Blueberry Muffin Murder

by Joanne Fluke

  “Redlines.”

  “That’s what I told him, but Dick pulled Redlines up on his laptop while we were talking and he said it peaked about six months ago. Then the stock started dropping and the company went bankrupt at the end of last month.”

  Hannah frowned. That certainly didn’t match what Greg had told her. “Is Dick sure?”

  “Positive. He checked the history of the stock for me. About a week before Redlines hit rock bottom, there were rumors about a new infusion of foreign cash. Some investors bought in on the strength of the rumors, but it never happened and they all lost their shirts.”

  Hannah’s frown grew deeper. She was positive that Greg had told her he’d invested in Redlines.

  “You must have gotten the name wrong. Dick said there was no way anybody could have made any money on Redlines unless they bought when it first went public and sold at the peak six months ago.”

  Hannah thanked Sally for all she’d done and left her office thoroughly puzzled. Greg had told her he’d more than tripled his money on Redlines, and he’d lied to her. Was that because he was too embarrassed to admit that he’d made a bad investment?

  There was a pay phone at the end of the hall, and instead of turning off at the entrance to the dining room, where she was supposed to meet Andrea, Hannah kept on walking and dug into the bottom of her purse for change. Sally had done all the legwork for her, and she still had forty-five minutes before she hooked up with her sister. There was no time like the present to talk to Greg about Redlines. She’d call him right now and ask him why he hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her the truth.

  One of Sally’s waitresses headed for Hannah’s table with the coffee carafe, but Hannah smiled and waved her away. She’d had four cups already and that was enough, even for her. She picked up a french fry and dipped it into the side of blue cheese dressing she’d ordered. French fries and blue cheese dressing was one of her favorite treats. Sally’s french fries were perfect, golden brown and crisp on the outside and made from real, hand-peeled potatoes. Her blue cheese dressing was also made from scratch, with chunks of tasty Roquefort blended with heavy cream. Normally Hannah would have been in hog heaven, but today even the tastiest food had lost its appeal. There were too many questions buzzing in her mind, and her brain felt like a mixer that had gone into warp speed.

  As she munched, Hannah tried to concentrate on the most important question. Who had murdered Connie Mac and Alan? She’d eliminated a lot of suspects, but she was no closer to solving the crimes than when she’d started.

  The second question concerned Andrea’s pregnancy. Was she putting her sister and unborn baby in jeopardy by agreeing to let Andrea help with the murder investigations? Andrea didn’t know that she was pregnant, and she’d gotten a little hot under the collar the second time that Hannah had brought it up. That subject was obviously off limits, and other than driving to Lake Eden Neighborhood Pharmacy, buying a home pregnancy test, and forcing Andrea to use it, Hannah really couldn’t confirm what she strongly suspected. She could always come up with an excuse to exclude Andrea from the sleuthing, but she’d be jeopardizing their friendship. And if it turned out that Andrea wasn’t pregnant, her sister would never forgive her.

  In addition to these problems, there were other questions of lesser importance. Some were minor. Did Mayor Bascomb really have a new girlfriend? How had Alex and Janie become such good friends on such short acquaintance? Was Francine going to get Sally and Dick in trouble by dressing up and pretending to be Ezekiel Jordan’s ghost?

  A final question, one that was very important, almost overshadowed Hannah’s murder investigation. What was going on with Greg Canfield? Something was very wrong, and Hannah would be a lousy friend if she didn’t even try to help him.

  Greg hadn’t been home when she’d called, but she’d spoken to his grandmother. The information that Mrs. Canfield had given her had caused Hannah to worry about Greg even more. Greg had claimed that he was trading stock on-line, but his computer had been broken for over two weeks. He’d said he’d tripled his money on Redlines, but the company had gone bankrupt. He’d also said that he’d paid off his creditors, but his former suppliers wouldn’t be leaving urgent messages with his grandmother on a Sunday afternoon if that were true. As if all that weren’t enough to handle, Mrs. Canfield was convinced that Annette had left Greg for good. She’d seen the packet of legal papers that had arrived for him last week from a family law firm in Denver.

  Even though Greg’s financial and personal world was crashing down around his ears, Hannah’s immediate concern was for his safety. When he’d left the condo this afternoon, he’d told his grandmother that he was going to gas up his car and come right back. That had been almost three hours ago, and Hannah could understand why Mrs. Canfield was getting worried. There had been two murders in Lake Eden already and the killer was still out there. Hannah hoped that she was just borrowing trouble, but she was glad she’d told Mrs. Canfield to leave a message for her at the inn the moment that Greg walked in the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Hannah was staring down at her french fries and wondering if she’d lost the knack of solving mysteries when Alex tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Hannah?” Alex held out a key. “Janie asked me to find you and give this back. She’s getting settled in upstairs.”

  “Thanks, Alex.” Hannah dropped the key in her purse.

  “Do you mind if I join you for a minute?”

  “Not at all. Sit down.” Hannah roused herself as Alex sat down in the opposite chair. If they chatted for a while, perhaps Alex would say something to solve one of the minor mysteries that had been plaguing her.

  “I’ve only got a minute before I go back to work, but I wanted to tell you that I met your cat. He’s a real darling.”

  Hannah smiled, feeling the way she imagined a proud mother would feel. She wouldn’t have described Moishe as a darling, but he’d obviously been on his best behavior around Alex.

  “He led me straight to the cupboard where you keep his food so that I could fill his bowl,” Alex told her. “I think he’s even smarter than Tarzan Five.”

  “Tarzan Five?”

  “He was my grandmother’s cat. She named all of her male cats Tarzan. I know it’s a little strange, but her name was Jane and she used to get a huge kick out of picking them up and saying, You Tarzan, me Jane.”

  Hannah laughed. “Sounds like your grandmother had a good sense of humor.”

  “She did. If I had the time, I could tell you stories that would make you roll on the floor. I was nineteen when she died. That was over twenty-five years ago, but I still miss her. And every time I adopt a male cat, I name him Tarzan. I have Tarzan Eight right now, and my tabby is Jane Three.”

  After Alex had left, Hannah went back to staring at her french fries. She hadn’t learned anything helpful and she was at loose ends. Andrea was upstairs talking to the Connie Mac people, Bill and Mike were running their own investigation, Lisa was spending the rest of her day with her father, and Sally and Alex were working. She felt like a single woman at a couples party, with no one to talk to and nothing to do. All she could do was sit here and wait for the information to come to her, and Hannah had never been good at waiting.

  Just to keep her mind sharp, she pulled out her notebook and paged through it. She found Alex’s page and sighed as she retrieved one of the ballpoint pens from the bottom of her purse and wrote down what she’d learned. It wasn’t much. Alex’s cats were named Tarzan and Jane, her grandmother had started the tradition, and she’d died when Alex was nineteen. Nothing interesting there. Perhaps Alex was exactly as she appeared, an outgoing woman who made friends easily.

  “Hannah?”

  The sound of her name pulled Hannah out of her thoughts, and she looked up to see that Andrea had taken the opposite chair. “Sorry, Andrea. I didn’t even see you come in. Are you through already?”

  “Yes, and I’ve got something for you.”

  Han
nah perked up immediately. “What is it?”

  “I couldn’t talk to the Connie Mac people. They’re all out at the boutique, getting ready for the opening. But I talked to the writer who’s doing Connie Mac’s biography, and he told me that he saw Alan last night.”

  “Great,” Hannah said, and she began to smile. “Good job, Andrea. What time?”

  “Twelve-thirty. He didn’t talk to Alan. He just saw him out the window, walking down to the lakeshore.”

  “He’s sure it was Alan?”

  “Oh, yes. He recognized him by his hat. Alan always wore one of those Russian fur hats when he went out for a walk.”

  “They’re called ushankas, but other people wear them, too.”

  “I know, but…” Andrea stopped and stared at Hannah’s plate of french fries. “Are you going to eat those?”

  Hannah shook her head and pushed the plate to Andrea. “But what?”

  “But Alan always wore it…. is there any ketchup?”

  “Yes, here.” Hannah picked up the squeeze bottle of ketchup and passed it over. “Alan always what?”

  “He wore his Russian hat with the earflaps down. The writer said it looks really silly that way and most people just let their ears get cold, but Alan always pulled the flaps down and they looked like dog ears.”

  “Okay,” Hannah said, picking up her pen to write down what Andrea had told her. She was about to flip to a new page when a name caught her eye. Jane. Alex’s grandmother had been named Jane. “Hold on a second. I’ve got to check something.”

  With rising excitement Hannah found the section of notes she’d taken on the story that Jack Herman had told her. Janie’s birth mother had named her in honor of her grandmother, who had died recently. Alex said her grandmother had died over twenty-five years ago. And Janie was twenty-five.

  “What did you find?” Andrea asked, catching her sister’s excitement.

  “I’m not sure.” Hannah pushed back her chair and stood up. “I’ll be right back. I’ve got to talk to somebody and it can’t wait.”

  “Do you need me?”

  “Not this time. It’ll only take a second or two and they might clear the table if both of us leave. Stay here and eat the french fries.” Hannah picked up the side of blue cheese dressing and handed it to her sister. “Try dipping them in that. It’s a lot better than ketchup.”

  “I…I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I asked you a simple question,” Hannah stated, giving Alex her fiercest stare. They were standing outside the service entrance to the kitchen, sheltered from the wind by two large metal Dumpsters. “Is Janie Burkholtz your daughter?”

  Alex swallowed hard. And then tears came to her eyes. Hannah could see them well up, and she felt like a rat for harassing her. “Look, Alex. I really need to know. And I promise you, I won’t tell anyone.”

  “ButI…” Alex sighed and a single tear spilled over and rolled down her cheek. “I was so careful all these years. I never wanted Janie to know. Who told you?”

  “That’s not important.”

  “Yes, it is. I’ve never told anybody except Isobel and Garland. And I finally told Janie’s biological father, but I know he wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  Hannah reached out to take her arm. “It’s okay, Alex. Nobody told me. I just guessed.”

  “But how?”

  “I just wondered how you and Janie could be so close when you’d just met for the first time. That’s all. Are you going to tell Janie that you’re her mother?”

  “No! I can’t tell her, Hannah. It wouldn’t be fair to Isobel and Garland. They’re her real parents. They loved her, and they raised her, and they gave her a wonderful home. It might change the way she thinks of them, and that wouldn’t be right. You won’t tell her, will you?”

  “I promise I won’t,” Hannah assured her. “Is that why you took the job as Sally’s assistant, so that you could see her?”

  “Yes. Isobel called to tell me that Janie would be here. We’ve kept in touch over the years. She said she had a bad feeling about going away on the cruise. She was afraid that something might happen to Janie while they were away, and she wanted someone here to look after her. She also thought that I should meet Janie. I never have, you know. They’ve sent me pictures and videotapes, but that’s not the same thing.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “And then, when I finally met Janie, it was…just wonderful. She’s so bright and pretty and lovely. And she seemed to like me, too. It’s been the best week of my life.”

  Hannah smiled. “We love Janie, too. How about her father? Was he angry that you hadn’t told him before?”

  “No. Of course he was shocked, but he’s a very nice man and he said he understood why I did things the way I did. And since he’s never had any other children, he promised that he’d look out for Janie anonymously and provide for her in his will. He also promised that he’d never tell her unless Isobel, Garland, and I all agreed that it was the right thing to do.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” Hannah said, reaching in her pocket to pull out a tissue. She handed it to Alex and waited until the older woman had composed herself. “You don’t have to worry, Alex. Your secret is safe with me. Now let’s go back in. It’s freezing out here.”

  When they reentered the kitchen, Alex went off to take inventory of the supplies that had been delivered that morning, and Hannah headed toward the swinging door to the restaurant. As she passed by the bank of deep fryers, where Sally was standing, a thought popped into her mind that chilled her more than the icy wind that had blown across the tops of the Dumpsters. Was it possible that Alex had caught a glimpse of Janie when she’d come back to the inn on Saturday night? If she’d noticed Janie’s tears and the bruise on her arm, and if she’d suspected that Connie Mac had caused them, then Alex had possessed the perfect motive for driving to The Cookie Jar and killing Connie Mac.

  “Hannah?” Sally pulled up one of the metal baskets filled with golden french fries and hooked it in place to drain. “You look grim. What’s the matter?”

  Hannah glanced around her, but none of the kitchen workers were close enough to hear. “Where was Alex on Friday night?”

  “In the bar with me. She served the hot appetizers and filled in for my waitresses when they took their breaks.”

  “She was there all night?”

  “We closed at one and Alex didn’t leave until one-thirty. I tried to get her to take a break around ten, but she said she was okay and she made me take one, instead.” Sally paused and her eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you suspect Alex!”

  “Not really, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t check everybody out.”

  “I guess that’s true,” Sally said, but she still looked puzzled. “I don’t understand how Alex ended up on your suspect list. What possible reason could she have for killing Connie Mac?”

  Hannah thought fast. She couldn’t tell Sally the real reason, and she had to think of another. “She’s mentioned several times that she didn’t like Connie Mac.”

  “Who did? And before you ask, I have an alibi, too.” Sally tipped the fryer basket and flipped the hot french fries out onto a plate. “You’re going back to the restaurant, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. Andrea’s waiting for me.”

  “Then take her these.” Sally put the plate on a tray, added a dish of blue cheese dressing, and handed it to Hannah. “I made a double order so you could share.”

  Hannah stopped at the counter, sprinkled on salt, and balanced the tray in one hand as she went through the swinging door. The trip to their table only took a few seconds, but Hannah managed to snitch two fries on the way. When she set the tray down in front of her sister, Andrea was frowning.

  “You took two of my french fries,” Andrea accused her. “I saw you.”

  “No, I didn’t. Sally made a double order so we could share.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “That’s what she said. I don’t blame you for sending mine
back. They’re a lot better when they’re hot.”

  “I didn’t send them back. But you’re right, they’re better when they’re hot. And they’re delicious with this blue cheese dressing.” Andrea took a french fry, dipped it in the dressing, and popped it into her mouth. “Get out your notebook and I’ll tell you more about that writer.”

  Hannah pulled out her notebook and picked up her pen. “Are you trying to keep me busy so you can hog all the french fries?”

  “Of course I am,” Andrea admitted with a grin.

  “That’s what I thought. You always were a sneaky kid.” Hannah grabbed a french fry with her left hand, dipped it, and popped it in her mouth. “See? It won’t work. I can write and eat at the same time. Now, tell me what else that writer said.”

  “He said he saw someone follow Alan down to the shore.”

  “What?” Hannah stared at her sister in total amazement. “Why didn’t you tell me that right away?”

  “You didn’t give me the chance.”

  “Yes, I did. You should have said that first, instead of telling me about the ushankas with the dog ears.”

  “Flaps that only look like dog ears,” Andrea corrected her.

  Hannah sighed. There were times when her sister could be just as exasperating as their mother. Andrea told stories in her own way, and it didn’t work to rush her. “Go on. I’m listening.”

  “The person who followed Alan was dressed all in black and he skulked through the trees.”

  “The writer said skulked?”

  “Of course he did. He’s a writer and they use words like that. If you keep interrupting me, I’ll never get to the end.”

  “All right. Go on.”

  “Every time Alan turned around, this person in black ducked behind a tree. The writer lost sight of them when they got down to the shore. He said there’s a little hill and they disappeared behind it. He watched for another few minutes, but they didn’t reappear, so he gave up and went to bed.”

  “That’s great, Andrea.” Hannah wrote it all down. “Did you ask if he could describe the man in more detail?”