by Joanne Fluke
Books by Joanne Fluke
Hannah Swensen Mysteries
CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE MURDER
STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE MURDER
BLUEBERRY MUFFIN MURDER
LEMON MERINGUE PIE MURDER
FUDGE CUPCAKE MURDER
SUGAR COOKIE MURDER
PEACH COBBLER MURDER
CHERRY CHEESECAKE MURDER
KEY LIME PIE MURDER
CANDY CANE MURDER
CARROT CAKE MURDER
CREAM PUFF MURDER
PLUM PUDDING MURDER
APPLE TURNOVER MURDER
DEVIL’S FOOD CAKE MURDER
GINGERBREAD COOKIE MURDER
CINNAMON ROLL MURDER
RED VELVET CUPCAKE MURDER
BLACKBERRY PIE MURDER
DOUBLE FUDGE BROWNIE MURDER
WEDDING CAKE MURDER
CHRISTMAS CARAMEL MURDER
BANANA CREAM PIE MURDER
JOANNE FLUKE’S LAKE EDEN COOKBOOK
Suspense Novels
VIDEO KILL
WINTER CHILL
DEAD GIVEAWAY
THE OTHER CHILD
COLD JUDGMENT
FATAL IDENTITY
FINAL APPEAL
VENGEANCE IS MINE
EYES
WICKED
DEADLY MEMORIES
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
BANANA CREAM PIE MURDER
JOANNE FLUKE
KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
BANANA CREAM PIE MURDER RECIPE INDEX
Baking Conversion Chart
THE STEPCHILD
Teaser chapter
Teaser chapter
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2017 by H.L. Swensen, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2016955138
ISBN: 978-1-6177-3220-1
First Kensington Hardcover Edition: March 2017
eISBN-13: 978-1-61773-221-8
eISBN-10: 1-61773-221-4
First Kensington Electronic Edition: March 2017
This book is for Doug Mendini.
The world was better with you in it.
Acknowledgments
Congratulations to John and Doris Capra on their Golden Wedding Anniversary.
Big hugs to the kids and the grandkids who say that my kitchen always smells like chocolate.
Thank you to my friends and neighbors: Mel & Kurt, Lyn & Bill, Gina, Dee Appleton, Jay, Richard Jordan, Laura Levine, the real Nancy and Heiti, Dr. Bob & Sue, Dan, Mark & Mandy at Faux Library, Daryl and her staff at Groves Accountancy, Gene and Ron at SDSA, and everyone at Boston Private Bank.
Thanks to Brad, Eric, Amanda, Lorenzo, Meg, Alison, Cameron, Gabriel, Barbara, Lisa, and everyone at the Hallmark Movies & Mysteries Channel who gave us the Murder She Baked Hannah Swensen movies. What fun to see Hannah on TV!
Thank you to my Minnesota friends: Lois & Neal, Bev & Jim, Lois & Jack, Val, Ruthann, Lowell, Dorothy & Sister Sue, and Mary & Jim.
A big thank you to my patient and supportive Editor-in-Chief at Kensington Publishing, John Scognamiglio.
Thanks to all the wonderful folks at Kensington who keep Hannah sleuthing and baking so many treats.
Thanks to Meg Ruley and the staff at the Jane Rotrosen Agency for their constant support and their sage advice.
Thanks to Hiro Kimura, my wonderful cover artist for the incredibly delicious-looking covers on all the Hannah mysteries.
Thank you to Lou Malcangi at Kensington for designing Hannah’s gorgeous book covers.
Thanks to John at Placed4Success.com for Hannah’s movie and TV placements, his presence on all of Hannah’s social media, the countless hours he puts in at H.L. Swensen, and for always being there for me.
Thanks to Rudy for maintaining my website at www.JoanneFluke.com and for giving support to Hannah’s social media.
Big thanks to Kathy Allen for the final testing of the recipes. And thanks to her bowling team for taste testing. Thanks to JQ for helping with Hannah’s voluminous email messages.
Grateful hugs to my talented friend, Trudi Nash, for going on book tours with me and for coming up with great new ideas for recipes.
Thanks to food stylist and media guide Lois Brown for her friendship and talented assistance with launch parties and TV baking segments.
Hugs to the Double D’s and everyone on Team Swensen who helps to keep Hannah’s Facebook presence alive and well.
Thank you to Dr. Rahhal, Dr. and Cathy Line, Dr. Wallen, Dr. Koslowski, Drs. Ashley and Lee, and Dr. Niemeyer (who reminds me of Doc Knight) for putting up with my pesky medical and dental questions. Norman and Doc Knight would be clueless without you!
Grateful thanks to all of the Hannah fans who share their family recipes, post on my Facebook page, Joanne Fluke Author, watch the Hannah movies, and read her mysteries.
Chapter One
Delores Swensen typed THE END and gave a smile of satisfaction as she leaned back in her desk chair. She’d finished the manuscript for her newest Regency romance novel. She was just about to get up and open the bottle of Perrier Jouet she’d been saving for this occasion when she heard a loud crack and she fell to the floor backwards.
For one stunned moment, she stared up at the ceiling in her office in disbelief, unable to move or make a sound. She blinked several times and moved her head tentatively. Nothing hurt. She was still alive. But what had happened? And why had she fallen over backwards?
When the obvious solution occurred to her, Delores started to giggle. The loud crack had sounded when the cushioned seat of her desk chair had sheared off from its base. It was something Doc had warned her would happen someday if she didn’t get around to replacing it. And she hadn’t. And it had. And here she was on her back, her body effectively swaddled by soft, stuffed leather, barely able to move a muscle.
As she realized that she was in the same position as a turtle flipped over on its back, Delores began to laugh even harder. It was a good thing no one was here to see her! She must look ridiculous. That meant she had to figure out some way to get up before Doc came home. If he saw her like this, she’d never hear the end of it. And she wouldn’t put it past him to take a photo of her stuck in the chair, on her back, and show it to everyone at the hospital.
Unsure o
f exactly how to extricate herself, Delores braced her hands on the cushioned arms of the chair and pushed. This didn’t work the way she’d thought it, but it did work. Instead of moving her body backwards, her action pushed the chair forward. The part of her body that Doc referred to as her gluteus maximus was now several inches away from the seat of the chair, far enough for her to bend her legs, hook her heels on the edge of the chair seat and push it even farther away.
She was getting there! Delores pushed with her heels again and the chair slid several more inches away. By repeating this motion and squirming on her back at the same time, she somehow managed to free herself from her cushioned prison and roll over on hands and knees. She got to her feet by grasping the edge of her desk and pulling herself upright. When she was in a standing position, Delores gave a sigh of relief and promised herself that she’d buy a new desk chair in the morning.
Now that she was on her feet again and none the worse for wear, she decided that celebratory champagne was a necessity. She took the prized bottle from the dorm refrigerator Doc had insisted she install in her office, and opened it with a soft pop. Loud pops were for movie scenes. She’d learned to remove the cork slowly so that not even a drop would escape.
Delores set the open bottle on the desk and went to close the window. She liked fresh air and she always opened it when she worked in the office. She was about to close it when she heard a blood-curdling scream from the floor below.
For a moment Delores just stood there, a shocked expression on her face. Then she glanced at the clock and realized it was a few minutes past eight in the evening. The scream must have come from one of Tori’s acting students.
The luxury condo immediately below the penthouse Doc had given her as a wedding present was owned by Victoria Bascomb, Mayor Bascomb’s sister. Tori, as she preferred to be called, had been a famous Broadway actress. She’d recently retired and moved to Lake Eden to be closer to the only family she had left, her brother Richard, and his wife Stephanie. Unable to completely divorce herself from the life she loved, Tori had volunteered to direct their local theater group, to teach drama at Jordan High, and to give private acting lessons to any Lake Edenite who aspired to take the theater world by storm. If not the richest, Tori Bascomb was undeniably the most famous person in town. Just yesterday, Tori had told Delores that she had won the lifetime achievement award from STAG, the Stage and Theater Actors Guild and she would receive her award, a gold statuette that resembled a male deer, at a nationally televised award ceremony soon.
Delores gave a little laugh. How silly she’d been to forget that Tori gave acting lessons in her home studio! The scream she’d heard was obviously part of an acting lesson. Smiling a bit at her foolishness, Delores reached out again, intending to close and lock the window, but a loud cry made her pause in mid-motion.
“No!” a female voice screamed. “Don’t! Please don’t!”
Whoever the aspiring actress was, she was very good! Delores began to push the window closed when she heard a sound unlike any other. A gunshot. That was a gunshot! She was sure of it!
The gunshot was followed by a second gunshot, and then a crash from the floor below. Something was wrong! No acting student could be that realistic. This was really happening!
Delores didn’t think. She just reacted. She raced for the doorway that led to the back stairway that had been used by hotel employees before the Albion Hotel had been converted into luxury condos. The old stairway had been completely refurbished and accessible exclusively to the penthouse residents.
When Delores arrived at the landing of the floor below, she unlocked the door and rushed out into the narrow lobby that separated the two condos on the floor below the penthouse. She raced to Tori’s door and only then did the need for caution cross her mind.
Delores stood there, the key Tori had given her in her hand, and listened. All was quiet inside Tori’s condo, no sounds at all. If what she’d heard had been an acting lesson, Tori should be speaking to the would-be actress, critiquing the scene she’d just performed.
As Delores continued to listen for sounds, she considered her options. She’d look very foolish if she unlocked the door and stepped inside to find that Tori and her student were perfectly fine. On the other hand, she could be walking into danger if what she’d heard was a real murder and the intruder was still there. If she called the police before she went in, they’d advise her to wait until they got there. But what if someone needed immediate medical attention?
Delores hesitated for another moment or two and then she decided to knock. She might feel foolish if Tori came to the door and said that everything was fine, but it couldn’t hurt to check. She raised her hand and knocked sharply three times.
There was no answer and she heard no rushing footfalls as the intruder hurried to a hiding place. There were no sounds from inside at all. Delores hesitated for another moment and then she made a decision. She reached into her pocket, pulled out her cell phone, and dialed the emergency number for the Winnetka County Sheriff’s Station.
“Sheriff’s station. Detective Kingston speaking.”
Delores took a deep breath. She’d been hoping to contact her son-in-law, Bill Todd, but instead she’d gotten Mike. He was a by-the-book cop and he’d tell her to stay outside the door and wait for him to get there.
“Mike. It’s Delores,” she said, thinking fast. “Stay on the line, will you, please? I heard a sound from Tori Bascomb’s condo and I’m going in to make sure everything’s all right.”
“Delores. I want you to wait until . . .”
Delores unlocked the door with one hand and pushed it open. Then, holding the phone away from her ear so she wouldn’t hear Mike’s objections, she glanced around Tori’s living room. Nothing was out of place, no overturned chairs, no strangers lurking in corners, no sign of anything unusual. But the scream she’d heard hadn’t come from the living room. It had come from the room directly below her office and that was the room that Tori had converted into her acting studio.
Delores moved toward the studio silently, holding the phone in her left hand. It was still sputtering and squawking, but she ignored it. As she prepared to open the door, she spotted a piece of artwork on a table in the hallway. It was made of a heavy metal, probably silver, and it resembled a thin but curvaceous lady holding her arms aloft. Delores grabbed it. It was just as heavy as it looked and it would serve as a weapon if the occasion warranted.
The door to the studio was slightly open and Delores peeked in. The focus of the room was the U-shaped couch facing a low platform handcrafted of cherry wood. The platform was one step high and ran the length of the opposite wall, forming a stage for Tori’s would-be actors and actresses. The couch served as Tori’s throne. It was where she sat to observe her students. Delores had sat there one afternoon and she knew it was made of baby-soft, butterscotch-colored leather. A fur throw was draped over the back of the couch. Delores hadn’t asked Tori which particular animals had given their lives to create the fur throw, but she suspected that it had been very expensive and was probably made from Russian sable.
The scene that presented itself did not look threatening, so Delores stepped into the studio. The indirect lighting that covered the ceiling bathed the studio in a soft glow. Delores glanced at the round coffee table in front of the couch and drew in her breath sharply. A bottle of champagne was nestled in a silver wine bucket next to the table and a crystal flute filled with champagne sat on the table next to a distinctive bakery box that Delores immediately recognized. It was a bakery box from The Cookie Jar, the bakery and coffee shop that her eldest daughter owned. The lid was open and Delores could tell that it contained one of Hannah’s Banana Cream Pies. It was Tori’s favorite pie and she’d told Delores that she often served it when she had guests.
The flute filled with champagne was interesting. Clouds of tiny bubbles were rising to the surface and that meant it had been poured quite recently. Delores knew, through personal experience, that the bubbles
slowed and eventually stopped as time passed.
Two crystal dessert plates were stacked on the coffee table, along with two silver dessert forks. It was obvious that Tori had been expecting a guest.
Delores set the phone down on the couch and stared at the coffee table. The puzzle it presented was similar to the homework that her daughters had brought home from kindergarten, a photo-copied sheet of paper with a picture drawn in detail. The caption had been What is wrong with this picture? Something was wrong with Tori’s coffee table. What was it?
The answer occurred to Delores almost immediately. Tori had set out two dessert plates and two dessert forks, but only one flute of champagne. That was a puzzling omission. Delores knew that Tori loved champagne and judging by the label that was peeking out of the ice bucket, this was very good champagne. Did this mean that Tori was imbibing, but her anticipated guest was not? Or had Tori filled her own champagne glass and carried it away to drink someplace else in the condo? And that question was followed by an even more important question. Where was Tori?
Delores was dimly aware that hissing and crackling sounds were coming from her phone. Mike was still talking to her, but his words were undecipherable, muffled by the fact she’d placed her cell phone down on the cushions of the couch. Delores ignored it and glanced around the studio again. Her gaze reached the floor near the back of the couch and halted, focusing on that area. The white plush wall-to-wall carpet looked wet. Something had been spilled there.
