Cinnamon Roll Murder

by Joanne Fluke

  “Yes.” Doc was suddenly all business. “Unless he was in the military in the last couple of years, his DNA won’t be on file. But I think it’s worth a try. Some of our government agencies are building up DNA banks, and perhaps he was involved with one of them. I’ve got to tell you, I’m curious. I want to know why he was using a fake name and what he was doing here in Minnesota. But it’s not just a matter of simple curiosity. He may have family looking for him, or someone else who’d like to know what became of him.”

  “What did his driver’s license say?” Michelle asked.

  “It was a Minnesota license issued to Bernard Alan Neiman. It was Buddy’s picture and the physical description matched the man we thought was Buddy Neiman.”

  “But not his blood type,” Hannah pointed out.

  “That’s true. We got that from a Red Cross blood donor card. The name on the card was Bernard Alan Neiman, and it was stamped on the back with the name of a Seattle, Washington blood bank.”

  Seattle again! Hannah filed the information away for future reference. Cammy had said Buddy mentioned some trouble in Seattle at one of the breakfasts they’d shared. She had to remember to ask Norman if he’d ever come into contact with Buddy Neiman, since Norman had lived in Seattle when he’d gone to dental school.

  “I have a question for you, Hannah,” Doc said, leaning forward to garner her attention. “Is there any way to make a good bran cookie?”

  It was so far removed from their discussion about the murder that Hannah was startled. “Do you mean a bran cookie that tastes good?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean. I have quite a few patients who need to have more whole grain in their diets. I asked my hospital cooks to make bran cookies, but the ones they made were so awful, nobody would eat them.”

  “I told Doc that if anybody could make a bran cookie taste good, you could,” Delores told her.

  “I can try. What ingredients do I have to use?”

  “Bran, oatmeal, and that’s it. You can put in anything else you want.”

  “How about eggs?”

  “Eggs are fine.”

  “Butter?”

  “Certainly. Just don’t use margarine.”

  “Can they have some raisins?” Michelle asked.

  “Raisins.” Doc looked thoughtful. “Yes. Raisins would be good. And you can put in any spices you like. Those are fine.”

  “I think we can do it,” Michelle said, smiling at Hannah. “What do you think?”

  “I agree. I think we can do it if we can have a couple of days to experiment.”

  “Great!” Doc turned to Delores. “I wonder if those awful bran cookies are one of the reasons Ben is leaving.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Did you ever taste one of those bran cookies?” Doc asked her.

  “No.”

  “Then you don’t know how bad they were.”

  “Are you talking about Ben Matson?” Hannah asked, very surprised when Delores and Doc nodded. The last time she’d seen Ben, only two nights ago at the hospital, he’d seemed content with his job.

  “Ben landed a much better internship,” Doc explained. “He wants to make plastic surgery his specialty, and something opened up at one of the most prestigious hospitals in Los Angeles. I can understand why he felt he had to jump at the chance.”

  Hannah knew when it was time to keep silent, and when it was time to speak up This was one of those times to speak up. “What hospital is he going to?” she asked.

  “Rolling Hills Vista Clinic. They’re leaders in the field of facial reconstruction. You’ve heard about the remarkable new face transplants, haven’t you?”

  Hannah had. She was certainly in favor of transplants in general. She even had a donor card. But she wasn’t sure exactly how she felt about face transplants. It seemed almost like stealing a dead person’s identity, and she balked at the idea of someone else walking around wearing her face. On the other hand, if her face were destroyed through some horrible circumstance, she wouldn’t be eager to spend the rest of her life locked indoors where no one could see her, or hidden behind a dark veil. Then she might embrace the idea of wearing a donor’s face, but it still gave her shivers just thinking about it.

  “Doc explained it to me on the drive out here,” Delores told them. “This isn’t a clinic that does ordinary facelifts, or nose jobs, or anything like that. They work with the most serious cases, and their goal is to give their patients a better life.”

  “It’ll be a great opportunity for Ben,” Doc said. “I’m just glad Marlene is staying. She’s a real help to me. But enough about my interns. Who’s going to get the DNA sample from Norman?”

  “Carrie volunteered to do it after we join their table for dessert,” Delores told him. “When Norman finishes his, she’s going to snitch his dessert fork and slip it to me under the table. I’m going to bag it and put it in my purse. I’ll give it to you when we get to the car.”

  “Thank you, Natasha,” Doc said, winking at Delores.

  “You’re welcome, Boris,” Delores said, winking right back.

  Then both of them laughed, and Hannah laughed, too. Delores seemed happy and carefree tonight, even after a long day of work. Spending time with Doc Knight was obviously good for her.

  Hannah watched as several of Sally’s busboys took extra chairs to Carrie and Earl’s table. Once everything was arranged, Carrie motioned to Delores’s party and they all got up and crossed the dining room.

  Andrea took the chair next to Delores, while Michelle took the one next to Doc. There was only one chair left, the one between Carrie and Norman. Hannah walked over to it, wondering if the placement had been arranged in advance.

  She felt a lump in her throat as big as a baked potato with a slew of toppings when she sat down next to Norman. It was difficult to speak around the potato-sized lump, but she managed to croak out a hello and a how are you?

  “I’m fine,” Norman replied, but Hannah didn’t think he looked fine. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he reminded her of a man facing a hanging jury. Of course that could have been her imagination, but she was convinced that he wasn’t fine. “Mother said you needed my help?”

  It was clearly a question and Hannah nodded. “That’s right. Andrea has a digital photo of a woman talking to the man we thought was Buddy Neiman. It was taken the night before he told his band manager that he had to get out of the Minneapolis area.”

  “Whoa!” Norman stopped her by putting his hand over hers. “Buddy Neiman wasn’t really Buddy Neiman?”

  “No. Doc discovered that his blood type didn’t match his donor card. We don’t know who he actually was.”

  “Have you looked into Buddy Neiman’s background? The real Buddy Neiman, I mean?”

  “There hasn’t been time. All I know about the real Buddy Neiman is his blood type and the fact that he gave blood at a blood bank in Seattle. You didn’t run into him while you were there, did you?”

  “I don’t think so. I saw him with you that night at the hospital, but he didn’t look familiar. And I don’t recognize the name at all.”

  “That may not be the name he used in Seattle. All we know is that he used that name when he joined Cinnamon Roll Six. He had a Minnesota driver’s license so he must have had his fake identification in place when he applied for that.”

  “That makes sense, but wouldn’t he have used his own blood type on that blood donor card he carried?”

  Hannah gave a little shrug. “Maybe, if he knew it. A lot of people don’t know their own blood type.”

  “You’re probably right. Do you want me to do a little research on the real Buddy Neiman if there is one?”

  “That would be wonderful! But ... do you have time?”

  “I have plenty of time. Bev’s spending most of the weekend in the Cities. She wants to see her mother and her daughter, and discuss their move up here.”

  Hannah had all she could do not to frown. Doctor Bev was already lying to Norman about where s
he was going and why. But there was no way Hannah was going to tell Norman that now. She’d wait until she had the complete picture before she hit him with the truth.

  “What’s the matter? Is something wrong?” Norman asked.

  “No. I was just thinking, that’s all. So ... you’re free tonight?”

  “As free as a bird.”

  You mean, As free as a jailbird! Hannah’s mind corrected him, but she didn’t repeat it out loud. She was too busy glorying in the fact that Norman wasn’t tied up with Doctor Bev for the weekend.

  “Bev’s not coming back until three on Sunday afternoon. That’s when Claire asked her to come down to the dress shop to try on the dress she’s wearing to the wedding.”

  “Oh,” Hannah said, wondering why he was telling her all this.

  “That means I’m free until then. I can help you with the investigation if you want me.”

  “Oh, yes!” Hannah said smiling at him. “You bet I want you!”

  Her words fell into a vat of silence. That was when Hannah realized that everyone else at the table was looking at them with expressions of undisguised interest.

  It was not a comfortable thing to know that you were blushing. Hannah attempted to stop the heat of extreme embarrassment from reddening her cheeks, but of course that didn’t work. She could tell that she was as red as her hair and that couldn’t have been an attractive sight.

  “Norman just offered to help me with the investigation into Buddy’s murder,” Hannah explained to everyone else, hoping against hope that her cheeks were returning to a color approaching normal. “And I just told him that I want his help.”

  “Hello, everyone!” Dot Truman Larson, Sally’s head waitress, arrived at their table in her usual breezy and friendly way. “How are you all tonight?”

  “We’re fine,” Hannah said, so grateful for the interruption that she could have given Dot a giant bear hug and might have even offered to babysit her toddler for a period of no less than a solid month.

  “Sally’s got something special planned for you,” Dot told them. “She made her Mom’s Apple Pie just for you.”

  “I love apple pie,” Doc said.

  “Me, too,” Norman added, and there were nods all the way around the table. It seemed that apple pie was everyone’s favorite.

  “Great. We’ve got it warm with vanilla ice cream, cinnamon ice cream, sweetened whipped cream, and crème fraiche. We’ve also got sharp cheddar cheese for those who want it. Coffee?”

  “Coffee all around,” Earl said, speaking for all of them.

  Carrie waited until Dot had left and then she gave a contented smile. “This is just like old times. It feels so good to be with all of you again.”

  Norman didn’t say anything. He just smiled, reached out, and squeezed Hannah’s hand.

  MOM’S APPLE PIE

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

  2 frozen deep dish piecrusts (or make your own)

  ¾ cup white sugar

  ¼ cup flour

  ¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg (freshly ground is best, of course)

  ¼ teaspoon cinnamon (if it’s been sitting in your cupboard for years, buy fresh!)

  ¼ teaspoon cardamom

  ¼ teaspoon salt

  6 cups sliced, peeled apples (I use 3 Granny Smith and 3 Fuji or Gala)

  1 teaspoon lemon juice

  ½ stick cold salted butter (¼ cup, 2 ounces, pound)

  Prepare your crusts:

  If you use homemade piecrust, roll out two rounds. Line a 9-inch pie pan with one round, and reserve the other for the top crust.

  If you use frozen piecrust, buy the 8-inch deep dish kind. Leave one right in its pan and let it thaw on the counter. Loosen the second one from the pan while it’s still frozen, flip over the pan, and tip the piecrust out on a floured board. When it thaws and flattens, it’ll become your top crust.

  Mix the sugar, flour, spices, and salt together in a small bowl.

  Prepare the apples by coring them, peeling them, and slicing them into a large bowl. When they’re all done, toss them with the teaspoon of lemon juice. (Just dump on the lemon juice and use your impeccably clean fingers to toss the apple slices – it’s easier.)

  Dump the small bowl with the dry ingredients on top of the apples and toss them to coat the slices. (Again, use your fingers.)

  Put the coated apple slices in the pan with the piecrust. You can arrange them symmetrically if you like, or just dump them in as best you can. There will probably be some leftover dry ingredients at the bottom of the bowl. Just sprinkle those on top of the apple slices in the pie pan.

  Cut the cold butter into 4 pieces and then cut those pieces in half. Place the pieces on top of the apples just as if you were dotting the apples with butter.

  Fold your top crust in half. Move it over to the apple laden pie pan and plunk it on top. Unfold it and spread it out on top of the pie. Squeeze the edges from the top crust and the edges from the bottom crust together. (Use a little water for “glue” if the crust just won’t cooperate.)

  With a sharp knife, cut 4 slits in the top crust about 3 inches long, starting near the top and extending down the sides. (This is a very important step. Not only does it let out the steam when the pie bakes, releasing a delicious aroma that’ll have the neighbors knocking at your door, it also provides a way to sneak in those pieces of butter you cut if you forgot to put them on the apples before you covered your pie with the top crust. Don’t laugh. I’ve done it.)

  Put your pie on a baking sheet with sides that will catch any drips. Bake it at 350 degrees F. for approximately one hour, or until the top crust is a nice golden brown and the apples are tender when you pierce them with the tip of a sharp knife.

  Alternatively, you can leave off the top crust and top your apple pie with French Crumble.

  French Crumble:

  1 cup all-purpose flour

  ½ cup cold butter

  ½ cup brown sugar

  Put the flour into the bowl of a food processor with the steel blade attached. Cut the stick of butter (½ cup, 4 ounces, ¼ pound) into 8 pieces and add them to the bowl. Cover with the ½ cup of firmly-packed brown sugar.

  Process with the steel blade in an on and off motion until the resulting mixture is in uniform small pieces.

  Remove the mixture from the food processor and place it in a bowl.

  Pat handfuls of the French Crumble in a mound over your pie. With a sharp knife, poke several slits near the top to let out the steam.

  Place your pie on a baking sheet with sides that will catch any drips. Bake it at 350 degrees F. for 50 to 60 minutes or until the apples are tender when pierced with the tip of a sharp knife and the French Crumble is golden brown.

  Hannah’s Note: Sally always serves this pie with all the sides people could possibly want. She has vanilla ice cream, cinnamon ice cream, sweetened whipped cream, crème fraiche, and sharp cheddar cheese. She also offers plenty of strong coffee, or her Special Cinnamon Coffee.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Hannah could barely believe the change she saw in Devin Murphy. Only two nights ago, when Devin had first met the keyboard player from Cinnamon Roll Six, he’d been as awestruck and as eager as a puppy wanting to please. Tonight, as he took his place with the rest of the band, he seemed completely self-assured. “I think Devin just grew up,” Hannah whispered to Michelle.

  “I know,” Michelle whispered back. “Lonnie says the only time he’s ever really confident is when he’s playing his music.”

  The program started with several classic jazz numbers, and Hannah watched Devin with interest. He was good, very good, and she was proud that Kirby Welles at the Jordan High music department had helped to produce such a talented performer.

  Hannah watched with interest as Sally got up from her front row seat and walked to the microphone. But instead of saying a few words about their featured band as everyone expected, she just smiled at her husband and said, “Most of you don’t know thi
s, but I used to sing at a club in Minneapolis. I was singing Something Cool by Billy Barnes when Dick walked in one night, and ever since then, it’s been our song.”

  That was the Cinnamon Roll Six’s cue to start playing, and Hannah was amazed as Sally began to sing the song that June Christy had made famous. She’d never guessed that Sally could sing so well. The whole audience was silent, mesmerized by the song and Sally’s melodic voice.

  “That was terrific!” Michelle exclaimed when the last note had faded away.

  “Yes, it was,” Hannah responded, wondering why Sally had given up what must have been a promising signing career to become a chef. They were friends, and it was something Hannah would ask when the time was right.

  Once the applause had dwindled and Sally had taken her seat next to Dick again, the band began another number.

  “Take Five,” Michelle whispered, and Hannah knew that her youngest sister wasn’t suggesting a five-minute break. It was the jazz piece that Paul Desmond had written and the Dave Brubeck Quartet had made famous in the sixties. It showcased the alto sax and keyboard players, and Hannah crossed her fingers for luck. This was Devin’s chance to show how talented he really was.

  Hannah found that she was holding her breath as Devin picked up the unusual time signature and superimposed contrasting rhythms and meters. Instead of simply duplicating what Brubeck had done, which would be no easy task in itself, Devin put his own twist on it.

  She gave a little smile as Tommy Asch joined in on the alto sax, playing the Paul Desmond part. He was excellent, but Devin was the real star of the piece.