?”

“That’s what Edna said. She’s fixing me a plate in the kitchen. But before I can eat, I need to find Mike.”

“He’s upstairs in the little conference room right next to the library. He’s using it as a temporary office.”

“Okay. I need to get a paper signed for the paramedics. I plowed out that drift in the parking lot so they could get their rig in, but they can’t take…you know, what they came to get…” Earl’s voice faltered, and he cleared his throat noisily. “Heck of a world, huh Hannah? Anyways, they need Mike to sign this release paper.”

“I understand.” Hannah patted Earl on the back. For a gruff guy who bragged that he’d shot more game than anyone else in the county, he could be surprisingly sensitive when it came to human death.

Earl had just walked up the stairs when Andrea came down. There was a huge smile on her face and Hannah assumed she’d been successful in talking to whoever was on duty at the wedding chapel.

“That was fast!” Hannah met her sister at the bottom of the stairs.

“Of course it was. I just called one of the casinos, spoke to the woman at the desk, and got the number of the wedding chapel with the Elvis impersonator.”

“And the person at the chapel told you Brandi’s real name?”

Andrea gave Hannah an impudent grin. “Of course. But I’m not going to tell you until you hand over those pecans.”

“No problem. They were running low, and I figured I’d better snag some for you.”

“Thanks, Hannah. Now all I need is a fresh cup of coffee and a couple of those new cookies you brought.”

“Which new cookies? Lisa’s Pieces, or Heavenly Tea Cookies?”

Andrea looked surprised. “I didn’t know you had two new cookies! This changes everything.”

“I’m sure it does. You want one of each?”

“That would be perfect. Could you hurry, Hannah? These nuts won’t last me for long. This has got to have something to do with the baby.”

“What?”

“The way I’ve been eating tonight. I’m craving sweets with a vengeance. I’ve eaten more dessert than I’ve ever eaten before in my life, but I still want more.”

It didn’t take Hannah long to fetch the coffee and cookies. “Here you go,” she said, putting them down on the table in front of her sister.

“Are these Lisa’s Pieces?” Andrea asked, picking up one of the cookies and raising it to her mouth.

“Yes. You promised to tell me. Now, give.”

“Minglemurber.”

“What?”

“Minglemurber.” Andrea shook her head, swallowed twice, and took a sip of coffee. “Sorry about that. That cookie was delicious, by the way. Brandi’s real name was Mary Kay Hinklemeyer.”

Hannah jotted it down on the inside of the snowflake napkin she’d taken from the dessert table. She held it up so her sister could see. “Spelled like this?”

“That’s right. She was twenty-six years old when she married Martin, and her place of birth was…”

“Was where?” Hannah asked when Andrea stopped speaking and gave her an impish grin. “Cut it out, Andrea! If you say you want more cookies before you’ll tell me, I’ll have Mike lock you up for extortion.”

Andrea laughed. “I was going to tell you…really. I just wanted to draw it out a little and build up the surprise. Mary Kay Hinklemeyer was born in Browerville, Minnesota!”

“Browerville?” Hannah asked, hardly daring to believe her ears. “Now we’re getting somewhere! There’s got to be someone here who used to live in Browerville, or someone who has relatives in Browerville. They would have known Mary Kay when she was growing up, and they’d probably know the family.”

“I’m back!” Michelle announced, rushing up to their table. “I talked to Mike and told him everything that Brandi told me.”

“Great. I hoped he appreciated it.”

Michelle shrugged. “I don’t think so. I was just getting to the part about the ring when he got a call and he told me he’d talk to me later.”

Hannah thought about that for a moment. The ring could be important, but Mike didn’t seem all that interested. Perhaps he was just snowed under by too much information coming at him at once. She could help. She could go upstairs and tell him that the ring appeared to be a bone of contention between Martin and Brandi, and it could be important. She could also describe it, thanks to Andrea.

“Ready to go back to work?” Hannah asked, noticing that Andrea had eaten both cookies.

“Sure,” Andrea said, taking a last gulp of coffee. “That Tea Cookie was great! What do you want us to do?”

“Canvass the room and see if you can find anyone who knew Brandi when she lived in Browerville.”

“Browerville?” Michelle looked excited when Hannah nodded. “I know a couple kids who come from there. I can ask. Do we know her last name?”

“Yes, thanks to Andrea. It’s Mary Kay Hinklemeyer. Just take the names of everyone who knows the family and we’ll question them later.”

“Okay,” Andrea levered herself to her feet. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to beard the lion in his den and tell him that Brandi’s engagement ring might be important.”

“Yes?”

The voice that barked out when Hannah knocked on the door Mike was using as an office caused her to step back in pure reflex. Mike didn’t sound very friendly. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting, but I need to talk to you.”

“Come.”

That response wasn’t very friendly either, but Hannah shrugged and opened the door. “It’s about Brandi’s engagement ring. Was it on her body?”

“You don’t need to know that.”

“Fine. But then you don’t need to know what kind of ring it was and what it was worth. And you also don’t need to know that Martin and Brandi were fighting about whether she should wear it in public, or not.”

“Okay…sorry, Hannah.” Mike gestured for Hannah to come in and shut the door. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I apologize.”

“That’s okay. I know you’re under a lot of pressure.” Hannah sat down in the chair in front of the desk. “What do you want to know first?”

“Describe the ring. I’ll take notes.”

Hannah emptied her pocket of crumpled napkins and found the correct one. “Emerald in the center, at least two carats, perhaps larger. Surrounded by Tiffany-cut diamonds of approximately a half-carat apiece. The setting was platinum. That’s very expensive.”

“And the total estimated cost?” Mike asked, looking up to meet Hannah’s eyes.

“Uh…” Hannah took a deep breath and tried to keep her stomach from doing aerial gymnastics. Mike looked tired and haggard, and sexier than any other man on earth. “Andrea saw it, and she estimates close to fifty thousand. Do you think Brandi was killed for her ring?”

“It’s possible.”

“Then it wasn’t on her finger?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Hannah said, giving him a smile. Perhaps it wasn’t fair when he was so tired, but she always felt good when she could outwit Mike. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything else. And just send someone to get me if you need me for anything.”

“I always need you, Hannah.” Mike bent over the desktop to touch his lips to hers. “Don’t ever think I don’t. Now go back and amuse yourself. I’ve got work to do here.”

Hannah headed out the door not sure whether she should be pleased or angry. Mike had said he always needed her, a compliment if she ever heard one. But he’d also told her to go amuse herself because he had work to do, a thinly veiled insult that negated his earlier compliment. Did that mean they were even?

Still debating the scorecard between them, Hannah headed back to the banquet room. As she descended the stairs, she saw Michelle at the bottom waiting for her.

“Good, you’re back. I’ve got something. It’s not exactly what you were expecting, but it’s something you should know.”

“Okay, what?” Hannah asked, leading Michelle over to an unoccupied corner.

“I asked Bertie Straub about the Hinklemeyer family, but Bertie didn’t know them. I was about to move on, but then Bertie told me some really interesting gossip. She said Mrs. Bascomb thinks the mayor met Brandi on his last trip to Vegas. Bertie heard them arguing about it. I think it’s true, Hannah. They’re sitting about as far apart as two people can get at the same table.”

“You didn’t try to talk to them?”

“No, I thought I should wait and tell you.”

“A wise decision,” Hannah said. “And while you’re a lot more tactful than I am, I think this is a job for Mother.”

“Mother?” Michelle sounded shocked.

“Yes, Mother. She used to babysit for Mayor Bascomb, and she’ll get the truth out of him.”

“You’re going to sic Mother on him,” Michelle said, looking pleased. “I admire you for thinking of it, Hannah. That’s completely diabolical.”

Chapter Fourteen

Hannah approached the table with reluctance. She really wasn’t looking forward to dealing with Winthrop again, but perhaps she could spirit her mother away for a private talk. “Mother?”

“Why, hello!” Delores called out, greeting Hannah and then reaching out to take Winthrop’s hand. “This is quite an experience for Winthrop. He’s never been stuck in a blizzard before.”

“Right, dear girl.” Winthrop patted her hand and then pulled his away. Either he’d read the disapproval in Hannah’s eyes, or he was of the opinion that holding hands in public was tacky.

Hannah resisted the urge to tell him that the only way to experience a blizzard was to get out there alone and walk a couple of blocks, and she turned to her mother instead. “Could I see you for a moment, Mother?”

“Of course. Sit down, dear.”

“No. I mean…I need to see you privately.”

Delores frowned slightly. “Whatever it is, you can talk about it in front of Winthrop. We have no secrets from each other.”

“Maybe you don’t have any secrets from Winthrop, but I do.”

“That’s only as it should be,” Winthrop said, and then he turned to Delores. “Go have a little coze with your daughter, dear girl. I’ll be perfectly fine here.”

“Coze?” Hannah repeated, as her mother got up and followed her to an unpopulated spot near the Christmas tree that Andrea had decorated.

“Comfy coze. I know they used the term in Regency England, and I assume it’s still in use today. It means an intimate chat. Oh, dear!”

Hannah glanced in the direction her mother was gazing and had all she could do to keep from grinning. The moment Delores had left the table with Hannah, three women had converged on Winthrop. Carrie Rhodes was now seated on one side of him, Bertie Straub was on the other, and Florence Evans had taken the chair directly across from the British lord.

“Sharks in a feeding frenzy,” Delores muttered. And then she turned to frown at Hannah as her eldest daughter gave a startled laugh. “Well, they are.”

“You could be right.” Hannah saw Carrie give Winthrop her sweetest smile, and she pulled her mother around to the other side of the Christmas tree where she wouldn’t be distracted.

“What’s so important?” Delores asked a bit sharply.

“Murder, Mother.”

“Murder?” Delores whirled to face Hannah instead of attempting to see Winthrop and the three women through the branches. “Here?”

“Yes.”

Delores rolled her eyes toward the angel at the top of the tree. “Don’t tell me you found the body!”

“Shhh!” Hannah cautioned, putting her finger to her lips. “Mike doesn’t want anybody to know about it yet.”

“You have got to stop finding dead people, Hannah! Winthrop’s going to get the wrong impression of you.”

“Right,” Hannah said, biting back several additional comments that would have assured her mother’s immediate defection.

“Well, who was it this time?”

“Martin Dubinski’s new wife. She was stabbed in the parking lot.” Hannah knew that discretion was the better part of valor and she decided not to mention that her mother’s antique cake knife was the murder weapon.

“Good heavens! Do they know who did it?”

“Not yet. That’s the other reason nobody can leave.”

Delores was nothing if not perceptive. Her eyes narrowed and she bent forward to stare at her daughter. “You mean…the killer could still be here?”

“That’s what Mike thinks. Anyway, I need your help with the mayor. Bertie overheard them fighting. She told Michelle that Mrs. Bascomb was accusing her husband of knowing Brandi in Vegas.”

“Knowing? As in the Biblical sense?”

“I think so. And that could be the reason Mrs. Bascomb was so upset.”

“Poor Stephanie,” Delores said with a sigh. “With his track record, she’s probably right. And you want me to ask him if it’s true?”

“Yes. I know you two go way back, and I think he’s still a little afraid of you.”

“He should be. Fear was the only thing that kept him in line the summer I worked for his mother. I’ll do this one on one. It’ll work better that way. You wait here and keep an eye on Winthrop. If he looks desperate, go rescue him.”

Fat chance, Hannah thought, taking a peek through the branches. Winthrop looked as happy as a clam to have three women doting on him. “Okay, Mother. Good luck.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it. Intimidation is an art form, and don’t you dare forget it!”

Hannah was just thinking about going over to spill some coffee on Carrie, who was definitely poaching in her mother’s absence, when Delores came up smiling broadly.

“You found out?” Hannah guessed.

“Of course I did! I had him completely on the defensive from the very start. Ricky-Ticky was all set to spend a few intimate hours with Brandi when he went to Vegas last October, but he had a few too many and passed out in his hotel room before he could meet her in the bar for their date.”

“Date? That’s a polite way of putting it.”

“That’s exactly what I said. And then I asked him if he had to pay her anyway.”

“Mother!”

“I was curious.”

“So am I. Well? Did he pay her?”

“Only half. That was the up-front part. He was supposed to pay the other half later.”

“Do you think he was telling the truth?”

Delores nodded. “I’m almost positive he was. It would have been less embarrassing if he’d lied and said he’d been with her.”

“You’re right. Good work, Mother. It’s too bad Mrs. Bascomb doesn’t know she has nothing to worry about on the Brandi front.”

“I’d tell her, but Ricky-Ticky deserves a rough time for his past flirtations.”

“Nicely put, Mother.”

“Yes, wasn’t it? And speaking of flirtations, I think I’d better get back to Winthrop before my partner and the woman I hope might be your future mother-in-law does something I can’t forgive.”

Hannah ducked into the kitchen to see if she could find an empty spot to gather her thoughts. Earl Flensburg had obviously finished eating and left, because the circular booth the builder had put in to accommodate the kitchen workers was empty. Hannah carried Earl’s plate to the sink, rinsed it off, and slipped it into the hot soapy water that Edna had left for dishes that came in after the load in the industrial dishwasher had been started. Then she grabbed a mug of coffee from the kitchen pot, slid into the booth, and pulled her stash of crumpled napkins out of her sweater pockets.

Once she’d straightened out all the napkins and placed them in order, Hannah surveyed the results of the investigation so far. They’d eliminated two suspects, Martin and Shirley, and although Babs didn’t have an alibi, her motive was weak. Babs had been prepared to get along with Brandi for her son’s sake. She might have hoped that Brandi would leave Martin, but it was unlikely that Babs would have killed her new daughter-in-law just to get her out of the way.

Mayor Bascomb’s name was under Babs Dubinski’s. Hannah had written it down when Michelle had told her that Lake Eden’s first couple was fighting about Brandi. But Delores had found out that nothing happened between the mayor and the stripper-turned-bride. Hannah picked up her pen and drew a line through Mayor Bascomb’s name. If nothing had happened between them, the mayor had no reason to kill Brandi.

Way down at the bottom of the napkin was a name that appeared on every suspect list that Hannah had ever written. Someone Unknown was the name, and Reasons Unknown was the motive. And in order to figure out who Someone Unknown was, Hannah needed to know more about Brandi’s life.

Hannah was sure there were people in Las Vegas that she could interview, but they were there and she was here at the Lake Eden Christmas party in the middle of a blizzard. Perhaps she couldn’t learn anything about Brandi’s recent past, but she could certainly find out more about Brandi’s school days at Browerville High.

The moment Hannah thought of it, she was on the move, stuffing the napkins back into her sweater pockets and heading out to talk to Marge Beeseman. The Lake Eden Journal had reported that the community library, run by Marge, had been designated as the tri-county repository for school documents.

Marge was sitting at a table with Lisa and her dad. Hannah greeted them all and then she turned to Lisa. “Where’s Herb?”

“He’s helping Mike with something or other.” Lisa leaned closer and spoke in a barely audible voice, “They don’t know.”

Hannah turned to Marge. “Congratulations about the tri-county repository designation.”

“Thank you. It’s a lot of work going through all the documents, but we get a very generous stipend for storing the material.”

“That’s great. I was just wondering if that school material included high school yearbooks.”

“Yes, it does. I just finished shelving them yesterday.”

Hannah smiled. Her hunch had paid off. “I know this is an imposition, but do you think you could open the library for me so I could take a look at some of them?”

“Of course I can. I was about to go up there anyway to show Lisa and Jack the new magazine racks that the Jordan High shop class built for me.”

Once Hannah, Lisa, Marge, and Jack had climbed the stairs and gone down the hall to the library, Marge unlocked the door and flicked on the lights. “The yearbooks are against the back wall in the center sections. There’s a stepstool there if you can’t reach the top ones. What are you looking for, Hannah?”

“Um…it’s nothing, really. I just wanted to see if someone I know has changed a lot since high school.”

Hannah crooked her finger at Lisa, and her partner followed along. They found the proper section and Lisa asked, “What are we really looking for?”

“A picture of Mary Kay Hinklemeyer in one of the Browerville High yearbooks. It would have been about ten years ago, because she left home at sixteen.”

“And Mary Kay Hinklemeyer is…Brandi’s real name?”

“You got it.”

“And she’s from Browerville?”

“You got that, too.”

Lisa took down one of the Browerville yearbooks and flipped to the back. “This is going to be easy. Each book has an index listing names and photos.”

With both of them sitting at a library table, looking through the yearbooks, it didn’t take long to locate a photo of Mary Kay Hinklemeyer. There was one picture of her as a junior varsity cheerleader jumping up, legs spread, arms akimbo, with the other cheerleaders at a basketball game. Lisa stared at the photo for a long moment without speaking, and then she passed it to Hannah for a similar silent perusal.

“Do you think that’s Brandi?” Lisa asked.

“I think so.”

“Okay, but you couldn’t prove it by me. She really changed a lot since she was in school.”

“That she did,” Hannah commented, biting back a quip about the wonders of nose jobs, hair coloring, and other surgical enhancements. “Let’s go through the whole yearbook together and see if we recognize anyone else.”

They turned the pages in silence for a few moments until they came to a photo of a pep rally in the school gym. Brandi and the other cheerleaders were in front of the crowd and the band was seated behind them.

“Is that who I think it is?” Lisa asked, pointing to a boy with dark-rimmed glasses who was holding a trumpet.

“Kirby Welles?” Hannah guessed, flipping back to the index. “Here’s his name. I didn’t know he went to Browerville High.”

“Neither did I.”

Lisa started paging through the yearbook again, looking for anyone else she might recognize. Hannah was silent, barely looking at the pages. She was too busy going over the conversation she’d had with Kirby. He’d claimed he had just met Brandi tonight and that was clearly a lie. He’d known Brandi since she was Mary Kay Hinklemeyer, junior varsity cheerleader. And that explained why Kirby had been so upset to hear that she was dead.

“Thanks for your help, Lisa,” Hannah said, pushing back her chair.

“You’re welcome. You’re going to see Kirby Welles?”

“Oh, yes,” Hannah said, heading out of the library at a fast clip. By virtue of his lie, Jordan High’s bandleader had just become her prime suspect.

Chapter Fifteen

While Hannah was upstairs, the banquet room had undergone a transformation, thanks to the Jordan High athletic department, whose members had volunteered to move tables and chairs for the party. Except for two long rectangular tables near the kitchen, the dining tables had been folded and returned to the storage area under the stairs. In their place, dozens of round, four-person tables had been arranged near the giant Christmas tree, leaving a good-sized circular area, with the tree in the center, for a dance floor.

The lights had been dimmed, the coffee had been replenished, and Hannah noticed that quite a few adults were availing themselves of the punchbowl full of English Eggnog that Rod Metcalf was manning. A second punchbowl, almost identical but lacking the rum that flavored the first, was available for those who didn’t want to consume, or weren’t old enough to legally consume, the alcoholic version.

Kirby Welles and the jazz ensemble had gone through their Christmas music, and now they were playing a medley of jazz standards. A half-dozen couples were dancing to “Strangers in the Night,” and Hannah watched them without any real interest until she caught sight of Laura Jorgensen dancing cheek-to-cheek with a tall, dark-haired man. The couple turned and Hannah recognized Drew Vavra, a member of her graduating class at Jordan High and a graduate of the University of Minnesota. Just this September, Drew had been hired to replace Boyd Watson, and he was the new history teacher and head coach of the Lake Eden Gulls.

Hannah glanced down at Laura’s feet again. Drew was a nice guy, steady and reliable, and not bad to look at, either. Hannah hoped that Laura was wearing the special shoes for him. Since she would have been hard-pressed to slip a sheet advertising the cookie specials of the day at The Cookie Jar between them, it was a safe bet that Laura and Drew were a lot more than casual acquaintances.

The medley ended and Hannah headed straight for Drew and Laura. She caught them before they could even leave the dance floor. She greeted them both and was trying to think of a way to spirit Laura off to ask her where she’d been at the time of Brandi’s murder, when Laura solved the problem for her.

“Would you get me a cup of that wonderful eggnog, Drew?” Laura waited until Drew had left for the table with the punchbowl and then she turned back to Hannah. “I want you to be the first to know, since you were Drew’s classmate and he told me that you were the only reason he got through algebra. We just got engaged!”

“Congratulations!” Hannah exclaimed, giving Laura a little hug. “And I think I just blew it. I’m supposed to say that to Drew, not you. But I really am happy for both of you. And if Drew ever needs to solve a quadratic equation, you know where I live.”

Laura laughed and she looked happier than Hannah had ever seen her. “We’ve only been dating for three weeks, but we’ve spent almost every minute together. I just couldn’t believe it when we started to dance, and he slipped the ring on my finger and asked me to marry him.”

“That’s so romantic,” Hannah said, and she meant it. “And your ring is beautiful.”

“I know. And to think I’ve been pining over Martin for two years! I was so wrong, but it took meeting Drew to make me realize it.”

“Well…I’m really glad you did!” Hannah said, glancing up at the stage. The jazz ensemble was breaking up, some students heading toward the kitchen and whatever food was left, and others rushing for the coolers of soft drinks that sat on a table next to the punchbowls. “Please tell Drew I’m delighted for both of you. I’d love to stay and tell him myself, but I’ve got to talk to Kirby before he takes his break.”

Hannah headed off toward the makeshift stage, mentally crossing Laura off her list. There was no way Laura was jealous enough to kill Brandi, not when she was head over heels with Drew.

“Kirby?” Hannah called out, catching the bandleader in the act of stepping off the riser. “We need to talk.”

“Couldn’t it wait….”

“Now,” Hannah interrupted him, climbing up to grab his arm. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew Brandi when you were in high school and she was Mary Kay Hinklemeyer?”

“I…she didn’t want me to say anything. And I only knew her when we were kids, before she ran away from home.”

“What was she like?”

“Um…kind of wild, but she was a fantastic dancer and we used to enter dance contests as a couple. We always won when we danced together and we…uh…we dated occasionally.”

“Does dated mean what I think it means?”

Kirby turned a dull shade of red. “Yeah.”

“So did you tell Martin that you already knew Brandi when Martin introduced her to you?”

“No. I was about to say something about going to high school with her, but Mary Kay gave me a warning look. I’m pretty sure that Martin didn’t know she was from right around here.”

Hannah got down to business. “Did you get a chance to talk to Brandi privately before she was killed?”

“Um…well…actually…” Kirby turned a little pale. “I did. She stopped by the stage and asked me to meet her in the cloakroom.”

“And you did?”

“It was nothing out of the way, or anything like that. We just talked about old times and what happened to the other kids we’d gone to school with.”

Something about this conversation was bothering her, and it took Hannah a moment to figure out what it was. There was something Kirby wasn’t telling her. It was in the way he failed to meet her eyes, and his stance, which was as defensive as that of a cornered ‘possum. It was time to probe for the truth.

“So what did you think about Brandi’s marriage to Martin?” Hannah asked, watching closely for Kirby’s reaction.

“I thought it was a big mistake. And actually, so did Mary Kay. She said Martin was no fun at all and…and she was going to dump him. And then…” Kirby faltered and raised stricken eyes to Hannah’s face. “Do you really need to know this?”

“I do. You need to tell me everything if we’re going to catch Brandi’s killer.”

“Okay. But please call her Mary Kay. That’s the way I want to remember her. She…she asked me to leave Lake Eden with her.”

Hannah blinked hard. “You mean, Bran…I mean, Mary Kay was going to dump Martin for you?”

“No! It wasn’t like that, Hannah, really. Mary Kay was dumping him anyway. And she wasn’t interested in marrying me, or anything permanent like that. She just didn’t like being alone, and she wanted me to come along with her for company.”

“I see,” Hannah said, even though she didn’t. “Did…um…Mary Kay tell you when she was planning to go?”

“Tonight. She was going to wait until Martin was busy talking to somebody, and then she was going to take off with his car and leave it at the airport in Minneapolis.”

“She was flying back to Las Vegas?”

“Not Vegas. She was going to the Bahamas, and she offered to buy my ticket if I’d come along. She said she could get at least fifty thousand for her coat and the ring Martin gave her, and if that wasn’t enough, she had an antique knife that was worth a bundle. She told me that we could live high on the hog in the Bahamas.”

“So what did you say?”

“I told her I couldn’t go, that I liked my job in Lake Eden. At first, she thought I was kidding, but when she realized I was serious, she called me a…” Kirby stopped, clearly embarrassed. “You don’t really have to know, do you?”

“No, I don’t. How about the antique knife she mentioned? Did she show it to you?”

“No. I had no idea she was talking about stealing your mother’s antique cake knife until you told me that it was the murder weapon.”

Hannah thought about what Kirby had said for a moment. She was almost sure that he was telling her the truth. “Why didn’t you tell me all this the first time we talked?”

“I couldn’t! I figured if you knew about the history Mary Kay and I had between us, you might think I killed her!”

“Did you?”

Kirby stared at Hannah in absolute shock. “Of course I didn’t kill her. I loved Mary Kay. She was my first real girlfriend. I kept thinking about that when the group was playing and remembering how much fun we used to have. You know how you caught me that first time just as I was about to leave on break? And I didn’t want to talk to you because I had something important to do?”

“I remember. What was so important?”

“I was going to find Mary Kay and tell her I’d go with her after all!”

Hannah found Andrea at a table with Claire, Reverend Knudson, and his grandmother Priscilla. She chatted for a few moments and then she turned to Andrea. “Will you meet me in the lobby upstairs in five minutes?”

“Sure,” Andrea said, and there was a question in her eyes.

“I’m going to find Michelle and ask her to meet us, too.” Hannah ignored the question Andrea was dying to ask and excused herself to Claire and the Knudsons.

Hannah’s youngest sister was sitting with Luanne Hanks and Danielle Watson. “Hi,” Hannah said, plunking herself down in a chair. “How’s the dance business, Danielle?”

“It’s great. I was just asking Luanne if she knew anyone who might like to handle one of my senior ballroom dancing classes. I’ve got three going now and my waiting list is large enough to start another.”

“That’s just wonderful.” Hannah admired the transformation her friend had undergone. Danielle had been a timid and abused wife when she’d first come to Lake Eden, but now she was a successful businesswoman with plenty of self-confidence. “You’re not trying to recruit Luanne, are you?”

Danielle shook her head. “Are you kidding? Your mother and Carrie would kill me if I tried to hire Luanne out from under their noses.”

“You’ve got that right,” Luanne said with a laugh. “And starting next week I’m going to be even more valuable to them.”

“What happens next week?” Hannah asked.

“Mom, Suzie, and I move into the other half of Nettie’s duplex. That means I can work later in the winter because I won’t have to match my hours to the county snowplow schedule.”

“Good for you!” Hannah said with a smile. She was glad that Luanne was leaving the isolation of her family home at the end of Old Bailey Road and moving to town. And she was doubly glad that Nettie Grant would be able to spend time with Suzie. After the losses the former sheriff’s wife had suffered in the past three years, it was bound to lift her spirits to be around a sunny little girl like Suzie.

“Michelle?” Hannah turned to her youngest sister. “Will you meet me in the upstairs lobby in five minutes?”

Michelle nodded, and as Hannah watched, she assumed the identical expression that her next-older sibling had worn. It was obvious that Andrea wasn’t the only Swensen sister who was dying of curiosity.

“‘Bye, ladies. See you later, Michelle.” Hannah headed up the stairs to wait for her sisters. She waved at Lonnie, who was manning the outside door, and walked over to the grouping of chairs around the miniature Christmas village.

There was a large gilt-framed mirror on the wall behind the village and Hannah frowned as she caught sight of her hair. Her unruly red curls had been tousled by the wind and snow in the parking lot, and they looked as if they hadn’t seen the tender ministrations of a hairbrush in months. Hannah smoothed them down as best she could, and paused to admire the new sweater Norman had given her. It fell gracefully from her shoulders and came to just the right length in back to minimize that I-wish-it-were-smaller part of her anatomy.

“Gorgeous,” Hannah said, turning a bit so that her skirt swirled against her legs. But what was that bulge at her hips? She looked like an anatomically incorrect chipmunk with his cheeks lower than his waist.

Hannah reached in her pocket and drew out dozens of paper napkins, far too many for the lines of the sweater. Even though she’d folded them neatly and divided them between the two pockets, the piles had grown, and now her sweater pockets were ballooning with a plethora of paper Santas, reindeer, snowflakes, Christmas trees, angels, and snowmen. It was definitely time to scare up a steno pad, and she knew just the place to find one.

A few moments later, Hannah was standing at Janice’s desk in Kiddie Corner, begging office supplies. The younger kids were crowded around the Christmas tree in the corner, listening to one of the high school girls read a story, and the older children, like Tracey, had gone off to the library to watch a Disney movie with several high school seniors as chaperones.

“How about this?” Janice asked, pulling a neon-pink steno pad from her center desk drawer. “I know you like the green ones, but it’s all I have at the moment. Here’s the pen that goes with it. The Velcro attaches to the cover, see?”

“It’s just perfect,” Hannah said gratefully, even though she would have preferred something less conspicuous. It was exactly as Delores had taught her; beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“I’m glad you’re here, Hannah. I’ve got something I want to show you.” Janice opened a drawer and took out a stack of letters. “I had the older kids write letters to Santa, and the high school girls helped them with the spelling. Linda Nelson came up to tell me that Tracey had asked her to spell some very strange words for a letter to Santa.”

“Like what?”

“Like blizzard. Linda didn’t think that was so odd, because we’re in the middle of one, but the next word Tracey wanted was detective. And then she asked Beth if body had two d‘s or one.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Exactly. I looked it over, and I thought you should read it, too. I’m crazy about Tracey, but that girl is too smart for her own good!”

Hannah took the letter Janice handed her and sat down in one of the little chairs by the blackboard. The chair was so low that her knees almost touched her chin, but she barely noticed how uncomfortable she was once she started to read.

Dear Santa,

How are you? I am fine. I sure hope you remember me, what with all the kids who write to you this time of year. My name is Tracey Todd and I live in Lake Eden, Minnesota. My daddy’s the new sheriff of Winnetka County and my mommy’s a real estate professional. I asked you for a dollhouse last year and you gave it to me. It’s real nice.

I’m writing this to help my Aunt Hannah. You probably remember her. Those were her cookies that we left out under the tree for you. We’re all stuck here at the community center after the big recipe-testing Christmas party dinner. The food was great and it was fun, but we can’t go home. It’s supposed to be because of the big blizzard, but that’s not the real reason. Right after Edna Ferguson finished cutting the cakes, I saw Aunt Hannah come in from the parking lot and she had that look on her face. Then she pulled Uncle Mike (he’s Daddy’s most important detective) off in a corner so they could talk. They looked real worried, and that’s why I think Aunt Hannah found another body. She does that a lot. Anyways, they want all of us kids to stay busy writing letters to Santa, and watching movies, and things like that. I bet they figure that way nobody will guess what’s really wrong.

I better start writing my Christmas wish list now so you know what to bring me.

The first thing I want is for Mommy to have the new baby. She’s awful big, so could you please let her have it right away? I can tell Daddy’s worried about her and they’ll both be happy after the baby’s born. Mommy says he’s a boy and his name is Billy. That’s nice, but if you can still do it, could you please make Billy a girl? I’d much rather have a little sister.

The next thing I want is for Rose from Hal and Rose’s Cafe to give my Aunt Hannah her famous coconut cake recipe for the cookbook. Poor Aunt Hannah’s asked for it a bunch of times, but Rose won’t give it to her. Could you get it, please? Tonight was supposed to be the last chance to test recipes for the cookbook, but Aunt Hannah’s editor is very nice, and I bet he’ll let her put it in.

This next thing is a big favor I need. I know this is your busy season, but if you have time, please talk to Uncle Mike. Tell him that Aunt Hannah would make a perfect wife and he should ask her. And then please talk to Uncle Norman. I want him to ask Aunt Hannah, too. That way she can make up her mind which one she likes best and I’ll get to be in another wedding. I’m already going to be in Lisa and Herb’s wedding. It was supposed to be on New Year’s Eve, but Lisa and Herb didn’t have time to do everything, so Lisa asked Mommy to help her. Now it’s on Valentine’s Day, and Mommy says I get to wear a beautiful red velvet dress and carry white roses with the thorns cut off.

There’s another thing I want, Santa. Mommy and Aunt Hannah are all worried about Grandma and Winthrop. They think he’s a crook. If he is, please make him leave Grandma alone. If he’s not, I guess it’s okay, even though I don’t like him very much.

I don’t really want anything else for Christmas except maybe a puppy. I think I’m going to get that anyway, but not right away.

Love,

Tracey

P.S. If it’s not a secret, will you tell me how you got my dollhouse inside our living room last Christmas? I know it’s too big to fit down the chimney. I measured.

Chapter Sixteen

“Sorry about that,” Hannah said, hurrying to the group-of chairs where her sisters were sitting. “I got hung up at Kiddie Korner borrowing this steno pad.”

“Did you see Tracey?” Andrea asked.

“No, she was at the library watching a Disney movie with her friends.” Hannah opened her mouth to tell Andrea about the Santa letter, but she thought better of it and clamped her lips shut again. Andrea would only worry if she knew that Tracey had guessed about the murder. “Did you find anyone who knew Mary Kay Hinklemeyer?”

“Not a single person,” Andrea said, sounding very frustrated. “The closest I came was Joe Dietz. He said he served with a guy named Sam Hinkelmeyer when he was in the army, but he was pretty sure Sam came from Idaho.”

“Same here, except I didn’t find anybody who knew any Hinklemeyers at all,” Michelle reported.

“Okay. Since we’re not going to get anywhere with that, let’s regroup.” Hannah reached into both of her sweater pockets and drew out the stacks of folded napkins. “The first thing to do is transfer these notes to the steno pad Janice gave me.”

Andrea picked up one of the napkins and attempted to read it. “Is this a blot from your pen, or food?”

“I don’t know. You take notes and I’ll read the napkins,” Hannah delegated, handing the pink notebook to Andrea. “You listen, Michelle, and if you think of something I missed, sing out.”

“Right.” Michelle got up to fetch the wastebasket that stood near the front door, pausing to give Lonnie a little pat on the arm before she returned. “Here, Hannah. After you read them, toss them in here.”

Hannah picked up the first napkin and squinted at it. Andrea was right. The ink had run, and the area where it had met a grease spot looked a lot like the first Rorschach card. “It looks like…” Hannah resisted the urge to say a vase, or a mirror image of a person in profile. Instead she concentrated on making out the letters. “Kirby. It’s Kirby Welles. As far as I know, he was the last person to talk to Brandi before she was killed. Kirby told me he met Brandi in the cloakroom shortly after seven-thirty.”

“That was right after she went to the ladies’ room with me,” Michelle pointed out. “Better write that down, too.”

Andrea looked a bit exasperated. “I’ve got it. Actually, I’ve got it in two places. I’m making a timeline here. What time did you go to the ladies’ room, Michelle?”

“A quarter after seven. I looked at my watch.”

“Okay, Brandi was at the table with Martin until seven-fifteen. Then she went to the ladies’ room with Michelle. You talked to her until seven-thirty, Michelle?”

“That’s right. I was asking her questions about her life in Vegas.”

“And you learned what?”

“Hold on!” Hannah complained, “I’m looking for a toy soldier here.”

“You’re what?” both younger sisters asked in perfect unison.

“A toy soldier. I used a napkin with a toy soldier on it to write down what Michelle told me. Here it is!” Hannah held her disreputable prize aloft and waved it like a flag.

“It’s falling apart,” Andrea commented.

Michelle agreed. “And somebody spilled frosting on it and it’s all stuck together in one corner.”

“I can still read it,” Hannah insisted, spreading it out with the care of someone who was performing open-heart surgery on an ant. “It says, ring, green stone, diamond surround, M. afraid plus coat show-off.”

“You saw the ring,” Michelle said to Andrea, “so you can give a better description than mine. And that other part is Hannah’s shorthand telling us that Martin didn’t want Brandi to wear the ring. He told her it was because she had the fur coat and he thought two expensive items like that might make people resentful.”

“People like Shirley,” Hannah pointed out, “who admitted that she told Martin she’d do anything she could to help him get rid of Brandi so that they could get remarried.”

“Motive!” Michelle cried out.

“Alibi,” Hannah countered. “Shirley was with Martin in that little room under the stairs at the time that Brandi was killed. The fact that they were together means that both of them are in the clear.”

“I’ve got all that,” Andrea said, putting down her pen and massaging her fingers. “Let’s get back to the timeline. Do you know what time Brandi was killed?”

“I found her at eight-fifteen, and Doc Knight didn’t think she’d been out there for more than thirty minutes. That puts the time of death anywhere from a quarter to eight to when I found her.”

“Seven forty-five to eight-fifteen,” Andrea repeated, her pen racing across the page, whose color had certainly been modeled after the inside of a Pepto-Bismol bottle. “That really narrows it down. How about Kirby? Why did he talk to Brandi in the cloakroom?”

“She asked him to meet her there.”

“So that’s why she kept looking at her watch!” Michelle spoke up, and Hannah couldn’t help thinking that if her youngest sister were a cartoon character, a light bulb would have gone off in the little balloon over her head. “I thought she was worried about getting back to Martin, but she must have told Kirby what time to meet her.”

“Makes sense,” Hannah said.

“What did they talk about?” Andrea asked, her pen at the ready.

“Old friends they knew in high school and…”

“Kirby went to high school with Brandi?” Andrea asked, coming very close to dropping her pen.

“Yes, with Mary Kay Hinklemeyer. She was Kirby’s first girlfriend.”

“I’ll be!” Michelle breathed. “Do you think he killed her because she married Martin instead of him?”

Hannah shook her head. “It’s not feasible. For one thing, I’m almost sure that the jazz ensemble was playing the entire time, and I already know that they wouldn’t have sounded good without Kirby. And for another thing, Kirby wasn’t jealous.”

“Are you sure?” Andrea asked.

“I’m positive. You see, Brandi told Kirby she was leaving Martin. She was going to take his car out of the parking lot and drive it to the Minneapolis airport. From there she was going to fly to the Bahamas, and she asked Kirby to go with her.”

“That’s…romantic,” Michelle breathed.

“It’s also money-grubbing, illegal, and immoral,” Hannah reminded her. “Brandi told Kirby they could live like kings if she sold her ring and mink coat. And…her antique knife.”

“What antique…” Andrea started to ask, but she stopped, and this time the light bulb could have gone on over her head. “You mean Mother’s antique cake knife?”

“One and the same.”

“So Brandi stole it?” Michelle asked, frowning slightly.

“That’s a likely scenario.”

“And the killer managed to take it away from Brandi and stab her?” Andrea asked, paling slightly at the thought.

“That’s part of the same scenario. Hold on a second and let me find the caroling penguins. That’s where I wrote the list of suspects.”

Hannah paged through the remaining paper napkins, reading off several notes to Andrea. There was their conversation with Shirley, her meeting with Martin, and their mother’s grilling of Mayor Bascomb and how he admitted that he’d seen Brandi’s strip show and hired her for a “date” he was too drunk to keep.

“And I really thought she was a showgirl,” Michelle said with a sigh. “I feel really awful about all those questions I asked her.”

Hannah slipped a comforting arm around her youngest sister’s shoulder. “I’m sorry she disappointed you, Michelle.”

“Oh, she didn’t disappoint me, not exactly. But if she’d admitted that she was a stripper who partied on the side, I would have asked her a whole different set of questions and tried out for an entirely different part in the play!”

Ten minutes later, they had reached an impasse. Hannah had found the caroling penguins, but every single suspect except the unknown suspect with an unknown motive had been eliminated.

“What now?” Hannah asked, throwing out the question and hoping that one of her sisters would have an answer.

“I don’t know,” Michelle said, shaking her head. “It beats me.”

“Me, too,” Andrea sighed. “It just makes me wish we had some outtakes to watch this time around.”

“Outtakes?” Hannah asked, thoroughly puzzled.

“You know, like we did when we were investigating Boyd Watson’s murder. We went through all those tapes of the Hartland Flour Bakeoff.”

“But we didn’t find anything,” Hannah reminded her.

“I know, but we could have. I’m just sorry somebody wasn’t videotaping tonight. There might have been something in the footage we could use.”

“Hold on,” Michelle said, an excited expression crossing her face. “Norman’s been taking photos of everyone all night long. What if he caught someone following Brandi when she filched the knife and ran off to the parking lot with it?”

Andrea shook her head. “If Norman saw something like that, he would have raised the alarm.”

“But maybe he doesn’t know he saw it. Just imagine this for a second…Norman’s concentrating on taking a picture of someone getting a second helping of something or other and the dessert table is in the background. He snaps pictures of his main subject, but he also gets a picture of Brandi in the background stealing the knife. Norman might have something we could use, and not even know he’s got it.”

“That makes sense,” Hannah said, catching some of her sister’s enthusiasm. “We’d better find Norman right away and ask him to develop his photos. Even if he goes straight home to the darkroom, that’ll take him a couple of hours.”

“I don’t think so, Hannah. We might just get instant results.”

“How?”

“I saw Norman’s camera earlier, and it looked like a digital to me.”

Finding Norman was no easy trick, but Hannah managed to locate him in the kitchen, where Edna had set him up with a platter of leftovers that would have fed the Lake Eden Gulls football squad. “Hi, Norman,” Hannah said, sliding into the kitchen booth to face him.

“Hi, Hannah. The Christmas party’s a huge success. I heard a lot of people saying that the food was the best ever.”

“Good to hear.” Hannah berated herself for not telling Norman about Brandi’s murder sooner. She should have found him right away, but circumstances had intervened. She took a deep breath and prepared to give him the shocking news. “I need you, Norman.”

“I figured you would.”

That took Hannah back a pace or two. “But…you don’t know why I need you.”

“Does it matter?”

“I don’t know,” Hannah said, thinking about that for a moment. “I guess it doesn’t, not really.”

“I didn’t think so. It’s enough that you do. Well, who do you like?”

“Like?”

“For Brandi’s murder. That’s cop talk. Mike told me that’s what they say in the squad room.”

“You know about the murder?”

“Of course I do. The police photographer couldn’t get here, and Mike had me take the crime scene photos. It’s definitely an art. I couldn’t have done it without his instructions.”

Hannah had a sobering thought as she looked into Norman’s face. What if Mike had already gone over all of Norman’s photos? What if there was nothing that Norman had captured on film, or disk, or whatever it was called in digital photography? But was it digital photography? That should be her first question. “Are you using a digital camera tonight?”

“Yes. The technology’s great, and I’ve got to say the results are as good or better than the traditional method. It’s amazing, Hannah.”

“Instant gratification?”

“Precisely. You shoot it and you view it. Then you keep it, or you ditch it, all in one fell swoop. And it’s not at all expensive, considering all the money a photographer’s got to put into a darkroom.”

Hannah felt herself getting impatient. “Okay. Wonderful. Come with me. Andrea, Michelle, and I need you upstairs with your camera and whatever it is that holds those photos you took tonight.”

“Not quite yet,” Norman said, shoving his coffee cup across the table. “Drink this. And eat this chocolate-dipped pear. You’re getting cranky.”

“I am not!” Hannah said, and then she had the grace to laugh at the crabby tone in her voice.

“That’s better.” Norman looked amused as she took a sip of coffee and a bite of the pear. “Do you want to take some chocolate upstairs? Your sisters might need a pick-me-up too.”

“Good idea,” Hannah said sweetly and it wasn’t an act. She really was feeling much better, but she wasn’t sure if it was due to the chocolate, or Norman. “I have a feeling we could have a long night ahead of us.”

Chapter Seventeen

“Did you get it?” Andrea called out. She was sitting in the first row of three dozen seats in the community center’s mini-auditorium, the only Swensen sister who was too large to slip behind the big-screen television to hold tools for Norman while he hooked up his camera.

“We got it!” Michelle emerged, smiling broadly. “All we had to do was unhook the cable and attach the camera’s feed.”

Hannah came out right behind Michelle. She dusted off her hands and frowned slightly. “I don’t think anyone ever cleans behind there.”

“Probably not.” Andrea handed Hannah one of the napkins Norman had thought to bring with the plate of fruit. “This television is Mayor Bascomb’s baby. Bill told me that he watches every Vikings game in here and he holds his own tailgate party.”

“Tailgate? Like in the parking lot?” Michelle wanted to know.

“No, right here in the auditorium. It’s not really a tailgate party, but there’s food and drinks, and all the mayor’s friends come to watch the games with him. For the really important events like the Super Bowl, he sends out printed invitations. Bill thinks he’ll get one, now that he’s sheriff.”

“If he does, will you go?” Hannah asked. Andrea was probably the most disinterested sports fan in town. She memorized the scores and took note of the big plays so that she could mention them to her real estate clients, but often she just settled for the old, tried-and-true How about those Vikings, huh?

“I can’t go. It’s a guy thing, with no wives allowed. I think that’s because it gets a little rowdy.”

“You’re probably right,” Hannah said, but she wondered if the mayor invited any women who weren’t in the spouse or helpmate category. She doubted it. If there were any non-wifely females present, Stephanie Bascomb and her friends would hear about it on the Lake Eden gossip hotline and the Super Bowl parties at the community center would soon be ancient history.

“Turn it on, will you?” a voice floated out from the rear of the television, and Hannah hurried to turn on the set. A few seconds later, she saw the image of Edna standing by the Christmas tree.

“You got it,” Hannah called out to Norman, walking closer to examine the image that was almost the size of the real Edna.

“For a second there, I didn’t think it was going to work.” Norman came out breathing a deep sigh of relief. “At the last minute, I noticed that I had the input in the output.”

Hannah decided she wouldn’t touch that comment since she had no idea what Norman was talking about. “It’s a great photo, Norman, but how are we going to tell when you…”

“Hold on and I’ll turn on the date-time feature,” Norman interrupted her.

“Perfect,” Hannah said, taking a seat next to Andrea and watching as the numbers appeared at the bottom of the screen. “Can you page forward to those shots you took of the knife?”

“Sure, but it’s not page forward.”

“I realize that, but you know what I mean.” Hannah kept her eyes on the screen as Norman began to advance the photos, giving them a quick peek of each.

“Six-twenty,” Michelle called out when the first shot of the cake knife came on the screen. There were several more shots, one with Hannah holding the knife, and then Norman had moved on to the kitchen, where Edna and her helpers were setting out the appetizers.

“So we know that the knife was still there at six twenty-three.” Andrea flipped open the pink notebook, jotted down the time, and turned to Hannah. “What do we look for next?”

“Any shots Norman took after Brandi met with Kirby Welles. That was at seven-thirty, wasn’t it?”

Andrea flipped to the page with the timeline. “That’s right.”

“We should watch for any shots with the dessert table in the background, or Brandi walking toward the kitchen door. If we’re lucky, Norman got a shot of someone following her.”

“The killer,” Michelle breathed.

“Right.”

Norman advanced his camera until the time code read seven twenty-nine. “Okay…let’s start watching.”

Their eyes were glued to the screen for several minutes and then Hannah called out. “There’s the dessert table! But it’s so far away, I can’t tell if the knife is missing.”

“Hold on. I’ll fix that,” Norman said.

Hannah gasped as the shot began to zoom in. “I didn’t know you could do that!”

“It’s the beauty of digital photography.”

There was a brief moment of silence and then all four of them gasped.

“Look!” Michelle was the first to speak. “Norman caught a hand reaching for the knife!”

“Is it Brandi’s hand?” Hannah asked, turning to Andrea. “You notice manicures and things like that.”

“I think so,” Andrea said, but she didn’t look convinced. “It looks like she’s wearing Pearl Blush nail polish, and that’s what Brandi was wearing, but it’s a really popular color right now. And she’s got her hand tipped, so I can’t see if she’s wearing her ring.”

“Michelle?” Hannah turned to her youngest sister.

“I think it’s her, but I couldn’t swear to it.”

Hannah sighed. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t cut it in a murder investigation. The only thing we know for sure is that a woman wearing pink nail polish picked up the knife.”

“But she could have put it back down again,” Andrea said.

“That’s right. She might have picked it up to have a closer look. Let’s see the next shot, Norman. Maybe that’ll tell us more.”

Norman put the next photo up on the screen. It was a second shot very similar to the first, but the time code read two seconds later. He zoomed in and let out a holler. “The knife’s gone, and there’s nobody else even remotely close to the dessert table. Whoever that woman was, she took it.”

“What’s this?” Hannah asked, getting to her feet and pointing at the screen. “Is that her leg, walking away?”

“I don’t know what else it could be.”

“Brandi was wearing silver boots,” Hannah reminded them. “Can you pan down to her calf, Norman?”

“Sorry, no. The lower half of her leg is hidden behind that plant in the foreground. I can zoom in a little more on what I’ve got, but that’s it.”

“There’s a spot on her leg,” Andrea commented, staring intently at the zoom of what they assumed was Brandi’s thigh.

“Let me see if I can enhance it a little more,” Norman offered, fine-tuning some controls on his camera. “How’s that?”

“It’s Brandi!” Michelle shouted, getting so excited she hopped up and down in her seat.

“How do you know that?” Hannah asked. “You have to be certain, Michelle.”

“I am certain. Remember when I told you that I saw her tattoos? Well, that’s the first one she ever got. It’s a tiny little brandy snifter.”

“She’s right. Somebody gave us a set of four just like that for a wedding present, and it’s a distinctive shape.” Andrea turned to Hannah. “Do you want me to write down that Brandi stole the knife at seven forty-two and walked off with it?”

“Absolutely. Let’s see what you’ve got next, Norman. And let’s keep a sharp eye out for Brandi going into the kitchen.”

“This could do it,” Norman said, as he put up the next shot. “It’s a shot of Edna and her workers by the Christmas tree, but someone’s going through the kitchen door in the background.”

Hannah held her breath as Norman zoomed in and she let it out in a whoop. “It’s Brandi, all right! Now all we need to do is find a shot of someone following her.”

The next few shots yielded nothing, but three minutes later, in the background of a shot Norman had taken of a table of diners, the kitchen door was partially open.

“Hold on…I’ll zoom in,” Norman said, and then he sighed. “It’s a woman, but she’s almost completely blocked by the foreground. The only thing I can tell for sure is that she’s wearing a black skirt.”

Andrea gave a little gasp of excitement. “But that’s enough! We solved another one, Hannah! All we have to do is look for a woman wearing a black skirt and we’ll have Brandi’s killer!”

“Not necessarily. The woman in the black skirt could have some perfectly reasonable reason for going into the kitchen. For all we know, she went in, washed her hands, and came right back out again.”

“So it all depends on how long she was gone,” Michelle said, looking thoughtful. “How long does it take to kill someone?”

Hannah shrugged. “She’d have to walk through the kitchen, go through the pantry, open the outside door, and follow Brandi all the way out to Martin’s car. That would take a couple of minutes. And then it would take another couple of minutes to stab her. This is just a ballpark figure, but I’d say that if she’s gone for more than five minutes, she’s definitely a suspect.”

“She’s definitely a suspect,” Norman said, and all three Swensen sisters turned to look at him. “While you were speculating, I’ve been running through the photos on the internal camera screen. It’s a lot faster that way. I’ve gone through five minutes and she hasn’t come out of the kitchen yet. Unfortunately, I don’t have anything after five minutes.”

“Why not?” Hannah asked.

“I moved on to take pictures of the jazz ensemble. And then I took a couple of the Plotniks in front of the Christmas tree. After that, I moved upstairs to do some photos of the miniature Christmas village. I’m really sorry, Hannah, but I don’t have anything in that area again until after you found Brandi’s body.”

“There’s no need to feel sorry. You gave us the only lead we’ve got.” Hannah turned to smile at him. “You’re a great photographer, Norman.”

“Thanks. So what do we do next?”

“We look at it logically. Either the woman in the black skirt is the killer, or she’s a material witness. If she didn’t stab Brandi, she knows who did because the killer must have passed right by her in the kitchen. The upshot is, we need to talk to her. And the caution is, we have to be careful because we don’t know if she’s Brandi’s killer, or not.”

“Makes sense,” Michelle said, nodding quickly. “What do you want us to do?”

“Just observe for right now. We need to canvass the whole community center and make a list of every woman who’s wearing a black skirt or dress.”

“That shouldn’t take long if we split up,” Norman said, pulling a notebook from his camera bag. “I’ve got a couple of extra pens, if anyone needs them. They’re leftover Rhodes Dental Clinic giveaways from last Christmas.”

Michelle raised her hand. “I need one. My roommate gave me five dollars for the last one you gave me. She said she’d never seen a pen shaped like a toothbrush before and she just had to have it.”

“Maybe I should give up dentistry and manufacture pens for a living,” Norman quipped. “Where do you want me to start, Hannah?”

“Will you take the south end of the banquet room and work your way to the center? That way Michelle can start on the north end and meet you halfway.”

Andrea began to frown. “How about me? You want me to help, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I need someone to check every room up here and that’ll give you a chance to see Tracey. And don’t forget the high school kids who came up here to watch movies in the library and the Senior Center. Let’s just make lists for now. We won’t ask anybody any questions quite yet. We can meet in the lobby in twenty minutes to compare notes.”

“What are you going to do, Hannah?” Michelle asked.

“I’ll canvass the kitchen, the ladies’ room, the cloakroom, and the dance floor. But first, I’m going to talk to Mike and tell him about the lady in the black skirt. It’s only fair. And I’ll let him know that we’re just doing the legwork and we’ll leave the actual questioning up to him.”

“And you really think he’ll believe you?” Norman did his best to maintain a straight face and failed.

“Of course he’ll believe me. It’s the truth. It’s just as I told Michelle and Andrea earlier. It’s a different situation, this time around. Mike’s shorthanded, and I’m going to give him all the help I can.”

The door to the room Mike was using as a temporary office was closed, and Hannah stood there, frowning. She didn’t want to interrupt, but the information she had could lead to the capture of Brandi’s killer. Mike might be angry at the interruption, but he’d be grateful just as soon as she told him why she needed to talk to him.

Hannah knocked and put a welcoming smile on her face. Mike would be startled to see her, but he was bound to be pleased once she’d had her say. She shifted from foot to foot, waiting for the sound of the latch clicking open, but the door remained closed.

“Come on, Mike,” Hannah muttered, knocking again, a little harder this time. Again, she waited, her smile in place, but no one answered the door.

It was possible Mike had left. He could be in another part of the community center, checking up on a lead. Perhaps she should open the door. If Mike wasn’t there, she’d leave him a note telling him she had urgent information for him.

Hannah turned the knob and eased open the door. Mike was there, and he was in the middle of an interview. If the scowl on his face was any indication, he wasn’t at all happy about being interrupted.

“I’m busy here, Hannah,” Mike said, waving her away.

“I can see that. I’m really sorry to interrupt, but I have to talk to you right away. So if you could just step outside in the hall, it’ll only take a second or two.”

“No.”

“No, it’ll take longer than a second or two? Or no, you won’t come out in the hall?”

“No to both. I’m in the middle of an interview here. I’ll talk to you, later, Hannah.”

“But you don’t understand. I came here to help you. This is really important, Mike!”

“I said later, Hannah. Please don’t interfere. I’m trying to run an official investigation, and I don’t have time to talk to you now. Just shut the door and let me get on with my job, okay?”

Hannah shut the door, perhaps just a wee bit harder than was necessary. She’d given Mike his chance, and she thought she’d been extremely polite about it. And now she didn’t have to feel the least bit guilty when she caught Brandi’s killer and did his job for him.

Chapter Eighteen

Hannah was still fuming as she went down the stairs. As always in times of great stress, she headed straight for the kitchen. Not only would it make her feel better to be in the room at the community center she liked best, but she could check out the ladies who were helping in the kitchen at the same time.

Edna’s after-dinner helpers were working to clean up the kitchen, wash the serving bowls, and store the leftover food until it could be taken to Reverend Strandberg’s soup kitchen in the basement of the Bible Church and the Lake Eden Convalescent Home. All it took was one glance to see that no one was wearing black.

The dance floor was next. Hannah found a table near the edge of the area that had been set aside for dancing and sat there watching the couples as they danced. The light was fairly dim and she had a few anxious moments when she spotted Cheryl Coombs in what she thought was a black skirt, but before she could even begin to wonder what possible motive Cheryl could have for killing Martin’s new wife, Cheryl’s partner danced her closer and Hannah realized that her skirt was dark green.

The cloakroom was next. Hannah went into the long, narrow room and flicked on the overhead light. There was a startled gasp and she turned to see the high school couple she’d interrupted. The girl blushed as she smoothed her hair and the boy gulped. “Sorry, Miss Swensen. We were just…uh…”

“It’s okay. I don’t want to know,” Hannah said, interrupting his effort to put a spin on what had obviously been a romantic moment. “Shouldn’t you be dancing, or something?”

“That’s a great idea. ‘Bye, Miss Swensen,” the girl said, grabbing her boyfriend’s hand and pulling him out of the cloakroom before things could get even more awkward.

Hannah grinned as she watched them hurry out the door. The girl was wearing blue, and they’d obviously been the only ones here. She was about to leave to check the ladies’ room when she spotted a small puddle of water on the floor next to a tote bag, the kind women used to carry their shoes when they were wearing their boots.

Her curiosity aroused, Hannah unzipped the bag and examined the shoes. They were a pair of standard black pumps with a small heel, the kind many women wore for dress. There was nothing unusual about the shoes themselves, except for the fact that they were soaked. Hannah picked up a pair of boots placed under a coat on the next hook. They were dry. She checked another pair and her suspicions were confirmed. The woman who’d worn the wet shoes had been outside recently. But why would someone go outside in dress shoes when they had their boots with them? Hannah figured that the lady in question must have been in too much of a hurry to switch to her boots.

It was a second bit of information, and Hannah intended to take full advantage of it. All she had to do was look for a woman in a black skirt, or dress, who was wearing boots. There couldn’t be that many of them.

Hannah headed off to the ladies’ room to do some uncharacteristic primping while she checked out the other women who were there. Unfortunately, since her brush was in her purse, and her purse was in a drawer in the kitchen, her primping was limited to running her fingers through her hair. She couldn’t even freshen her makeup, since all she was wearing was lipstick, and the Pretty Girl lipstick that Luanne had sold her before she’d gone to work at Granny’s Attic was still sitting on Hannah’s dresser at home.

Luckily, it didn’t take long to check out the occupants of the ladies’ room. Hannah said hello to Charlotte Roscoe and Sally Laughlin, in red and light blue respectively. Then Carrie, wearing winter white, came in and Hannah greeted her, too. She was about to leave when she noticed a pair of feet wearing boots in one of the stalls.

“I just wanted to tell you that Norman’s doing a great job with the photographs,” Hannah said to Carrie, wishing that she had inherited the gift of making polite chitchat.

“Of course he is. Norman’s wonderful at whatever he does.”

“True,” Hannah was quick to agree. “Anyway, the reason I mentioned it is that if Savory Press uses any of Norman’s photos in the book, he’ll get credit as a photographer.”

“I’m sure he’ll like that,” Carrie said, pulling Hannah over to a corner. “What’s the matter? Why are you staring at that stall?”

Hannah sighed. She’d obviously been obvious. “I need to know if that lady’s wearing a black skirt.”

“Why?”

“A man sent me in to check on his date. I don’t know her, but he said she was wearing a black skirt.”

“Your mother’s right. You don’t have a deceitful bone in your body.”

“What?”

“Tell the truth, Hannah. You made up that whole story about a man and his date, didn’t you?”

“Oh. Well…”

“Never mind. I’m sure you have a good reason for wanting to know. Hold on for a minute and I’ll find out for you.”

Hannah held on. What else could she do? And a minute or two later, Carrie was back.

“Striped skirt, silver and blue,” Carrie announced in a sibilant whisper. “Is that all you wanted to know?”

“That’s it. Thanks, Carrie.” Hannah turned and headed for the door.

“I’ve got a question for you, Hannah.”

Hannah prepared herself mentally to lie again if it was necessary. “What is it?”

“I want to know what you think of Winthrop.”

“Oh. Well…I only met him briefly…” Hannah stalled while she tried to think of something innocuous to say “…but I did think he made a very strong first impression.”

That seemed to satisfy Carrie, and Hannah managed to escape. As she entered the banquet room again, she glanced at her watch. She had five minutes before she could meet her sisters and Norman in the lobby and give them the new information she’d learned. That was just time enough for a fresh cup of coffee.

As Hannah headed for the kitchen, she noticed that Babs Dubinski was sitting alone. Babs looked glum, and Hannah certainly couldn’t blame her. This whole week had been a series of shocks for her. First there was Martin’s unexpected marriage. And then there was his choice of wife, a Las Vegas dancer. There was the money Martin had spent on Brandi, money that should have gone to his sons. Now Brandi was dead, and that was another big shock, even though Babs hadn’t liked her.

Hannah gave a little wave as she neared the table where Babs was sitting. “Hi, Babs. I’m just going to get some fresh coffee. Do you want me to bring you some?”

“That would be nice.” Babs reached out to hand Hannah her empty cup. “No sense dirtying another.”

Hannah took the cup, and that’s when she noticed that Babs had teamed her dark red silk blouse with a black skirt. She was so startled, she almost dropped the cup and that gave her an excellent idea.

“Uh-oh!” Hannah said, and she dropped the cup deliberately. “Good thing it was empty. Hold on a second. I’ll trash it and get you a new one.”

Hannah moved to retrieve the cup, hoping that Babs wouldn’t guess it had been an excuse to bend over to check her footwear. She glanced at Babs’s feet and barely managed to stifle a gasp. Boots! Babs was wearing boots with her black skirt!

If you see someone in a black skirt, just write down the name and don’t ask any questions, Hannah’s own advice floated through her mind. Be really careful. We don’t know if we’re dealing with a material witness or with Brandi’s killer.

Hannah straightened up to stare at Babs for a minute, and then she plunked down in a chair, all set to ignore her own advice. She couldn’t imagine Babs as a killer, but the circumstantial evidence was mounting up. There was no way Hannah could wait to talk to her sisters and Norman. She had to strike while the iron was hot.

“What’s the matter, Hannah?” Babs looked concerned.

“This is serious, Babs. I want you to tell me exactly what happened in the parking lot with Brandi.”

“With Brandi? What do you…” Babs broke off in the middle of what was sure to be a denial and gave a shuddering sigh. “All right. I can’t stand to keep this to myself any longer. I’m the one who killed Brandi, but it was an accident. You’ve got to believe me, Hannah!”

Hannah grabbed a clean napkin with a poinsettia on the front. Andrea could translate it later. “Just tell me the truth, Babs, and I’ll believe you.”

“Part of the reason I didn’t like Brandi was that I didn’t trust her. The first time Martin brought her to the house, I think she took my watch.”

“You think she took it? Aren’t you sure?”

“I wasn’t sure enough to accuse her. The band pinches a little, so I only wore it when I went out. I usually kept it by my chair in the living room, or in a dish on my dresser, or in the kitchen on the windowsill. Well, after Martin and Brandi left, I couldn’t find my watch. I tore the place upside down and backwards looking for it, but I couldn’t swear for certain that I hadn’t misplaced it myself.”

“I understand.”

“That’s the reason I had my eye on Brandi tonight. I wanted to make sure she didn’t steal anything and give Martin a bad name around town.”

“Did she steal anything?” Hannah asked, although she already knew the answer.

“She stole your mother’s antique knife. I watched her do it, Hannah. She draped her mink over her arm and sidled up to the dessert table as pretty as you please and pretended to be looking at the platter of cookies you and Lisa made. She picked up a couple, I watched her, and then she moved on down the table to look at the cake. She was so fast, I almost didn’t see her, but she grabbed the knife, hid it in her coat, and headed for the kitchen door.”

“And you followed her?”

Babs nodded. “But first I looked around for Martin. After all, she was his wife, and he could have taken care of it. Martin and Shirley were both gone, so there was only one thing for me to do. I followed Brandi into the kitchen to confront her. I was going to make her put the knife back.”

“Was she in the kitchen?”

“No, it was deserted. But the pantry light was on, and when I looked inside, I noticed the door to the parking lot wasn’t shut all the way. I stuck my head out and there she was, heading across the lot.”

“So you went out after her.”

“Yes. I thought about running back inside for my coat and boots, but I didn’t want to give her time to hide the knife. I hadn’t gone more than a couple of yards when I heard a car door slam and a motor start running over the sound of the wind. Brandi was in Martin’s car, and there was only one reason she would have started it. She was going to leave, and I had to stop her.”

Hannah reached out to pat Babs’ hand. The older woman was obviously upset. “Go on.”

“I ran through the snow and got to the car before she could back up. She must not have seen me coming, because she hadn’t locked the driver’s door, and I pulled it open. There she was, munching on one of your cookies while the car heated up. I reached right past her to turn off the key and then I grabbed her arm and tried to pull her out of the car. She fought back, but I managed to do it.”

“What then?”

“That’s when I noticed that she was wearing my great-grandmother Dubinski’s ring, the emerald and diamond heirloom I gave to Martin and Shirley on their wedding day. I saw red and grabbed for the ring.”

“And Brandi fought back?”

“Like a tiger. She punched me in the chest and I went down in the snow. I was just getting up when she reached into the car, grabbed your mother’s cake knife, and slashed out at me.”

“Did she cut you?”

“No, she missed. And I managed to grab her wrist. We grappled for the knife, and Brandi slipped. That made me slip, and somehow I ended up on top of Brandi in the snow.”

“So when you got the upper hand, you stabbed her?”

“No! My hand was on her wrist, never the knife. I thought she was just stunned, that’s all. I got to my feet, slipped the ring off her finger, and looked around for the knife to take it back inside. I searched around in the snow for a minute, and then I saw that it was stuck in her chest.”

“What did you do then?”

“I reached down to feel for her pulse, but there wasn’t any.”

“So you didn’t call for an ambulance? And you didn’t come back inside to tell anyone what had happened?”

Babs shook her head. “I’m not proud of what I did next, but I was so cold and so shocked, I just brushed the snow off my blouse and skirt, and came back in the kitchen.”

“No one saw you?”

“No one was there. I ran some warm water in the kitchen sink and soaked my hands until I could feel them again. There were no bloodstains. I checked for that. And then, since my shoes were soaked all the way through, I went to the cloakroom and switched to my boots.”

Hannah folded the napkin and stuck it in her sweater pocket. “You know what I have to tell you to do, don’t you?”

“I know. I’ll go up and tell Mike, but please let me tell the kids first. I want Martin to hear it from me.”

Hannah thought about that for a moment. It was highly unorthodox and definitely against police procedure, but she was no longer working with Mike and she didn’t have to follow his rules. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go find Martin and Shirley.”

It didn’t take long to locate Martin and Shirley and find a quiet corner so that Babs could tell them her story. When she was through, Martin made a strangled sound. “You killed Brandi?”

“She didn’t kill Brandi,” Shirley spoke up. “It was an accident. The only reason Babs went after Brandi was to recover the stolen knife.”

Babs nodded. “Shirley’s right. I’m really sorry, but it was an accident. She came after me with the knife and both of us slipped in the snow. I just hope Mike will believe me. I have to go tell him now.”

“You can’t!” Martin objected, grabbing his mother’s arm. “Don’t tell him, Mom. He’ll arrest you for murder!”

“I don’t think he will. After all it was an accident. And don’t forget that Brandi had a weapon and I didn’t.”

“But he won’t know that. No one else saw Brandi steal the knife, and some smart lawyer could argue that you took the knife and went out to confront Brandi to get the ring back. You could be convicted, Mom. You could go to jail!”

“Relax, Martin,” Hannah said. “Norman has a photo of Brandi stealing the cake knife.”

“He does? That’s…that’s great! Then you think everything is going to be all right?”

“I think it will be, especially since your mother’s fingerprints won’t be on the knife. She might have to spend a few hours down at the sheriff’s station, and she may even have to stay there until they can corroborate her account of what happened with Doc Knight’s findings, but I’m sure she’ll be cleared.”

“We’ll go along with you, Mom,” Martin said, taking his mother’s arm.

Shirley took her other arm. “Absolutely. And once we get over this hurdle, Martin and I have some news for you.”

“Really?” Babs gave the first smile Hannah had seen cross her face all evening. “I think I know what it is, and that’s just wonderful!”

Once Hannah had escorted Babs, Martin, and Shirley to the room that Mike was using for interviews, she raced back to the lobby to meet her sisters and Norman and tell them what had happened.

“You ignored your own advice?” Norman asked, looking more amused than angry.

“That’s right.”

Andrea’s eyes narrowed. “But you would have been madder than a wet hen if we’d ignored your advice.”

“That’s right, too.”

“Come on, everybody,” Norman said, playing the role of a peacekeeper. “Let’s go see if there’s any chocolate left. I’m beginning to droop a little, and we can’t go home until the storm lets up.”

As they trooped toward the stairs leading down to the banquet room, Hannah glanced out the large window by the front door. Norman was right. The storm was still raging. The wind was every bit as fierce as it had been before, and it was still dangerous to drive. As she stared out the glass at some of the worst weather a Minnesota winter had to offer, a snow-covered figure materialized at the end of the sidewalk leading up to the front door.

“There’s somebody out there,” Hannah said, squinting through the driving snow. “I think it’s Bill!”

“Where?” Andrea asked, rushing back to join Hannah.

“Out there at the curb. I’d better tell Lonnie to go out and help him in. You catch Michelle and ask her to go get him a hot cup of coffee.”

Lonnie wasted no time fetching Bill. Once Bill got inside, Andrea helped him out of his parka and Hannah hung it up on the coat tree by the front door. Bill looked half frozen, and he took the coffee gratefully when Michelle brought it up to him. “It’s cold out there. My heater went out halfway to town.”

“Oh, honey,” Andrea said, snuggling up to him in an effort to warm him up. “You shouldn’t have tried to make it all the way here. It’s all over now.”

“What’s over?”

“The case,” Michelle told him. “We solved it about fifteen minutes ago. Sip some coffee and warm up a little. Then we’ll take you to the room Mike’s using for interviews.”

“What case? What interviews? What’s going on?”

“Didn’t the dispatcher tell you?” Hannah asked, frowning a bit. “I know Mike tried to reach you right after I found the body.”

“What body?” Bill’s head swiveled from Andrea, to Hannah, to Michelle, and then back again.

“Martin’s new wife, Brandi Wyen Dubinski. She ended up dead in the parking lot. We’ll tell you all about it right after we thaw you out,” Andrea promised. “All we really need to know right away is how soon Mike can release Mother’s antique cake knife. We need to get it back to her before she finds out.”

“Before she finds out what?”

“That it was used as a murder weapon…except it really wasn’t,” Hannah explained, getting up to see if Norman had managed to find any chocolate. It was obvious that Bill really needed some because they were explaining things perfectly, and it was taking him forever to catch on.

Chapter Nineteen

“You’re a really good dancer,” Michelle said, as Norman led her back to the table.

“I took lessons. I didn’t want Hannah to turn me down when I asked her to dance.”

Hannah laughed, her good mood at the beginning of the evening fully restored. It was wonderful to know that Lake Eden hadn’t been the scene of another murder. Now she could relax and have fun for the rest of the evening. “I’m no Pavlova, Norman. There was a good reason why Mother didn’t name me Grace.”

“I’ll check on that right after I dance with your other younger sister.” Norman held his hand out to Andrea. “Are you up to it?”

Andrea smiled. “I love to dance, but…I don’t think so tonight. I’m feeling extremely awkward and extremely full. I must have eaten twenty desserts.”

“Close,” Hannah mumbled under her breath adding up the desserts she’d seen Andrea consume. It was at least a half-dozen, and that was probably the tip of the iceberg. “You’re feeling all right, aren’t you?”

“I’m fine. It’s just that I’m a little tired, and my feet are swelling. I’ll sit here and watch you, and put my feet up on your chair.”

“I’ll get my down jacket and you can put your feet up on that,” Michelle said. “You’ll be more comfortable that way.”

Norman held out his hand and Hannah took it, but she turned back for one more question before she went off to the dance floor. “You don’t think anything’s going to happen while we’re gone, do you?”

“Oh, I think so,” Andrea said. And then she laughed at the shocked expression on Hannah’s face. “It’s not what you’re thinking. You’re going to enjoy dancing with Norman, that’s all I meant.”

When they got to the dance floor, Kirby and the jazz ensemble were playing “Moon River,” and Hannah snuggled up to Norman as they danced. For once, she didn’t have the urge to lead, a residual effect of having taught Andrea to dance. Andrea hadn’t wanted to get mixed up, and Hannah always had to be the “boy.”

Norman was warm and steady, a perfect partner for dancing cheek to cheek. Of course cheek to cheek was also chin to shoulder, which didn’t sound even remotely as romantic, and it was also chest to…

“Excuse me.” A deep, achingly familiar voice interrupted the thoughts she probably shouldn’t have been thinking anyway. Norman turned her around and pulled back slightly, and Hannah found herself face to face with Mike, except that it was her face to his chest, because he was taller.

“You want to cut in?” Norman asked, and Hannah thought he looked just a tiny bit jealous.

“No,” Mike said, and then he smiled at Hannah. “Not that I wouldn’t like to, but I’m still on the job. I just came over to tell Hannah that Bill and I are taking Babs Dubinski to the station.”

“You’re not going to charge her, are you?”

“No. We’re just going to take her formal videotaped statement. We won’t charge her unless the results of Doc’s autopsy prove that her account of Brandi’s death couldn’t be accurate.”

“That’s good news,” Norman said, squeezing Hannah’s hand. “Thanks for telling us, Mike.”

“No problem. You guys did all the legwork for me, and I appreciate it.”

Hannah clamped her lips together so that she wouldn’t blurt out what was on her mind. What was Mike talking about? They’d done a lot more than legwork. They had solved the whole case for him!

“Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that Shirley and Martin are following us in Shirley’s car, and Earl Flensburg’s leading the way in the county snowplow.”

“You’re not taking your Hummer?” Hannah was surprised.

“No. She can go through just about anything, so I want her to stay out front in case anyone needs to leave.”

Hannah grinned. “You shouldn’t anthropomorphize inanimate objects.”

“Huh?”

“Your Hummer. She won’t like it.”

Mike looked blank, but Norman caught on right away. He started to chuckle, but he held it in. Since his arms were still around Hannah, she felt as if she were riding out an earthquake.

“Whatever,” Mike waved her comment away. “The point is, Earl won’t be back for at least an hour and you can use her if there’s some kind of emergency.”

Hannah couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Mike’s Hummer was his baby. He must trust her a lot to let her drive his powerful new toy.

“Here.” Mike dropped the keys in her hand. “I’m putting her in your hands, Hannah, and I’m trusting your judgment. If someone has to leave, look around for a guy who knows how to handle her.”

Hannah’s blood pressure began to rise. She should find a guy who knew how to handle his Hummer? She was so angry, it felt as if her eyes were burning smoldering circles into his back as he strode off across the dance floor. Mike Kingston was tall, handsome, unbelievably attractive, and about as sexist as a man could get.

“What?” Norman asked, noticing Hannah’s intent expression. “I thought that was a very generous thing Mike did. Everybody in town knows how he loves his Hummer.”

“Sure, he loves it. And sure, it was generous. I’m sure the guy I choose to drive it will think so, too!”

“Oh,” Norman said, leaving it at that, but Hannah knew he understood. “Let’s finish our dance. I love to dance with you.”

“I love to dance with you, too.” Hannah smiled as Norman pulled her close into his arms and they moved smoothly across the floor. She was just starting to really enjoy herself again when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

It was Andrea, and Hannah turned to greet her sister. “Hi, Andrea. Did you change your mind about dancing?”

“No. I don’t want to cut in. I just came out here to tell you it’s time.”

Hannah stared at her sister for a moment in absolute disbelief. Then she asked, “Do you mean what I think you mean?”

“I mean exactly what you think I mean. And I think we’d better hurry.”

Chapter Twenty

Less than a minute later, they had gathered up their coats and boots and they were headed for the stairs, Norman on one side of Andrea and Hannah on the other. Luckily, Delores was dancing with Winthrop and she failed to notice the exodus of her pregnant daughter, her eldest daughter, and her dentist.

Michelle was talking to Lonnie, who was still manning the front door to discourage anyone who might be foolish enough to brave a blizzard. Hannah called out to Michelle as they helped Andrea up the final stair.

Michelle’s face paled as she caught sight of Andrea. “Is it…”

“Yes,” Hannah told her. “Norman and I are taking Andrea to the hospital in Mike’s Hummer. I need you to do a few things for us here.”

“Anything. What?”

“We need you to deal with Mother. She’s bound to guess what’s happening when she realizes that we’re gone. You have to convince her to stay here and not try to get to the hospital.”

“Mother would drive to the hospital in a blizzard?”

“Absolutely,” Andrea gave a little grin. “She wants to be the first one to see her namesake.”

Michelle looked stunned. “You mean…you’re going to name the baby Delores?”

“I said I would if the baby was a girl. But that won’t happen.”

“It won’t? How do you know that?”

“I had the test. And since it’s a boy, I can get full credit for offering, and I don’t actually have to do it.”

“Nice,” Michelle said. “Don’t worry about a thing here. I’ll make sure Mother doesn’t get within fifty feet of a motor vehicle.”

“There’s one other thing you can do. If she’s too excited to take charge of Tracey, will you do it?”

“Of course I will!” Michelle reached out to give Andrea a little hug. “This is so exciting. I get to be an aunt again!”

Hannah turned to Lonnie. “Will you help us get Andrea out to Mike’s Hummer? It rides pretty high off the ground, and she might need a boost up. Michelle can guard the door until you get back.”

With Lonnie helping, it didn’t take long to load Andrea in the backseat of the Hummer. The moment he’d run back inside, Hannah turned to Norman and held out the keys. “Do you want to drive?”

“You do it. I’ll ride in the back with Andrea.”

“But don’t you want to drive a Hummer?”

“Sure, but not as much as I want to see the expression on Mike’s face when you tell him you drove.”

Hannah could hear Andrea panting as she started the engine and pulled away from the curb into the swirling blanket of white snow that awaited them. “What are you doing back there?”

“Panting. It slows down labor. I’m just glad Norman’s here with me.”

“Why?”

“I know dentists take some of the same classes doctors do. And so I was hoping that…do you know how to deliver a baby, Norman?”

There was a long silence from the backseat and then Norman chuckled. “I think I can handle it. It can’t be all that different from a root canal.”

Once she’d navigated the first few blocks, Hannah concluded that Mike’s Hummer was a perfect vehicle for such horrible weather. It plowed through dense drifts that would have stopped other trucks cold, and the traction was nothing short of miraculous on the icy patches of road. Under other circumstances Hannah might have enjoyed driving Mike’s prized vehicle, but not with the stakes this high.

Driving through town wasn’t bad, and Hannah was just starting to feel confident when she turned onto Old Lake Road. Then things changed for the worse. The land was flat here, and there were no buildings to act as windbreaks. Visibility was only a foot or two, and it was almost impossible to distinguish the ice-packed shoulder of the road from the pavement itself. Hannah forced herself to hold the wheel steady and prayed that she was on the right track. The snow swirling and whipping in front of the headlights didn’t help. It caused her to lose all sense of direction, until it was virtually impossible to tell left from right, or even up from down.

Somehow, Hannah knew she’d never be sure exactly how they’d made it, they arrived at the turnoff for Lake Eden Memorial Hospital and successfully navigated the circular driveway. Hannah stopped only inches from the emergency room door and leaned on the horn with a vengeance.

“We’re here!” a burly orderly shouted out, opening up the rear door. “Lonnie Murphy called us to say you were coming.”

“Hannah?”

“Yes, Andrea.” Hannah turned back to watch the orderly help her sister out onto a gurney.

“I don’t bake the cake.”

“What cake?”

“The Jell-O Cake. I buy a pound cake at the Red Owl. I just wanted you to know that. I don’t think you’re supposed to go into the delivery room with a lie on your conscience.”

Once Andrea had been whisked inside, Norman and Hannah spent a full minute in silence, she in the front seat and he in the back. Finally Norman broke the silence. “You want coffee?”

“Yes.”

“Inside?”

“Yes. Were you nervous?”

“Of course I was. I’m a dentist, not an obstetrician.”

Without another word they opened their respective doors and headed straight through the emergency room to the coffee machine in the lobby.

“Here, Hannah.” Norman handed her a small fortune in change. “You get the coffee and I’ll find out where they took Andrea.”

Before the coffee had time to cool and turn into the tar that Hannah was sure it would, Norman was back. “Andrea’s in the maternity ward. That’s down at the end of the south wing. The nurse said we can go down there and wait in the expectant fathers’ room.”

“Okay,” Hannah said, handing Norman his paper cup of coffee and following him down the hall. “I should probably find a phone and call Bill.”

“I did that already. There’s nothing for us to do now but wait.”

“Waiting is the thing I hate to do the most,” Hannah said, gazing around as they entered the waiting room. There was a small Christmas tree on the table in the corner, and someone had strung red and green paper chains across the expanse of the ceiling. “This is nice. They decorated for Christmas. I wonder how long it takes to have a baby.”

Norman shrugged. “I asked the nurse that and she said, ‘It depends.’ She also told me that Doc Knight would come to tell us when the baby was born.”

Ten minutes passed as they paged through outdated magazines and pretended interest. Another five minutes passed as they stared at the small Christmas tree. The chairs were comfortable enough, and there was a television set that was programmed to play shorts entitled, “Baby’s First Bath,” and “Burping Your Baby,” but neither Hannah nor Norman felt like watching it.

“Restless?” Norman asked, catching her mood.

“Yes. Let’s walk.”

The hallway was wide and long, and Hannah wondered whether it had been designed for expectant fathers who wanted to stretch their legs. It felt good to walk off the tension, and Hannah linked arms with Norman and let him set the pace. The hallway was also decorated for Christmas with cutouts of Santas, reindeer, holly, wreaths, snowmen, and Christmas trees. Hannah counted the number of times they passed the snowman with the red muffler, and she was nearing one hundred when Mike came rushing down the corridor.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“We don’t know,” Hannah told him. “Norman asked the nurse and she said Doc Knight would come out and tell us once the baby’s born. Is Bill here?”

“Not yet. He’s still interviewing Babs, but he’ll come as soon as he can. Good thing I left you the Hummer.” Mike turned to Norman. “She handles great, doesn’t she?”

“Like a champ. Hannah didn’t have a bit of trouble.”

Hannah felt like applauding as Mike’s mouth dropped open. Norman certainly knew how to deliver a zinger. She gave him a little wink behind Mike’s back and then she reached out to take Mike’s arm. “Come walk with us. There’s nothing to do here except pace the floor.”

Time seemed to go a little faster with three of them pacing, or perhaps it was the conversation. Mike was just telling them about how Bill had come close to getting stuck only a few feet from the turnoff for the sheriff’s station, when Earl Flensburg came running down the hall.

“Boy, am I glad to see you here!” Earl said, reaching out to pump Hannah’s hand. “I went back to the community center and your little sister told me where you went. I just grabbed a cup of coffee and then I got back on the road and followed in your tracks. I figured that if you went off in the ditch, I could pull you out.”

“I came close a couple of times,” Hannah said, sneaking a quick glance at Mike’s face. He didn’t look happy, but he was wise enough not to ask if there was any damage to his Hummer. Of course, he probably knew there wasn’t, because he’d sneaked a look before he came inside.

“Edna sent this,” Earl told her, pulling a giant metal thermos from the deep back pouch in his county issue parka. She said you shouldn’t be tortured with hospital coffee.”

“I’ll get the cups,” Norman said, dashing inside the expectant fathers’ waiting room and coming back with four Styrofoam cups.

When everyone had a good cup of coffee, Hannah raised hers high. “To Edna. She’s a lifesaver!”

“How’s your sister doing?” Earl asked once the cups were empty.

“Fine I guess, or we would have heard something. The nurse said Doc Knight will come out and tell us right after the baby’s born.”

Just talking about it made Hannah nervous, and she started to pace again. Mike quickly took one of her arms, and Norman took the other. Earl watched them for a moment, and then he took up a position by Mike’s side and started to pace with them.

It was a good thing it was a wide hallway, because Lisa appeared next. She rushed up to Hannah and asked, “Did she have the baby yet?”

“Not yet. How did you get here?”

“Herb borrowed the biggest truck in the lot and drove us. He’ll be here in a minute.”

“How’s Andrea doing?” Herb asked Hannah, rushing up to take Lisa’s arm.

“We don’t know,” Hannah said, wondering if she should borrow some crayons from the children’s waiting room and make a sign. “Everything must be okay, or we would have heard something. Doc Knight’s going to come out and tell us right after the baby’s born.”

Lisa and Herb watched them pace for a moment, and then they joined in. Herb took his place next to Norman and Lisa paced next to Herb.

Hannah had just passed the snowman in the red muffler for the three hundred-and-fourteenth time when she saw Bill rushing toward them from the end of the hallway. “Here comes Bill!”

“How’s Andrea?” Bill asked, panting a bit as he sprinted the last few yards.

Hannah smiled to set the expectant father at ease and chastised herself mentally for not making that sign. “She must be okay, or we would have heard something. Doc Knight’s going to come out and tell us right after the baby’s born.”

“Great. What are you doing?”

“Pacing. We couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” Bill said, linking arms with Lisa and taking up the outside position on the left. Let’s pick up the pace a little. I’m getting nervous.”

All they needed was music and the ability to kick in unison, and they could have tried out for a cabaret. The Todd party horizontal conga line was just rounding the corner for the forty-third time since Bill had joined them, when Doc Knight appeared at the end of the hallway.

“You can stop wearing out my linoleum,” he said, smiling widely. “It’s a girl, and mother and baby are just fine!”

“A girl!” Bill exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “That’s wonderful!”

“A girl?” Hannah asked, wondering if Doc Knight was so worn out from working long hours that he’d gotten Andrea’s son mixed up with another female baby he’d delivered tonight.

As everyone crowded around Bill to offer congratulations and slap him on the back, Hannah rushed up to Doc before he could go off to do whatever doctors do after they deliver a baby.

Doc Knight turned as she grabbed his arm. “What is it, Hannah?”

“You said Andrea had a girl. Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. You can’t be in this business for as long as I have if you can’t tell a girl baby from a boy baby.”

“Right. I just thought maybe…well…she had the test, and she told me it was ninety-nine percent accurate.”

“That’s true, but she just happened to hit that one percent. Your sister had a baby girl, seven pounds, three ounces. I’m sorry if that disappoints you, but those are the facts.”

“I’m not disappointed,” Hannah did her best to explain. “It’s just that Andrea promised to name a girl after Mother and Regina Todd. And the only reason she did that was because she was sure she was having a boy. Now it turns out to be a girl, and…”

“She’s in hot water,” Doc Knight finished the sentence for her. “No wonder she cried when I told her the baby was a girl.”

“She cried?” Hannah asked, feeling a bit like crying herself.

“Not for long. One look at her daughter and she was happy again. But just as soon as the new daddy goes off to celebrate with his friends, I think you sisters had better put your heads together and see if you can come up with a name that’ll please both families.”

“Are you okay?” Hannah asked, entering Andrea’s room the second that Bill had vacated it.

“I’m fine, but Mother and Regina won’t be. There’s no way I’m naming my darling little daughter Delores Regina or Regina Delores!”

“I can understand that,” Hannah said.

“So what am I going to do? You’ve got to help me!”

Tears threatened to roll down Andrea’s cheeks and Hannah reached out to give her a hug. “I’ll think of something. Just give me a minute. Did you promise specifically to use their first names?”

“No.”

“That’s good. That means we have at least two more names to work with. Mother’s middle name is Elizabeth. Do you know what Regina’s is?”

“Anatolia,” Andrea said promptly. “Since they had such a common last name, Regina’s mother decided to give her children distinctive names. Regina Anatolia is the Italian baby. Bill’s aunt, Martinique Renee, is the French. And then there’s the youngest sister, Dona Esmeralda, and she’s the…”

“That’s enough family history for now,” Hannah said, holding up her hand in a gesture that meant halt in any language. “I think I might have come up with something that’ll please everybody, you included.”

“What?” Andrea asked, looking hopeful.

“Bethany.”

“That’s one of my favorite names! But…how do you get Bethany out of Regina Anatolia and Delores Elizabeth?”

Hannah grinned, feeling rather proud of herself. This had taken some fast brainwork. “Beth is a nickname for Elizabeth. And Annie could be a nickname for Anatolia. Combine the two and you get Beth-Annie or Bethany.”

“Perfect,” Andrea said, reaching out to give her older sister a hug. “You did it, Hannah. Mother’s going to be pleased, and so is Bill’s mother. You’re a miracle worker, especially if you can find me some chocolate somewhere in this hospital.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Due to a stroke of good fortune, Hannah just happened to have her emergency stash of three Chocolate Chip Crunch cookies in plastic wrap in her coat pocket, and she turned them over to Andrea without a whimper. Then she hurried off to the nursery to have a peek at Bethany. She was about to leave in search of Mike so that she could return the keys to his Hummer, when Mike found her at the nursery window.

“Is that her?”

There was something close to reverence in Mike’s tone and Hannah smiled. “That’s Bethany. Andrea just named her.”

“I like it. It was one of the names on our list when…”

Mike stopped in mid-sentence and Hannah reached out to squeeze his arm. She knew his wife had been killed by a stray bullet from a drive-by shooting when she was pregnant with their first baby. “So, do you think she’s pretty?”

“She’s the most beautiful baby in the nursery,” Mike said with a smile. “Of course she’s also the only baby in the nursery, but that doesn’t count.”

Mike’s arm tightened around her, and Hannah did her best to switch gears. They had unfinished business. Since Shawna Lee had already landed in Georgia, they were no longer engaged in the brownie wars. She needed Mike to return the pan of Hot Brownies before he tasted them.

“You know those brownies I brought out to the sheriff’s station this morning?” Hannah dived right in. “I hope you haven’t tasted them yet, because I think I might have made a mistake and left out an ingredient. If you’ll give them back, I’ll dump them and bake you another batch.”

“No way!” Mike said, staring at her with a frown.

“Why not?”

“Because I tasted them, and they’re terrific. They’ve got jalapenos, right?”

“Uh…right,” Hannah said, and she swallowed hard. Mike didn’t look all that angry, but you could never tell about a guy who was used to hiding his emotions in an interrogation room.

“That was a stroke of genius. You’re the only one I know who’d think to put diced jalapenos in brownies. Sure, they’ve got a little burn, but if you eat them with milk on the side, they’re great. I’m going to get some vanilla ice cream tomorrow and try them a la mode.”

Hannah stood there with a gaping mouth, not even noticing that little Bethany Todd wore the same puzzled expression as her aunt. “You…uh…you liked them?”

“The chilies really bring out the taste of the chocolate. You don’t have to take out an ad or anything, but Shawna Lee’s brownies can’t hold a candle to yours!”

Hannah stared up into Mike’s face. He was serious. He liked her jalapeno brownies. Should she confess that she’d baked them out of meanness, and spite, and jealousy?

Oh, sure. When pigs fly. Hannah smiled demurely, no easy task for her, and gave Mike a little hug.

“Thank you for the compliment,” she said, following her mother’s golden rule. “I’m so glad you liked them.”

Appetizers

Baked Brie

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F., rack in the middle position

This is Lisa Herman’s recipe, and she says to tell you that it’s the easiest appetizer she ever made in her life.

6-inch round just ripened baby Brie (5-inch will also work)

one round, unsliced loaf of bread, 10 to 12 inches in diameter

1/4 cup chopped green onion (clean and peel them first—then you can use up to two inches of the stem)

1/4 cup chopped shallots

1/4 teaspoon white pepper

2 Tablespoons white wine (or 1 Tablespoon water, 1 Tablespoon vinegar)

1/2 teaspoon Season Salt (See Priscilla Knudson’s recipe on backmatter)

Slice the top from the bread. Keep the top—you’ll need it later. Hollow out the inside of the bread, leaving at least 3/4 inch of bread in place on the sides and 1 inch on the bottom.

Slice off the top rind of the baby Brie. (If you dip your knife in water frequently, it won’t stick as much.) Leave the rest of the rind in place. Place the Brie in the bread.

In a small bowl, mix together the green onion, shallots, white pepper, white wine, and Season Salt.

Spread this mixture on top of the Brie, replace the top slice of bread, and wrap the entire loaf in aluminum foil.

Bake at 375 degrees F. for 30 minutes.

Serve with cubed bread or crackers.

Busy Day Pate

This recipe is from Mike Kingston (Actually, it’s from his sister but she said Mike could use it.)

8-ounce package of braunschweiger (liver sausage—I used Farmer John’s)

1/4 cup horseradish sauce (4 Tablespoons—I used Heinz)***

*** If you can’t find horseradish sauce where you live, mix 1 Tablespoon of horseradish with 3 Tablespoons of mayonnaise, and it should work just fine.

Cut the braunschweiger into chunks and place it in the bottom of a microwave-safe bowl. Heat it on HIGH for 45 seconds. Stir it around a bit, and if it’s still cold, heat it on HIGH for another 10 to 15 seconds, or until it’s soft enough to be mashed with a fork.

Mash up the braunschweiger and add the horseradish sauce. Mix until it’s blended.

Transfer the warm pate to a bowl, cover it with plastic wrap, and refrigerate it for at least 3 hours before serving.

A half-hour before you’re ready to serve, take the pate out of the refrigerator and let it warm to spreading consistency.

Serve with a basket of assorted fancy crackers.

Caviar Pie

Carrie Rhodes got this recipe when she went to Los Angeles on vacation and stopped off at an estate sale. A lady named June Pierce kept her from spending too much money on a silver vase that wasn’t really silver and gave her this recipe to boot.

8-ounce or larger jar of lumpfish caviar (you can also use red caviar)

1 1/2 teaspoons good olive oil 4 hardboiled eggs, finely diced 1/3 cup finely diced sweet onion (or green onions)

1/2 to one cup sour cream 2 Tablespoons mayonnaise (1/8 cup) 1 teaspoon salt

Put lumpfish in a small bowl. Pour in olive oil, stir, and refrigerate while you make the rest of the recipe.

Boil the eggs. Cool them, peel them, and dice them. (If you have a food processor, use the steel blade—if you don’t have one, use a sharp knife to chop them finely.)

Put the diced eggs in the bottom of a 9-inch glass pie plate or shallow glass dish. Press them down with a metal spatula.

Dice the onions and sprinkle them over the diced eggs. Press them down.

Mix the sour cream with the mayonnaise and the salt. Put dollops of the mixture on top and carefully spread them together. Use as much as it takes to make a nice layer.

Drop the lumpfish on top of the sour cream by spoonfuls, spreading it out carefully. Cover the dish with plastic wrap and refrigerate it for 4 to 6 hours.

Serve with toast points or crackers for an elegant appetizer.

Deviled Eggs

Claire Rodgers got this recipe from her best friend Jayni Bailey who used to teach second grade in Lake Eden before she moved away to California. When Claire started dating Reverend Knudson, she felt uncomfortable bringing “deviled” anything to the parsonage, but Reverend Knudson said it didn’t matter what she called anything that tasted so heavenly.

When Claire asked for tips on boiling perfect eggs, Jayni said she put rubber bands around the egg cartons and tipped them on their sides in the refrigerator the night before she planned to boil them because that kept the yolks in the center of the eggs. After they were boiled, Jayni cooled them, put them in a covered bowl and refrigerated them for 24 hours before she peeled them.

To make six eggs: Hard boil the eggs, using your favorite method. Peel the eggs. Cut the eggs in half from top to bottom. Remove the yolks and put them in a small bowl.

Mash the yolks with a fork until they’re crumbled. Then add:

1/4 cup mayonnaise 1/2 teaspoon minced onion 1/2 teaspoon parsley flakes 1/4 teaspoon celery salt 1/4 teaspoon dry mustard (MUST be the dry kind)

Mix thoroughly and then fill the yolk cavity, mounding the mixture a bit in the center. Place on a small platter. If you want to garnish the eggs, sprinkle them with a bit of paprika or parsley. You can also garnish them with a slice of ripe or stuffed olive.

Yield: Makes 12 halves

Fiesta Dip Platter

Sally Laughlin serves this out at the Lake Eden Inn when her customers watch football games in the bar.

16-ounce can spicy refried beans (I used Rosarita Spicy)

3 large ripe mashed avocados 1/3 cup salsa ranchero (I used La Victoria Salsa Ranchero labeled “hot”)

1 finely chopped onion 1 cup sour cream (1/2 pint)

1 can (4 1/4-ounces) chopped black olives, drained 1 cup finely grated cheddar cheese 1 cup finely chopped lettuce 1 cup finely chopped tomatoes

You can layer this in a 9 x 13 inch glass cake pan, or on a round platter.

Spread the beans on the bottom of the dish you’ve chosen.

Peel and mash the avocados. Blend in the hot salsa ranchero and layer it over the beans.

Sprinkle the chopped onion over the avocado mixture.

Mix the black olives with the sour cream and spread it over the chopped onions.

Sprinkle on the grated cheddar cheese.

Sprinkle the chopped lettuce on top of the cheese.

Sprinkle the tomatoes on the very top.

Press everything down with a metal spatula, cover tightly with plastic wrap, and refrigerate it for at least 4 hours so the flavors will marry.

Serve with a basket of tortilla chips and let everyone scoop up the dip.

Herring Appetizer

***THIS DISH MUST BE MADE 3 DAYS IN ADVANCE***

Priscilla Knudson, Reverend Knudson’s grandmother, brings this herring appetizer to every potluck dinner. The one time she decided to bring something else, twenty-six people, including her grandson, made her promise never to do it again.

Glass jar that will hold one quart

2 twelve-ounce jars marinated herring fillets 3/4 cup crinkle-cut frozen carrots

2 small red onions

2 teaspoons whole allspice

2 teaspoons whole yellow mustard seeds

6 to 9 small sprigs of fresh dill

Pickling Liquid:

3/4 cup white vinegar

1/2 cup water

1/2 cup white (granulated) sugar

Bring the vinegar, water, and sugar to a boil in a saucepan, stirring constantly until the sugar is dissolved. Take the saucepan off the heat and set the liquid aside to cool to room temperature.

Open the jars of herring and drain them in a strainer. Pick out the herring fillets, rinse them in cold water, and throw everything else away.

Cook the carrots according to the package instructions, but make sure they’re still firm and not soft.

Peel the red onions and cut them into thin slices.

Arrange one-fourth of the onions in a thin layer in the bottom of the 1-quart glass jar. Top them with a third of the herring. Top the herring with a third of the carrots. Place 2 or 3 dill sprigs on the top and scatter on a third of the allspice and a third of the mustard seeds. Repeat this sequence until all the ingredients have been used, ending with a top layer of onions.

Pour the cooled pickling liquid into the jar. It should just cover the contents. If there’s not enough pickling liquid, top off the jar with a little white vinegar right out of the bottle.

If the jar has a cover, put it on. If it doesn’t, put a double layer of plastic wrap on the top and secure it with a sturdy rubber band.

Refrigerate the herring for 3 days before serving.

Yield: Makes about 4 cups and is perfect to take to a potluck dinner. An average serving is 1/3 cup, so it will serve at least 12 people (maybe half that if they’re Scandinavian.)

Mrs. Knudson says to tell you that she found a pretty straight-sided glass jar at a yard sale for a dime, and it’s perfect for her herring. She also says to tell you that when she brings herring to a potluck, she makes a triple batch.

Misdemeanor Mushrooms

Preheat oven to 325 degrees F., rack in the middle position

This recipe is from Bill Jessup, Charlie Jessup’s cousin and he’s a detective. Charlie says he calls these “Misdemeanor Mushrooms,” because they’re so good they ought to be illegal.

2 pounds pork sausage 3 cloves of finely chopped garlic 2 Tablespoons ground sage 8-ounce package cream cheese 1 Tablespoon parsley 1 ounce Marsala wine (optional)

1 pound medium to large mushrooms Parmesan cheese (to sprinkle)

In a large, non-stick skillet, combine sausage, garlic and sage. Saute until sausage is browned and garlic is translucent. Drain fat from skillet and add softened, cubed cream cheese and parsley. Simmer for 10 minutes, stir in the wine (if you want to use it,) remove from heat, and cover.

Wash mushrooms. Remove stems and set caps aside. Chop the stems very fine and stir into the sausage/ cheese mixture. Brush caps with melted butter and arrange cap-down on a non-stick baking sheet. (Bill says if you shave just a bit from the bottom of the cap to make them flat, they’ll sit on the pan a lot better.) Fill each cap with a heaping mound of warm sausage mixture and sprinkle with Parmesan cheese. Bake in a 325-degree F. oven for 15 minutes.

Yield: Serves 15 to 20 people as an appetizer (unless Charlie is there and makes a whole meal out of them.)

Seafood Bread Dip

Preheat oven to 300 degrees F., rack in the middle position

This is a recipe from Carrie Rhodes. She loves to make appetizers.

4 eight-ounce bars of softened cream cheese (32 ounces in all)

1/2 pound chopped crab meat and/or chopped shrimp 4 green onions, cleaned, peeled and chopped, including 3 inches of the stems 1 teaspoon garlic salt 1 teaspoon black pepper 1/4 cup dried chopped onions 1/3 cup mayonnaise 2 teaspoons lemon juice

Round loaf of bread, unsliced, 10 to 12 inches in diameter (I used squaw bread)

1 egg, beaten

Unwrap cream cheese, put it in a large microwave-safe bowl, and heat it for 40 seconds on HIGH in the microwave. Turn the bowl and keep heating it in 20-second increments until it’s soft and you can stir it.

Add the remaining ingredients and stir it all up.

Cut the top off the loaf of bread and set it aside to use later. Hollow out the bread with a spoon, but be careful to leave at least a half-inch of bread on the bottom and the sides. Brush the inside of the loaf with the beaten egg and pop it in the oven for 5 to 10 minutes until the egg has dried. Then fill the loaf with the seafood mixture and put the top back on.

Wrap the loaf tightly in two layers of foil, keeping the top up. Set the loaf on a cookie sheet and bake for 2 hours at 300 degrees F. (This can hold in the oven for an hour if your guests are late.)

To serve, take off the top and invite your guests to dip bread squares, crackers, or vegetable sticks.

Spinach Quiche

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F., rack in the middle position

This is my recipe. It can be served as an appetizer if you cut it into thin slices and arrange them on a platter. It can also be served as an entree.

One 9-inch unbaked pastry shell 1 beaten egg yolk (reserve the white in a small dish)

10-ounce package frozen chopped spinach 1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon pepper (freshly ground is best)

3 Tablespoons horseradish sauce 2 ounces shredded Jarlsberg (or good Swiss cheese)

4 eggs

11/2 cups Half & Half (or light cream)

1/8 teaspoon salt 1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper 1/8 teaspoon nutmeg (freshly ground is best)

Beat the egg yolk in a glass with a fork. Brush the inside of the unbaked pastry shell with the yolk. Set the shell aside to dry.

Cook and drain the spinach. Squeeze out as much moisture as you can and then blot with a paper towel.

In a bowl, combine the spinach with the salt, pepper, and horseradish sauce. Spread it in the bottom of the pastry shell.

Sprinkle the top with the grated cheese.

Beat the 4 whole eggs with the reserved egg white. Add the Half & Half, salt, and cayenne pepper. Mix well and pour on top of cheese.

Sprinkle the top with nutmeg.

Bake at 375 degrees F. for 40 minutes, or until a knife inserted one inch from the center comes out clean.

Let cool for ten minutes and then cut into wedges and serve.

This quiche can be served warm or at room temperature. I’ve even been known to eat it cold, straight out of the refrigerator. It’s perfect for a fancy brunch or a lazy, relaxed breakfast on the weekend.

Yield: Serves from 12 to 18 as an appetizer. Serves six as an entree if they only have one piece.

Spinach Rollups

This recipe is from my friend Susan Zilber. Susan moved away to New York, but I bet she still makes these.

5 to 8 flour tortillas (the large burrito size)

16-ounce package frozen chopped spinach

1/4 cup mayonnaise

1/2 cup softened cream cheese

1/4 cup sour cream

1/8 cup dried chopped onion

1/4 cup bacon bits

1 Tablespoon Tabasco sauce

Cook the spinach and drain it, squeezing out all the moisture. (Cheesecloth inside a strainer works well for this.) Mix together all ingredients except the tortillas.

Spread small amount of spinach mixture out on the face of a tortilla. Roll it up and place it in a plastic freezer bag. Continue spreading and rolling tortillas until the spinach mixture is gone.

Fold the plastic bag over when all the rollups are inside to make sure they stay tightly rolled. Refrigerate for at least 4 hours. (Overnight is best.) Slice with a sharp knife, arrange on a platter, and serve as appetizers.

Susan says to tell you that once she started to make these and found that she was out of sour cream. She used all cream cheese instead, and they were delicious.

Hannah’s Addition to Susan’s Rollups

5 to 8 flour tortillas (the large burrito size)

6 ounces chopped smoked salmon (or lox)

1 cup (8 ounces) softened cream cheese 1/4 cup dried chopped onions

1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper 1 teaspoon dill weed (of course fresh is best)

Mix all the ingredients except the tortillas together in a bowl.

Spread small amount of the salmon mixture out on the face of a tortilla. Roll it up and place it in a plastic freezer bag. Continue spreading and rolling tortillas until the salmon mixture is gone.

Fold the plastic bag over when all the rollups are inside to make sure they stay tightly rolled. Refrigerate for at least 4 hours. (Overnight is best.) Slice with a sharp knife, arrange on a platter, and serve as appetizers.

I made Susan’s Spinach Rollups too, and after I cut them the next day, I arranged both kinds on the platter in contrasting rings. It looked gorgeous.

Soups

Corn Chowder

This recipe is from Marjorie Hanks. She used to make it on the stove, but now that Luanne got her a slow cooker, she makes it this way.

1/2 cup diced cooked ham (or 6 slices bacon, cooked and crumbled)

2 cups peeled, diced potatoes 1/2 cup chopped onion 2 ten-ounce packages frozen whole-kernel corn 1 can (16-ounces) cream-style corn 1 Tablespoon brown sugar 1 teaspoon Tabasco sauce 1 teaspoon Season Salt (see Mrs. Knudson’s recipe on backmatter)

1/2 teaspoon black pepper 1 cup chicken broth

Spray the crock of a 4-quart slow cooker with Pam. Combine all ingredients in the crock-pot and stir well.

Cover and cook on LOW for 6 to 7 hours.

Yield: Makes 4 hearty servings.

Cream of Cheat Mushroom Soup

(This is one of Edna Ferguson’s recipes and she named it herself.)

2 cups chicken broth 8-ounce package sliced mushrooms (fresh, from the grocery store) with 12 perfect slices reserved for garnish 1 can (10 3/4 ounces) condensed Cream of Chicken Soup (undiluted)

2 cans (10 3/4 ounces each) condensed Cream of Mushroom Soup (undiluted)

1 cup heavy cream 8 oz. shredded Gruyere (or any good Swiss cheese, or even Monterey Jack)

1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Combine the chicken broth and the package of mushrooms (remember to reserve those 12 perfect slices for the garnish) in a blender. Zoop them up.

Add the can of Cream of Chicken soup to the blender. Zoop it all up.

Spray the inside of a 4-quart slow cooker with Pam.

Add the contents of the blender to the crock-pot.

Add the cans of Cream of Mushroom soup to the crock-pot. Stir. Add the heavy cream, shredded cheese, and ground black pepper. Stir again.

Cook on LOW for 4 to 5 hours.

Ladle into bowls. Sprinkle with parsley and float several mushroom slices on top as a garnish.

Irma York tested this recipe. She couldn’t write down how many cups it makes because her husband, Gus, kept sneaking it out of her slow cooker.

Quick Irish Chili

This recipe is from Bridget Murphy. It came from her sister, Patsy, who got it from a cousin who got it from her next-door neighbor, a man named John Brady.

2 pounds hamburger (don’t use lean—it needs some fat in it)

2 minced garlic cloves (or one Tablespoon of jarred, chopped garlic)

1 large onion, finely chopped 8-ounce can tomato sauce 3 whole cooked tomatoes, skins removed and cut into large pieces (you can use canned)

1 bottle Guinness Stout (12 ounces)

3 teaspoons chili powder 3/4 teaspoon ground red pepper (cayenne)

2 teaspoons ground cumin 2 teaspoons whole green peppercorns 1 teaspoon salt 1 Tablespoon brown sugar

Brown the hamburger in a large skillet. Add the garlic and onion and stir until the onion pieces are translucent.

Add the tomato sauce and the tomatoes. Stir well.

Add remaining ingredients and heat everything up over medium heat, then cover, turn heat to low, and simmer for 20 minutes.

Toppings:

chopped celery sauteed in oil, but still a bit crunchy chopped green onions shredded cheese chopped black olives

sour cream chili beans (but only if you must—real chili doesn’t have beans)

Fill bowls with chili and top with any or all of the above.

This chili is especially good served with Bridget’s Soda Bread.

Bridget says to tell you to back off a bit on the red pepper if your family doesn’t like things spicy. A generous dollop of sour cream mixed into your bowl will also work to cut the heat from the pepper.

This chili will hold for hours in a crock-pot and it’s perfect for halftime at football games—just make it the night before and refrigerate it in the crock. Four to five hours before you want to serve it, just put the crock in the slow cooker and turn it to LOW.

Sally’s Radish Soup

This is the soup I always order when I go out to the Lake Eden Inn. Sally says you need a blender to make this soup. She also says that if you don’t have one, borrow one.

4 bunches red radishes (approximately 12 radishes per bunch)

2 medium onions, cut into large pieces 42 ounces chicken broth (about 51/2 cups)

6 Tablespoons butter 6 Tablespoons flour 4 cups Half & Half (or light cream)

6 Tablespoons Worcestershire sauce 1 teaspoon salt 1/2 teaspoon white pepper 3 Tablespoons horseradish sauce (I used Heinz)***

*** If you can’t find horseradish sauce, mix 1 Tablespoon ground horseradish with 2 Tablespoons mayonnaise.

Clean the radishes (cut off the tops and the bottoms and wash them) and place them in a large saucepan. Add the onions. Pour the chicken broth over them and simmer for 35 minutes.

Let the contents of the saucepan cool slightly and then puree in a blender. (You’ll have to do this in batches—it won’t all fit at once.) Transfer the puree to a large bowl and cover it to keep it warm.

Put the large saucepan back on the burner. Melt the butter on medium heat and then sprinkle in the flour. Stir until bubbles appear. Keep stirring and cooking for one minute. Add the Half & Half (or light cream) and cook, stirring frequently, until mixture has thickened. This should take about 5 minutes or so.

Add Worcestershire sauce, salt, white pepper, and horseradish sauce. Then add the radish puree and stir thoroughly. Return to the heat and stir until heated through.

If you want to get fancy, get a few extra radishes, slice them very thinly, and float them on top of the soup bowls. You can also add fresh, minced parsley for color.

Sally has a tip for you. If you want to bring this soup to a buffet dinner, don’t return the saucepan to the heat after adding the spices at the end. Instead, transfer the soup to a slow cooker sprayed with Pam or other non-stick cooking spray. When you get to the potluck dinner, plug in the crock-pot, set it on LOW, and go off and enjoy yourself. Sally says to tell you that this soup will hold for at least 3 hours on LOW and maybe even longer.

Summer Gazpacho

Vera Olsen contributed this recipe. It’s called “Summer” Gazpacho, because she only makes it when tomatoes are in season.

1 cucumber, peeled and seeded 1 medium sweet onion, cut into chunks 6 medium tomatoes, peeled and seeded 1/2 cup flavorful olive oil 3/4 teaspoon chili powder 1 teaspoon garlic powder 3 Tablespoons wine vinegar or sherry vinegar 1 teaspoon kosher salt 2 cans Spicy Hot V-8 Juice (for a total of 23 ounces)***

*** Vera says if you don’t have Spicy Hot V-8 Juice, you can use Bloody Mary mix, or regular tomato juice spiced up with a little hot sauce.

Chop the cucumber and onion in small chunks and put them in a blender.

Peel the tomatoes by dipping them, one at a time, in boiling water for a few seconds until the skin cracks, and then into a bowl of ice water. This will make the peel come right off.

Seed the tomatoes by cutting them in quarters and poking out the seeds with your finger. Once that’s done, chop the tomatoes up a little and put them in the blender with the onion and cucumber.

Blend the chopped cucumber, onion, and tomato on the lowest speed as you add the olive oil, chili powder, garlic powder, vinegar, and kosher salt. Pour contents into a large pitcher and add the V-8 Juice. Stir well and refrigerate for at least 6 hours. (Overnight is fine, too.)

When you’re ready to serve, stir the gazpacho a final time and check for seasoning, adding more salt if needed. Pour the gazpacho into small bowls. Top with a generous dollop of sour cream and sprinkle with minced chives.

Salads

Dilly Onion Rings

This is Ellie Kuehn’s recipe. She tried serving it on a sausage pizza out at Bertanelli’s and it was really good!

One large mild or sweet onion (a red onion is nice—more colorful)

1/3 cup white (granulated) sugar 2 teaspoons salt

1 teaspoon fresh baby dill (it’s not as good with dried dill weed)

1/2 cup white vinegar

1/4 cup water

4 large ripe tomatoes as an accompaniment (optional)

Cut the onion in thin slices. Separate the slices into rings and put them in a bowl.

Combine the sugar, salt, dill, white vinegar, and water.

Pour the liquid over the onion rings.

Cover the bowl and refrigerate for at least 5 hours, stirring every hour or so.

Serving suggestions: Slice large ripe tomatoes and arrange on a platter. Lift the onion rings out of the brine and sprinkle them on top of the tomato slices. Garnish with fresh, chopped parsley leaves if desired.

You can use these onion rings to garnish cooked carrots, cooked green beans, even mashed potatoes. They’re also a wonderful garnish for a mixed green salad.

Covered tightly and stirred a couple of times a day, these marinated onion rings should last for at least a week in the refrigerator.

French Dressing

Claire Rodgers contributed this recipe. She got it from one of her mother’s friends, Mabel Drager.

1 can (103/4 ounces) condensed tomato soup (Claire used Campbell’s Classic Tomato)

1/3 cup wine vinegar 3/4 cup olive oil 2 Tablespoons Worcestershire sauce 1 teaspoon paprika 1 teaspoon salt 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder 1/2 cup brown sugar

Dump all ingredients in a quart jar. Put on the top and shake vigorously. Refrigerate.

Use to dress a nice green salad. You can put a few Dilly Onion Rings on the top, if you like.

Ginger Ale Jell-O

From my sister Andrea, the Queen of Jell-O. She got this recipe from Immelda Griese, Father Coultas’ housekeeper. The original recipe used canned green grapes, but Andrea couldn’t find them at the Red Owl unless she bought a huge can of fruit cocktail and picked them out, grape by grape. Since she didn’t want to do that, she substituted pears, and Immelda says she likes it even better this way.

One 6-ounce package lemon or peach Jell-O

1 1/2 cups boiling water 1/4 teaspoon salt 1/2 teaspoon paprika 2 cups cold ginger ale (Andrea uses Vernor’s)

2 cups sliced canned pears, drained two 8-ounce cans pineapple tidbits, drained 2/3 cup sliced almonds

Dissolve Jell-O in boiling water. Add salt and paprika. Let cool to room temperature.

Add cold ginger ale. Refrigerate until partially set. (Andrea’s instructions are: “It should look like jelly on hot toast.”)

Stir in sliced pears, pineapple tidbits, and sliced almonds. Pour into a 2-quart mold and refrigerate overnight.

Dressing:

1 cup mayonnaise 1/4 cup heavy cream 1 Tablespoon honey

Mix up the mayonnaise, cream, and honey. Put them in a little dish with a spoon next to the Jell-O on the table.

To serve Jell-O, turn out on a platter and invite people to take a slice and top it with a little dressing.

Holiday Jell-O Mold

Andrea’s recipe again. She collects Jell-O recipes.

Spray a Bundt cake pan (8 cups) or other 2-quart mold with Pam or other non-stick spray. Set aside.

1 large package (6 ounces) lime Jell-O

1 cup boiling water 3/4 cup cold water

Stir Jell-O powder into boiling water until dissolved. Add cold water and set aside to let cool.

1 teaspoon salt 2 Tablespoons fresh lemon juice 2 medium-sized ripe avocados, mashed 1/3 cup sour cream 2 to 3 drops green food coloring

Combine salt, lemon juice, mashed avocados, and sour cream. Stir until smooth. Add food coloring and mix thoroughly.

Stir avocado mixture into cooled lime Jell-O and pour into Bundt cake pan. Refrigerate until firm. (2 to 4 hours—overnight is fine, too.)

1 and 1/3 cups boiling water 1 large package (8 ounces) cranberry or raspberry Jell-O

One 8 1/2-ounce can crushed pineapple with juice Two 16-ounce cans whole-berry cranberry sauce (2 1/4 cups)

1 Tablespoon prepared horseradish

Dissolve Jell-O in boiling water. Add pineapple, cranberry sauce, and horseradish. Mix thoroughly. Refrigerate until syrupy. (Approximately one hour.)

Spoon cranberry mixture carefully over the avocado mixture. Refrigerate until firm. (At least 4 hours—overnight is fine, too.)

Unmold on a pretty platter to serve.

Andrea complains that this recipe is too complicated for her, but if we beg, she makes it every year for Thanksgiving and it’s wonderful with turkey. She does the lime Jell-O layer the night before and the cranberry Jell-O layer on Thanksgiving morning.

Pretty Coleslaw

This is what Andrea calls “Green Jell-O.” She makes it for special occasions.

2 large (6 oz.) packages lime Jell-O (we like it with Lemon, too)

4 cups boiling water

2 cups mayonnaise

1 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup vinegar (Andrea uses raspberry vinegar)

2 cups cold water

4 cups finely shredded cabbage (Andrea buys it pre-shredded)

2 cups finely diced celery

1/4 cup finely diced onion

In a large bowl, dissolve Jell-O in boiling water. Let cool slightly. Add mayonnaise, salt, and vinegar. Stir until blended. Then add cold water and refrigerate until mixture is syrupy, but not completely set. (This will take an hour to an hour and a half.)

Spray Jell-O mold(s) with non-stick cooking spray. (Andrea uses one Bundt cake pan that holds 8 cups and one small 2-cup mold.)

Beat partially set Jell-O mixture until fluffy. Then mix in the shredded cabbage, diced celery and diced onion.

Pour or ladle the mixture into the molds you’ve chosen and refrigerate them for another 2 hours. Then cover the tops with plastic wrap and refrigerate at least another 4 hours before unmolding.

To unmold, you have two choices. Andrea sets the molds in the back of her Volvo and drives around town for ten minutes or so to jiggle the Jell-O loose. This works just fine if you’re taking it to a potluck dinner at the Lake Eden Community Center, or to someone’s house for dinner. If you’re not, you can do what I do…

I pull the Jell-O away from the sides (and from the funnel in the middle, if you’re using the Bundt pan) by putting the pads of my impeccably clean fingers close to the edge and pulling back gently. If that hasn’t loosened it enough, I go to plan B and partially immerse the mold in warm water for a very few seconds, then pull it out and dry the bottom. I place the serving platter upside down over the top of the Jell-O mold and invert the whole thing at once (and over the sink, to avoid spills.)

Quick Pickle Salad

This is Reverend Knudson’s recipe. He says to tell you that if you make these pickles in the morning, you can serve them at suppertime. He also says they’re even better the next day, but he bets they won’t last that long.

2 seventeen-ounce cans sliced beets 1 cucumber, peeled, seeded, and cut into half-inch slices 1 small onion, thinly sliced 2 teaspoons whole pickling spices***

2/3 cup white vinegar 2/3 cup sugar 2/3 cup beet juice (reserved from canned beets)

*** Pickling spices are a mixture of cinnamon, allspice, mustard seeds, coriander, ginger, chilies, cloves, black pepper, mace, cardamom, and bay leaves. The Reverend says that if you don’t like one of those spices, you can mix your own pickling spices and just leave out the one you don’t care for.

Drain the beets and reserve 2/3 cup of the liquid. Place the drained beets, sliced cucumbers, and sliced onions in a large saucepan on the stove. Stir them gently with a wooden spoon to mix them.

Tie the pickling spices in a square of cheesecloth and drop them in on top of the pickles-to-be in the saucepan.

Measure out 2/3 cup white vinegar and put it in the saucepan.

Measure out 2/3 cup sugar (white granulated) and put that in the saucepan.

Add the 2/3 cup beet juice you reserved from the canned beets and stir everything around until it’s mixed.

Heat over medium heat, stirring often, until the liquid boils. Immediately take off the heat, transfer to a glass or ceramic bowl, cover tightly with a cover or with plastic wrap, and refrigerate for at least 6 hours.

Remove the pickling spices before serving.

The Reverend also says to tell you that you can do this whole thing in the microwave if you like. (That’s the way he does it.) Just put everything in a microwave-safe bowl, heat it on FULL power for approximately 12 minutes, or until it boils. Stop the microwave every 4 minutes to stir it. When it’s ready, cover the bowl and refrigerate the pickles, just like you’d do if you made them on top of the stove.

Waldorf Salad Jell-O

This is another recipe from my sister Andrea. It’s the last Jell-O mold, and I think it’s the best.

1 large (6-ounce) package of lemon Jell-O (or other light-colored flavor)

2 cups boiling water 1 cup mayonnaise

1 cup cold water

2 cups finely diced apple (you can leave the peel on if you wish)

1 cup finely diced celery 1/2 cup roughly chopped walnuts (some big pieces are okay)

Dump the Jell-O into a large bowl and dissolve it in the 2 cups of boiling water. Add the mayonnaise and stir until it’s evenly distributed. Then add the cup of cold water, stir, and refrigerate for 45 minutes, or until it’s partially set.

Beat the partially set Jell-O with a wire whip to make it fluffy. (You can also do this with a spoon, but it’ll take a bit more effort.)

Stir in the diced apple, diced celery, and chopped walnuts. Spray a 2-quart Jell-O mold with non-stick cooking spray and pour in the Jell-O mixture.

Refrigerate for at least 4 hours before serving. Overnight is really best.

Unmold and serve slices on red or curly lettuce leaves. You can also leave it intact on the platter and let everyone serve themselves.

This recipe makes approximately 7 cups of really delicious Jell-O.

Breads

Aunt Grace’s Breakfast Muffins

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F., rack in middle position

This recipe is from my friend, Terry Sommers (no relation to Becky Summers.) These muffins are just incredible. When we tested them at the Christmas potluck, we came very close to putting them on the dessert table.

1 1/2 cups flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon nutmeg (freshly ground is best)

1/2 cup sugar

1/3 cup melted butter

1 beaten egg

1/2 cup milk

1 1/2 cups cored, peeled, and then shredded apples (measure after shredding)

Stir together the flour, baking powder, salt, and nutmeg. Set aside.

In another bowl, blend the sugar and melted butter together. Let the butter cool to room temperature.

Add the egg, milk, and shredded apples to the butter and sugar mixture. Stir well. Then mix in the dry ingredients you’ve set aside.

Fill well-greased muffin tins 2/3 full with batter. Bake at 400 degrees F. for 20 to 25 minutes. Let the muffins cool in the tins for 10 minutes and then turn them out.

Topping:

1/2 stick melted butter (1/4 cup, 1/8 pound)***

1/2 cup sugar

1 teaspoon cinnamon

*** Use a whole stick if you really want to be sinful! It’s wonderful!

Melt the butter and pour it into a shallow bowl. Mix the sugar and cinnamon together in another shallow bowl. Roll the muffins in the melted butter and then in the sugar and cinnamon mixture.

Yield: 12 muffins

These muffins are wonderful warm, but they’re also good at room temperature, or even refrigerated! There is no way to serve them that’s not good. To borrow an advertising slogan, “Nobody doesn’t like Aunt Grace’s Breakfast Muffins.”

Can Bread

Do not preheat oven—bread has to rise for several hours before baking

This bread recipe is from Cheryl Coombs. She says it’s almost foolproof even for somebody who’s never had the nerve to bake bread from scratch before.

1/2 cup butter (1 stick, 1/4 pound)

2 cups boiling water

1 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup brown sugar

1 cup oatmeal (I used Quaker Oats Quick 1-Minute)

two 1/4-ounce packages dry yeast (any type)

2 eggs

4 1/2 cups flour (approximate measure)

Melt butter in a saucepan with the boiling water. Pour it in a bowl. Add the salt, brown sugar, and oatmeal. Stir it all up.

Add the yeast quickly, before the mixture cools.

Crack the eggs in a glass and beat them up with a fork. Add them to the bowl and stir thoroughly.

Add the flour, one cup at a time, until it feels about right for bread dough. (That’s a moisture level midway between muffin batter and cookie dough.)

Turn the dough out of the bowl and onto a floured breadboard, or table top. Let it rest a couple of minutes. (It doesn’t need to rest, but you probably do.)

Knead the dough, adding flour as it becomes too sticky to work. (Kneading is just punching it down, and turning it over and folding it a bunch of times. You’ll like it—it’s therapeutic.) There’s no need to knead (that’s a terrible pun!) any longer than five minutes…just until dough is no longer sticking to your hands like stringy glue.

Wash your hands, wash the bowl, dry the bowl, and then spray the inside of the bowl with a non-stick spray. Dump the dough inside the bowl and cover it with a moist towel. Set it in a warm (but not hot) place to rise until doubled in bulk. (This will take from one to two hours.)

IMPORTANT NOTE: If you don’t want to bake your bread today, don’t let the dough rise. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and put it in the refrigerator. It can wait up to 12 hours. Then just take it out in the morning, remove the plastic wrap, cover the dough with a damp towel, and set it in a warm place to finish rising.

Once the dough has doubled in bulk, turn it out onto a floured board again and punch it down. Divide the dough and shape it into loaves, rounds, rolls, little animals, braids, or whatever. Place free-form breads on greased cookie sheets. Place loaves in greased loaf pans. You can even use greased metal coffee cans for rounds and amaze your friends when you give them round sandwiches.

Cover whatever you’ve used to contain your dough with the moist towel again and let your creations rise for approximately 45 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position for cookie sheet loaves and loaf pans, or lower for the taller coffee cans.

If you want a glaze on the top of your bread, brush the tops with egg yolk mixed with a little water before you bake.

Bake large loaves and coffee cans for approximately 60 minutes, 45 minutes for smaller loaves or rounds. Rolls take about 30 minutes.

Let cool in pans (or on cookie sheet) on top of wire rack for 15 minutes, then turn out of pans and cool directly on the wire rack.

Cheesy Spicy Corn Muffins

This recipe is from Danielle Watson. She argued that it really isn’t a recipe since it’s not made from scratch, but we told her that didn’t matter.

1 package corn muffin mix, enough to make 12 muffins 4-ounce can well-drained diced green chilies (Danielle uses Ortega brand)

1/2 cup finely shredded sharp cheddar cheese (or Monterey Jack)

Preheat oven according to the directions on the corn muffin package.

Prepare the corn muffin mix according to package directions. Add the green chilies and the shredded cheese, and stir well.

Line muffin pans with a double layer of cupcake papers and spray the inside with Pam.

Spoon the batter into the cupcake papers.

Bake according to corn muffin package directions.

Danielle says to tell you that if you have visiting relatives who don’t like any spice at all, you can substitute a half can of well-drained whole-kernel corn for the peppers.

Yield: Whatever it says on the package and a little more.

Cranberry Muffins

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F., rack in the middle position

These are from Becky Summers. They’re perfect to serve for a Thanksgiving dinner.

3/4 cup melted butter (11/2 sticks)

1 cup white (granulated) sugar 2 beaten eggs (just whip them up with a fork)

2 teaspoons baking powder 1/2 teaspoon salt 1 cup dried cranberries 2 1/4 cups flour (no need to sift)

1/2 cup milk 1/2 cup cranberry sauce (use whole berry, not jellied)

Crumb Topping:

1/2 cup sugar 1/3 cup flour 1/4 cup softened butter (1/2 stick)

Grease the bottoms only of a 12-cup muffin pan (or line the cups with double cupcake papers—that’s what I do at The Cookie Jar.) Melt the butter in a bowl with the dried cranberries and set them aside to plump up and cool. Measure out the sugar in a large bowl and add the beaten eggs, baking powder, and salt. Mix thoroughly.

Stir in the cooled butter and plumped dried cranberries. Add half of the flour to your bowl and mix it in with half of the milk. Add the rest of the flour and the milk and mix thoroughly. Then add 1/2 cup cranberry sauce to your bowl and mix it in.

Fill the muffin tins three-quarters full and set them aside. If you have dough left over, grease the bottom of a small tea-bread loaf pan and fill it with your remaining dough.

The crumb topping: Mix the sugar and the flour in a small bowl. Add the softened butter and cut it in until it’s crumbly. (You can also do this in a food processor with chilled butter and the steel blade.)

Fill the remaining space in the muffin cups with the crumb topping. Then bake the muffins in a 375 F. degree oven for 25 to 30 minutes. (The tea-bread should bake about 10 minutes longer than the muffins.)

While your muffins are baking, divide the rest of your cranberry sauce into half-cup portions and pop it in the freezer. I use paper cups to hold it, and freeze them inside a freezer bag. All you have to do is thaw a cup the next time you want to make a batch of Cranberry Muffins.

When your muffins are baked, set the muffin pan on a wire rack to cool for at least 30 minutes. (The muffins need to cool in the pan for easy removal.) Then just tip them out of the cups and enjoy.

These are wonderful when they’re slightly warm, but the cranberry flavor will intensify if you store them in a covered container overnight.

Gina’s Strawberry Bread

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position

This recipe is from Gina, Father Coultas’ cousin, and she always brings a loaf when she comes to Lake Eden to visit. She says to tell you that if you keep this bread in an airtight container, it’ll taste even better the second day. It’s also wonderful if you toast and butter it.

1/2 cup butter (1 stick, 1/4 pound)

1 cup white (granulated) sugar 1/2 teaspoon strawberry flavoring (or vanilla, or almond)

2 eggs, separated 1 teaspoon baking powder 1 teaspoon baking soda 1 teaspoon salt 2 cups flour (no need to sift)

1 cup crushed or chopped fresh strawberries (or a 10-ounce package of frozen strawberries, thawed and well drained, then chopped.)

Melt butter. Mix with sugar and strawberry flavoring. Set aside and let cool.

Separate the eggs, reserving the whites for later. When the butter/sugar mixture is warm but not hot to the touch, add the egg yolks one at a time, stirring thoroughly after each addition.

Stir in baking powder, soda, and salt.

Stir in half of the strawberries. Stir in half of the flour. Add the second half of the strawberries, then the second half of the flour.

Beat the egg whites until stiff, but not dry. Fold them into the strawberry mixture.

Spray a loaf pan (bread pan—9 x 5 inch) with non-stick cooking spray, then line it with wax paper and spray it again.

Turn the batter into the pan and smooth the top with a spatula.

Bake at 350 degrees F. for 50 to 60 minutes, or until a wooden skewer inserted in the center comes out clean.

Cool the bread in the pan on a wire rack for 15 minutes, then remove the loaf pan and continue to cool on the rack. Wait another 10 minutes or so before removing the wax paper.

Sally’s Banana Bread

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position

Regina Todd got this recipe from her cousin, Sally Hayes, who got it from her brother’s neighbor, Connie. Regina tried to teach Andrea to bake it, but that was a lost cause and she gave up.

3/4 cup softened butter (11/2 sticks)

1 1/2 cups white sugar (granulated)

2 beaten eggs (just whip them up in a glass with a fork)

1 1/2 cups mashed bananas (3 or 4 overripe bananas, the ones with lots of black spots on the peel)

2 cups flour (no need to sift)

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup buttermilk

1/2 cup chopped walnuts or pecans (optional)

Mix the butter and sugar together until they’re nice and fluffy. Add the beaten eggs and stir it all up.

Peel and mash the bananas. (You can do this with a fork, if they’re ripe enough.) Measure out 11/2 cups of mashed banana and add it to your mixing bowl. Stir well.

In another bowl, measure out the flour and mix in the baking soda and salt.

Add half of the flour to your mixing bowl. Stir well. Add half of the buttermilk (you don’t have to be exact) and mix that in. Add the rest of the flour, stir well, and then mix in the rest of the buttermilk. Stir thoroughly.

Mix in the nuts at this point, if you decided to use them.

Coat the inside of a loaf pan (the type you’d use for bread) with non-stick cooking spray. Spoon in the banana bread batter and bake at 350 degrees F. for approximately one hour, or until a long toothpick or skewer inserted in the center comes out clean.

You can also bake this in 3 smaller loaf pans, filling them about half full. If you use the smaller pans, they’ll need to bake approximately 45 minutes.

Cool on a wire rack in the pan, loosen the edges after 20 minutes, and turn the loaf out onto the wire rack.

Regina usually sends this banana bread home with Bill. (I guess she figures it’s the only way her son will get anything homemade.) Andrea likes it sliced, toasted, and buttered for breakfast.

Soda Bread

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F., rack in the middle position

This recipe is from Bridget Murphy. She makes it every year on St. Patrick’s Day and many times in-between.

1/2 stick butter, at room temperature ( 1/4 cup, 1/8 pound)

1 cup flour

In a large bowl, with a fork, cut the butter into the cup of flour.

Add the following ingredients to the bowl:

3 more cups flour 1 teaspoon salt 3 teaspoons baking powder 1 teaspoon baking soda 1/4 cup white sugar (granulated)

1/2 teaspoon cardamom (or coriander)

In a separate bowl, mix the following:

1 and 3/4 cups evaporated milk (or buttermilk)

2 beaten eggs 2 cups golden raisins (optional)

Add the milk and eggs (and the optional raisins) to the bowl with the flour and stir thoroughly. Turn out on a floured board.

Bridget says to make sure this step doesn’t scare you off. Anyone can knead bread. Just put some wax paper on your counter, and sprinkle it with flour.

Knead the dough (punch it down, roll it around, and fold it over on itself like you’re playing with clay and mashing it down) for 2 to 3 minutes. If the dough becomes too sticky for you to handle, sprinkle it with more flour. When your 2 or 3 minutes are up, shape it into a ball and cut it in two with a knife you’ve sprayed with Pam or other non-stick cooking spray. Shape each half into something resembling something round.

Spray two 9-inch pie plates with non-stick cooking spray. Put the dough inside the pie plates, press it down, and use a sharp knife to cut an “X” on the tops a half-inch deep. (Bridget says you might have to spray the knife first to keep it from sticking.)

Bake the soda bread at 375 degrees F. for 40 minutes. Let cool on a wire rack to room temperature, turn out onto a breadboard, and slice to serve.

This soda bread is especially good with John Brady’s Quick Irish Chili, or Irish Roast Beast.

Entrees

Baked Fish

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position

Geraldine Goetz contributed this recipe. Her husband goes fishing with Lisa’s dad, Jack Herman.

9 to 12 fillets of fish (any firm white fish will do) juice of one lemon 2 teaspoons Season Salt (see Mrs. Knudson’s recipe on backmatter)

2 teaspoons pepper (freshly ground is best)

2 cloves garlic, minced or mashed (you can also use jarred garlic)

1/2 cup dry white wine 2 Tablespoons chopped parsley 2 Tablespoons chopped green onion 2 Tablespoons dry breadcrumbs 4 Tablespoons melted butter (1/2 stick, 1/4 cup, 1/8 pound)

Rinse and dry fish fillets with paper towels. Rub with lemon juice and sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Sprinkle or spread minced or mashed garlic in the bottom of a greased baking pan (a 9 x 13 inch cake pan will do fine.)

Place the fillets in the pan and pour the wine over the top. Sprinkle with parsley, green onion, and breadcrumbs. Melt the butter and spoon it on.

Cover the pan loosely with foil.

Bake at 350 degrees F. for 50 minutes. Take off the foil and bake 15 minutes longer.

Pour off most of the liquid before serving. This fish is wonderful served with crusty bread and a tangy green salad.

Barbecued Anything

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F., rack in the middle position. Spray a 5-quart or 6-quart crock-pot with Pam

Norman Rhodes says this is the easiest barbecue anyone could ever dream up. I’ve tasted his barbecued ribs and they’re absolutely delicious.

4 to 5 pounds ribs, cut up into 2-rib servings

Barbecue Sauce:

1/2 cup catsup (Norman uses Heinz)

2 Tablespoons (1/8 cup) firmly packed brown sugar 1/4 cup bottled steak sauce (Norman uses Heinz 57)

1/4 cup prepared mustard (Norman uses honey mustard)

2 Tablespoons (1/8 cup) wine vinegar (or apple cider, or plain white)

1/2 teaspoon Season Salt (see Mrs. Knudson’s recipe on backmatter)

1/2 teaspoon liquid smoke

1/2 onion, minced (if Norman’s in a hurry, he uses dried chopped onion)

Place the ribs on a rack in a baking pan and brown them at 400 degrees F. for 15 minutes. Turn them over and brown them on the other side for an additional 15 minutes. Drain off the fat.

Combine the sauce ingredients in a large bowl. Place the ribs in the crock-pot and pour on the sauce. Cover and cook on LOW for 6 to 8 hours.

These ribs are great cooked entirely in the slow cooker. If you want to use your grill, pre-cook them in the crock-pot for 5 hours, refrigerate them, and finish them up outside on the grill.

Norman says to tell you that this barbecue sauce also works for chicken or sausage cooked entirely on the grill. For chicken, it’s even better if you leave out the steak sauce and increase the mustard to 1/2 cup.

Norman also says that if you’re pressed for time, you don’t have to make the barbecue sauce. Just use a good bottled sauce. The secret is slow cooking the meat in the crock-pot—that’s what makes it so tender and tasty.

Chicken Paprikash

(You can do this in a 5-quart slow cooker, or a 325 degree F. oven)

This is Janice Cox’s recipe, and Eleanor and Otis swear it’s going to land them a son-in-law soon.

12 skinless, boneless chicken breasts *** (or the equivalent)

2 cans Cream of Mushroom soup undiluted (one can is 10 3/4 ounce net weight)

1 can Cream of Chicken soup undiluted (10 3/4 ounces net weight)

1 cup sour cream 2 Tablespoons paprika 1/4 teaspoon ground red pepper (cayenne)

1/2 teaspoon onion powder salt to taste one-pound package wide egg noodles, cooked

***You can also use boneless skinless thighs, chicken tenders, or a combination of the three.

Spray the inside of a 5-quart slow cooker or a large roasting pan with non-stick cooking spray. Put the soups, the sour cream and the seasonings in the pan and stir them around to combine them. Add the chicken and make sure it’s covered with the soup mixture.

For the slow cooker: Cook on LOW for 5 to 6 hours. If you’re in a hurry, cook on HIGH for 4 hours.

In the oven: Bake in a tightly covered roaster for 4 hours at 325 degrees F. Then take off the cover and bake for an additional 30 minutes or so.

Serve over cooked egg noodles.

Yield: Feeds at least 8, unless you’re talking about a threshing crew that’s been working the fields all day.

Country Ham Casserole

Preheat oven to 325 degrees F., rack in the middle position

This is Loretta Richardson’s recipe. Her daughter, Carly, makes it every time she gets together with her old high school friends.

4 slices of bread, cut into one-inch cubes 1 pound leftover ham, cut into small pieces (or thinly sliced deli ham)

24 spinach leaves, roughly chopped 12 eggs (that’s a dozen, not a misprint)

1 cup sour cream (or 1/2 cup sour cream and 1/2 cup cream cheese)

1 cup Half & Half (light cream)

1 teaspoon ground pepper 1/2 teaspoon onion powder 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder 1/2 cup chopped green onion 1 cup grated Swiss cheese (or Cheddar, or Monterey Jack)

Grease a 9 x 13 inch cake pan. Sprinkle bread cubes over the bottom. Cover the bread cubes with the ham. Cover the ham with the spinach leaves.

Whisk together eggs, sour cream, Half & Half, pepper, onion powder, and garlic powder in a large bowl. Set aside.

Sprinkle the chopped green onions in the casserole. Add the cheese on top. Pour the egg mixture on top of that, cover the pan with foil, and let it sit in the refrigerator for 20 minutes.

Take off the foil and bake, uncovered, at 325 degrees F. for approximately one hour or until a knife inserted near the center comes out clean.

Let stand 10 minutes before serving.

Yield: Serves 6 to 8 people for brunch.

E-Z Lasagna

Mother says to tell you she has to give credit where credit is due. She got this recipe years ago from her friend Lois Meister.

8-ounce package lasagna noodles (NOT cooked!)

32-ounce jar plain spaghetti sauce (approx. 3 1/2 cups) (Mother uses Ragu)

1 cup milk 1 pound ground beef 2 Tablespoons dried chopped onion (or one small onion, finely chopped)

1 teaspoon salt 1/2 teaspoon pepper

6 ounces sliced mozzarella cheese

2 cups cottage cheese 1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese 2 beaten eggs (just mix them up with a fork)

1 teaspoon garlic powder 2 teaspoons freshly ground rosemary (or oregano if you can’t get rosemary)

Fry the ground beef until it’s brown and drain it. (If you’re using the small chopped onion instead of the dried onion, you can fry that in the same pan and drain it with the ground beef.)

Dump the drained ground beef into a large bowl. Add the onions, spaghetti sauce, milk, salt and pepper. Mix it all together.

Grease (or spray with non-stick cooking spray) a 9-inch by 13-inch rectangular cake pan. Layer half of the dry uncooked noodles in the bottom of the pan. Cover with one-half of the sauce mixture. Top that with one-half of the mozzarella.

In a separate bowl, mix together the cottage cheese, grated Parmesan, eggs, garlic powder, and rosemary. Fresh herbs are best, but if you can’t get fresh rosemary in your area, you can use dried.

Spread the cottage cheese mixture in the pan next, put the rest of the dry noodles on top of that, cover with the remainder of the sauce mixture, and spread out the rest of the cheese slices on top.

Bake, uncovered, at 350 degrees F. for one hour.

Mother sometimes puts this together in advance. She covers it and refrigerates it for six to eight hours before baking. If it’s chilled, allow an extra 20 to 30 minutes of baking time.

Festive Baked Sandwich

Luanne Hanks made this for the last potluck, and we all fell in love with it. It would be perfect for one of Mayor Bascomb’s tailgate parties.

3 packages cold cuts, 10 or 12 slices per package (ham, turkey, roast beef, pastrami, whatever)

3 packages sliced cheese, 8-10 slices per package (Cheddar, mozzarella, Swiss, whatever)

2 cups loosely packed fresh spinach leaves (rinsed and blotted dry with a paper towel)

2 teaspoons prepared mustard (stone ground Dijon, honey mustard or whatever)

1/2 cup dried chopped onions

1 loaf frozen bread dough (or mix up your own if you want)

8-inch round pan with 3-inch tall sides (you can get by with 2-inch tall sides, but it’s trickier)

9-inch glass pie plate

cookie sheet with sides (this can be a disposable if you like)

Let the bread dough rise according to package directions, but do it in a greased bowl instead of a bread pan.

When the dough has doubled in bulk, fold it in half and roll it out like a piecrust on a floured board. Spray the 8-inch round pan with non-stick cooking spray, set it on the cookie sheet, and drape the bread dough over it with the sides hanging down on the outside.

Put a layer of cheese in the bottom of the pan. Follow that with a layer of dried onions (the onions soak up the moisture from the meats). Put a layer of meat on top of the onions and brush it lightly with mustard. Follow this with a layer of fresh spinach leaves. Keep layering cheese, meat, onions and spinach leaves until your layers reach the top of the pan. End with a layer of cheese if you can, so it’s slightly rounded on top.

Bring up the bread dough that’s draped over the sides and carefully stretch it to cover your layers. Work from opposite sides, pinching it together so it doesn’t pull back. Think of a clock—pull 12 and 6 together and pinch them, then do 2 and 8, and finally 4 and 10. It doesn’t matter if the dough separates and there are some holes on the top. The bread dough will rise slightly during the baking, and all will be forgiven.

Spray the inside of your glass pie plate with non-stick cooking spray and invert it over the top of your pan like a little hat. This will help keep your dough from pulling apart and also provide weight so the dough doesn’t rise too much at the top and leave a hollow. Let the sandwich rest while you preheat your oven.

Make sure your rack is in the middle position and preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Bake your sandwich for 50 minutes, and then take off the pie pan hat. Bake it for an additional 15 minutes, or until it’s nicely browned on top.

Let your sandwich cool in the pan for at least 45 minutes to an hour before serving. It has to set so the cheese is no longer runny. Tip it out of the pan by placing your hand on the top with your fingers spread out to hold it and then inverting it. Place the sandwich on a cutting board or a large serving plate. Cut a pie-shaped wedge to start and then let your guests cut the size of wedge they want to eat. You can serve it with ketchup, horseradish sauce, pickles, coleslaw, and potato salad on the side.

This sandwich is wonderful cold or warm and it’s great for picnics. Just leave it in the pan until you’re ready to serve it. The wedges can also be heated in the microwave for those who like things hot. It sounds like a lot of work, but it’s not, and it’s definitely worth it.

Hawaiian Pot Roast

Spray the inside of a 4-quart slow cooker with non-stick cooking spray OR

Preheat oven to 325 degrees F., rack in the middle position

1/3 cup cornstarch 2 cups firmly packed brown sugar 1/2 teaspoon powdered ginger (or 2 teaspoons finely diced fresh ginger)

1/2 cup red wine vinegar

20-ounce can drained pineapple chunks (reserve the liquid for later)

1/3 cup soy sauce 2 cups chopped green bell pepper (or one 16-ounce package frozen tri-colored bell peppers)

1/3 cup dried minced onions

4 to 5 pound boneless chuck roast (or any similar cut of boneless beef)

4-ounce can of mushrooms (stems and pieces are fine) OR 1 cup fresh, sliced mushrooms from the grocery store

1 or 2 packets (.88 ounces per packet) beef gravy mix (Mother uses Lawry’s Brown Gravy mix)

Mix the cornstarch, brown sugar, and ginger in a bowl. Stir in the pineapple liquid. Add the vinegar and soy sauce, and stir until smooth. Add the pineapple chunks, onions, and the finely diced green pepper. (If you decided to use the tri-colored bell peppers, just cut open the bag and dump them in still frozen.)

Prepare your slow cooker by spraying it with Pam or another non-stick cooking spray. Put a bit of the mixture in the bottom and then set the meat on top. Pour the rest of the mixture over the top, put on the lid, turn the control to LOW, and let it cook for eight to ten hours.

One hour before you’re ready to serve, add the mushrooms.

(Mother puts this in the crock-pot before she goes to work and when she comes home, it’s ready.) If you’re late putting this up in the slow cooker, you can cook it at HIGH for the first two hours and then switch it to LOW. Using this method, it should take only six hours or so.

If you choose to do this in the oven: Grease the inside of a roasting pan. Follow the directions above and once your pot roast is in the pan, cover it tightly with heavy-duty foil.

Bake at 325 degrees F. for five to six hours, or until the meat is easily pierced with a fork. (I don’t think you can over-bake this—if it falls apart, that’s good, too.) Then take off the foil and let it brown in the oven for another 45 minutes to an hour.

Once the meat is ready, take it out of the pan or crock-pot and let it cool for fifteen minutes.

Sprinkle one packet of gravy mix in the liquid and stir until it’s thickened. Add another packet if the sauce isn’t thick enough. Keep the sauce warm in the oven or the slow cooker.

Slice the meat, transfer the slices to a deep platter, pour the thickened liquid over the top artistically (Mother’s description, not mine,) and serve.

Hot German Potato Salad with Bratwurst

This is Trudi Schumann’s recipe. She says to tell you that “hot” means heated, not spicy. If you do want it spicier, use a spicier sausage and that should do it.

4 large potatoes (or 6 medium)

6 slices of bacon, diced 1/4 cup flour 2 Tablespoons brown sugar 2 teaspoons salt 2 teaspoons dry mustard 2 teaspoons black pepper 2/3 cup vinegar (white, red wine, or even balsamic)

2/3 cup water 2 teaspoons celery seed 2 teaspoons onion powder 2 teaspoons garlic powder 1 large onion, chopped 6 to 10 large bratwurst (or dinner franks, or Polish sausage, whatever)

Grease (or spray with non-stick cooking spray) the inside of a 4-quart slow cooker.

Wash the potatoes, pierce them with a knife, and cook them on HIGH in a microwave for 15 minutes. You should be able to pierce the cooked potatoes with a fork, but the inside should be just a little too raw to eat at this point. (You can do this step the night before and refrigerate the potatoes.)

Let the potatoes cool, peel them and slice them. Put them in the bottom of the greased crock-pot.

Chop up the bacon and put it in a one-quart microwave-safe measuring cup. Microwave it on HIGH for 3 minutes, stirring midway through. Fish out the bacon with a slotted spoon and add it to the potatoes in the crock-pot. Pour off all but approximately 2 Tablespoons of the bacon grease.

Mix the reserved bacon fat, flour, brown sugar, salt, dry mustard, black pepper, vinegar, water, celery seed, onion powder, and garlic powder in the same container you used to microwave the bacon. Stir it thoroughly and heat for one minute in the microwave on HIGH. Add the chopped onion, stir it around and heat for an additional minute on HIGH.

Add this to the potatoes and bacon in the crock-pot. Cook for one hour on LOW.

Stir the warm potato salad, top it with the bratwurst you’ve pierced with a fork, (so they won’t explode,) and cover.

Turn the crock-pot to HIGH and cook for an additional hour or two, or until the potato salad and the bratwurst are hot.

Hunter’s Stew

Grease or spray the inside of a 5-quart slow cooker with Pam

This recipe is from Winnie Henderson. She says her second husband was a hunter and she used to make this for him all the time.

2 pounds cubed beef (cut into roughly one-inch cubes)

1 pound other cubed meat (venison, pork, turkey, chicken, more beef, even sausage as long as it’s not too fatty)

2 medium onions, roughly chopped 4 stalks celery, cut in 1/2-inch pieces 2 cups baby carrots (or one-inch chunks of carrot)

1 teaspoon garlic powder

1 teaspoon onion powder

1 teaspoon paprika

1 teaspoon pepper (freshly ground is best)

1/4 cup brown sugar (that’s 4 Tablespoons)

14-ounce can stewed tomatoes (with peppers, with garlic, plain, any type is fine)

three 7-ounce cans mushroom stems and pieces (NOT drained!)

2 medium-size potatoes, peeled and cut into one-inch cubes two .88-ounce packets beef gravy mix (I used Lawry’s Brown Gravy Mix)

Put the chopped onions in the bottom of the slow cooker. Lay the chunks of meat on top of that. (If you plan to use sausage and it’s pre-cooked, don’t add it at this point—Wait until an hour or so before serving.)

Put the carrots and celery on top of the meat, and cook on HIGH for 5 hours.

Add the garlic powder, onion powder, paprika, and ground pepper. Then add the brown sugar, the tomatoes, and the mushrooms with the mushroom liquid. Stir it all up and add the cubed potatoes.

Pour in enough water to almost cover the meat and vegetables, but not quite. Then add ONE packet of gravy mix and stir again. (Reserve the second package of gravy mix for the gravy itself.)

Cover and cook on LOW for an additional 6 to 7 hours. If you start this late and don’t have the required 11 to 12 hours of cooking time, you can leave the crock-pot on HIGH for the entire time, and it should be ready in 8 to 9 hours.

If there’s too much liquid when you’re ready to serve, sprinkle in the second gravy packet and stir it in until it’s thick.

Serve in big bowls with hot crusty bread. It’s a perfect winter’s evening meal. (If you use venison as the second meat, don’t tell Andrea. She has real reservations about eating the star of a classic Disney movie.)

Irish Roast Beast

Grease or spray inside of 4-quart slow cooker with non-stick cooking spray

OR

Preheat oven to 325 degrees F., rack in the middle position

This recipe is from Barbara Donnelly, who got it from her mother.

16-ounce can whole berry cranberry sauce

6-ounce can tomato sauce

12-ounce bottle stout beer (Barbara uses Guinness Stout)

2 teaspoons freshly ground rosemary (it’s so much better fresh!)

1 teaspoon thyme

1 teaspoon sage

1 teaspoon sweet basil

1 teaspoon oregano

1 teaspoon ground black pepper (again, freshly ground is much better)

1 teaspoon salt

boneless chuck or rump roast, four to five pounds in weight (or any similar cut of boneless beef)

.88-ounce packet beef gravy mix.

Mix all ingredients except the meat and the gravy mix in a bowl. Put a half-cup of the mixture in the bottom of the slow cooker. Set in the meat and pour the rest of the sauce over the top.

Turn the slow cooker to LOW and cook for 8 to 10 hours. (If you’re late putting this up in the slow cooker, you can cook it at HIGH for the entire time. Using this method, it should take only six to seven hours.)

When the meat is easily pierced by a fork, (Barbara likes hers practically falling apart,) remove it from the sauce, cut it in chunks and put it on a platter. Cover the platter with foil so it will stay warm.

Turn the slow cooker to HIGH and sprinkle in the packet of beef gravy mix. Stir until the sauce has thickened. To serve, drizzle some of the sauce over the meat on the platter. Put the rest in a gravy boat or small pitcher for the table.

If you choose to do this in the oven: Grease or spray the inside of a roasting pan with non-stick cooking spray. Follow the directions above and once your Irish Roast Beast is in the pan, cover it tightly with heavy-duty foil.

Bake at 325 degrees F. for five to six hours, or until it’s easily pierced by a fork. Then take off the foil and let it brown in the oven for another 45 minutes. When it’s time to make the gravy, transfer the meat to a platter and pour the liquid into a saucepan over medium heat. Sprinkle the gravy packet over the sauce and stir until it thickens.

Meatloaf

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position

This recipe is from Esther Gibson, Digger Gibson’s wife.

2/3 cup cracker crumbs (or matzo meal)

1 cup evaporated milk (or light cream)

2 beaten eggs (you can just beat them up with a fork)

1 teaspoon salt 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder 1/2 teaspoon onion powder 1/2 teaspoon paprika 1/2 teaspoon pepper 1/2 teaspoon sage 1/2 teaspoon ground oregano 1 medium onion, chopped 1 1/2 pounds ground beef (or 1 pound beef, 1/2 pound ground pork)

Grease (or spray with non-stick cooking spray) a bread pan and have it ready. (The one Esther uses is metal and the bottom measures 4-inches by 8-inches.)

In a large bowl, mix the cracker crumbs, beaten eggs, evaporated milk, and seasonings. Add the chopped onion and mix well. Here comes the messy part…

Add the hamburger and mix it all up with your impeccably clean hands. (That’s right, use your hands and smoosh it all up together—this really is worth all the mess.)

With your hands, transfer the meat mixture to the pan you’ve prepared, filling it to within 3/4 of an inch of the top, except in the middle where you should mound it like a loaf of bread. If you have any meat mixture left over, shape it into patties, separate the patties with wax paper, stick them in a freezer bag and pop them in the freezer. They make wonderful hamburgers.

PIQUANT SAUCE MEATLOAF TOPPING: Esther says this piquant sauce is the reason her family loves having meatloaf. It’s really good!

3 Tablespoons brown sugar 1/4 teaspoon nutmeg (freshly grated is best)

1 teaspoon dry mustard 1/4 cup catsup

In a small bowl, mix the brown sugar, nutmeg and dry mustard. (Esther uses a fork to do this.) Mix in the catsup and then spoon the sauce over the top of your meatloaf.

Put a drip pan (Esther has an old cookie sheet with raised sides) under the meatloaf pan and bake it at 350 degrees F. for one and a half hours.

Let cool in the pan for fifteen minutes, then turn it out on a carving board. Let it cool for another five minutes, and then slice.

Everyone says no one makes meatloaf better than Esther!

Minnesota Hotdish

Ruel moved to Minnesota from California to teach at a local college. He says that there are more “hotdish” variations in Minnesota than there are mosquitoes at a shore lunch. Essentially, hotdish is a comfort food concept, not a hard-and-fast recipe. Feel free to substitute and make your own variations. Some people in other more fancy parts of the country call this dish a “casserole.”

2 large onions, chopped 1 pound of hamburger (or ground pork, or a combination of the two)

1/2 cup butter (1 stick, 1/4 pound)

1 pound of any cooked, leftover meat (beef, pork, ham, chicken, or sausage)

1/3 cup honey 1/2 cup soy sauce 1 teaspoon garlic powder 1 teaspoon Season Salt (see Mrs. Knudson’s recipe on backmatter)

1 teaspoon ground black pepper (freshly ground is best) hot sauce to taste (optional)

2 pounds cooked medium-size shrimp without tails 2 one-pound packages of mixed frozen vegetables (use your favorites)

2 four-ounce cans sliced mushrooms, drained 6 cups of cooked rice (white, brown, or a mixture)

In your largest stovetop pan and over medium heat, fry the hamburger and onions together until the hamburger is crumbly and the onions are translucent. Drain off the fat.

Add the butter and stir it around until it melts. Chop the leftover meat into bite-size pieces and add them. Then add the shrimp, honey and soy sauce. Simmer for 10 minutes to marry the flavors. This should be on the wet side. If it’s not, add a little more soy sauce or your favorite flavored vinegar. (I like raspberry vinegar.)

Season with garlic powder, season salt, black pepper, and hot sauce to taste (if you like it on the hot side.)

Steam, boil, or microwave the vegetables. Drain them and add them, along with the mushrooms.

Add the cooked rice. If there’s not enough room in the pan, combine the meat mixture with the rice in a large roasting pan you’ve sprayed with non-stick cooking spray. Mix it well.

If you’re not ready to serve yet, you can keep it warm in a 325 degree F. oven, uncovered for up to an hour and a half.

Yield: Serves at least ten hungry eaters, maybe more.

Not So Swedish Meatballs

Edna Ferguson used to make her meatballs by hand, until she came up with this really good mushroom sauce and discovered that no one could really tell the difference. She likes to make hers in the slow cooker because they’ll hold for a couple of hours that way, and they’re really easy to take to a potluck dinner.

1 five-pound bag cooked, frozen meatballs (about 120 meatballs)

1 restaurant-sized can cream of mushroom soup undiluted (50 ounces)

1 cup whole milk, Half & Half, or cream (depending on how rich you want it)

1/3 cup dried onions (or one large onion, finely chopped)

1 teaspoon Seasoned Pepper (or freshly ground black pepper)

1 teaspoon garlic powder 1 teaspoon onion powder 1 envelope (.88 ounce) brown gravy mix (just in case you need it)

Cooked egg noodles, fettuccine, mashed potatoes, or rice

Spray a 5-quart slow cooker or a large roasting pan with Pam or other non-stick cooking spray. Combine everything except the frozen meatballs in the bottom of the slow cooker or the roasting pan. Mix in the frozen meatballs, making sure the tops are covered with the sauce.

Cook in the slow cooker on low for 6 to 7 hours, or in a tightly covered roasting pan at 350 degrees F. for 5 to 6 hours.

Check meatballs a half hour before the end of the cooking time. If there’s too much liquid, sprinkle some brown gravy mix over the top and stir it in. If there’s not enough liquid, add more milk or cream. Check for salt at this time and add it if needed.

Finish cooking and serve over egg noodles, fettuccine, potatoes, or rice.

These can also be served as appetizers if you cut back on the liquid. Present directly from the slow cooker or roaster, and provide food picks and small plates for your guests.

Rose’s Restaurant Turkey

Preheat oven to 275 degrees F., rack in the bottom position

This is the turkey that Rose uses at the cafe for her hot turkey sandwiches with the mashed potatoes and gravy on top, and her turkey salad.

Note: DO NOT put stuffing in this turkey!!! The cavity must be empty except for gizzard, neck, & liver if you want to use them.

One uncooked (doesn’t that sound better than “raw?”) turkey, thawed, rinsed, and patted dry A roaster big enough to hold the turkey A meat rack big enough to hold the bird & small enough to fit in the roaster

If you want to roast the gizzard, liver, or neck, sprinkle them with salt and pepper and place them inside the largest cavity of the turkey.

Spray the rack and roaster with Pam or other non-stick cooking spray.

Spray the turkey with non-stick cooking spray. Salt and pepper the outside of the turkey. Place the turkey, BREAST DOWN, (Rose knows this is unusual, just do it) on the rack in the roaster.

Roast turkey at 275 degrees F., uncovered, for 23 minutes per pound.

Remove the turkey from the oven. Cover it loosely with foil and let it sit for at least 30 minutes.

Carve in the kitchen.***

***Rose say this turkey doesn’t at all resemble that gorgeous brown centerpiece turkey that wives carry out and place on the table for their husbands to carve. This turkey must be carved in the kitchen, and you’ll find the meat practically falls off the bone. You’ll also find that the meat is moist and delicious and much better than meat from a bird that looks gorgeous.

Salmon Loaf

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position

This recipe is from Stan Kramer’s sister Kitty. (When they were growing up, Stan used to tease that she was fated to marry a man named Katz.) Kitty says you can use pink salmon, but the loaf turns out looking a little gray. Red salmon’s more expensive, but it’s worth it if you’re serving this for company.

2 cans red salmon (I used two 14.75-ounce cans)

1 cup finely ground bread crumbs (or cracker crumbs or matzo meal)

1 cup evaporated milk (or light cream)

2 beaten eggs (you can just beat them up with a fork)

1 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon pepper 1/2 teaspoon onion powder 1/2 teaspoon sage 1/2 teaspoon ground oregano 1/4 cup melted butter (1/2 stick, 1/8 pound)

1/4 cup dried chopped onions (or 1/2 small onion, finely chopped)

8-ounce package frozen green peas

Spray a bread pan with non-stick cooking spray. (The one Kitty uses is glass and the bottom measures 4-inches by 8-inches.)

Drain the salmon in a strainer. Prepare it by taking out the bones and removing most of the silver skin. Let it continue to drain while you mix up the rest of the loaf.

In a large bowl, mix the ground breadcrumbs, evaporated milk, beaten eggs, and seasonings. Add the melted butter and dried chopped onions, and mix well.

Add the salmon and the frozen peas, and mix it all up with a big wooden spoon. (You may have to get in there with your hands to make sure it’s thoroughly mixed.)

Transfer the salmon mixture to the pan you’ve prepared, filling it to within a half-inch of the top. If you have any salmon mixture left over, shape it into patties, separate the patties with wax paper, stick them in a freezer bag and pop them in the freezer. They make wonderful salmon patties. Just thaw them and fry them in butter.

Bake at 350 degrees F. for 1 to 1 1/2 hours. If the top starts browning too rapidly, tent a piece of aluminum foil over the top.

Let cool for ten minutes and then slice and serve. This is especially good with dill sauce.

Dill Sauce:

This sauce must be made at least 4 hours in advance (overnight is even better.)

2 Tablespoons heavy cream 1/2 cup mayonnaise 1 teaspoon crushed fresh baby dill (if you can’t find baby dill, you can make it with 1/2 teaspoon dried dill weed, but it won’t be as good)

Mix the cream with the mayonnaise until it’s smooth and then mix in the dill. Put the sauce in a small bowl, cover it with plastic wrap, and refrigerate it for at least 4 hours.

A note from Stan’s wife, Lolly: This looks really pretty if you make a double batch of piecrust dough, roll half in an oval for the bottom, and hand-shape the salmon mixture on top of that, leaving 2 inches of dough uncovered around the outside. Roll out the other half of the dough, drape it over the top, and tuck up the bottom edges, crimping them as you would for a pie. Cut slits in the top and a hole in the center to serve as a vent, then brush the entire surface of the dough with egg yolk mixed with a bit of water. Bake it the same as you would for a regular salmon loaf and serve it as a “company dish.”

Sauerbraten

***THIS RECIPE MUST BE STARTED 3 DAYS IN ADVANCE!

Marguerite and Clara Hollenbeck bring this to every Lake Eden Potluck dinner. People start lining up early so they’re sure to get some.

3 1/2 to 4 pound boneless beef roast (rump or sirloin tip preferred)

Marinade:

1 cup water 1 cup vinegar 2 limes, sliced with peels (or 1 lemon)

1 teaspoon ground cloves 10 whole green peppercorns 2 Tablespoons salt 2 Tablespoons sugar 2 Tablespoons molasses 1 teaspoon ground ginger 2 teaspoons ground Mexican oregano

For Later:

1 cup chopped onion 4 four-ounce cans mushrooms with the liquid One .88-ounce package beef gravy mix (enough to make one cup of gravy)

12 gingersnaps, crushed

16-ounce package wide egg noodles

Place meat in a glass or ceramic bowl that’s deep enough to hold it and leave two inches at the top.

Mix marinade ingredients together in a large saucepan. Heat until almost boiling.

Pour marinade over the meat, cover tightly with plastic wrap, and refrigerate for 24 hours to 36 hours, turning the meat every 6 hours or so. (Nobody’s going to time you—you don’t have to be exact.) Or, you can borrow Clara’s trick and make double the marinade so it covers the meat entirely and you don’t have to turn it.

When the meat has marinated, place it in a greased crock-pot. Stir the marinade in the bowl and remove one cup of the liquid (no lime slices.) Pour this cup of marinade over the meat.

Cover and cook on LOW for 6 hours.

Remove the meat from the crock-pot and toss out the marinade. Put in one cup of chopped onions, and four 4-ounce cans of mushrooms (stems and pieces are fine) including the mushroom liquid. (You can also use a large one-pound can of mushrooms, if you can find it or even 2 cans of cream of mushroom soup diluted with one can of water.)

Sprinkle in half of an .88-ounce packet of beef gravy mix, reserving the rest for later, and stir it all up. Then place the meat in the crock-pot, pour in enough water to just cover it, and cook it on LOW for an additional 2 hours.

Remove meat to a carving platter. Stir the juices in the crock and turn the control to HIGH. Crush the gingersnaps and add them to the juice. Stir, cover, and let the “gravy” cook for 10 to 15 minutes. (If it’s not thick enough, add the rest of the beef gravy mix, whisk it briskly, and cook it for another minute.)

While the gravy is cooking, boil salted water and cook the egg noodles, according to the package directions. Drain them, butter them, and serve them with the meat.

Carve the meat (if it needs carving—it may just fall apart and that’s fine,) arrange it on a serving platter, and pour some of the gravy over the top. Sprinkle with fresh parsley, if desired. Serve the remainder of the gravy in a gravy boat or bowl.

Most people like to put the meat on top of the egg noodles and then pour on a bit more gravy.

Smothered Chicken

Laura Jorgensen got this recipe from her friend, Dee Appleton, who lives in Texas. It’s wonderful!

1 package boneless chicken breasts (skinless is fine—my bag was 4 pounds and contained 7 large boneless skinless chicken breasts)

1/2 cup butter (1 stick, 1/4 pound)

1/2 cup flour 1 Tablespoon Season Salt (see Mrs. Knudson’s recipe on backmatter)

1 teaspoon ground black pepper 1 teaspoon paprika 1/2 teaspoon ground oregano 1/2 teaspoon ground thyme 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder 1/2 cup dried chopped onion 1 Tablespoon parsley flakes 1 teaspoon sweet basil (not absolutely necessary, but adds a lot)

1 teaspoon chervil (not absolutely necessary, but adds a lot)

1 cup dry white wine (or water with a Tablespoon of red wine vinegar)

Take out your largest frying pan and melt the butter on medium heat. Mix the flour, salt, pepper, paprika, oregano, thyme and garlic powder in a bowl. Dredge the chicken in the flour mixture and brown it in the butter. (If there’s any flour left in the bowl, just dump it in on top.) Do the underside of the chicken breasts first, so that when you’re finished browning both sides, the right side is up. (This should take about five minutes per side.) When the chicken is browned, sprinkle the dried onion, parsley, sweet basil, and chervil over the top. Then dump in the wine, turn the heat down to simmer, and cover the pan. Let it cook for 45 minutes or until the chicken breasts are fully cooked.

Laura serves this with egg noodles and makes a sauce. After removing the chicken to a platter with sides, I pour in a little more white wine or water and cook the pan drippings for 2 or 3 minutes until they’re the right consistency. Laura serves this separately so folks can pour it over their noodles and chicken.

Sides

Apple ‘N Onion Dressing Balls

Lisa’s Aunt Ida used to say that if it was inside the turkey, it was stuffing. If it was outside the turkey, it was dressing. This dressing recipe is from her.

1 cup minced onion 1 cup finely chopped apple with the peel on (cored, of course)

1 chicken bouillon cube dissolved in 1/4 cup hot water (or 1/4 cup chicken broth)

1/2 teaspoon sage 1/2 teaspoon ground Mexican oregano 1/2 teaspoon thyme 1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper 2 beaten eggs (just whip them up with a fork)

1 six-ounce package herb seasoned stuffing mix

1 stick butter (1/2 cup, 1/4 pound)

Grease (or spray with non-stick cooking spray) the inside of a 4-quart slow cooker.

In a large mixing bowl combine the onion and apple.

In a small bowl, dissolve the bouillon cube (or measure out the chicken broth.) Add the sage, oregano, thyme, and black pepper. Mix everything up and then add it to the onion and apple in the large bowl. Mix well.

Add the eggs and then the stuffing mix, stirring until everything is moistened.

Shape the mixture into 8 balls and place them in the crock. Melt the butter and pour it over the top.

Cover and cook on LOW for 3 to 4 hours.

Sprinkle the stuffing balls with paprika or chopped parsley before serving.

You can use the crock-pot for any dressing. Just grease it, turn it to LOW, sprinkle the top with parsley or paprika and dot it with butter, and it’ll be ready in 3 to 4 hours.

If your guests are late, the way Aunt Ida’s grandchildren always are, she says to tell you that the dressing will hold for at least an hour longer.

Corn Pudding

Grease or spray the inside of a 4-quart slow cooker with cooking spray

Kathy Purvis gave us this recipe. She says her family has been serving it for Thanksgiving dinners for as long as she can remember. She also says there’s probably a way to make it in the oven, but no one remembers how to do it.

One package (8 1/2 ounces) corn muffin or corn-bread mix 2 beaten eggs (whip them up in a glass with a fork)

1/3 cup brown sugar 8-ounce package cream cheese (regular, not whipped)

16-ounce can cream-style corn (14.5 ounce can will work, too)

2 1/3 cups frozen sweet corn kernels (a 16-ounce package)

1 cup frozen tri-color peppers, chopped 1 cup whole milk (evaporated will do fine, or light cream will work also)

1/2 stick (1/4 cup, 1/8 pound) melted butter 1 teaspoon Season Salt (see Mrs. Knudson’s recipe on backmatter)

1 teaspoon pepper (freshly ground is best)

1/2 teaspoon nutmeg (freshly grated is best)

Soften the cream cheese in the bottom of a microwave-safe bowl on HIGH for 30 seconds. Stir it up with a spoon. Let it cool until it’s warm to the touch.

Add the beaten eggs and brown sugar. Mix thoroughly.

Add the corn muffin or corn bread mix. Stir to incorporate.

Add the can of cream-style corn, the frozen corn kernels, and the tri-color peppers.

Stir everything up and add the milk and the melted butter. Stir in the Season Salt and the pepper.

Spray the crock of a 4-quart slow cooker with Pam. Put in the corn pudding mixture. Grate 1/2 teaspoon of nutmeg on the top.

Put the cover on the slow cooker, turn it to HIGH, and let the corn pudding cook for 3 to 4 hours.

Serves 10 to 12 people as a side dish.

Green Bean Classic With a Twist

Preheat oven to 325 degrees F., rack in the middle position

Eleanor Cox made up this variation on the classic green bean casserole. She always brings two casseroles to our potluck dinners, but they’re gone in a big hurry.

16-ounce bag frozen cut green beans 16-ounce bag frozen yellow wax beans One can (103/4 ounces) cream of mushroom soup One can (103/4 ounces) cream of chicken soup 1 cup shredded cheese (Cheddar or Jack)

1/4 cup dried chopped onions 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder 1 six-ounce can French-fried onions (I used French’s)

salt and pepper to taste (I used 1 Tablespoon salt, and 2 teaspoons pepper)

Spray a disposable half-size steam table pan with non-stick cooking spray. Set it on a cookie sheet so the bottom will be supported.

Thaw the beans in the microwave, but don’t cook them. Dump them in the pan. Pour the two soups over the top, add the cheese, dried onions, and garlic powder. Add salt and pepper, and half of the French-fried onions. Mix it all up right there in the pan.

Cover the pan tightly with two layers of foil, and bake it at 325 degrees F. for one hour. (An hour and a half is fine, too—this dish holds well for guests who come late.)

Take the foil off the top and dump on the other half of the French-fried onions. Bake uncovered for an additional half hour or until the onions are brown and crispy.

Holiday Rice

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position

This recipe is from Pam Baxter, Jordan High’s Home Economics teacher. She gives it to all her students.

1 pound (approximately 2 and 2/3 cups) uncooked mixed rice***

3 and 1/3 cups boiling chicken stock (or beef stock)

one envelope dry Onion Soup (1-ounce, I use Lipton’s)

1/3 cup dried onions 1 sixteen-ounce package frozen tri-color bell peppers (or a sixteen-ounce package of frozen corn & peppers, or one cup fresh chopped bell peppers)

2 teaspoons ground black pepper

1/2 cup butter (one stick, 1/4 pound)

*** Pam uses a one-pound package of Trader Joe’s California Rice Trilogy. If you can’t get that, use 1 cup long-grain brown rice, 1 cup wild rice, and 2/3 cup brown Basmati rice. (Or any other combination you wish, as long as it adds up to 2 and 2/3 cups of dry rice.)

Rinse off the rice in a strainer and pat it dry. Mix rice and all ingredients except butter together in a large bowl. Transfer mixture to a greased casserole dish. Cut the butter into 8 pieces and put it on top of the casserole. Cover the casserole with heavy-duty foil if it doesn’t have a cover. Bake at 350 degrees F. for 2 hours. Take off the foil and bake for another 20 to 30 minutes.

Make-Ahead Mashed Potatoes

This is a slow cooker recipe, but you can also do it in the oven

Edna Ferguson contributed this recipe. She says every new bride should be presented with it, right along with her wedding ring.

Approximately 8 pounds potatoes, peeled

3 packages (8-ounces each) cream cheese

1/2 cup heavy cream

salt

pepper

1 cup dried, chopped onions

1 stick cold butter parsley and/or paprika to garnish

a packet of dry instant mashed potatoes (just in case you need them)

more cream or milk (just in case you need it)

Boil the potatoes in salted water until they’re tender enough to mash. Drain them. Soften the cream cheese in a bowl in the microwave. Then mash the potatoes with the cream cheese and the cream. (A hand masher works just fine—Edna says you want a few small chunks so people can tell they’re homemade.)

Mix in salt and pepper to taste. Mix in any other seasonings you’d like (garlic powder, onion powder, etc.) Add a cup of dried onions and mix them in.

Spray the inside of a 5-quart slow cooker with Pam or other non-stick cooking spray. Spoon in the potatoes. Garnish with parsley or paprika. Cut the stick of butter into eight pieces and press the pieces down a little on top of the potatoes. Put the cover on the crock-pot. You’re all done.

Plug in the slow cooker and set it on LOW. Cook for a minimum of 4 hours, but as long as 5 or 6 hours. Check a half hour before serving to see if they’re the right consistency. If there’s too much liquid, sprinkle in some instant mashed potatoes and stir them in. If there isn’t enough liquid, add more cream and stir it in. When the potatoes are perfect, you can add a little cholesterol by cutting another stick of butter into chunks and putting them on top, if you wish. Even if you don’t, the potatoes will be delicious when you serve them. (I put mine up around noon for an evening dinner.)

Edna says that if you don’t have a slow cooker and you’re too cheap to buy one to make your life easier, you can put these in a pan, cover them tightly with two layers of foil, and heat them in a 300 degree F. oven for 3 hours. She also says to tell you that they’ll hold in the oven for another hour if your guests are late.

Oodles of Noodles

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position

This is Gail Hansen’s recipe. It’s really wonderful!

12-ounce package uncooked wide egg noodles

8 eggs

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup white (granulated) sugar

1 cup sour cream

1/2 cup whipping cream

3 cups whole milk

1 teaspoon vanilla

1 cup cornflakes

1/2 cup melted butter (one stick, 1/4 pound)

(I added a cup of dried cranberries to this dish when I made it for Thanksgiving—everyone loved it that way.)

Spray a 9-inch by 13-inch cake pan with Pam. In a large bowl, beat the eggs with the salt and sugar until they’re a uniform yellow color. Add the sour cream, whipping cream, milk, and vanilla and whisk it all up.

Dump the uncooked noodles in the cake pan. Pour the egg mixture over the top. If there isn’t enough liquid to cover most of the noodles, add more whole milk until only a few are sticking up.

Crush the cornflakes by putting them into a baggie and squeezing them with your hands. (When they’re crushed, they should be approximately a 1/2 cup in volume.) Sprinkle the crushed cornflakes evenly on top of the noodles and liquid.

Melt the butter in a microwave-safe container and drizzle it over the top of the cornflakes.

Bake, uncovered, at 350 degrees F. for approximately an hour and a half, or until the top is golden brown.

Potato Bake or Party Potatoes

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position

This is another recipe from Vera Olsen (“Hot Stuff”) who’s engaged to marry Andrew Westcott (“Silver Fox.”)

1/3 cup flour 1/2 teaspoon baking powder 2 teaspoons salt 1 teaspoon pepper 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder 1/2 teaspoon onion powder 1/2 teaspoon paprika 4 eggs 1 large grated onion 1/2 cup melted butter (1 stick, 1/4 pound)

5 cups frozen hash browns or frozen Potatoes O’Brien 2 cups grated cheese (any kind will do)

Spray a 9-inch by 13-inch cake pan with Pam or other non-stick spray.

Mix flour, baking powder, salt, pepper, and seasonings in a large bowl with a fork. Add the eggs and whisk it all up. Stir in the onion, melted butter, grated cheese and potatoes.

Dump the mixture into the cake pan, cover it with foil, and bake at 350 degrees F. for one hour. Remove foil, turn the oven up to 400 degrees F., and bake for an additional 15 to 30 minutes, or until the top is crusty and golden brown.

If you want to make this into what Vera Olsen calls “Party Potatoes,” take the potatoes out of the oven, let them cool for about ten minutes so that the eggs and cheese hold them together, cut them into serving-size squares, (you can get about 12 from a pan,) transfer the squares to a platter, and top each one with a generous dollop of sour cream and a sprinkling of caviar (or crumbled bacon for those who don’t like caviar.)

Scandinavian Red Cabbage

This recipe is from Minnie Holtzmeier and she says it’s so easy, no one can possibly get it wrong. (She obviously forgot about Andrea!)

6 slices bacon, diced 1/4 cup brown sugar 1/8 cup flour (2 Tablespoons)

2 teaspoons salt 1 teaspoon pepper 3/4 cup dry red wine 1/4 cup butter, melted (1/2 stick, 1/8 pound)

1 head red cabbage, roughly shredded (6 to 8 cups)

1 chopped onion

Dice the bacon, put it in a 2-cup microwave bowl and cook for 2 minutes on high, stirring midway through cooking time. Pour off the bacon fat and set the bacon pieces aside.

Grease (or spray with non-stick cooking spray) the inside of a 4-quart slow cooker.

Combine bacon pieces, brown sugar, flour, salt, pepper, red wine, and butter in the bottom of the crock-pot. Stir it all up.

Shred the red cabbage and chop the onion. Add them to the crock and toss them with the liquid. Cover and cook on LOW for 3 to 4 hours.

Either drain some of the juice before serving, thicken it with a bit of flour and water, or use a slotted serving spoon.

Silly Carrots

Irma York contributed this recipe. She got it from her friend, Ginnie Redalje.

2 pounds carrots, peeled, cooked and sliced***

10 3/4-ounce can condensed tomato soup (Irma uses Campbell’s)

3/4 cup white (granulated) sugar 3/4 cup wine vinegar 1/4 cup olive oil 2 teaspoons prepared mustard (Irma uses Dijon)

2 cups diced celery 1 teaspoon salt 1/2 teaspoon pepper

*** or two 16-ounce packages frozen, sliced carrots prepared according to package directions Combine all ingredients except carrots in a saucepan. Heat to boiling. Turn down heat and simmer for 10 minutes. Pour over the cooked carrots.

Serve hot, or cold. If you choose to serve them cold, these can be made in the morning and refrigerated until dinner.

Spinach Souffle

If you’re going to bake this right away, preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in middle position.

This is Michelle’s recipe. It’s very good and I’m proud of her.

Assemble:

1/2 cup butter (one stick)

2 Tablespoons grated onion (you can also use dried and add them with the spinach)

2/3 cup flour (no need to sift)

2 cups Half & Half (or cream, or milk)

2 cups grated Cheddar 2 cups cooked, well-drained chopped spinach 2 teaspoons Season Salt (See Mrs. Knudson’s recipe on backmatter)

1/4 teaspoon white pepper 6 eggs, separated

Melt butter in large saucepan. Throw in onions and saute. Then dump in flour and stir around for at least two minutes. (They say it should bubble, but mine never does.) Add Half & Half and stir until it thickens into a thick sauce. Take off heat.

Stir in: spinach (and the onions, if you used dried,) cheese, salt & pepper. Beat egg yolks (by hand is fine) and add them.

At this point you can stick the whole thing in a bowl and refrigerate it until later. Overnight is okay, too. Keep egg whites refrigerated in a separate covered bowl.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., while you wait for the concoction and the egg whites to warm to room temperature. Beat egg whites until soft peaks form (not hard peaks). Fold into spinach mixture. Dump in a greased oven dish.

Bake at 350 degrees F. for an hour (mine took an extra 15 minutes) until the top is nicely browned. This souffle doesn’t fall when you take it out of the oven, so you can take it to a potluck dinner.

Sweet Potato Casserole

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position

Lucille Rahn contributed this recipe. She got it from her friend Meryl in New York, who got it from her friend Hazel. Lucille asked Meryl to ask Hazel, but Hazel’s not sure where she got it in the first place.

3 cups cooked, mashed sweet potatoes or yams***

2/3 cup white (granulated) sugar 1/4 cup melted butter (1/2 stick, 1/8 pound)

1 teaspoon vanilla extract 1/2 cup whipping cream 2 beaten eggs

1 cup brown sugar, firmly packed 1 cup chopped pecans 1/2 cup flour 1/2 cup softened butter (1 stick, 1/4 pound)

*** It’s better with freshly cooked sweet potatoes or yams, but you can also use well-drained canned sweet potatoes or yams. It’ll take one 29-ounce can and one 15-ounce can to make a scant 3 cups of mashed sweet potatoes. Two 29-ounce cans will yield almost 4 cups, but you can use them and things will still turn out just fine.

Spray a 9-inch by 13-inch baking dish with non-stick cooking spray.

In a large mixing bowl combine sweet potatoes, sugar, melted butter, vanilla, and cream. Mix in the beaten eggs and stir thoroughly. Pour the mixture into the baking pan you’ve prepared.

Rinse out the bowl you used and dry it with a paper towel. Combine the brown sugar, chopped pecans, and flour, mixing them up with a fork. Add the butter and mix with the fork until it’s crumbly.

You can also do this in the food processor with the steel blade and cold butter cut into 8 pieces. If you do this, add the chopped pecans by hand after everything else is processed.

Sprinkle the brown sugar mixture over the top of the sweet potato mixture. Bake, uncovered, for 30 to 45 minutes. If the rest of the dinner’s not ready, cover the pan with foil, turn off the oven, and leave the casserole inside. When the guests arrive, take out the casserole and serve.

Desserts: Cakes

A note from Hannah: When you page through the dessert section, you may wonder why you don’t see Shawna Lee Quinn’s Brownies, especially since you know that they were accepted by the Lake Eden cookbook committee.

To make a long story short, Lisa happened to be paging through her mother’s copy of “Joy of Cooking,” and she came across a brownie recipe that sounded wonderful. She started to make it and that’s when she realized that it was EXACTLY the same as the brownie recipe that Shawna Lee had submitted, right down to the amounts and the method and everything. The cookbook committee thought it was only right to attribute the previously printed source, “Joy of Cooking,” but Shawna Lee didn’t like that idea and she told us to just leave her brownies out if that’s the way we felt about it.

Christmas Date Cake

Preheat oven to 325 degrees F., rack in the middle position

This recipe is from my Grandma Ingrid. She used to make this cake every Christmas.

2 cups chopped pitted dates (you can buy chopped dates, or sprinkle whole pitted dates with a bit of flour and then chop them in a food processor.)

3 cups boiling water 2 teaspoons baking soda

Pour the boiling water over the dates, add the soda (it foams up a bit) and set them aside to cool. While they’re cooling, cream the following ingredients together in a large mixing bowl:

1 cup (2 sticks) soft or melted butter 2 cups white (granulated) sugar 4 eggs

1/2 teaspoon salt

3 cups flour (you don’t have to sift it)

Once the above are thoroughly mixed, add the cooled date mixture to your bowl and stir thoroughly.

Butter and flour a 9-inch by 13-inch rectangular cake pan. (This cake rises about an inch and a half, so make sure the sides are tall enough.) Pour the batter into the pan. Then sprinkle the following on the top, in this order, BEFORE baking:

12 oz. chocolate chips (2 cups)

1 cup white (granulated) sugar 1 cup chopped nuts (use any nuts you like—I prefer walnuts or pecans)

Bake at 325 degrees F. for 80 minutes. A cake tester or a long toothpick should come out clean one inch from the center when the cake is done. (If you happen to stick the toothpick in and hit a chocolate chip, it’ll come out covered with melted chocolate—just wipe it off and stick it in again to test the actual cake batter.)

Let the cake cool in the pan on a wire rack. It can be served slightly warm, at room temperature, or chilled.

Chocolate Fruitcake

Preheat oven to 300 degrees F., rack in the middle position

These cakes pack a punch, especially if you have more than one piece.

If you’re planning to give them as Christmas gifts, bake them at least 3 weeks ahead of time, preferably right after Thanksgiving.

3 sticks melted butter (1 1/2 cups, 3/4 pound)

4 cups white (granulated) sugar 8 beaten eggs (just whip them up with a fork)

2 teaspoons baking powder 1 teaspoon baking soda 1 teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon ground nutmeg 1/2 teaspoon cardamom (or 1 teaspoon cinnamon, but cardamom’s better)

1/2 cup unsweetened baking cocoa 1/2 cup molasses 1 cup milk (or light cream)

4 1/2 cups flour (you don’t have to sift it)

1 cup brandy or rum*** (you’ll need an additional cup or two for the wrapping)

1 cup chopped dried apricots (or any chopped dried fruit)

2 1/2 cups chopped nuts 1 cup chocolate chips 1 1/2 cups coconut flakes cheesecloth to wrap cakes

***If you don’t want to use alcohol, use a cup of fruit juice instead of the brandy, do not wrap in cheesecloth, and either give the cakes as gifts within a day or two of baking, or wrap them tightly in foil and freeze them in freezer bags.

Spray 8 baby loaf pans with Pam or other non-stick cooking spray. (My pans are stamped 5 3/4 x 3 x 2 1/8 on the bottom.) Line the pans with wax paper by cutting a strip to extend over the width of the pan, leaving “ears” on the side. You don’t have to worry about the ends of the pans—they’ll be okay unlined. Spray the whole thing again with Pam or other non-stick cooking spray, dump in some flour, and swish it around (over the wastebasket or sink) so that all the inner surfaces of the wax paper and the pan are dusted with flour. Knock excess flour out.

Melt butter in a large microwave-safe bowl. Add the sugar and mix it up. Allow it to cool slightly while you beat the eggs in another bowl.

When the butter and sugar mixture is no longer hot to the touch, mix in the beaten eggs. Then add baking powder, baking soda, salt, nutmeg, and cardamom, and cocoa, stirring after each addition. Mix in molasses and milk.

Add the flour cup by cup, stirring after each addition. Then add the cup of brandy and mix some more. Dump in the apricots, nuts, chocolate chips and coconut and stir until everything is thoroughly mixed.

Fill the baby loaf pans 3/4 full with batter. This batch should make eight or nine mini-cakes.

Bake at 300 degrees F. for 1 hour. Remove from oven, place pans on rack and let them cool for 10 minutes. Gently lift out cakes, put them back on the rack, and allow them to cool for another 10 minutes. Peel off the wax paper and finish cooling.

Open a window near your work surface. This sounds silly, but you can get pretty light-headed doing the next step, as it involves some powerful fumes.

Pour a cup of brandy into a bowl. Fold the cheesecloth over so it’s double thick and cut lengths that are long enough to wrap around the cakes. Dip lengths of cheesecloth in the brandy, one at a time. Spread the cheesecloth out on a breadboard or on wax paper on your counter, wrap the cake in the cheesecloth, and place it in a gallon freezer bag. (I put 2 cakes in each bag.) Seal the bags and store them in the bottom of the refrigerator for at least 3 weeks, taking them out every week to add more brandy to the cheesecloth. (I use a small bulb baster so I don’t have to unwrap them.)

If you give these cakes for Christmas, just take them out of the refrigerator, leave the cloth on, and wrap them in Saran Wrap. Then wrap them again in foil and stick a bow on top. These cakes are wonderful sliced and topped with ice cream!

NOTE: Cheesecloth has gotten really expensive. If you can’t find any on sale, I’ve substituted one thickness of unbleached muslin from the fabric store. Just wash the muslin in hot water with NO SOAP and dry it in your dryer. Cut it into lengths AFTER washing and drying (it’ll shrink in the washer and dryer,) and it’ll work almost as well as the cheesecloth.

Coffee Cake

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position

Note: Some coffee cake is more like sweet bread. Regina Todd’s is really a cake, so the cookbook committee decided to put it in the cake section.

1 cup soft butter (2 sticks, 1/2 pound)

1 and 3/4 cup white sugar (granulated)

1 teaspoon salt

2 teaspoons vanilla 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder 6 eggs

3 cups flour (no need to sift)

The Filling:

3 cups chopped fruit (or crushed berries—the fruit can be fresh, frozen, or canned***)

1/3 cup white sugar (granulated)

1/3 cup flour

The Crumb Topping:

1/2 cup brown sugar (tightly packed)

1/3 cup flour 1/4 cup softened butter (1/2 stick, 1/8 pound)

***If you choose to use drained canned fruit, make sure it’s been canned in its own juice or in water.

Grease the inside of a 9-inch by 13-inch rectangular cake pan, or spray it with non-stick cooking spray.

Mix the cup of soft butter with the white sugar until it’s fluffy. Add the salt, vanilla, and baking powder. Mix thoroughly.

Add the eggs one by one, mixing after each addition.

Add the flour in one-cup increments, mixing thoroughly after each addition.

Spoon one-half of the batter in the cake pan and spread it out with a rubber spatula. Leave the rest in the bowl for later.

The filling: In another bowl, mix the fruit, sugar, and flour. (If you’ve used chopped apples, peaches, or pears, add 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon to the mix.) Spoon the fruit mixture on top of the batter.

Drop spoonfuls of the remaining batter on top and spread them carefully with a rubber spatula. (The fruit doesn’t have to be covered completely—the batter on top will fill in as it bakes and the crumb topping will cover the rest.)

The crumb topping: Mix the brown sugar and the flour in a small bowl. Add the softened butter and cut it in until it’s crumbly. (You can also do this in a food processor with chilled butter and the steel blade.)

Sprinkle the crumb topping over the pan as evenly as possible.

Bake at 350 degrees F. for 45 to 60 minutes. Remove the pan from the oven and let the coffee cake cool on a wire rack.

Andrea, Bill, and Bill’s father like this served warm, right from the pan. Regina likes it thoroughly cool.

Regina told me that one time she wanted to make this coffee cake, but she didn’t have anything in the pantry except a can of cherry pie filling. Instead of mixing the ingredients for the filling, she just dumped in the whole can of pie filling and it worked just fine.

Jell-O Cake

Preheat oven to whatever it recommends on the cake mix box.

This recipe is from Andrea, who makes it for Tracey’s birthday every year. Tracey’s friends love it because it’s colorful. Andrea loves it because it’s easy and she’s the undisputed Jell-O Queen of Lake Eden.

1 package white cake mix (1 pound 2.25 ounces)

The ingredients called for on the cake mix box

2 three-ounce packages dry Jell-O in contrasting colors

1 small tub of Cool Whip, or one can of whipped cream

Preheat the oven to the temperature it recommends on the cake mix box.

Grease and flour a 9-inch by 13-inch rectangular cake pan.

Mix up the cake using the directions on the box. Bake the cake for the required amount of time. Let the cake cool to room temperature.

When the cake has cooled, dump one package of Jell-O into a small bowl. Add one cup boiling water to the Jell-O and stir until it’s dissolved (about one minute.)

Poke holes in the top of the cake with a fork, punching it all the way to the bottom of the cake pan. Make about 30 punches.

Pour the Jell-O evenly over the top of the cake. Give it a minute or two to sink down into the holes you punched.

Refrigerate the cake for an hour.

Prepare the second package of Jell-O, mixing the contents with 1 cup boiling water and stirring for one minute, or until it’s dissolved.

Punch more holes in the top of your cake, crisscrossing the first holes. Pour the second bowl of Jell-O liquid over the top of the cake. Give it a minute or two to sink down and then cover it with plastic wrap or foil. Refrigerate the cake for at least 4 hours. Overnight is fine, too.

Andrea says to warn you that the top is going to look ugly and that’s why you’ll frost it with Cool Whip or whipped cream.

When it’s time to serve, “frost” your cake with Cool Whip or whipped cream and cut into square pieces.

To Make A Layer Cake:

For a truly gorgeous cake, divide the batter into two 8-inch round pans and bake it according to the package directions. Then divide the Jell-O between the two pans.

To frost, remove the cakes from the pans, use Cool Whip or whipped cream between the layers and to frost the sides and top. Everyone will ooh and ahh when you slice the cake.

Andrea made a confession to me the night of the Christmas potluck dinner. She said she doesn’t bake the cake. She buys an unfrosted sheet cake at the Red Owl, does the part with the Jell-O, and frosts it with Cool Whip. I thought about this for a few minutes and decided it’s probably a good thing.

Lady Hermoine’s (Hannah’s) Chocolate Sunshine Cake

Preheat oven to 325 degrees F., rack in the middle position

4 one-ounce squares unsweetened baking chocolate 1 cup frozen orange juice concentrate, melted and at room temperature 1/2 cup soft butter (1 stick, 1/4 pound)

2 1/2 cups white sugar (granulated)

2 teaspoons baking powder 1/2 teaspoon salt 1/2 teaspoon orange extract (or 1/2 teaspoon vanilla)

2 eggs

2 cups flour (no need to sift)

1/2 cup milk 1 cup chopped pecans (or walnuts)

Grease (or oil, or spray with non-stick cooking spray) the inside of a Bundt pan. Dust with flour, or cocoa, knocking out the excess.

Put the chocolate and the orange juice concentrate in a microwave-safe bowl and heat it for one minute on high. Stir it and then heat it on high for another minute. Stir until the chocolate has melted. Set the bowl aside to cool. (You can also do this in the top of a double boiler.)

The following steps are a lot easier if you use an electric mixer: Combine the butter and sugar, and mix until fluffy. Mix in the baking powder, salt, and orange extract. Add the eggs, one at a time, mixing after each addition.

Add half of the flour to the bowl. Mix thoroughly. Mix in the milk, and then add the rest of the flour.

When the chocolate mixture is cool enough to touch, add it to your bowl. Mix thoroughly. Scrape down the bowl with a rubber spatula and then add the nuts. Give a final mix.

Let the batter rest for several minutes, and then pour it carefully into the prepared Bundt pan.

Bake at 325 degrees F., for 60 to 70 minutes, or until a cake tester inserted in the center of the ring comes out clean.

Remove to a wire rack and let cool for 25 minutes. Loosen the cake around the outside and inside edges with a sharp knife and tip it out onto the wire rack.

Let the cake cool completely and then glaze. (Or, if you don’t feel like making a glaze, just dust the cool cake with confectioner’s sugar.)

Chocolate Glaze:

1 cup chocolate chips 1/3 cup cream 1 teaspoon vanilla

Combine in a microwave-safe bowl. (I use a one-quart glass measuring cup.) Microwave on HIGH for one minute. Stir until chocolate chips are melted. If the glaze is too thick, add a little more cream. If the glaze is too thin, add a few more chips.

Drizzle the hot glaze over the crest of the cake and let it drip down the sides.

Poppy Seed Cake

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position

This recipe is from Shirley Dubinski.

1 box yellow cake mix (1 pound, 2.25 ounces)

One package (4.3 ounces) lemon pudding & pie filling (NOT sugar free)***

4 Tablespoons poppy seeds 1/2 cup lemon juice 1/2 cup water 1/2 cup vegetable oil 4 eggs

*** You can substitute a 3.4 ounce package of Jell-O Lemon Instant Pudding and Pie Filling if you can’t find the kind of pudding you have to cook.

Grease and flour a Bundt pan.

Dump the dry yellow cake mix in a large bowl. Mix in the dry lemon pudding and pie filling. Add the poppy seeds, lemon juice, water, and oil. Mix until well-blended.

Add the eggs one at a time, mixing after each addition.

Beat 2 minutes on medium speed with an electric mixer or 3 minutes by hand.

Pour the cake batter into the Bundt pan.

Bake at 350 degrees F. for 45 to 50 minutes or until a cake tester inserted into the center of the cake comes out dry.

Cool on a rack for 15 minutes. Loosen the outside edges and the middle, and tip the cake out of the pan. Let the cake cool completely on the rack.

When the cake is cool, drizzle Vanilla Glaze in ribbons on the top and down the sides. (Or, if you don’t feel like making a glaze, just let the cake cool completely and dust it with confectioner’s sugar.)

Vanilla Glaze:

1 cup powdered (confectioner’s) sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla 6 Tablespoons cream

Measure powdered sugar into a small bowl. Stir in vanilla and cream. Stir until thoroughly mixed. The glaze should be the proper consistency to drizzle over the cake. If it’s too thick, add a bit more cream. If it’s too thin, add a bit more powdered sugar.

Drizzle the glaze over the crest of the cake and let it drip down the sides.

Refrigerate until serving.

Rose’s Famous Coconut Cake

Preheat oven to 325 degrees F., rack in the middle position.

A note from Hannah: Rose McDermott called to give me this recipe the day before I had to turn everything in to our editor. This has come close to convincing me that the man in the red suit with the sleigh is real. Tracey asked for seven things in her letter to Santa, and she got three of them. If she gets that puppy she wants, I’m a believer.

1 1/2 cups softened butter (3 sticks)

2 cups white (granulated) sugar

4 eggs

1 cup sour cream*** (you can substitute plain yogurt for a lighter cake)

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon coconut extract (if you can’t find it, you can use vanilla)

1 3/4 cups flour (not sifted)

2 cups flaked or shredded coconut (pack it down when you measure it—more is better in this case)

*** Measuring sour cream is messy—it’s easier just to buy the one-cup (half pint) container and use the whole thing.

Generously grease (or spray with non-stick cooking spray) a Bundt pan. Dust it liberally with flour and knock off the excess.

Cream softened butter and sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer. (You can mix this cake by hand, but it takes some muscle.) Add the eggs, one at a time, and beat until they’re nice and fluffy. Then add the sour cream, baking powder and coconut extract.

Put the flour and the coconut in a food processor. Process with the steel blade until the mixture looks like fine cornmeal. (You don’t have to do this if you don’t have a food processor, but most folks like it better.)

Add half of the flour/coconut mixture to the bowl. Mix thoroughly. Add the rest of the flour/coconut combination and mix until the batter is smooth.

Let the batter rest for five minutes or so. Then pour it into the Bundt pan, smoothing the top with a rubber spatula.

Bake at 325 degrees F. for 60 to 70 minutes. The cake should be golden brown on top and a wooden skewer inserted in the center of the cake ring should come out clean.

Cool in the pan on a rack for 25 minutes. Run a knife around the inside edges of the cake to loosen it and don’t forget to loosen it around the funnel in the middle of the pan. Turn the cake out on the rack and let it cool completely.

When the cake is completely cool, glaze it with Coconut Glaze.

Coconut Glaze:

1 cup powered sugar (confectioner’s sugar)

1/4 cup heavy cream

1 teaspoon coconut extract (or 1/2 teaspoon coconut, 1/2 teaspoon vanilla)

1/4 cup coconut flakes

If the powered sugar has big lumps, sift it. Otherwise, use it as it is. Put the powered sugar in a small bowl. Add the heavy cream and the coconut extract. Stir until smooth. (If you can’t get it smooth, you may need to heat it for thirty seconds or so in the microwave on HIGH, and then stir again.)

If the glaze is too thick to pour over the cake, thin it with a little more cream. If the glaze is too thin, thicken it with a bit more powdered sugar.

Drizzle the glaze over the crest of the cake and let it drip down the sides. Sprinkle the cake with the coconut before the glaze dries.

Mother’s been after Rose for years to use my Chocolate Glaze on this cake. (You can find it in Lady Hermoine’s (Hannah’s) Chocolate Sunshine Cake recipe.) She even took Rose the recipe. Rose liked it a lot, and now she offers two cakes, one with Coconut Glaze and the other with Chocolate Glaze.

Desserts: Pies

Coconut Green Pie

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position

Note: Bridget Murphy makes this green pie every year for St. Patrick’s Day dinner. She says that if green food doesn’t spark your appetite, either cover the top with whipped cream, or shut your eyes when you eat it.

You’ll need a blender to make this pie. It makes its own crust.

In the blender container combine:

1 1/2 cups water one can sweetened condensed milk (14 ounces)

1/2 cup Bisquick (biscuit baking mix)

3 eggs 1/4 cup (1/2 stick) melted butter 2 teaspoons vanilla 3 or 4 drops green food coloring (optional—don’t tell Bridget I said this, but you can leave out the green food coloring if you’d rather.)

Blend on low speed for 3 minutes.

Spray a 10-inch pie plate with Pam or other non-stick shortening. Pour the contents of the blender container into the pie plate and let it stand, uncovered, at room temperature for 5 minutes. (The Bisquick settles to the bottom and that’s what makes the crust.)

Sprinkle 1 cup of flaked coconut over the top of the pie.

Carefully place the pie in a 350 degree F. oven. (This takes steady hands! I set my pie plate on a baking sheet before I fill it, just in case it spills on the way to the oven.) Bake pie for 40 to 45 minutes or until a knife inserted one inch from the edge comes out clean.

Cool on a wire rack.

This pie can be served slightly warm, room temperature, or chilled. Bridget says to remind you that it’s wonderful with strong Irish coffee, and to be sure to refrigerate leftovers.

Pecan Pie For A Holiday Crowd

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position

For First Step:

2 cups flour (no need to sift)

1 cup softened butter (2 sticks, 1/2 pound)

3/4 cup loosely packed brown sugar

For Second Step:

5 beaten eggs (just whip them up with a fork)

1 cup brown sugar 1/2 cup melted butter 1 and 1/2 cups white corn syrup (I use Karo)

3/4 teaspoon salt 1 1/2 cups roughly chopped pecans 1/8 cup flour (that’s 2 Tablespoons)

First Step: Cream softened butter with brown sugar and add flour. Mix well. Spread 3 cups of this mixture in a greased 9 by 13 inch cake pan and pat it down with your hands. Reserve the rest for a crumb topping. (You can use cold butter if you divide each stick into 8 pieces and zoop everything up with the steel blade of your food processor.)

Bake the crust at 350 degrees F. for 15 minutes. Remove from oven. DON’T TURN OFF THE OVEN!

Second Step: Beat the eggs and mix them with the brown sugar. Add the melted butter and stir it all up. Then mix in the white corn syrup, salt, and pecan pieces. Now add the flour and mix thoroughly.

Pour this mixture over the crust you just baked. Sprinkle the reserved crust mixture from the first step on top. (At this point you can carefully decorate the top with a few half pecans, if you want to make it fancier. I don’t bother. With something this good, you don’t need decoration.)

Bake at 350 degrees F. for another 30 to 35 minutes. Remove pan from the oven and cool on a wire rack. Once the pan is cool to the touch, refrigerate it until ready to serve.

To serve, cut the Pecan Pie into 16 pieces. You can top these with whipped cream if you like, but they don’t really need it.

Bill likes to eat this cold, right out of the refrigerator. Andrea likes it best at room temperature. Carrie loves it when it’s still warm, served with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top. Mother also likes it warm, but with chocolate ice cream. I like it any way at all, anytime.

Pumpkin Pie For A Thanksgiving Crowd

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position

1 1/2 cups flour (no need to sift)

3/4 cup butter (1 1/2 sticks)

1/2 cup powdered (confectioner’s) sugar (don’t sift unless it’s got big lumps)

4 eggs

1 1/2 cups white (granulated) sugar 1 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon nutmeg (freshly ground is best)

1/2 teaspoon cardamom (or 1 teaspoon cinnamon, but cardamom’s better)

3 1/2 cups plain canned pumpkin, no spices added (29-ounce can)

2 cans evaporated milk (12-ounce cans) or 3 cups light cream

Cut chilled butter into 12 pieces. Layer them between the flour and the powdered sugar in the bowl of a food processor. Process until the mixture has the consistency of corn meal. (You can also do this by cutting softened butter into the dry ingredients.)

Coat a standard 9 x 13 inch cake pan with non-stick cooking spray. Pour the mixture inside, shake it until it’s evenly distributed on the bottom, and press it down a bit with a metal spatula.

Bake at 350 degrees F. for 15 minutes. Let it cool while you prepare the pumpkin pie filling, but DON’T SHUT OFF THE OVEN.

Beat the eggs in a large bowl (or use an electric mixer.) Mix in the sugar, salt, nutmeg, and cardamom. Add the pumpkin and blend. Then add the evaporated milk and mix thoroughly.

Pour this over the crust you just baked. Stick it back in the oven and bake it for another 60 or 70 minutes, or until a knife inserted near the center comes out clean.

Chill overnight, cut into 16 squares, and serve each with a generous dollop of sweetened whipped cream.

Desserts: Cookies

Cherry Bomb Cookies

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position

This is my Grandma Ingrid’s recipe. She used to make these for special occasions.

3 cups flour (no need to sift)

1/2 teaspoon baking powder 1/2 teaspoon baking soda 1/4 teaspoon salt 1 cup (2 sticks, 1/2 pound) softened butter

2 beaten eggs 1 cup white (granulated) sugar

2 jars (16-oz. each) maraschino cherries WITH STEMS (about 65 cherries)

Small bowl with powdered (confectioner’s) sugar for dipping

Open the jars of cherries and drain the cherries. Leave them in the strainer while you make the cookie dough.

Put flour, baking powder, soda, and salt in a mixing bowl. Stir with a fork until thoroughly mixed. Cut in the softened butter with two forks, continuing to cut until the mixture looks like coarse corn meal. (You can also do this in a food processor with the steel blade, using cold butter cut in half-inch chunks.)

Beat the eggs in a medium-sized bowl and combine them with the sugar.

Add the egg and sugar mixture to the rest of the ingredients and stir until thoroughly mixed.

Extract small bits of dough with your fingers and wrap them around each maraschino cherry, leaving the stem sticking out. Press the bottoms of the dough-wrapped cherries down slightly on a greased baking sheet, 16 to a standard-sized sheet. (4 rows of 4 cookies works nicely.)

Bake at 350 degrees F. for 10 minutes. (Cookies will be white—if they start to brown, reduce the baking time.) Let the cookies cool on the cookie sheet. Then dip them in the powdered sugar so that the entire cookie part is covered, but not the stem.

Yield: 5 to 6 dozen cookies.

Kids love these, probably because they can pick them up by the stem, pop the whole cookie in their mouths, and pull off the stem.

For Christmas, I make these with one jar of red maraschino cherries and one jar of green. Once they’re arranged on a platter lined with a paper doily, they’re really pretty.

Christmas Sugar Cookies

Do not preheat oven—this dough must chill before baking

I came up with the cookie recipe and Lisa did the frosting.

1 1/2 cups melted butter (3 sticks, 3/4 pound)

2 cups white (granulated) sugar 4 beaten eggs

2 teaspoons baking powder 1 1/2 teaspoons salt

1 teaspoon flavor extract (lemon, almond, vanilla, orange, rum, whatever)

5 cups flour (no need to sift)

Mix the melted butter with the sugar. Let cool. Add the beaten eggs, baking powder, salt, and flavoring.

Add the flour in one-cup increments.

Refrigerate dough for at least two hours. Overnight is fine, too.

When you’re ready to bake, preheat the oven to 375 degrees F., rack in the center position.

Divide the dough into four parts for ease in rolling. Roll out the first part of the dough on a floured board. It should be approximately 1/8 inch thick.

Dip the cookie cutters in flour and cut out cookies, getting as many as you can from the sheet of dough. (If you don’t have cookie cutters, you can cut free-form cookies with a sharp knife.) Use a metal spatula to remove the cookies from the rest of the sheet of dough and place them on an UNGREASED cookie sheet. Leave at least an inch and a half between cookies.

If you want to use colored sugar or sprinkles to decorate, put it on now, before baking. If you’d rather frost the cookies, wait until they’re baked and cooled.

Bake at 375 degrees F. for 8 to 10 minutes, or just until delicately golden in color. Leave them on the sheet for a minute or two and then transfer them to a wire rack to complete cooling.

Icing:

2 cups sifted confectioner’s sugar (powdered sugar)

pinch of salt

1/2 teaspoon vanilla (or other flavoring)

1/4 cup cream

Mix up icing, adding a little more cream if it’s too thick and a little more powdered sugar if it’s too thin.

If you’d like to frost the cookies in different colors, divide the icing and put it in several small bowls. Add drops of the desired food coloring to each bowl.

Use a frosting knife, or a brush to “paint” the cookies you’ve baked.

Heavenly Tea Cookies

DO NOT preheat oven—this dough must chill before baking

1 1/2 cups melted butter (3 sticks, 3/4 pound)

2 cups firmly packed brown sugar 2 beaten eggs (just whisk them up in a glass with a fork)

2 teaspoons baking powder

1 teaspoon vanilla (or other flavoring—I used lemon extract)

1 1/2 cups dried mixed fruit chopped with 2 Tablespoons flour (measure fruit after chopping)

3 cups flour

Melt the butter in a microwave-safe bowl on HIGH for 2 1/2 minutes. Add the brown sugar and mix it up. Let it cool for several minutes. When the mixture is warm to the touch, but not hot, add the beaten eggs, baking powder and vanilla.

Chop the dried mixed fruit. This is easy with a food processor and the steel blade. Just drop in the fruit (I used peaches, apples, pears, and apricots) and sprinkle the 2 Tablespoons of flour on top. Pulse until the fruit is finely chopped, adding a bit more flour if it starts to “gum” up. Measure out a cup and a half of chopped fruit.

Add the fruit to your mixing bowl and stir it in. Then add the flour, one cup at a time, stirring after each addition.

Place the dough in the refrigerator for 20 minutes to firm up. Then divide it into 4 parts. Using waxed paper, roll each part into a log approximately 2 inches in diameter. (If the dough is too sticky, return it to the refrigerator and let it chill for another ten minutes.) Wrap the logs in fresh sheets of waxed paper, stick them in a plastic bag, and store them in your refrigerator for at least 4 hours. (Overnight is fine, too—Heavenly Tea Cookie dough will keep up to a week in your refrigerator.)

When you’re ready to bake, preheat the oven to 375 degrees F., rack in the center position.

Take out a roll of dough, (just one—it’s easier to work with when it’s chilled) unwrap it, and roll it on the counter again if the bottom has flattened in the refrigerator. Cut quarter-inch thick slices with a sharp knife and place them on a greased cookie sheet, 12 to a standard-sized sheet. Return the unused dough to the refrigerator. Bake the cookies at 375 degrees F. for 10 minutes or until nicely browned.

Cool one or two minutes on the sheet and then transfer the cookies to a wire rack to cool completely.

Yield: 6 to 7 dozen cookies.

Note: These cookies are not very sweet—if you prefer a sweeter cookie, dust the tops with powdered sugar before serving.

Lisa’s Pieces

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position

1 cup regular semi-sweet chocolate chips 1 cup melted butter (2 sticks, 1/2 pound)

1/4 cup strong coffee 1 cup chopped pitted dates (you can buy chopped dates, or sprinkle whole pitted dates with a bit of flour and then chop them in a food processor.)

1 1/2 cups white (granulated) sugar 2 beaten eggs (just whip them up with a fork)

1 teaspoon vanilla 1 teaspoon baking soda 1 teaspoon salt 1 cup chopped walnuts or pecans (measure after you chop them)

1 cup milk chocolate chips 3 1/2 cups flour (no need to sift)

Put the semi-sweet chocolate chips, butter and coffee in a microwave-safe bowl and microwave until they’re melted. (Approximately 2 minutes on high.) The chips may maintain their shapes, so stir until they’re smooth. Add the chopped dates, mix them in, and set the bowl aside.

Measure the sugar into a large mixing bowl, and stir in the beaten eggs. Add the vanilla, baking soda, and salt. Mix thoroughly.

Add the melted chocolate mixture to your bowl and then mix in the chopped nuts and the milk chocolate chips. Add the flour in half-cup increments, mixing after each addition.

Let the dough sit for ten minutes or so, then drop dough by teaspoons onto a greased cookie sheet, twelve cookies to a standard sheet. Flatten the dough balls slightly on the sheet with the heel of your impeccably clean hand. (If the dough is too sticky, chill it for a few minutes.)

Bake at 350 degrees F. for 10 to 12 minutes. Let the cookies sit on the cookie sheet for a minute or two and then transfer to a wire rack to complete cooling.

Yield: Approximately 8 dozen cookies, depending on cookie size.

Blueberry Shortbread Bar Cookies

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position

This is Betty Jackson’s recipe. She says to tell you they’re the best bar cookie to eat if you’re on a diet, because they have only three-quarters of a cup of powdered sugar. (That’s true, but she’s forgetting about all the sugar in the can of pie filling.)

3 cups flour (no need to sift)

1 1/2 cups softened butter (3 sticks, 3/4 pound)

3/4 cup powdered (confectioner’s) sugar (don’t sift unless it’s got big lumps)

1 can (21 ounces) blueberry pie filling

FIRST STEP: Cream butter with powdered sugar and add flour. Mix well.

(You can also do this in a food processor using cold butter cut into chunks and the steel blade.)

Spread HALF of this mixture (approx. 3 1/2 cups) into a greased 9-inch by 13-inch pan. (That’s a standard size rectangular cake pan.)

Bake at 350 degrees F. for 15 minutes. Remove the pan from the oven. DON’T TURN OFF THE OVEN!

Let the crust cool for 5 minutes.

SECOND STEP: Spread the pie filling over the top of the crust you just baked. Sprinkle it with the other half of the crust mixture you reserved and gently press it down with a metal spatula.

Bake the cookie bars for another 30 to 35 minutes, or until the top is lightly golden. Remove the pan to a wire rack.

Cool thoroughly and then cut into brownie-sized bars. If you like, sprinkle the bars with a little extra powdered sugar.

Hannah’s “Hot” Brownies

Preheat the oven to whatever it says on the package of brownie mix

I really have to apologize for this recipe. I don’t usually use packaged mixes, but the thought of putting hot peppers into my very best brownies made me queasy. At the time, I figured this was good enough to be on the front lines of the Brownie Wars. I wouldn’t have put this in the cookbook, but Mike and Bill, along with seven other deputies, begged me to do it.

1 package brownie mix (any old kind will do)

4-ounce can diced jalapeno peppers

Prepare the pan and the brownie batter according to the package directions.

Drain the liquid from the can of jalapeno peppers. (This could have a side benefit of clearing out your drain.)

Dump the peppers into the brownie batter and stir them around.

Pour the batter into the pan and bake according to the package directions.

Mike likes these with milk. Bill would rather cut a big square and top it off with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Lonnie likes his with plain coffee (and that makes me think that he might be the right guy for Michelle.)

Rhubarb Bar Cookies

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position

A note from Hannah: This recipe, or a very close variant, was contributed by over a dozen Lake Eden women. They also contributed recipes for rhubarb pie, rhubarb bread, rhubarb cookies, rhubarb jam, rhubarb tarts, rhubarb cakes, and rhubarb sauce. We decided, in an emergency session of the cookbook committee, to include only one rhubarb recipe, since the cookbook will be distributed nationally and, believe it or not, there are some areas of the country where rhubarb doesn’t grow! Since so many Lake Eden ladies like this recipe, we chose it.

1 cup flour (no need to sift)

1/2 cup white (granulated) sugar 1 teaspoon baking powder 1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup softened butter (1 stick, 1/4 pound)

1 beaten egg (just whip it up in a glass with…)

1 Tablespoon milk

2 cups peeled finely diced rhubarb 1 small package (3-ounce) strawberry Jell-O (regular, not sugar-free)

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup flour (no need to sift)

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon 1/2 cup softened butter (1/2 stick, 1/8 pound)

Mix the flour with the sugar, baking powder and salt in a small bowl. Cut in the softened butter (mix in small amounts with a fork) until the mixture is crumbly. Whip up the egg in a glass with the milk. Add the mixture to your work bowl and stir until it’s thoroughly incorporated. (You can also do this in the food processor with chilled butter cut in pieces and the steel blade.)

Spray a 9-inch by 9-inch pan with non-stick cooking spray. (You can use an 8x8 pan, but it will be very full.)

Spread the mixture out in the bottom of the pan and press it down slightly with a spatula (or your hands.)

Sprinkle the diced rhubarb over the top and sprinkle the Jell-O powder over that.

Put the cup of sugar, half-cup of flour, and cinnamon in your work bowl. Mix together and cut in the softened butter (mix in small amounts with a fork) until the resulting mixture is crumbly. (You can also do this in the food processor with chilled butter cut in pieces and the steel blade.)

Scatter the crumb mixture over the top of the pan.

Bake at 350 degrees F. for 45 minutes, or until the rhubarb has cooked through and the topping is nice and brown.

Cool in the pan on a wire rack. When the cookie bars are thoroughly cool, cut them into brownie-sized pieces.

If you like them sweeter, dust them with powdered sugar.

These can be served warm, room temperature, or chilled.

Desserts: Other Sweet Treats

Candied Pecans From Lois

Preheat oven to 325 degrees F., rack in the middle position

Sally Laughlin’s mother, Francine, got this recipe from her friend Lois Melin.

2 pounds pecan halves

2 egg whites dash of salt 1 cup white (granulated) sugar

1/2 cup melted butter (1 stick, 1/4 pound)

Spray two 9-inch by 13-inch cake pans with non-stick cooking spray. Divide pecans and put half in one pan, half in the other. Toast them at 325 degrees F., for 5 minutes.

Beat the two egg whites with the dash of salt until stiff but not dry. Fold in the sugar and then the toasted pecan halves.

Pour half of the melted butter in one pan and half in the other. Divide the nut mixture and put half in each pan. Fold the mixture into the melted butter with a wooden spoon or spatula.

Bake at 325 degrees F., uncovered, for 10 minutes. Stir.

Bake another 10 minutes. Stir.

Bake an additional 10 minutes. Stir.

Remove pans from the oven and spread the contents out on wax paper. Let cool slightly, and then separate. Cool completely.

Sally puts these in little tins and gives them as Christmas presents. They’re so good, you won’t be able to resist them.

Chocolate Fruit Platter

This recipe is from Bonnie Surma, who says this is about as fancy (and easy) as she ever gets when it comes to desserts.

2 cups (16-ounce package) chocolate chips

Dried fruit (apricots, peaches, dates, figs, and pears work best)

Melt the chocolate chips in the top of a double boiler and stir them until smooth.

Spread the fruit out on cookie sheets lined with wax paper.

Dip the fruit into the chocolate, coating half of the piece. Once dipped, place the fruit on the waxed paper. (Pears look best if you dip the bottom half.)

Once all the fruit is dipped, refrigerate the cookie sheets for at least an hour. Take them out 30 minutes before you’re ready to serve. (The chocolate is tastier if it’s not too cold.) When it’s time to serve, arrange the fruit on a platter and serve with strong coffee for an elegant dessert.

Bonnie says to tell you that you can dip fresh strawberries in chocolate by this method. If you buy strawberries with the stems on, you can dip the whole berry. Otherwise, just pierce the top half of the berry with a toothpick and dip the bottom half.

Mother reports that Bonnie made a lovely platter for the Lake Eden Regency Romance Readers group last summer. It had strawberries dipped in milk chocolate, semi-sweet chocolate, and white chocolate.

Beverages

English Eggnog

This recipe was contributed by Winthrop Harrington II. Even though Winthrop isn’t from Lake Eden, Mother is so it’s in.

1 dozen eggs

1/4 cup white sugar

1 quart whole milk

1 pint Half & Half (light cream)

1 pint whipping cream

2 cups brandy (or rum, or whiskey of your choice)

Separate the eggs. Beat the egg whites until they form soft peaks. Set aside.

Beat the whipping cream until it forms soft peaks. Fold it into the egg whites. Set the mixture aside.

Beat the egg yolks until light-colored and fluffy. Mix in the sugar, milk, Half & Half, and brandy. Fold into the cream/egg white mixture.

At this point, the eggnog can be refrigerated in a tightly covered pitcher for up to 12 hours.

To serve, stir the pitcher and then pour the eggnog into glass cups, if you have them. Dust the tops with freshly grated nutmeg, or cinnamon.

This is English Eggnog and it’s not as sweet as American Eggnog. Taste it after you’ve made it. If your family would like it sweeter add more sugar to taste.

To make the non-alcoholic version, add 2 additional cups of milk and 2 teaspoons of rum extract or vanilla extract.

Dimpled Duchess

Bertie Straub contributed this recipe. She told me she serves these drinks when her best customers stay late for a “hen party” at the Cut ‘n Curl. Mother says she certainly wouldn’t swear this on a stack of Bibles, but there’s a rumor going around that one too many Dimpled Duchess could be responsible for Donna Lempke’s bright orange hair.)

Use a blender to make these drinks. For each person served you will need:

1 ounce (2 Tablespoons) amaretto liqueur 4 ounces (1/2 cup) strawberry ice cream

Zoop up the ice cream and the liqueur in the blender and pour into a fancy stemmed glass.

Bertie says to make certain that anyone who’s had more than two Dimpled Duchesses gets a ride home with someone who hasn’t.

Extras (that didn’t fit anywhere else)

Mrs. Knudson’s Season Salt

Priscilla Knudson says to tell you that she got tired of buying the expensive “Seasoned Salt” and “Seasoning Salt” that Florence sells at the Red Owl Grocery and she started making her own. She says it’s just as good as the store-bought kind, even better when you consider that you probably have all the ingredients in your spice drawer anyway, and then it costs you nothing to make it.

1/2 cup table salt 1 Tablespoon celery salt 1 Tablespoon garlic salt 1 Tablespoon paprika 1 teaspoon dry mustard 1 teaspoon onion powder 1/2 teaspoon cornstarch 1/2 teaspoon ground oregano

Place the ingredients in a blender and blend for a few seconds. Store in a tightly-covered container (like the one you saved from the last time you spent money for the store-bought kind.)

You really don’t need a blender to make this, so don’t run out and buy one if you don’t have one. Mrs. Knudson says to tell you that she just puts everything in a one-quart canning jar and rolls it around on the kitchen counter until it’s mixed.

Yield: 3/4 cup Season Salt

Werner Herman’s Catfish Bait

***NOT FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION***

Jack Herman, Werner’s son, contributed this recipe. Lisa says to warn you not to let anyone make this in your kitchen. Do it outside in a bowl that you can throw away. And for heaven’s sake, keep it outside! Don’t ever let anyone talk you into putting it into your refrigerator!

1 pound chopped liver (not the type you use for an appetizer, but just any old kind of liver chopped up really fine.)

1 small can very smelly cat food

1 small package Jell-O powder (Jack says to tell you they like any flavor except grape—Lisa says Jack doesn’t like grape Jell-O either.)

fat from 6 strips of bacon, fried crisp (You can eat the bacon)

2 cups melted Velveeta cheese (the original flavor)

Chop the liver, sprinkle the Jell-O over it, mix in the smelly cat food, and add the bacon fat. Drizzle the melted cheese over everything and stir to coat.

Marinate (Lisa suggested another word) for a week in a cool place. (NOT your refrigerator—use a cooler in the woodshed or outside on the back porch.)

Yield: Makes all the bait you need to catch enough catfish for the annual Lion’s Club fish fry.

Baking Conversion Chart

These conversions are approximate, but they’ll work just fine for Hannah Swensen’s recipes.

Note: Hannah’s rectangular sheet cake pan, 9 inches by 13 inches, is approximately 23 centimeters by 32.5 centimeters.

With The Cookie Jar, Hannah Swensen has a mouthwatering monopoly on the bakery business of Lake Eden, Minnesota. But when a rival store opens, tensions begin to bubble….

As she sits in her nearly empty store on Groundhog Day, Hannah can only hope that spring is just around the corner—and that the popularity of the new Magnolia Blossom Bakery is just a passing fad. The southern hospitality of Lake Eden’s two Georgia transplants, Shawna Lee and Vanessa Quinn, is grating on Hannah’s nerves—and cutting into her profits.

At least Hannah has her business partner Lisa’s wedding to look forward to. She’s turned one of Lisa’s favorite childhood treats into a spectacular Wedding Cookie Cake. But Hannah starts to steam when she finds out that Shawna Lee has finagled an invitation to the reception—and is bringing the Magnolia Blossom Bakery’s Southern Peach Cobbler for the dessert table.

Hannah doesn’t like having the Georgia Peach in the mix, especially when both Shawna Lee and Hannah’s sometime-boyfriend, Detective Mike Kingston, are no-shows to the wedding. Hannah has suspected that Mike is interested in more than Shawna Lee’s baking abilities. So when she sees lights on at the Magnolia Blossom Bakery after the reception, she investigates—and finds Shawna Lee shot to death.

Everyone in town knew The Cookie Jar was losing business to the Magnolia Bakery—a fact that puts Hannah at the top of the initial list of suspects. But with a little help from her friends, Hannah’s determined to prove that she wasn’t the only one who had an axe to grind with the Quinn sisters. Somebody wasn’t fooled by the Georgia Peaches and their sweet-as-pie act—and now it’s up to Hannah to track down whoever had the right ingredients to whip up a murder….

Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek at

PEACH COBBLER MURDER

coming in paperback in February 2006!

Hannah glanced at the clock. She’d unloaded her cookie truck in only ten minutes. The earliest that Norman could arrive was five minutes from now and that was probably optimistic. She went back to her favorite table, but she couldn’t seem to relax. There was something about the bright lights glaring in the interior of the Magnolia Blossom Bakery that made her nervous.

Perhaps there’d been a robbery. The moment the idea occurred to Hannah, her imagination was off and running. If the robbery had happened during the day, the robber might not have realized that all the lights were on. At this very moment, the cash drawer could be open and the Magnolia Blossom Bakery could be minus the day’s receipts. A good citizen of Lake Eden, one who could put aside petty jealousy and hold the welfare of a neighboring business paramount, would check to make sure the cash register at the Magnolia Blossom Bakery was intact.

Hannah groaned. The last thing she wanted to do was put on her boots and her coat, and walk across the street to make sure no burglar had invaded her competitor’s bakery. But basic decency demanded she do so, and she liked to think of herself as a basically decent person. Hannah stuffed her still-aching feet into her boots and slipped into her parka coat, zipping it up all the way. She scrawled a note to Norman: Across the street at Shawna Lee’s—maybe a burglary? and taped it to the outside of the back door. And then she hurried around the side of her building to see if there was a problem with the Magnolia Blossom Bakery.

The wind had teeth, and shards of ice pelted Hannah’s face as she left the protection of her building. She turned up the collar of her parka coat and held her hand up to shield her eyes as she dashed across Main Street. She ducked under the pseudo-Jeffersonian portico of Lake Eden Realty and peered in the plate glass window of her cobbler challenger.

Andrea’s description hadn’t done the Magnolia Blossom Bakery justice. It was gorgeous and Hannah would be the first to admit it. The magnolia tree mural the Minneapolis artist had painted was spectacular, all the tables and chairs matched, and everything was new and shiny. The color scheme was incredibly appealing and everything Hannah saw fit in perfectly. The homemade decorations at The Cookie Jar couldn’t hold a candle to the decorator embellishments at Shawna Lee and Vanessa’s Bakery.

Hannah sighed. She didn’t like feeling second-rate, even in the category of decorations. Comforting herself with knowledge that at least her baked goods were better, she took another, less envious and more appraising look, and came to the conclusion that absolutely nothing was out of place. The cash register drawer was pushed in, there were no signs of vandalism, and everything looked ready and set to go for business in the morning. But something about the bright lights really bothered her, and she felt she should check further. Even though there wasn’t much petty crime in Lake Eden, it was possible that a group of teenagers had waited until Shawna Lee had left and then broken in to steal whatever pastry they could find in the kitchen. The lights were on in there, too. She could see them blazing through the diamond-shaped window in the swinging door.

Hannah wished that Norman were with her, but no cars had driven past and he was probably still doing what they not so jokingly called “mother duty.” She didn’t relish going inside to check out someone else’s kitchen, but she couldn’t just stand here and do nothing. She tried the front door, hoping it would save her a trip around to the back, but it was locked securely. If pastry bandits were to blame for turning on the lights, they must have entered and left by the back door.

“Shawna Lee?” Hannah called out, knocking loudly on the front door. When that didn’t work, she balled up her fists and hammered loudly, doing her best to wake anyone who might be sleeping upstairs. No one was home. She was certain of it. Only the dead could sleep through the racket she’d made. Hannah pushed that very unwelcome thought aside and decided she’d have to go around to the back.

Keeping a sharp eye out for broken or pried windows, or any other signs of unauthorized access, Hannah walked around the side of the building. Everything looked secure, but a glance in the kitchen window made her frown. There was a colorful pink and green box on the counter and the label read, Betty Jo’s Frozen Peach Cobbler, a division of Macon Foods. Shawna Lee had claimed that her Southern Peach Cobbler was made from an old family recipe. Maybe that was true, but it was Betty Jo’s family recipe, not Shawna Lee’s.

Hannah’s gaze moved toward the ovens and what she saw made her frown deepen. A pan of peach cobbler was upended next to the open oven door. It was a mess, a jumble of sliced peaches and biscuit topping strewn over a puddle of sticky juice on the white tile floor. Had Shawna Lee simply dropped the pan as she was taking it from the oven? Or was there a more sinister reason for the baking disaster?

A glance at the other kitchen window gave Hannah an unwelcome answer to her question. There were two round holes in the glass, and each hole was surrounded by a spider web of cracks. She was no expert, but they looked like a couple of bullet holes to her!

Hannah swallowed hard as she pressed her nose against the glass and held her breath so it wouldn’t fog up. Was that a shoe she saw peeking out from behind the work counter?

There was the wise thing to do and the foolish thing to do. Hannah knew the wise thing would be to call for help, or wait for Norman, or do anything other than go into the kitchen to check it out by herself. But the time it took to do the wise thing could spell the difference between life and death for whoever was wearing that shoe.

Maybe the best thing to do is nothing at all, the not-so-nice side of Hannah’s psyche whispered in her ear. What difference would it make if you just went back to The Cookie Jar and pretended you hadn’t seen that shoe? Who would know?

“I’d know,” Hannah answered out loud, accepting the burden of her own good character. It didn’t matter what she thought of Shawna Lee personally. If her cookie competitor was hurt or in trouble, Hannah had a responsibility to do what she could to help.

Once she’d made up her mind, Hannah moved quickly. She raced to the back door, fully prepared to kick it in if that’s what it took, but when she turned the knob she found it unlocked. She pushed the door open, praying that the two holes she’d seen weren’t bullet holes, the shoe behind the counter had no foot in it, and the peach cobbler on the floor meant nothing more than a slip of an oven glove. But where was Shawna Lee? And why hadn’t she shut the oven door and cleaned up the mess?

“Uh-oh,” Hannah gasped, skidding to a stop as she rounded the corner of the kitchen counter. Shawna Lee was down on her back on the tile floor and there was a huge blossom of what looked like dried strawberry syrup on the bib of her white chef’s apron. There was also a neat hole in the middle of the blossom and Hannah knew that there was no point in continuing to contaminate what was surely a crime scene. Shawna Lee had been shot in the chest and anyone with an ounce of brains could see that she was dead.

KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by Kensington Publishing Corp.

119 West 40th Street

New York, NY 10018

Copyright (c) 2009 by Joanne Fluke

Plum Pudding Murder Copyright (c) 2007 by Joanne Fluke

Candy Cane Murder Copyright (c) 2004 by Joanne Fluke

Sugar Cookie Murder All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

ISBN: 978-0-7582-6868-6

*** -My family isn’t fond of Asiago, so I leave out the Asiago and make my biscuits with double cheddar. They’re absolutely delicious and I haven’t met anyone who doesn’t like them! I have the sneaking suspicion you could use ANY cheese you like in these biscuits with the possible exception of triple creams like Brie and Saint Andre, or exceptionally strong flavored cheeses like Gorgonzola.

**** - Prudence says that sometimes you’ll need to add more or less milk, until everything combines together in a wet/dry like mixture that’s about the consistency of cottage cheese. I’ve made these biscuits at least a dozen times and a half-cup milk has always worked perfectly for me.

*** - As Mike suggested you can substitute an ounce of brandy, an ounce of Grand Marnier, or an ounce of orange-flavored vodka.

*** - Make sure your pumpkin has NO spices added. Some canned pumpkin is already spiced for use in pumpkin pies. You could probably use it if it’s snowing outside and your car won’t start and it’s more than a mile to the store, but just remember that it’s somebody else’s mixture of spices, not yours.

*** - That’s 11/2 ounces or a little less than half a stick—don’t worry if you’re not super accurate. A little more butter won’t hurt.

*** - If you spray your Tablespoon measure with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray, the molasses will slide right out without sticking.

*** - A sandwich loaf is best because it’s easier to cut off the crusts. I used Oroweat white sandwich bread. There are usually 22 slices, but you won’t use the end pieces.

*** - The butter should be at room temperature unless you live in an igloo.

*** You can make your own crust from chocolate cookie crumbs, or buy one pre-made from your grocery store. It’s just like it says in “The Three Bears”—an 8-inch crust will be a little bit too full (be careful carrying it to the oven,) a 10-inch crust won’t be quite full enough (you can pile whipped cream on top after it’s baked,) and a 9-inch crust will be just right!

*** - It’s best to use frozen cooked salad shrimp that you’ve thawed according to package directions and dried on paper towels. You can also use canned salad shrimp, but they will be more salty, which is why you should salt to taste after everything is mixed up together.

*** - You can use a can of condensed cream of chicken soup instead of the bouillon beads, but then you’ll have to reduce the cream to one and a half cups. You can also use the bouillon cubes, but you’ll have to mix them with a VERY small amount of hot water and mash them before you put them into the blender.

*** - My bags contained prunes, peaches, pears, apricots, and apple slices. I used some of every kind. Even though I’m not fond of prunes, they were excellent inside the pork roast!

***If you and your guests are on a diet, you can substitute Half ‘n Half for the heavy cream, but it won’t be as good!

***If you can’t find Gruyere, use really sharp white cheddar and that’ll be fine. And if you can’t find white cheddar, use really sharp yellow cheddar.

***If you and your guests are on a diet, you can substitute Half ‘n Half for the heavy cream, but it won’t be as good!

***If you use the kind of stuffing mix that’s made of croutons, crush them a bit before you measure out one cup. The stuffing mix is necessary because it soaks up the liquid given off by the bell peppers as they bake.

***A Word of Warning about COCOA

***Brown sugar is nothing more than white sugar with added molasses. All you have to do to make 1 cup brown sugar is to measure out a cup of white sugar and drizzle in 2 teaspoons of molasses, and then mix well. You can mix it with a fork and a little muscle, or with an electric mixer and a little electricity. It’s your choice. Knowing this little trick eliminates the necessity of keeping brown sugar, the kind that develops hard lumps, on hand in your pantry.