Strawberry Shortcake Murder

by Joanne Fluke

  “It’s cold out there!” Lucy waltzed in and stamped her feet on the mat by the door. “Is the coffee ready?”

  “Of course.” Hannah gestured toward a stool and moved behind the counter to pour Lucy a cup.

  “Thanks. I’ll take a couple of those Oatmeal Raisin Crisps.” Lucy laced her fingers around the mug, shivering slightly. Then she took a deep breath, and said, “Sorry about the story. My recorder didn’t work, and I was writing it from memory.”

  It wasn’t really an apology, but the fact that Lucy had offered any kind of excuse was a first.

  “But that’s not what I came about.”

  “Oh?” Hannah served Lucy two oatmeal cookies on one of her white napkins with red block letters that advertised the name of her shop. Then she picked up a cloth and wiped down the already spotless counter. Lucy wanted something, and Hannah wasn’t about to ask what. She’d just outwait her and force Lucy to make the first move.

  “I wanted to talk to you privately, Hannah.” Lucy finished her first cookie and started in on the second. “I know we don’t see eye to eye, but I want you to understand that I have a job to do.”

  “It must be a very good job.” Hannah gestured toward the new Grand Am. “That car must have cost a bundle.”

  “It’s a lease. And I didn’t earn the money for it at the paper. Rod pays me only a fraction of what I’m worth.”

  It was a perfect straight line, and Hannah could think of several appropriate rejoinders. She had to bite the inside of her cheek, but she didn’t give voice to any of them. Instead, she said, “I see you have a new coat. Very pretty. And new boots.”

  Once that comment was delivered, Hannah leaned back and waited. After six years of college and standing in the interminable registration lines each semester, she was very good at waiting.

  “Yes.” Lucy looked a bit uncomfortable. “Actually, my advance paid for that.”

  “Advance?”

  “For my book.”

  “Really?” Hannah was curious. “I didn’t know you’d written a book.”

  “Oh, I haven’t, not yet. That’s why they call it an advance. It’s going to be an exposé about a rich and famous person.”

  “That sure leaves out anybody in Lake Eden!”

  “True.” Lucy gave a little laugh. “I can’t tell you any details, Hannah. My publisher doesn’t want me to detract from the shock value when my book comes out.”

  “When will that be?”

  “I’m not sure yet. It all depends on when I finish writing it. They’re in a big rush, but I told them I didn’t want to let Rod down at the paper. He depends on me for all the big stories.”

  “That’s very loyal of you.” Hannah had all she could do not to hoot out loud. Rod had hired Lucy as a favor to Vera Olsen, and Hannah knew that he didn’t let Lucy write anything he considered important news.

  Lucy preened a bit, warming to her subject. “They think it’s going to be the smash hit of the year. That’s why I got such a big advance.”

  “I see.” Hannah took that with several grains of salt. Lucy had never mentioned knowing any rich and famous people before, and Hannah suspected she’d fabricated the whole thing to explain her new car and her new wardrobe. Either Lucy had run up her credit cards to the max, or the money had been a gift from a lover with plenty of spare cash. Hannah suspected the latter. Vera had once told Delores that her great-niece Lucy had been kicked out of college for being “wild.”

  Lucy pulled out her notebook and flipped it to a blank page. “Tell me what happened last night. I’m doing the story.”

  Hannah hesitated. She wasn’t about to let Lucy misquote her again. “You don’t need me to tell you anything. You were right there.”

  For some reason that comment seemed to rattle Lucy because she set her coffee mug down on the counter with a thump. “I was where?”

  “At the bake-off. I saw you talking to some of the contestants.”

  Lucy rolled her eyes. “Don’t play dumb, Hannah. This isn’t about the bake-off.”

  “It’s not?” Hannah assumed a perfectly innocent expression. “What is it then?”

  “I talked Rod into running a banner headline, ‘Local Coach Murdered,’ and I need details about how you found Boyd Watson’s body.”

  Hannah had all she could do not to groan. People would be upset enough as it was about the murder. Sensationalism would just add fuel to the panic flames. “What makes you think I was there?”

  “One of my sources saw your truck. Give, Hannah. I really need to know.”

  Hannah shook her head. “I can’t tell you, Lucy. It’s part of an ongoing sheriff’s department investigation.”

  “Big deal.” Lucy waved away that concern. “How did he look? And what did Danielle say? That’s what people want to read about.”

  “Then they’ll have to wait for an official press release.” Hannah stood firm. “If you want the details, you’ll have to drive out to the sheriff’s station and ask.”

  “They won’t tell me anything. They never do. Come on, Hannah. I’ll let you read my story before it goes to press, and you can edit out anything you don’t like.”

  Hannah didn’t believe it for a second, but that wasn’t the point. “I told you before, Lucy. I can’t say anything until the sheriff’s department okays it.”

  “Then you’re working with them to solve the crime?”

  Lucy scribbled something in her notebook and Hannah started to frown. “I didn’t say that!”

  “But you had something to do with solving their last murder case, didn’t you?”

  Hannah knew she was skating on thin ice. It was true that she’d helped Bill solve Ron LaSalle’s murder, but no one was supposed to know about that.

  “Didn’t you?” Lucy repeated.

  Lucy was zeroing in, and Hannah knew she had to say something. She settled for, “I didn’t do much, Lucy. I just passed on information that came my way. Any concerned, law-abiding citizen of Lake Eden would have done the same.”

  “Oh, sure.” Lucy rolled her eyes. “Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it. Let’s get back to Coach Watson. Do you have any suspicions about who might have killed him? You were first on the scene, after all.”

  “No.”

  “No, you weren’t the first on the scene?” Lucy held her pen poised over the paper. “Or no, you don’t have any suspicions?”

  “No to both.” Hannah salved her conscience by reasoning that she wasn’t exactly lying. Danielle had found Boyd, and that meant she hadn’t been the first on the scene. And she didn’t have any real suspects, at least not yet.

  “How about Danielle? Did she have any reason to kill her husband?”

  Hannah bit back a sharp retort about Lucy’s parentage. “I really don’t know, Lucy. And I certainly can’t speculate. You’re asking the wrong person. You should be talking to Bill or Mike Kingston.”

  “I’d like to do more than talk to Mike Kingston.” Lucy reached up to fluff her short hair. “But I guess I shouldn’t be telling you that.”

  Hannah gritted her teeth. Lucy was trying to goad her into slipping some information, and she refused to play that game. “Sorry, Lucy. I told you before, I can’t tell you a thing. As a matter of fact, I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”

  “Does that mean you know more about the case than you can tell me?”

  “No. It means I should be getting ready to open for business. You’re wasting your time, Lucy. And you’ve outstayed your welcome. That’ll be a dollar and a quarter for the cookies and coffee.”

  “Catch me later. I’m in a hurry.” Lucy stood up and headed for the door. When she got there, she turned, and said, “Since you’re so uncooperative with a respected member of the Fourth Estate, I’ll just have to talk to Danielle!”

  Hannah groaned as Lucy stormed out and slammed the door behind her. She reached for the phone, punched in Mike’s number at the sheriff’s station, and hoped that he’d come in early.

  “Kingston.
” Mike picked up on the third ring.

  “It’s Hannah. I’m at the shop, and Lucy Richards just left. She tried to pump me for information about Boyd Watson’s murder.”

  “That figures.” Mike chuckled. “She called Bill at home the minute the news broke on KCOW and didn’t get a very warm reception.”

  “I’ll bet.” Hannah began to smile. “Bill’s a real bear in the morning.”

  “Andrea answered. It’s her day off, and Bill was in the shower.”

  “Uh-oh.” Hannah’s smile grew wider. Anyone who woke Andrea at six in the morning on her day off got an earful. “When Lucy left here, she said she was going to talk to Danielle. Is there any way you can keep her away?”

  “No problem. Rick Murphy’s guarding her room, and I told him not to let anyone in.”

  “Good.” Hannah was pleased for a moment, but then she realized the full implication of what Mike had said. “Danielle can have some visitors, can’t she?”

  “At this time, it’s not advisable.”

  “For medical reasons?”

  “No. She still has a bad cold, but Doc Knight said she’s not in any danger.” Mike was silent for a moment and then he sighed. “Look, Hannah. Like it or not, Danielle’s our prime suspect.”

  “But even prisoners in jail can have visitors,” Hannah objected. “You’ve already taken Danielle’s statement, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it’s not like anyone can influence her, or tell her what to say.”

  There was silence for a moment, then Mike sighed. “That’s true.”

  “Danielle’s not under arrest, is she?”

  “No, not officially.”

  “Then you should let me visit her.” Hannah marshaled her arguments. “She’s all alone, Mike, and she’s probably scared half out of her mind. It’s not right to keep her locked up and isolated from her friends when you haven’t officially charged her with anything.”

  “Okay.”

  “I can visit?”

  “Yes, but just you. I’ll call Rick and tell him to let you in.”

  Hannah drew a deep breath of relief. “Great! I’ll go this morning and take her some cookies.”

  “Hannah?”

  “Yes, Mike.”

  “You’re just going as a friend, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “You haven’t decided to ignore my advice and get involved?”

  “You should know better than that, Mike. I’d never ignore your advice.” Hannah answered him truthfully, not voicing the other half of her thoughts. I considered your advice for a long time last night, and I came to the conclusion that you were wrong and I was right. And since Danielle doesn’t have anyone else on her side, you bet your buns I’m getting involved!

  Chapter Five

  Hannah had just served the last of her early-morning customers when Lisa stuck her head around the swinging door that led to the bakery. “Hannah? I need you back here for a minute.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Hannah excused herself to Bertie Straub, the owner-operator of the Cut ‘n Curl Beauty Parlor, and headed for the back room. As she pushed through the door, she was surprised to see Delores sitting at the stainless-steel work counter, clutching her purse in her lap. She was dressed in a cranberry red wool skirt and sweater set that would have looked far too young on most of the matrons in Lake Eden, but it suited Delores perfectly. Her glossy dark hair was styled in a flattering layer cut, and her makeup was flawless. Hannah didn’t delude herself by thinking that Delores had dressed up to visit her at work. She knew that her mother had never set foot outside her door without being perfectly groomed and coifed. Delores Swensen always endeavored to be a perfect photo op, just waiting for the cameras to roll.

  “Mother?” Hannah was puzzled. On the rare occasions that Delores had visited The Cookie Jar, she’d always come in through the front door. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, dear. It’s just something I forgot to tell you on the phone this morning.” Delores turned to Lisa. “You can take over for Hannah in the shop for a minute, can’t you, Lisa?”

  Lisa smiled, catching the none-too-subtle hint that their conversation would be private. “Of course, Mrs. Swensen. Would you like a cookie? These Molasses Crackles just came out of the oven.”

  “No thank you, dear. They smell delicious, but I’m watching my calories. Christmas is coming, you know.”

  Hannah’s lips twitched. Delores had been a perfect size five when she’d married Hannah’s father and she was still a perfect size five. Most Lake Eden women who were past the half-century mark had relaxed a bit about their appearance, but Delores was determined to look as attractive as diet, professional hairstyling, specially formulated makeup, and cosmetic surgery could make her.

  The moment that Lisa had disappeared through the swinging door, Delores turned back to Hannah. “I was so rattled this morning when I heard about Boyd, I completely forgot the reason I called you.”

  “Oh?” Hannah picked up a warm cookie and tasted it, knowing full well that they were her mother’s favorites. “Are you sure you won’t have just one cookie, Mother?”

  Delores wavered. “Well…just one. But don’t tempt me with more. I have a lovely new dress for Christmas Eve, and it’s not going to fit if I gain weight.”

  “Here, Mother.” Hannah handed her a cookie. “What did you want to tell me?”

  “I don’t think you should put all your eggs in one basket.”

  “What?”

  “I just want you to be careful, dear. I know you’re attracted to Mike, but it would be a real shame to let a good prospect like Norman get away. Lucy Richards is after him, you know. Carrie told me last night.”

  “Lucy Richards? And Norman?” Hannah had trouble believing her ears. Sweet, funny Norman and the reporter who thought of herself as a female Bob Woodward were as unlikely a mix as oil and water. “Are they dating?”

  “Not yet, but Carrie said she dropped in at the clinic last week, and Norman was in his office with Lucy and the door was closed. After Lucy left, Carrie asked him about her, and Norman acted very secretive.”

  “Secretive?”

  “Carrie asked him why he was in his office with Lucy, and he refused to tell her. There’s something going on, Hannah, and Carrie doesn’t like it one bit. I think you’d better start paying more attention to Norman before Lucy snatches him up on the rebound.”

  Hannah’s mouth dropped open. What rebound? She’d gone out with Norman three times, and there was nothing romantic about it. But saying that would only lead to a longer discussion, and she needed to get back to work. “Consider me warned. I’ll talk to Norman today, I promise.”

  “Make sure you do.” That seemed to satisfy Delores because she stood up and smoothed down her skirt. “I’ve got to run, dear. I told Carrie I’d pick her up in ten minutes.”

  “Christmas shopping at the mall?” Hannah guessed.

  “Of course not.” Delores looked slightly affronted. “I do my shopping the day after Christmas. The bargains are simply amazing. I’ve had all my presents wrapped and stored for almost a year.”

  Hannah saw her mother off and went back into the front of her shop. Delores had always been incredibly organized. Hannah admired that quality in her mother, but she knew it wouldn’t work for her. If she bought next year’s presents the day after Christmas, she’d forget where she’d stored them and have to run out at the last minute to buy them all over again.

  During the next two hours, Hannah served coffee and cookies nonstop. On her forays to the tables, carrying cookies and coffee refills, she heard at least a dozen different theories about Boyd Watson’s murder. Kathy Purvis, the principal’s wife, thought that Boyd had interrupted a burglary in progress. Lydia Gradin, a teller at First National, was sure that a carload of gang members from Minneapolis was to blame. Mrs. Robbins and her friends from the Lakewood Senior Apartments thought that the killer must have escaped from the state reformatory for men i
n St. Cloud, while Mr. Drevlow, Lisa’s neighbor, insisted that he must have been a homicidal lunatic from the state hospital in Wilmar who’d been released owing to budget cuts. Only one person mentioned the Hartland Flour Dessert Bake-Off, and that was in passing. “Digger” Gibson, the local mortician, speculated that an old enemy of Boyd’s had recognized him on television while he was judging the bake-off and driven to Lake Eden to kill him. Hannah hadn’t heard anyone mention Danielle’s name without following it with the phrase, “the poor dear,” and she assumed that, so far, Boyd’s shameful secret was safe. She also knew that the sympathetic thoughts that were wafting Danielle’s way could change to suspicion in an instant. If the residents of Lake Eden found out that Boyd had battered Danielle, they’d be convinced that she’d killed him either in self-defense or as retaliation.

  By the time eleven-fifteen rolled around, there was only one customer left. It was too late for a breakfast cookie, everyone’s midmorning coffee break was over, and the cookie-after-lunch crowd wouldn’t appear until noon or later. Hannah had just finished putting on a fresh pot of coffee to prepare for the noon rush when Andrea came in the door.

  “Hi, Hannah.” Andrea hung her coat on the almost-empty rack and slid onto a stool at the counter. She glanced over at old Mr. Lempke, whose daughter had left him in Hannah’s care while she’d run down to the drugstore, and frowned slightly. “Does he have his hearing aid turned on?”

  Hannah shook her head. “Roma took his batteries to the drugstore to get replacements.”

  “Good. I need to talk to you about Danielle. Bill told me all about it, and I want to do something to show my support. I don’t believe for a second that she killed him, but if she did, he deserved it!”

  “I know.” Hannah poured a mug of coffee from the carafe she’d filled before she’d emptied the urn and shoved it over to her sister. Andrea’s color was high, almost matching the coral pink of her expensive cashmere sweater, and her blue eyes were snapping. “You’re really upset, aren’t you?”