Peach Cobbler Murder

by Joanne Fluke

  “I could make you a Mimosa,” Mike offered, taking the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket.

  “Thanks, but I don’t want a Mimosa,” Hannah said, answering Mike. “But I’ll have a little more champagne.” Then she turned to Norman. “And I’ll have more coffee, but I don’t want more orange juice.”

  And there Hannah sat, holding butter in her left hand and jam in her right, as Norman filled her cup with coffee and Mike poured champagne in her glass. She was hemmed in by two men who were falling all over themselves to serve her and it made her feel ridiculous. She really had to talk to the person who arranged the next extended family gathering in advance. She was tired of feeling like the white filling in Norman and Mike’s Oreo.

  The whole gang was here and they were all in marvelous moods. Andrea and Bill looked as happy as Lisa and Herb, and so did Marge Beeseman and Jack Herman. Evidently their living arrangements were working out just fine. Mike was happy at having solved two cases, and Norman was proud of the fact that he’d helped her sleuth. Carrie and Delores were sitting on either side of Tracey, who’d been invited to attend her very first champagne brunch. She was drinking sparkling apple juice out of a champagne glass and she had both Carrie and Delores laughing at something she’d said.

  “And here’s Hannah’s contribution to the brunch,” Sally announced, passing a silver tray filled with Chocolate Overload Cookie Bars, the rich confections Hannah had made to celebrate the fact that two killers were behind bars.

  For a long moment, there was no talking, and that was the greatest compliment a baker could receive. Hannah watched the rapturous expressions of her friends and relatives as they ate the rich, creamy, chocolate cheesecake cookie bars. In no time at all, the tray was empty and everyone was smiling.

  “Hannah?” Mike grabbed his opportunity as Norman went over to talk to Bill. “Have you got a minute? I really need to talk to you alone.”

  Hannah wanted to say no, but that wouldn’t be polite. Not only that, she was curious. She reminded herself that curiosity had killed the cat, but it didn’t deter her the way she’d hoped it would.

  Once they’d excused themselves to the group, Hannah and Mike walked out of the restaurant and down the carpeted hallway to the lobby. Mike led her toward a couch near the huge granite fireplace and waited until she was seated.

  “I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry,” Mike said as he took her hand and sat down on the couch with her. “I’ve been a terrible fool. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “I’m not sure,” Hannah replied quite honestly, doing her best to maintain her objectivity. Having Mike this close must be a bit like getting hooked on drugs. She felt that without him, she’d be a shell. And with him, she could be anything she wanted to be. The feeling scared her and she fought it. This wasn’t love; this was addiction.

  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.” Mike took both of her hands in his. “I realized how much I love you…really love you. And I promise I’ll never look at another woman again. You’re the only one in the world for me.”

  Hannah couldn’t breathe. And that meant she couldn’t speak. Did this mean what she thought it did?

  “I wasn’t ready before, but I am now,” Mike declared. “Everything’s changed. I want to put the past behind me and start a new life with you. If you’re willing, that is. Be willing, Hannah…please.”

  Hannah tried to move, or breathe, or speak, but she couldn’t. She was frozen like a deer in the headlights, waiting for her rescuer, or killer, or captor…whatever the case might be…to release her.

  As she sat there wondering how long she could exist without oxygen, Mike got down on one knee and took a small velvet jeweler’s box out of his pocket.

  “I wanted to give this to you at Lisa and Herb’s reception, but…well…you know what happened. I remember when you said you didn’t really like diamonds, that they were colorless.”

  “That’s true,” Hannah said, surprised that she’d managed to squeeze any words out of the throat she thought was permanently blocked.

  Mike flipped the velvet-covered cask open so that Hannah could see the ring inside. “I bought you an emerald engagement ring, because the green matches your eyes. Will you marry me, Hannah? Please?”

  Hannah gazed down at the ring and was rendered speechless yet again. She couldn’t say yes, or no, or even maybe. Her heart felt like it would burst out of her chest and race free as Mike took the ring out of the cask and held it out. A proposal at last, from Mike! All she had to do was accept, and she would be Mrs. Michael Kingston.

  Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Norman approaching and the yes that was about to escape her lips caught on the lump in her throat. Norman saw Mike down on his knees in the lobby and he held up his arms in a time-out signal.

  Hannah started to grin, even though the moment was fraught with emotion. Norman was wheeling his arms in circles and she couldn’t help herself.

  “What?” Mike asked, noticing Hannah’s inattention.

  “Nothing,” Hannah said, and Norman beat a hasty retreat. What was Norman doing? Wasn’t he even going to fight for her?

  “Hannah? Will you marry me?” Mike asked again, beginning to frown slightly.

  “An urgent telephone call for Mike Kingston,” the loudspeaker intoned. “Please report to the front desk immediately.”

  “Uh-oh,” Mike said, jumping to his feet. “Hold that thought. This could be important. I’d better take it, okay?”

  Hannah didn’t have time to answer before he was gone, but she had the feeling that her whole life would be that way if she married Mike. She would never come first. She was really sorry that Norman hadn’t…

  “Hannah!” Norman rushed to her side. “Don’t marry Mike! Maybe he loves you, but he’s going to break your heart. Marry me instead. I love you and I promise to make you laugh every day. Our life together will be great, you’ll see.”

  Hannah glanced at the phone banks against the far wall. One phone was hanging from its cord and she realized that Norman had placed that urgent phone call to Mike. What a dirty trick! And how delightfully diabolical!

  “Hannah?” Norman asked, pushing his luck just a little too far. “Will you marry me and live with me in our dream house?”

  Hannah thought about it for a second or two before she realized that she was being railroaded. There was only one thing to do to gain some thinking time.

  “I’ll let you know really soon,” Hannah said, leaning down to place a fond kiss on Norman’s lips. “And when Mike comes back, you can tell him the same thing.”

  CHOCOLATE OVERLOAD COOKIE BARS

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

  FOR THE CRUST:

  1½ cups flour

  ¼ cup cocoa powder

  ¾ cup sugar

  ¾ cup softened butter (1½ sticks)

  Mix the dry ingredients together and then cut in the softened butter. (You can also do this in a food processor with a steel blade, using chilled butter that’s been cut into chunks.)

  Spread the mixture out in the bottom of a greased 9-inch by 13-inch cake pan and press it down with a spatula.

  Bake at 350 degrees F. for 15 minutes. (Don’t shut off the oven—you’ll need it for the second step.)

  FOR THE FILLING:

  2 eight-ounce packages softened cream cheese (the block type, not the whipped type)

  1 cup mayonnaise

  1 cup sugar

  4 eggs

  2 cups melted chocolate chips (12-ounce bag)

  2 teaspoons vanilla

  You can do this by hand, but it’s a lot easier with an electric mixer. Soften the cream cheese and beat it with the mayonnaise until it’s smooth. Gradually add the sugar. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating after each addition. Melt the chocolate chips in a microwave-safe bowl for 3 minutes. (Chocolate chips may retain their shape, so stir them to see if they’re melted.) Let them cool for a minute or two, and then gradually add the chocolate, mixing th
oroughly. Then mix in the vanilla. Pour the finished mixture on top of the crust you just baked.

  Bake at 350 degrees F. for 35 minutes. Let it cool to room temperature and then chill for at least 4 hours.

  Cut into brownie-size bars. Garnish the bars with strawberries, whipped cream, or powdered sugar if desired.

  Baking Conversion Chart

  These conversions are approximate, but they’ll work just fine for Hannah Swensen’s recipes.

  VOLUME:

  WEIGHT:

  OVEN TEMPERATURE:

  Note: Hannah’s rectangular sheet cake pan, 9 inches by 13 inches, is approximately 23 centimeters by 32.5 centimeters.

  Index of Recipes

  Minnesota Peach Cobbler

  Strawberry Flip Cookies

  Lisa’s Wedding Cookie Cake

  Herb’s Wedding Cookie Cake

  Doll Face Cookies

  German Chocolate Cake Cookies

  Desperation Cookies

  Fake Orange Julius

  Rhubarb Custard Cake

  Strawberry Custard Squares

  Aunt Kitty’s Jamaican Rum Balls

  Chocolate Almond Toast

  Trudi’s Shrimp Bisque

  Chocolate Overload Cookie Bars

  Hannah Swensen and her bakery, The Cookie Jar, bask in the glow of Hollywood glamour when Main Street becomes a movie set. And although tensions simmer as the cameras roll, no one expects the action to turn deadly…until it’s too late…

  There’s no such thing as privacy in Lake Eden, but Hannah never thought things would go this far. Everyone has been telling her what to do ever since she got not one but two marriage proposals. The votes are evenly divided between Detective Mike Kingston and town dentist Norman Rhodes.

  Movie mania takes over and Lake Eden locals turn into Hollywood wannabees. Even Hannah’s cat wants a shot at stardom! Hannah’s marriage dilemma becomes more complicated as she re-meets producer Ross Barton, an old college crush who is now handsome, famous, and single. The Cookie Jar serves as snack central with Main Street rented out for the week, and Hannah stirs up fresh gossip as she caters to Jeff, whipping up treats for cast and crew, including demanding director Dean Lawrence’s favorite—cherry cheesecake.

  Everything’s on schedule until Dean demonstrates a suicide scene with a prop gun that turns lethal. Now there’s a real body on the set and Hannah’s on the case in a flash. There are plenty of suspects to go around, starting with lead actress Lynne Larchmont—one of a slew of female visitors to Dean’s trailer—whose husband, Tom, is financing the film. Then there’s Tom Larchmont himself, forty years his wife’s senior, and smitten enough to be motivated by jealousy. Ross Barton was constantly keeping Dean out of trouble…could he have had enough? Lake Eden local Winnie Henderson publicly threatened to kill Dean if he moved the statue her brother sculpted because it was blocking his shot. And what about male star Burke Anson? He’d argued with Dean about something mysterious the morning of the murder.

  As filming continues, Hannah sifts through the clues, hoping against hope that the person responsible for Dean’s death is half-baked enough to have made a mistake. When it happens, Hannah intends be there—ready to rewrite a killer’s lethal script with the kind of quirky ending that can only happen in Lake Eden.

  Please turn the page for an exciting

  sneak peek at

  CHERRY CHEESECAKE MURDER

  coming next month!

  Prologue

  Lake Eden, Minnesota

  Wednesday, the Second Week in March

  “Cut!”

  Dean Lawrence had directed on plenty of locations, but Lake Eden was the worst. These yokels raised boredom to a whole new level. The chubby broad who ran the bakery made a great cherry cheesecake, and that was the only good thing he could say about Podunk Central.

  Nothing was working today. They were never going to get this scene. The local lethargy must be catching, and it was time to kick some butt.

  “What’s with you, Burke? You’re supposed to make people weep for you! Get up. I’ll show you what I want here.” Dean pushed Burke out of camera range and got ready to play the scene himself.

  Midway through the scene, he noticed that the redhead who baked his cheesecakes was staring at him with new respect. Maybe she’d be a little more receptive, now that he’d impressed her with his talent. He opened the center desk drawer, pulled out the prop gun, and stared at it while he waited for Lynne’s line.

  “I love you, Jody! Don’t do this to me!”

  It was a perfect reading of the line and Dean was glad he’d decided to use her in his next movie. He put on a tortured expression as the camera came in for his close up, and gazed at Lynne with tears welling in his eyes. “I’m not doing it to you, Li’l Sis. I’m doing it for me.”

  He raised the gun to his temple. Lynne looked horrified, exactly as she should, and he gave her a last, sad smile. Then he squeezed the trigger.

  The gun went off and Lynne screamed for real. Their director was dead.

  Chapter One

  Two Weeks Earlier

  Hannah Swensen did her best to convince her sleep-logged mind that the insistent electronic beeping she heard was in the soundtrack of her dream. A huge semi-tractor-trailer was backing up to the kitchen door of her bakery, The Cookie Jar, to deliver the mountain of chocolate chips she’d ordered for the gazillion Chocolate Chip Crunch Cookies she’d promised to bake for her biggest fan, Porky Pig, who’d finally overcome his stutter with the help of a voice coach and was now being sworn in as president of the United States…

  The dream slipped away like the veils of Salome, and Hannah groaned as she clicked on the light. No doubt her dream was the result of watching Cartoon Network until two in the morning and eating two dishes of chocolate ice cream with a whole bag of microwaved popcorn. She silenced the alarm and threw back the covers, sitting up in bed in an effort to fight her urge to burrow back into her warm blankets and pull them up, over her head.

  “Come on, Moishe,” she said, nudging the orange and white lump that nestled at the foot of her bed. “Daylight in the swamps, dawn in the desert, and sunrise in Lake Eden, Minnesota.”

  Moishe’s yellow eyes popped open. He looked out the window into the darkness beyond, then swiveled his head to stare at her accusingly. While most people didn’t think cats could understand “human-speak,” Hannah wasn’t most people. But this was primarily because Moishe wasn’t most cats. “Sorry,” Hannah apologized, backpedaling under his unblinking yellow gaze. “It’s not really daylight in Lake Eden, but it will be soon and I have to get up for work.”

  Moishe seemed to accept her explanation. He opened his mouth in a wide yawn and gave the little squeak in the middle that Hannah found endearing. Then he began to stretch.

  Hannah never tired of watching her previously homeless tomcat go through his morning calisthenics. Moishe rolled onto his back and gazed up at the bedroom ceiling. His right front leg came up in a fascist salute and after a slight pause, his left leg shot up to join it. Then his back legs pushed toward the foot of the bed and spread out in a tensely inverted “Y,” like the handholds of a witching rod. Once his whole body was stretched taut, he began to quiver like the proverbial bowlful of Jell-O.

  The kitty quiver lasted for several seconds and then Moishe flipped from back to stomach. This was the position Hannah called “shoveled,” because it was about as flat as a cat could get without the aid of a steamroller. All four legs were stretched out to the max and Moishe’s chin was perfectly parallel to the worn nap on the chenille bedspread Hannah had rescued from Helping Hands, Lake Eden’s only thrift store.

  The part that came next was Hannah’s favorite. Moishe’s back legs moved forward, first the left and then the right in what her first grade friends had called “giant steps” in their games of Captain, May I. This continued by awkward measure until Moishe’s rear was up in the air, his hips so high it turned him into a kitty teepee. Once the apex had been reached, he gave a little
sigh, a little shake, a little flick of both ears simultaneously, and then he made a big leap to the floor to follow Hannah down the hallway.

  “Hold on,” Hannah said, hopping from foot to foot as she pulled on her fleece-lined moccasin slippers. “You know you can’t open the Kibble Keeper by yourself.”

  After a short trip down the hall spent dodging Moishe’s efforts to catch the laces on her slipper, Hannah reached the kitchen. She flicked on the bank of fluorescent lights and winced as the walls shimmered dazzling white to her sleep-deprived eyes. Perhaps it was time to paint her walls a darker color, a color like black, especially if she kept operating on three hours sleep. Last night had been another night in a long string of nights spent in her living room, stretched out on the sofa with a twenty-three pound cat perched on her chest, watching television until the wee small hours of the morning and wrestling with a decision that would have stymied even Solomon.

  An indignant yowl brought Hannah back to matters at hand and she opened the broom closet to lift out the Kibble Keeper. It was a round gray bucket-type container with a screw on lid that was guaranteed to keep out even the most persistent pet. Hannah had found it at the Tri-County Mall after Moishe had defeated every other means she’d tried to keep him from helping himself to his own breakfast. It wasn’t that she begrudged him food. It was the cleanup that made feline self-service dining unfeasible. Hannah had swept up and dumped out the last kitty crunchy she was about to sweep and dump, and the salesclerk at the pet store had assured her that no living being that lacked opposable thumbs could open the Kibble Keeper. It was made of a resin that was impervious to biting and scratching, knocking it over and batting it around had no effect at all on its sturdy exterior, and it had been tested on a tiger at the Minnesota Zoo and come through with flying colors.