Fudge Cupcake Murder

by Joanne Fluke

  Beatrice took another bite and chewed slowly. Then she shook her head again. “I just can’t tell. I know it’s something. These are really good, but the ones Mother Koester made had a wonderful aftertaste and they weren’t quite as dry. You got the frosting just right though. It’s exactly the same as she used to make.”

  “Thanks, Beatrice. You’ve been a big help.”

  “I have? All I did was tell you that you don’t have it right.”

  “I know, but you also gave me a clue. If these are drier cupcakes, the secret ingredient must be something that makes them moist. Now all I have to do is figure out what it is.”

  “I’m glad I helped. What makes cupcakes moist besides water, or milk?”

  “Several different things. Pudding in the batter could do it. So could more eggs, more butter, more oil, or adding some kind of moist ingredient. Even baking them in a slower oven or for less time might do it.”

  Beatrice looked amused. “That doesn’t narrow it down much.”

  “No, it doesn’t. But we have more information than we did this afternoon and I’m going to jot down some things to try. If you think of anything else to tell me about the cupcakes, just give me a holler.”

  Hannah’s class crowded seven students at each of the five workstations, in a classroom designed for less than thirty students. The only thing that saved the situation from becoming total chaos was the fact that these were women who were used to cooking together in community or family kitchens. Hannah gave each group seven tasks to be performed during the baking and the tasks were assigned by drawing names. First there was a leader, the person responsible for the group. Then there were two fetchers. They foraged in the pantry to gather the ingredients. One group member was the designated measurer. She measured the various ingredients and assembled them in appropriate bowls and cups. Another group member was in charge of mixing the ingredients, and the last two group members were in charge of preheating the oven and preparing the baking pans. Once the batter or the dough had been mixed, the leader was the one who put it into the baking pans and placed it in the oven.

  “Hannah?” Edna Ferguson, the head cook at Jordan High and leader of one of Hannah’s groups, waved frantically at her across the room.

  “What is it, Edna?”

  “It’s this tea bread dough. It’s not right. Come over here and stir it and you’ll see what I mean.”

  Hannah hurried to the workstation and gave the bowl a stir. The dough was as thin as crepe batter.

  “See what I mean?”

  “I see. Are you sure you followed the recipe exactly?”

  “I’m positive,” Edna said, nodding so vigorously her tight gray curls bounced.

  “I’m positive, too,” Linda Gradin spoke up. “I did the measuring and I watched while Donna mixed it all up.”

  Donna Lempke nodded. “We even talked about the flour. It just didn’t seem like it would be enough and we had Edna double check the recipe. That’s what it says, Hannah. A cup and a half.”

  “Let’s see.” Hannah took the recipe that Edna handed to her and frowned as she read it. There was definitely a discrepancy between the amount of liquid and dry ingredients.

  “Should I add more flour?” Edna asked. “It’ll never turn out right this way. I think another cup’ll be just right.”

  “No, you’d just be guessing at the amount. This is Helen Barthel’s recipe. Let’s call her and check.”

  “I’ll do it,” Charlotte Roscoe volunteered.

  “Thanks, Charlotte,” Hannah said, smiling at the school secretary. “We’ll just wait while you run up to your office.”

  Charlotte drew a cell phone from her pocket. “This is faster. Does anybody know Helen’s number off the top of their head?”

  One student was reciting the number when Hannah heard Gail Hansen call out from the group at the next workstation. “Could you come here for a minute, Hannah? We don’t know if these cookies are big enough.”

  Hannah walked over to look. Gail’s group was testing the Boggles she’d developed. “They look just perfect, Gail.”

  “Good!” Gail slipped the cookies into the oven and motioned for Irma York to start the timer. “I’m a little worried about one thing in the recipe, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You say to form the dough into walnut-sized balls. That just won’t fadge in some parts of the state.”

  “Won’t what?”

  “Won’t fadge.” Gail gave an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry, Hannah. I went to a Regency club meeting this afternoon and I’m still talking that way. I just mean it won’t work, that it might confuse a lot of people. I’ll bet there are plenty of folks in the big cities who’ll think you mean a shelled walnut.”

  “Really? I never thought of that, but you could be right. I’d better reword it.”

  “I just talked to Helen,” Charlotte called out. “She checked her recipe book and it’s two and a half cups, not one and a half cups. Edna was right when she wanted to add another cup.”

  Hannah gave Edna a thumbs-up for guessing the amount of flour correctly. Of course that wasn’t all that surprising. Edna had been baking almost every day for the past forty-plus years.

  Hannah had just turned to group three to see how their pie was coming when she heard a bloodcurdling scream.

  “What was that?” Hannah gasped, her eyes darting around the room to make sure that none of her students was hurt.

  “I don’t know!” Edna sounded thoroughly shocked. “Should we call the police? I’m almost sure it came from the classroom next door.”

  Hannah laughed, her fears put to rest. “If it came from next door, it is the police. Mike Kingston’s in there with his self-defense class. He’s probably teaching his students to scream if someone tries to mug them.”

  The words had just left Hannah’s mouth when more screaming ensued from the classroom next door. This was followed by blasts on whistles and instructions to back off. It was definitely Mike’s class making all that noise. Hannah and her students shared another laugh and then they went back to their baking.

  It wasn’t easy to concentrate on testing recipes when the class next door was so noisy, but Hannah’s students managed to do it. By the time nine o’clock rolled around and the class officially ended, they had divided up the baked goods so that everyone could have some to take home, cleaned the workstations, and decided which recipes they wanted to test in their own kitchens as homework. Five minutes later, Hannah’s classroom was deserted and she was just doing a final check of the pantry when Mike knocked on the open door.

  “Hi, Hannah. Are you ready for that steak?”

  “I’ve been dreaming about it all day.” Hannah turned to look at him and her breath caught in her throat. Steak wasn’t the only thing she’d been dreaming of. Tall, rugged, and handsome, it was no wonder that every single woman in town, and some that weren’t so single, were staying awake nights trying to think of ways to attract Mike’s attention. If the Winnetka County Sheriff’s Department wanted to put out one of the beefcake calendars that so many other groups were doing to raise money, all they’d have to do was put Mike on the cover and they’d have a bestseller. “Did Sheriff Grant catch you on your way in? He stopped by here and he said he had some handouts for you.”

  “He was waiting for me when I pulled into the parking lot. I told him I wouldn’t pass out the flyers.”

  “Why not?”

  “They were Grant for Sheriff flyers.”

  “They were?” Hannah started to chuckle. “No wonder he didn’t want to leave them with me! And isn’t there some kind of rule about passing out political flyers in school?”

  “There’s a rule. When I mentioned it to him, he decided he’d just hand them to people when they drove in.”

  “I take it you’re not voting for Sheriff Grant?” Hannah teased.

  “Of course not. I’m voting for Bill. He’s my partner and my best friend. You should know that, Hannah.”

  “I do,”
Hannah said with a sigh. There were times when Mike was far too serious to be teased and it seemed that this was one of them. “I wonder if Sheriff Grant’s still around. I gave him some cupcakes to test for me and he promised to let me know how he liked them.”

  “If he’s gone, I’ll ask him for you tomorrow.” Mike picked up Hannah’s jacket and held it for her. “Let’s go. I skipped lunch and I’m hungry.”

  Hannah slipped into her jacket and was about to pick up her shoulder bag purse when she remembered the garbage. “Just let me run out with the trash. I want to make sure that backdoor’s locked anyway.”

  “Need some help?”

  “I can handle it. There’s just the one bag. You can double check the ovens and stovetops to make sure they’re all turned off.”

  Hannah grabbed the garbage bag and headed out the delivery door, blinking in the light of the high-wattage security light that came on as she passed by the sensor. She headed for the Dumpster, opened the lid, and lifted the bag. But before she dropped it inside, Hannah happened to glance down into the depths of the Dumpster.

  For one shocked moment, Hannah froze, the bag of garbage suspended over the Dumpster and her mouth forming a perfectly round “o” of surprise. Then she pulled the bag back, set it down on the asphalt, and told herself that she must be imagining things, that there really hadn’t been something in the bottom of the Dumpster that had resembled a human arm.

  Looks are deceiving, Hannah repeated one of her grandmother Elsa’s favorite sayings several times in her mind, and then she stepped back for a second look. It was an arm all right. And the arm was attached to a body.

  “Uh-oh,” Hannah groaned, swallowing hard, and at that exact moment, the security light cycled off. The sudden absence of the megawatt glare made the darkness seem even more intense and Hannah had all she could do not to scream. She reminded herself that she had two choices. She could stand here wondering if she’d really seen what she thought she’d seen, or she could run back inside and get Mike.

  The delivery door opened with a creak and Hannah almost jumped out of her skin. Then she heard a voice. “Hannah? Is there a problem?”

  It was Mike’s voice. Hannah swallowed hard. It seemed she had a third choice. She could say that there was a problem and ask Mike to get over here on the double. That would be the wisest choice, if only she could find her voice.

  “Hannah?”

  “Over here,” Hannah gulped out the words.

  “What is it? You sound funny.”

  Hannah took a deep breath. And then she said, as clearly as she could. “There’s a body in this Dumpster.”

  Mike wasted no time in joining Hannah. He pulled out his flashlight, trained the beam inside, and groaned. “It’s Sheriff Grant.”

  “Dead?” Hannah asked, watching Mike as he leaned forward into the Dumpster to feel for a pulse.

  “Yes.”

  Hannah gulped, trying to accept the fact that someone she’d spoken to less than three hours ago was inside a school Dumpster, dead.

  “Looks like someone hit him on the back of the head. There may be another wound, too. There’s a big smear of dried blood on the front of his uniform.”

  Despite her revulsion, Hannah looked at the area Mike indicated with his flashlight. He was right. There was a smear of something dark on Sheriff Grant’s uniform shirt. She cleared her throat and forced herself to speak. “That’s not blood.”

  “It’s not?”

  Hannah shook her head. “It’s fudge frosting. Sheriff Grant died eating one of my cupcakes!”

  Chapter

  Four

  H

  annah had no sooner stepped inside her condo than the phone rang. She knew exactly who it was and she headed straight for the kitchen to answer it. “Hello, Mother.”

  “Hello, Mother? How did you know it was me?”

  “Who else would it be? Andrea probably called you right after Bill called to tell her.”

  “Well…actually, that’s right.” Delores sounded a bit perturbed that Hannah had guessed her gossip source. “I just can’t believe that you found another body!”

  “It’s true, but you shouldn’t be jealous. I let you find the last one.” Hannah glanced down at Moishe, who was rubbing against her ankle so hard he was very close to knocking her off balance. His bowl was empty and he didn’t seem to mind the switch in his diet at all. “Hold on for a second, Mother. Just let me feed Moishe and then we can talk.”

  Hannah set the phone on the table and walked over to the broom closet where she kept Moishe’s food. She unlocked the padlock, opened the door and poured Moishe a bowlful of his new food. It might have seemed strange to guard cat food with a padlock, but it kept the bag safe from the feline who wasn’t shy about getting his own breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Moishe had defeated every other attempt Hannah had made to keep him out of the broom closet, but he hadn’t figured out the padlock yet. He had made progress on the wooden door, though. There was a series of bite and claw marks near the bottom and Hannah suspected it was only a matter of time before her four-footed roommate triumphed once again.

  “Okay, Mother. I’m back,” Hannah said, grabbing the phone and sitting down at the table in one fluid motion. “What did you hear?”

  “Not much. All Bill told Andrea was that you found Sheriff Grant inside the school Dumpster.”

  “That’s what happened all right.”

  “I feel so sorry for poor Nettie Grant!”

  “Me, too,” Hannah said. Sheriff Grant’s wife had practically gone into seclusion three years ago when the Grants had lost their only child in a car crash.

  “This is going to be so difficult for her,” Delores went on. “She was just getting over Jamie’s death, and now her husband is gone, too! Do you think they’re related, Hannah?”

  “Who?” Hannah asked, thoroughly confused by her mother’s question.

  “Not who… what! I’m talking about Jamie’s death and Sheriff Grant’s death.”

  “I don’t see how they could be related, Mother.”

  “Use your head, Hannah. We know that Nettie was totally grief-stricken when Jamie was killed and it took her almost a whole year to come out of her depression. It must have hit Sheriff Grant just as hard. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to find out that his grief had gotten the best of him and he’d decided that he just couldn’t go on any longer.”

  “You mean…suicide?”

  “Of course I mean suicide. Do you think that’s what happened?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? It makes sense to me.”

  Hannah sighed deeply. She hadn’t intended to give her mother any of the gruesome details, but she couldn’t let Delores run around town expounding her suicide theory.

  “It wasn’t suicide, Mother.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I think it’s unlikely that Sheriff Grant ate one of my cupcakes, bashed himself in the back of the head so hard that he cracked it open, and then dragged himself to the school Dumpster and crawled in to die. I’ll admit my cupcakes weren’t perfect, but they weren’t that bad.”

  “This is not the time to be flippant, Hannah!”

  “Right,” Hannah said and then she was perfectly silent. Her mother was a bright woman. It might take her a moment or two, but Delores would pick up on the obvious.

  “Wait a minute!” Delores was so excited her voice shook. “Did you say that Sheriff Grant was killed by a blow to the back of his head?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But that’s impossible, unless…” Delores drew out her last word so long it came out of Hannah’s receiver as a hiss. “He was murdered! Why didn’t you tell me before?!”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  “Well, I’m asking now. And a good daughter would have told me before I had to ask! Sit down if you’re not sitting already, and tell me everything that happened. And don’t you dare leave anything out!”

  Ten minutes later, Hannah hung up the phone. Her neck was so
re from cradling the phone between her head and her shoulder while she talked and foraged for something to eat, but her hunt through the refrigerator and the pantry had been successful. It was a far cry from a steak, but she managed to open a can of tuna, mix it with a little mayonnaise, and spread it on a piece of dark pumpernickel. She spread a second piece of pumpernickel with cream cheese softened in the microwave and topped it off with wafer thin slices of sweet onion that Lisa had grown in her greenhouse. Once the two halves of the sandwich were stacked together and cut into quarters, Hannah poured herself a glass of what she called Chateau Screwtop, the white jug wine currently on sale at CostMart.

  “You’ve got your own yummy food,” Hannah said, glancing down at Moishe. He was pressing against her ankle again and a twenty-three pound cat could press hard.

  Moishe yowled and Hannah realized that she was being ridiculous. Who was she trying to kid? The most expensive cat food in the world couldn’t compare to one of her tuna sandwiches.

  Once she’d managed to seat herself on the sofa despite Moishe’s efforts to trip her, Hannah flicked on the television with the remote control and bit into her sandwich. Delicious! Lisa’s onion was excellent. She’d have to remember to mention it tomorrow morning when Lisa came in to work. In the meantime, there was a whole sandwich to eat and Hannah applied herself to that task with true dedication.

  Once the sandwich was gone and Moishe had been pacified with several morsels of tuna that she’d set aside for him, Hannah settled down to watch television with her glass of wine.

  Cable programming was nothing to write home about on this particular Monday night and Hannah flicked through the channels, wondering how anyone could be content to stay home and watch television. There was only one program that interested her, a study of holiday fruitcakes and how they had evolved over the years.

  Hannah watched with interest. Most of the fruitcakes they showed were beautiful when they were sliced, the candied fruit resembling brightly colored jewels under the lights. She’d always thought that in a perfect world, fruitcake would taste as good as it looked. Unfortunately, as far as Hannah was concerned, it didn’t. There was only one fruitcake that Hannah liked and it was her own recipe. She created it for her father and it didn’t have a single speck of citron or candied fruit. It was called Dad’s Chocolate Fruitcake and she planned to put it in the Lake Eden cookbook.