Fudge Cupcake Murder hsm-5

by Joanne Fluke

  Stir in the can of sweetened condensed milk and cook approximately two minutes, stirring constantly, until the frosting is shiny and of spreading consistency.

  Spread on cupcakes, making sure to fill in the "frosting pocket."

  Give the frosting pan to your favorite person to scrape.

  These cupcakes are even better if you cool them, cover them, and let them sit for several hours before frosting them.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Hannah stared out the window at the highway in the distance and tapped her fingers against the counter. It was almost six-thirty and Ted still wasn't here. There also hadn't been any sign of his transport and Hannah was beginning to wish she hadn't volunteered to take Beatrice's place.

  It was cold in the trailer and Hannah pulled her bomber jacket a little closer around her shoulders. Perhaps she should have taken Beatrice up on her offer to plug in the heater. It was going to be a cold night. The moment the sun had gone down, the wind had picked up in velocity. By now it was just about as fierce as a fall wind could get.

  Gusting winds rattled the metal walls of the trailer and sent dead leaves skittering under the hulks of wrecked cars like thousands of miniature mechanics, trying to fix the impossible. At least it was a lot warmer inside than it was outside. When Hannah had dashed out to her truck to get her jacket and try the cigarette lighter in the hole in her dash, she thought she'd smelled a hint of snow in the air.

  Hannah's Grandma Ingrid always claimed she could smell snow coming, and attempted to teach Hannah how to do it. Hannah had memories of sitting in a porch swing on the Swensen family farm, wrapped up in a warm quilt with her grandmother, so they could smell the freezing air. There had been a barely detectible odor. Hannah had smelled it. When she'd asked what it was, Grandma Ingrid couldn't identify it by name, but she'd insisted that whenever Hannah smelled that scent on the wind, it was going to snow.

  Bright lights flashed as a vehicle turned off the highway. Hannah watched, her expectations high, as it came down the access road toward the scrap yard. As it approached the gates, Hannah could see that it was the kind of truck used to haul cars. She zipped up her bomber jacket and headed out the door to greet the driver. The transport was here at last.

  The driver gave her a wave and proceeded to unload the cars, exactly as Beatrice had said he would. Hannah stood at the window and watched him do it, smiling at the ease with which he backed the big truck down the narrow road that led to the dismantling shed. But when the driver began to unload the cars, her smile turned to a puzzled frown. She was certainly no expert, but they looked much too nice to be sold as scrap and dismantled. There must be something seriously wrong with each of them that wasn't immediately apparent to the casual observer.

  Once he'd finished, the driver climbed back into his rig and drove up to the trailer again. Hannah walked out to the driver's window, signed her name to the receipt he had on his clipboard, and took the bill of lading he handed her.

  "Gonna be a cold one tonight," the driver said.

  "Sure seems like it," Hannah answered.

  "New here?" the driver asked, staring at her hard, as if to memorize her features. "I talked to Ted this morning and he said he'd be here."

  "He had to go out on a tow, and I'm just filling in for his wife. She had a family emergency."

  "Okay," the driver said, giving her a half salute before he rolled up his window. Then he put his truck into gear and pulled forward, heading for the gates.

  Hannah watched his taillights until he'd navigated the access road and turned back onto the highway. Then she carried the bill of lading into the trailer and found the clipboard Beatrice had placed on the counter. She was just about to clip it on when she happened to notice the list under it.

  It had to be from the man in Minneapolis. Hannah ran her finger down the neat column of typing and counted the items. Ted's customer must own a chain of repair shops. There was no way one shop could use all these parts in a week.

  Hannah glanced at the top of the fax and began to frown. It had been sent from Words, Etc., a company that placed kiosks in malls so that customers could have faxes sent, copies made, and computer disks printed. But wouldn't a large chain of repair shops have at least one with a fax machine? Hannah stared down at the list of parts again and compared it to the receipt for the cars the transport driver had delivered. Every one of the items on the car parts order could be obtained by dismantling the cars that looked too good to be sold as salvage.

  The pieces of Sheriff Grant's murder puzzle began to turn and jostle for position in Hannah's mind. It was possible that Ted had bought these cars from other junkyards, but she was still disturbed by their like-new condition. What if there was nothing wrong with them? What if the cars had been stolen to fill the order from the man in Minneapolis? And what if Ted and Beatrice's newfound prosperity came from running a chop shop for stolen cars?

  Hannah glanced at the receipt again. It listed the cars as salvage, but didn't you need a pink slip to sell a junk car? The driver hadn't handed her any of those. She zipped up her bomber jacket again and ran out to check, but the glove compartments in all four cars were as empty as the interiors. Was she right about the pink slips? Hannah wasn't a hundred percent sure, but it was too late to call the D.M.V. today and she didn't want to wait until Monday morning.

  The moment Hannah thought of it, she picked up the phone and dialed Eleanor Cox's number. Eleanor had been the head clerk at the D.M.V. for almost twenty years before she retired, and she was bound to know the answer.

  "Hi, Eleanor," Hannah said when her call was answered, thanking her lucky stars that Eleanor was home.

  "Hi, Hannah. What's on your mind?"

  "I need to ask you a D.M.V. question. Does a person need a pink slip to sell a car for junk?"

  "Is something wrong with your cookie truck that you're thinking of selling it for junk?"

  "No, nothing's wrong. The question just came up, that's all. Do you know?"

  "Of course I know. I didn't sit behind that counter at the D.M.V. for twenty years for nothing. Yes, you need a valid pink slip to prove ownership. The slip must be signed over to whoever takes possession of the vehicle, whether it's a used car lot, a private party, a donation to charity, or a salvage yard."

  "How about if one salvage yard sells the car to another salvage yard?"

  "The pink slip stipulations still apply," Eleanor said, sounding very official. "The vehicle cannot legally change hands without the pink slip."

  "Thanks, Eleanor. You've been really…”

  "It's not really pink, you know," Eleanor interrupted Hannah's comment. "Everybody always says that, but pink slips haven't been pink for years. But that's neither here nor there. It's downright creepy, Hannah."

  "What's creepy?"

  "It's just that Sheriff Grant called me on the day he was killed and asked me the very same questions."

  Somehow Hannah managed to say goodbye and get off the phone. The pieces of the puzzle surrounding Sheriff Grant's death were spinning around a lot faster now. Car parts in Sheriff Grant's home office. The fact the sheriff hid Lonnie's stolen car report in his briefcase. Sheriff Grant's call to Eleanor to ask about the pink slips. All this made Hannah certain that the sheriff had been down the road she was traveling, the very same road that had led to his death. But who had killed him? The driver of the stolen car transport? The man in Minneapolis? Ted?!

  Hannah gasped as another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Barbara Donnelly had told her that Ted had been wearing coveralls when he picked up Leah and Krista from dance class. What if Ted had used his coveralls to hide clothing splattered with Sheriff Grant's blood? And what about that scratch on his arm? Had he done it here at the salvage yard, or had he injured it on the lid of the Dumpster as he'd tumbled Sheriff Grant inside?

  With her heart beating much faster than its normal rate, Hannah let the sheriff's murder play out in her mind. Sheriff Grant had spotted Ted as he pulled into the school parking lot
in his work truck. Before Ted could switch to Beatrice's sedan and leave to pick up the girls, Sheriff Grant had asked him some tough questions. Ted put two and two together and realized that Sheriff Grant had discovered his stolen car ring. Ted knew that he was about to be arrested and he refused to go down without a fight. He resisted, getting in a lucky swing with something hard enough to break Sheriff Grant's skull, something he had with him in his truck like… a tire iron.

  Hannah glanced out at Ted's work truck, which was parked right next to the trailer. Perhaps the murder weapon was still in there. It wouldn't take long to get his tire iron. Even if Ted had washed it off, it could still have trace amounts of Sheriff Grant's blood. She could take it out to the sheriff's office when she delivered Bill's taillight and they could test it.

  In less than a minute, Hannah was back with the tire iron in hand. She supposed she should take it out and hide it in her truck, but the wind was gusting with a vengeance now and she was freezing. There was no reason why she couldn't hide it in plain sight. When Ted came back, she'd just buy it and he'd never suspect that it hadn't come from the big bin of tire irons in his parts shed.

  Hannah put the tire iron on the counter, slid onto the stool she'd so recently vacated, and thought about the murder again. If Ted had scratched his hand while he was tumbling Sheriff Grant's body in the Dumpster, all Mike and Bill needed was a blood sample and they could match it to the blood they'd found.

  Feeling much better now that she had two possible pieces of evidence, Hannah went back to her scenario. It all made sense, but something was missing. She thought about the information that everyone had given her and remembered the stain on Krista's dress. What if the stain wasn't rust? What if it was Sheriff Grant's blood, smeared inside the truck by Ted when he was in the process of slipping on his coveralls?

  Suddenly Hannah had a frightening thought. If Clara and Marguerite Hollenbeck came back early, they might remove the stain from Krista's dress. She had to call and tell them not to touch what could be important evidence. Hannah picked up the phone, dialed their number, and breathed a sigh of relief when their answer machine kicked in. They weren't back yet. She'd leave a message telling them not to touch Krista's dress.

  The two sisters had recorded a lengthy outgoing message and Hannah listened to more about Clara and Marguerite's schedules than she needed or wanted to know. She was just waiting for the beep to record her message when she heard a roar outside the window and looked up to see Ted Koester's tow truck pulling up in front of the trailer.

  Hannah hung up the phone, waved at Ted, and plastered a smile on her face. It was a good thing he couldn't read her mind! All she had to do was explain where Beatrice was, tell him she'd taken his delivery, offer him a cupcake, pay for the tire iron, and get out.

  "Hi, Hannah." Ted stepped inside the trailer, looking puzzled. "Where's Beatrice?"

  "She had to go repair Leah's dance costume. I said I'd stay until you got here. Your delivery came. I signed for it and put the paper on the clipboard the way Beatrice told me to do."

  "Thanks." Ted eyed the white bag on the counter. "What's that?"

  "Cupcakes. I think I've got your mother's recipe figured out. Taste one and see."

  Ted took a cupcake out of the bag and tasted it. He took another bite and then another. "You got it. What was the secret ingredient that Beatrice was grousing about the other night?"

  "Raspberry syrup."

  "I'll be!" Ted looked utterly amazed. "I never would have guessed that. So now the recipe will go in the cookbook?"

  "Definitely."

  "Glad to hear it. It serves my mother right for refusing to give anybody else the recipe. Did Beatrice tell you about that?"

  Hannah nodded, wondering about the best way to excuse herself and get out with the evidence.

  "Every time she came to visit, she said she forgot it. And then she promised to mail it to Beatrice, but she never did. Now everybody that reads the cookbook can have it. It serves her right."

  Hannah swallowed hard. She'd never heard Ted do anything but praise his mother before. He wasn't acting like himself tonight and she should leave. "I need to pay for this tire iron and get out of here, Ted. I promised to take Tracey to the Haunted Basement and I'm late already."

  "Okay. Leave those cupcakes here and I won't charge you for the tire iron."

  "It's a deal," Hannah said, reaching for the tire iron at the same time Ted did.

  "Hold on a second." Ted grabbed it first and reached for a bag. "It might be dirty."

  Hannah watched as Ted flipped open a bag. He started to slide the tire iron inside, but he stopped and began to frown. "Where did you get this?"

  "Uh… Beatrice found it for me. I got a taillight and a cigarette lighter too, but I already paid for those."

  "Where did she get it?"

  Hannah shrugged and did her best to look completely clueless. "From the parts building, I guess. I was busy picking out the cigarette lighter."

  "No, she didn't. She got it from my work truck."

  "How can you tell?" Hannah asked, trying to appear genuinely puzzled. "Don't all tire irons look alike?"

  "This one's longer and heavier. It came from an old motor home and they knew how to make them back then. I need it because it's got better leverage and it's easier on my back. I just don't understand why Beatrice would sell it to…”

  Hannah blanched as Ted stopped speaking and stared at her, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. Then he picked up the tire iron and began to whack the end of it against his palm. This wasn't good. Ted knew she'd been in his work truck and he also knew why she'd taken his tire iron. Trying to talk her way out of trouble hadn't worked and she'd run out of both time and options.

  "Beatrice didn't get this for you. You got it yourself." Ted's voice was filled with menace. "And there's only one reason you'd want…"

  Hannah didn't stick around to hear the rest of Ted's reasoning. She just whirled around, pulled open the door, and ran for her life.

  Chapter Thirty

  The darkness folded around her like a welcoming blanket as Hannah raced across the uneven ground, heading straight toward her cookie truck. The advantage of surprise worked in her favor and she made it all the way there before she realized that she'd grabbed the bag of cupcakes, but she'd left her keys on the counter.

  Her cookie truck sat adjacent to an area filled with disabled vehicles. Hannah whirled and ran with the wind at her back, across the dirt road that divided the salvage yard in half and straight into the darker area where the disabled vehicles were parked. Since there weren't as many lights in this area, there was less chance that Ted would spot her. Hannah ducked down and zigzagged past the hulking wrecks, heading toward the car at the very end, an old Cadillac with peeling paint and a cracked windshield. The door was a bit rusted, but Hannah's frantic jerk on the handle did the trick. In a flash, Hannah was inside the back seat, huddled on the floorboards, with the door shut tightly behind her.

  For long moments Hannah didn't breathe, but all she could hear was the howling wind outside the car and the thudding of her own panicked heart. If Ted hadn't spotted her, she might be safe. He'd have to search every vehicle on his lot if he wanted to find her and while he was searching, she'd take a clandestine hike down the access road in the dark and catch a ride back to town.

  Cautiously, Hannah took a peek out the back window, but she didn't see Ted. Should she attempt to run for freedom now? Or was he out there somewhere, his eyes scanning the rows of junked cars, hoping that was what she'd do? If only she had a cell phone! Her former objections seemed petty compared to the advantages in a situation like hers! They ought to issue them like pillows on an overseas flight. Anyone who jumped on-board a murder investigation would get one.

  Even though the suspense was killing her and her muscles were screaming for action, Hannah decided to wait and listen. Since the cars were parked on gravel, she'd hear Ted's footsteps long before he arrived at her hiding place. She hunkered down on the floorbo
ards, barely daring to breathe, listening for Ted over the sound of the wind and the occasional far-away honk of a car on the highway.

  Was Ted still out there looking for her? Or was this an exercise in futility? Perhaps he had realized that it would take hours to find her and given it up as a bad job. His first priority would be to avoid arrest. It was possible that he was miles away by now, fleeing Winnetka County and the State of Minnesota in the fastest car he had on his lot.

  Hannah reached for the door handle, but she pulled her hand back before she touched it. It was smart to be cautious. She'd count to a thousand and if she hadn't heard anything by then, she'd inch open the door and make a run for it.

  Counting in the dark, her face pressed to a dusty floor mat, was a trial of the patience Hannah didn't possess. She got to a hundred quite easily, and to two hundred with a bit more effort. Three hundred was a struggle and four hundred a real battle. Five hundred was iffy, but she made it. And six hundred was even iffier. Seven hundred was achieved through sheer force of will, the eight hundred mark bespoke endurance she'd only dreamed of in the past, and nine hundred was a milestone of both determination and fortitude. Hannah had reached nine hundred and thirty-two and she was beginning to think she'd make it all the way to the goal that had seemed so unreachable only minutes ago, when she heard a loud roar. And then something hit the Cadillac so hard, her whole body bounced up from the floorboards and smacked down again.

  Hannah curled up in a ball, dizzy and disorientated. She didn't seem to be injured, but it had felt exactly as if another car had smacked into the Cadillac at highway speeds. When she recovered her equilibrium, she realized that something else was wrong. The Cadillac was rocking back and forth. When at least thirty seconds had passed and the rocking had failed to stop, Hannah risked a quick peek out the back window.

  "Ohhh!" Hannah moaned, her mouth dropping open in total shock. The Cadillac was no longer sitting on terra firma!