Double Fudge Brownie Murder (9780758280428)

by Fluke, Joanne

  “In Lake Eden? Or here at The Cookie Jar?”

  “Here at The Cookie Jar. If she’ll stay to help you in the coffee shop, I’ll borrow Michelle and go to see Judge Colfax’s ex-wife.”

  “She’ll be happy to stay until closing. As a matter of fact, she asked if she could. She wants to meet Herb and he wants to meet her, so he’s dropping by when he gets off work. After that, we planned to stop to see Dad and Marge, but I’ll call and ask them to meet us here. We can have coffee and cookies.”

  “Then it’s okay if I take Michelle with me?”

  “It’s fine. You two go ahead. Aunt Nancy really enjoys meeting new people and she caught on to the coffee shop routine right away. She’s always been very sociable and she’s helped us a lot this afternoon. If it’s okay with you, we might stick around after I close and bake a batch of cookies. She’s got a new recipe she wants to show me.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Hannah said quickly.

  “Oh, good! This is turning into a great day!” Lisa sounded happy and energized, an amazing feat for someone who’d already worked a nine-hour day and still had three hours to go. For the first time in her life, Hannah wished she were ten years younger. She’d been working for less than six hours and she was already craving mindless television and her comfortable living room couch.

  “I’m going to invite Dad and Marge if they want to come over to our house for dinner tonight. I made a big pot of spaghetti sauce this morning and I’ve got Dad’s favorite garlic cheese bread all ready to stick in the oven. All I have to do is stop at the Red Owl to pick up salad fixings and Neapolitan ice cream for dessert.”

  “Take some leftover cookies home with you,” Hannah told her. “You can have them with the ice cream.”

  “Great idea! Aunt Nancy already said she’d come and we’ll have a family party.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Hannah said, even more impressed with Lisa’s enthusiasm for what sounded like a lot more work for her.

  “Oh, I know it’ll be fun! I’ll drag out the old photograph albums and if Dad is having a good day, he can tell us family stories.”

  For one brief moment, Hannah felt sad for Jack Herman. Lisa’s father had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease and he had good days and not-so-good days. On good days he was almost his old self, a very bright and sociable man.

  “Dad loves to tell the story about Uncle Buster and the fish,” Lisa went on. “That fish gets bigger every time he tells it!”

  Hannah laughed. “That’s what usually happens with fish stories. The fish grow in drama, weight, and length. My dad had one he used to tell and Mother always said that the fish started out the size of a minnow and ended up the size of a whale.”

  “Men are all the same when it comes to fish stories. Come up front with me and I’ll introduce you to Aunt Nancy. Then you and Michelle can leave. Grab a few cookies for the ex-Mrs. Colfax. It can’t hurt and it might make her put on the coffee and start talking to you.”

  Hannah smiled and shook her head. “I’ll do it, but from what I’ve heard about Sheila Dortweiler, I’d need a whole display jar full of cookies to sweeten her up.”

  BAKED FRUITED OATMEAL

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

  Michelle’s 1st Note: I got this recipe from Grandma Knudson. She told me it was another recipe from her granddaughter-in-law, Janelle.

  2 large eggs

  ½ cup brown sugar (pack it down in the cup when you measure it)

  1 and ½ teaspoons baking powder

  1 teaspoon salt

  2 teaspoons vanilla

  1 teaspoon cinnamon

  ½ cup salted butter, melted (1 stick, 4 ounces, ¼ pound)

  1 cup whole milk

  3 cups dry oatmeal (either the original or the Quick 1-Minute) (I used Quaker Quick 1-Minute)

  1 cup raisins or dried fruit (your choice)

  Grandma Knudson’s 1st Note: Janelle says everyone in her family likes dried blueberries in their Baked Oatmeal.

  Lightly grease a 2-quart baking dish. Alternatively, you can spray it with Pam or another nonstick baking spray.

  Crack the 2 eggs into the baking dish and whisk them up.

  Add the brown sugar, baking powder, salt, vanilla, and cinnamon. Mix until everything is well combined.

  Stir in the melted butter.

  Add the whole milk and stir it in.

  Sprinkle in the oatmeal and the dried fruit. Stir until everything is well combined.

  Bake, uncovered, at 350 degrees F. for 25 to 30 minutes or until the baked oatmeal is “set” in the center. (This means that if you hold the baking dish with potholders and shake it gently, the center does not look as if it’s still liquid. If it does, bake it until the center is firm.)

  If you’re not going to serve this oatmeal immediately, turn off the oven, put a cover on the dish, and leave it in the oven until everyone arrives for breakfast or brunch.

  To serve, spoon the oatmeal into cereal bowls and accompany it with a pitcher of warm milk or cream. Alternatively, you can serve it with a dollop of vanilla yogurt and fresh fruit.

  Michelle’s 2nd Note: My roommates at college like this with raspberries or strawberries. When Lonnie comes to visit, he likes his oatmeal made without fruit and he slices a banana to put on top of his bowl.

  Grandma Knudson’s 2nd Note: I make this on Saturday night, cover it with plastic wrap, and stick it in the refrigerator. Then, when I get up early on Sunday morning, I take off the plastic wrap and set it out on the counter for 30 minutes or so to warm up. Then I bake it so that Claire and Bob have a hearty breakfast before Sunday School and morning church services.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “This is pretty,” Michelle said as they drove down a well-maintained private road that wound through a grove of pine trees. “I can hardly wait to see the house.”

  “We may not get to see the house,” Hannah told her. “Look over there toward the left.”

  “What do you mean, we may not . . . oh!” Michelle spotted the set of ornate, wrought-iron gates that blocked the winding road ahead.

  Hannah hit the brakes and they stopped at the side of the road. “We need a game plan before we get to those gates. There’s probably a buzzer I can press to connect with someone at the house. Whoever answers is going to ask us why we’re here. What do you think I should say?”

  “We have a cookie delivery for Mrs. Dortweiler from The Cookie Jar bakery in Lake Eden? That’s not exactly a lie.”

  “No, it’s not and that might work to get us through the gates, but once we drive up to the house, someone on her staff may come out to the truck to pick up the cookies. And then we may not get inside to see Mrs. Dortweiler personally.”

  “You’re right. But how do we get inside the house?”

  Hannah thought for a long moment. “I could say that Judge Colfax ordered the cookies for her because he tasted them and liked them. That much is true. Howie’s taken him cookies from my bakery on several occasions. And then I could say that Judge Colfax told me that he wanted to apologize for being late with her last alimony check.”

  “But won’t they still come out to get the cookies without letting us in?”

  “Probably. I’d have to add something like, “Judge Colfax gave me a message for Mrs. Dortweiler.”

  “They might ask you to write out the message so that they can give it to her.”

  “I’ve got an answer for that. I’ll say that Judge Colfax asked me to deliver it personally and not divulge it to anyone else.”

  Michelle was silent for a moment. “That should get you in. But how about the personal message? What are you going to tell her?”

  “I’m going to say I lied.”

  “What?” Michelle looked completely confounded.

  “I’m going to tell her I lied. And then I’m going to tell her why. And after that, I think she’ll cooperate and answer any questions I have.”

  “This I’ve got to see! Go ahead, Hannah.
Try it.”

  Five minutes later, Hannah and Michelle were sitting in surprisingly comfortable chairs with gold velvet upholstery and spindly legs in the south wing of Sheila Dortweiler’s massive home. The home was what Hannah would have called a mansion and the room was what her mother, a Regency romance fan and writer, would have referred to as a “withdrawing chamber.”

  They heard the sound of someone walking toward them in the hallway outside and Michelle sat up a little straighter. “Here she comes.”

  Sheila Dortweiler entered the room with the force of a whirlwind. She was a thin woman, beautifully dressed in an obviously expensive suit with obviously expensive jewelry adorning her ears, throat, and fingers, and obviously colored coal-black hair worn in an elaborate style. She was wearing an obviously annoyed expression on her face, which had obviously seen some extensive cosmetic surgery. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

  “I’m Hannah Swensen, Mrs. Dortweiler, and this is my sister, Michelle. I own a cookie shop and bakery in Lake Eden, Minnesota, called The Cookie Jar. I brought two dozen Banana Frosted Peanut Butter cookies for you. Your husband ordered them.”

  “My ex-husband.”

  “Yes. I believe the order was by way of apology for a late alimony check.”

  “Well . . . that’s a first!” Mrs. Dortweiler’s expression may have softened a bit at Hannah’s explanation, but if it had, it wasn’t discernible. “You do know my ex-husband is dead, don’t you?”

  “I do. I found his body.”

  Mrs. Dortweiler reared back slightly in surprise. “Really! They told me he died at the courthouse.”

  “That’s true. I was waiting for my case to be called when the clerk told me that Judge Colfax wanted to see me in his chambers. I was waiting in his anteroom when I heard a crash and went in to investigate.”

  “Investigate?” Mrs. Dortweiler’s eyes narrowed. “Hannah Swensen! I knew I’d heard that name before! You’re the nosy one that solves murders!”

  Hannah knew that it was time to take charge of the conversation before they were shown out of Mrs. Dortweiler’s house and her life. “That’s right,” she said, meeting the older woman’s eyes. “I don’t appreciate your terminology, but your facts are correct. I do solve murder cases and I’m going to solve your ex-husband’s murder case. He dismissed the case against me despite the fact that it was brought by his current wife’s nephew, and I owe him one.”

  This time Mrs. Dortweiler’s expression did soften. It wasn’t much, but Hannah noticed it. “I read about your court case, too. It was about as bogus as it gets. Nora is an idiot and so is her whole family, including that nephew of hers. So why are you here, Miss Swensen? You don’t think I killed my ex-husband, do you?”

  “Not you. You were having too much fun punishing him for leaving you. Why would you give that up?”

  Mrs. Dortweiler let out a short bark of laughter. “How perceptive of you! And you’re right. I was punishing Geoffrey. But if you know that I didn’t kill him, why are you here?”

  “I need answers. And I need those answers from someone who has no vested interest in killing Judge Colfax, or in keeping him alive. You fit the category and that’s why I’m here.”

  “So you need a disinterested party!” Mrs. Dortweiler crossed to a chair and sat down. “But are you sure I’m really disinterested? How about the alimony? I didn’t want that to stop, did I?”

  “I don’t think that you cared about the alimony, one way or the other. You didn’t need the money, but it was amusing to put the bite on your ex-husband every month. You wanted to be a thorn in his side.”

  “Very true. But perhaps I tired of the game and decided to take revenge for past wrongs. Geoffrey was a bit of a . . . player, you know. Perhaps I was jealous because I wasn’t the most important person in his life.”

  “That’s not it,” Hannah said, shaking her head.

  “Why not? I knew that he was having an affair while we were married.”

  “If you’d been that jealous and upset, you would have killed him instead of filing for divorce.”

  As Hannah watched, a slow smile played over Mrs. Dortweiler’s lips. “You’re good at this, Miss Swensen. And I’m beginning to enjoy it. Are your cookies as delicious as your questions?”

  “Try one and see.” Hannah opened the box and smiled as Mrs. Dortweiler chose a cookie and began to eat it.

  “Excellent!” she pronounced, once she’d finished the cookie. “I’ll ring for tea.”

  “How about changing that to coffee, Mrs. Dortweiler?” Hannah suggested. “Coffee is a better complement for peanut butter and bananas.”

  “I agree. And call me Sheila.” She turned to Michelle. “And you’re Michelle. Do you ever talk, Michelle?”

  “Only when she lets me.”

  Sheila laughed. “Humor runs in your family, I see. Just let me order the coffee and then I’ll give you the dirt on Geoffrey and all the people in his life. I just love to dish dirt about Geoffrey. This is going to be the best afternoon I’ve had in years!”

  BANANA FROSTED PEANUT BUTTER COOKIES

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

  1 cup melted butter (2 sticks, 8 ounces, ½ pound)

  2 cups brown sugar (firmly packed)

  ½ cup white (granulated) sugar

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  1 teaspoon baking powder

  1 and ½ teaspoons baking soda

  ½ teaspoon salt

  1 cup peanut butter (I used Skippy Creamy Peanut Butter)

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

  ½ cup chopped salted peanuts (measure AFTER chopping)

  3 cups flour (don’t sift—pack it down when you measure it)

  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 powder, baking soda, 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 after each increment. Mix until all the ingredients are thoroughly blended.

  Prepare your cookie sheets by spraying them with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray or lining them with parchment paper.

  Form the dough into walnut-sized balls with your impeccably clean hands and arrange them on the cookie sheet, 12 to a standard-size sheet. (If the dough is too sticky to form into balls, chill it for an hour or so, and then try again, but don’t forget to turn off your oven if you chill the dough.)

  Flatten the dough balls a bit with a metal spatula or with your palm.

  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.

  When your cookies are cool, make the Banana Frosting.

  Banana Frosting

  1 ounce (2 Tablespoons) salted butter, melted

  ½ cup baby food mashed bananas (I used Gerber)

  ½ teaspoon banana extract (if you can’t find it, use vanilla extract)

  3 to 3 and ½ cups confections (powdered) sugar (no need to sift unless it’s got big lumps)

  Stir the melted butter into the mashed bananas. Mix until it is smooth.

  Add the banana extract. Mix it in thoroughly.

  Add the confectioner’s sugar in half-cup increments stirring the mixture smooth after each addition. Add more confectioners sugar, if needed, to bring it to spreading consistency.

  Spread the frosting on top of the peanut butter cookies, one by one, stopping just short of the edges. Replace them on the wire rack as you do so.

  Let the frosting “set” for 30 minutes, then enjoy!

  You can store these cookies at room temperature, layered in a
box and separated by wax paper.

  Yield: approximately 5 dozen cookies, depending on cookie size.

  Hannah’s Note: We sprinkle the top of the frosting with chopped salted peanuts or a piece of dried banana before it hardens at the Cookie Jar.

  Joe Fluke’s Note: If you have leftover frosting, make graham cracker sandwiches for the kids.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Me or you?” Michelle asked Hannah, who was following her up the stairs.

  “You,” Hannah said. “I’ll take your grocery bag.”

  “Okay.” Michelle handed her the bag with tomorrow night’s dinner ingredients and Hannah watched her brace herself on the second floor landing outside the door. “It’s quiet inside your living room. Maybe Moishe is sleeping.”

  Hannah shook her head. “He’s not sleeping. And if he was sleeping before we got here, he opened his eyes the second he heard us coming. Norman was here, waiting for me to come home one day, and he said that Moishe went on the alert the moment he heard my cookie truck pull into the garage.”

  “How can you tell when Moishe goes on the alert?”