by Joanne Fluke
"No, we did it all in advance. That's why she worked every second day. We needed that extra day to get everything ready for her."
Hannah did a little mental arithmetic. "She did sixty shows in a month?"
"That's right. When we were all through, her producer picked out the best shows and the station put those on the schedule. They kept the rest as a backlog. I'm sure they have enough for at least a year, maybe two."
"Is that normal?" Hannah asked. "I mean . . . it's almost as if the television station expected Connie Mac to die and they prepared for it ahead of time."
"There's nothing unusual in what they did, Hannah. Taping ahead is standard business practice for any show that's so dependent on its star. They can't do it with shows that deal with current events, but cooking shows are timeless."
"Okay, if you say so." But Hannah decided she'd check it out anyway. "Was Connie Mac one of those difficult stars?"
"Only with her own staff, and she was never difficult when one of television executives was on the set. Then she was all sweetness and light."
Janie's eyes were drooping, and that prompted Hannah to glance at her watch. "It's almost eleven and Norman's late. I wonder what's keeping him."
"Maybe his car wouldn't start?" Janie suggested. "It's really cold out there tonight."
"That's possible, but I'm sure he would have called." The moment the words were out of Hannah's mouth, the phone ring. She grinned at Janie as she reached out to answer it. "I guess you were right. That's probably him now."
But the voice that greeted her wasn't Norman's, and Hannah felt a prickle of fear. "Luanne? Is there something wrong?"
"Yes. .I called to tell you that I'm here at the hospital with Norman."
"The hospital?" The prickle of fear expanded into a knot in Hannah's stomach. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, but Norman's got a bad bump on his head. Doctor Knight says he could have a concussion."
"Was it a traffic accident?"
"No, Norman got mugged on the way out to his car."
For a moment, Hannah was speechless. As far as she knew, there'd never been a mugging in Lake Eden before. "Where did it happen?"
"In the parking lot outside the Ezekiel Jordan house. We had a late portrait sitting. When I left, Norman told me he was going to reload his cameras, and then he was going to drive out to your place. That's why I called you."
"Hold on a second." Hannah shook her head to clear it. "If you left, how did you find out that Norman was mugged?"
"I went back. Norman gave me a little stuffed giraffe for Susie and I left it in my makeup kit. I was all the way out to the highway when I remembered. I went back to get it and I found Norman facedown in the snow next to his car. It was really scary, Hannah."
"I'll bet it was. Did you see the mugger?"
"No, I didn't see anybody. Norman thinks I scared him off, because it happened right before I got there. I didn't want to leave Norman there and go call for an ambulance, so I helped him to my car and took him straight out to the emergency room."
"You did exactly the right thing, Luanne," Hannah assured her.
"Can you drive out here, Hannah? I have to get home and Norman doesn't have any way back to town."
"I'll be there in ten minutes," Hannah promised. "And thanks, Luanne. I'm really glad you forgot that giraffe."
"Me, too. 'Bye, Hannah."
Hannah hung up the phone and turned to Janie, who was staring at her curiously. "Norman got mugged. He's out at Lake Eden Memorial and I'm driving out there. Do you want to come along?"
"I'd rather stay here. Is there anything I can do for you while you're gone?"
"Yes. Check to make sure all the doors and windows are locked, and don't let anyone in."
"Why?" Janie looked worried. "Is there a problem?"
"I don't know, but Norman was a suspect in Connie Mac's murder, and so are you."
"Then you think Norman's mugging has something to do with Connie Mac's murder?"
"I won't know until I talk to him, but it's better to be safe than sorry."
"Okay, Hannah. I'll wait up for you. And I'll put on a pot of coffee so it'll be ready for you when you come home."
"Thanks, but the last thing I'm going to need when I get home is a load of caffeine. There's an extra gallon of wine in the broom closet, right next to Moishe's kitty crunchies. Shove it in the bottom of the refrigerator for me, will you? I have a feeling I'm going to need it tonight."
"Hannah!" Norman looked absolutely delighted to see her ' as delighted as a man could look who was flat on his back on an emergency room cot with a blood-pressure cuff on his arm and a turban-style bandage wrapped around his head. "You came."
"Of course I came. Luanne tells me you've been testing out the theory that your head is harder than concrete."
"Wood," Norman told her, struggling up into a sitting position. "Doc Knight found a splinter in my ski cap, and he thinks it came from a baseball bat."
"Whatever. Are you supposed to sit up like that?"
"They didn't tell me not to sit up. I'm fine, Hannah. I've just got a little headache, that's all."
"Don't go all Mister Tough Guyon me," Hannah warned "You have to be hurting. Where's Doc Knight? I want to talk to him."
"He's around here somewhere. Whatever you do, Hannah, don't call my mother. She'll be out here with chicken soup and a mustard plaster. And the soup will be straight out of a red-and-white can."
Hannah laughed. Delores had done the same thing when she was sick. "Okay, I won't call her. How about the sheriff's department? They should know what happened."
"They already know. Doc Knight called them the minute I came in, and they sent Rick Murphy out to take my statement. I couldn't tell him much. I never even saw who hit me."
"Okay, I'll be right back." Hannah walked over and touched Norman's arm. She had the urge to kiss him on the cheek, but she didn't. She just patted his arm, turned on her heel, and went out to find Doc Knight.
The first three emergency room cubicles Hannah passed were empty, but there was someone in the fourth. The curtains were drawn, but she could hear Doc Knight talking to someone about zinc powder and how often to apply it. Since there'd been a recent outbreak of athletes' foot at Jordan High, Hannah figured that the person behind the curtain was another shower-room casualty.
Doc Knight stepped out of the cubicle and he smiled when he saw Hannah. "Don't worry. He'll be fine. He can leave, but don't let him sleep for at least three hours. No alcohol and a liquid diet for the first twelve hours. Bring him right back out here if he shows any signs of concussion."
"Okay," Hannah said. "Norman told me you thought it was a baseball bat?"
"Either that or something similar. He took a hard blow and he's lucky it glanced off. A direct hit probably would have killed him."
Hannah winced. She didn't want to think about that. "Like Connie Mac?"
"I'd say so,' Doc Knight looked wary, "but you didn't hear that from me. I took pictures, and I'll compare them when I get some breathing room. And I didn't tell you that, either."
"I understand. You're just a font of noninformation."
"And that's the way I want it. If the boys out at the sheriff's station find out I told you anything at all, they'll skin me alive. Now take him off my hands and give him some TLC. I've got a two-car accident coming in any minute and I need the beds."
"Aspirin?" Hannah asked.
"No. I gave him something for his headache, and he can have another pill in two hours. That should knock him out for the rest of the night."
"You got it. I'll take him straight home,' Hannah promised.
"No, not home. Take him to your place. If you take him home, Carrie will kick up a fuss and he'll never get any rest. Let him relax for a couple of hours and then he can go home. And if Carrie starts weeping and wailing, give her one of Norman's pills."
"Well, there's one good thing," Norman said, accepting the mug of hot chocolate Hannah had made for him. "Until this
bandage comes off, I won't have to wear a hat."
Janie laughed. "All you need is a jewel in the middle of that turban and you'll look like a sheik."
"I think it might take a little more than that," Norman said, taking a sip of his drink. "This is really good. Hannah."
"Doc Knight told me to keep you on liquids, and I figured a shot of liquid chocolate was better than low-fat chicken broth. How are you feeling, Norman?"
"Okay. I've still got a headache, but it's not as bad as it was before. Go ahead, Hannah."
"Go ahead and what?"
"Ask me those questions you've been dying to ask. If you hold them in much longer, you're going to pop."
Hannah gave a self-conscious .laugh. Norman knew her very well. "Are you sure you're well enough to answer?"
"I'm sure. Ask me now, while everything's still fresh in my mind."
"Okay." Hannah flipped to a fresh page in her notebook. "I know you didn't actually see your attacker, but did you see or hear anything right before he hit you?"
"No."
"Did you feel anything? A leather glove? A fur jacket? Anything like that?"
"All I felt was the blow."
"Did you smell anything? A cigarette burning? A distinctive aftershave, or a scented soap?"
"No. I don't have a clue who hit me, Hannah."
"Okay," Hannah sighed, switching to another line of questions. "Who knew that you'd be taking portraits at the Ezekiel Jordan House tonight?"
"Beatrice and Ted Koester. They were my subjects. And Luanne knew because she did Beatrice's makeup. Our mothers knew because I told them. They were taking Tracey to a movie tonight and I figured they might drive past on their way home. I didn't want them to worry when they saw lights on inside."
Hannah groaned in tandem with Janie. Both of them knew that Delores was a virtual pipeline of information.
"There's one thing I know." Norman looked very serious. "I thought about it all the way back here. I wasn't mugged or carjacked. I was deliberately targeted for some reason."
Hannah stared at him in surprise. "What makes you think that?"
"If the guy wanted my car, he could have hot-wired it while I was inside loading my cameras. It took me a good fifteen minutes, and everyone else had already left. And I was carrying a waterproof gym bag with a couple of cameras and my wallet inside. I set it down on the top of the trunk while I brushed off my windshield. He could have just grabbed it and run. I think I was attacked by Connie Mac's killer."
"You're lucky he didn't kill you, Norman," Janie commented, and Hannah noticed that her face was very pale.
"I know. I think the only thing that saved me was that I dropped my car keys in the snow. He must have swung at me just as I bent down to pick them up."
"That would explain what Doc Knight told me," Hannah said. "He thought it was a glancing blow."
"Exactly. And I'm pretty sure he would have hit me a second time if Luanne hadn't driven up just then."
Hannah didn't want to think about what would have happened if Norman hadn't dropped his car keys. Instead, she concentrated on asking another question. "Let's say you were targeted by Connie Mac's killer. Why you?"
"I don't know. It's true that I was next door the night she was killed, but it's not like I could identify him or anything."
"No, but he might think you could." Hannah's mind raced through the possibilities, and one stood out. "Wait a second. Didn't you tell me that you were testing your fill lights that night?"
"Yes," Norman answered. "What does that have to do with it?"
"Did your lights flash when you were testing them?"
Norman nodded, and Hannah began to smile. "Then I've got it."
"Got what?"
"The reason why Connie Mac's killer targeted you. What if he was hiding outside The Cookie Jar that night, waiting for a chance to get Connie Mac alone and kill her? He could have seen those flashes and thought that you were taking pictures of him."
"I just remembered something," Janie told them. "Connie Mac and I saw the flashes on the snow outside. She thought that some reporter was trying to take an unauthorized picture of her through the window, but I pointed out that it was coming from the Ezekiel Jordan House, and we decided that you must have been taking portraits over there."
Hannah leaned forward in excitement. "You have to develop that film, Norman. You could have a picture of Connie Mac's killer!"
"Impossible," Norman said, shaking his head. "My camera wasn't loaded. I didn't want to waste film when I was just testing the lights."
Hannah bit back a word that might have made Janie blush and groaned instead. "For a minute there, I thought we might have a shortcut to the killer."
All three of them were silent for a moment, and then Norman turned to Hannah. "Maybe we do have a shortcut."
"How? You said your camera wasn't loaded."
"It wasn't, but the killer doesn't know that. He still thinks I've got a picture of him. He'll have to try to kill me again, Hannah. I'm sure of that. And that means we can set a trap for him."
Hannah's mouth dropped open and she stared at Norman in shock. Then she shook her head furiously. "That knock on the head must have rattled your brains. If you had any sense left at all, you'd know there's no way I'd ever let you use yourself for bait!"
GRILLED CREAM CHEESE SANDWICHES
(Hannah Swensen's Very Best Mistake)
For each sandwich you will need:
2 slices of bread (white, egg, wheat ' take your pick) 1 package of chilled block cream cheese (not softened or whipped) Softened butter
Butter two slices of bread. Place one slice buttered side down on a piece of waxed paper. Cut slices of cream cheese approximately '-inch thick to cover the surface of the bread. Put the other slice of bread on top, buttered side up.
Preheat a frying pan on the stove. Using a spatula, place your sandwich in the pan. Fry it uncovered until the bottom turns golden brown. (You can test it by lifting it up just a bit with the spatula.) Flip the sandwich over and fry the other side until it's golden brown. Remove the sandwich from the frying pan, cut it into four pieces with a sharp knife, arrange it on a plate, and serve it immediately.
This sandwich goes well with piping-hot mugs of tomato soup.
You can turn this into a dessert sandwich by using slices of banana or date-nut bread and sprinkling the sandwich with a little powdered sugar. If you really want to go whole hog, top it with a scoop of ice cream. It's delicious that way.
-19- Six o'clock came much too early and Hannah crawled out of the warm comfort of her bed reluctantly. It seemed as though just minutes had passed since she'd taken Norman to the scene of his assault to pick up his car and followed him home to make sure he got there safely. She'd idled outside the house for a few minutes, but no lights had gone on in Carrie's bedroom. When Hannah had been fairly certain that Norman wouldn't be required to deal with a hysterical mother in the middle of the night, she'd driven back to her condo and fallen into her bed for the hours of sleep that were left to her.
Hannah gazed around her, blinking in the glare from the lamp on her bed table. Moishe wasn't there. He'd probably crawled in with Janie in the wee hours of the morning. Even though she knew she was being silly, his defection disturbed her. Moishe was a male, and all the important males in her life had .deserted her in one way or another. Mike had turned cool and coplike. It wasn't surprising, considering that he was in charge of a murder investigation, but she missed the good-natured banter they'd enjoyed in the past. And Norman was just as bad. He'd told her he wasn't jealous of the time she'd spent with Mike, and now he'd had the nerve to suggest that he use himself as bait in a trap for the killer without a second thought for her feelings. Then there was Moishe. She'd taken him in, fed him the best cat food that money could buy, and taken him to the vet for his shots. And how did he repay her kind generosity? He'd left her bed in the middle of the night and deserted her for a younger woman!
Her slippers were right where she'd le
ft them, and Hannah pulled them on. She knew she was being ridiculous, but she couldn't seem to help it. Moishe had been waiting for her in her bed when she'd arrived home last night, and he'd let her cuddle him for much longer than usual. He'd even purred and licked her cheek with his raspy tongue. He loved her; Hannah knew he did, and that was more than she could say for either Norman or Mike. She was in a bad mood this morning because she was tired, and she had to shake it off.
Once Hannah had showered, she felt much better. Ten minutes under a steaming spray had loosened her cramped muscles and erased some of the fog from her brain. She dressed in a pair of jeans, pulled on the alternate Winter Carnival sweatshirt she'd bought, and slipped her feet back into the old pair of dorm slippers she wore around the house. Then she padded down the hallway toward the kitchen. She had a lot to do, and if she didn't get a move on, she'd fall behind schedule. Today would be a prime example of "hurry up and get there so you can rush as fast as you can." That was a smidgeon better on the frustration scale than "hurry up and get there so you can wait," but not much. Somehow, she had to get energized, and a strong cup of coffee was the only cure for her case of drooping eyelids.
"Morning, Hannah," Janie greeted her. She was standing at Hannah's stove, flipping something in a frying pan. "Don't try to talk. Just sit down at the table and I'll bring you a mug of coffee."
Hannah sank down in a chair. It was much more comfortable than she'd remembered, and she resisted the urge to put her head down on her folded arms and snooze.
"Drink this;' Janie ordered, plunking a mug of coffee down in front of Hannah's nose. "It'll help."
Hannah inhaled the strong fragrance and took one huge gulp. The coffee was hot but not scalding, and she realized that Janie must have poured it when she'd heard her getting dressed. After she'd drained the cup and held it put for a refill, her eyes opened all the way and she smiled at Janie. "Thanks. I'm beginning to feel halfway human."
"Good. Now all we have to do is work on that other half. I take it Norman got home okay?"
"He should be fine. I stuck around for a few minutes to make sure his mother didn't wake up. What are you doing out here so early?"
