Blueberry Muffin Murder

by Joanne Fluke

  “I don’t know. But I was back out at the inn by ten-fifteen. I looked at my alarm clock right before I stuck it in my suitcase.”

  Hannah did a little mental arithmetic. Janie must have left The Cookie Jar around nine forty-five. “Did you lock the back door when you ran out?”

  “No, I just slammed it behind me. She was getting ready to throw your rolling pin and I didn’t want to get hit with that.”

  “I don’t blame you. That’s a heavy rolling pin. Did you see anyone else around when you drove away?”

  “No, but I was pretty upset. If someone was there, I might not have noticed. What happened to her, Hannah? Did she have a stroke or something?”

  “Something,” Hannah said, realizing that she had come to the point of no return. Janie had a right to know what had happened to her ex-boss, especially since she was a prime suspect. “She was murdered, Janie. Somebody bashed her head in.”

  Janie gasped sharply. Then she shivered and took a couple of deep breaths. “Tell me the truth, Hannah. Do they…do they think that I killed her?”

  “It didn’t look good when they couldn’t find you. They need to talk to you, Janie.”

  “Of course. Will they put me in jail?”

  “Over my dead body,” Hannah said, and that comment earned her a small grin. “I’ll take you out to the sheriff’s station and we can get your car later. Just tell them everything Connie Mac did and what you did, and everything will be all right.”

  “I’ll right. I’m scared, but I know I have to do it.”

  “Good girl. They might say you have to stay in Lake Eden until they solve the case. If they do, you can bunk in with me. I’ve got a guest room at my condo.”

  “Thanks, Hannah. But are you sure? I mean, I don’t want to go back to the inn, but what if I tell them everything and I’m still a suspect? You don’t want to…to share your place with a murder suspect, do you?”

  “Why not? Another one’s coming over tonight. It’s Norman Rhodes, and you can compare notes.” The words popped out before Hannah could think about them and she sighed contritely. “I’m sorry, Janie. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “I’m glad you did,” Janie said, and she ventured another smile. “I guess it can’t be too bad if you’re making jokes about it. On the other hand, you’d joke on your way to the guillotine.”

  “True. But just remember that you’re only staying in my guest room. I’m actually dating the other prime murder suspect.”

  Little Snowballs

  Preheat oven to 350ºF, with rack in the middle position

  1 ½ cups melted butter (3 sticks, ¾ pound)

  ¾ cup powdered sugar (that’s confectioner’s sugar)

  1 ½ teaspoons vanilla

  ½ teaspoon nutmeg (freshly ground is best)

  ½ teaspoon salt

  3 ½ cups flour (no need to sift)

  1 cup finely chopped nuts ***

  Melt the butter. Mix in the powered sugar, vanilla, nutmeg, and salt. Add the flour and mix thoroughly. Stir in the nuts. (If you work quickly, while the butter is still warm, the dough will be softer and easier to mix.)

  Form the dough into one-inch balls (just pat them into shape with your fingers), and place them on an UNGREASED baking sheet, 12 to a standard sheet. Bake them at 350ºF for 10 minutes, until they are set but not brown.

  Let the cookies cool for 2 minutes and then roll them in powdered sugar. (You must do this while they’re still warm.) Place them on a wire rack and let them cool thoroughly.

  When the cookies are cool, roll them in powdered sugar a second time. Let them rest for several minutes on the rack, and then store them in a cookie jar or a covered bowl.

  *** Mother likes these with chopped walnuts. Andrea prefers pecans. I think they’re best with hazelnuts. Tracey adores these when I substitute a cup of flaked coconut for the nuts and form the dough balls around a small piece of a milk chocolate bar or a couple of milk chocolate chips.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hannah glanced at her watch as she pulled into the parking lot at the community center. Only an hour had passed since she’d driven Janie out to the sheriff’s station and let Mike and Bill know, in no uncertain terms, that they’d better treat her with kid gloves. Once she’d made sure that Janie was all right, she’d driven into town and stopped at all the winter sports venues to drop off the cookies that Lisa and Alex had baked. Now the only thing she had left to do was to present Edna with the little snowballs for tonight’s dessert.

  The sky was leaden gray as Hannah walked across the parking lot and entered the lobby of the community center. The table where Connie Mac had planned to sign her books was deserted, and Hannah wondered what Marge Beeseman would do with two hundred copies of Sweets For Your Sweetie. A few people would buy them simply to support the library, but the huge crowd that Marge had expected wouldn’t show up without a celebrity to sign them.

  Hannah sighed as she trudged down the stairs to the banquet room, carrying her heavy box of cookies. She had to hold it to the side so that she could see the stairs. If she tripped and fell, Edna’s dessert would go rolling down the green carpet like miniature cue balls on a pool table.

  “Edna?” she called out as she entered the banquet room. She could tell that Edna had been busy, because all the tables were set and there was the tempting aroma of freshly baked bread in the air. “I’m here with the dessert.”

  Edna rushed out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Even though she was smiling, she looked tired and out of sorts, and Hannah suspected that baking all those crescent rolls had robbed her of a good night’s sleep.

  “You baked the cake?” Edna asked, motioning for Hannah to set the box down on an empty table.

  “No, but I’ve got something just as good.” Hannah opened the box and lifted out one of the crystal buckets filled with cookies. “These are called Little Snowballs and they’re my Grandma Ingrid’s recipe.”

  Edna’s smile grew wider and she nodded so hard, her tightly curled gray hair bounced. “They’re just perfect, Hannah. We can set one on each table and let everyone help themselves.”

  “You look tired,” Hannah commented, noticing the dark circles under Edna’s eyes. “Are you going to be all right?”

  “’Course I am, now that you’re here. Baking all those rolls was a lot of work, and I don’t know how I would’ve managed dessert. Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but if I’d known that that woman would wind up dead, I never would have made all those changes to the menu.”

  Hannah grinned. “I take it you’re not too upset about the Cooking Sweetheart’s demise?”

  “Some sweetheart!” Edna snorted. “Just look at these things her people delivered for the banquet.”

  Hannah glanced over at one of the tables and took in the array of bone china, lace tablecloths, and silver. “It’s pretty.”

  “Pretty useless, if you ask me. We can’t afford to have those lace tablecloths dry-cleaned, and if you try to wash ’em, they’ll fall apart. The silver’s got to be polished every time you use it, and that china can’t go in the dishwasher. And if that’s not enough, just look at these!”

  At first Hannah couldn’t see what was wrong with the dried flowers in ceramic baskets, but as she looked closely she realized that every basket had “Connie Mac’s Kitchen Boutique” written on the side.

  “They’re just advertising for her new store,” Edna sniffed, “and you can’t clean those dried flowers when they get dusty. If she’d really wanted to give the community center a gift, she should have picked something we could really use.”

  Hannah knew. Edna had a point. The things that Connie Mac had chosen were impractical for a community kitchen.

  “I was boiling mad when I unpacked those boxes,” Edna declared, “especially since she built it all up as something wonderful. All I could think about was finding her and wringing her neck!”

  Hannah’s mind went into overdrive. Edna had a temper, and she’d been sorely tested by Connie
Mac. First there was the generous gift that Connie Mac had promised that turned out to be more trouble than it was worth, and then there were the changes she’d made to Edna’s menu. Was it possible that Edna’s temper had gotten the best of her?

  “Uh…Edna?” Hannah knew she was treading on eggshells, but she had to ask. “What time did you leave here last night?”

  Edna gave a short laugh. “Before you start getting all suspicious, I’ve got an alibi. Right after she ordered me to bake all those rolls, I called my sister at the farm. Hattie drove in to help me and she stayed over at my place last night.”

  “I’m sorry, Edna.” Hannah backed off. “I didn’t mean to imply that I thought you killed her.”

  “That’s okay. I might have, if she’d come waltzing in here while I was punching down that dough last night!”

  Hannah glanced at her watch. “I’ve got a spare hour. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

  “Nope. Everything’s all done. The minute I heard that she was dead, I decided not to make that fancy molded appetizer she wanted to have. Not many people around here like liver anyway. I’m serving cheese and crackers, just like it says on my original menu.”

  “Hannah?” Marge Beeseman yoo-hooed her from the door of the library as she passed by. “Come in for a minute. You have to see what this wonderful young man brought me!”

  Hannah stepped into the library and smiled at the young man who was standing next to Marge. He was blond, handsome, and about ten years too young for her.

  “This is Kurt Howe,” Marge said. “And Kurt? This is Hannah Swensen. She owns The Cookie Jar and she bakes the best cookies in the world.”

  “Glad to meet you.” Hannah shook his hand when he extended it. She knew that Kurt Howe was the publisher’s representative who’d had the fight with Connie Mac. “You must have done something special. Marge doesn’t call just anyone wonderful.”

  Kurt shook his head. “All I did was bring her some signed copies of Sweets For Your Sweetie.”

  “Two hundred of them,” Marge pointed at the cartons of books that were stacked near the door. “We’re doing an exchange. I’m going to sell the ones that Connie Mac pre-signed.”

  Hannah turned to Kurt. “That was very nice of you.”

  “It was more than nice,” Marge corrected her. “Now that Connie Mac is, uh…no longer with us, they’ll be instant collector’s items. I’m going to sit at that table in the lobby and sell them to the people who come in for the banquet. As a matter of fact, I’ve got to get started setting up. You’ll excuse me, won’t you?”

  Hannah found herself on the horns of a moral dilemma once Marge had left. She was dying to ask Kurt about the fight, but she’d promised Mike not to question any of the Connie Mac people at the inn. Of course, she wasn’t at the inn; she was in the library, and this opportunity was too good to pass up.

  “I’m sorry about Connie Mac,” Hannah said, easing her way into the subject. “I guess Sweets For Your Sweetie will be the last of her cookbooks.”

  Kurt shook his head. “Actually, no. Savory Press has at least three more in the works.”

  “You mean they’re all written and ready to go?”

  “Not exactly. It’s like this, Miss Swensen…All the recipes in Mrs. MacIntyre’s cookbooks come directly from her television shows. We just transcribe them from the tapes and put in some of the personal comments she makes.”

  “But her show is over now, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but there’s a large backlog of segments that haven’t aired yet. And then there’ll be reruns. There’s plenty of material for at least three more cookbooks, maybe four.”

  “I see,” Hannah said, filing that information away for future reference. Right now she had more important fish to fry. “Would you mind telling me where you were last night?”

  Kurt’s smile disappeared and his expression grew guarded. “I was in my room. Why do you want to know? Are you from the police?”

  “No.” Hannah decided she’d already jumped in with both feet and she might as well get thoroughly wet. “I’m asking for a friend who might be charged with Connie Mac’s murder. I think she’s your friend, too. Janie Burkholtz?”

  “The police think Janie murdered Mrs. MacIntyre?” Kurt looked shocked.

  “Yes, and unless Janie can clear herself, she’s in big trouble. I just thought you might have seen her last night when she came back to the inn. I’m trying to establish an alibi for her.”

  Kurt’s guarded expression disappeared. “I’d like to help Janie, but the last time I saw her was in the late afternoon. Our rooms are right next to each other, and I saw her leaving. Janie told me that Mrs. MacIntyre was having her portrait taken and she had to follow the limo to town.”

  “Your room is right next to Janie’s?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you were in your room last night?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Didn’t you hear Janie when she came back to pack up her things?”

  “No.”

  Hannah was puzzled. “But you must have heard something. Dresser drawers slamming, hangers rattling, suitcases bumping on the floor…”

  “Uh…” Kurt began to look nervous. “Look, Miss Swensen. I was in my room last night, but I left around nine. I drove to Minneapolis to meet a friend, and I stayed overnight.”

  “Can your friend vouch for you?”

  “Yes, but I don’t want to bring my friend into it. If my boss finds out where I was last night, he’ll fire me.”

  Hannah took one look at the stubborn set of Kurt’s chin and decided it was time to play hardball. “The way I see it, you’re in a lose-lose situation here. I know about the fight you had with Connie Mac and how she threatened to call your boss in the morning to have you fired. If I tell the police about that and I also tell them that you weren’t in your room past nine last night, you’ll be a murder suspect. How long do you think your job will last when you’re suspected of killing Savory’s biggest celebrity author?”

  “I…I didn’t think about that.” Kurt’s face turned pale.

  “It doesn’t have to be as bad as it sounds,” Hannah told him. “I’m the only one who knows you weren’t in your room last night, and I won’t tell as long as you get your alibi to vouch for you. My lips are sealed if your story checks out.”

  “Okay.” Kurt gave a resigned sigh. “I spent the night with Marcia, and her father owns Savory Press. She works there part-time, and he’s death on intraoffice romance. He told Marcia that if she dated anyone on his staff, he’d fire the guy and send her off to finish college in Alaska.”

  Hannah whistled softly. “You do have a problem. Just get Marcia on the phone and let me talk to her. If she says that you were with her all night, I’ll forget everything you told me.”

  Five minutes later, Hannah had all the information she needed. After assuring Marcia that she wouldn’t blow the whistle on them, she hung up Kurt’s cell phone and handed it back to him. “You’re in the clear. But just to satisfy my curiosity, why was Connie Mac so mad at you?”

  “I guess it can’t hurt to tell you.” Kurt hesitated and Hannah noticed that he looked highly embarrassed. “I refused to sleep with her.”

  Hannah could feel her mouth drop open, and she closed it before she looked like the village idiot.

  “The last guy who had my job warned me that Mrs. MacIntyre was sleeping around, but I thought that was just a rumor. And then she came on to me.”

  “What did you do?”

  “What could I do? I love Marcia and there’s no way I’d cheat on her, not even to keep my job. I tried to be diplomatic, but Mrs. MacIntyre didn’t buy it. Right before she stomped off, she said she was going to call Marcia’s father in the morning and have me fired.”

  “And that’s why you drove to Minneapolis to see Marcia?”

  “Marcia was wonderful about it. We decided that when the ax fell, we’d elope. She was willing to put college on hold so we could both w
ork until I got established with another publishing firm.”

  “When did you find out that Connie Mac was dead?”

  “Not until this morning. I drove back here early and got a couple hours of sleep. When I went down to breakfast, everybody was talking about it.”

  “Do you have any idea who killed her?”

  Kurt shrugged. “Not really. Mrs. MacIntyre got to the top by climbing over a lot of other people. It could have been anybody she stepped on over the years.”

  Hannah thanked Kurt, assured him again that she wouldn’t tell anyone about Marcia, and walked back out to her truck. It was only four-thirty in the afternoon, but night was falling and she switched on her headlights as she drove home to her condo. She’d eliminated some of her suspects without technically breaking her promise to Mike, but there were still a whole lot to go.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When Hannah inserted her key in her condo door, she heard an irate yowl from inside. She immediately went into defense mode, dropping her shoulder bag so she wouldn’t be encumbered, and zipping her parka all the way up to her chin. Then she opened the door and held out her arms to receive the twenty-three-pound bundle of orange and white fur that hurtled itself at her chest.

  “Hi, Moishe. Did you miss me?” Hannah cuddled him a moment before she dragged in her purse and shut the door. “What’s the matter?”

  Hannah figured that one of two things could have happened to upset her feline companion. Either his food bowl was empty again, or her mother had called. The moment Hannah set Moishe down, he led her directly into the kitchen, his tail flicking impatiently. There she discovered that it was two out of two. His food bowl was empty and the little red light on her answer phone was blinking.

  “Okay, hold on a second.” Hannah shrugged out of her parka and draped it over one of her kitchen chairs. She headed straight for the cupboard where she kept Moishe’s food and unlocked it. When Moishe had first come to live with her, Hannah had been a big believer in what her vet called “free food.” She’d made it her mission to keep the food bowl stocked so that Moishe wouldn’t panic every time he saw a patch of white ceramic at the bottom. Her intentions had been good, but Moishe’s table manners left a lot to be desired and he’d carried her “free food” program to the extreme when he’d learned how to open the cupboard door and help himself to the twenty-pound mother lode she kept in her broom closet. A few months ago, Hannah had decided that she’d swept up enough pilfered fish-shaped kitty crunchies to last her a lifetime, and she’d installed a hook and eye high up on her broom closet door.