Sugar Cookie Murder (8 page)

Edna thumped her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Bless you, Hannah. The Reverend’s too nice to say anything, but no the rest of the congregation. I’d never hear the end of it if I forgot to put those 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 their 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 younger 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.”

“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 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 us.”

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.

Hannah surveyed the entrée 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, 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 entrée table. The new T-shape was perfect for the sides, since it was smack dab in the center of the entrées, 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 Soufflé, Corn Pudding, Green Beans 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’s 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 ore 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 rooms, 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 Kennedy’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.