by Joanne Fluke
“It’s about fitness in law enforcement,” Andrea answered the question. She still sounded stressed, but at least she’d stopped crying. “The only problem is, she’s going too!”
“She who?” Hannah asked. She was almost certain there was a better and clearer way to ask the question, but she didn’t want to bother with that now.
“They’ll pay for her, but they won’t pay for me!”
“Her who?” Hannah asked again, changing the pronoun, but not the intent.
Andrea turned to look at her oldest daughter. “Tracey? Why don’t you go…”
“Away,” Tracey interrupted, picking up the glass of orange juice Lisa had poured for her and using a napkin to grab two more cookies. “I’ll just go have my breakfast in the coffee shop so you can tell Aunt Lisa and Aunt Hannah what I’m too young to hear. I can always ask Bethany what you said later.”
Hannah burst out laughing and so did Lisa. A moment later, even Andrea ventured a small laugh.
“That’s better,” Tracey said, looking proud. “I’ve been trying to get you to laugh ever since Daddy told you he was going.”
Once the swinging door had closed behind Tracey, both Hannah and Lisa spoke up. “Who?” they both asked, within seconds of each other.
Andrea stared at them for a moment and then she gave a giggle that sounded more than a little hysterical to Hannah. “You two sound like a flock of owls.”
“Parliament,” Hannah corrected her. “A flock of owls is called a parliament, but that’s not really important. Who’s going to the fitness conference with Bill?”
“Ronni Ward, that’s who! Remember when Bill hired her to hold exercise classes for the deputies?”
“I remember.”
“Well, her official title is fitness instructor and that means she’s qualified to go along, all expenses paid by the department.”
Hannah reached out to pat her sister’s arm. She could understand why Andrea was upset. Escaping the frozen tundra for a tropical climate, all expenses paid, was a collective Lake Eden fantasy during the winter months.
“The conference is in a hotel that’s right on the beach,” Andrea continued. “And you know what that means!”
Hannah didn’t bother to respond since all three of them already knew that the beach meant bikinis and Ronni Ward was the three-time winner of the annual bikini contest. “But surely you don’t think that Bill…” Hannah stopped speaking as she read the look on her sister’s face. “Have some more chocolate. It’ll help.”
“I know exactly how you feel,” Lisa said, pushing the plate of cookies closer to Andrea. “I’d feel the same way. But maybe Ronni will find a really handsome fitness instructor and they’ll…they’ll do exercises together, or something.”
Andrea gave Lisa a halfhearted smile and Hannah could tell she wasn’t convinced. She took another cookie, though, and ate it before she spoke again. “It’s just making me a little crazy that I can’t go, that’s all. It’s so boring in Lake Eden this time of the winter.”
Hannah exchanged glances with Lisa. “When is Bill leaving?”
“The second week in March. And you know as well as I do that nothing ever happens in Lake Eden in March.”
“Well, this year is an exception to the rule,” Hannah stated, sharing a smile with Lisa. And then she proceeded to tell Andrea why Ronni Ward was going to wish she’d stayed home in Lake Eden instead of flying off to Miami with Bill.
PEANUT BUTTER AND JAM COOKIES (PBJs)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position
1 cup melted butter (2 sticks, ½ pound)
2 cups brown sugar (firmly packed)
½ cup white (granulated) sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1½ teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 cup peanut butter
2 beaten eggs (just whip them up with a fork)
½ cup chopped salted peanuts (measure AFTER chopping)
3 cups flour (no need to sift)
approximately ½ cup fruit jam (your choice of fruit)
Microwave the butter in a microwave safe mixing bowl for approximately 90 seconds on HIGH to melt it. Mix in the brown sugar, white sugar, vanilla, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Stir until they’re thoroughly blended.
Measure out the peanut butter. (I spray the inside of my measuring cup with Pam so it won’t stick.) Add it to the bowl and mix it in. Pour in the beaten eggs and stir it all up. Add the chopped salted peanuts and mix until they’re incorporated.
Add the flour in one-cup increments, mixing it in until all the ingredients are thoroughly blended.
Form the dough into walnut-sized balls with your hands and arrange them on a greased cookie sheet, 12 to a standard sheet. (If the dough is too sticky to form into balls, chill it for an hour or so, and then try again.)
Make an indentation in the center of the dough ball with your thumb. Spoon in a bit of jam, making sure it doesn’t run over the sides of the cookie.
Bake at 350 degrees F. for 10 to 12 minutes, or until the tops are just beginning to turn golden. Cool on the cookie sheet for 2 minutes, then remove to a wire rack to finish cooling.
Yield: approximately 7 dozen cookies, depending on cookie size.
Hannah’s Note: If you happen to run out of fruit jam and you have cookies left to fill, put a few chocolate chips in the indentation. You’ll have to call those cookies PBCs, but they’re wonderful!
Tracey likes her PBJs with strawberry jam, Andrea prefers apricot, Bill’s wild about blueberry, and Mother loves them with peach. I prefer to eat one of each, just to test them of course.
Chapter
Four
The next two weeks passed much too slowly, as winter weeks often do, but at last the big day arrived. Everyone who wasn’t engaged in business of the utmost necessity turned out to watch as the movie crew rolled into town. Lisa and Hannah were no exception. The Cookie Jar wasn’t open. It was never open on Sunday, but both partners and their extended families sat at tables in front of the window, watching the cars, motor homes, tractor trailers, and smaller cube trucks turn the corner by the lumber yard at First and Main, and drive down Main Street to Sixth, where an area had been set aside for them to park.
“That’s the wardrobe truck,” Michelle explained, as a truck pulling a long, narrow trailer came down the street. “The inside looks just like a closet with two long poles and hangers that lock so they don’t jiggle off the poles.”
Hannah smiled at her youngest sister. Michelle had arrived the previous night on the bus, and this morning she was holding court at a table with Delores, Carrie, Andrea, and Lisa. Norman, Mike, and Herb were at a separate table and they were wearing almost identical I couldn’t care less expressions designed to convince everyone else that they weren’t at all interested in spotting the actors and actresses as they drove by the plate glass window.
Hannah, herself, was perched on a stool between the two tables, watching the clock over the counter. In a few minutes, she’d head out to the community center to help Edna Ferguson with the brunch Mayor Bascomb had arranged so that the movie crew could meet the residents of Lake Eden.
“That’s Dean Lawrence’s car,” Michelle said, drawing everyone’s attention to the black limousine that rolled past the window. “He’s got his own driver.”
Delores looked envious. “That must be nice, especially in the winter.”
“You said it!” Carrie agreed. “I’d love to have a driver who’d warm up the car before he came to get me.”
“A driver would be great,” Lisa said. “You’d never have to worry about getting a good parking spot. If there wasn’t anywhere to park, he could drop you off right in front of wherever you were going.”
“That’s what I do now,” Herb groused, but his loving smile told his new wife that his complaint was far from serious. “I guess that makes me your chauffeur.”
“Maybe it does. I�
��ll look around for one of those cute little hats with the stiff brim.”
“Dean Lawrence’s chauffeur isn’t just a chauffeur,” Michelle spoke up. “His name is Connor and he’s listed on the credits as a production assistant, just like me, but he’s really a combination driver, bodyguard, and secretary.”
Hannah turned to smile at her youngest sister. “I’ll bet he makes more money than you do.”
“Lots more.” Michelle gave a little laugh. “Connor makes scale for extras, too. He gets a walk-on part in every movie Mr. Lawrence directs.”
“D. L. is practically a household name in Hollywood,” Andrea informed them. “Variety just did an article on him.”
“D. L.?” Hannah turned to her sister in surprise.
“Variety?” Michelle asked, picking up on another part of Andrea’s comment.
“D.L. is how Daily Variety refers to Dean Lawrence,” Andrea explained to Hannah. Then she turned to Michelle. “And yes, I read Variety every day. I subscribed right after you told us that they were shooting C.I.C. here.”
“What’s C.I.C.?” Hannah asked, wishing her sister wouldn’t use so many initials.
“Crisis in Cherrywood. That’s the name of the movie. What I want to know is how a little Indy Prod like this landed such a big-name director. After Three Minutes to Paradise, everyone thought he’d go on to another big box office success.”
“Connections,” Michelle answered Andrea’s question. “It’s all about who you know and who owes you. I asked one of the prop guys about that and he said there’s some sort of family connection between Mr. Lawrence and the man who financed the film. He didn’t know the details, but he said that’s why Mr. Lawrence signed on.”
“I wonder if there’s been any trouble yet,” Andrea mused. “In the article I read, they called D. L. the Bad Boy Director. He’s got a huge ego and last year he was named the director that most actors love to hate.”
Michelle laughed. “Mr. Barton told me that, but he said there’s an upside. Mr. Lawrence is really hard on his actors, but he makes them look good because he always gets great performances out of them.”
“As interesting as this is, I’ve got to go.” Hannah glanced at the clock and slid off her stool. “I promised Edna I’d be at the community center in less than five minutes.”
Andrea got up from the table. “Do you need any help? I have to go home to pick up Tracey.”
“Not really. The food’s already down there, and the only things I need to bring are napkins and tablecloths.”
Hannah said good-bye to everyone and hurried through the kitchen, grabbing her parka coat on the run. Once she’d successfully negotiated the ruts in her alley, she rolled down her window and took a deep gulp of air. The breeze was ice cold, but it felt fresh, full of promise and new beginnings. Almost everyone in town was looking forward to a brush with celebrity and a tiny taste of fame if they were lucky enough to be chosen as extras. The size of the part didn’t really matter. They just wanted to appear in the film. And when it was all over and Lake Eden had been captured forever on film, they would exercise bragging rights with friends and relatives who lived more humdrum lives in less fortunate places.
There was a parking spot in front of the community center and Hannah took it. She went around to the back of her truck and opened the rear doors, eyeing the stacks of tablecloths and napkins she’d picked up from her condo neighbors, the Hollenbeck sisters, who’d washed and ironed them in honor of this special occasion. It had taken her three trips to load them in her truck and it would take that many to deliver them to Edna at the community center kitchen.
Hannah stacked up her first load, the widest brown paper-wrapped bundle on the bottom and smaller paper-wrapped bundles on top. When she had a pyramid of five packages, she picked them up and started for the door.
“Hold it!” a female voice called out, and Hannah stopped in her tracks. The top bundle was blocking her view and she peered around it like a kid with a periscope to see who’d halted her forward progress.
“Hi, Pam,” Hannah greeted Jordan High’s Home Economics teacher.
“Girls?” Pam addressed the half-dozen high school seniors who’d volunteered for waitress duty and were following in her wake. “Don’t just stand there. You know what to do.”
Beth Halvorsen, one of Hannah’s favorite high school seniors, led the charge to Hannah’s cookie truck and soon the packages were being loaded into younger arms. One of the girls veered off to relieve Hannah of her burden and before she could do more than say thank you, Pam’s students had disappeared inside the building and Hannah was left as free as a bird, with nothing but her purse to carry.
“It’s times like this that I wonder if I should have been a teacher,” Hannah said, falling into step with last year’s teacher of the year.
“Maybe. My girls adore you.”
“Don’t let that fool you. It’s because I bring cookies every time I visit your class.”
“You’ve got a point,” Pam said, as they stepped inside and headed for the stairway that led down to the community center banquet room.
The two friends parted ways at the bottom of the stairs. Pam went to help her student teacher, Willa Sunquist, supervise the girls, who were draping tablecloths over the tables and setting out the centerpieces they’d made in class.
“Hannah!” Edna called out as Hannah pushed open the kitchen door. “I’m so glad you’re here early!”
“There’s a problem?” Hannah asked, guessing that something besides blusher must have caused the high color in Edna’s normally pale cheeks.
“You can say that again! What can we make to take the place of Loretta Richardson’s Sausage and Egg Casserole?”
“I’m not sure. Why do we have to think of something to replace it?”
“Because Loretta slipped on a patch of ice on the way out to the garage and all three pans spilled in the snow. We need something else and we need it in less than two hours.”
Hannah thought fast. Since Edna had been planning to put three pans of Sausage and Egg Casserole in the oven, she had extra oven space. “I could make Fruit Pocket French Toast.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s something my Grandma Ingrid used to bake for breakfast on Christmas morning.”
“Then it’s a holiday dish and it’s bound to be good. How long does it take to make it?”
Hannah added up the cooking time of forty-five minutes, preparation time of ten minutes, and standing time of twenty minutes. “If I can get all the ingredients I need in ten minutes, I can have it ready to serve in about an hour and a half.”
“Perfect.” Edna looked around for Florence Evans and beckoned her over. “Can you open up the Red Owl? Hannah’s going to pull off a miracle and she needs supplies in a big hurry.”
“No problem. Give me a list.”
Hannah scrawled a quick list and gave it to Florence. “Can you be back in here in ten minutes? Time’s going to be a factor.”
“I’ll be back in five,” Florence promised, grabbing her coat and heading out the door to the parking lot.
While Florence was gone, Hannah and Edna prepared the pans. They’d just finished heating the butter, brown sugar, and maple syrup they’d found in the community center kitchen when Florence came back carrying two sacks of groceries.
“Here, Hannah. I brought you canned peaches, pears, and apricots,” she said, setting the cans out on the counter.
“Thanks, Florence. What kind of bread did you get?”
“One loaf of raisin bread, one of egg, and another called country potato. They’re all sliced. And here’s your chopped pecans, whipping cream, eggs, and butter. What can I do to help you?”
“Open the cans of fruit and dump them in strainers,” Hannah instructed. “And then you can soften half of the butter in the microwave.”
“I’ll do that,” Edna said, grabbing the butter and starting to unwrap it.
While the two women set about their assigned tasks, Han
nah poured the heated syrup, brown sugar and butter mixture in the bottoms of the pans. She sprinkled the chopped nuts over the top and was just opening the first loaf of bread when Edna came back with the softened butter.
“What do you want me to do with this?” Edna asked, holding the bowl aloft.
“Make fruit sandwiches. We’ll do one pan at a time so we won’t get mixed up. Butter six pieces of bread and put slices of drained fruit on top. Then cover the fruit with another six slices of buttered bread.”
“I’ll slice the fruit and put it on,” Florence volunteered. “It’s just like making sandwiches for the grandkids. I always lay out the bread in pairs and do it like an assembly line.”
“That’ll work just fine. When you’re through with a sandwich, cut it in half and put it in the pan on top of my syrup mixture. We can’t have any more than one layer in each pan. You can crowd them together, but don’t overlap them or the recipe won’t work.”
“Okay. What next?”
“We beat the eggs with sugar and cinnamon, and then we mix in the cream. Is there any vanilla in the pantry? I forgot to add it to the list.”
“I brought some, just in case,” Florence told her, dropping several thin slices of pear on a buttered piece of raisin bread. “It’s still in the bag.”
Hannah found a large bowl and started to crack eggs. When the eggs were beaten with the sugar and cinnamon, she handed the bowl to Edna, who mixed in the cream and added a generous slug of vanilla.
“How are you coming?” Hannah asked, glancing over at Florence.
“All done.” Florence added the last sandwich to the pan, and then she headed for the sink to wash her hands.
