Blueberry Muffin Murder hsm-3

by Joanne Fluke

  "Put up your hands and face the wall, lady. Do exactly what I say, or I'll blow you away!"

  -2-

  Hannah wasn't sure whether to be frightened or angry as she raised her hands in the air. There'd never been any sort of crime in her condo complex before, and it was the last thing she'd expected. Mike Kingston, head of the Winnetka County Sheriff's Detective Division, had promised to teach her some self-defense moves, but he hadn't gotten around to it yet. Hannah dated him occasionally, and after two separate occasions when she'd found herself in imminent danger of occupying one of Doc Knight's steel tables at the morgue, Mike had suggested she learn what to do if someone threatened bodily harm.

  Even though she didn't appreciate being waylaid only a few feet from her door in a condo complex that had been gated to keep out intruders, Hannah knew she shouldn't take foolish risks. She took a deep breath and dutifully recited the phrase that her father had drummed into her head when she'd gone off to college. "Take anything you want, but please don't hurt me."

  "Hug the wall and don't move a muscle. Keep your hands up where I can see them."

  Hannah frowned as she followed his orders. His voice sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. She was still trying to identify it when a snowball splattered harmlessly over her head, raining snow down on the top of her stocking cap.

  "Gotcha!"

  The moment the man laughed, his voice was paired with a freckled face in Hannah's mind and she whirled around angrily. "Greg Canfield! Of all the idiotic, senseless. . ."

  "Sorry, Hannah," Greg interrupted her tirade. "I saw you walking to your truck and I couldn't resist. Are you mad at me?"

  "I should be. You scared me half to death!" Hannah gave him a reluctant smile. When they'd been in third grade, Greg Canfield had made a practice of lying in wait and pelting her with snowballs on her way home from school. Not one to take things lying down, Hannah had fought back. She'd landed her share of cold missiles that had dripped icy snow down Greg's neck, and their snowball battles had lasted all winter, despite dire warnings from both mothers. When fourth grade had begun, Greg and Hannah had called a truce and they'd become friends. Hannah had been very disappointed when Greg's parents had moved to Colorado, pulling Greg out of school before they entered the ninth grade.

  All through high school, Hannah had thought about Greg and how much easier her social life would have been if she'd had a friend of the opposite sex. She'd even imagined that they might have been a lot more than just friends until she'd heard that Greg had married his high school girlfriend right after graduation.

  "It's good to see you again, Hannah."

  "Same here. . . I think," Hannah responded, wondering why Greg was here. His grandmother, Mrs. Canfield, was one of her downstairs neighbors, but it was too early for a visit. "You're not going to wake up your grandmother, are you?"

  "Of course not." Greg stepped forward to brush the snow from her cap. "Grandma always sleeps until nine."

  Hannah was even more confused. "Then what are you doing out here so early?"

  "I woke up when the furnace went out and I went down to the basement to fix it. It was simple, just a loose connection. I didn't want Grandma to wake up to a cold house."

  "You're living with your grandmother now?"

  "It's just temporary. I had to stick around to tie up some loose ends and the house sold a lot faster than I expected. You never got out to my store at the mall, did you?"

  Hannah felt a twinge of guilt. Her former classmate had moved back to the area a little over a year ago. He'd bought a house in a neighboring town and opened an import store at the Tri-County Mall. "I'm sorry, Greg. I really meant to drive out to see it, but the time was never right."

  "You should have come for my closeout sale. I had some incredible bargains."

  "I heard. Andrea was there and she said she practically bought you out. I'm sorry your store closed, Greg."

  "Water under the bridge," Greg said with a shrug. "Retail really wasn't my thing anyway. The hours were too long, and dealing with my suppliers was a nightmare."

  Hannah felt a bit uncomfortable. She really didn't know what to say to someone who'd lost his business. "How about your wife? Is she living with your grandmother, too?"

  "No. Annette flew to Denver right after the house sold. That's where her parents live."

  Hannah nodded, wondering if Greg's wife had bailed out on him. She'd met Annette only once, and she'd been left with the impression that Greg's wife spent money as fast or faster than he could make it. It hadn't taken Annette more than three minutes to inform Hannah that she'd been a classmate of Greg's at one of Colorado's most prestigious private schools, and that her parents lived on an estate in an exclusive suburb of Denver.

  With a start, Hannah realized that Greg was gazing at her expectantly, and she responded with the first thing that popped into her mind. "Will you be staying in town for the Winter Carnival?"

  "I wouldn't miss it." Greg started to grin, the same friendly grin Hannah recalled from her childhood, and the one she'd hoped would be smiling down at her in her senior prom picture. "It's a great chance to see some of the kids I used to know. Maybe we can all get together for dinner at the Lake Eden Inn."

  "That would be great," Hannah agreed. The inn's owners, Dick and Sally Laughlin, had agreed to stay open for the Winter Carnival crowd. Between the Hartland Flour Bake- off last November and the party crowds at Christmas, the inn had generated good winter business. Sally had told Hannah that if the Winter Carnival turned into an annual event, they might be able to stay open year-round.

  Greg glanced at his watch and frowned slightly. "Let's try to get together later, Hannah. I'd love to stand here and chew the fat, but it's almost time for me to go to work."

  "You're working in Lake Eden?" Hannah was surprised that Greg had taken a temporary job. Perhaps his closeout sale hadn't gone very well.

  "I'm working out of Grandma's condo and it's going just great. I've made more money in the past three weeks than I ever made in retail."

  "Really?" Hannah was pleased for him. "What are you doing?"

  "On-line stock trading. All I need is a computer and a modem and I can work anywhere."

  Though Hannah was certainly no expert, she knew something about on-line stock trading. Dick Laughlin, a former stockbroker in Minneapolis, had written a series of articles about it for the Lake Eden Journal. "But isn't day-trading risky?"

  "Only if you don't know what you're doing. You ought to try it. I could give you some tips."

  "Not me. I don't have any money to spare. Everything I have is tied up in The Cookie Jar."

  "But you don't need a lot of venture capital to get started. And you can always borrow the money and pay it back when your stock hits."

  "Is that what you did?"

  "No. I took the proceeds from my closeout sale and put every cent in Redlines. They're the hottest new Internet provider. When it peaked yesterday morning, I sold."

  "And you made money?"

  "I tripled my original investment, and it was more than enough to payoff my creditors. I put the rest of my profits in some other hot stocks, and they were way up at closing yesterday. I've got a system, Hannah. I figure that by the time I leave for Denver, I'll be worth close to a million."

  The doubts in Hannah's mind grew by leaps and bounds. Dick Laughlin had called day-trading the newest form of gambling, and he'd warned of the consequences of investing borrowed money. Greg thought he had a system, and he'd been lucky once, but what if that system failed? Hannah was reminded of the spots on late-night television that advertised a sure-fire system for winning at blackjack. She figured that if a gambler really had a winning system, he wouldn't need to peddle books he'd written about it.

  "I've got to run, Hannah. I want to be on-line when the market opens in New York. Sorry about that snowball."

  Greg waved as he headed around the side of the building, and Hannah waved back. Then she walked down the stairs to the underground par
king structure, feeling very uneasy. It was just as Dick had written in his articles. Some day-traders did make money playing the market, but there were others who guessed wrong and lost. At least Greg had paid off his creditors and he was only gambling with his profits.

  Hannah went to the strip of outlets that ran along the garage wall and unplugged the cord that fed electricity to her head-bolt heater. She wound the cord around her front bumper, unlocked the door to her candy-apple red Suburban with "THE COOKIE JAR" lettered in gold on both sides, and climbed in behind the wheel.

  The interior of her truck was frigid. Hannah was careful to breathe through her nose so she wouldn't fog up the inside of the windshield as she started the engine and backed out of her parking space. She drove up the ramp to ground level, flicked on her headlights, and took the winding street that led out of the complex. Her tires swished through the snow that had fallen during the night, as she broke trail for the other residents who would follow her tracks in an hour or two. Her truck was the only vehicle moving, and everything was dark and quiet. It was always like this on winter mornings, and Hannah often felt as if she were the sole survivor in a frozen wasteland.

  As she approached Old Lake Road, she spotted headlights and flashing blue lights in the distance. Her sense of isolation vanished with a roar as a county snowplow lumbered by.

  Hannah drove forward over the bank of packed snow and chunks of ice that the huge blade had left in its wake, and eased out onto Old Lake Road to follow the snowplow to town.

  It was slow going, but Hannah didn't mind. As she drove, she thought about the great job of snow removal the state of Minnesota accomplished. Snowplow drivers were on call during the winter months, and at the first sign of a heavy snowfall, they were dispatched. Most other states didn't begin plowing until the snowstorm was over. By then, the snow had accumulated in deep drifts and it was more difficult to clear.

  When she reached the town limits, Hannah turned off and let the snowplow carry on alone. She stepped on the gas, traveled another few blocks at well over the twenty-five-mile-per-hour limit, and detoured past the Lake Eden Community Center to see if the Winter Carnival committee had hung their advertising banner last night.

  "Nice," Hannah commented as her headlights illuminated the blue banner. It had been ordered from the same company that manufactured the sweatshirts, and Mayor Bascomb had kicked in the extra money to exceed the ten-word maximum. The bright blue banner, strung up between two lampposts on opposite sides of the street, sported brilliant white snowflake letters proclaiming, "LAKE EDEN WELCOMES YOU TO THE WINTER CARNIVAL."

  Wondering just how much extra money the mayor had paid from his own pocket, Hannah turned down Fourth Street, the block that housed her cookie shop and bakery. Though none neighboring businesses until nine, it seemed that everyone was out early. Yellow light spilled from the plate glass window of the Cut 'n Curl, Lake Eden's beauty shop, and Hannah spotted Bertie Straub bending over the shampoo chair, her hands suds-deep in a customer's hair. Bertie always charged double to come in early, and someone had paid dearly for a shampoo and set.

  The New York Barbershop, next to the Cut 'n Curl, was also busy. A man Hannah couldn't recognize behind a face full of lather was getting an early morning shave. Hannah waved at the barber, Gus York, who had taken over his father's barbershop and added "New" to the name. The summer tourists who came in for haircuts assumed that Gus had been a barber in New York City, and they flocked to fill the row of chairs that lined the wall.

  A surprised look crossed Hannah's face as she turned her attention to the shop just south of The Cookie Jar, the site of the Ezekiel Jordan House. The plate glass windows were covered with brown paper to discourage curious eyes, but there was a light on inside. Carrie must have collected Delores shortly after their early-morning conversation and they were already working.

  Her shop was next, and Hannah's eyebrows shot up even further as she drove past. Her partner, Lisa Herman, had also come in early, and she was decorating the windows with a border of white snowflakes.

  "Hi, Lisa," Hannah called out as she breezed in the back door a few moments later. "The windows look great."

  "Thanks, Hannah." Lisa came through the swinging restaurant-style door with a smile on her face. Her petite form was swaddled in a baker's apron that had been hiked up in the middle and knotted in place with the apron strings.

  "What are you doing here so early?" Hannah asked, hanging her parka on a hook by the back door. "Now that you're a partner, you can't earn overtime."

  Lisa laughed. "I know, but I like to come in early. It's easy to get the baking done when there aren't any customers."

  "You finished the baking?" Hannah's eyes widened in surprise as Lisa nodded. She'd mixed up twenty batches of cookie dough before they left for the night. If Lisa had baked them all, she must have come in at four in the morning!

  "I love to bake. You know that, Hannah. And it was a good thing I came in early, because your sister called a couple of minutes ago. She said she tried your place, but she must have just missed you."

  "Oh?" Hannah headed for the sink to wash her hands. "What did Andrea want?"

  "She said to tell you that Janie Burkholtz is in town."

  "I haven't seen Janie since Andrea's wedding." Hannah smiled as she lathered her hands. It would be good to see Janie again. Andrea and Janie had been best friends in high school, and then Janie had gone off to college. She'd come home a few times during her freshman year, but after her parents sold their Lake Eden house, Janie had spent the rest of her college vacations at their new condo in Florida. "Is Janie back for the Winter Carnival?"

  "Yes, but it's not a pleasure trip. Andrea said she's working for Connie Mac as her personal assistant."

  "Really!" Hannah was impressed. Connie MacIntyre was the star of a popular cable television cooking show, Cooking With Connie Mac. Almost everyone in Lake Eden stayed home from three to three-thirty on Saturday afternoons to watch Connie Mac banter with her guests, give advice on how to improve your marriage, and cook a complete dinner, all in thirty minutes. An attractive woman in her early fifties, everything she touched had turned to gold. Her cookbooks were bestsellers, her chain of kitchen boutique stores was thriving, her television show had a number one rating, and copies of her monthly magazine, Home Sweet Home, were flying from the shelves of the newsstands. The Connie Mac empire, run by her husband, Paul MacIntyre, was a multi-million-dollar industry.

  "Janie's staying out at the inn with all the other Connie Mac people. Andrea and Bill are meeting her there for dinner tonight, and you're invited, too. Andrea said to tell you that Janie would love to see you again."

  "I'd love to see her, too." Hannah said, wondering if she'd be up for a fancy dinner out after what promised to be a hectic day.

  "There's one other thing. Mayor Bascomb dropped by to see you. He's at the barbershop now, but he's coming back after Gus finishes up with him."

  "Did he tell you what he wanted?"

  Lisa shook her head. "Not exactly. He just said he needed to talk to you about something really serious."

  "I hope it's not a snag in the Winter Carnival plans." Hannah turned toward the door that led to the coffee and cookie shop. "He'll probably want coffee. I'll put it on."

  "It's all made. I put it up right after he left."

  "Bless you, Lisa," Hannah said gratefully. "Have I told you lately what a gem you are?"

  Lisa gave a girlish giggle, and Hannah was reminded of just how young she was. Howie Levine, Lake Eden's only lawyer, had broached that subject when Hannah asked him to draft their partnership agreement. Hannah had cut off his objection at the pass by insisting that Lisa was a better worker and manager than most people twice her age. Steady, reliable, and capable of handling ,any emergency that came their way, Hannah was certain that she'd never regret signing over a third of her enterprise to Lisa.

  "Sit down and I'll bring you a cup," Lisa offered, motioning to a stool at the work island. "I have a feeling you're go
ing to need it."

  "Because of Mayor Bascomb?"

  "Yes. He was really upset, Hannah. I offered him a warm Peanut Butter Melt and he said he couldn't eat a thing."

  "Oh-oh. That's not a good sign." Hannah gave a deep sigh as she sat down on the stool. Mayor Bascomb had an active sweet tooth and he was wild about her Peanut Butter Melts. For him to refuse to even taste his favorite cookie meant that there was definitely trouble in the making.

  Peanut Butter Melts

  Preheat oven to 375'F, rack in the middle position

  1 cup melted butter (2 sticks) 2 cups white sugar*** 2 teaspoons vanilla 1/8 cup molasses (2 tablespoons) 1 ' teaspoons baking soda 1 teaspoon baking powder ' teaspoon salt 1 cup peanut butter (either smooth or crunchy, your choice) 2 beaten eggs (just whip them up with a fork) 2 ' cups flour (no need to sift)

  Microwave the butter in a microwave-safe mixing bowl to melt it. Add the sugar, vanilla, and molasses. Stir until it's blended, then add the baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Mix well.

  ***lf you like a sweeter cookie, add ' cup more of sugar or roll the dough balls in sugar before baking.

  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. Then add the flour, and mix until all the ingredients are thoroughly blended.

  Form the dough into walnut-sized halls and arrange them on a greased cookie sheet, 12 to a standard sheet. (If the dough is too sticky to form into balls, chill it for a few minutes and try again.)

  Flatten the balls with a fork in a crisscross pattern. (If the fork sticky, either spray it with Pam or dip it in flour.

  Bake at 375'F for 8 to 10 minutes, or until the edges are just beginning to turn golden. Cool on the cookie sheet for 2 minutes, then remove to a wire rack to finish cooling.

  My niece Tracey s Favorite PBJ snack: Spread jam on one cookie and stack another on top. Mother likes PBFs better (that s fudge frosting between the cookie layers).