Apple Turnover Murder, Key Lime Pie Murder, Cherry Cheesecake Murder, Lemon Meringue Pie Murder

by Joanne Fluke

  “You were about to make a blanket promise, but you changed your mind, didn’t you?”

  “Not exactly. I’ll do it, whatever it is, as long as your favor doesn’t involve a rock concert, or physical pain. And come to think about it, they could be the same thing.”

  Lisa laughed. “No rock concert and no physical pain. Unless…are you claustrophobic?”

  “I don’t think so. I can hide in a closet, no problem. I’ve done it a couple of times when I was snooping. And I’ve wiggled under my bed on my stomach to fish out one of Moishe’s toys.”

  “Oh, good! Then you’re definitely not claustrophobic,” Lisa said, sounding very relieved. “I am.”

  “Claustrophobic?”

  “Yes. I didn’t know it until I volunteered to be Herb’s assistant and then it was too late. I didn’t want him to think I’d lost confidence in his ability to do the trick. It’s just…the minute he closes that box, I’m absolutely terrified.”

  “You’re talking about the lady in the box that the magician saws in half?”

  “No. That one doesn’t bother me at all, but it’s really an expensive setup and we’re still saving up for it. As long as my head’s out, I’m fine. It’s just the sword trick that gets to me.”

  “Hold on,” Hannah said as a dreadful vision flashed through her mind. She pictured herself blindfolded and shackled in front of a wooden backdrop while an insane magician threw daggers at her. She could understand the terrified part, especially since Herb had never been able to hit the broad side of a barn when they’d played softball in high school. But that wouldn’t make Lisa claustrophobic, would it? Perhaps she’d gotten her tricks mixed up.

  “What?” Lisa asked, watching the expressions cross Hannah’s face.

  “You said sword, not dagger, right?”

  “Right.”

  Hannah came close to sighing in relief, but she knew she wasn’t safe quite yet. “Will you describe the trick for me?” she asked.

  “The assistant gets in the box and the magician closes it up. It’s like an old-fashioned wooden coffin standing upright, and it’s called the magic cabinet. The assistant gets in the position that’s printed on the inside of the lid. It’s really easy, Hannah. There are little handholds and footholds and everything. You really can’t do it wrong.”

  That remains to be seen, Hannah thought, but she didn’t say it. “Then what happens?” she asked.

  “Then Herb pokes these long swords all the way through the box. He leaves them in and by the time he’s through, you think it’s impossible for the assistant to survive. But she does, and that’s because she gets into the right position before he starts poking in the swords.”

  “It’s an optical illusion?”

  Lisa shrugged. “I’m not really sure how it works. All I know is that every time I get inside and Herb shuts the door, I have to bite my lips to keep from screaming for him to let me out. I’m really relieved that he doesn’t want me to do it for amateur night. But I promised I’d try to find him a replacement assistant.”

  “You said Herb doesn’t want you to do it?”

  “That’s right. We showed the trick to Dad and Marge last night, and they said it would be better if Herb found someone else.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m too little. It’s a big coffin…I mean, box, and they thought the audience would be more impressed with Herb’s act if we found a really big woman to be his assistant.” Lisa stopped and gave a little groan. “I put my foot in it, didn’t I?”

  “You could say that.”

  “What I meant to say was that it would be more impressive if Herb had a tall assistant who filled out the box…heightwise, that is.”

  Hannah couldn’t help but laugh. Lisa looked so chagrinned.

  “Maybe I’d better rephrase that. What I meant was…”

  “Stop!” Hannah held up her hand in the universal gesture that meant halt in any language. “Don’t make it worse. I’ll do it.”

  “You will?”

  “Sure. It’ll give me more time to nose around at the fairgrounds.”

  It took Lisa a second, but then she nodded. “So you’re going to try to find Willa’s killer?”

  “Of course. Willa was my friend. I can’t just leave everything up to an official detective who calls her the victim instead of her name.”

  “Uh-oh. Somebody’s in the doghouse.” Lisa took one look at Hannah’s angry face and changed the subject. “So when can you practice with Herb?”

  Hannah countered with her own question. “When is the contest?”

  “Tomorrow at five, right after the rodeo’s over. It’s on the same stage as the Miss Tri-County competition.”

  “Fine. I can practice this afternoon if we decide to close early, or…” Hannah stopped and started to smile. “If Herb can bring everything here, we can practice in the coffee shop. Any customers we have can be the audience. And if we don’t have enough customers, we can recruit some from Bertie. She always has ladies waiting to have their hair done.”

  “That’ll be fun. Let me call Herb and set it up. He can do it on his lunch hour if one o’clock is okay.”

  “It’s fine. And then you can run up and tell Bertie. And stop in at Granny’s Attic on your way back. Mother and Carrie are out at the fairgrounds, but I’ll bet Luanne would like to come.”

  “How about the senior center?” Lisa asked, looking hopeful. “Dad’s seen the act before, but the other seniors haven’t.”

  “Sure. The more the merrier.”

  “Thanks, Hannah. You’re the best friend ever!”

  Hannah smiled, but when Lisa left to put on the coffee in the coffee shop and make her call to Herb, her smile slipped a bit. She hadn’t exactly told the truth to her partner. She hated small, cramped spaces. She could endure them for a few minutes, but being closed up in something that looked like an old-fashioned coffin wasn’t exactly her idea of fun.

  “Oh, well,” she said, shrugging slightly. Anything for her partner. And the trick would take only a few minutes, so there was really nothing to worry about, was there?

  It was twelve noon when Mike came into The Cookie Jar. Hannah’s heart leapt. There was no other way to describe the sensation. It reminded her of the kiss-me-quicks her dad had driven over when she was a child. Hannah had no idea how the term originated, and the town of Lake Eden seemed evenly divided on naming them. Some, like Hannah’s father, called them kiss-me-quicks. Others, like Lisa’s family, called them tummy-ticklers. They were gradual rises in the road, small hills with a gentle rise and a steep descent. If you gunned the engine just right and backed off on the accelerator the instant you reached the top of the hill, the resulting drop left you with a sudden breathless feeling. It was the same feeling Hannah experienced every time she saw Mike.

  “Hannah,” he said, hanging his sheriff’s baseball cap on the coat rack by the door.

  “Mike,” she replied, watching as he strode to the counter. How could any ordinary human being walk with so much assurance? He exuded self-confidence.

  “Are you still mad at me?” he asked, taking a seat at the deserted counter.

  You’re the detective. You figure it out, Hannah thought, but of course she didn’t say it. The customers scattered at the tables were staring at them, and all conversation had ceased the moment Mike had approached the counter. Every man and woman in the place was hoping to overhear something new about Willa’s murder investigation.

  “Well?” Mike prodded.

  Hannah shook her head. The lie simply wouldn’t pass her lips. And then she put on a smile for the benefit of her customers and said, “I know you like coffee, and I made a new batch of cookies I think you’ll like. Do you want to try one?”

  “Well, sure!” Mike smiled right back. “What do you call them?”

  “Cappuccino Royales. They’re coffee cookies with milk chocolate chips.” Hannah took two cookies from the display jar for Mike. “Let me know what you think.”

  Mike chewed tho
ughtfully, and then he started to grin. “I really like the strong coffee flavor. They’d be great on a stakeout. They’d also be a hit out at the station this afternoon.”

  “What’s going on at the station?” Hannah asked.

  “We’re having a strategy meeting about…” Mike glanced around and he seemed to realize, for the very first time, that every other customer in the place was silent. “Um…police business. You know.”

  And Hannah did know. Mike was meeting with the other detectives to discuss a plan for solving Willa’s murder. “I’ll be happy to provide the cookies for your meeting. How many do you need?”

  “There’ll be six at the meeting, but I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t buy enough cookies for everybody. And I’ll buy them, Hannah.”

  “But I’ll be happy to give them to you. I believe in supporting our local police.”

  “And this local detective believes in supporting you. I won’t take no for an answer. I’m paying and that’s that. I figure I can use four, maybe five dozen. Do you have that many?”

  Hannah glanced at the display jar again. There were about a half-dozen left, and Lisa had brought them all out from the kitchen. “What time is your meeting?”

  “Three-thirty, but don’t put yourself out on my account. If you don’t have enough of those coffee cookies, just give me what you’ve got and fill in with another kind.”

  Hannah debated the wisdom of that a moment, and then she shook her head. Mike hadn’t said a word about the victim, and he was being very careful not to offend her. He deserved to be rewarded for good behavior. “I’ll bake another batch for you.”

  “Will they be ready in time?”

  “Absolutely. They might be slightly warm, but that won’t bother you, will it?”

  Mike shook his head. “I bet they’ll be even better that way.”

  “It’s a deal, then. I’ll drop them off at the sheriff’s station no later than three-fifteen.”

  “Thanks, Hannah.” Mike popped the last of the second cookie into his mouth, raised the mug of coffee to his lips and drained it, and stood up. Then he pulled some money out of his wallet and left it on the counter. “This should cover it. If it doesn’t, just let me know. I’ll see you at three-fifteen. If you’re there a little early, I’ll even buy you a cup of coffee.”

  Hannah shuddered. She still hadn’t made up her mind where to find the worst coffee. The last time she’d cared to research it, it had been a three-way tie between Doc Knight’s hospital vending machines, the pot that Jon Walker never washed in his office at the Lake Eden Neighborhood Pharmacy, and anything that was brewed anywhere within the confines of the Winnetka County Sheriff’s Station.

  “Thanks, but I have a lot to live for,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” Hannah gave a wave as Mike retrieved his cap and headed out the door. And then she hurried to the kitchen to mix up another batch of Cappuccino Royales.

  CAPPUCCINO ROYALES

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

  2 cups melted butter (4 sticks, 1 pound)

  ¼ cup instant coffee powder (I used Folgers)

  2 teaspoons vanilla

  2 teaspoons brandy or rum extract

  3 cups white (granulated) sugar***

  3 beaten eggs (just whip them up in a glass with a fork)

  2 teaspoons baking soda

  1 teaspoon baking powder

  3 cups milk chocolate chips

  5½ cups flour (don’t sift—pack it down in the measuring cup)

  Melt the butter in large microwave-safe bowl at 3 minutes on HIGH. Or melt it in a saucepan over low heat on the stovetop.

  Mix in the instant coffee powder, vanilla and rum or brandy extract. Stir it until the coffee powder has dissolved.

  Add the sugar, beaten eggs, baking soda, and baking powder. Mix well.

  Stir in the milk chocolate chips. Mix until they’re evenly distributed.

  Add the flour in one cup increments, stirring after each addition. Mix until the flour is thoroughly incorporated.

  Form walnut-sized dough balls with your fingers. Roll them in a small bowl with granulated sugar if you decided you wanted them sweeter.

  Place the dough balls on greased cookie sheets, 12 to a standard-size sheet. (I used Pam to grease my cookie sheet, but any nonstick cooking spray will do.)

  Flatten the dough balls with the back of a metal spatula, or with the palm of your impeccably clean hand.

  Bake the cookies at 350 degrees F. for 9 to 11 minutes. Let them cool on the cookie sheets for 2 minutes, and then transfer the cookies to a wire rack to complete cooling.

  Yield: 12 to 14 dozen cookies (depending on cookie size)

  Hannah’s Note: These cookies freeze well if you have any left over.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “What are you doing here, Mother?” Hannah asked, staring at Delores in shock.

  “Did I ever fail to attend one of your school programs?”

  “No, but this is…”

  “I even showed up for the Chorale Club concert when you were in sixth grade,” Delores interrupted her, “and I knew the music teacher had asked you to just pretend to sing.”

  “That was really good of you, Mother. But this isn’t quite the same as…”

  “Maybe I wouldn’t have if Marge hadn’t called me, but she was so excited about Herb’s debut. And then I heard about you, so of course I had to come. I knew you’d see the light eventually, dear. Dithering between two perfectly acceptable men just isn’t the smart thing to…”

  “Mother!” This time Hannah got her interruption in first. “The audience is due here any minute, and I don’t think we should be discussing something this personal in pub…”

  “You’re right, of course,” Delores broke in. “I’m just so terribly grateful to hear you’ve finally come to your senses. Now you’ll see for yourself that I’m right.”

  For one confusing moment, it was almost as if her mother were speaking in a foreign tongue. Hannah had felt like that only once before, when she’d tried to understand college trigonometry without first completing courses in geometry and algebra. It was a mind freeze, and all reason came to a screeching halt. The words her mother spoke were perfectly good words, and each one had at least one perfectly good definition. Together they formed perfectly sensible sentences, but the meaning of those sentences remained as elusive as the identity of Willa’s killer.

  “Mother? I really don’t have the foggiest notion what…”

  “Hush, dear. Bertie’s about to come in the door, and you know what a big gossip she is. Did he tell you what you’ll be having?”

  “Having?” Hannah repeated dumbly, as if she’d never heard that particular verb before.

  “For dinner, dear.”

  The entrance of the noun caused the light to dawn, and the glow it shed was clear, unsullied, even brilliant. Hannah hadn’t lost her wits, and her mother wasn’t speaking in code. Delores was talking about the dinner she’d agreed to have with Norman in the den of his new house tonight.

  “Lamb,” Hannah said, feeling in control once again. “He’s picking up takeout lamb dinners from Sally at the Inn.”

  “Do you think you’ve got it?” Herb asked, looking every bit as nervous as the day he’d had to recite the witches’ speech from MacBeth in English class.

  “I think so. Double, double, toil, and trouble. You knocked ’em dead then, you’ll knock ’em dead now.”

  Herb’s mouth dropped open to match the little round silver moons on his purple velvet cape. “What are you talking about?” he asked, and then, a heartbeat later, he began to laugh. “I get it! High school English, Mr. Merek.”

  “Exactly right. No way you can be that nervous again. And you got the highest mark in the class.”

  “That’s true.” Herb looked very relieved. “Let’s go over it one more time, just to be sure. What do you do when we walk on stage?”

  “I just stand ther
e, a little behind you. And you give your speech about magic.”

  “Good. And when I’m through, I command you to get in the magic cabinet.”

  “Command?” Hannah asked, bristling slightly.

  “Sorry, wrong word. I don’t command anything. I suggest that you get in the magic cabinet. And you do.”

  “And then I get into position while you say a few things about how dangerous this is, and how you really hope they’ll be able to clean the bloodstains off the floor of the coffee shop, and how I’m the third assistant you’ve had this year.”

  “Right. All that is to build up the suspense.”

  “And then you ask me if I’m ready, and I call out that I am.”

  “Right again. That’s the cue that tells me you’re in position and I can start sticking in the swords.”

  “How many swords?”

  “Twelve. I’ll have the audience count when I stick them into the cabinet, and you’ll be able to hear them.”

  “And then you’ll pull them out again?”

  “Yes. With difficulty. I’ll pretend that one is stuck. They always gasp when they think about why it might be stuck.”

  “Wonderful. And then you open the cabinet door?”

  “Not quite. I give another little speech so you have time to get both feet down and you’re ready to move. That speech ends with the words, If you’re still with us, Miss Swensen, give me a sign.”

  “Right. And I knock three times on the inside of the cabinet door.”