by Joanne Fluke
Flour didn’t seem any match for a gun, but Hannah put the container on top. If she couldn’t think of anything else, she’d try it. The important thing was to keep Mason talking, and that wouldn’t be easy. “I’ve got a question, Mason.”
“What?”
Mason motioned her over to the counter next to the sink, and Hannah put down the box. She managed to pry up the lid on the flour and ease it off the container. “Did you mean to kill Coach Watson?”
“If I’d meant to kill him, I would have brought my gun.” Mason frowned. “I just wanted him to agree not to suspend Craig.”
“But it was a fight that got out of hand, why didn’t you tell the police? You could have claimed self-defense.”
“I would have had to tell the police why we were fighting, and I couldn’t do that. Once Craig gets on a good college team, he’ll go all the way to the pros. But if the college recruiters find out that he’s using steroids, he can kiss his athletic scholarship good-bye.”
“Won’t they test him for steroids before they offer him a scholarship?” Hannah reached behind her to grip the container of flour, waiting for the perfect moment.
“Of course, but nothing will show up. The drug I got for him is so new they don’t have a test for it yet. Everything would have been fine if Craig hadn’t gotten worried about some minor side effects. After all I’d done for him, he blabbed the whole thing to Coach Watson and begged him for help.”
Hannah felt sick. Mason had gotten steroids for his son and forced Craig to use them. And then, when Craig had tried to get help, Mason had killed the one person who might have actually helped his son. But feeling revulsion for what Mason had done was gaining her nothing. She had to keep him talking. “Did Lucy Richards know about the steroids?” she asked.
“Of course not. Once I got rid of Coach Watson, that leak was plugged.”
Hannah shivered. Even though she hadn’t liked Boyd Watson, he had been a living, breathing person, not some leak that a plumber might plug. “Then why did you kill Lucy?”
“She said she had pictures of me with Coach Watson.” Mason looked highly amused. “Would you believe she actually had the nerve to try to blackmail me?”
Hannah wasn’t quite sure if she should nod or shake her head in denial. Instead of reacting, perhaps in the wrong way, she asked another question. “Did she have pictures?”
“Who knows? She gave me a story about not having time to develop the film, and she offered to sell me the roll.”
“But you didn’t fall for that.”
“No. Her apartment keys were on her key ring. I went back the next day and took care of all her film.”
“Why didn’t you do it right after you killed her? Someone else could have found it and developed it.”
“Who?” Mason grinned, as if he were enjoying a very funny joke. “Lucy didn’t have any friends, and nobody ever visited her. I knew it would be a while before anyone noticed that she was missing, and I had time to take care of any loose ends. And speaking of time, yours is running out.”
Hannah tried to think of another question, but absolutely nothing occurred to her. Mason was going to kill her. He’d planned it all out.
“See that tarp?” Mason gestured toward the floor, which was covered with a blue-plastic tarp. “Purvis is so prissy about his stage floor, I didn’t want to stain it. I think that’s pretty considerate of me, don’t you?”
Hannah shuddered. She knew exactly which type of stains Mason meant. He was talking about bloodstains, her bloodstains. She knew she had to say something, and she latched on to the first thing that popped into her mind. “You’re more considerate about the stage floor than you are about Lisa. Think about how awful she’s going to feel when she finds me.”
“It can’t be helped.” Mason shrugged. “It’s too bad about Lisa. She’s a bright girl and I’ve always liked her, but I have to think about the ratings.”
Hannah felt her anger peak. Mason was a monster, and if she had a gun stashed in her box of ingredients, she’d have no compunction abut plugging him right between the eyes. But all she had was a plastic tub of flour.
“It’s getting late.” Mason glanced at his watch, the opportunity that Hannah had been waiting for. “Guess you won’t be baking any more of those overrated cookies. It’s time for you to… “
Hannah waited until Mason glanced up, then threw the flour in his face. He let out a yell, his hands flew up to his eyes. And Hannah hurtled forward to grab his gun arm.
Mason was strong, but Hannah was fueled by pure rage. He’d hooked his own son on steroids, he’d killed Boyd Watson and Lucy, he’d intended to pump up his ratings by letting poor Lisa find her body on camera, and he’d called her cookies overrated. Hannah didn’t know which of his sins bothered her the most, but she was spitting mad.
The struggle seemed to last forever. Mason tried to jerk the gun down and point it at her, but Hannah had watched enough detective movies to know a few street-fighting tricks. She brought her knee up hard, right where it would do the most good. And while Mason was attempting to recover from that unexpected assault, she shoved him back with the full weight of her body and hammered his wrist up against the handle of the oven.
His face turned white. Hannah knew he was in pain, so she did it again, and again. She heard a snap the third time his wrist hit the stove handle, and the gun flew out of his fingers and skittered across the floor.
Mason let out an agonized howl, but Hannah didn’t feel a shred of sympathy for the man who’d tried to kill her. While he was writhing on the floor, grasping his wrist and moaning loudly, she retrieved the gun and plunked herself down on the middle of his back.
“Move and you’re dead meat,” she threatened, “and don’t think that wouldn’t give me a whole lot of pleasure.”
“Hannah! Are you all right?”
It was Mike’s voice, and Hannah looked up to see Mike and Bill racing up the aisle. Help was almost here, but she kept the gun pressed tightly to the back of Mason’s head.
“Hannah?”
Mike was climbing up the steps and Hannah gave him the best smiled she could muster. “I’m fine, but Mason’s in big trouble. He killed Boyd, and he killed Lucy. I’ve got his whole confession on videotape.”
“You what?” Mike fairly flew across the stage floor with Bill on his heels.
“I’ll tell you later.” Hannah jammed the gun against Mason’s head a little harder. “Just cuff him and get him out of my sight before I do something illegal, will you?”
Chapter Twenty-five
Hannah rolled dough balls and dropped them into the bowl of sugar that Lisa held. She knew she looked calm, but that was only because she was still in shock. Mason had come very close to killing her, and only Great-Grandma Elsa’s flour defense had saved her. But she didn’t dare think about that now. She had to put the dough balls on the cookie sheets and pop them into the oven.
“Are you all right?” Lisa whispered, as Hannah arranged twelve dough balls on a cookie sheet and pressed them down slightly, so they wouldn’t roll off when she carried them to the oven.
“Fine,” Hannah whispered back.
“You still look a little shaky. Do you want me to carry those?”
“I can do it.” Hannah smiled as she remembered the old theater maxim. “The show must go on.”
After Hannah had opened the oven and slipped the two sheets of Molasses Crackles inside, she caught sight of the yellow crime-scene tape that the deputies had stretched across the entrance of the fourth kitchen set. Sheriff Grant had decided that the contest could go on, but no one could use that kitchen set. It really didn’t matter because there were only three finalists, the winners from Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday nights. All the same, the empty kitchen set with Hannah’s flour still scattered over the plastic on the floor was a tangible reminder that she had almost ended up as dead as Boyd and Lucy.
It struck Hannah then, with full force, and she steadied herself against the counter. If she
hadn’t been able to pry the lid from the container of flour, or if Mason had decided to shoot her right there in the production truck, or if…
Later, Hannah told herself. You can think about it later. Right now, you have to bake cookies and smile.
Wingo Jones was giving the sports news, all about teams who had trounced, clobbered, whipped, and thrashed their opponents. Hannah glanced out at the audience and saw her mother sitting with Carrie Rhodes. Marge Beeseman and Lisa’s father were a few rows ahead. The crime-scene tape was below eye level, and the audience was completely oblivious to what had occurred less than two hours ago on the fourth kitchen set. The sheriff’s department wouldn’t release the information until tomorrow morning, and then she’d become a local celebrity. It wasn’t a status that Hannah sought. If she had to become a celebrity, she’d much rather gain fame as the Cookie Lady.
Doc Knight had set Mason’s broken wrist, and he was in custody at the county jai. Mike had removed the cassette she’d taped on Rudy’s roving cam, and it would be used as evidence at the trial. When that was over and Mason had been convicted, he’d spend the rest of his life behind bars, where he couldn’t hurt anyone, ever again.
The timer on the oven beeped just as Rayne Phillips got up to do the weather. Hannah removed the pans from the oven and carried them over to Lisa, who would transfer them to a wire cooling rack. She was right on schedule, and all she had to do was deliver the cookies to the news teams and judge the contest. When all that was done, this perfectly gruesome day would be over.
Hannah glanced over at Rayne Phillips, who was standing next to his blue screen, pointing at something that only the television audience could see, and telling them all that the weather would be cold with occasional snow flurries. Of course it would be cold. This was winter in Minnesota. And of course it would snow. It always did.
Lisa moved closer to Hannah and patted her on the back. “You’re a hero, Hannah. They never would have caught Mason without you.”
“Heroine,” Hannah corrected her, and then she thought about it. Lisa had a valid point. She was the one who’d found the pictures of Boyd’s murder. If she hadn’t taken the film to Norman to develop, Mason might have found it and destroyed it the way he’d destroyed all of Lucy’s other film.
While Rayne Phillips talked on about International Falls and how it was the coldest spot in the nation again, Hannah thought about the other clues she’d discovered with Andrea. Mrs. Kalick hadn’t told Bill or Mike about the third car. Andrea had gotten that information from her. And Danielle hadn’t mentioned the phone call to Mike or to Bill. She hadn’t thought it was important. Norman hadn’t gone to the sheriff’s station to report Lucy’s extortion. He’d confided in Hannah because he’d trusted her to keep it confidential. And since Mike and Bill hadn’t known about Boyd’s parent-teacher conference, they hadn’t questioned Gil Surma about it.
The fact that Mike and Bill had arrived at the auditorium in time to arrest Mason had been a stroke of luck. Hannah had laid the groundwork, showing them the pictures that Lucy had taken of the murder and cueing them in about Gil’s reference to steroids. Mike and Bill had spent the morning interviewing the boys on The Gulls. When one layer had mentioned that Craig had really buffed up over the summer, they’d driven to the school to ask Mason about it. And when they’d noticed Hannah’s truck parked next to the locked production trailer, they’d come to the auditorium to ask her if she’d seen Mason. Mike and Bill would have arrested the right man eventually, they were both good cops, but Hannah and Andrea had provided some very critical pieces of the puzzle and accelerated the process.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, I am.” Hannah turned to give Lisa a big smile. It was a darned good thing she’d interfered in Mike’s investigation. If she hadn’t, Mason would still be out there, forcing Craig to take steroids and ruining his future.
“It’s time, Hannah.” Lisa gestured toward Rudy, who was motioning to them. Rudy was managing the news and the bake-off tonight, and the original stage manager had taken over Mason’s duties in the production truck.
Hannah picked up the plate of cookies and winked at Lisa. She was back to normal and raring to go. If Dee-Dee Hughes said one word about calories when Lisa passed out the Molasses Crackles, Hannah planned to retaliate by mentioning the half-eaten box of chocolate creams she’d found in Dee-Dee’s mobile dressing room.
Epilogue
The bar at the Lake Eden Inn was packed with people, and the final wrap party was turning out to be rousing success. The winner of the Hartland Flour Dessert Bake-Off was holding court at the center table. It was the same lady who’d made the lemon tarts the first night of the contest, and all of the judges had agreed that her entry tonight a mouth-watering apple pie, was the best they’d ever tasted.
Just after the party had started. Mr. Hart had announced that he planned to make Lake Eden the permanent site of the Hartland Flour Dessert Bake-Off. Now he was smiling with Mayor Bascomb and Rod Metcalf at the far end of the bar, and Hannah suspected that they were talking about how to make the most out of the publicity.
Claire Rodgers was at a table with Reverend Knudson and his grandmother. Hannah had pulled her aside, before the party had started and given her an envelope with Lucy’s incriminating photos and negatives. Neither the revered not Priscilla was known for scintillating conversation. Perhaps Claire was doing penance for past misdeeds. But she looked happier than she’d looked in months, and Hannah suspected that she’d broken it off with the mayor.
Mr. and Mrs. Avery were sitting with a crowd of other bake-off contestants. Hannah had returned the money, along with Lucy’s prints and negatives, to them. Mrs. Avery had told her that they were donating the cash to charity, and Mr. Avery hadn’t objected. As Hannah watched, Mrs. Avery reached out to pat her husband’s hand. Apparently, all had been forgiven, but Hannah was willing to bet that Mr. Avery wouldn’t make a mistake like that again.
Danielle was still in the hospital. Hannah had dropped by to see her on the way to the party and together, they’d torn Lucy’s evidence into pieces and flushed them away. No one chose to talk. Hannah didn’t think that she would. Boyd’s students still idolized him, and it was a shameful thing that was better kept secret.
Hannah was sitting alone at a four-person table. Mike and Norman had gone back for a seconds from the huge buffet that Sally had put out for the guests. She picked up one of the bar cookies she’s baked in Sally’s kitchen to celebrate the fact that Mason Kimball was behind bars, and tasted it. It was a recipe she’d just perfected, and she’d named her creation Chocolate Highlander Cookie bars. The bars had a shortbread crust with a creamy, dark chocolate topping, and they were so delicious, Hannah decided to add them to her menu at The Cookie Jar.
Norman and Mike were laughed as they helped themselves to Sally’s Lasagna Verde, and Hannah smiled as she watched them. They were a study in contrasts. Mike was so handsome, he could have played the lead in any romantic movie. Norman wasn’t. His appeal didn’t come from the outside, but Hannah found his solid stockiness and his receding hairline endearing. While Mike was so sexy her stomach went thump, Norman was safe and comforting, like a favorite teddy. If she were a magician and she knew how to combine the two of them into one perfect man, she’d take her mother’s advice and get married tonight.
“Hi, Hannah.” Lisa walked past Hannah’s table, carrying an empty dessert plate. “Dad and Mrs. Beeseman asked me to get some more of your bars, but they’re all gone.”
“There’s a second pan in the kitchen. Just go help yourself.”
Lisa headed for the kitchen, and Hannah took another sip of her wine. Mike had ordered it especially for her as a way of saying thank you for helping them solve the murder case. Hannah knew it was a good vintage and very expensive, but she still preferred her own green gallon jug.
Herb came over to her table, looking distracted. “Where’s Lisa? Her dad just asked my mother to dance, and she won’t want to miss it.”
> “She’ll be back any minute. She just ducked into the kitchen to get more bars.” Hannah grabbed his arm so he couldn’t leave. “Sit down for a second, Herb. I need to ask you a favor.” Hannah waited until he’d taken the chair next to her, then leaned close, so she wouldn’t be overheard. “Do you still go to those cowboy weekends, Herb? The ones where they have shooting competitions?”
“Every chance I get. Why?”
“I need to learn about handguns. Do you think you could teach me?”
“No problem. My shooting club has a range. I’ll take you out there some Sunday. Are you planning to buy a handgun for home protection?”
“Not exactly.” Hannah glanced around, but no one was listening. “Did Lisa tell you about how I pinned Mason down with his gun?”
“Yes.”
“It’s like this, Herb. I know how to shoot a shotgun. My dad taught me. But this wasn’t a shotgun and I… uh…”
“You didn’t know how to use it?” Herb interrupted her with a guess.
“That’s right. Of course I knew where the trigger was. Any fool would know that. But I wasn’t sure if I had to do anything first, before it would fire.”
“I’ll bring out my collection of handguns and teach you how to use them. Once you know the basics, you’ll be fine. I taught Lisa, and she took second place in our last cowboy shoot.”
“Good for her,” Hannah started to smile. It seemed Lisa had talents that she didn’t even know about.
After Herb had left, Norman came back to the table. They were sitting there talking about the computer program he’d just installed so that they could design their house for the contest, when Mike came back.
“Hi, Mike.” Hannah gave him a smile, then she turned back to Norman, to answer his question. “I don’t think we can get along with less than three bathrooms. We’ll need one that’s a part of the master suite, one between the kids’ rooms upstairs, and one downstairs for the guests.”
