Christmas Cupcake Murder

by Joanne Fluke

  “They don’t. I didn’t have it there.” Hannah picked up the cheese tray. “Come on, Andrea. The men are waiting to hear what we learned from Joe today.”

  “You didn’t tell them?”

  Hannah shook her head. “I wanted to wait for you. You didn’t tell Bill, did you?”

  “No. I decided I’d tell him when you told Mike and Norman. ”

  “Okay . . . let’s go!”

  Hannah led the way, placing the cheese tray on the coffee table that sat between the two couches. “Help yourselves, everyone.” She turned to Bill. “Would you like a glass of red wine, Bill?”

  “Yes, I would.” Bill gave her a smile. “Thanks for asking, Hannah. I’m not on call tonight, so I can have wine with dinner.”

  “I’ll get it, Hannah,” Norman said, getting up from his spot on the couch. “You’ve done enough for one night. ”

  “Thanks, Norman.” Hannah sat down on the couch and reached for her half-empty wineglass. “This is really nice. I can’t remember the last time Sheriff Grant gave Mike and Bill the same night off duty. He usually wants one or the other of you there.”

  “I think it’s because we haven’t had a murder for a while,” Bill told her.

  “Bite your tongue, Bill!” Andrea said, and Hannah could tell she was only half kidding. “You shouldn’t tempt fate.”

  “Speaking of murder, or attempted murder,” Mike said, looking serious. “Has Doc figured out how Joe got that TBI yet?”

  “Not yet,” Hannah told him, “but he’s pretty sure someone attempted to kill him.”

  “Is he sure enough to call Sheriff Grant and ask him to file an attempted murder charge?” Mike asked.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t get a chance to ask him that when Andrea and I were there. And even if he does think it’s attempted murder, Sheriff Grant wouldn’t call you in for that, would he?”

  “Probably not,” both Mike and Bill answered her, almost in unison.

  “He might if Joe’s injury was recent,” Mike added.

  “And especially if Joe could name or give a description of his assailant,” Bill went on to explain. “Then he might call us in.”

  Mike gave a nod of agreement. “In Joe’s case, he can’t do either one of those things. And that means there aren’t that many avenues for us to explore.”

  Norman came back to deliver Bill’s glass of red wine and everyone munched crackers and cheese for a moment. Then Bill spoke up again. “Andrea said she wanted to wait until we were all together to tell us what you two learned from Joe today. Do we have time to do that before we eat?”

  “We do,” Hannah answered for both of them, and she reached for the steno pad. “Joe told us a little bit about the farm where he grew up.” She turned to Andrea. “Tell them what you remember, Andrea.”

  “He mentioned the cows, and Hannah and I decided that it was a dairy farm because the creamery truck came every morning to pick up the milk cans. Joe didn’t know how many milk cans there were, but he said it took quite a while to load them all on the truck.”

  “The fact that it was a dairy farm isn’t all that helpful,” Mike told her. And then, when he saw how disappointed she was, he added, “But it’s a piece of the puzzle and we can eliminate farms that don’t have milk cows.”

  “Right,” Hannah agreed. “Go on, Andrea.”

  “Well . . . he mentioned that he used to ride his bike to the lake to go swimming in the summer. And that made two pieces of the puzzle. The farm where he grew up must be close to a lake.”

  Hannah couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” Andrea asked her.

  “It’s Minnesota, Andrea, the land of ten thousand lakes. Every farm is within bike-riding distance of some kind of lake!”

  The men burst into laughter and Hannah winced. She hadn’t meant to embarrass her sister. “Sorry, Andrea. I should have phrased it a little bit differently.”

  “That’s okay, Hannah.” Andrea gave a little laugh. “It’s funny and you’re right. I can’t think of a single farm in this whole county that isn’t within bike-riding distance of a lake.”

  “What else did you learn?” Mike asked.

  Andrea gestured toward Hannah. “Hannah was smart. She wrote it all down while I drove back to town. Tell them about Freddy, Hannah.”

  “Okay.” Hannah flipped to the next page of notes she had made. “When Andrea and I got to the hospital, Doc said that Joe was in the basement workroom with Freddy, and they were putting the final touches on Carole’s desk.”

  “Carole, the charge nurse?” Norman asked.

  “That’s right. Doc took us down to the basement and we found Joe and Freddy in the workroom. They were waiting for a couple of Doc’s maintenance men to come for the desk and take it up to Carole.”

  “Then you got to see it?” Bill asked.

  “Yes,” Andrea answered him, “and it was beautiful. The deep scratch on top was completely gone and it looked like new.”

  “Freddy told us what they’d done to rejuvenate it, and all three of us, Doc, Andrea, and I, were really impressed at the way Joe drew Freddy out and helped him remember the names of various things.”

  “Later, when Freddy had left with the maintenance men, and we were going up to the first floor to see what Carole thought of her desk, someone asked Joe how he knew how to deal so well with Freddy.” Andrea turned to Hannah. “Was it you, Hannah?”

  “No, it was Doc. And Joe said that he liked Freddy, and that he reminded him of Donnie.”

  “Did you ask who Donnie was?”

  “Of course we did,” Andrea said quickly. “But Joe couldn’t tell us if Donnie was a relative of his, or not. We asked if he knew Donnie’s last name and Joe laughed. And then he said that if he remembered Donnie’s last name, he might know his own last name.”

  “That made me guess that Donnie could be Joe’s brother,” Hannah admitted. “But he could also be an uncle or a cousin. I got the feeling that Joe taught Donnie how to work in the shop.”

  “What makes you think that?” Mike asked her.

  “I think it was because he was so good about reminding Freddy of sandpaper and the steps they’d taken to repair Carole’s desk. I know it’s an assumption, but I really think I could be right.”

  “I think so, too,” Mike told her.

  “So do I,” Bill agreed.

  “It’s logical, Hannah,” Norman said. “Sometimes I think we have to go with our feelings and assumptions, if there’s not enough data to tell us the whole story.”

  Mike smiled the slow smile that always made Hannah’s heart beat faster. “That’s smart, Norman. Sometimes you have to go with what my mother used to call inklings.”

  “What are inklings?” Andrea asked him.

  “Things that don’t yet have any basis in fact, but that you believe are correct. At least that’s the way she described it.” Mike stopped speaking and gave a sigh. “How long until dinner, Hannah? I’m really starving!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Ireally can’t eat anymore,” Mike said when Hannah offered him another bowl of stew.

  “Did you leave room for dessert?” Hannah asked him.

  “Of course I did. I always leave room for dessert. What is it?”

  “Grandma McCann’s Blue Apple Pie,” Andrea told him. “It’s apples and blueberries mixed together and it’s just incredible! I sneaked a little taste when it bubbled up through the crumble crust.”

  Mike looked as if the heavens had opened, and an angel had appeared. “The only thing that could make an apple and blueberry pie better would be . . .”

  “I have French vanilla ice cream,” Hannah offered, knowing exactly what Mike was going to say.

  “Yes!” Mike’s response was immediate and then he swallowed several times. This made Hannah suspect that his mouth was watering in anticipation. “Could you give me two scoops on my pie?”

  “Of course I can,” Hannah agreed, grateful that she’d bough
t a gallon. Unless Mike was feeling a bit under the weather, he’d be eating two or three slices of Grandma McCann’s pie with double scoops of ice cream on each of them.

  Since everyone knew that Hannah had to go to work early the next morning, once dinner was over the party broke up. Andrea and Bill were the first to leave. They were followed by Mike, who waited for Hannah to pack up a container of stew, and a piece of pie for a midnight snack.

  “Are you tired, Hannah?” Norman asked, helping her load the last dish into the dishwasher.

  Hannah thought about that for a moment, and then she shook her head. “I should be, but I’m not really tired. I think having company energized me. Stay for a while, Norman. I’m not going to go to sleep for a while yet.”

  “Okay, but I want you to promise to let me know when you get tired enough to sleep.”

  “All right. I promise.”

  “Would you like to watch a movie? I brought one of my favorites.”

  “That sounds good. Which movie is it?”

  “Regarding Henry.”

  “I’d love to see it! That’s a Mike Nichols film, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is. I thought it might be appropriate because it’s about a man with TBI.”

  “Is it sad?”

  “Actually . . . no, not at all. As a matter of fact, it’s a rather novel twist on a man who experiences amnesia.”

  “That sounds good! Should I make popcorn?”

  Norman shook his head. “Thanks, but I couldn’t eat another thing tonight.”

  “How about hot chocolate?”

  “That sounds great. Do you still have those fuzzy blankets I gave you from CostMart?”

  “Yes. I’ll get one for each of us and we can curl up on the couch. Do you want me to turn up the heat, Norman? Now that the wind picked up, it’s a little chilly in here. ”

  “The hot chocolate and the blankets will take care of that. And if it doesn’t we can always turn on your fireplace.”

  “Good idea. If you turn on the television and get the movie all ready to go, I’ll make the hot chocolate and bring it in.”

  “I’ll get the fuzzy blankets, too. Where do you keep them, Hannah?”

  “In the old trunk on the other side of the fireplace. Just lift the lid and you’ll see them. This is going to be fun, Norman.”

  Regarding Henry was a fascinating film and Hannah managed to stay awake for the first fifteen minutes. When she woke up, the television set was off, the living room was illuminated only by the glow of the fireplace, and Norman was gone. She sat up, rubbed her eyes, glanced at the clock on the mantel to see that it was after midnight, and smiled. Norman had brought out a pillow from her bedroom, covered her with both blankets, and there was a note propped upon her coffee table. It read, Go to bed, Hannah. I’ll be here at five-thirty in the morning to take you to breakfast, and then to work. Love, Norman.

  Even though the thought of snuggling down even deeper under the blankets and spending the night on the couch was tempting, Hannah got up, switched off the fireplace, and went in to bed. She was too tired to get into her pajamas, so she simply pulled back the covers and climbed in bed, grateful that Moishe, who’d gone to bed earlier, was sleeping on his own pillow for a change. She reached out to stroke his soft fur, curled up with the pillow she’d carried in with her, smiled a contented smile, and went back to sleep.

  * * *

  Morning came with a crash and Hannah sat bolt upright in bed. She switched on the light on her bedside table, looked over at the pillow where Moishe had been sleeping, and discovered that her cat was no longer there.

  There was another crash and a thud. Had someone broken into her condo? A burglar? A rapist? What could she use to fight him off?

  Hannah looked around her bedroom. The only thing she could see that could be used as a weapon was the heavy, cut glass bottle of perfume that she’d won at a Christmas party. It was the only thing she’d ever won, so she’d kept it. She’d opened it, taken one sniff of the perfume inside, and corked it back up again. She’d been planning to take it down to their local thrift store and donate it, but she simply hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

  Quietly, stealthily, Hannah felt around under the side of her bed for her moose hide slippers. She found them, pulled them onto her feet, and made her way to the dresser to get the bottle of perfume. It was heavy and she gave a little nod of satisfaction. If she moved silently and approached the intruder from the rear, she could hit him over the head with the bottle and knock him out.

  There was another thud, and Hannah headed toward the sound. The intruder was in her kitchen. The guest bathroom door was open and dim light was coming in from the designer streetlights that lined the walkways outside the condo buildings. All was quiet in the hallway, and Hannah made sure she didn’t trip over the fake potted plant that stood by the doorway to the living room.

  There was another thud and Hannah’s heart jumped up to her throat. Was she being a fool for trying to confront an intruder alone? Had he come in with a gun, or a knife that would easily best the perfume bottle she carried? Would they find her sprawled out on her kitchen floor when Lisa called the sheriff’s department to report that she hadn’t shown up for work?

  Her eyes had adjusted to the dim interior of the living room, and the kitchen doorway was just in front of her. Should she sneak over to the couch, grab the remote phone that sat on a side table, and hurry back to lock herself in her bathroom while she called the police?

  There was another thud, and that propelled her forward. No, she wouldn’t call for help. This was a one-woman job and she was the woman to do it. If she took the intruder by surprise, she could do it. Rod Metcalf would write an article about her in the paper, praising her courage and presence of mind.

  Another thud sealed her resolve. Hannah slipped into the kitchen, clutched the perfume bottle raised high, and prepared to tackle the person who’d dared to broach her inner sanctum.

  The kitchen window was directly over one of the designer walkway lights and Hannah could see the entire room clearly. No one was standing by her stove or her refrigerator. Was he in the pantry for some reason?

  The pantry door was slightly ajar, and Hannah stood behind it and inched it open. And what she saw shocked her so much, she dropped the perfume bottle on the floor.

  The intruder, the rapist, the burglar was . . . Moishe! Her cat was standing on one of the shelves in the pantry, pawing at the staples she kept on the shelf above. His claw hooked a can, it came tumbling down, and hit the floor with a thud.

  “Moishe!” she shouted, completely shocked. “What in the world are you doing?!”

  She must have shocked Moishe almost as much as he’d shocked her, because her feline roommate jumped down from the shelf, raced past her like a whirlwind, and pounded down the hall to her bedroom.

  “Oh, good heavens!” Hannah groaned as she flicked on the lights and realized that the perfume bottle had lost at least half of its contents. Her kitchen now smelled like a cheap bordello, or at least the way she imagined a cheap bordello might smell.

  All Hannah wanted to do was crawl back in bed and hide her head under her pillow, but sleep was impossible at this stage. She had to clean up the mess before she did anything else. First, she tackled the pantry. There were cans on the floor that needed to be picked up and put back in place. They were cans of cat food, tuna, and salmon, with one lone can of beets. Since Moishe didn’t like beets, Hannah figured it must have been off-balance, and fallen when one of the other cans fell.

  It didn’t take long to pick up the cans and put them back where they belonged. The spilled perfume was another matter. Hannah took down a roll of paper towels, and did her best to sop it up without getting it on her hands. Of course that didn’t work. The perfume soaked through the paper, and by the time she’d cleaned the kitchen floor, and filled the trash can with heavily aromatic paper towels, she smelled like she’d just emerged from work at a cheap perfume factory.

  “I need a shower,�
�� she said aloud, and hurried back to her bathroom to douse herself with water and soap. It took a lot of scrubbing and rinsing before the smell of perfume seemed to diminish.

  One glance at her bed and she sighed. Sure enough, her midnight marauder was stretched out on her pillow, fast asleep.

  Mumbling about how she now knew why some people didn’t have pets, she slipped into her robe and padded down the hall to put on the coffee. It was almost time to get up anyway. She’d drink a cup of coffee, eat the last of Grandma McCann’s Blue Apple Pie, and watch the rest of the movie that she missed with Norman.

  BLUE APPLE PIE

  Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position.

  1 frozen deep dish piecrust (or make your own)

  ½ cup white sugar

  cup (2 Tablespoons) all-purpose flour

  teaspoon ground nutmeg (freshly ground is best, of course)

  teaspoon cinnamon (if it’s been sitting in your cupboard for years, buy fresh!)

  teaspoon cardamom

  teaspoon salt

  2 cups sliced, peeled apples (I used 2 Granny Smith and 3 Fuji or Gala)

  1 teaspoon lemon juice

  1 can blueberry pie filling (I used Comstock)

  ¼ stick cold salted butter ( cup, 1 ounce)

  Prepare your crust:

  If you use homemade piecrust, roll out one round. Line a 9-inch pie pan with the piecrust.

  If you use frozen piecrust, buy the 8-inch deep dish kind. These come in two’s, so leave one in its pan and let it thaw on the counter. Put the other in the freezer, for the next Blue Apple Pie you bake.

  Mix the sugar, flour, spices, and salt together in a medium-size bowl.

  Prepare the apples by coring them, peeling them, and slicing them into a large bowl. When they’re all done, toss them with the teaspoon of lemon juice. (Just dump on the lemon juice and use your impeccably clean fingers to toss the apple slices – it’s easier.)