Peach Cobbler Murder Page 13
1 cup brown sugar, tightly packed
½ cup molasses***
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon lemon juice
½ cup milk
2½ cups flour (no need to sift)
1 cup (approximately) golden raisins, regular raisins, or currants to decorate
Melt butter in a large microwave bowl. When the butter has cooled to room temperature, stir in the brown sugar and molasses. Add the soda, salt, and cinnamon and mix it all up. Mix in the teaspoon of lemon juice.
Add half the flour to your bowl and mix it up. Slowly pour in the milk, a little at a time, and mix as you go. Add the rest of the flour and stir until it’s thoroughly incorporated.
Drop the dough by rounded teaspoon onto UNGREASED cookie sheets, 12 to a standard-size sheet. Put three raisins on top of each cookie, two for the eyes and one for the mouth.
Bake for 10 to 12 minutes at 375 degrees F. Let the cookies cool on the sheet for 2 minutes and then transfer them to a wire rack to cool completely.
Yield: 4 to 5 dozen, depending on cookie size.
Immelda Giese, Father Coultas’s housekeeper, ordered three-dozen Doll Face Cookies for Father’s altar boys. When she came in to pick up the order, one of the cookies looked just like Sister Theresa. (She thought it did, not me!) The last I heard, Immelda was trying to talk Father Coultas into displaying the cookie in a glass case at St. Peter’s.
Chapter Twelve
Once Hannah had hung her parka on a hook and stashed her purse on a convenient stool at the workstation, she headed straight for the swinging door to the coffee shop. Lisa had been holding down the fort for an hour, and she could use a break.
“I’m back,” Hannah said, stating the obvious as she ducked behind the counter to join Lisa. Their shop was crowded, but everyone seemed to be contentedly munching and sipping at the moment.
“Did he do his sphinx act again?” Lisa asked, and when Hannah nodded, she laughed. “Moishe’s really a character.”
“That’s true. And now he’s a quiet character.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mentioned how loudly Moishe yowled when he had to ride in the truck, and Norman bought him a harness and a leash. He thought Moishe wouldn’t mind the ride so much if he didn’t have to be cooped up in his crate.”
“And it worked?”
“Like a charm! Norman put on the harness and attached the leash to a hook in the back, so he wouldn’t jump up in the front and distract me. That left Moishe free to roam around in the back, and I didn’t hear a peep out of him all the way back to the condo.”
“That’s wonderful. But I didn’t know they made harnesses and leashes for cats.”
“I don’t think they do, at least not cats Moishe’s size. Norman bought a small dog harness at CostMart and it had a picture of a miniature schnauzer on the tag. The thing that amazes me most of all is that Moishe let Norman buckle him in.”
“That must have been a struggle.”
“Not at all. Norman held up the harness, told Moishe that he’d look like a lean, mean killing machine if he wore it, and Moishe just stood there while Norman put it on him.”
“Could Mike have gotten him in the harness?”
Hannah was surprised at the question, but it was intriguing and she thought it over. “I don’t think so, not without excessive force, or maybe a tranquilizing gun. Why?”
“You should marry Norman. Your cat has spoken.”
Hannah gave a snort of laughter and several customers at the counter swiveled to look at her curiously. “Sorry, just a little baking humor,” she said to them, and quickly assumed a properly sober expression. It wouldn’t do to be too jocular when her competition had just been shot out of the water, so to speak.
“I know I shouldn’t give you advice,” Lisa went on, “but Norman’s reliable and Mike’s not. Just think about what happened last night.”
“You’re right. And I have thought about it. I thought about it during the reception while I waited for him to show up. And then I thought about it later, when he told me that he called Shawna Lee a bunch of times to find out if she was all right. He called her, but he didn’t bother to call me to tell me he wasn’t coming. When I first started dating him, he was different. When he said he’d pick me up at seven, he picked me up at seven. And if something happened to delay him, he called to tell me. But ever since she moved up here from…” Hannah stopped speaking as Lisa made a cutting motion in front of her throat.
“Hi, Mike,” Lisa called out, smiling politely.
Hannah swiveled around and by the time she faced Mike, she’d put on an exact duplicate of the smile Lisa was wearing. How much had he overheard? Enough to guess that she’d been talking about him? And did it really matter since everything she’d said was true?
“I need to ask you some questions, Hannah. Is the kitchen okay?”
“I guess,” Hannah said. When a policeman said to do something, you said “Yes, sir” and did it. At least that was what her first grade teacher, Mrs. Chambers, had taught them. What she hadn’t taught them was what to do when you were dating that policeman, you were as mad as blazes at him, and you didn’t really want to be alone with him.
When she came around the corner of the counter, Mike put his arm around her shoulders and herded her toward the kitchen door. Hannah swallowed hard and tried not to think about how good it felt to be this close to him. Instead, she reminded herself that he’d stood her up and left her without a date for Lisa and Herb’s wedding and reception.
Mike’s arm slipped down to her waist when they entered the kitchen. By the time they’d crossed the floor to the island workstation, Hannah was a bit breathless, but she’d be darned if she’d let Mike know that. “Coffee?” she asked, proud that her voice didn’t quaver.
“Sure. I really don’t have any questions. I just wanted to talk to you alone.”
“Oh?” Hannah managed to keep her hand steady as she set a steaming mug of coffee in front of the man who had many faults, none of which she could name at the moment.
“I came to apologize. I should have called you out at the reception and told you I didn’t think I could make it. I’m really sorry I messed up.”
Hannah busied herself pouring another cup of coffee, even though she didn’t really want it. It was a way of preventing her from saying That’s okay. I understand. It wasn’t okay to make a date and not keep it. She had to let him know that.
“I really wanted to be there with you,” Mike went on speaking when she didn’t respond, “but there was this problem I had to settle with Shawna Lee. She was under the mistaken impression that I cared for her more than I did.”
I wonder what gave her that impression? Hannah clamped her lips shut so she wouldn’t say anything, but her mind formed the words she wished she could say. Did it have anything to do with the fact your Hummer was parked outside her bakery overnight?
“I guess I felt responsible for her, because I was the reason she moved here. All I did is talk to her on the phone and tell her how nice Lake Eden was and the first thing I knew, she was here applying for a job. Then, when she got it, I wanted to make sure she had a good time in Lake Eden.”
A good time? Did that mean finding her an apartment in your complex, helping her move in, and going over there to do little fix-it jobs for her all the time? Did it include taking her out for pizza when she said she was hungry, and giving her rides everywhere when she said her car wouldn’t start?
“Part of the problem was she never met anybody she connected with. It was really sad. I know she put people off because she was always flirting, but that was just her way. She really didn’t mean anything by it.”
She sure had you buffaloed! Hannah thought, using one of her father’s favorite phrases. There was a moment of silence and Mike seemed to be waiting for a comment, so Hannah said the first innocuous thing that popped into her head. “Would you like a
cookie?”
“No thanks. I don’t think Shawna Lee had any friends except me. That’s why I felt responsible for her.”
If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all. Thumper’s line from Bambi flashed through Hannah’s mind, and she didn’t say anything at all. Mike was miserable, but she just wasn’t in a supportive mood and there was no faking it with Hannah. He was asking the wrong person for comfort. She’d rather stand out in a blizzard in her underwear than let Mike cry on her shoulder!
“I know I shouldn’t burden you with this,” Mike said. And as so many other people did, he went on to do precisely that. “It’s just that Shawna Lee was there for me when my wife died. I was so lonely, I didn’t know where to turn, and she was my only friend when I needed one. I should have gone over there the second she didn’t show up. If I had, she’d still be alive. I just feel so awful that I wasn’t there for her when she needed me.”
Hannah looked up into Mike’s heartbreakingly handsome face, disregarded the suspicious moisture in his eyes, and spat out precisely what she thought. “Get over it, Mike! You’ve got a job to do. Quit feeling sorry for yourself and go do it.”
Mike’s mouth dropped open the way cartoon characters’ do in comic strips. Hannah never thought real people did that, and she was amazed into absolute silence. But then Mike recovered, almost as quickly as the eye went to the next frame of the cartoon, and he reached out for her.
“You’re right,” he said, taking her hands. “I needed that. I guess that’s why I came here. When I’m in trouble, you always give me what I need.”
Hold the phone, the inner voice in Hannah’s head cautioned her, as Mike came around the workstation and pulled her to her feet. And as he kissed her, the inner voice spoke again, He’s sandbagging you. Don’t let him get away with it!
“Gotta run,” Mike said, breaking their embrace after a long moment. “I’ve got a job to do.”
“Wait!” Hannah said breathlessly, willing her mind to start working again. There was something she had to ask him, something important.
“What is it?”
It took Hannah a split second, but then she remembered. “What was the time of death?”
“Doc Knight hasn’t got back to us yet. But you don’t need that information. And don’t even think about trying to investigate. I’m sorry, but until I clear you, you’re a suspect.”
“Did you have to answer hundreds of questions?” Lisa asked, ducking into the kitchen where Hannah was baking another batch of Chocolate Chip Crunch Cookies.
“No, and remind me never to be alone with him again.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’ll let you know later. Mike warned me that I shouldn’t investigate.”
“He always does that.” Lisa waved that away. “But you’re going to, aren’t you?”
“Of course. He admitted that I was still a suspect, so it’s a matter of necessity.” Hannah stopped speaking and listened to the level of noise coming from the coffee shop. “Sounds like we’ve got a crowd.”
“We do, and it’s a bigger crowd than we’ve had in a month. I told them you’ll be bringing out hot cookies in less than ten minutes. They’re all staying to have some.”
“Of course they are. They saw Mike come in and they want to know what questions he asked me in the kitchen.”
“That too,” Lisa said with a grin. “What are you going to tell them?”
“I’ll dazzle them with fancy footwork. First, I’ll tell them about sitting here and wondering why the lights were on across the street. And then I’ll describe how my heart pounded when I looked in the window and didn’t see anything moving. Then I’ll describe my walk around the building and how I stopped several times, thinking about hightailing it back to The Cookie Jar.”
“Did you really?”
“No, but it makes for great drama. Then I’ll describe how I peered through the window and saw Shawna Lee’s shoe. And then I’ll stop and say I can’t tell them any more, because the sheriff’s department is just starting their investigation and they don’t want me to actually describe the crime scene. But I’ll promise to tell them more the moment the sheriff tells me it’s okay.”
Lisa looked as pleased as punch. “Sounds like the cliffhangers my grandpa told me about when they used to show serials like Deadeye Dick in the movies. They always left you holding your breath.”
“Precisely,” Hannah said with a grin. “And everyone who’s here today will be back tomorrow for the next installment.”
Chapter Thirteen
The Corner Tavern wasn’t the best place in the world to discuss Shawna Lee’s murder, but steak was what Hannah felt like eating, and Norman had agreed. She’d left her truck behind at The Cookie Jar, and now she was riding to the Corner Tavern in Norman’s well-heated sedan. Andrea would meet them there since Grandma McCann was making supper for Tracey.
“This is heaven,” Hannah said, unzipping her parka and luxuriating in the steady stream of warm air from the vents.
“You should get yours fixed.” Norman turned onto the highway and flicked his lights to bright.
“I know. I’ll do it one of these days.” Hannah leaned back and watched the scenery roll by. There wasn’t a whole lot to see, just massive snowbanks that were piled high at the edges of the asphalt with an occasional road sign sticking up from the crest like a stubby lollipop.
“I’m really looking forward to this,” Norman declared, exiting the freeway on the access road that led to the Corner Tavern. “I’m going to have a steak, and onion rings, and garlic bread. Mother doesn’t believe in red meat or deep fried food.”
“How about the garlic bread?”
“She doesn’t think that’s healthy, either.”
“I guess she hasn’t compared health notes with my mother. Delores is convinced that garlic lowers your cholesterol.”
“That’s a good argument. I’ll try it on her.” Norman pulled into the parking lot and found a spot near the door. “Do you think this whole diet thing really matters in the long run?”
“Absolutely,” Hannah said and waited until Norman walked around the car to open her door. Norman always opened doors for her. He was just that kind of a guy. “There’s a lot of evidence that diet is related to longevity.”
“So watching your cholesterol and limiting your carbohydrates are worth doing?”
“I didn’t say that. You might live longer, but without any of the good stuff, it’s not worth it.”
Norman was still laughing as they walked in the front door of the rustic establishment that had been on the intersection of two county roads, one of which had become the interstate, for the past eighty years. There was a large cloakroom just to the right of the door that contained long benches for use in removing boots, a boot rack located in back of the benches, and hooks on the wall for coats. One wall was mirrored and as Hannah and Norman entered to hang up their coats, a woman in a blue velvet warm-up suit and silver tennis shoes was rearranging her hair. The cloakroom at the Corner Tavern had a scent that was particular to most Minnesota cloakrooms. It was a combination of damp wool, moist leather, drying rubber, and a hint of pine Hannah would have liked to think came from the knotty pine planks that lined the walls, but more likely originated with the cleaning solution they used to mop the floor.
Once Hannah had shed her parka coat and hung it on a hook, she sat down on the wooden bench to pull off her boots and placed them, like twin sentinels, on the boot rack. Then she reached into her extra-large, shoulder bag purse to get out the soft ballet-type slippers with rubber soles that she always carried with her in the winter months. Once those were on her feet, she ran her fingers through her hair to arrange it or disarrange it, depending on your point of view, and stood up. “I’m ready. Let’s go eat.”
“That’s one of the things I like best about you,” Norman said. “You never primp in front of a mirror like most women do.”
“That’s because it doesn’t do me any good.”
“No, it’s because you don’t have to. You always look good.”
“Points,” Hannah said. “Lots of points.” And then she took Norman’s arm as he held it out. Norman had a talent for saying the right thing at the right time.
As they neared the door to the main room of the restaurant, the noise level increased. There were sounds of silverware clinking, the low hum of conversation, and an occasional laugh. Hannah was smiling as Norman pushed open the door and she stepped through. The reservations desk was to the right and there was a line stretching all the way to the Corner Tavern mascot, a five-hundred-pound bear that was mounted standing on his hind legs.
“Hi, Albert,” Hannah said. And then, unable to resist, she reached up to pat the bear’s bristly broad chest.
“What’s the story on this bear?” Norman asked, staring up at the glassy-eyed ursine.
“The official story is that the owner’s great-grandfather shot the charging bear with a .22 rifle,” Hannah related. “His name was Nicholas Prentiss and the Nick we know now is fourth generation. Great-Grandpa Nick realized that a .22 wouldn’t do anything except make the charging bear angrier and his only hope was to hit a vital spot. Luckily, he was close to the bottom of a hill and bears don’t run well downhill, so he hurried to the bottom to give him a few more precious moments. He remained motionless at the bottom and the charging bear didn’t spot him, because a bear’s eyesight isn’t that keen. It took nerves of steel to wait there without moving or making a sound, but when the bear was close enough, he jumped to his feet, jammed the barrel of his rifle in the bear’s mouth, and pulled the trigger. The bullet went straight into the bear’s brain and it stopped him dead in his tracks.”
“Is it true?” Norman wanted to know.
“Probably not, but it’s a good story. Nicholas suffered a broken leg when the bear fell on him, but he knew he was lucky to be alive. He stayed with a family that owned a farm not far from where it happened until his leg healed. The family had a daughter, and he ended up marrying her.”