Strawberry Shortcake Murder

by Joanne Fluke

  Then another, even more frightening thought occurred to Hannah and her fingers shook as she replaced the receiver in the cradle. The phone lines ran on the outside of the truck. The killer could have cut them.

  Heart beating in panic mode, Hannah moved to the window and peeked out through the slats of the blinds. Nothing was moving except gusts of snow that kicked up with each blast of wind. They rattled up against the metal walls of the truck like snare drums. They reminded Hannah of the muted snare drums in The Private Life of Henry VIII, right before the blade had severed Anne Boleyn’s head.

  That kind of thinking made Hannah shudder, and she pushed the visual image from her mind. It was snow, only icy snow that rattled against the walls, and the gusty winds gave her another advantage. It was windchill. The actual temperature was in the low teens, but wind robbed heat from a person’s body. If you added in the windchill factor, the loss of heat would be comparable to a reading of twenty below. The killer would be wearing fur-lined gloves to keep his fingers from freezing, and that meant he’d have to pull off his gloves before he fired his first shot. Perhaps it would only give her an extra second or two, but it was something.

  Hannah gazed out at the parking lot, her eyes alert for any movement. The longer the killer stayed out there, the colder he’d get. She didn’t hear any car engines running in the silence between the gusts of wind. At least he wasn’t sitting inside his car with the heater going full-blast to thaw out his trigger finger.

  There was a light in the parking lot, an overhead fixture that gave everything a strange pinkish orange glow. The banks of snow looked as if they were made from the mango slush machine at the Quick Stop. She could still see an indentation on the surface of the snow-covered asphalt where P.K.’s car had been parked only minutes ago, but the winds were filling it in fast. Her Suburban sat right next to it, looking more orange than candy-apple red.

  Hannah thought of the crowbar in the back, right next to the spare tire. It would be a better weapon than the aluminum light stand, but she wasn’t about to venture out to get it. She was safer here by a long shot.

  She winced at the phrase “a long shot.” Would the killer just start shooting up the production truck, trying to kill her from a distance? Should she duck for cover under one of the metal desks, hoping the thin panels would protect her? But the killer wouldn’t dare fire too many shots. There were neighbors across from the school. One of them would hear and call the sheriff’s station to report the gunfire. He would have to make his first shot count and that meant he’d have to come inside.

  As Hannah stared out between the slats, her eyes aching from the strain of not blinking, she had a sudden thought. Where was the killer’s car? It had to be parked on the other side of the truck. If she could see it, she could write down his license plate number. She could leave it for Mike and Bill just in case…

  Hannah stopped herself in mid-thought. She wasn’t going to consider the worst-case scenario; it would only slow her down. She felt her way to the other side of the truck, gripping her light stand, for what it was worth. Then she wiggled behind the cabinet that held the fax machine and the copier, and crept up to the window.

  There was nothing there. Absolutely nothing. The parking lot was completely deserted. But the killer had to have driven here, unless…

  Hannah’s eyes moved to the street on the other side of the school, the block where Danielle lived. Several cars were parked there, but it was too far away to see their license plates. They were just snow-covered lumps under the streetlight. The killer could have parked there. There were no lights in any of the houses. All of Danielle’s neighbors had turned in for the night. With the gusty winds outside, none of them would have heard a car pulling up and parking.

  He could also be parked in front of the auditorium, in the lot that was reserved for the audience. There was no night watchman at the school. The students at Jordan High were a pretty good bunch and loved their school. It had never been vandalized, and there was no need for nighttime security.

  Hannah jumped as she heard another crash, coming from the side of the truck she’d just left. She ran back to that window and looked out in time to see a large shape disappearing around the far side of her Suburban. A dog? No, the shape had been too big for a dog. A man in a bulky coat, crouched and running, afraid that someone might spot him? That was much more likely.

  The winds howled again, rocking the production truck, and in the interval between the gusts, Hannah heard a loud thump. Someone had hit the side of her Suburban with a lot of force. Was the killer trying to break into her cookie truck? Did he think she was hiding in there? And when he found out that she wasn’t, would he come to the production truck to kill her?

  There was a second thump that was even louder than the first, what sounded like an enraged growl, and then Hannah saw headlights come up behind her Suburban. A spotlight flashed from the side of the car, illuminating the whole area, and Hannah watched in openmouthed astonishment as a huge black bear emerged from the far side of her truck. It froze for a second in the light, then tore across the parking lot at a faster pace than she’d known bears could run. She watched as it disappeared into the bushes that led to the woods at the far side of the athletic field, and then she sat down hard in the desk chair.

  “Hannah?” There was a knock at the door. “Open up, Hannah. It’s Mike.”

  “Coming.” Hannah got to her feet on legs that still felt weak. She opened the door, saw Mike standing there, solid and reassuring in the pinkish orange light, and did the first thing that came into her mind. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him as hard as she could.

  “Hey, there’s a shot of your mother,” Mike said, pointing to the monitor. “She looks really good. You’ve got a gorgeous mother, Hannah.”

  “I’m glad you think so. It’s very important.” Hannah started to grin. They were munching chocolate bars and watching the footage that Rudy had shot of the audience as they’d left after the show.

  “Why is it important?” Mike gave her a puzzled look.

  “They always say that if you want to know what a daughter will look like, all you have to do is meet her mother.” Hannah sneaked a glance at Mike and noticed that he looked very uncomfortable. It was obvious he wasn’t sure whether he should agree with her or argue the point. Hannah’s grin grew wider, and she reached out to pat his arm. “Never mind. I’m just kidding around. Andrea and Michelle take after Mother. I don’t.”

  “Yes, but you’re still beautiful. You’re just not like your mother, that’s all.”

  Now Hannah was uncomfortable. She hadn’t been fishing for compliments, but Delores had taught all three of her daughters that when a man paid you a compliment, you were supposed to merely thank him and leave it at that.

  “Thank you,” Hannah said, fighting her urge to say anything further. But the silence hung between them and she was too uncomfortable not to break it. “And thanks for running off that bear. He had me pretty scared.”

  “That bear was a she, and you were right to be scared. She was big, and she was hungry. That’s a dangerous combination.”

  “Hungry?” Hannah seized the new direction their conversation had taken and ran with it. “How do you know that?”

  “Most bears are hibernating about now. Something rousted her out, and she came down here to search for food. She got some from the cafeteria Dumpster. It was tipped over on its side, and garbage was scattered all over the place. I figure she’d had her dinner and she was going for dessert.”

  “Dessert?”

  “Your truck. It probably smells like cookies inside.”

  “She would have been disappointed. Andrea ate every one I had left.” Hannah caught something on the screen, and she reached out for the remote control. “Hold on, Mike. I saw something.”

  Hannah backed up the tape and they stared at the screen as she started it again, freeze-framing at the critical moment. It was another false alarm, only a shiny button on a man’s coat sleeve th
at Hannah had glimpsed as he’d unlocked his car.

  “Here comes Boyd Watson.” Mike sat forward on the edge of his chair.

  Hannah watched Boyd as he walked toward his car, her domed cake carrier in his arms. He handed it to Maryann so that he could unlock and open the passenger door for her, took it back while she got in, and handed it to her again. Once he was sure that Maryann was settled, he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side of the car.

  “Polite, isn’t he?” Mike commented, his brows knit in a frown.

  “Of course he is. People might be watching.” Hannah couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice. She’d also seen Boyd being very solicitous of Danielle when they’d attended public functions.

  “Maryann doesn’t know, does she?” Mike asked.

  “No.” Hannah knew exactly what he meant. “She wouldn’t believe that her brother was a wife beater unless you showed her proof. And if you did that, she’d tell everyone that Danielle had done something to bring it on.”

  “It’s a sick world.”

  “Not all of it.” Hannah shook her head. “There are some really good people out there. You’re at a disadvantage because you’re a cop. You don’t get to deal with the good ones very often.”

  Mike turned to look at her, then started to smile. “You’re just what I need, Hannah. You’re an optimist.”

  “Maybe.” Hannah smiled back. “Right now I’m optimistic that there’s one of those candy bars left.”

  Mike glanced down at the sack on the table and crunched it down with his hand. “You were too optimistic. I just ate the last one.”

  “Oh, well.” Hannah sighed, and then she had an idea. “Why don’t we finish this tape and drive out to the Corner Tavern? They’ve got great steak and eggs, and they’re open all night. I’ll even pay for your breakfast for saving me from that hungry bear.”

  “Sounds good. I haven’t been treated to breakfast by a beautiful woman in years. If you keep this up, you might make an optimist out of me yet.”

  “You’re right.” Mike cut off a slice of his steak and eyed it with satisfaction. “They do a great steak here. It’s cooked just the way I ordered it.”

  Hannah glanced down at the hunk of meat on his fork and snapped her mouth shut. How anyone could eat well-done beef was beyond her. Her steak was blood rare, just the way she liked it. She’d given her order the standard way, Thirty seconds on one side, thirty seconds on the other side and slap it on the plate. If you can’t do that, bring it to me raw with a book of matches.

  “We need to talk, Mike,” Hannah told him, dipping the corner of her toast into the egg yolk on her plate. “I know some things about your case.”

  Mike swallowed and his eyebrows shot up. “More than you told me in the squad car?”

  “Yes. I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to accuse me of meddling.”

  Mike thought about it for a minute. “Okay. I won’t mention the word. What is it?”

  “It’s not it. It’s a whole series of things. Let’s finish breakfast before our eggs get cold, and I’ll tell you everything I think you should know.”

  Mike dropped his fork and stared at her. “You’ll tell me everything you think I should know?”

  “Right. Some of it’s confidential and doesn’t have anything to do with the murders. You’ll just have to trust me on that. Is it a deal?”

  Mike picked up his fork and stabbed another piece of steak with more force than he needed. He thought about it for a moment as he chewed and swallowed, then sighed. “Okay, Hannah. I can’t say I like it, but it’s a deal.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  When the alarm clock went off at six the next morning, Hannah rolled over and shut it off. She performed that act by feel, not even bothering to open her eyes. Then she rolled over again, pulled up the covers to her chin, and went back to sleep.

  A bit later, Hannah became aware of something tapping her cheek. She happened to be dreaming of homicidal woodpeckers at the time, a huge flock of redheaded birds who were swarming around Lucy’s garage, pecking at the door to get inside. She startled awake, her arms flailing to ward off their needle-sharp beaks and managed to upend Moishe, who had been trying to wake her by batting at her face. He yowled at her rude response to his efforts, leaped to the table by the side of the bed, and stood there staring at her accusingly.

  “Sorry, Moishe,” Hannah mumbled, sitting upright. She glanced at the clock and made a face. Six-thirty. She’d overslept. Someone ought to pass a law to make mornings illegal.

  Twenty minutes later, Hannah was sitting at the kitchen table, showered, dressed, and on her second cup of coffee. Moishe had forgiven her for strong-arming him the moment after she’d filled his food bowl. Now he was crunching his breakfast and purring loudly.

  Hannah glanced out the window. It was ten minutes to seven, and the sky was as dark as night. They were closing in on the shortest day of the year. On December 21, the sun would shine for less than nine hours, and most Lake Eden residents would drive to and from work with their headlights on.

  Sitting here thinking about day and night in the northern hemisphere wouldn’t accomplish much. Hannah drank the rest of her coffee and pushed back her chair. It was time to get to work, figure out what she wanted to bake on camera tonight, and call Andrea to cue her in on what she’d told Mike last night at the Corner Tavern.

  Hannah got into her parka, grabbed her car keys and her garbage, and groaned as the phone rang. Delores. Should she answer it, or pretend she’d already left? Of course it could be Mike. Or Bill. Or any of a hundred other people. Hannah stood there and listened as the answering machine picked up.

  The outgoing message played, and she heard her mother’s voice. “Hannah? Pick up if you’re still there. I’ve got something important to tell you about The Gulls.”

  Hannah raced for the phone. The Gulls were Jordan High’s basketball team, and there was a chance that Delores might have heard something about the player who used steroids.

  “I’m here, Mother.” Hannah shrugged out of her parka and tossed it over the back of a chair. Delores didn’t know how to have a short conversation. If she wore her coat for the entire call, she’d drop from heat exhaustion. “What about The Gulls?”

  “It’s what Mason Kimball did. Isn’t he a wonderful man?”

  “I guess so.” Hannah collected her coffee cup from the sink and filled it with the last from the carafe. It would take a while to get any pertinent facts from her mother. “What did Mason do?”

  “I know you don’t have much time, so I’ll make it fast,” Delores promised.

  “Thanks, Mother,” Hannah said, instead of Oh, sure. Fat chance.

  “Carrie and I drove out to the inn for the party last night, and while we were there, we ran into Mason. Sally certainly does a nice buffet, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes. What about Mason?”

  “He was talking about The Gulls and how upset the boys were, now they’d lost their coach. Gil Surma is filling in temporarily, but he admits he doesn’t know that much about basketball. You know Gil, don’t you, dear?”

  Hannah took a big gulp of her coffee. “Yes, I know him. What else did Mason say?”

  “He told us that he arranged for a professional basketball coach to take over until the school could hire someone new.”

  “Really?” Hannah was surprised. “I didn’t know the school had a budget for things like that.”

  “They don’t. That’s why I said that Mason was such a nice man. He’s paying for the coach out of his own pocket.”

  “That’s very generous.” Hannah thought about it for a moment, then she began to frown. “Why would Mason do something like that?”

  “Because he has a real interest in Jordan High’s basketball program. His son plays for The Gulls. You know Craig Kimball, don’t you, dear?”

  It took Hannah a moment, but then she placed him. Craig had come into The Cookie Jar a couple of times to pick up cookies for the team. “Sure
, I know him. He seems like a good kid.”

  “He is. Mason said Craig took Coach Watson’s death hard. And he’s very concerned about the college recruiters that are coming to watch the game with the Little Falls Flyers next weekend. Craig was afraid that Gil might make strategic mistakes, and that’s why Mason hired a professional coach to take over the team.”

  Hannah started to smile. She finally had most of the picture. “Craig’s up for an athletic scholarship, and Mason wants him to look good on the court?”

  “That’s what I said, dear.”

  Hannah started to grin. Delores hadn’t said that, but she might have if Hannah had given her another twenty minutes or so. “Is Craig a good player?”

  “He is now. Craig sat on the bench for most of last year, but he’s improved a lot since then. This year he’s The Gulls’s star player.”

  Hannah’s senses went on full alert. Steroids enhanced a player’s performance. “Why do you think Craig improved so much?”

  “Mason sent him to basketball camp over the summer. They have professional coaches and trainers, and the enrollment is limited to twenty boys. Each boy has his own personal mentor, and most of them go on to make names for themselves in college basketball.”

  Hannah’s suspicions died a quick death. Summer basketball camp could easily account for Craig’s improvement. “A camp like that sounds expensive.”

  “It was. Mason didn’t tell me how much, but he said it was worth every penny. Craig already had most of the skills, but the camp really built up his self-confidence. Just a couple of weeks ago, he broke the school record for scoring the most points in a game. The other boys elected him team captain this year, and Mason says they’re always asking him for advice.”

  “Thanks for telling me, Mother.” Hannah jotted Craig Kimball’s name on her notepad. Perhaps she should talk to him. If he knew which of his teammates was using steroids, he might tell her, especially if she convinced him that they were dangerous and the player who used them would need medical help to wean him off the drug. “I’ve got to run, Mother. I’m already late.”