Strawberry Shortcake Murder

by Joanne Fluke

  “You didn’t recognize her voice?”

  “No. It wasn’t anyone I ever talked to before. I’m sure of that. But I know it was a local call.”

  “How do you know that?” Hannah asked.

  “It was noon, and I heard the town clock strike one.”

  “You heard the clock strike one?”

  “Boyd was complaining about it the other day. It’s still set for daylight saving’s time because Freddy Sawyer was sick with the flu when it was time to turn it back. You know, spring forward, fall back?”

  “I know.”

  “Well, nobody else wanted to climb up there on the ladder, and it was a week before Freddy got back to work. Nobody seemed to notice the clock was off, and they hadn’t had any complaints, so they just decided to leave it until next spring.”

  “That figures.” Hannah was amused. There were times when things were very laid-back in Lake Eden. “Let’s get back to the phone call. Could you tell how old the woman was from her voice?”

  Danielle thought about it for a moment. “She didn’t sound as young as one of Boyd’s students, but she wasn’t old.”

  “Do you remember anything distinctive about her voice?”

  “Well…she sort of slurred her words.”

  Hannah’s ears perked up. “Did she sound drunk?”

  “Not really. It was more like some kind of speech impediment. My grandmother used to call it a ‘mouthful of mush.’ Do you think that’s important, Hannah?”

  “It could be. Tell me everything she said. Repeat it word for word.”

  “Okay. The first thing she said was, Is Boyd there? Except it came out iszh instead of is. And when I said he was, she said, Get him on the phone. She slurred that, too, except I can’t do it.”

  “Get him on the phone? Isn’t that kind of rude?”

  “I thought so. I mean, she didn’t call me by name or say please, or anything like that. She sounded like she was in a big hurry. And I know that Boyd was really angry after he’d talked to her.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Right after he talked to her, he came storming into the kitchen and his face was all red and kind of splotchy. It’s always that way when he’s mad. The first thing he did was accuse me of listening in on his private conversation, but I didn’t, Hannah. I swear it.”

  “I believe you.” Hannah thought she knew what had happened next. “Do you remember what he said?”

  “Yes. He said his call was none of my business, and I deserved to be punished for eavesdropping. I swore I’d hung up right after he got on the line, but…but he said he couldn’t trust me, and that’s when he did this.”

  Danielle reached up to touch her black eye, and Hannah swallowed hard. Boyd Watson had been a real bully, but it wouldn’t serve any purpose to point that out now. “You said you put down the phone right after Boyd picked up the extension. Did you hear either of them say anything before you hung up?”

  “I heard Boyd say hello. I had to stay on the line until he picked up, or I would have cut off the call. And I heard the first thing the woman said to him. It was, Boyd, we have to talk.”

  “And that’s all you heard?”

  “That’s all. By that time I’d hung up. I even banged the phone down a little, so Boyd would know that I was off the line.”

  “So Boyd heard you hang up, but he still accused you of eavesdropping?”

  “That’s right. I know it sounds awful to say it now that Boyd is…is dead, but I think he was all riled up because of the phone call and was looking for a fight. You know how people get when they’re frustrated. They have to take it out on somebody and I was…I was there.”

  That was good enough for Hannah. It was clear that the phone call was important. “What did Boyd do after he hit you?”

  “He said he was sorry, and he hugged me.” Danielle’s lip started to tremble again. “He got me some ice for my eye, then he called Dr. Holland right away.”

  Hannah already knew that Dr. Holland was Boyd’s therapist. Danielle had told her that before. “How long did Boyd talk to Dr. Holland?”

  “Just long enough to make an emergency appointment. Then he called the school to get a substitute for his afternoon classes and drove to St. Paul to see Dr. Holland at his clinic.”

  Hannah made a mental note to check to make sure that Boyd had kept his appointment. That wouldn’t be easy. Dr. Holland was a psychiatrist, and psychiatrists didn’t like to give out any information about their patients. “What time did Boyd get back home?”

  “It was a little after six. I know because I put the chili on at five-thirty and it said on the package that it had to cook for thirty minutes. It was all ready when Boyd got home, and he really liked it. He told me it was the best chili I ever made. And he was really sweet to me right up until the time he…he died.”

  Hannah couldn’t think of anything to say. The wife beater had been sweet to his wife after he’d beaten her. It was faint praise in her book.

  “This is a pretty room, isn’t it, Hannah?” Danielle changed the subject, and Hannah let her. She was still sick and had been interrogated enough for one day. “I miss being at home, but this isn’t so bad.”

  As Hannah glanced around, she realized that the chocolate she’d pressed on Danielle had done its work. The hospital room was perfectly ordinary and resembled a room in an unusually clean, low-budget motel.

  “They told me the Lutheran Ladies made these quilts.” Danielle reached out to stroke the patchwork quilt on the bed. “And some of the other church ladies donated the pictures. I really like that one next to the window. Boyd and I were always going to take a trip to see the ocean.”

  Hannah got up to look at the seascape that Danielle had mentioned. Then another picture caught her eye, the one that was hanging inside the open bathroom door. It was a cross-stitch sampler with hands folded in prayer, and it bore the legend, “Offer up your pain as a tribute to the Lord.”

  Hannah did a slow burn as she stared at the sampler. If the Lord was as merciful as all three local clergymen insisted, He certainly wouldn’t want anyone to suffer. And the idea that pain could be a tribute was barbaric!

  “What is it, Hannah?” Danielle asked. “Did you find another nice picture?”

  “No. Does Doc Knight let you get up to use the bathroom, Danielle?”

  “Not yet. He says I’m still too weak, and I might slip and fall. He promised me that I could get up tomorrow though.”

  “That’s good.” Hannah blocked the sampler with her body, lifted it off the wall, and slid it into the largest pocket of her parka. She salved her conscience by telling herself it wasn’t stealing since she intended to bring the frame back tomorrow with something more appropriate inside. “I’d better go, Danielle.”

  “Are you going to look for the woman who made that phone call?”

  “That’s the plan.” Hannah walked over to pat Danielle’s shoulder. “I’ll be back to see you tomorrow. And while I’m gone, I’ve got some homework for you.”

  Danielle actually smiled. “If I do my homework, will you bring me some more chocolate cookies?”

  “Absolutely,” Hannah promised. “I want you to make a list, Danielle. Write down the names of everyone who had some reason to be angry with Boyd.”

  “But Boyd didn’t do anything wrong, Hannah. Why would anyone be angry at him?”

  Hannah realized that Danielle was still in denial, and nothing she could say would convince her that Boyd hadn’t been a good husband, a good neighbor, and a good man. “It doesn’t matter whether Boyd did anything wrong or not. People still get angry at other people, and their reasons aren’t always justified. Herb Beeseman gave my mother a speeding ticket three months ago. She admits that she was speeding, but she’s still miffed at him.”

  “I see what you mean.” Danielle pulled out the drawer on her nightstand and took out a Winnetka County Sheriff’s Station notepad and a pen. “Mike Kingston gave this to me. It’s funny, Hannah. He asked me to make the
same kind of list.”

  “He did?” Hannah’s eyebrows shot up. Perhaps she’d been hasty in her judgment of Mike. If he’d asked Danielle to make a list, he might not be knuckling under to Sheriff Grant after all. “Write down everyone you can think of and give us both a copy. List anyone who was irritated with Boyd, regardless of the reason.”

  Danielle flipped the notebook open and reached for another cookie. “I’m glad you asked me to do something, Hannah. It makes me feel like I’m helping. But are you sure you want me to write down everyone?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Even if it’s over something silly?”

  “Don’t leave anyone out.”

  “Okay.” Danielle wrote a name on the first line. “I’ll start with Norman Rhodes.”

  “Norman?” Hannah was surprised. “Why was Norman angry with Boyd?”

  “Because he canceled three appointments in a row and then his temporary filling fell out. Norman wasn’t exactly happy when he had to go down to his office at midnight to glue it back in.”

  Hannah reconsidered her original instructions. “Maybe you’d better make a note of why each person was angry with Boyd. That’ll make it a lot easier for me.”

  “Okay, I’ll do that. See you tomorrow, Hannah. I’ll have the list all ready for you, I promise.”

  Hannah gave a little wave and headed for the door, leaving Danielle to her work. If the way Danielle’s pen was practically flying over the paper was any indication, she’d have a list of suspects as long as the Lake Eden telephone directory.

  “So?” Andrea asked, the moment Hannah had slid behind the wheel.

  “So I left Danielle making a list of the people who were angry with Boyd.” Hannah buckled her seat belt and turned the key in the ignition. “And she told me about a strange phone call that Boyd got on Tuesday when he came home for lunch.”

  Andrea listened as Hannah told her about the phone call and how Boyd had blackened Danielle’s eye immediately after he’d hung up. When Hannah had told her the whole story, Andrea said, “Danielle’s right. The phone call could be the key to Boyd’s murder. Who do you know with a speech impediment?”

  “There’s Freddy Sawyer, but he’s the wrong sex.” Hannah named the mildly retarded man who did odd jobs around town. “And Lydia Gradin has a slight lisp, but she doesn’t slur her words. How about you? Do you know anyone?”

  Andrea thought about it as Hannah backed out of the parking spot. “There’s Mrs. Knudson. She’s been slurring her words since she had that stroke.”

  “Mrs. Knudson is eighty and Danielle said the woman sounded young,” Hannah reminded her. “She also said that the woman was rude. Can you imagine Reverend Knudson’s grandmother being rude?”

  “No, she’s always very polite. There’s Loretta Richardson. She still has her Southern drawl, but Danielle would know her voice. And Helen Barthel stutters every once in a while when she gets nervous, but she doesn’t slur her words.”

  “Anyone else?” Hannah drove around the hospital and down the snow-covered drive.

  “I don’t think so. It’s got to be somebody we don’t know. Is Danielle sure the call was local?”

  “She’s sure.” Hannah braked at the stop sign, looked both ways, and pulled out onto Old Lake Road. “It could be someone who came to town for the bake-off. Most of them checked in on Tuesday morning. Do you have time to run out to the Lake Eden Inn?”

  “I’ve got nothing but time. Tracey doesn’t get out of preschool until four, and today’s my day off. I’d still be in bed if it wasn’t for Lucy Richards. That witch called at the crack of dawn this morning!”

  “Witch?”

  “Witch with a ‘b.’ Now that I’m a mother, I have to watch my language. It’s like Tracey’s teacher says, Little pitchers have big ears.”

  “I’m not a little pitcher, I’m a big one. You won’t corrupt me.” Hannah grinned as she turned off on the road that led around the lake. “And I agree with you completely about Lucy Richards. She came in the shop this morning and tried to pump me for information about Boyd’s murder.”

  Andrea looked surprised. “How did she find out that you were there?”

  “She said one of her sources told her. I kept telling her that I didn’t know anything and I couldn’t tell her if I did, but it still took me ten minutes to get rid of her. And that’s not the half of it. When she finally left, she skinned out without paying for her cookies and coffee.”

  “Lucy’s the rudest person I’ve ever met.” Andrea’s voice was hard, and Hannah knew she was still angry about the early-morning phone call. “If she slurred her words, I’d suspect that she was the woman who called Boyd.”

  “But she doesn’t slur her words.”

  “I know.”

  Hannah turned right at the reflective sign that said “Lake Eden Inn,” and followed the gravel road that led through a large stand of oak. Their branches were black and stark against the leaden sky and they looked as dead as doornails. Of course they weren’t. New green leaves would begin to pop out with the first breath of spring. They always did. She emerged from the oaks, drove around a curve, and the huge, rustic summer home that Sally and Dick Laughlin had converted to a lakeside hotel came into view.

  “The inn’s just gorgeous,” Andrea commented. “Every time I drive out here, I’m impressed.”

  “Me too. Sally and Dick spent a lot of time and money renovating this place.”

  Hannah pulled into the parking lot and began to troll for a space. It was filled with the guests’ cars, and the only one she recognized was Dick’s old VW bus. It was parked at the end of the back row, and Hannah pulled in beside it, making her own space. That was one advantage to owning a four-wheel-drive vehicle in the winter. The Suburban could make its own space in the unplowed snow.

  “Did you have to park here?” Andrea complained, opening the passenger door and staring down at the snow.

  “Yes. All the regular spaces were full. Slide across and get out my side. There’s less snow over here.”

  As Andrea slid over, Hannah thought about the lineage of the Lake Eden Inn. The original building had been in the Laughlin family for five generations. Built in the late nineteenth century, Dick’s great-great-grandfather had spared no expense to build his summer retreat. Franklin Edward Laughlin, a lesser-known iron ore magnate, had packed up his family, his staff, and any friends who wished to spend a few months at the lakeshore, and they’d all traveled by carriage to the forty-room mansion he’d modestly called “Lake Eden Cottage.”

  “This place is practically a monument to Dick’s great-great-grandfather, isn’t it?” Andrea climbed out and led the way up the long winding path to the entrance of the inn.

  “That’s what I’ve always thought,” Hannah agreed. F.E. Laughlin must have regarded his summer home as his personal edifice, because he’d established a fund to be used solely for upkeep on the property. The “cottage,” in pristine condition but never modernized, had passed from oldest son to oldest son until Dick had inherited it four years ago. F.E.’s iron ore fortune had been passed along, too, as part of the legacy, but it hadn’t fared as well. By the time Dick had inherited “Lake Eden Cottage,” the family coffers were very nearly depleted.

  Hannah gazed around her as they walked past Dick’s topiary. His evergreen shrubs were growing nicely, and all of the animals were recognizable. The lion’s mane still wasn’t full enough, but a season’s growth would take care of that. The squirrel, with its bushy tail was taking shape, and the bear looked great. It was standing on its hind legs and was already five feet tall.

  Dick and Sally had been living in Minneapolis when he’d inherited the inn. They’d come out to look at the property, fallen in love with the place, and moved to Lake Eden the next week. They’d been forced to borrow heavily to install electricity, indoor plumbing, and a modern kitchen with restaurant-sized appliances, but that gamble was paying off. Last year, Dick and Sally had been fully booked for the entire season, and the Lake E
den Inn was finally showing a profit.

  “Something sure smells good,” Andrea said, as they climbed the wooden steps and pushed open the front door.

  “Yes, it does.” Hannah began to smile as she stepped into the huge lobby with its massive wooden beams and gigantic rock fireplace. The scent in the air was mouth-watering. It was tantalizingly spicy, and under the spice she could detect a hint of chocolate. It had to be Sally’s Chicken Mole, one of her favorite dishes.

  “Come on, Andrea. Let’s head for the bar.” Hannah set off at a fast pace for the wood-paneled bar that also served as the dining room. “If the buffet is still out, I’ll treat you to lunch.”

  Chapter Seven

  The moment they entered the bar, Hannah spotted Sally Laughlin. She was hard to miss with her bright orange maternity top. The Laughlins’ first child would be born in January, and Sally was sitting on a barstool with her feet elevated on a neighboring stool. The buffet table was still out, and Hannah turned to Andrea. “Just wait until you taste Sally’s Chicken Mole. It’s fantastic.”

  “I’ve never even heard of Chicken Mole before. What is it?”

  “It’s Mexican cuisine, chicken baked in a dark chocolate sauce with lots of spices.”

  “Chicken and chocolate?” Andrea shuddered. “That doesn’t sound very appetizing.”

  “But it is. Just try it and see.” Hannah bit back a grin. She should have remembered that Andrea wasn’t very adventuresome when it came to food. Last Thanksgiving, Hannah had added red bell peppers and water chestnuts to the turkey stuffing, and Andrea had refused to try it.

  “Come on, Andrea. Let’s go say hello to Sally. I think Doc Knight is wrong about her due date. She looks like she’s almost ready to pop.”

  Andrea looked as if she might object to that turn of phrase, but once she caught sight of Sally, she forgot to tell Hannah to be more tactful. “I hope having all these guests isn’t too much for her. She doesn’t look very comfortable.”

  “Hi there.” Sally’s face lit up in a smile as they approached her barstool. “I’m just taking a break. What are you girls doing way out here?”