Blueberry Muffin Murder

by Joanne Fluke

  “Of course not,” Hannah told her, silently thanking Janie for saving her from that particular blunder.

  “Good. You really ought to wear it again, Hannah. It’s still fashionable and it looks wonderful on you.”

  Hannah nodded and decided to change the subject, since the hat in question was as flat as a pancake. “If you don’t mind, I thought I’d put one of my Cookie Jar aprons on our snow-woman.”

  “That’s a good idea. It never hurts to advertise.” Andrea turned to Tracey, who was digging through the second shopping bag. “Did you find anything you like, honey?”

  Tracey held up a long rope of fake pearls. “I like these, Mommy. Now I’m looking for earrings to match.”

  “There aren’t any,” Hannah told her, walking over to glance at the contents of the bag. “But that’s okay, because our snow-woman doesn’t have ears. I think there’s a pair of big sunglasses in the bottom. They’re from a store display and they ought to fit her.”

  By the time the final whistle blew, their snow-woman was dressed and ready. The three of them walked over to the sidelines to chat with Janie, Lisa, and Jack Herman while the judges were deliberating.

  “Do you think we’ll win, Aunt Hannah?” Tracey asked her.

  “I don’t know, but we made a good snow-woman. I think she’s just perfect.”

  “So do I.” Tracey gave a little sigh. “I wish we could keep her, but I know we can’t. She’ll melt down into a puddle and go belly-up.”

  Andrea overheard her daughter’s comment and her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Belly-up?”

  “That’s what fish do when they die. We have guppies at school, and every time one goes belly-up, we tell Miss Cox and we get to have a fish funeral. Miss Cox says they go to the great fish tank in the sky, but they don’t.”

  “They don’t?”

  “No. She just flushes them down the toilet after everybody leaves. I forgot my sweater once and when I went back to get it, I caught her.”

  Hannah felt an instant rush of sympathy for Janice Cox, who’d had to explain that to Tracey. “What did Miss Cox say?”

  “She didn’t know I saw. I just picked up my sweater and sneaked back out. And I didn’t tell the other kids, either.”

  “Because you thought it might upset them?” Andrea asked.

  “No. The fish funerals are fun and I want to keep on having them. We even sing a special song.”

  “I see,” Hannah said, wondering what type of song they sang. A range of possibilities occurred to her. Nearer My Cod To Thee? O Sole A Mio? If you knew Sushi like I know Sushi?

  “Why are you grinning, Aunt Hannah?”

  “Oh…uh…I think the judges are finished.” Hannah breathed a sigh of relief as the head judge walked up to the podium, where a microphone had been rigged. “Here we go, Tracey.”

  The judge announced the winner. It was Calvin Janowski and his family, and Hannah turned to her niece. She hoped that Tracey wouldn’t be too disappointed.

  “Don’t be sad, Aunt Hannah,” Tracey told her, before Hannah had decided which comforting phrase to use. “I wanted to win, but Calvin’s snowman was really good.”

  “Okay,” Hannah said, much relieved. Tracey had the right attitude.

  A moment later the second place winner was announced, and Tracey let out an excited squeal. “We won, too!”

  This was not the time to explain the difference between first place and second place, and Hannah just reached out to hug her. Then Andrea got into the act, and eventually all of them shared a group hug. Since Tracey was helping Delores with the tours again and spending the night with her grandma, Hannah made arrangements to meet her sister at the ice-fishing venue at Eden Lake, said her goodbyes to Lisa and her father, and set off with Janie for the trip back out to the inn.

  “Aren’t you coming in?” Janie asked as Hannah pulled up in front of the entrance to the inn.

  Hannah shook her head. “Not right away. I have to drive down to the lake to take Mrs. Baxter some Short Stack Cookies.”

  “What are those?”

  Hannah retrieved a small bag of cookies from the back of the truck and handed them to Janie. “Try them and see. These are seconds. They’re a little lopsided.”

  “Thanks.” Janie took out a cookie and sampled it. And then she turned to Hannah in amazement. “They taste just like pancakes with butter and maple syrup on the top! You really ought to write a cookbook, Hannah. You’ve got some wonderful recipes.”

  Once Janie had gone inside with her bag of cookies, Hannah drove down the circular driveway and took the access road to the lake. The snow at the shoreline had been plowed to create a temporary parking lot, and it was chock full of cars.

  Hannah trolled the rows of cars for several minutes, but not a single parking spot was unoccupied. Since she had a four-wheel-drive vehicle, Hannah decided to make her own spot and she gunned the gas, mounted the icy bank of snow the plow had left, and parked at the back of the warm-up tent. Then she grabbed several boxes of cookies, hopped out of her truck, and hurried around the side of the tent to deliver the goods.

  Mrs. Baxter was working at the end of the long counter in the warm-up tent, filling large foam cups with coffee and handing them to one of her students, a pretty brunette who was dressed in a fuzzy yellow sweater. The girl was clamping lids on the cups and setting them in a large, flat box.

  “Hi, Mrs. Baxter.” Hannah greeted her formally since there was a student present, and set her stack of boxes on the counter. “How’s your cookie supply holding out?”

  Pam Baxter turned to smile at Hannah. One of the younger members of Jordan High’s faculty, and married to the shop teacher, she’d been nominated for best teacher two years running. “You got here just in time, Hannah. We’re almost out.”

  “I’ve got more cookies in the truck. I’ll go get them.”

  “You’ve done enough,” Pam said, handing Hannah a cup of hot coffee and turning to her student. “Renee?”

  The girl in the yellow sweater nodded. “We’ll get them, Mrs. Baxter.”

  Once Renee had left with two of the other girls, Pam turned to Hannah. “I’ve got a problem. Mayor Bascomb said we could use his snowmobile to deliver coffee and cookies, but I don’t know how to drive it. Keith Hauge said he’d do it, but he ran up to the inn to call Shelly Merkeson, and I don’t think he’ll be back in time.”

  “Do you want me to go up and get him for you?”

  Pam shook her head. “I’m not sure I want him driving in his condition.”

  Hannah was surprised. As far as she knew, Keith was about as squeaky-clean as they came. “He’s been drinking?”

  “Heavens, no! It’s just that he had a fight with Shelly last night and now he’s apologizing to her. And from what Renee tells me, it’s going to take a while before she lets him off the hook. Do you know anything about snowmobiles?”

  “Sure. My father had one and we used to go out every weekend in the winter.”

  “Have you ever driven one?”

  “A couple of times,” Hannah said, remembering the rare occasions when her father had held her on his lap and let her steer.

  “I’m really glad to hear that. Do you think that you could drive Mayor Bascomb’s snowmobile for us?”

  “I don’t know why not.” Hannah agreed with a smile. She’d be very careful starting out, until she got the hang of it. Once she got the mechanics down, it should be a snap.

  “That’s great!” Pam looked very relieved. “I’ll have a couple of the girls load it up and you can get going.”

  “Okay. Where am I going?”

  “Out to the ice-fishing houses. I promised to deliver hot coffee and cookies to all the contestants, and I’m already ten minutes behind schedule.”

  Hannah continued to smile, but she knew it was slipping. “You mean you want me to drive it out on the ice?”

  “Yes. Can you do it?”

  “Absolutely,” Hannah promised, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. S
he’d assumed she’d be delivering coffee and cookies to the crowd that lined the lakeshore.

  “There’s no black ice,” Pam assured her. “Keith Hauge checked it out when he drove Mayor Bascomb’s snowmobile back to shore.”

  Hannah’s smile slipped even further. Anyone who’d grown up in Minnesota knew that black ice was thinner. But how could you spot black ice if it was covered with a blanket of snow?

  “Are you sure you can do it, Hannah?”

  “Positive,” Hannah responded, setting her smile on straight. “Let’s load it up and I’ll get going.”

  Hannah watched as Mrs. Baxter’s girls loaded the sled that was hitched behind the snowmobile. It was outfitted with an insulated box, and they packed it carefully with bags of cookies and containers of coffee. She was just settling down on the driver’s seat, hoping she wouldn’t make a fool of herself, when she spotted Andrea running toward her. Her sister had changed clothes since the snowman contest. Now Andrea was wearing a cherry red parka coat and a pair of matching moon boots.

  Andrea arrived a bit breathless. “What are you doing on Mayor Bascomb’s snowmobile?”

  “I’m driving it out to deliver coffee and cookies to the contestants.”

  “That sounds like fun. I’m sorry I’m late. I stopped by the office to pick up my other coat. You were right. I was freezing.”

  Hannah gave her a smile of approval. “Good. I’ve got to get going. Why don’t you wait in the warm-up tent until I get back?”

  “No, I’ll go with,” Andrea said, climbing into the passenger seat. “I’ve never been inside an ice-fishing house before.”

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  Hannah glanced back at Mrs. Baxter’s girls. They were within earshot, and she wasn’t about to admit that she’d never driven a snowmobile before. “Because it could be a bumpy ride.”

  “You’re crazy. The lake’s as smooth as glass.” Andrea grabbed the strap and buckled herself in. Then she leaned over and whispered, “I know you think I’m pregnant, but I’m not. And if you wait much longer, that coffee’s going to get cold.”

  Hannah knew that she wasn’t the only sister to inherit the Swensen stubborn streak. Once Andrea had dug in her heels, that was that.

  “Are we going, or what?”

  “We’re going,” Hannah said with a sigh, driving forward onto the icy surface of Eden Lake.

  Short Stack Cookies

  DO NOT preheat oven—dough must chill before baking

  1 ½ cups melted butter (3 sticks)

  2 cups sugar

  2 large beaten eggs, any brand (just whip them with a fork)

  ½ cup maple syrup ***

  4 teaspoons baking soda

  1 teaspoon salt

  1 teaspoon vanilla

  4 cups flour (not sifted)

  ½ cup white sugar for coating the dough balls

  *** To measure maple syrup, first spray the inside of measuring cup with Pam so that the syrup won’t stick to sides of cup.

  Melt the butter and mix in the sugar. Let it cool and add the beaten eggs. Add maple syrup, soda, salt, and vanilla. Mix it all up. Then add the flour and mix thoroughly.

  Chill the dough for at least 1 hour (overnight is fine, too).

  Roll the dough into walnut-sized balls with your hands. Roll the balls in white sugar and place them on greased cookie sheets, 12 to a standard sheet. Flatten them with a spatula.

  Put oven rack in the middle position. Bake at 350°F for 10 to 12 minutes or until nicely browned. Cool on the cookie sheets for no more than 1 minute, then remove the cookies to the rack to finish cooling. (If you leave them on the cookie sheets for too long, they’ll stick.)

  Edna Ferguson says these taste exactly like pancakes that are slathered with maple syrup and butter, and she wishes she could get away with serving them instead of real pancakes at the annual faculty breakfast.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It was a great day to be out on the lake with a snowmobile. The ice was covered with a light blanket of snow that had fallen the previous evening, and it sparkled in the pale rays of a sun that had peeked out just in time for their deliveries. It was cold, but both Hannah and Andrea were dressed for the weather, and they zipped along from ice-fishing house to ice-fishing house, taking cookies and coffee to the contestants. Everyone was glad to see them. It was a break in a sport that could get rather boring if the fish weren’t biting.

  “I’ve never seen the inside of an ice-fishing house before, but they remind me of something familiar,” Andrea said, buckling her seatbelt and waiting for Hannah to drive to their next stop.

  Hannah looked over at her sister and grinned. “I know exactly what it is. Just think of the buildings on Grandma and Grandpa Swensen’s farm, and that should jog your memory.”

  “What good will that do? Grandpa Swensen didn’t go ice-fishing.” Andrea thought for a moment. “You mean the corn crib?”

  “No.” Hannah pulled forward across the ice. “Guess again.”

  “The shed where he kept the tractor?” Andrea raised her voice so that Hannah could hear her over the sound of the engine.

  “Nope.”

  “Then what? Their farm was nowhere near the lake, and I know they didn’t have an ice-fishing house.”

  “You’re right. They didn’t. But there’s another thing they didn’t have—indoor plumbing.”

  Andrea’s mouth dropped open and then she started to laugh. “Really, Hannah!”

  “Well, it’s true. An ice-fishing house looks a lot like an outdoor privy. It’s got four walls, a roof, and a bench. The only difference is, the hole is in the ice.”

  “It’s true,” Andrea admitted, still cracking up. “I wish you hadn’t told me. Now I’m not going to be able to think of anything else.”

  Hannah grinned and headed across the lake at a good clip. They’d decided to start with the farthest ice-fishing houses and work their way back to shore. So far, they’d visited six, and they still had over a dozen to go.

  “Don’t tell me Pete’s fishing from his car!” Andrea looked utterly amazed as they pulled up next to Pete Nunke’s old Ford.

  “Looks like it.” Hannah left the snowmobile idling, and they got off to gather up Pete’s cookies and his container of coffee. As they approached, Pete rolled down his window, and Hannah had all she could do not to burst into laughter. He was fishing from the passenger’s bucket seat, which had been turned backward. Pete’s car radio was tuned to KCOW, he had the engine idling and the heater going, and the backseat had been removed to make room for a hole in the floorboards that he’d lined up with the hole he’d chopped in the ice.

  “Afternoon, Pete,” Hannah greeted him. “We brought you coffee and cookies.”

  “Thanks, ladies.” Pete reached out to take the bag and the coffee.

  “Any luck?” Andrea asked.

  “Not yet, but there’s something down there.” Pete pointed to the small monitor that had been installed on the back window ledge. “See those blips on the screen?”

  Andrea peered through the window. “You’ve got a fish locator. That’s smart, Pete.”

  “Took it off my boat when I dry-docked it this fall. Want to climb in and warm up? You can share the driver’s seat.”

  “Thanks, but we’d better get going,” said Hannah, shaking her head. “We still have more cookies and coffee to deliver.”

  “Okay. I have to move on anyway. Looks like those fish are heading for the old sunken rowboat about twenty feet to the north. It’s a natural habitat.”

  “Are you going to chop another hole in the ice when you get there?” Andrea asked.

  “Already chopped it. I put in three holes yesterday and another three this morning. All I have to do is drive over and wait for the fish to get there.”

  Hannah and Andrea stood by and watched as Pete drove away in his mobile ice-fishing house. Then they headed back to the snowmobile and continued on their delivery route. After another twenty m
inutes of passing out coffee and cookies, they had only one ice-fishing house left, and it belonged to Mayor Bascomb.

  “It certainly is big,” Andrea commented as they pulled up in back of the mayor’s structure. “I heard he really decked it out in style.”

  Hannah nodded. Mayor Bascomb always had the biggest and the best. As the son of Lake Eden’s most successful land developer, he’d grown up with money, and he knew how to spend it.

  “What’s that?” Hannah asked, cutting the motor and listening. “It sounds like voices. Mayor Bascomb must have someone out here with him.”

  Andrea shook her head. “I don’t think so. Bill was thinking about entering and I read the rules. It’s a solo contest. You have to do it all by yourself.”

  Hannah grabbed the last bag of cookies and handed Andrea the last container of coffee, and they walked around to the front of the mayor’s ice-fishing house. She spotted a generator sitting close to the wall, and there was an electrical cord that ran through a small hole to the inside. “He’s got a generator. Maybe he’s listening to the radio.”

  The door was shut, and Hannah knocked out of pure habit. It was a real door with a handle, and it even had little panes of glass at the top.

  “Come in,” the mayor called out, his voice muffled by the heavy door.

  “I’m surprised he doesn’t have a doorbell,” Hannah muttered to her sister, opening the door. She took two steps forward and then stopped in awe as she saw what Lake Eden’s mayor had done to decorate his ice-fishing house. Not only was it bigger than all the others, roughly the size of her guest bedroom at the condo; it was practically a second home.

  Instead of the crossed two-by-fours that the other ice-fishing houses had in place of a floor to keep the structure rigid, Mayor Bascomb had a real floor covered with indoor-outdoor carpeting. This floor ended three feet short of one of the walls to expose a strip of ice with his ice-fishing hole in the middle. Against one of the carpeted walls was a television set in an entertainment center that also included a stereo and a VCR. The set was tuned to a golf tournament, and the ocean and palm trees on the screen indicated a tropical venue. Perhaps that would have kept some people warmer by pure suggestion, but Mayor Bascomb’s ice-fishing house wasn’t even close to freezing, thanks to two electrical space heaters that sat on stands. A leather loveseat sat against the opposite wall, and it was flanked by two tables that both contained lamps. A coffee pot on a shelf near the door gave off the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and a microwave sat next to it.