Plum Pudding Murder Bundle with Candy Cane Murder & Sugar Cookie Murder

by Joanne Fluke

  Hannah pulled up on the right handle just in time to avoid a hillock that certainly would have overturned her like a turtle and left her soft underbelly exposed to Miss Whiting’s bullets. And speaking of bullets, how many did she have left?

  Hannah tried to remember the gun she’d seen in Miss Whiting’s hand, but it was no use. All she could visualize was the round, dark hole in the end of the barrel, the hole that would release the bullet that would end her life. As she zoomed down the hill, she thought of the ballistic tally that Mike had given her. One shot in Larry, three in the flat screen TV. That meant four shots were gone, and most revolvers had six shots…didn’t they? Miss Whiting had just shot once past Hannah’s ear, and once more only the winter birds in the trees knew where. That was a total of six shots. Miss Whiting could be out of ammunition, unless she’d reloaded after she’d killed Larry.

  Another shot hit the snow about three feet in front of Hannah’s Slider, kicking up a puff of snow that almost blinded her for a moment. Another shot thunked into a pine tree ahead of her and to the left. Forget the revolver and counting shots. It seemed Miss Whiting had plenty of ammunition. All Hannah could do was hope that the business teacher knew more about balance sheets than bull’s-eyes.

  Hannah gasped when she saw a thicket of prickly thorn bushes dead ahead. She twisted and turned the handholds on the Slider, desperately seeking to change her course and avoid what promised to be a painful encounter. Delores was right. She’d never been able to steer a sled by herself, but at least, this time, it wasn’t a tree!

  There were several moments that occurred in slow motion, reminding Hannah of several movies she’d seen. There was her hand on the Slider twisting, twisting to no avail. There was a single gust of snow, peppering the smooth skin of her cheek. There was her mouth, open in a silent scream as the Slider moved inexorably forward. And finally there was one barbed thorn as big as the sun, quivering in anticipation of her arrival.

  And then real time took over and she hit the prickly thorn bushes. Hard. Still tumbling forward, she smashed into the spiked branches that attempted to make ribbons of her skin.

  Perhaps the freezing air acted as an anesthetic. Or perhaps she was simply too frightened to feel much of anything. Hannah wasn’t sure which theory was accurate, but something kept her from feeling the sting of barbs and the sharp pricks of thorns. She jumped to her feet, grabbed her Slider, and ducked behind the biggest tree she could find.

  Her rational mind, the one her would-be killer had praised just moments ago, was thankful that her Slider was forest green. It would blend in with the winter foliage and perhaps escape Miss Whiting’s notice.

  Hannah huddled against the pine tree and wondered how long it would take Miss Whiting to find her. There was probably a path left by her Slider from the top to midway down the hill. Miss Whiting would see it and know that Hannah was here. She had to move.

  Risking a glance at the top of the hill proved almost fatal. A bullet thudded into the pine tree where Hannah was attempting to hide. She’d been spotted. The Slider had left a telltale trail.

  Hannah’s mind flew through the possibilities. Would Miss Whiting climb down here to kill her? And where was Mike? Mike always rescued her when she was in trouble. Didn’t he have some sort of sixth sense that told him when someone was about to kill her? Mike always came to the rescue.

  Another shot brought Hannah back to the present with a snap. She had to move again. Right now! The only question was whether she should crawl, or hold up the Slider as a shield and run to another big pine tree.

  It was dark and overcast, with snow still falling in flurries. The wind whipped up, providing a perfect opportunity, and Hannah crawled through the snow straight back from her pine to the pine behind it.

  When she got there she waited expectantly, but there were no more shots. She’d made it! She wanted to stop and rest, but it couldn’t hurt to put one more tree between her trail and Miss Whiting.

  Hannah dropped to her stomach and prepared to crawl once more. She felt like a crab as she inched her way back, pushing with her feet and pulling with her hands against the snow-packed earth. She was halfway there when she heard a sound that couldn’t have been made by the wind, or the snow, or any forest creature. It was click of metal against metal, and she looked up to see Miss Whiting standing over her.

  “Good try,” Miss Whiting said, leveling the gun directly at Hannah’s head. “One shot through the brain should do it. It’s a pity to waste a good mind, but it can’t be helped.”

  It was over. She’d run out of options. Hannah shut her eyes and wondered whether her life would flash before her eyes. It didn’t. All she could think about was Moishe and how she hoped Norman would take him and give him a good home with Cuddles. She’d miss him dreadfully, and even though he was a bad boy at times, he was her bad boy.

  And then she heard the shot. It was loud and it hurt her ears. Miss Whiting had shot her through the head. Her life was over. She was dead.

  Dimly, she heard a crashing as someone ran down the hill. How could that be? Dead people weren’t supposed to hear anything except celestial music. Perhaps she wasn’t dead yet. Perhaps she was still dying.

  And then she was gathered up into two strong arms, and someone was smoothing back her hair. Not dead, then. And the arms and the hand felt good.

  “Are you okay?” Mike asked, lifting her up into his arms.

  “I…think…so.” The words were an effort and it seemed to take forever to speak them.

  “Don’t worry. She’s dead,” Mike said, carrying her up the hill. “Just relax, Hannah. Lonnie’s coming to cover the crime scene and I’m taking you straight to the hospital.”

  “Miss Whiting shot me?” Hannah asked, fearing the worst.

  “No, but you need to take care of those scratches on your face. And you might have a concussion from running into those thorn bushes so hard. I need to make sure you’re okay.”

  Hannah smiled, even though it hurt to do so. Mike cared. But she couldn’t resist asking, “Why?”

  “Because I’m worried about you.”

  It was a good answer. Hannah’s relief at being rescued and happiness at being alive grew even stronger as Mike bent down to place a light kiss on her lips.

  “You have to get well in a hurry so you can cook that bang-up Christmas Eve dinner you promised to make for me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The mood was festive and the guests around Hannah’s dinner table were enjoying the excesses of the season. It was Christmas Eve and candles glowed softly down the length of the folding library table Hannah had borrowed from Marge Beeseman. Andrea’s shiny gold tablecloth graced its surface and Michelle had helped Hannah make the edible place cards. They’d wrapped tiny truffle boxes that contained one chocolate raspberry and one white chocolate apricot truffle in Christmas paper with the guests’ names written on the top. Delores had arrived early to set the table and she had rearranged the place cards so that Hannah was seated between Mike and Norman. Again.

  Christmas carols were playing softly in the background. Hannah’s sound system and Moishe’s Kitty Kondo were still in place, but every other stick of living room furniture had been moved to other rooms to make space for the long table.

  “Your tree looks so good,” Michelle said, taking another cracker with Shrimp Louie Spread.

  “It certainly does…except for the mice,” Delores said with a delicate little shudder. “They’re just too realistic for me!”

  “They’re not too realistic for Moishe,” Mike said, watching Hannah’s pet go after one of the mice on the tree.

  They’d solved the problem of the Christmas tree without caging either the tree or the cat. Mike and Norman had been frequent visitors the weekend Hannah had spent recovering from her near brush with death and her thorn bush injuries, and they’d caught Moishe in action. Both men agreed that something had to be done, but they didn’t want to admit defeat and take down her Christmas tree. There had been meas
urements, discussions of pulleys and levers with Rick and Lonnie Murphy, and a trip to buy the necessary hardware. Hannah had gone back to work on Monday, and by the time she’d come home that night, her tree had been reliably cat-proofed.

  “It turned out okay,” Norman said, gazing at the tree. “It’s not exactly your normal tree, but it’s better than no tree at all.”

  Hannah agreed wholeheartedly. She’d grown to like her upside-down tree, hung by its trunk from a pulley attached to the highest point of the exposed beam on her cathedral ceiling. It was fully decorated with lights, glass balls, and Great-Grandma Elsa’s remaining two birds, the way any regular Christmas tree would be. And just in case Moishe felt frustrated because he could no longer climb it, Mike and Norman had hung six new toy mice on almost invisible fishing line from the tip of the tree. Since the tip was almost four feet from the rug below it, Moishe could bat at the mice to his heart’s content without any danger of coming into contact with the tree itself.

  The Christmas Cheese Round was almost gone and the Shrimp Louie Spread was going fast. It was time to start serving the first course. Hannah rose to her feet, and headed for the kitchen, followed by Michelle, Andrea, and Tracey.

  “What can I carry, Aunt Hannah?” Tracey asked. “I promise I won’t drop anything.”

  Hannah reached out to give her niece a little hug. “I know you won’t, honey,” she said. This was the first Christmas Eve that Tracey had been allowed to help instead of staying at the table with Grandma McCann and Bethany, and she was taking her duties seriously.

  The first course was Holiday Squash Soup. It was accompanied by condiments of sour cream and parsley. The soup was hot and would be dished up in the kitchen and carried to the table in individual bowls.

  “How would you like to carry the sour cream?” Hannah asked her, knowing that her sisters could easily handle the trays with the bowls of soup. “I can follow you with the parsley. You’ll have to hold the bowl while people take some.”

  “I can do that,” Tracey said. “Do you think a lot of people will want sour cream?”

  “Grandma Delores will. She loves sour cream. And I think Mike and Norman will, too. And then there’s your dad, and maybe Grandma McCann, and…”

  “So it’s almost everybody!” Tracey looked delighted with her assignment.

  Once the soup was served and everyone had embellished their bowls with sour cream and parsley, Hannah went back into the kitchen to stage the rest of the meal. She took the Jeweled Pork Roast out of the oven and set it on a rack to cool slightly before carving, and then she found the perfect platter for Andrea’s Jell-O. Unmolding it was almost always an easy task because the Jell-O had ridden in the back of Andrea’s Volvo on the trip to Hannah’s condo, and the vibration from the road had already done the lion’s share of the work.

  The serving platter went over the top of the ring mold Andrea had used for her Jell-O. A quick flip of Hannah’s wrists turned the mold upside down, and once she’d given it a little shake, she heard the Pineapple Cranberry Jell-O Salad break loose and settle down on the platter. Hannah lifted the ring mold and smiled. Andrea really was the Queen of Jell-O. This one was as pretty as a picture.

  The Christmas Bell Salad was next. Hannah had prepared it an hour before the guests were due to arrive and it was waiting in a bowl in the refrigerator. She took it out, pulled off the plastic wrap she’d used to keep it fresh, and set it next to the Jell-O on the counter.

  The salted water was gently simmering for the Petite Green Pea Boats and Hannah turned up the heat. Then she went to the refrigerator to get the “boats” she’d made by removing the fruit from orange halves, and arranged them on a pretty platter. When the water was boiling, she put in the petite frozen peas, and gave Michelle and Andrea the high sign. It was time to stage the rest of the meal while Tracey carried in the empty soup bowls.

  Andrea and Michelle knew exactly what to do. They’d worked it all out in advance. Andrea stuck the toothpicks with the little sails on the orange “boats” that would receive their cargo of buttered petite peas, and Michelle started the Lingonberry Gravy, which was actually flavored with apricot jam since Hannah hadn’t been able to find lingonberry jam.

  The peas were ready. Hannah poured them out into a strainer and then quickly doused them in the ice water she had waiting to preserve the bright green color. It took only a moment to toss them with butter, salt, and pepper and spoon them into the boats Andrea had decorated.

  The Scandinavian Spuds were waiting in the oven in their ovenproof serving dish. Hannah took them out with her best pair of oven mitts and set them at the end of the lineup on the counter.

  “Pork roast, gravy, and we’re done,” she said, grabbing a cutting board and her electric knife.

  The Jeweled Pork Roast sliced like a dream. Hannah cut it into one-inch-thick slices and transferred them to her meat platter. By the time she was finished slicing, Michelle had poured the gravy into the pitcher Hannah preferred to use in place of a gravy boat, and they were ready to serve.

  “What do you want me to carry, Aunt Hannah?” Tracey asked.

  “How about all the serving utensils?” Hannah scooped up the meat forks, serving spoons, and the cake server she’d been planning to use for Andrea’s Jell-O salad, and plunked them into a basket. “All you have to do is follow us to the table and we’ll get the serving utensils from you.”

  Hannah turned to look at the counter again, and frowned. “I’m missing something,” she said. “I wonder what it is.”

  “Bread?” Tracey guessed. “You always have rolls or something, don’t you?”

  “Good call!” Hannah praised her, reaching up to grab the towel-lined basket of Cranberry Scones she’d removed from the oven shortly after her guests had arrived. “Is everyone ready?”

  There was a chorus of assent from Michelle, Andrea, and Tracey. Hannah stepped to the front of the line with her Jeweled Pork Roast and within moments they’d lined the long table with the dishes that made up their festive meal.

  Hannah took her place at the table. There was nothing more for her to do until it was time for dessert and coffee, and she was looking forward to enjoying the fruits of her labors.

  Other than the occasional “Mmmm!” from one diner or another, they all ate in contented silence for several minutes. And then, when ravaging appetites had been partially appeased, the conversation began to flow again.

  “Did you hear what Nancy is going to do with Larry’s money?” Delores asked them.

  “Who’s Nancy?” Michelle asked.

  “Dr. Love,” Delores answered. “She’s Larry Jaeger’s legal widow.”

  Mike looked interested. “I haven’t heard.”

  “Neither have I,” Carrie said, and Hannah noticed that she was holding her fork in her left hand so that she could hold hands with Earl.

  “She’s going to refund the money to all of Larry’s investors.”

  “There’s that much money?” Michelle was shocked.

  “There’s more than enough,” Delores told them. “Nancy and Courtney went through all of Larry’s papers. They found the ledger he used to list the investors in every business he ever owned and they’re writing checks to all of them.”

  “So is your name on the list, Earl?” Delores asked him.

  “Not mine. I went out there to talk to Larry the night Hannah saw me. He wanted investors for the spa he was planning to open in Duluth. I asked him a couple of questions about financing and I didn’t like his answers so I turned him down flat.”

  “Smart man,” Carrie said, smiling at Earl.

  “I’m really glad you think so,” Earl said, and smiled back.

  “I have some news about the show.” Michelle said, putting down her fork. “Did anybody see the DVD we made of my number in the Christmas Follies?”

  “I did,” Hannah said, grateful that her sister had shown it to her. While Michelle had performed her song and dance number, Miss Whiting had been shooting at Hannah in the woods
.

  “There’s an important money man in New York who likes it. He says he might finance the show if he sees a couple of the other numbers performed live.”

  “You’re going to New York?” Delores asked, barely able to contain her excitement.

  “That’s right, Mother. We’re leaving on Monday and we’re going to his theater to perform it for him.”

  Andrea began to frown. “But what if he decides he wants you for the part and he offers you a contract? Will you take it and live in New York?”

  “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Michelle said with a laugh. “He wouldn’t want an unknown college student like me!”

  The conversation turned to other things then, but no one mentioned Miss Whiting. Mike was handling the fact that he’d killed her to defend Hannah quite well, but no one wanted to broach the subject.

  When everyone at the table had put down their silverware and leaned back slightly in their chairs, Hannah gestured to her sisters and they began to clear the table for the dessert.

  The coffee was ready. Hannah had dashed to the kitchen to flick the switch midway through the dinner. Now she transferred the coffee to a serving pot and took down the tray she’d prepared earlier with cups, spoons, and sugar. Once the cream had been added to the tray, she sent Andrea out to serve the coffee while she put on a second pot. Then she scraped and rinsed dishes, and Michelle slipped them into the dishwasher.

  When Andrea came back, she put away the leftovers, stashing them in the refrigerator. “All done,” she said, wiping down the counter where they’d staged the dinner.

  “Time for dessert,” Hannah announced, handing them bowls of Hard Sauce and Soft Sauce, and giving them both a little shove toward the living room. “You go sit down. It’ll only take a couple of minutes.”

  “Tracey’s all ready with the lights,” Andrea informed her. “She knows her cue word. She wrote it on her arm with a felt-tip pen.”