Sugar Cookie Murder (9 page)

“Thanks, Hannah,” Kurt said, as Hannah handed him his muffin. He put it on his plate and turned to Mike, who’d just sat down next to him. “Did I hear you say it was coming down hard out there?”

“Yeah. Visibility isn’t good at all.”

“Do you think the roads are still passable? I have to get back to the Cities tonight.”

Mike thought about it for a moment. “I think you’ll be all right if you leave right now. The storm’s blowing in from the north and you should be able to keep ahead of the worst of it. What type of car do you have?”

“A mid-size SUV.”

“Four-wheel drive?”

“All-wheel drive with anti-lock brakes.”

“High profile?”

“Not that high, but it has good clearance.”

“You should be fine, then. I’ll go out to the parking lot with you and help you shovel out. When I drove past, I noticed there’s a big snowdrift at the exit.”

“Thanks, but I’m not in the lot. I came in early and there was still parking on the street.”

After Kurt had tendered his apologies for cutting the evening short, Mike walked him out to make sure he got on his way safely. Hannah noticed that on Mike’s way back in, he stopped at her mother’s table to say hello, and it was clear Delores introduced Winthrop, because the two men shook hands. Hannah had already marshaled the questions she wanted to ask Mike about his impression of her mother’s date when Mike came back to take Kurt’s vacant chair.

“That’s the guy you and Andrea are so worried about?” Mike got in the first question, despite Hannah’s resolve to quiz him.

“What did you think of him?”

“He seemed all right to me. Have you met him yet?”

“Yes, tonight. He was perfectly polite to me, but he’s just so . . .” Hannah paused to struggle for the word that most correctly described her feelings, an unusual predicament for someone who’d come within a thesis of getting her doctorate in English Literature.

“Slick?”

“That’s it exactly! There’s nothing glaringly wrong with him, and I can see why Mother’s so attracted to him. But I don’t feel comfortable around him, and I still have my suspicions.”

Mike gave her shoulder a supporting squeeze. “No problem. Did you know that Bill ran him this morning?”

“I had no idea. Did Andrea ask him to?”

“I don’t think so. Anyway, absolutely nothing turned up. The guy’s so squeaky clean, he’s never even had a speeding ticket. You girls can stop worrying. Your mother’s not going out with an axe murderer.”

“I know that! But I can’t seem to get rid of my reservations. I mean, he’s younger than she is, for Pete’s sakes! And he picked up on her at dance class when they were learning the tango, or the mambo, or whatever it was.”

Mike was silent for a moment and then he leaned closer. “So maybe you have reservations because you don’t want to see your mother with anyone other than your dad?”

“That’s not it!” Hannah said, reacting immediately. But then, after she thought about it for a moment, she backtracked. “You could be right, but I’m not willing to admit that quite yet. Why don’t you go get some food before it’s all gone? I’ll save your place for you.”

After Mike had gone off to the food tables, Hannah thought about what he’d said. Her dad has been bead for almost four years now, and maybe it was time for her mother to look for someone new. The problem was that whenever Hannah thought about another man in her mother’s life, it seemed disloyal to her father’s memory. She realized that her attitude wasn’t fair, or perhaps not even rational, but that didn’t change the way she felt about it.

Rather than dwell on this unhappy problem for any longer, Hannah gazed around the room while she waited for Mike to come back. Norman was off snapping pictures, the students from the Jordan High Jazz Ensemble were setting up their music stands and chairs for an interlude of music during dessert, and Brandi’s chair was still vacant. Hannah glanced over at Babs and Shirley’s table. Babs wasn’t in her chair and neither was Shirley. The whole Dubinski family seemed to be missing.

Lonnie Murphy caught Hannah’s eye and waved. As Hannah waved back, she noticed that Lonnie was sitting next to an empty chair. Was Michelle still in the ladies’ room with Brandi, asking her about her showgirl career, while Martin was off somewhere talking to his mother? Or was Babs in the ladies’ room with Brandi, grilling her about how she came to marry Martin, while the man in question was off with Shirley, trying to explain how he had spent so much money on Brandi? There were just too many possibilities, and Hannah gave up. The only thing she could be sure of was that Martin wasn’t in the ladies’ room. If he’d followed Michelle, his ex-wife, his mother, or his new wife in there, Hannah would be hearing one heck of a commotion.

“Great job on the pâté,” Mike said, sliding into his chair. “You made it just the way my sister does.”

Hannah was about to say that there was no way anyone could mess up such simple recipe, but this time she remembered her mother’s warning. “Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him. Then she turned to glance at Delores to see if her mother-daughter radar was working and she somehow knew her eldest daughter had taken her advice. But Delores seemed oblivious to anything anyone else was doing or saying, because she was too busy smiling up at Winthrop.

Was it a sign of neurosis when a grown woman felt the urge to mother her mother? Hannah pondered that for a moment as she watched her mother put her hand on Winthrop’s arm and give him a little pat. What did that mean? Was Delores being casually affectionate, or was Hannah’s mother actually falling for the lure of tailored clothes, a title, and a country manor with hedgerows and primroses an ocean away from home?

“Hannah?” Mike, nudged her.

“Yes?”

“I think Edna wants you for something. She’s signaling with her arms and pointing in our direction.”

“You’re right,” Hannah said, recognizing the I-need-you expression on Edna’s face. She gave Edna a wave to acknowledge that her message had been received, and pushed back her chair. “Save my place. I’ll be back.”

“You’d better be,” Mike growled, giving her his best fierce look. “We’ve got a date, remember?”

“Then you’d rather I wouldn’t set out the desserts?”

Mike pondered that for a moment and then he grinned. “I didn’t say that. I just don’t want you to forget you’re going home with me.”

“Right.” Hannah answered his grin with one of her own and headed for the kitchen. Then she realized what Mike had said and came dangerously close to stopping in her tracks. Going home with him? That hadn’t been discussed or decided. It hadn’t even been mentioned before this! Of course it could have been a figure of speech that meant Hannah shouldn’t forget that they were leaving the community center together.

“Oh, boy!” Hannah breathed, startling a teenager who was carrying a trombone case toward the alcove by the cloakroom.

“Excuse me, Miss Swensen?” he said, phrasing it as a question.

Hannah smiled, more amused then embarrassed. “Just talking to myself. It’s something people do when they get old.”

“But you’re not old!”

“Thank you,” Hannah said, rewarding him with a smile. She’d had to ask Kirby the trombone player’s name. not only was he cute with his curly blond hair and runner’s physique, he had the gift of saying the right thing at the right time, something Bridget Murphy would call blarney. This boy could go far.

Several people stopped Hannah on her way and she ended up answering questions about such diverse things as what next Friday’s pie was going to be, to who she thought should play Santa at the Lake Eden Children’s Christmas Party. She was just passing the alcove where the jazz ensemble had set up, when one of the students called her name.

“Miss Swensen?” It was Beth Halvorsen, the flute player they’d so sorely missed at the Fourth of July parade.

“Hi, Beth.” Hannah reacted to the worried expression on Beth’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Mr. Welles isn’t here yet, and it’s almost time for us to start playing. Do you know where he is?”

“Sorry, Beth. I haven’t seen him. Can’t you just start playing without him?”

“No way, Miss Swensen. Mr. Welles is filling in for our regular drummer, and we’d sound awful without percussion.”

Hannah caught movement out of the corner of her eye and she turned to see Kirby Welles rushing up.

“Sorry, I got held up,” the bandleader apologized to his ensemble. “Are you ready to play?”

Everyone nodded, including the trombone player Hannah had found so personable. She gave them a wave and headed off to the kitchen as the strains of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” followed her. The music was perfectly audible, but not too loud to impede conversation. In other words, it was perfect for a dinner party. Hannah resolved to tell Ken Purvis, Jordan’s High’s principal, that Kirby’s jazz ensemble was perfect for the occasion.

“Took you long enough,” Edna grumbled when Hannah came through the kitchen doorway. “We’ve got a crisis here.”

“What?” Hannah asked, feeling her heart rate gear up to what she thought was crisis mode.

“It’s not on the table!”

“What’s not on the table?”

“Your mother’s cake knife!” Edna wailed, reaching out to grab Hannah’s arm. “It’s missing, and I can’t find it anywhere!”

Hannah groaned as Edna’s words sank in. “Mother’s cake knife is missing?”

“That’s what I said.”

“And you looked on the dessert table?”

“That’s what I said, too!”

“All right. Don’t panic. It’s got to be here somewhere.”

“Where? I looked everywhere!”

“Take a deep breath and let it out slowly,” Hannah advised, taking a moment to do exactly that. “When is the last time you saw it?”

Edna did exactly what Hannah said, inhaling and exhaling slowly. It was proof of how upset she was, since Edna rarely took anyone’s advice about anything. “It was on the dessert table when I carried out the second crock of meatballs. I remember thinking how pretty it looked under the lights.”

Hannah glanced at the elaborately carved wooden container on the kitchen counter. “Maybe someone put it back in the chest?”

“Nope. I checked that right off. That box is as empty as Redeemer Lutheran on the Sunday after Jordan High’s homecoming game.”

Hannah bit back a laugh at Edna’s description. It was true that most people celebrated too much on homecoming weekend and not that many had the urge to get up early on Sunday morning and make it to church.

“I’m sure you’re right, but . . . I just have to check for myself.” Hannah walked over to the box and raised the lid. It was empty, just as Edna had said. “Sorry, Edna.”

“That’s all right. I checked it twice myself.”

Both women leaned up against the counter to think about the seemingly insurmountable problem at hand. They were so quiet Hannah could hear the kitchen clock ticking as the minute hand moved up a notch.

“Do you think someone could have used it for something else?” Hannah finally asked, after another notch had clicked off. “I mean, picture this . . . someone in the buffet line needs another knife for the turkey, or whatever. They’re about to go back to the kitchen to get one when they notice Mother’s knife on the dessert table. So they take it and use it and . . . “

“And they leave it on the entrée table!” Edna interrupted, somehow managing to look doubtful and hopeful at the same time.

“Exactly right. It could have happened that way.”

“That means we’d better check the other buffet tables. I don’t want your mother to know it’s missing until we know for sure. Will you do it . . . um . . . you know . . . “

“Surreptitiously?” Hannah supplied the word she thought Edna was trying to say.

“That’s exactly what I mean. I’m so upset, I couldn’t think of the polite word for sneaky.”

A cake knife the size and commanding presence of her mother’s antique silver heirloom couldn’t hide for long on any of the other tables. Just to be sure, Hannah lifted platters and checked under bowls and centerpieces, but she really hadn’t expected to find it, and she wasn’t surprised when it didn’t turn up.

“You didn’t find it,” Edna said, reading Hannah’s expression when she returned to the kitchen.

“I’m afraid I didn’t.”

“Your mother’s going to kill me. You know that, don’t you? We’ve just got to find it before she realizes that it’s missing.” Edna sat down on a kitchen stool, thought for a moment, and raised her head to look at Hannah. “Do you think someone stole it?”

“In Lake Eden?”

“You’re right. Nobody here would do something like that.”

“Chances are it’s just misplaced, and that means it has to be around here somewhere. Why don’t you take a look to see if anything n the tables need replenishing? I’ll stay in here and go through every cupboard and drawer in this kitchen.”

“Good idea,” Edna said, taking the top from a huge Tupperware container shaped like a dress box. “While I was out there looking for the cake knife, I noticed that some of your Christmas cookies were gone. Can’t say as I blame the folks that took ‘em early. Your cookies are prettier than the ones they show in the magazines.”

“The pretty part is Lisa’s doing. She decorated them. All I did was bake them.”

“They’re tasty, too. Sweet and crunchy, with the taste of butter in every bite.”

“You ate one?” Hannah was surprised. When Edna managed a potluck dinner, she waited to eat until they’d carried the food back into the kitchen. And unlike Hannah, who sometimes couldn’t resist sampling something yummy, Edna wasn’t the type of person to eat dessert first.

“It was a Santa with one leg broken off. If I’d put it on the platter that way, sure and shootin’ some child would have had nightmares about it.” Edna headed for the door, but she turned back for a final comment. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, but I’m going to keep my fingers crossed.”

Once Edna had left to restock the cookie platter, Hannah searched systematically, determined to go through every cupboard and drawer. Edna buzzed in and out, putting out more food where it was needed. Then she began to get out the rest of the desserts and prepare them for presentation.

Hannah met Edna’s eyes several times while the older woman was cutting cakes and pies in even slices and arranging platters of cookies and cookie bars. Each time Edna’s eyebrows elevated in a question, Hannah shook her head. The missing cake knife was still missing, and Hannah’s hope that she’d find it stuck away in a drawer or mixed in with other serving implements was dwindling faster than an ice cube in a mug of steaming hot coffee.