Strawberry Shortcake Murder

by Joanne Fluke

  Hannah dug in her heels and refused to budge. Mason was strong, but so was she. If she could shove him away and pull the door shut, she could call Mike for help.

  “Forget it, Hannah.” Mason pulled a gun from his pocket and slammed the barrel up against her side. “I’ll kill you here, if you leave me no choice.”

  Mason was serious. Hannah could see that from the determined expression on his face. He would kill her here, but if she cooperated and walked to the kitchen set with him, it would give her time to think of a way to escape.

  “You win, Mason. I’m coming.” Hannah wasn’t about to argue with a loaded gun. As they walked down the steps, she spotted the box that P.K. had left on the steps and her brain kicked into gear. If it was still there when P.K. came back, he’d take it to the kitchen set for her. If she could delay Mason long enough, P.K. might arrive in time to save her.

  “What’s this?” Mason kicked the box with his foot.

  Hannah thought about lying, but she knew he wouldn’t buy it. “It’s my box of ingredients.”

  “Take it with you,” Mason ordered, but then he changed his mind. “No. Hold it right there. What’s in it?”

  “Butter, sugar, eggs, molasses, flour, soda, and spices,” Hannah rattled off the ingredients.

  “Pick it up.”

  Hannah picked up the box. She glanced inside and sighed as she realized that Lisa had put everything in soft plastic containers. She’d been hoping to swing the molasses bottle at Mason’s head, but the molasses was in Tupperware, and wasn’t much of a weapon.

  “Walk.”

  Mason prodded her with the gun barrel in his pocket and Hannah walked. She felt like a prisoner walking to her execution until she remembered that Herb would be on duty in the auditorium. Perhaps she could give him some sort of signal that Mason wouldn’t catch, some trick phrase that would make him call Bill and Mike at the station. She was still trying to think of what it could be when Mason opened the auditorium door and pushed her inside.

  Herb was gone. The sight of his empty chair made Hannah’s hopeful heart drop down to her toes. She should have expected it. Mason had planned all this out. He would have sent Herb on some fool errand, just as he’d done with P.K.

  “This is a bad idea, Mason.” Hannah did her best to sound reasonable. She had to buy herself some time, think of some way to delay him. P.K. could return and come into the auditorium, Herb could come back from his errand, Mike could call Lisa and track her down at the school, Mr. Purvis could come in to check on the condition of the stage floor, practically anyone could happen along. That wouldn’t do much good if she was already dead, but she was still alive.

  “It’s a very good idea. I made sure nobody would disturb us.”

  Mason gestured toward a sign that was posted on the auditorium door. It read, CLOSED SET—NO ADMITTANCE, in black block letters, and below it was a note in Mason’s handwriting, Hannah—I have a staff meeting at 4:45. Join me at the production truck at 5.

  “When they find your body, they’ll assume you ignored the sign and went in to drop off your box. They’ll also assume that the killer followed you onto the set and killed you,” Mason said, sounding very proud of himself.

  Hannah’s mind started to slow down in fear, but she made herself concentrate. Mason wouldn’t kill her, not if she could think of a way to stop him. “You goofed, Mason. They’ll suspect you when you don’t show up for the staff meeting.”

  “I’ll be at the staff meeting. It’s four-thirty-five now. I’ve got ten minutes to make it, and killing you won’t take more than a minute or two. Open the door, Hannah. I’m on a tight schedule.”

  Hannah thought about whirling around and attempting to hit Mason with the box, but she knew she couldn’t move faster than his trigger finger. She opened the door, stepped into the auditorium, and walked down the aisle to the steps that led to the stage.

  “You first.” Mason prodded her with the gun barrel. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  Hannah went up the steps and headed for the kitchen set she’d used on the other three shows. As she approached, she noticed that Rudy had left his roving cam on the counter. Maybe she couldn’t stop Mason from shooting her, but she could leave evidence for Bill and Mike. If the roving cam had tape and if the batteries were charged, she could turn it on.

  “Oops!” Hannah pretended to trip on one of the heavy cables that snaked across the floor. She grabbed at the counter to steady herself, and the box flew out of her hands. Mason glanced down at the box and in the few seconds his attention was diverted, Hannah flicked on the roving cam. By the time he looked up, her hands were back down at her sides.

  Mason pointed the gun in her direction again. “Pick everything up and put it back in the box. Hurry up.”

  Hannah did exactly what he said, kneeling and putting the containers back in place. As she picked up the flour, she remembered how her great-grandmother had always kept a bowl of flour by the side of her bed, planning to throw it in the face of anyone who broke into her house. As far as Hannah knew, Great-Grandma Elsa had never put it to the test, but it was better than nothing.

  Flour didn’t seem any match for a gun, but Hannah put the container on top. If she couldn’t think of anything else, she’d try it. The important thing was to keep Mason talking, and that wouldn’t be easy. “I’ve got a question, Mason.”

  “What?”

  Mason motioned her over to the counter next to the sink, and Hannah put down the box. She managed to pry up the lid on the flour and ease it off the container. “Did you mean to kill Coach Watson?”

  “If I’d meant to kill him, I would have brought my gun.” Mason frowned. “I just wanted him to agree not to suspend Craig.”

  “But if it was a fight that got out of hand, why didn’t you tell the police? You could have claimed self-defense.”

  “I would have had to tell the police why we were fighting, and I couldn’t do that. Once Craig gets on a good college team, he’ll go all the way to the pros. But if the college recruiters find out that he’s using steroids, he can kiss his athletic scholarship good-bye.”

  “Won’t they test him for steroids before they offer him a scholarship?” Hannah reached behind her to grip the container of flour, waiting for the perfect moment.

  “Of course, but nothing will show up. The drug I got for him is so new they don’t have a test for it yet. Everything would have been fine if Craig hadn’t gotten worried about some minor side effects. After all I’d done for him, he blabbed the whole thing to Coach Watson and begged him for help.”

  Hannah felt sick. Mason had gotten steroids for his son and forced Craig to use them. And then, when Craig had tried to get help, Mason had killed the one person who might have actually helped his son. But feeling revulsion for what Mason had done was gaining her nothing. She had to keep him talking. “Did Lucy Richards know about the steroids?” she asked.

  “Of course not. Once I got rid of Coach Watson, that leak was plugged.”

  Hannah shivered. Even though she hadn’t liked Boyd Watson, he had been a living, breathing person, not some leak that a plumber might plug. “Then why did you kill Lucy?”

  “She said she had pictures of me with Coach Watson.” Mason looked highly amused. “Would you believe she actually had the nerve to try to blackmail me?”

  Hannah wasn’t quite sure if she should nod or shake her head in denial. Instead of reacting, perhaps in the wrong way, she asked another question. “Did she have pictures?”

  “Who knows? She gave me a story about not having time to develop the film, and she offered to sell me the roll.”

  “But you didn’t fall for that.”

  “No. Her apartment keys were on her key ring. I went back the next day and took care of all her film.”

  “Why didn’t you do it right after you killed her? Someone else could have found it and developed it.”

  “Who?” Mason grinned, as if he were enjoying a very funny joke. “Lucy didn’t have any friends, and
nobody ever visited her. I knew it would be a while before anyone noticed that she was missing, and I had time to take care of any loose ends. And speaking of time, yours is running out.”

  Hannah tried to think of another question, but absolutely nothing occurred to her. Mason was going to kill her. He’d planned it all out.

  “See that tarp?” Mason gestured toward the floor, which was covered with a blue-plastic tarp. “Purvis is so prissy about his stage floor, I didn’t want to stain it. I think that’s pretty considerate of me, don’t you?”

  Hannah shuddered. She knew exactly which type of stains Mason meant. He was talking about bloodstains, her bloodstains. She knew she had to say something, and she latched on to the first thing that popped into her mind. “You’re more considerate about the stage floor than you are about Lisa. Think about how awful she’s going to feel when she finds me.”

  “It can’t be helped.” Mason shrugged. “It’s too bad about Lisa. She’s a bright girl and I’ve always liked her, but I have to think about the ratings.”

  Hannah felt her anger peak. Mason was a monster, and if she had a gun stashed in her box of ingredients, she’d have no compunction about plugging him right between the eyes. But all she had was a plastic tub of flour.

  “It’s getting late.” Mason glanced at his watch, the opportunity that Hannah had been waiting for. “Guess you won’t be baking any more of those overrated cookies. It’s time for you to…”

  Hannah waited until Mason glanced up, then threw the flour in his face. He let out a yell, his hands flew up to his eyes, and Hannah hurtled forward to grab his gun arm.

  Mason was strong, but Hannah was fueled by pure rage. He’d hooked his own son on steroids, he’d killed Boyd Watson and Lucy, he’d intended to pump up his ratings by letting poor Lisa find her body on camera, and he’d called her cookies overrated. Hannah didn’t know which of his sins bothered her the most, but she was spitting mad.

  The struggle seemed to last forever. Mason tried to jerk the gun down and point it at her, but Hannah had watched enough detective movies to know a few street-fighting tricks. She brought her knee up hard, right where it would do the most good. And while Mason was attempting to recover from that unexpected assault, she shoved him back with the full weight of her body and hammered his wrist up against the handle of the oven.

  His face turned white. Hannah knew he was in pain, so she did it again, and again. She heard a snap the third time his wrist hit the stove handle, and the gun flew out of his fingers and skittered across the floor.

  Mason let out an agonized howl, but Hannah didn’t feel a shred of sympathy for the man who’d tried to kill her. While he was writhing on the floor, grasping his wrist and moaning loudly, she retrieved the gun and plunked herself down on the middle of his back.

  “Move and you’re dead meat,” she threatened, “and don’t think that wouldn’t give me a whole lot of pleasure.”

  “Hannah! Are you all right?”

  It was Mike’s voice, and Hannah looked up to see Mike and Bill racing up the aisle. Help was almost here, but she kept the gun pressed tightly to the back of Mason’s head.

  “Hannah?”

  Mike was climbing up the steps and Hannah gave him the best smile she could muster. “I’m fine, but Mason’s in big trouble. He killed Boyd, and he killed Lucy. I’ve got his whole confession on videotape.”

  “You what?” Mike fairly flew across the stage floor with Bill on his heels.

  “I’ll tell you later.” Hannah jammed the gun against Mason’s head a little harder. “Just cuff him and get him out of my sight before I do something illegal, will you?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Hannah rolled dough balls and dropped them into the bowl of sugar that Lisa held. She knew she looked calm, but that was only because she was still in shock. Mason had come very close to killing her, and only Great-Grandma Elsa’s flour defense had saved her. But she didn’t dare think about that now. She had to put the dough balls on the cookie sheets and pop them into the oven.

  “Are you all right?” Lisa whispered, as Hannah arranged twelve dough balls on a cookie sheet and pressed them down slightly, so they wouldn’t roll off when she carried them to the oven.

  “Fine,” Hannah whispered back.

  “You still look a little shaky. Do you want me to carry those?”

  “I can do it.” Hannah smiled as she remembered the old theater maxim. “The show must go on.”

  After Hannah had opened the oven and slipped the two sheets of Molasses Crackles inside, she caught sight of the yellow crime-scene tape that the deputies had stretched across the entrance to the fourth kitchen set. Sheriff Grant had decided that the contest could go on, but no one could use that kitchen set. It really didn’t matter because there were only three finalists, the winners from Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday nights. All the same, the empty kitchen set with Hannah’s flour still scattered over the plastic on the floor was a tangible reminder that she had almost ended up as dead as Boyd and Lucy.

  It struck Hannah then, with full force, and she steadied herself against the counter. If she hadn’t been able to pry the lid from the container of flour, or if Mason had decided to shoot her right there in the production truck, or if…

  Later, Hannah told herself. You can think about it later. Right now, you have to bake cookies and smile.

  Wingo Jones was giving the sports news, all about teams who had trounced, clobbered, whipped, and thrashed their opponents. Hannah glanced out at the audience and saw her mother sitting with Carrie Rhodes. Marge Beeseman and Lisa’s father were a few rows ahead. The crime-scene tape was below eye level, and the audience was completely oblivious to what had occurred less than two hours ago on the fourth kitchen set. The sheriff’s department wouldn’t release the information until tomorrow morning, and then she’d become a local celebrity. It wasn’t a status that Hannah sought. If she had to become a celebrity, she’d much rather gain fame as the Cookie Lady.

  Doc Knight had set Mason’s broken wrist, and he was in custody at the county jail. Mike had removed the cassette she’d taped on Rudy’s roving cam, and it would be used as evidence at the trial. When that was over and Mason had been convicted, he’d spend the rest of his life behind bars, where he couldn’t hurt anyone, ever again.

  The timer on the oven beeped just as Rayne Phillips got up to do the weather. Hannah removed the pans from the oven and carried them over to Lisa, who would transfer them to a wire cooling rack. She was right on schedule, and all she had to do was deliver the cookies to the news team and judge the contest. When all that was done, this perfectly gruesome day would be over.

  Hannah glanced over at Rayne Phillips, who was standing next to his blue screen, pointing at something that only the television audience could see, and telling them all that the weather would be cold with occasional snow flurries. Of course it would be cold. This was winter in Minnesota. And of course it would snow. It always did.

  Lisa moved closer to Hannah and patted her on the back. “You’re a hero, Hannah. They never would have caught Mason without you.”

  “Heroine,” Hannah corrected her, and then she thought about it. Lisa had a valid point. She was the one who’d found the pictures of Boyd’s murder. If she hadn’t taken the film to Norman to develop, Mason might have found it and destroyed it the way he’d destroyed all of Lucy’s other film.

  While Rayne Phillips talked on about International Falls and how it was the coldest spot in the nation again, Hannah thought about the other clues she’d discovered with Andrea. Mrs. Kalick hadn’t told Bill or Mike about the third car. Andrea had gotten that information from her. And Danielle hadn’t mentioned the phone call to Mike or to Bill. She hadn’t thought it was important. Norman hadn’t gone to the sheriff’s station to report Lucy’s extortion. He’d confided in Hannah because he’d trusted her to keep it confidential. And since Mike and Bill hadn’t known about Boyd’s parent-teacher conference, they hadn’t questioned Gil Surma about it. />
  The fact that Mike and Bill had arrived at the auditorium in time to arrest Mason had been a stroke of luck. Hannah had laid the groundwork, showing them the pictures that Lucy had taken of the murder and cueing them in about Gil’s reference to steroids. Mike and Bill had spent the morning interviewing the boys on The Gulls. When one player had mentioned that Craig had really buffed up over the summer, they’d driven to the school to ask Mason about it. And when they’d noticed Hannah’s truck parked next to the locked production trailer, they’d come to the auditorium to ask her if she’d seen Mason. Mike and Bill would have arrested the right man eventually, they were both good cops, but Hannah and Andrea had provided some very critical pieces of the puzzle and accelerated the process.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I am.” Hannah turned to give Lisa a big smile. It was a darned good thing she’d interfered in Mike’s investigation. If she hadn’t, Mason would still be out there, forcing Craig to take steroids and ruining his future.

  “It’s time, Hannah.” Lisa gestured toward Rudy, who was motioning to them. Rudy was managing the news and the bake-off tonight, and the original stage manager had taken over Mason’s duties in the production truck.

  Hannah picked up the plate of cookies and winked at Lisa. She was back to normal and raring to go. If Dee-Dee Hughes said one word about calories when Lisa passed out the Molasses Crackles, Hannah planned to retaliate by mentioning the half-eaten box of chocolate creams she’d found in Dee-Dee’s mobile dressing room.

  Epilogue

  The bar at the Lake Eden Inn was packed with people, and the final wrap party was turning out to be a rousing success. The winner of the Hartland Flour Dessert Bake-Off was holding court at the center table. It was the same lady who’d made the lemon tarts the first night of the contest, and all of the judges had agreed that her entry tonight, a mouth-watering apple pie, was the best they’d ever tasted.