by Joanne Fluke
“Hi, Hannah.” Barbara sounded glad to hear from her. “All ready for the party tonight?”
“I’m ready. How about you? Your Irish Roast Beast’s being tested, you know.”
“I know. I’ve been on pins and needles about it all day. Did you hear about Shawna Lee?”
“I heard. Bill told Andrea and Andrea told me.”
“Some wives around here are going to be mighty relieved, that’s all I have to say. And at least she won’t be flirting with your guy anymore.”
“Which guy?”
“That’s a good one!” Barbara said with a laugh. “I forgot for a minute that you had two guys.”
“I’m not sure I’ve got either one of them, but I do need to talk to Mike.”
“He’s not here, Hannah. He came in about an hour ago, but before he could even hang up his jacket, he got a call to go out again.”
Hannah took a deep breath and asked the important question. “I put a package on his desk this morning. Do you happen to know if it’s still there?”
“Hold on a second and I’ll check.”
Hannah heard a click, and she found herself listening to a tape of winter driving tips, read by someone who sounded as if he had a cold. She already knew about carrying a candle and matches in a coffee can so that if she was stuck in her car, she could heat the interior and melt snow for drinking water. The announcer was just pontificating about the wisdom of putting a twenty-pound sack of kitty litter in the trunk for traction when Barbara came back on the line.
“It’s gone, Hannah. Mike must have taken it with him.”
Hannah had all she could do to keep from groaning. It would be bad enough if Mike tasted the brownies at work in front of the other deputies, but if he bit into one when he was alone in his cruiser, navigating an icy patch of highway, he might just end up in the ditch. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“I don’t think he will be, not today. He’s coordinating with two other law enforcement agencies, and that means conferences and meetings all afternoon. He’ll probably go right home when he’s through. He could call in, though. If he does, do you want me to give him a message?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll see him tonight. Thanks, Barbara.”
Hannah did her best to grin and bear it as she dashed to the community center with Edna’s meatballs. She got back just in time for the noon rush, when dozens of people wanted their after-lunch cookies and coffee. Hannah manned the cash register and took care of the take-out cookies customers ordered, while Lisa waited tables. It was a system they’d worked out together. Things were just slowing down again when Hannah looked up to see a familiar face at the door. It was Norman, and he was carrying something in a Granny’s Attic bag.
“Hi, Norman!” Hannah greeted him, smiling warmly. Norman certainly wasn’t movie star handsome, with his slightly thinning brown hair and stocky frame, but Hannah considered him one of the most attractive men she’d ever met. He had an open, friendly look about him and his sense of humor meshed with hers perfectly. As Delores and Carrie were fond of saying, especially if they’d just come from one of their Regency romance group meetings, Norman and Hannah made a perfect match.
Hannah waited until Norman had hung his parka on the coat rack near the front door and taken a seat at the counter. “Coffee?”
“Of course. You make the best in town. And a couple cookies of your choice. I’m in the mood to live dangerously.”
“Dangerously?” Hannah turned and glanced at the glass serving jars behind the counter. “How about a Cherry Bomb?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s one of Grandma Ingrid’s recipes and I’m trying it out for the first time today.”
“I’ll be your guinea pig,” Norman declared, twitching his nose.
“That’s exactly what the guinea pig at Kiddie Korner does!”
“I know. Janice Cox called me with a dental emergency on Wednesday when Mr. Whiskers got a seed stuck between his front teeth.”
“Did you make a house call?” Hannah asked, realizing she hadn’t talked to Norman in a few days.
“Of course. Mr. Whiskers is fine now. I got the seed out.”
“How did you do that?”
“Very carefully. And very quickly, too.” Norman glanced at the cookies Hannah placed in front of him. “They look like little white bombs with a red fuse.”
“The fuse is a cherry stem. That’s a little square of dough wrapped around the cherry and then baked. And the reason they’re so white is because they’re dipped in powdered sugar. You’re supposed to pick them up by the stem and eat the bottom part.”
“Okay,” Norman said popping the white part into his mouth and chewing. “They’re good! The cherry sort of explodes when you bite into it, so Cherry Bomb is a good name.”
Once Norman had tasted the second Cherry Bomb and pronounced it as good as the first, he set the Granny’s Attic bag on the counter. “Your mother sent this over for you.”
“What is it?”
“Her antique cake knife. She asked me to bring it to you for safekeeping.”
Hannah opened the bag and drew out an elaborately carved wooden case. “Have you seen it?”
“Yes, it’s beautiful. Take a look.”
The carvings were lovely, and Hannah admired the box for a moment. Then she lifted the lid and gasped as she saw the knife. “It’s gorgeous! And it’s not what I expected at all.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s narrower than the combination cake knife and server I’m used to seeing and it looks a whole lot sharper.”
“Your mother said it was especially crafted for the court by a well-known sword maker of the period.”
“No wonder it looks so sharp! The Christmas tree on the handle is beautiful and I just love the colored stones they used to decorate it.”
“Those colored stones are small blue and yellow sapphires, rubies, and emeralds. And the star at the top is a perfect diamond. I think you’d better put it away in a nice safe place.”
“I will,” Hannah said, closing the lid of the box reverently. “I suppose it’s very valuable?”
Norman glanced around, but no one at the counter was paying any attention to them. “Yes, if it’s genuine. And everyone at Granny’s Attic, including Luanne, thinks it is.”
“Thanks for telling me.” Hannah slipped the box back in the bag and secreted it behind the counter. “I’d better keep it under wraps until it’s time to cut the cake, or someone might use it to carve the turkey.”
“I don’t think that’ll be a problem. I’m bringing the turkey, and it’s Rose’s recipe. She swears it’s so tender it practically falls off the bones.”
“Rose’s turkey is great,” Hannah said, glancing out the window. Her eyes narrowed and she gave a deep sigh. “You might know it! It’s starting to snow. It’s a good thing that Minnesotans aren’t afraid of a little winter weather. Unless it turns into a full-scale blizzard, they’ll still show up for the dinner and stay for the dancing.”
“Of course they will. Nobody wants to miss the feast.”
Hannah had just refilled Norman’s coffee mug when the phone rang. She reached out to answer it. “The Cookie Jar. Hannah speaking.”
“Hello, Hannah. It’s Kurt Howe.”
“Hi, Kurt,” Hannah said, hoping that nothing was wrong. Kurt was her editor at Savory Press, and the last time he’d called, he’d asked Hannah to get the cookbook recipes ready several months before the due date in the contract she’d signed. “You’re not going to move up the deadline again, are you?”
Kurt chuckled. “No, but I do have a question about one of the recipes you submitted.”
“Which one?”
“Fudge Cupcakes. Are you sure it’s baking soda?”
“Baking soda?” Hannah began to frown.
“That’s what it says.”
“Hold on a second.” Hannah motioned for Lisa and asked her to run to the kitchen to get the master recipe list. Then
she turned back to her phone call. “Lisa’s checking on it right now, but I think it’s supposed to be baking powder. Baking soda would make them puff up too high in the oven and then they’d fall like craters.”
“That’s what my publisher thought and I told her I’d check with you.”
Hannah took the three-ring binder Lisa handed her and glanced down at the Fudge Cupcake recipe. “It’s baking powder, Kurt. One and a half teaspoons of baking powder.”
“That’s what we thought.”
“I’m really sorry about that,” Hannah said, her cheeks coloring in embarrassment. “I proofread all those recipes before I sent them to you, and that mistake got right past me.”
“It happens, especially when you know how it’s supposed to be written. You read right past the error and don’t notice it. But that’s only one of the reasons I called. I’m driving in for the Christmas dinner party.”
“That’s great! Then you can taste the recipes yourself!”
“I’m looking forward to it. I just got off the phone with the staff photographer. I wanted him to come along to take some food photos and some candids of the crowd for the cookbook.”
“That would be perfect, especially if he can get a picture of Mother’s antique cake knife. It’s gorgeous, Kurt, and we’re going to use it to cut one of the cakes.”
“That would have been a great photo.”
“Would have been?”
“That’s right. Our photographer can’t make it, and that means we may have to re-stage some of the food photos.”
“Maybe not,” Hannah said, glancing over at Norman. “I know a local photographer and I’m sure he’d be willing to take some photos of the party for you. Hold on and I’ll ask him.”
Norman nodded at Hannah before she could even ask. “Tell him I’ll be glad to bring my camera, but I don’t have any experience with food photography. I know it’s highly specialized.”
“I heard that,” Kurt said in Hannah’s ear. “Tell him anything he gets is all to the good. I’m going to leave the office early. If the traffic’s not terrible, I should get to Lake Eden around five or five-thirty. Where will you be?”
“At the community center. We’re closing the shop at three and I’ll be there early to help Edna in the kitchen.”
“Better tell him it’s snowing here,” Norman reminded her.
“I heard that,” Kurt responded before Hannah could tell him. “Maybe I’ll leave a little earlier than I planned, just to be on the safe side. See you tonight, Hannah.”
Hannah was smiling when she hung up the phone and turned to Norman. “Do you have time to run back to Granny’s Attic for a second before you go back to the dental clinic?”
“Sure. What do you need?”
“It’s only fair to tell all the contributors that our editor is coming to the party. But I really don’t have time to call everyone.”
“So you want the mothers to call for you?”
“All they have to do is make one call. They’re part of the Lake Eden gossip hotline. It’s like a telephone tree. If they call one person, that person calls another couple of people. And then those people call other people and before you know it, the whole town knows. I figure that if you get to Mother and Carrie by one, everyone in Lake Eden will know before one-thirty at the latest.”
Chapter Five
“So how do I look?” Hannah asked, turning around for the benefit of her I-couldn’t-look-less-interested-if-I-tried roommate, who was perched on the back of the couch.
Moishe glanced her way for a moment, but then he went back to staring at the television. Since Hannah had tuned it to one of the animal channels and they occasionally showed documentaries about flightless birds and small furry rodents, she guessed she couldn’t blame him. Basic instinct was compelling. It was the reason why Moishe was hoping for easy prey, even if it turned out to be pheasant behind glass screen.
Hannah had also relied on basic instinct when she’d dressed for the party tonight. She was wearing the most alluring outfit she owned, a brand new cobalt-blue knit dress with a flared skirt that emphasized her figure plusses, all one of them, and minimized her figure minuses, all four of them, not counting the biceps she’d developed from lifting fifty-pound bags of flour and sugar. As usual, Claire Rodgers at Beau Monde Fashions had urged her to try on the dress, and, as usual, Claire had chosen well. One look in the mirror, and Hannah said she’d take it without even asking the price, something that would be risky in a shop where she didn’t get a hefty discount for owning the business next door.
“I’m so glad you approve,” Hannah said, realizing full well the folly of asking her resident feline a fashion question…or any question at all other than, “Are you hungry?” or “Would you like another kitty treat?”
“Your food bowl’s full and you’ve had your vitamins. I’ll be leaving now, if that’s okay with you.” Hannah shrugged into the black coat that acted like a magnet for orange and white cat hairs, and picked up the ridiculously small purse Claire had insisted she buy to go with the dress. She grabbed her gloves and the bag containing Mike’s pâté, tossed several more salmon-flavored treats shaped like little fish toward the couch, and informed the cat, who still wasn’t interested in anything except the television screen, “I may be late. You don’t have to wait up.”
As she stepped outside, testing the door to make certain it locked behind her, Hannah found herself wishing she’d worn a ski mask, or at least a knit cap. The air was frigid, and it would be even colder by the time she came home tonight. She hurried down the outside stairs, thankful for the roof that the builder had designed to keep them free of snow, navigated an icy patch of sidewalk, and then went down the six concrete steps that led to the underground garage, barely missing bowling over her downstairs neighbor, Phil Plotnik.
“Sorry, Phil,” Hannah apologized as he steadied her on her feet. “You don’t have to say it. I really ought to watch where I’m going.”
“I wasn’t going to say that. I was going to remind you to unplug your truck.”
“Thank you! I always forget when I’m in a rush, and I’ve already totaled two cords this winter.”
“I’d better make sure it doesn’t turn into three.” Phil reversed his direction and walked her to her truck. “What’s your record?”
“You mean in one winter?”
“Right.” Phil went to the line of electrical outlets specifically designed for plugging in the head bolt and dipstick heaters that were so necessary during a cold Minnesota winter, and unplugged Hannah’s extension cord.
“Seven. It was the first year I bought my truck. I just couldn’t seem to get used to unplugging it. Are you coming to the Christmas party tonight?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Sue wants to get a picture of Kevin in front of the Christmas tree. We tried to do it last year, but he was too young to sit up. She’s going to order some of those photo cards to send to the relatives.”
“They’re bound to like that. Thanks for helping me, Phil. I’ll see you all later at the party.” Hannah was smiling as she climbed inside her candy-apple-red Suburban with the vanity license plate that read COOKIES. Her taxman claimed that the plate and the gold lettering on the sides that advertised The Cookie Jar constituted a write-off.
As Hannah drove up the ramp and along the narrow road that wound through her condo complex, lights winked on in several of the units. It was only four in the afternoon, but the shadows of the pine trees on the snow had darkened from lavender to indigo blue, and the horizon would soon be indistinguishable. Hannah switched on her headlights. At dawn and dusk visibility was poor, and even at the slow speeds that were posted in the complex, it was possible to have an expensive fender-bender.
In the few minutes it took Hannah to exit her complex, darkness fell completely. She turned left onto Old Lake Road, switched on her wipers to deal with the snow that was striking her windshield, and tuned her car radio to her favorite local station. The news on the hour was just ending and Rayn
e Phillips, KCOW’s meteorologist, was in the process of wrapping up his weather report.
“…chance of snow flurries later this evening. Presently, we have clear skies with temperatures ranging in the teens across Winnetka County. It’s a beautiful night, folks. Get out there and enjoy it.”
Hannah grumbled, turning up the speed on her windshield wipers to handle the rapidly falling snow. “You’re an idiot, Rayne. If you just look out the window, you’ll know it’s already snowing!”
Edna Ferguson looked surprised as Hannah stepped into the kitchen at the community center. “What are you doing here so early? I didn’t expect you before five.”
“I thought maybe you could use some extra help.” As Hannah stashed Mike’s pâté in the refrigerator, she noticed that Andrea’s Jell-O Cake was already there on a shelf. “Lisa was here?”
“Come and gone. She said she had to rush home to get dressed. She dropped off the sugar cookies, and they’re just beautiful.”
“Lisa’s a whiz with a pastry bag. How about Andrea? Did she bring you the serving spoons?”
“She did, and I don’t know how she does it, as big as she is. That sister of yours is really something.”
“You mean because of the serving spoons?”
Edna shook her head so hard, her tightly permed gray curls bounced like springs. “That too, but mostly because of the decorations. The decorating committee was here when Andrea came in, and she asked as nice as pie if she could help. It was just the Hollenbeck sisters. Bernice Maciej was supposed to come too, but her back was acting up. Anyways, they didn’t want to let Andrea help at first, her being in the condition she is and all. But then she said she’d call a couple of her friends to do all the lifting, and they admitted they could use the help. You should have seen the whirlwind once those younger gals started working. Why, they finished it all in less than two hours, including the eighteen-foot-tall Christmas tree!”
“That’s Andrea. She really knows how to get things done with a couple of phone calls.”
“She did more than that. I tell you, I almost dropped my teeth when I saw her up on the ladder, putting the angel on top of the tree.”
