by Joanne Fluke
Even though Greg's financial and personal world was crashing down around his ears, Hannah's immediate concern was for his safety. When he'd left the condo this afternoon, he'd told his grandmother that he was going to gas up his car and come right back. That had been almost three hours ago, and Hannah could understand why Mrs. Canfield was get- ting worried. There had been two murders in Lake Eden already and the killer was still out there. Hannah hoped that she was just borrowing trouble, but she was glad she'd told Mrs. Canfield to leave a message for her at the inn the moment that Greg walked in the door.
-27-
Hannah was staring down at her french fries and wondering if she'd lost the knack of solving mysteries when Alex tapped her on the shoulder.
"Hannah?" Alex held out a key. "Janie asked me to find you and give this back. She's getting settled in upstairs."
"Thanks, Alex." Hannah dropped the key in her purse.
"Do you mind if I join you for a minute?"
'Not at all. Sit down.' Hannah roused herself as Alex sat down in the opposite chair. If they chatted for a while, perhaps Alex would say something to solve one of the minor mysteries that had been plaguing her.
"I've only got a minute before I go back to work, but I wanted to tell you that I met your cat. He's a real darling."
Hannah smiled, feeling the way she imagined a proud mother would feel. She wouldn't have described Moishe as a darling, but he'd obviously been on his best behavior around Alex.
"He led me straight to the cupboard where you keep his food so that I could fill his bowl," Alex told her. "I think he's even smarter than Tarzan Five."
"Tarzan Five?"
"He was my grandmother's cat. She named all of her male cats Tarzan. I know it's a little strange, but her name was Jane and she used to get a huge kick out of picking them up and saying, You Tarzan, me Jane."
Hannah laughed. "Sounds like your grandmother had a good sense of humor."
"She did. If I had the time, I could tell you stories that would make you roll on the floor. I was nineteen when she died. That was over twenty-five years ago, but I still miss her. And every time I adopt a male cat, I name him Tarzan. I have Tarzan Eight right now, and my tabby is Jane Three."
After Alex had left, Hannah went back to staring at her french fries. She hadn't learned anything helpful and she was at loose ends. Andrea was upstairs talking to the Connie Mac people, Bill and Mike were running their own investigation, Lisa was spending the rest of her day with her father, and Sally and Alex were working. She felt like a single woman at a couples party, with no one to talk to and nothing to do. All she could do was sit here and wait for the information to come to her, and Hannah had never been good at waiting.
Just to keep her mind sharp, she pulled out her notebook and paged through it. She found Alex's page and sighed as she retrieved one of the ballpoint pens from the bottom of her purse and wrote down what she'd learned. It wasn't much. Alex's cats were named Tarzan and Jane, her grandmother had started the tradition, and she'd died when Alex was nineteen. Nothing interesting there. Perhaps Alex was exactly as she appeared, an outgoing woman who made friends easily. "Hannah?" The sound of her name pulled Hannah out of her thoughts, and she looked up to see that Andrea had taken the opposite chair. "Sorry, Andrea. I didn't even see you come in. Are you through already?"
"Yes, and I've got something for you."
Hannah perked up immediately. "What is it?"
"I couldn't talk to the Connie Mac people. They're all out at the boutique, getting ready for the opening. But I talked to the writer who's doing Connie Mac's biography, and he told me that he saw Alan last night."
"Great," Hannah said, and she began to smile. "Good job, Andrea. What time?"
"Twelve-thirty. He didn't talk to Alan. He just saw him out the window, walking down to the lakeshore."
"He's sure it was Alan?"
"Oh, yes. He recognized him by his hat. Alan always wore one of those Russian fur hats when he went out for a walk."
"They're called ushankas, but other people wear them, too."
"I know, but. . ." Andrea stopped and stared at Hannah's : plate of french fries. "Are you going to eat those?"
Hannah shook her head and pushed the plate to Andrea. "But what?"
"But Alan always wore it. . . . is there any ketchup?"
"Yes, here." Hannah picked up the squeeze bottle of ketchup and passed it over. "Alan always what?"
"He wore his Russian hat with the earflaps down. The writer said it looks really silly that way and most people just let their ears get cold, but Alan always pulled the flaps down and they looked like dog ears."
"Okay," Hannah said, picking up her pen to write down what Andrea had told her. She was about to flip to a new page when a name caught her eye. Jane. Alex's grandmother had been named Jane. "Hold on a second. I've got to check something."
With rising excitement Hannah found the section of notes she'd taken on the story that Jack Herman had told her. Janie's birth mother had named her in honor of her grandmother, who had died recently. Alex said her grandmother had died over twenty-five years ago. And Janie was twenty-five.
"What did you find?" Andrea asked, catching her sister's excitement.
"I'm not sure." Hannah pushed back her chair and stood up. "I'll be right back. I've got to talk to somebody and it can't wait."
"Do you need me?"
"Not this time. It'll only take a second or two and they might clear the table if both of us leave. Stay here and eat the french fries." Hannah picked up the side of blue cheese dressing and handed it to her sister. "Try dipping them in that. It's a lot better than ketchup."
"I. . . I don't know what you mean."
"I asked you a simple question," Hannah stated, giving Alex her fiercest stare. They were standing outside the service entrance to the kitchen, sheltered from the wind by two large metal Dumpsters. "Is Janie Burkholtz your daughter?"
Alex swallowed hard. And then tears came to her eyes. Hannah could see them well up, and she felt like a rat for harassing her. "Look, Alex. I really need to know. And I promise you, I won't tell anyone."
"But I . . . " Alex sighed and a single tear spilled over and rolled down her cheek. "I was so careful all these years. I never wanted Janie to know. Who told you?"
"That's not important."
"Yes, it is. I've never told anybody except Isobel and Garland. And I finally told Janie's biological father, but I know he wouldn't tell anyone."
Hannah reached out to take her arm. "It's okay, Alex. Nobody told me. I just guessed."
"But how?"
"I just wondered how you and Janie could be so close when you'd just met for the first time. That's all. Are you going to tell Janie that you're her mother?"
"No! I can't tell her, Hannah. It wouldn't be fair to Isobel and Garland. They're her real parents. They loved her, and they raised her, and they gave her a wonderful home. It might change the way she thinks of them, and that wouldn't be right. You won't tell her, will you?"
"I promise I won't," Hannah assured her. "Is that why you took the job as Sally's assistant, so that you could see her?"
"Yes. Isobel called to tell me that Janie would be here.
We've kept in touch over the years. She said she had a bad feeling about going away on the cruise. She was afraid that something might happen to Janie while they were away, and she wanted someone here to look after her. She also thought that I should meet Janie. I never have, you know. They've sent me pictures and videotapes, but that's not the same thing."
"No, it's not."
"And then, when I finally met Janie, it was. . . just wonderful. She's so bright and pretty and lovely. And she seemed to like me, too. It's been the best week of my life."
Hannah smiled. "We love Janie, too. How about her father? Was he angry that you hadn't told him before?"
"No. Of course he was shocked, but he's a very nice man and he said he understood why I did things the way I did. And since he's never had any other
children, he promised that he'd look out for Janie anonymously and provide for her in his will. He also promised that he'd never tell her unless Isobel, Garland, and I all agreed that it was the right thing to do."
"Thank you for telling me," Hannah said, reaching in her pocket to pullout a tissue. She handed it to Alex and waited until the older woman had composed herself. "You don't have to worry, Alex. Your secret is safe with me. Now let's go back in. It's freezing out here."
When they reentered the kitchen, Alex went off to take inventory of the supplies that had been delivered that morning, and Hannah headed toward the swinging door to the f restaurant. As she passed by the bank of deep fryers, where Sally was standing, a thought popped into her mind that chilled her more than the icy wind that had blown across the tops of the Dumpsters. Was it possible that Alex had caught a glimpse of Janie when she'd come back to the inn on Saturday night? If she'd noticed Janie's tears and the bruise on her arm, and if she'd suspected that Connie Mac had caused them, then Alex had possessed the perfect motive for driving to The Cookie Jar and killing Connie Mac.
"Hannah?" Sally pulled up one of the metal baskets filled with golden french fries and hooked it in place to drain. "You look grim. What's the matter?"
Hannah glanced around her, but none of the kitchen workers were close enough to hear. "Where was Alex on Friday night?"
"In the bar with me. She served the hot appetizers and filled in for my waitresses when they took their breaks."
"She was there all night?"
"We closed at one and Alex didn't leave until one-thirty. I tried to get her to take a break around ten, but she said she was okay and she made me take one, instead." Sally paused and her eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me you suspect Alex!"
"Not really, but I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't check everybody out."
"I guess that's true," Sally said but she still looked puzzled. "I don't understand how Alex ended up on your suspect list. What possible reason could she have for killing Connie Mac?"
Hannah thought fast. She couldn't tell Sally the real reason, and she had to think of another. "She's mentioned several times that she didn't like Connie Mac."
"Who did? And before you ask, I have an alibi, too." Sally tipped the fryer basket and flipped the hot french fries out onto a plate. "You're going back to the restaurant, aren't you?"
"Yes. Andrea's waiting for me."
"Then take her these." Sally put the plate on a tray, added a dish of blue cheese dressing, and handed it to Hannah. "I made a double order so you could share."
Hannah stopped at the counter, sprinkled on salt, and balanced the tray in one hand as she went through the swinging door. The trip to their table only took a few seconds, but Hannah managed to snitch two fries on the way. When she set the tray down in front of her sister, Andrea was frowning.
"You took two of my french fries," Andrea accused her. "I saw you."
"No, I didn't. Sally made a double order so we could share."
"Are you sure?"
"That's what she said. I don't blame you for sending mine back. They're a lot better when they're hot."
"I didn't send them back. But you're right, they're better when they're hot. And they're delicious with this blue cheese dressing." Andrea took a french fry, dipped it in the dressing, and popped it into her mouth. "Get out your notebook and I'll tell you more about that writer."
Hannah pulled out her notebook and picked up her pen. "Are you trying to keep me busy so you can hog all the french fries?"
"Of course I am," Andrea admitted with a grin.
"That's what I thought. You always were a sneaky kid." Hannah grabbed a french fry with her left hand, dipped it, and popped it in her mouth. "See? It won't work. I can write and eat at the same time. Now, tell me what else that writer said."
"He said he saw someone follow Alan down to the shore."
"What?" Hannah stared at her sister in total amazement.
"Why didn't you tell me that right away?"
"You didn't give me the chance."
"Yes, I did. You should have said that first, instead of telling me about the ushankas with the dog ears."
"Flaps that only look like dog ears," Andrea corrected her.
Hannah sighed. There were times when her sister could be just as exasperating as their mother. Andrea told stories in her own way, and it didn't work to rush her. "Go on. I'm listening."
"The person who followed Alan was dressed all in black and he skulked through the trees."
"The writer said skulked?"
"Of course he did. He's a writer and they use words like that. If you keep interrupting me, I'll never get to the end."
"All right. Go on."
"Every time Alan turned around, this person in black ducked behind a tree. The writer lost sight of them when they got down to the shore. He said there's a little hill and they disappeared behind it. He watched for another few minutes, but they didn't reappear, so he gave up and went to bed."
"That's great, Andrea." Hannah wrote it all down. "Did you ask if he could describe the man in more detail?"
"Yes, and he couldn't. He only saw him from the back."
"Anything else?"
"Yes. He had breakfast the next morning and he mentioned it to Larry Kruger. Larry told him he was going to count it as another ghost sighting and put it in his next story."
"That figures." Hannah wrote down the additional information, and then she looked up with a frown. "Eat up, Andrea. There's somebody we have to see."
"I did. I'm finished."
Hannah glanced at the plate of french fries. It was perfectly bare. Andrea had eaten every one. "You ate them all?"
"I was hungry." Andrea wiped her hands on a napkin and pushed back her chair. "I'm ready. Who are we going to see?"
"Ezekiel Jordan's ghost," Hannah told her, walking forward.
"But you don't believe in ghosts!" Andrea reached out to grab Hannah's arm. "What are you talking about?"
"You'll see. Follow me." Hannah was smiling as she led the way out of the restaurant. Even if her sister begged, she wasn't going to explain until they got all the way up to Francine's room. Andrea's curiosity might just kill her, but she deserved worse for snitching Hannah's share of the french fries.
-28-
"I know why you won't tell me where we're going," Andrea said, following Hannah up the stairs. "You're mad because I ate all the french fries. But it's not like I did it deliberately. Once I got started, I just couldn't stop eating."
Hannah glanced back at her sister. Andrea did look very contrite. "It's okay. I understand."
"That's good, because I sure don't!" Andrea replied with a frown. "I've never gone on food binges like this before. What's gotten into me, anyway?"
Several succinct answers occurred to Hannah, but she wisely let them pass. She just waited until they'd reached the top of the staircase, and then she pulled Andrea over to the side of the hall. "Let me tell you about the ghost."
As Andrea listened to the Hannah's story, she started to smile. By the time Hannah had finished, she was laughing.
"And it's all your fault," Hannah concluded.
"My fault? What did I do?"
"You told Sally that ghosts sell, and that's what gave Francine the idea. Come on. Let's go talk to Francine. I want to know if she's the one that writer saw last night."
* * *
"It wasn't me," Francine insisted after Hannah had asked the question. "I never appear outside. His imagination must have been working overtime."
Hannah shot Andrea a warning glance. Both of them were convinced that the writer hadn't been imagining things. He'd seen someone following Alan, and that someone had been the killer.
"Do you want to see my ghost costume?" Francine smiled when they nodded and she walked over to pull the curtains. "It only works when the light's dim. Wait right here. I'll be right back."
In less time than they expected, Francine reappeared. She was wearing an old-fashioned black coat, bl
ack pants, and a black hat pulled down over her eyes. "It's a little too light in here. Try to imagine how I'd look at night and I'll demonstrate my ghost walk."
Hannah and Andrea watched as Francine demonstrated her special walk. She scooted along with her knees bent and bobbed up every few feet. By squinching her eyes half-shut, Hannah could get the full effect.
"That's wonderful!" Andrea clapped her hands. "It looks like you're floating."
"That's the general idea. I let people see me and then I duck down the back stairs. They're off limits for the guests because they don't meet the building code, but Sally gave me a key."
"How do you get back to your room?" Hannah asked.
"That's simple. I lock the stairwell door behind me and take off my ghost outfit on the landing. It's a couple of sizes too large and I wear it over my regular clothes. Then I stuff it in Danny's diaper bag, go down the back stairs, and come up the main staircase while everybody's still milling around. I'm always carrying the diaper bag anyway, so no one thinks it's suspicious."
"Is it working?" Andrea asked.
"Like a charm. People have been calling in from all over, and last night Sally told me she was all booked up until the end of March. You've just got to come see one of my appearances. I haven't had this much fun in ages."
"Just let us know when," Hannah said. "We'll come."
"And I'll scream," Andrea added. "My drama teacher at Jordan High said I had the best bloodcurdling scream he'd ever heard."
"What's next?" Andrea asked as they left Francine's room.
"I'm not sure," Hannah said, glancing at her watch as they walked toward the stairs. "We still have to talk to the rest of the Connie Mac people, but Sally said they never come back for dinner until eight."
"We could eat dinner. We probably won't have time later."
"You're hungry again?"
"Not really, but you have to eat. I'll just keep you company."
"Okay," Hannah agreed, starting down the stairs. "Since you ate all my fries, I get to pick the place."
"The Corner Tavern?" Andrea guessed, wrinkling her nose.
"You bet. I need brain food and I'm in the mood for a thick slab of steak."
