Coconut Layer Cake Murder Read online

  Baking Conversion Chart

  These conversions are approximate, but they’ll work just fine for Hannah Swensen’s recipes.

  VOLUME

  U.S. Metric

  ½ teaspoon 2 milliliters

  1 teaspoon 5 milliliters

  1 Tablespoon 15 milliliters

  ¼ cup 50 milliliters

  ⅓ cup 75 milliliters

  ½ cup 125 milliliters

  ¾ cup 175 milliliters

  1 cup ¼ 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.

  THE PERFECT CURE

  On the surface they are beautiful and talented. But few know of the harrowing darkness inside each of them, how close they are to losing their tenuous grip on sanity. Dr. Elias is their only hope. But he’s dying. And he’s made his cold, final judgment: Those he can’t cure, he must kill.

  FOR THE PERFECT CRIME

  In order for Dr. Elias’s deadly prescription to succeed, none of the eight patients must know someone is stalking them, murdering them one by one. Even if they were to suspect that their lives are in danger, no one would believe them. But if there’s any chance they can stay alive, they must face the madness within . . .

  Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of Joanne Fluke’s

  COLD JUDGMENT now on sale wherever print and e-books are sold!

  Prologue

  He did not look like a dying man. Dr. Theodore Elias made a dispassionate examination. Excellent muscle tone for a male, age fifty-three. Normal pulse, blood pressure in the low-normal range. Hands steady, no sign of tremor. Eyes clear, intelligent, penetrating. A near-perfect specimen of the middle-aged adult male. There was no evidence of physical imperfection, no outward sign of terminal disease. Yet there was no cause to doubt the diagnosis. He had seen the results of the ultrasound and the CT scan. And the exploratory surgery had been conclusive. Within six to eight weeks, this body would die of carcinoma of the pancreas. First the jaundice would appear, then increasing pain and physical weakness. There were drugs to control the pain, but death was inevitable. And when the body was wasted and useless, the mind would continue to function, the fine analytical mind that was the source of his pride. Dr. Theodore Elias would be fully capable of monitoring and cataloging his own demise until the very end.

  His steps did not falter as he crossed the tasteful gray carpet and took his customary place behind his large polished desk. He could not afford the luxury of self-pity, not when there were decisions to be made. He had to think of his profession, of his duties to his patients. Something would have to be done with his group immediately.

  Dr. Elias’s eyebrows met in an impatient frown. This cancer could not have come at a worse time. Progress in his only current group was exasperatingly slow and it was the holiday season, a time when depression deepened and suicidal tendencies became severe. It was a time ripe for crisis. His eight patients, the last of his toughest cases, brought together over the years, were presently under control, but they would need help to get through the holidays.

  The files were right where he had placed them after yesterday’s session. Dr. Elias lifted the bulky stack and weighed it in his hands. So much paperwork, so much effort, and his patients were still far from the cure he had promised to spend his remaining career trying to achieve. His colleagues called him a miracle worker. A cure rate of 83 percent was more than impressive. But it was no comfort when he knew he’d run out of time with his last eight dangerous patients.

  It was possible these patients could maintain their equilibrium for a while, even in this perilous season. Dr. Elias forced himself to look on the bright side. His patients might take months to break down, even longer if he could refer them to the best therapists. But eventually they would crumple. It was only a matter of time. And without the proper help, each of them was capable of violence that could destroy innocent people.

  Dr. Elias remembered the late-night discussions of his college days. They were held in cluttered, smoke-filled student apartments, fueled with jugs of cheap red wine and accompanied by loud, idealistic arguments. One in particular came back to him in vivid detail. An animal trainer had spent his whole life training a brilliant but vicious dog that only he could control. When the trainer was told he was dying, he was faced with a decision. He could destroy the animal and annihilate his life’s work or he could let the beast live and hope that another trainer could carry on with his project. No profound resolution had been reached that night. Undoubtedly a new group of students was debating the same question with no better results. Theoretical discussions were diverting in college, but real-life decisions were painful to reach. The guidelines set down by his profession were clear. He was obligated to refer his patients to other therapists and hope for the best.