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  Blueberry Muffin Murder

  ( Hannah Swensen Mystery - 3 )

  Joanne Fluke

  In her third top-of-the-line culinary cozy (after 2001's Strawberry Shortcake Murder), the delightful amateur sleuth Hannah Swensen once again faces murder and mayhem with good cheer. To fight the late February doldrums, Lake Eden, Minn., is about to celebrate its first winter carnival with ice sports on the lake, activities for children and Hannah's delicious cookies from her shop, the Cookie Jar. The whole town is involved, and even Hannah's mother, who usually spends her time trying to get Hannah married, has found a new interest in recreating the home of one of Lake Eden's founding fathers. Connie MacIntyre, bestselling cook book author and star of a popular cable TV cooking show, has agreed to make the cake for the carnival banquet. But when Hannah discovers Connie's dead body in the pantry of the Cookie Jar, Hannah and her sister Andrea join forces to track down the killer, despite warnings by one of her boyfriends, policeman Mike Kensington, to stay out of the investigation. Since everyone who had contact with the abusive Connie disliked her, the sisters have plenty of suspects. Delicious food descriptions and recipes, warm and familiar characters who grow into real people (Hannah's increasing respect for Andrea is a highlight), a vivid picture of the small lake town and a well-crafted mystery provide the ingredients for yet another tempting feast that should satisfy all fans, old and new. (Mar. 5)Forecast: A simple, bold jacket featuring a skull formed by blueberries in a sliced muffin sends just the right message to attract cozy fans.

  From Library Journal

  Hannah's (Strawberry Shortcake Murder) baking plans for Lake Eden's Winter Carnival get stalled when a despotic rival baker is murdered in Hannah's bakery. With her oven declared part of a crime scene, Hannah must find the murderer before she can bake. A delightful confection and a recipe included.

  BLUEBERRY MUFFIN MURDER

  JOANNE FLUKE

  -1-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "You really shouldn't answer that way, Hannah. What if I'd been someone else?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "You did a great job. I'll bet you could get a fleet rate on the insurance with a dozen."

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

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

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

  "It's all finished?"

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

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

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

  "Will you have time to stop by this morning, Hannah?" Delores sounded a bit tentative, and that was unusual for her. "I'd like your input before anyone else sees it."

  "Sure. Just bang on my back door when you're ready and I'll dash over. But you're the antique expert. Why do you need my input?"

  "For the kitchen," Delores explained. "It's the only room Abigail Jordan didn't describe. She talks about baking in every one of her letters, and I'm not sure I have all the utensils in the proper places."

  "I'll check it out," Hannah promised, knowing full well that her mother had never used a flour sifter or rolling pi
n in her life. Delores didn't bake and she made no bones about it The desserts of Hannah's childhood had always come straight from the Red Owl grocery store shelves.

  "Thank you, dear. I'm sorry to cut this short, but I have to get off the line. Carrie's picking me up and she said she'd call when she left her house."

  "Okay. Bye, Mother." Hannah hung up the phone and made a mental note to tell her sister, Andrea, never to mention the option of call-waiting to their mother. This morning's call had been the shortest in history. After a glance at her apple-shaped kitchen clock, Hannah rinsed out her coffee cup, refilled Moishe's food bowl for the final time, and scratched him near the base of his tail, an action that always made him arch his back and purr. "I've got to run, Moishe. See you tonight."

  Hannah had a routine to perform before she left her condo in the winter. She shrugged into her parka, zipped it up, and pulled her navy blue stocking cap down over her un- manageable red curls. Then she went into the living room to turn the thermostat down to an energy-saving sixty-five degrees, flicked on the television to keep Moishe company, picked up her purse, and slipped on her fur-lined gloves. She gave Moishe one more pat, checked to make sure she had her keys, and stepped out into the dark, frigid morning that still looked like the middle of the night.

  The security lights on the side of the building went on as Hannah descended the outside staircase. Because of the Northern latitude, they got a real workout during the winter, when the days were short and the sun shone for less than eight hours. Most Lake Eden residents drove to work in the dark and came home in the dark, and if they worked in a place without windows, there were days at a stretch when they never caught a glimpse of the sun.

  Hannah blinked in the glare of the high-wattage bulbs, designed to ensure a crime-free environment, and held onto the railing as she went down the steps. Once she arrived at ground level, another set of stairs led to the underground garage. Hannah was about to descend them when a tough-sounding male voice rang out behind her.