by Joanne Fluke
"Really? I never thought of that, but you could be right. I'd better reword it."
"I just talked to Helen," Charlotte called out. "She checked her recipe book and it's two and a half cups, not one and a half cups. Edna was right when she wanted to add another cup."
Hannah gave Edna a thumbs-up for guessing the amount of flour correctly. Of course that wasn't all that surprising. Edna had been baking almost every day for the past forty-plus years.
Hannah had just turned to group three to see how their pie was coming when she heard a bloodcurdling scream.
"What was that?" Hannah gasped, her eyes darting around the room to make sure that none of her students was hurt.
"I don't know!" Edna sounded thoroughly shocked. "Should we call the police? I'm almost sure it came from the classroom next door."
Hannah laughed, her fears put to rest. "If it came from next door, it is the police. Mike Kingston's in there with his self-defense class. He's probably teaching his students to scream if someone tries to mug them."
The words had just left Hannah's mouth when more screaming ensued from the classroom next door. This was followed by blasts on whistles and instructions to back off. It was definitely Mike's class making all that noise. Hannah and her students shared another laugh and then they went back to their baking.
It wasn't easy to concentrate on testing recipes when the class next door was so noisy, but Hannah's students managed to do it. By the time nine o'clock rolled around and the class officially ended, they had divided up the baked goods so that everyone could have some to take home, cleaned the workstations, and decided which recipes they wanted to test in their own kitchens as homework. Five minutes later, Hannah's classroom was deserted and she was just doing a final check of the pantry when Mike knocked on the open door.
"Hi, Hannah. Are you ready for that steak?"
"I've been dreaming about it all day." Hannah turned to look at him and her breath caught in her throat. Steak wasn't the only thing she'd been dreaming of. Tall, rugged, and handsome, it was no wonder that every single woman in town, and some that weren't so single, were staying awake nights trying to think of ways to attract Mike's attention. If the Winnetka County Sheriff's Department wanted to put out one of the beefcake calendars that so many other groups were doing to raise money, all they'd have to do was put Mike on the cover and they'd have a bestseller. "Did Sheriff Grant catch you on your way in? He stopped by here and he said he had some handouts for you."
"He was waiting for me when I pulled into the parking lot. I told him I wouldn't pass out the flyers."
"Why not?"
"They were Grant for Sheriff flyers."
"They were?" Hannah started to chuckle. "No wonder he didn't want to leave them with me! And isn't there some kind of rule about passing out political flyers in school?"
"There's a rule. When I mentioned it to him, he decided he'd just hand them to people when they drove in."
"I take it you're not voting for Sheriff Grant?" Hannah teased.
"Of course not. I'm voting for Bill. He's my partner and my best friend. You should know that, Hannah."
"I do," Hannah said with a sigh. There were times when Mike was far too serious to be teased and it seemed that this was one of them. "I wonder if Sheriff Grant's still around. I gave him some cupcakes to test for me and he promised to let me know how he liked them."
"If he's gone, I'll ask him for you tomorrow." Mike picked up Hannah's jacket and held it for her. "Let's go. I skipped lunch and I'm hungry."
Hannah slipped into her jacket and was about to pick up her shoulder bag purse when she remembered the garbage. "Just let me run out with the trash. I want to make sure that back door's locked anyway."
"Need some help?"
"I can handle it. There's just the one bag. You can double check the ovens and stovetops to make sure they're all turned off."
Hannah grabbed the garbage bag and headed out the delivery door, blinking in the light of the high-wattage security light that came on as she passed by the sensor. She headed for the Dumpster, opened the lid, and lifted the bag. But before she dropped it inside, Hannah happened to glance down into the depths of the Dumpster.
For one shocked moment, Hannah froze, the bag of garbage suspended over the Dumpster and her mouth forming a perfectly round "o" of surprise. Then she pulled the bag back, set it down on the asphalt, and told herself that she must be imagining things, that there really hadn't been something in the bottom of the Dumpster that had resembled a human arm.
Looks are deceiving, Hannah repeated one of her grandmother Elsa's favorite sayings several times in her mind, and then she stepped back for a second look. It was an arm all right. And the arm was attached to a body.
"Uh-oh," Hannah groaned, swallowing hard, and at that exact moment, the security light cycled off. The sudden absence of the megawatt glare made the darkness seem even more intense and Hannah had all she could do not to scream. She reminded herself that she had two choices. She could stand here wondering if she'd really seen what she thought she'd seen, or she could run back inside and get Mike.
The delivery door opened with a creak and Hannah almost jumped out of her skin. Then she heard a voice. "Hannah? Is there a problem?"
It was Mike's voice. Hannah swallowed hard. It seemed she had a third choice. She could say that there was a problem and ask Mike to get over here on the double. That would be the wisest choice, if only she could find her voice.
"Hannah?"
"Over here," Hannah gulped out the words.
"What is it? You sound funny."
Hannah took a deep breath. And then she said, as clearly as she could. "There's a body in this Dumpster."
Mike wasted no time in joining Hannah. He pulled out his flashlight, trained the beam inside, and groaned. "It's Sheriff Grant."
"Dead?" Hannah asked, watching Mike as he leaned forward into the Dumpster to feel for a pulse.
"Yes."
Hannah gulped, trying to accept the fact that someone she'd spoken to less than three hours ago was inside a school Dumpster, dead.
"Looks like someone hit him on the back of the head. There may be another wound, too. There's a big smear of dried blood on the front of his uniform."
Despite her revulsion, Hannah looked at the area Mike indicated with his flashlight. He was right. There was a smear of something dark on Sheriff Grant's uniform shirt. She cleared her throat and forced herself to speak. "That's not blood."
"It's not?"
Hannah shook her head. "It's fudge frosting. Sheriff Grant died eating one of my cupcakes!"
Chapter Four
Hannah had no sooner stepped inside her condo than the phone rang. She knew exactly who it was and she headed straight for the kitchen to answer it. "Hello, Mother."
"Hello, Mother? How did you know it was me?"
"Who else would it be? Andrea probably called you right after Bill called to tell her."
"Well… actually, that's right." Delores sounded a bit perturbed that Hannah had guessed her gossip source. "I just can't believe that you found another body!"
"It's true, but you shouldn't be jealous. I let you find the last one." Hannah glanced down at Moishe, who was rubbing against her ankle so hard he was very close to knocking her off balance. His bowl was empty and he didn't seem to mind the switch in his diet at all. "Hold on for a second, Mother. Just let me feed Moishe and then we can talk."
Hannah set the phone on the table and walked over to the broom closet where she kept Moishe's food. She unlocked the padlock, opened the door and poured Moishe a bowlful of his new food. It might have seemed strange to guard cat food with a padlock, but it kept the bag safe from the feline who wasn't shy about getting his own breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Moishe had defeated every other attempt Hannah had made to keep him out of the broom closet, but he hadn't figured out the padlock yet. He had made progress on the wooden door, though. There was a series of bite and claw marks near the bottom and Hannah suspected it was
only a matter of time before her four-footed roommate triumphed once again.
"Okay, Mother. I'm back," Hannah said, grabbing the phone and sitting down at the table in one fluid motion. "What did you hear?"
"Not much. All Bill told Andrea was that you found Sheriff Grant inside the school Dumpster."
"That's what happened all right."
"I feel so sorry for poor Nettie Grant!"
"Me, too," Hannah said. Sheriff Grant's wife had practically gone into seclusion three years ago when the Grants had lost their only child in a car crash.
"This is going to be so difficult for her," Delores went on. "She was just getting over Jamie's death, and now her husband is gone, too! Do you think they're related, Hannah?"
"Who?" Hannah asked, thoroughly confused by her mother's question.
"Not who… what! I'm talking about Jamie's death and Sheriff Grant's death."
"I don't see how they could be related, Mother."
"Use your head, Hannah. We know that Nettie was totally grief-stricken when Jamie was killed and it took her almost a whole year to come out of her depression. It must have hit Sheriff Grant just as hard. I wouldn't be a bit surprised to find out that his grief had gotten the best of him and he'd decided that he just couldn't go on any longer."
"You mean… suicide?"
"Of course I mean suicide. Do you think that's what happened?"
"No."
"Why not? It makes sense to me."
Hannah sighed deeply. She hadn't intended to give her mother any of the gruesome details, but she couldn't let Delores run around town expounding her suicide theory.
"It wasn't suicide, Mother."
"How do you know?"
"I think it's unlikely that Sheriff Grant ate one of my cupcakes, bashed himself in the back of the head so hard that he cracked it open, and then dragged himself to the school Dumpster and crawled in to die. I'll admit my cupcakes weren't perfect, but they weren't that bad."
"This is not the time to be flippant, Hannah!"
"Right," Hannah said and then she was perfectly silent. Her mother was a bright woman. It might take her a moment or two, but Delores would pick up on the obvious.
"Wait a minute!" Delores was so excited her voice shook. "Did you say that Sheriff Grant was killed by a blow to the back of his head?"
"That's right."
"But that's impossible, unless…" Delores drew out her last word so long it came out of Hannah's receiver as a hiss. "He was murdered! Why didn't you tell me before?!"
"You didn't ask."
"Well, I'm asking now. And a good daughter would have told me before I had to ask! Sit down if you're not sitting already, and tell me everything that happened. And don't you dare leave anything out!"
Ten minutes later, Hannah hung up the phone. Her neck was sore from cradling the phone between her head and her shoulder while she talked and foraged for something to eat, but her hunt through the refrigerator and the pantry had been successful. It was a far cry from a steak, but she managed to open a can of tuna, mix it with a little mayonnaise, and spread it on a piece of dark pumpernickel. She spread a second piece of pumpernickel with cream cheese softened in the microwave and topped it off with wafer thin slices of sweet onion that Lisa had grown in her greenhouse. Once the two halves of the sandwich were stacked together and cut into quarters, Hannah poured herself a glass of what she called Chateau Screwtop, the white jug wine currently on sale at CostMart.
"You've got your own yummy food," Hannah said, glancing down at Moishe. He was pressing against her ankle again and a twenty-three pound cat could press hard.
Moishe yowled and Hannah realized that she was being ridiculous. Who was she trying to kid? The most expensive cat food in the world couldn't compare to one of her tuna sandwiches.
Once she'd managed to seat herself on the sofa despite Moishe's efforts to trip her, Hannah flicked on the television with the remote control and bit into her sandwich. Delicious! Lisa's onion was excellent. She'd have to remember to mention it tomorrow morning when Lisa came in to work. In the meantime, there was a whole sandwich to eat and Hannah applied herself to that task with true dedication.
Once the sandwich was gone and Moishe had been pacified with several morsels of tuna that she'd set aside for him, Hannah settled down to watch television with her glass of wine.
Cable programming was nothing to write home about on this particular Monday night and Hannah flicked through the channels, wondering how anyone could be content to stay home and watch television. There was only one program that interested her, a study of holiday fruitcakes and how they had evolved over the years.
Hannah watched with interest. Most of the fruitcakes they showed were beautiful when they were sliced, the candied fruit resembling brightly colored jewels under the lights. She'd always thought that in a perfect world, fruitcake would taste as good as it looked. Unfortunately, as far as Hannah was concerned, it didn't. There was only one fruitcake that Hannah liked and it was her own recipe. She created it for her father and it didn't have a single speck of citron or candied fruit. It was called Dad's Chocolate Fruitcake and she planned to put it in the Lake Eden cookbook.
The program was almost over when Hannah caught a glimpse of an orange and white blur out of the corner of her eye. It was Moishe, heading off to the laundry room, even though he'd just come from there a few minutes ago. Now that she thought about it, Hannah was almost sure she'd seen him take the same route several times.
"Are you okay, Moishe?" Hannah asked, getting up on her feet. Moishe never went into the laundry room unless he needed to use his litter box. If his new senior food was upsetting his stomach, she'd call the vet in the morning.
When Hannah stepped into the laundry room, she found Moishe standing by his litter box. But instead of getting in, as she expected him to, he just leaned over the side, dropped something in, and reached out with a paw to cover it.
"That's strange," Hannah commented, watching as her cat headed back to the kitchen again. Several months ago, Moishe had buried the back half of a mouse in his litter box. Perhaps he'd caught something and was giving it the feline version of a decent burial.
Hannah grabbed the scoop and exhumed the item that Moishe had buried. It wasn't a mouse, or a part of a mouse. It wasn't even a cricket, or a moth. It was a pristine nugget of his new senior cat food. Suddenly suspicious, she dug around a bit in the litter box, uncovering more evidence of Moishe's distaste. By his choice of burial spot, her cat was making a graphic comment about the palatability of his dinner.
"Okay," Hannah sighed, accepting the inevitable. Nothing was ever as easy as it seemed.
As she stepped into the kitchen, Hannah glanced over at Moishe. He was standing by his food bowl, watching her every move. His yellow eyes seemed to brighten as she headed for the broom closet and his stash of old kitty crunchies. When she took out the bag, his eyes fairly gleamed with an eager light.
"You win, Moishe," Hannah said, rinsing out his bowl and filling it with his regular chow. She knew she was surrendering in the war between feline wits and human wits, but there was no way she wanted to listen to hungry yowls all night.
The next day, The Cookie Jar was crowded. It seemed that almost everyone in town had heard about Sheriff Grant's murder, and Hannah suspected that her own mother had spread the word to at least half the population of Lake Eden all by herself.
"Absolutely not," Hannah said, pouring more coffee as she responded to Bertie Staub's question. It was the same answer she'd been giving all morning. Everyone who came in for cookies and coffee wanted to know if she'd be investigating.
"But don't you want to help?" Bertie asked, turning to smile at Andrea, who'd just come in the front door.
"I'll help in any way I can, but only as a private citizen."
"But what if they ask you to help? Would you do it then?"
"They won't." Hannah slid over to make room as Andrea ducked behind the counter. "One of their own has been killed and they'll want
to run their own investigation. I wouldn't dream of interfering and I'm not involved in any way."
"Yes, you are," Andrea hissed, just loud enough for Hannah to hear it. Her lips were perfectly stationary and fixed in a smile, and Hannah was impressed. She hadn't known that Andrea had ventriloquism skills.
"Kitchen," Andrea said under her breath and around the fixed smile she still wore. "I need to talk to you."
Hannah motioned for Lisa to take over the counter and led Andrea back through the swinging door to the kitchen workstation. Her sister settled on a stool and Hannah sat down beside her. "What is it? You look rattled."
Andrea paled at that observation. "Oh, no! Do you think anyone noticed?"
"You mean out there?" Hannah gestured toward the coffee shop.
"Yes."
"No one except me. And that's only because I know you so well. What's wrong?"
"Everything! My world is spinning and there's nothing I can do to stop it!"
Hannah decided not to remind Andrea that spinning is what the world did, and without the pull of gravity, they'd all fall off. "I think you need some orange juice. You look a little pale."
"Coffee," Andrea corrected her. "I didn't have my one cup this morning. I was too upset to make it."
As Hannah went to the kitchen coffee pot to pour Andrea a cup, she wondered how anyone could be so upset, they couldn't make coffee. This was especially puzzling in Andrea's case, since all she did was put a spoonful of instant coffee in a mug, fill it with water, and microwave it until it was hot enough to drink.
"Thanks, Hannah." Andrea accepted the mug and curled her hands around it. Then she took a long sip and sighed gratefully. "That's so good! I feel much more in control now."
"Good. Why did you feel out of control in the first place? And what did you mean by what you said back there?"
