Fudge Cupcake Murder (12 page)

Hannah slipped her feet into the fur-lined moccasins she kept near the bed and padded down the hall to the kitchen. "Come on, Moishe. I'm too tired to fight with you this morning. I'll just give you what you want for breakfast."

Even though she knew she shouldn't have, Hannah'd given in last night and filled Moishe's bowl with his regular kitty crunchies. Tip number six on her vet's list of ways to convince him to eat senior fare hadn't worked any better than tips one through five. Last night's attempt involved drizzling the juice from a can of tuna over the bowl and, for a moment, Hannah thought it might actually be successful. Moishe headed straight for his food bowl and licked the senior pellets with gusto. Unfortunately, that's all he did. When Hannah examined his food more closely, she discovered that Moishe had licked off every bit of the tuna-flavored juice and left the senior nuggets, pristine and untouched, in his bowl.

The coffee was ready and Hannah poured a cup. She took one bracing sip, then went to the broom closet where she kept Moishe's regular food. When he had been fed and watered, Hannah slugged down a mug of coffee and hurried off to shower and dress.

Hannah often boasted that she could get ready for work on automatic pilot, without completely opening her eyes. This morning was no exception and fifteen minutes later, Hannah walked into the kitchen again. Her eyes were now wide open, her hair was dry, and she was appropriately dressed for her workday in jeans and a long-sleeved top that bore the legend, Take Life with a Grain of Chocolate.

Moishe's bowl was empty and Hannah refilled it before settling down at her kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee and what she'd come to think of as her crime book, the green-lined steno pad she carried with her constantly. This steno pad was no different than the dozen or so steno pads placed in every room of her condo. She'd also taken them to The Cookie Jar and put them in the kitchen, storage room, pantry, and coffee shop. Perhaps it was all those years of attending college lectures and taking notes, but Hannah tended to regard being caught without pen and paper as a sin even worse than substituting margarine for butter in one of her cookie recipes.

What did she know about Sheriff Grant's murder? Hannah paged through her notes. According to the autopsy report, the sheriff died between eight and nine-thirty and the cause of death was a blow to the head with a blunt instrument. Sheriff Grant had been standing a few feet from his car when he was assaulted. The killer then dragged the sheriff's body at least ten yards to the school Dumpster and toppled him inside.

Hannah stopped and stared at her notes. Perhaps it wasn't all that important, but she should find out if Sheriff Grant had been dead, or alive when the killer dragged him to the Dumpster. Andrea could get that information for her. All her sister had to do was call Doc Knight, ask him some trumped up pregnancy question, and get him to talk about the autopsy.

Once Hannah had written Dumpster-dead or alive? on her to-do list, she snapped the notebook shut and reached for her jacket. But before she had her arm in the sleeve, the phone rang.

"Mother," Hannah muttered, earning a mini-growl from Moishe. Delores Swensen's name did not appear on his list of favorite people, or even of those people he could tolerate. Hannah dropped her jacket and reached for the phone. "Hello, Mother."

"It's not Mother. It's me," Andrea's voice came over the line. "But I'm calling you about Mother. Do you know what's wrong with her?"

"Many things, but she's our mother and we love her anyway," Hannah shot back with a grin.

"Don't joke, Hannah! I really think there's something wrong. Mother's just not herself and… and… I couldn't sleep at all last night thinking about it. That's why I'm calling so early."

"Calm down, Andrea. Getting upset isn't good for the baby. What do you mean, Mother's just not herself?"

"Well, you know how she feels about Tracey. Mother adores her, right?"

"Absolutely."

"And she loves to spend time with Tracey."

"That's true, she does."

"Well, I called her last night and asked her if she wanted to come to the library with us next Saturday. They're having a special program for kids and their grandparents."

"That's right up Mother's alley. She loves things like that."

"That's what I thought," Andrea said with a sigh, "but Mother didn't seem all that eager. And then, when I suggested that she take Tracey after the program and keep her overnight, she said she'd have to let me know, that she might have other plans."

Hannah frowned. That wasn't like their mother at all. Delores loved to keep Tracey overnight and her granddaughter always came first. "What other plans did Mother have? Did you ask?"

"Of course I did, but she told me it was none of my business. And then she said I should remember that she had a life of her own."

Hannah's mouth dropped open. "Mother has a life?"

"That's what she said. Do you think it's a man?"

"Mother?! Not a chance."

"But you'll find out for sure, won't you? You're so good at investigating, Hannah."

"I'll try," Hannah said reluctantly, mentally adding it to her list of things to do, right behind solving the murder and clearing Bill, and just ahead of trying to run a business and get her stubborn cat to eat his new food. "I'll let you know as soon as I find out anything."

"Good. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Hannah bit back the urge to say, Stop giving me things to do, and glanced down at her steno pad. "You can help with the murder investigation. Think of some excuse for calling Doc Knight and see if you can get him to tell you whether Sheriff Grant was dead when the killer put him in the Dumpster."

"Yuck!"

"I know, but I don't want to ask Mike for any favors and Bill can't find out this time."

Andrea sighed. "You're right. I'll do it today. I'm not quite as queasy as I was yesterday. I'll get all the results of the autopsy while I'm at it."

"Do you think Doc'll tell you?"

"Of course. I'm a real estate agent. We're trained to get information."

Hannah thanked her sister and hung up the phone. She'd just finished filling Moishe's food and water bowls and was stuffing her steno pad into her purse when the phone rang again. She grabbed it and sat down in the chair again, pulling out her notebook. "That was fast! What did Doc say?"

"What was fast?"

Hannah groaned as she recognized her mother's voice. "Sorry, Mother. I thought it was Andrea. She promised to get back to me."

"Is there something wrong with the new baby?"

"Not that I know of. Why?"

"You mentioned Doc."

"Right," Hannah began to smile. Perhaps she could use her mother's worry about Andrea to her advantage. "Andrea called a couple of minutes ago."

"But it's not even six-thirty yet!"

"I know. She was having trouble sleeping. I told her to call Doc and maybe he could give her something."

"That was a good idea. The poor dear is probably worried sick about Bill."

"Actually, no." Hannah took a deep breath and prepared to drive in the nail. "Andrea's worried about you."

"About me? Why would she worry about me?"

"She said you didn't jump at the chance to keep Tracey next Saturday night. And when she asked you why, you told her that you had a life."

"Oh." Delores was silent for a long moment. "Well… I suppose I could change my plans and keep Tracey if it's that important to her."

"What plans are those, Mother?"

"None of your business, dear. I may be your mother, but I'm entitled to some privacy when it comes to my personal life."

Hannah gave it up as a bad job. Her mother was almost as stubborn as Moishe. When Delores decided to keep a secret, no one could pry it out of her. "Okay, Mother. We won't discuss it any further."

"Good. You're the daughter with the most sense, Hannah. Except when it comes to men, that is. How you could date that awful Mike Kingston is beyond me!"

Hannah didn't rise to the bait. It was just too early in the morning to fight. "I've got to get to work, Mother. Is there anything specific you wanted?"

"Yes. Thank you for reminding me, dear. I called to tell you that Sheriff Grant's funeral is on Sunday at Jordan High at two o'clock."

"It's at the school?”

"Yes, in the auditorium. It's the only place that's large enough. He was very well liked and they expect a huge turnout. You're going, aren't you?"

Hannah sighed. She hated funerals. "I don't know, Mother."

"Well, you have to go. The killer always shows up at the graveside."

"What?"

"That's the way it happens in the movies. By the way, all the businesses in town are closing at noon on Saturday as a sign of respect."

"They are?" Hannah was surprised. This was the first she'd heard about it.

"They will when they read the notice in the paper. Carrie and I wrote it up and Rod promised to publish it today."

"Okay, Mother," Hannah said. With Delores and Carrie spearheading the effort, any business in Lake Eden that didn't close at noon on Saturday would be roundly criticized.

"Andrea should go the funeral," Delores went on. "It's right for Bill to stay away since he's a suspect, but the family should be represented."

"So Andrea's going with you?" Hannah asked, glancing up at her apple-shaped clock. The hands were moving inexorably forward and if she wanted to finish most of the baking before Lisa came in, she'd have to leave in less than five minutes.

"She can't go with me dear. The Regency Romance Club is doing something special. We're all arriving together and we're going to sit behind Nettie in a show of support."

"That's nice, Mother." Hannah said warily. She had the feeling she knew what was coming next.

"That's why I want you to take Andrea. Call her the minute you get to work and tell her you think she should go with you."

Hannah was about to say she still wasn't sure she'd be attending Sheriff Grant's funeral, but before she could even open her mouth, Delores said goodbye and hung up.

"She did it again," Hannah said to Moishe, who was staring at the phone with his ears back. He always seemed to know when his least favorite person called. Delores liked to be the one who ended the conversation and hung up first, and she usually succeeded. It was par for the course for the woman who always wanted the last word.

By the time Sunday morning rolled around, Hannah was frustrated beyond belief. She tried the rest of the tips on the list and Moishe hadn't even sampled his new food. She planned to call Doctor Bob in the morning to see if he had any new suggestions, but for the present, she was stumped. And since she didn't feel like fighting with her stubborn four-footed roommate this morning, she caved in again.

Moishe gave a sound that was half purr, half grateful mew as Hannah filled his bowl with his regular crunchies. But instead of gobbling them up as he usually did, he came over to rub against her ankles.

"You're welcome," Hannah said, pouring her second cup of coffee. "You can go ahead and eat. I'll just sit at the kitchen table and wake up."

As Moishe crunched happily, Hannah's thoughts turned to Sheriff Grant's murder. For the most part she was getting nowhere fast, but one of her questions had been answered. Although Doc Knight had refused to give Andrea a copy of the autopsy report, he answered her question off-the-record. The blow Sheriff Grant suffered to the back of his skull killed him almost instantly.

Hannah's suspect list was growing, although she doubted that any of them had murdered Sheriff Grant. There was Nettie, who had no alibi, and Luanne, who didn't have one either. Then there was Bill, but Hannah refused to add him to her suspect list. It would have been great if they'd been able to track down Bill's second call, but Hannah called every roofing company in the county and found that none of them used telemarketers. Andrea and Tracey drove all over to look for anyone either getting a new roof or having their old roof repaired, and Herb had kept a sharp eye out for roofing trucks on his rounds. They all did their best, but the roofer who may or may not have been working in the Lake Eden area was still anonymous.

After another bracing sip of coffee, Hannah stood up and stretched. It was time to start the day. The Cookie Jar wasn't open on Sundays, but she decided to go in anyway to take inventory of their supplies. Since it was a relatively clean job that shouldn't take more than a couple of hours, she dressed in something appropriate for a funeral, and wore an apron over it just in case.

"You might know it!" Hannah muttered from the top of the stepstool, as the phone in the kitchen of The Cookie Jar began to ring. She waited through three rings, juggling a canister of cocoa in one hand and a bag of flaked coconut in the other, then set them back on the shelf and climbed down. It was almost impossible for her to ignore a ringing phone. It could be an emergency, something she needed to respond to right away. It could be Bill, saying that Andrea had gone to the hospital to have the new baby. It could be Norman, calling from the dental convention, trying the shop because he'd been unable to reach her at her condo. It could be Mike, saying that he'd caught the murderer and Bill was free to come back to work. And it could be a salesman, which was much more likely, even on a Sunday.

Hannah hurried across the floor and grabbed the phone. "The Cookie Jar. Hannah speaking."

"Oh, Hannah! I'm so glad I caught you!"

Hannah gripped the phone a little tighter. It was Andrea and she sounded frazzled. "What's wrong, Andrea?"

"Uh-oh! Just hang on a second, okay?"

Hannah listened to the sound of the open line. She heard soft footsteps and then a bang and a click as a door closed and locked. "Andrea?"

"It's okay. I'm here now." Andrea's voice was not much more than a whisper.

"Where's here?"

"In the bathroom."

"Why are you whispering?"

"Because Bill just came back to the bedroom and I don't want him to hear what I'm saying. Hold on again, Hannah. He's knocking on the door."

Hannah held on. What else could she do? She heard Andrea say something to Bill, but her words were muffled. Then she heard what sounded like running water. "Andrea?"