Lemon Meringue Pie Murder (Hannah Swensen Mysteries)

by Joanne Fluke

  “Shower time,” Hannah said, glancing at Moishe, who was more concerned with crunching down his breakfast than anything she might have to say. His bowl was still half full, but Moishe was a pessimist. A half-full bowl was half empty to him, and he’d panic if any part of Garfield’s picture on the bottom came into view. Hannah added another scoop for insurance before she headed off to the shower.

  In exactly fifteen minutes, Hannah emerged from her bedroom, dressed and ready for her day. She owned three short-sleeved cotton pantsuits that she wore for summer catering jobs and she’d chosen the green one this morning. As she’d pulled on the pants, she’d noticed that they’d felt a bit looser. It was difficult to judge with elastic waists and perhaps it was only wishful thinking on her part, but she really thought her diet was working.

  Since she still had a few minutes before she had to leave, Hannah retrieved the steno pad she was using for Rhonda’s case notes and sat back down at the kitchen table. She’d written down what Norman had told her, that Marjorie Hanks had been the one to clean the Voelker place. She’d even thought about calling Luanne’s mother when she’d gotten home last night, but she’d decided that it was too late. Now it was too early. Even if Marjorie rose before sunrise, she wouldn’t appreciate getting a phone call first thing in the morning.

  Hannah flipped to the next page. She’d copied the list of pie buyers that Lisa had given her and it was time to go over them again. Perhaps she’d see a connection now that it was morning and she was more alert.

  There were ten names. Hannah checked them off one by one. Most were repeat customers, mothers who always came in for pie on Friday to serve it to their families that night. There was no way any of them had given their dinner pie to Rhonda. The two men on the list were easy to eliminate. One lived out at the retirement home and shared Hannah’s pie with his friends. The other was a Jordan High student who took Hannah’s pies to his girlfriend’s mother when he went to her house for Friday night dinners.

  Hannah shook her head. There was one name left, Claire Rodgers. And Claire had bought three pies. Hannah stopped to think about that for a moment. Claire was single and she lived alone. If she’d bought three pies, she must have planned to take them somewhere. Was it possible she’d given one of her pies to Rhonda?

  Several more sips of idea-generating caffeine and Hannah had come up with a possible scenario. What if Rhonda had gone into Claire’s shop on Friday afternoon to purchase a new wardrobe for her trip? If Claire had already picked up her pies, Rhonda might have seen them and mentioned that she liked lemon meringue. Claire might have given one pie to Rhonda as a thank-you, especially if Rhonda had just spent a lot of money on clothes.

  Hannah knew her scenario was reasonable. It could have happened that way. She’d drop by Beau Monde the first chance she got and ask Claire if she was right.

  The sky was beginning to lighten by the time Hannah turned into the alley behind The Cookie Jar, but she didn’t turn off her headlights. They were still necessary to distinguish the dark blobs of the Dumpsters from the darker blobs of the buildings.

  Hannah parked in her spot and shut the windows, but she left an inch gap on the driver’s side to defeat the greenhouse effect. She grabbed the old beach towel she kept on the passenger’s seat, folded it twice because it was so threadbare, and draped it over the steering wheel. The seats in her truck didn’t get that hot. They were upholstered in fabric. But her steering wheel was covered in black vinyl and it soaked up the sun. All would be well if she’d wear oven mitts to drive, but she didn’t.

  As Hannah stepped out of her truck, the air hit her like a tangible force. She’d never really thought about air having weight before, but this air was like walking through invisible pudding. It was so heavy with moisture, the humidity had to be close to the hundred-percent mark.

  The first thing Hannah did when she stepped inside her kitchen was switch on the air conditioning. The next thing she did was to check to see if the cooler was running. It was, and she heaved a big sigh of relief as she carried out the bowls of cookie dough and set them on the surface of the workstation. She had the urge to drag a stool into the cooler and sit there for a while, but there was work to do and she didn’t have time. She fired up her ovens, clamped one of the little paper caps mandated by the health board over her unruly red curls, and washed her hands thoroughly. Then she tied on an apron and got right to work. There were multiple batches of cookies to bake and she wanted to finish before Lisa came in. Her partner had enough work to do waiting on their customers, taking phone orders, and boxing up cookies for special orders.

  Just as she’d planned, Hannah had finished the baking when Lisa arrived. Racks of cooling Black and Whites, Oatmeal Raisin Crisps, and Twin Chocolate Delights filled the kitchen, and other varieties of cookies were already in the glass jars they used for display behind the coffee shop counter.

  “You’ve been busy!” Lisa exclaimed, glancing around her. “How many did you snitch?”

  “None. I didn’t even taste the Cinnamon Crisps and that’s my newest recipe.”

  “Where did you get it?” Lisa asked, reaching for one and taking a bite.

  “I made it up. My dad used to make us cinnamon toast for breakfast when Mother was out antiquing. I thought that cookies with the same taste would be good.”

  “They are good,” Lisa said, taking another bite. “They’re crunchy and simple and absolutely delicious.”

  “You really like them?”

  “Well…I’m not exactly sure, now that I think about it.” Lisa gave an impish grin. “I might have to eat a few more before I can make up my mind.”

  Hannah laughed. “Go ahead. This batch is a test run. I won’t sell them until I get them perfect.”

  “They’re perfect.” Lisa grabbed two more cookies and headed for the swinging door to the coffee shop. “I’ll start the coffee and fill the rest of the serving jars.”

  The chores didn’t take long with both of them working together. When they’d finished, they had twenty minutes before it was time for them to open, and they carried mugs of coffee to their favorite table in the back of the coffee shop.

  “Did you decide?” Lisa asked, taking the chair across from Hannah.

  “About the Cinnamon Crisps?”

  “No, about Rhonda. You’re going to catch her killer, aren’t you?”

  “I’m going to try.”

  “Good.” Lisa shivered slightly and cupped her hands around her mug of coffee. “I just can’t get over it. She was here one day and dead the next. How about that pie you found? Do you think it has anything to do with her murder?”

  “Maybe, but even if it doesn’t, it’ll help me establish a timeline for the day of her death. I need to know where she went, who she talked to, and what she did.”

  “That seems like a good place to start. What can I do to help?”

  “Just keep your ears open. People talk and someone may know something about Rhonda’s last hours. If you pick up anything, tell me right away and…” Hannah stopped speaking and winced.

  “What’s the matter?” Lisa asked, looking concerned.

  “I’m getting a terrible headache. I swear I can actually hear my head pounding.”

  “That’s not your head. It’s some kind of noise coming from outside. Hold on a second and I’ll go look.”

  Lisa unlocked the front door and peered out. When she came back, she was grinning. “You were right. It’s a headache, all right.”

  “What is?”

  “The Jordan High marching band. What you heard was their bass drum. I’ll get the aspirin bottle. They’re headed this way.”

  After she’d washed down two aspirin, Hannah watched as the band came into view. Even though the doors and windows were closed, she could hear the mutilated strains of “The Stars and Stripes Forever.”

  “They’re awful,” Lisa said, reaching up to cover her ears.

  Hannah did the same. The trumpet section could certainly use a review lesson in sha
rps and flats, and she shuddered to think of what would happen when they got to the piccolo obbligato, since there wasn’t a piccolo in sight.

  Hannah held her breath as the band reached the critical measures and then she groaned aloud. Two girls on clarinets were attempting the part, and it was obvious they weren’t at all skilled on the upper registers.

  “Maybe they’ll get better in time for the parade,” Lisa mused, but after a glance at Hannah’s pained expression, she shook her head. “You’re right. That’s probably asking too much.”

  When the hands of their wall clock reached nine, Lisa unlocked the door and customers began to come in for morning coffee and cookies. Business was brisk for the first hour and it took the efforts of both Hannah and Lisa to serve their customers. Things didn’t slow down until after ten and that was when Andrea walked in. By the smile on her sister’s face, Hannah knew she had information about Rhonda.

  “What is it?” Hannah asked, pouring Andrea a glass of orange juice.

  Andrea glanced around her. The only other people at the counter were Amalia Greerson and Babs Dubinski, engrossed in a conversation of their own. “The subject’s car is still there.”

  “You mean Rhonda’s?”

  “Shh!” Andrea put a finger to her lips.

  “It’s okay.” Hannah leaned forward across the counter. “Babs is trying to play matchmaker.”

  “You mean for her son?”

  “Right. And Amalia’s not buying it. She thinks he’s too old for her granddaughter.”

  “He is. She just graduated from high school and there’s got to be at least a fifteen-year difference. And the fact that he’s a tax accountant tacks on another ten years.”

  “You’re right,” Hannah said, remembering the ill-fated evening when Delores had set her up with Babs’s son. To say that it had been boring would be kind. “What else did you find out? When you came in, you were grinning like the Cheshire cat.”

  “Let’s go in the back,” Andrea suggested, picking up her glass of orange juice and leading the way. She was mum until she’d taken a stool at the workstation and then she grinned proudly. “I got the autopsy report from Doc Knight this morning.”

  “You mean you saw Bill’s copy?”

  “No, he doesn’t have it yet. I had to drop off a sample for Doc Knight and I asked him about it.”

  “A sample?”

  “You know, a sample. I couldn’t give him one yesterday and it’s all Mother’s fault. Remember how she always said to go before we left the house?”

  Hannah caught on immediately. “So you did, and then you couldn’t give him a sample?”

  “That’s right. It was a good thing, though. I asked him about Rhonda, just making conversation, and he said he thinks she was killed between eight and nine on Friday night. And then he talked about stomach contents. Your lemon pie was there and so was the osso buco.”

  Hannah was surprised. “Doc Knight actually identified it as osso buco?”

  “No, but the ingredients were right.”

  “How do you know?” Hannah was puzzled. “You’ve never made it, have you?”

  Andrea shook her head. “I looked it up in a cookbook.”

  “You have a cookbook?”

  “Of course I do. My friends got together and gave me a whole set for a wedding present. The only ingredient that didn’t fit was ripe olives.”

  Hannah made a mental note of that. “Did Doc Knight think Rhonda had anything else to eat?”

  “No, but she drank some red wine. That was when he started talking about some other tests he’d run and I stopped listening because I was getting a little queasy.”

  Hannah shoved a rack of cooled Chocolate Chip Crunch Cookies closer to her sister. “Have a couple of cookies. The chocolate will settle your stomach. And while you’re at it, bag up a half-dozen for Claire Rodgers.”

  “You’re going to Beau Monde?”

  “Yes. Lisa offered to take over for me until my two-o’clock catering gig.”

  “Your diet’s working and you’re buying smaller clothes?” Andrea guessed.

  “Not exactly. Claire bought three lemon pies on Friday and I need to find out if she gave one to Rhonda.”

  “I’m coming along,” Andrea announced, taking a cookie for herself and bagging another half-dozen for Claire. “Claire left a message on my machine that my maternity clothes came in. You can talk to her while I try them on.”

  Hannah groaned. Andrea wasn’t exactly speedy when it came to trying on clothes. On the other hand, Claire would be delighted at the prospect of a big sale, so she might be more forthcoming about answering questions.

  “How long are you free for?”

  “Until one-thirty,” Hannah answered, trying not to wince at her sister’s sentence structure. When they were still in high school, she’d tried to break Andrea’s habit of tacking on a final preposition, but her grammar lessons hadn’t had any appreciable effect.

  “Then you’ve got a couple of hours. When we’re through at Claire’s, let’s run out to Rhonda’s apartment building and interview her neighbors. I checked the mailboxes and almost everyone’s retired. They should be home in the middle of the day.”

  “Okay,” Hannah agreed. Interviewing Rhonda’s neighbors wouldn’t be at all dangerous and Andrea was good with people.

  “When we get through, I’ll help you with your catering. I can pour coffee while you do the rest.”

  Hannah smiled. Catering was always easier with two people. “All right, but it’s only fair to warn you.”

  “Warn me about what?”

  “My first job is at Trudi’s Fabrics.”

  “What’s wrong with that? I like Trudi Schuman.”

  “So do I, but she’s hosting a Lake Eden Quilting Society meeting and your mother-in-law will be there.”

  “Oh.” Andrea rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. She didn’t get along well with Regina Todd. Bill’s mother was constantly complaining that Andrea should quit her job and be a stay-at-home mother and wife. “It should be all right, Hannah. I’ll wear one of my new maternity outfits and that’ll win her over. She’s crazy about Tracey, but she really wants a grandson.”

  “All right, if you can handle it.” Hannah pushed away a mental picture of Regina haranguing Andrea about quitting her job and Andrea spilling scalding coffee on Regina’s hand. “It shouldn’t take more than a half hour. When we’re through, I’ll drop you back here and load up for my three o’clock.”

  “Where’s that one?”

  Hannah was so pleased by Andrea’s question, she almost forgot to answer. Were her years of correcting her sister’s grammar finally paying off? Or had Andrea merely forgotten to add the final, unnecessary at? “It’s in the library at the community center. Marge Beeseman is holding her monthly Friends of the Library meeting.”

  “I’ll help you with that. Tracey needs a new book and I have to stop by the library anyway. She didn’t like the last one Bill read to her out of.”

  Cinnamon Crisps

  Preheat oven to 325 degrees F.,

  with rack in middle position.

  2 cups melted butter (4 sticks)

  2 cups brown sugar (loosely packed)

  1 cup white sugar (granulated)

  2 beaten eggs (just whip them up with a fork)

  2 teaspoons vanilla

  1 teaspoon cinnamon

  1 teaspoon baking soda

  1 teaspoon cream of tartar (critical!)

  1 teaspoon salt

  4¼ cups white flour (not sifted)

  Dough-ball rolling mixture:

  ½ cup white sugar

  1 teaspoon cinnamon

  Melt the butter. Add the sugars and mix. Let the mixture cool to room temperature while you beat the eggs, and then stir them in. Add the vanilla, cinnamon, baking soda, cream of tartar, and salt. Mix well. Add flour in increments, mixing after each addition.

  Use your hands to roll the dough into walnut-sized balls. (If dough is too sticky, chill for an hour befor
e rolling.)

  Combine the sugar and cinnamon in a small bowl to make the dough-ball rolling mixture. (Mixing it with a fork works nicely.) Roll the dough balls in the mixture, then place them on a greased cookie sheet, 12 to a standard sheet. Flatten the dough balls with a greased or floured spatula.

  Bake at 325 degrees F. for 10–15 minutes. (They should have a touch of gold around the edges.) Cool on the cookie sheet for 2 minutes, then remove the cookies to a rack to finish cooling.

  Yield: Approximately 8 dozen, depending on cookie size.

  (Lisa loves these cookies—it’s the only time I’ve seen her eat a half-dozen of anything at one sitting.)

  Chapter

  Eleven

  “I didn’t expect you this soon, Andrea.” Claire looked surprised as she opened the door of her dress shop and let them into the back room. The space wasn’t very deep, only about six feet, but it ran the entire width of the building and was crowded with racks of clothing, unassembled Beau Monde dress boxes, Claire’s small desk, and her ever-present ironing board and sewing machine. “I just left a message for you at home and it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes ago. How did you get here so fast?”

  “I was already next door. I retrieved your message from my cell phone, and since Hannah wanted to come over here anyway, I tagged along. I know you’re not open yet. If I’m too early, I can always come back later.”

  “You’re not too early. I’m just glad I pressed your maternity outfits first.” Claire ran a hand over her sleek hair and looked slightly embarrassed. “I’ve been unpacking my new shipment and I planned to change my clothes before I opened.”