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

by Joanne Fluke

  “Hi, Hannah!” A familiar voice reached Hannah’s ear. “I figured you were there when I couldn’t get you at home.”

  “You were right,” Hannah said, giving a big sigh of relief. It was Michelle, her youngest sister, calling from the house she rented with friends and fellow students just off the Macalester campus.

  “I heard you turned both of them down.”

  Hannah sputtered slightly. Michelle was over sixty miles away. “How did you know?”

  “It’s not like I live in a vacuum. Lots of people keep me up to date on what’s happening in Lake Eden.”

  “Mother!” Hannah breathed.

  “Mother,” Michelle confirmed. “You did the right thing, Hannah. It’s a whole lot better than saying yes to one of them and changing your mind later.”

  “You’re right. Is that why you called?”

  “That’s part of it. The other part is to tell you that I spent a whole week talking up Lake Eden and saying what a great town it is.”

  “It is a great town.”

  “I know that, but Mr. Barton didn’t.”

  “Who’s Mr. Barton?”

  “The producer of the Indy Prod.”

  Hannah felt like she was running around in circles. “What’s an Indy Prod? And what does it have to do with Lake Eden?”

  “Mr. Barton was a guest in our drama class and he’s the producer of an independent production. That’s what Indy Prod means.”

  “You’re talking about a movie producer?” Hannah cut to the chase.

  “Yes. He’s almost through shooting a film set in Minnesota and he said he was looking for a small town close to a lake, with a church, a school, and a park.”

  “That’s practically every small town in Minnesota.”

  “I know. I told him that, and then I recommended Lake Eden.”

  Hannah hoped that Michelle didn’t have her heart set on seeing her hometown on the big screen. While Lake Eden was a very nice town, there were other, more picturesque settings for movies. “That certainly would be interesting, Michelle, but I doubt that…”

  “That certainly will be interesting,” Michelle interrupted to correct her.

  “Will be? You mean…?”

  “That’s right! My drama professor called to tell me this morning. Mr. Barton sent a scout to check out Lake Eden. You met him, Hannah. He came into The Cookie Jar.”

  “He did?”

  “Yes. Do you remember a guy named Mitch who asked about the name for the lake and the town?”

  “A couple of strangers asked me that,” Hannah said, not mentioning that almost every nonlocal who stopped at The Cookie Jar wanted to know why the town was called Lake Eden, and the lake was called Eden Lake. The answer was that the lake had been named first, almost thirty years before the town had been built, and the town fathers had wanted a name that tied in with the lake, but was different. Tired of answering the same question over and over, Lisa’s cousin, Dianne Herron, had suggested a solution. Hannah had ordered cards printed up with the answer and they set them out on the tables in the summer during the tourist season.

  “Well, Mitch said you were really nice about explaining it to him, and he was crazy about your Molasses Crackles. He wrote up a glowing report and once Mr. Barton did a drive-through, he decided to talk to Mayor Bascomb and find out how much it would cost to rent Main Street for a week.”

  “Rent Main Street?” Hannah was amazed. “But what will that mean for our businesses?”

  “You’ll all get compensated. That’s the way these production companies work. Mitch told me that Mr. Barton usually pays last year’s gross revenues for the same period plus ten percent for the inconvenience. And they always use locals for extras. Isn’t that exciting?”

  “Exciting,” Hannah repeated, not sure what effect a movie company would have on her sleepy little hometown. “Does Mayor Bascomb know about this?”

  “Not yet, but he will. The producer is going to call him this morning. I just wanted to give you a heads-up before it happened, and to tell you the best news of all.”

  “You’re getting married?” Hannah quipped, knowing full well her youngest sister was doing no such thing. Michelle had made it abundantly clear that she was going to finish college before she even considered walking down the aisle.

  Michelle laughed. “Of course I’m not and you know it. But the producer hired me as a production assistant and I’ll be coming home for a week. I’m getting paid and I’m getting college credit for the job.”

  “Good for you!” Hannah did an abrupt reversal. She’d been half-hoping that the movie company wouldn’t disrupt life in Lake Eden, but now she was all for it. Michelle would enjoy the experience and it would be wonderful to have her home again. “Would you like to stay in my guest room?”

  “I’d love to, you know that, but I’d better stay with Mother, especially after all the trouble she had with Winthrop and all. She’s bound to be lonely. And speaking of Mother, the producer promised me that he’ll hire Mother and Carrie to help locate props. And when I told him how they decorated Granny’s Attic to look like the first mayor’s house, he said he’d have his set decorator look at it and maybe they’d use it as a set in the movie.”

  “Too bad the movie’s not set in Regency England,” Hannah mused. Both Carrie and Delores were founding members of the Lake Eden Regency Romance Club and the producer would have to look far and wide to find anyone more familiar with the period.

  “I know, but this is almost as good. The part of the movie they’re filming in Lake Eden takes place in the nineteen-fifties. That should be a snap for Mother and Carrie since both of them were around back then.”

  Hannah gave a little chuckle. “Yes, but neither of them will admit it.”

  After a few more minutes of chatting about the advance crew that would be arriving next week, and the full cast and crew the week after that, Hannah said good-bye and attempted to hang up. But the phone rang again the moment she settled it in its cradle. Since she didn’t feel like talking to anyone, there was only one thing to do.

  “This is Hannah at The Cookie Jar,” she said in the flattest voice she could muster. “I’m sorry I can’t answer your call right now, but if you’ll leave your name and number, I’ll call you back just as soon as…” There was a click, and Hannah stopped speaking. Her caller, assuming Hannah wasn’t available, had hung up.

  She was about to hang up on her end when she reconsidered. It was time to take a lesson from Lisa. Hannah stretched out the cord, opened the drawer, and hid the phone under the dishtowels again. Then she hurried through the swinging restaurant-style door to the coffee shop.

  Hannah’s first task was to put on the coffee and she made short work of filling the thirty-cup urn and plugging it in. She set out cream, sugar, and artificial sweetener on each table and wrote the daily cookie specials on the blackboard behind the front counter. She had just gone back into the kitchen to fill the glass canisters they used to display the day’s cookies when Lisa came back.

  “I’ll help,” she said, shedding her coat and heading for the sink to wash her hands. “Everybody at the school wanted to know why you turned both of them down.”

  Hannah just shook her head. It was barely eight in the morning, but there were no slackers on the Lake Eden Gossip Hotline. “What did you say?”

  “I told them I hadn’t asked you because it was none of my business.”

  Hannah eyed her diminutive partner with new respect. “Being married is good for you. You’ve picked up some of Herb’s assertiveness.”

  “That’s not all I picked up!”

  “What do you mean?” Hannah asked and then wished she hadn’t as all sorts of dire possibilities ran through her mind.

  “I picked up all of Great-Grandma Beeseman’s recipes. They were in boxes up in Marge’s attic, and she said I could have them. She couldn’t read them because they’re in German.”

  “You read German?”

  “No, but Herb found an Internet translat
ion service and a woman from Germany is helping me.” Lisa reached out for a cookie on the baker’s rack and handed it to Hannah. “Try this. They’re called Kokosnuss Schokolade Kekse.”

  “Coconut chocolate cookies?” Hannah asked, seriously draining the small cache of German words she’d picked up over the years.

  “That’s right! Do you speak German?”

  “Not unless you count Volkswagen and sauerkraut as vocabulary. I was just reacting to the cognates.” Hannah took a bite and smiled her approval. “These are good.”

  “I know. Do you want to add them to our cookie list?”

  “Absolutely, but let’s think of another name. The German is too hard for customers to remember and the English translation isn’t catchy enough.”

  “How about Cocalattas?” Lisa suggested.

  “I like it. It sounds like coconut and chocolate, and that’s what they are. Write it on the board and we’ll give them a trial run today.”

  Lisa nodded and grabbed the steno pad Hannah kept handy for notes about supplies. “I’d better write down flaked coconut. We’re almost out.”

  “Good idea. And while you’re at it, make a note to order Jujubees and Milk Duds.”

  “Are we going to the movies?” Lisa quipped, looking up with a smile.

  “No, the movies are coming to us. Just as soon as we carry in these canisters, we’ll take a coffee break and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  COCALATTAS

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

  1 cup melted butter (2 sticks, ½ pound)

  ¾ cup white (granulated) sugar

  ¾ cup brown sugar, firmly packed

  1 teaspoon baking soda

  2 teaspoons coconut extract ***

  ½ teaspoon salt

  2 beaten eggs

  1 cup finely chopped coconut (from approximately 2 cups coconut flakes)

  2¼ cups flour (don’t sift—pack it down in your measuring cup)

  1 cup chocolate chips (6 oz. package—I use Ghirardelli’s)

  Melt the butter. (Nuke it for one and a half minutes on HIGH in a microwave-safe container, or melt it in a pan on the stove over low heat.) Mix in the white sugar and the brown sugar. Add the baking soda, coconut extract, and salt. Add the eggs and stir it all up.

  Chop the coconut flakes in a food processor. (Most people like the coconut chopped because then it doesn’t stick between their teeth, but you don’t have to go out and buy a food processor to make these cookies. Just find the finest, smallest flakes you can in the store, spread them out on a cutting board and chop them up a little finer with a knife.) Measure the coconut AFTER it’s chopped. Pack it down when you measure it, add it to your bowl, and stir thoroughly.

  Add half of the flour and the chocolate chips. Stir well to incorporate. Finish by mixing in the rest of the flour.

  Let the dough “rest” for ten minutes on the counter, uncovered. Drop by teaspoons onto UN-GREASED cookie sheets, 12 cookies to a standard sized sheet. If the dough is too sticky to handle, chill it slightly and try again. Bake at 350 degrees F. for 9 to 11 minutes or until golden brown around the edges.

  Let cool for three minutes, then remove cookies from the baking sheet and transfer to a wire rack to finish cooling.

  Yield: Approximately 6 dozen depending on cookie size.

  Lisa’s Note: Herb’s great-grandmother’s recipe calls for chipped chocolate, so I used chocolate chips. Hannah says that if chocolate chips had been available when Herb’s great-grandmother was alive, she probably would have used them.

  Hannah’s Note: These are Herb’s new favorite cookies. He says they taste like a crunchy Mounds bar. The Pineapple Right Side Up Cookie Bars that I made especially for him are still his favorite bar cookie.

  Chapter

  Three

  Hannah was just finishing her last sip of coffee when the phone rang. They’d put the receiver back in the cradle and Lisa had promised to answer it. In less than a minute, her partner was back, grinning from ear to ear.

  “That was Mayor Bascomb,” Lisa announced. “He’s going to stop by in a couple of minutes. He said he’s got breaking news that’ll rock Lake Eden to its foundation. Do you think it’s about the movie?”

  “It must be. We don’t live in earthquake country.”

  Lisa groaned. “I wish I’d thought to say that. Of course I couldn’t have said it, since he’s theoretically Herb’s boss and he might have taken it wrong. I’d better set out some PBJs for him. You know how crazy he is about peanut butter.”

  In less than five minutes there was a tap on the door and Mayor Bascomb came in. He wiped his boots on the rug inside the door and sniffed the air appreciatively. “Do I smell peanut butter?”

  “Right here, Mayor Bascomb.” Lisa pointed him toward the plate of cookies that sat in the center of the work island and the mayor pulled up a stool.

  “No sugar for me today,” he instructed Hannah as she headed for the table with his mug of coffee. “Steffie says I put on a couple of inches around the middle and I’m trying to cut down.”

  Hannah didn’t say anything as the mayor reached for a cookie. She watched it disappear in two gulps, followed by a second and then a third. If that was cutting down, she wanted to go on Mayor Bascomb’s diet!

  “So what’s this breaking news?” Hannah asked, hoping that she could look appropriately surprised when the mayor told them what they already knew.

  “I just got a call from a guy named Barton. He heads up some movie company in Minneapolis. They want to shoot part of a movie right here on Main Street.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Hannah said, hoping she sounded surprised enough not to raise suspicion. “But won’t it interfere with business?”

  “Yes, and the movie company is prepared to pay for that. I want every business owner to check revenues for the second week in March. That’s when they’re coming. I had to do some fancy talking, but they’re going to pay us last year’s gross profits for the week plus ten percent for the inconvenience.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Mayor,” Hannah complimented him, hiding a grin as he cited the exact figure Michelle had said the Indy Prod usually paid.

  “Well, I’d better go,” the mayor stood up and pushed back his stool. “I’ve got to talk to all the other business owners and give them the good news.”

  Lisa rushed to put the rest of the PBJ Cookies in a take-out bag for the mayor while Hannah walked him to the back door. Then Hannah collected the mugs they’d used and put them in the dishwasher while Lisa wiped down the work counter.

  “He must have forgotten something,” Hannah said, reacting to a loud knock at the door. “I’ll get it.”

  Hannah pulled open the door to find her niece, Tracey, holding an empty baby carrier in one hand while her mother brought up the rear. Andrea was juggling the baby, Bethany, in one arm and speaking on her cell phone.

  “I said I understand,” Andrea’s voice quavered a bit and it was clear that she was upset, “but that doesn’t mean I have to like it!”

  Hannah watched as her sister clicked off the phone with one perfectly manicured nail and stepped into the warmth of the kitchen. She gave a long sigh that Hannah might very well have labeled as theatrical if she hadn’t heard the quaver in her sister’s voice, and handed the baby to Hannah.

  “You take her,” she said, passing the baby over like a football. “Coffee! I need coffee!”

  “I’ll get it,” Lisa responded, heading for the kitchen pot.

  “She’s stressed,” Tracey explained, setting the baby carrier on the work island. Hannah’s oldest niece could have posed for a cover photo on a children’s fashion magazine with her baby blue winter coat, dainty white boots, and white cap with a pom-pom on top. The only thing that stopped her from being absolutely adorable was the frown that furrowed her forehead. “Just put Beth in her carrier, Aunt Hannah. I’ll rock her if she wakes up.”

  Hannah put the baby in the carrier without incident. Her
pretty new niece was sleeping so soundly, not even her mother’s frantic call for coffee had awakened her.

  Tracey sat down on a stool and pushed the mug of coffee that Lisa brought in front of her mother. “Have some coffee. And eat one of those cookies. They’re chocolate and the endorphins will help. Right, Aunt Hannah?”

  “Absolutely,” Hannah said. She would have been amused at the way her oldest niece had picked up on one of her favorite culinary remedies, but this situation sounded serious.

  “Do it, Mom.” Tracey nudged her mother. “And then tell Aunt Hannah.”

  “Tell me what?” Hannah prompted, once Andrea had taken a big sip of her coffee to chase down a bite of Lisa’s great-grandmother’s-by-marriage creation.

  “Bill’s leaving us!”

  “What?”

  “What part of leaving us don’t you understand?” Andrea retorted. And then she promptly burst into tears. It was obvious that it wasn’t for the first time that morning, because her eyelids were swollen and the tissue she pulled from her pocket was damp and bedraggled.

  Hannah turned to Tracey who, at almost six years of age, seemed to be the most rational person in the small family group. “What’s going on, Tracey?”

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds.” Tracey snagged a cookie from the plate and took a quick bite. “Daddy’s going to a conference in Miami, and Mommy’s all upset because she can’t go. It’s not like they’re getting a divorce, or anything like that.”

  “Well, that’s a relief!” Lisa said, giving Tracey a little hug as she passed out napkins and placed a box of tissues in front of Andrea. “What kind of conference is it?”