Fudge Cupcake Murder hsm-5

by Joanne Fluke

  "When's the potluck?"

  That question surprised Hannah. Kurt hadn't been that interested in their schedule before. Perhaps he wanted to come to Lake Eden to taste the recipes and vote? "We haven't set a firm date yet, but I want to do it right after Thanksgiving. We'd love to have you come, if you can."

  "I'll try to make it. Just call and give my secretary the date. I've got some really big news, Hannah. I convinced my publisher to release your cookbook early. We thought it would be a perfect gift for the holiday season."

  "You mean Christmas?"

  "Christmas, Hanukah, Kwanzaa, whatever. It's going to be mostly buffet recipes, right?"

  "Well… I guess you could call them buffet recipes. In Lake Eden we just say potluck."

  "I like that better, personally. Potluck is much more ethnic. But my publisher wants to use the words holiday and buffet in the title. Do you think you could live with that?"

  "Well…"

  "He's sure it would sell better in upscale places like New York and Los Angeles."

  Hannah's eyebrows headed for the ceiling. When Kurt first mentioned the cookbook, she'd envisioned something that would be sold locally, or perhaps statewide. She'd never even considered the possibility that it would be sold all over the country.

  "Hannah? I know people voted and you decided on Green Jell-O, A Lake Eden Potluck Cookbook as a title, but my publisher doesn't think that'll do well nationally. He'd rather have Holiday Buffet. If you absolutely hate it, I can go back to him with alternatives."

  "No," Hannah managed to croak out. "No, he probably knows best. After all, buffet is just a fancier name for potluck. But these are pretty simple recipes. Is that all right?"

  "Give me an example."

  "Well… there's Edna's Make Ahead Mashed Potatoes. She brings them to every potlu… uh… buffet we have. And then there's my mother's Hawaiian Pot Roast, and a couple of variations of Minnesota Hotdish."

  "That all sounds great. You're making me hungry, Hannah."

  "I know what you mean," Hannah said, feeling a bit hungry herself. "But since your publisher wants a fancier title, doesn't he want fancier names for the recipes?"

  "Like what?"

  "Like… Minnesota Hotdish could be Minnesota Cassoulet."

  "No, hotdish is good. It'll make people think about sitting around the dinner table with family and friends. Just leave the recipe names the way they are, Hannah. If we have problems with any of them, we'll get together and change them."

  "And our deadline is still the same?"

  Kurt gave a little laugh. "I'm afraid not. That's the reason I called. Hold onto your hat, Hannah."

  "Why?" Hannah sucked in her breath and held it. She had the feeling she wasn't going to like Kurt's answer.

  "We're going to need everything in three weeks."

  "Three weeks?!" Hannah was so shocked she almost dropped the phone. "But it wasn't supposed to be for three months!"

  "I know. This is a fabulous opportunity, Hannah. My publisher's going to pull out all the stops to make your cookbook a success. I know the deadline is tight and it'll be a lot of work, but think about how proud everyone will be to see their favorite recipes in print."

  "I'm thinking, I'm thinking," Hannah said. And she was. Perhaps she could do it if she had help.

  "So shall I tell my publisher it's a go?"

  Hannah took a deep breath and let it out again. And then she said the words that would add several big helpings to her already overflowing plate. "Yes, Kurt. Tell him it's a go."

  An hour later, Hannah walked up to the counter at Lake Eden Neighborhood Pharmacy. Lisa had insisted that she talk to Jon Walker to get some kind of antibiotic cream for her hand. The cat scratch Moishe had given her this morning was puffing up and it was painful to touch.

  "Hello, Hannah. What's wrong with your hand?" Jon greeted her.

  "Cat scratch." Hannah held it out so that he could see. "Lisa sent me down for some antibiotic cream."

  "Good for her. Cat scratches can be dangerous. Haven't you ever heard of cat scratch fever?"

  "Only on an old rock and roll record my father used to play in the garage. There was one about poison ivy, too."

  "A full-blown case of cat scratch fever and you'd wind up in the hospital. But don't worry, Hannah. We caught this in plenty of time. You should take some oral antibiotics to clear up the infection, and I'll get you some over the counter cream. Filling your prescription might take a while. I'll drop it off on my afternoon break if you'll treat me to a cookie."

  "You're welcome to a cookie, but I don't have a prescription."

  "You will just as soon as I put in a call to Doc Knight. Here's your cream. Use it morning, noon, and night and keep water away from that scratch."

  Five minutes later, when Hannah walked in the front door of The Cookie Jar, Lisa was on the phone. She motioned to Hannah and Hannah slipped behind the counter to join her.

  "It's Andrea," Lisa said, "and you should take it in the kitchen. She says she's got news for you about you-know-what. I'll stay on until you pick up."

  Hannah took enough time to slather on some of the antibiotic cream and then she picked up the phone. "I'm on now, Lisa."

  "And I'm off," Lisa replied, hanging up with a click.

  "Hi, Hannah," Andrea greeted her. "I called to tell you that Sean and Don have an airtight alibi for last Monday night. A bus came in a little before eight and it had a flat tire. Sean and the driver changed it while Don waited on all the passengers."

  "Okay. I'll put it in the book."

  "And I contacted all the names on Nettie's list. Every single one has an alibi."

  Hannah was so astounded she gulped. "Every name? But there were so many!"

  "No, there weren't, not when I weeded out all the sheriff's department personnel that Bill and Mike are checking."

  "You're right," Hannah said, giving her sister a thumbs-up she couldn't see over the phone. "There's no sense in duplicating our efforts. So you wrote down the alibis and now you want me to verify them?"

  "No, I already did that."

  "You did? But how did you find the time?"

  "It's a trade secret I learned in real estate school. Do you remember that old perfume ad, Promise her anything, but give her Arpege?"

  "Not really."

  "Well, you would if you ever wore perfume. It's a little like that… only different."

  "Okay," Hannah said, dropping the discussion, since Andrea's explanation had raised more questions than it had answered.

  "So what's next? I'm chained to this couch, I've already done everything I can think of, and I'm going to go crazy just sitting here."

  "I don't really have any…" Hannah stopped in mid-sentence as the perfection solution to her sister's boredom occurred to her. Andrea could type a lot faster than Hannah could. And ever since Hannah had agreed to meet Kurt Howe's new, shortened deadline, she'd been wondering how she'd ever find the extra hours to get all those recipes typed up.

  "What?" Andrea asked. "You thought of something I could do, didn't you?"

  "Yes. Is your laptop handy?"

  "I've got it right here. What do you need?"

  "How about doing some typing for me? It's really important."

  "What kind of typing?"

  "Recipes for the Lake Eden Cookbook, except it's not called the Lake Eden cookbook anymore. Now it's called something with Holiday and Buffet in the title, but we don't have to change the names of any recipes."

  There was a long silence and when Andrea spoke again, she sounded worried. "I think you'd better start from the beginning, Hannah. For a logical person, you're not making much sense."

  It took a few minutes, but at last Andrea had the full story of Kurt Howe's call and how the deadline had been moved up. "And it's actually going to be published in time for the holidays?" she asked.

  "That's what Kurt said."

  "Then of course I'll type your recipes. Bring them over and I'll get started."

  Hannah glanc
ed at the clock. "I'll leave here at eleven and I'll bring you lunch. What do you want?"

  "Pizza, but I can't have it. Too much salt."

  "What can you have?"

  "I've got a list right here." Hannah heard paper crinkling and then Andrea came back on the line. "I'm looking at my diet sheet now. It looks like I can eat almost anything that doesn't taste good."

  Hannah laughed. She couldn't help it. Sometimes Andrea was funny without even realizing it. "How about a chef's salad with dressing on the side. I can stop by the cafй."

  "That sounds good, but how about dessert? Will you bring me some cookies?"

  "Sure. What kind do you want?"

  "Something with chocolate and pecans. I'm dying for some chocolate and pecans are my favorite nuts. But you don't have time to make cookies just for me, do you?"

  "I've got time," Hannah said, already planning out which ingredients to use to make some special cookies for her sister.

  Andrea's Pecan Divines

  Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position

  2 cups melted butter (4 sticks, one pound)

  3 cups white sugar

  1 l/2 cups brown sugar

  4 teaspoons vanilla

  4 teaspoons baking soda

  2 teaspoons salt

  4 beaten eggs

  5 cups flour (no need to sift)

  3 cups chocolate chips

  4 cups chopped pecans

  Melt the butter. (Nuke it for 3 minutes on high in a microwave-safe container, or melt it in a pan on the stove.) Mix in the white sugar and the brown sugar. Add the vanilla and the baking soda and mix. Add the eggs and stir it all up. Add half the flour, the chocolate chips, and the chopped pecans. Stir well to incorporate. Add the rest of the flour and mix thoroughly.

  Drop by teaspoons onto greased cookie sheets, 12 cookies to a standard-size sheet. If the dough is too sticky to handle, chill it slightly and try again. Bake at 350 degrees R for 10 to 12 minutes or until nicely browned.

  Let cool two minutes, then remove cookies from the baking sheet and transfer to a wire rack to finish cooling.

  Yield: Approximately 10 dozen.

  Andrea says these are the best cookies she's ever tasted and I saved her life by baking them.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Hannah felt good as she sat on the high stool behind the cash register at The Cookie Jar and surveyed her world. Every table was filled and all of her customers had been coffeed, teaed, and cookied. Now they were busy talking to each other as they munched and sipped, enjoying themselves. The glass serving jars had been replenished, the counter couldn't have been wiped down any better, and all the sugar, creamer, and artificial sweetener containers had been filled to the brim. She'd already delivered the recipes to Andrea, along with one of Rose's best chef salads, and there was nothing else she needed to do until Lisa came back from lunch.

  "Hi, Hannah!" Jon Walker stepped into the coffee shop and took a seat at the counter. "Here's your prescription. Doc says you should take two right away and one more tonight before bed. From then on it'll be one pill, three times a day."

  "Thanks, Jon." Hannah took the white bag, stashed it behind the counter, and grabbed three of Jon's favorite Oatmeal Raisin Crisps. She placed them on a napkin and served them with a mug of hot, black coffee. "It's on the house. And thanks for the personal service."

  "No problem. The antibiotic Doc prescribed is expensive, but it should do the trick. I gave you a discount because I know your health insurance doesn't cover drugs."

  "How expensive was it?" Hannah asked, holding her breath. "She wasn't exactly broke this month, but there wasn't all that much left over in the budget, either. Moishe's shots and vet visit hadn't come cheap and his vitamins had been much more expensive than the human equivalent.

  "I put the invoice in the bag."

  Hannah took it out and gulped as she read the total. The little bottle of pills that Jon just delivered cost over eighty dollars! "

  "Sticker shock," Jon commented, looking sympathetic. "Ted Koester had that same look on his face."

  "Ted is taking these, too?"

  "That's right. And when he picked up the prescription he told everybody in the drugstore about it so I'm not breaking any confidences. He gashed his arm on a piece of metal at work last week. It probably would have been okay if he'd washed it out right after it happened, but he didn't and it got infected."

  "Poor Ted. Hold on a second, Jon. I'll get my purse and write you a check."

  A minute or two later, their business finished, Hannah perched on her stool while Jon sipped his coffee. "Are you decorating the drugstore for Halloween again?" she asked.

  "I've got the girls working on it right now. If I don't pop up behind the counter as the mad chemist stirring something that looks like slime in a beaker, the kids will be really disappointed."

  "They really get a kick out of seeing the business owners in costume. Lisa's carving pumpkins to put in our window."

  "What are you wearing for a costume?"

  "Lisa's going to be a black cat. She showed me the costume last week."

  "She's bound to look cute in something like that, but I asked about you."

  Hannah shook her head. "I'll stick to the kitchen. That way I won't have to come up with a costume. And if I have to come up front for any reason, I'll put on the same old sheet I used last year and be the Ghost of Cookies Past."

  "You're going to the community center for the party, aren't you?"

  "I wouldn't miss it. I'm going to take Tracey since Andrea has to stay home with her feet up."

  "The baby?"

  "Doc Knight's orders."

  "Are you bringing cookies for the party?"

  "Of course. Twenty dozen, just like always. The only problem is, I haven't decided which cookies to bring. I'd like to do something special for Halloween."

  "How about corn cookies? My mother made those for Halloween when we lived on the reservation."

  "Corn cookies?" Hannah was puzzled. She'd never heard of corn cookies, but she knew that corn was a basic ingredient in Native American cooking. Perhaps it was a tribal custom to bake cookies with corn in them for Halloween, but that seemed odd. Hannah was fairly sure that Halloween had no celebratory significance in American Indian culture.

  "What's the matter, Hannah? Haven't you ever heard of corn cookies?"

  "No, I haven't," Hannah said, wondering how to word the second half of her response. "Are they… uh… an old Indian recipe?"

  Jon threw back his head and laughed long and hard. Several people seated at the tables turned to stare at him, but he just laughed harder. When he had calmed down enough to speak again, he asked, "An old Indian recipe? I guess you're right, in a way. My mother's an old Indian."

  "I didn't mean that!" Hannah retorted, chuckling along with Jon. "But I really would like to know more about them. Are corn cookies ethnic, or tribal, or whatever's politically correct to say now?"

  Jon shrugged. "I really doubt it. As far as I know, my mother was the only woman on the reservation who baked them."

  "Did she use corn meal? Or canned corn?" Hannah asked. She was about to add cornflakes to her list of possibilities, but Jon was laughing so hard he wouldn't have heard her anyway.

  "None of the above. I'm not talking about real corn, Hannah. My mother made pumpkin cookies and decorated the tops with candy corn."

  Hannah climbed the stairs to her condo with resolve. She was determined to give Moishe his vitamin supplement. Several of her patrons had offered advice on medicating cats and a couple of techniques sounded as if they might work. First of all, she had to put on a heavy, long-sleeved shirt. Everyone agreed that this was important. She also had to wear gloves to guard against scratches and bites. Trudi Schmann thought that Hannah should tie Moishe up so that she could use both hands to medicate him. She'd even suggested duct-taping his feet together. That unhelpful hint had gone in one of Hannah's ears and out the other. Everyone knew that Trudi didn't like cats.<
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  Vern Kleinschmidt suggested tranquilizing Moishe so that giving him the vitamins would be easier. But the moment the suggestion left his mouth, he realized that there was no way to tranquilize Moishe without giving him a pill. And if Hannah had to hold him and give him a pill, she might as well give him the vitamins.

  Lisa came up with the best feline offensive, the one Hannah intended to use. She was going to wrap Moishe tightly in a large bath towel so he couldn't scratch, set him on her lap facing her, and hold him in place with her legs. Then she'd have both hands free and could use one to block his nose. Moishe would be forced to breathe through his mouth, and when he opened it, she'd squirt in the vitamins.

  "I'm home," Hannah called out as she unlocked the door to her condo, but no orange and white blur hurtled itself into her arms. Moishe must be keeping a low profile, perhaps because he felt guilty for scratching her this morning. "Moishe? Where are you, boy?"

  Hannah tossed her shoulder bag purse and her jacket on the chair by the door and started the search for her missing cat. With the exception of tipping the couch on end so that she could see beneath it, she explored every feline hiding place in the living room and came up with nothing.

  Hannah flicked on the kitchen light and checked the narrow space by the side of the refrigerator, the seats of the chairs that were pushed under the formica table, and the area behind the kitchen wastebasket. She even looked on top of the refrigerator, although he hadn't jumped up there in a while. Moishe wasn't in the kitchen.

  He wasn't in the laundry room, either. Or the guest bedroom. Hannah stepped into her bedroom and called out again. Moishe had to be here. There was no way he could have gotten out.

  She was about to go through the rooms again when she heard a pathetic mew. Then Moishe appeared, pulling himself out from under the bed. Hannah's heart plummeted to her toes when she saw him. Something was terribly wrong. Her poor kitty was trembling so hard he could barely move and he was crawling along on his belly.

  "Come here, sweetheart," Hannah crooned, reaching out to carefully gather him into her arms. She held him gingerly, fearing he might be injured, and set him on his favorite goose down pillow.