Devil’s Food Cake Murder

by Joanne Fluke

  She was awake now, and being awake meant that she was beginning to feel stressed. There were too many tasks to accomplish, too many problems to attempt to solve. Somehow she had to slog through it all step by step, hour by hour, and day by day. It was a fallacy that things would be better in the morning. This was morning, and things were just as bad as they’d been when she’d gone to bed five hours ago.

  Today was not going to be a good day. Hannah knew that the moment she walked into her kitchen and saw that the red ready light on her coffeemaker was out. No coffee. She’d forgotten to set it last night. How could she start the morning without coffee? She should go back to bed, take a little snooze, and start her day over.

  But duty called and no Swensen daughter had ever shrugged off her duty. There was the German work ethic on her mother’s side and the Scandinavian work ethic on her father’s side. A fifty-hour week was nothing to gripe about, and a sixty-hour week was not impossible. You worked until your job was finished, even if you were tired.

  Two minutes later, the coffeemaker was activated and Hannah was opening the refrigerator to have a glass of juice. She poured some spicy tomato juice in a glass, returned the bottle to the top shelf of the refrigerator, and was about to close the door when she realized that there was a round white sock ball on top of the refrigerator again.

  “Moishe?” She turned to look at her feline roommate, who was sitting on the kitchen floor by his food bowl, waiting patiently. “How did these socks get up here?”

  Had ever a cat looked more innocent? For a moment, Hannah had doubts. Perhaps she’d taken her socks from the drawer, carried them to the kitchen, and absent-mindedly placed them on top of the refrigerator when she opened it to pour her juice.

  “No, I didn’t!” Hannah said aloud. She knew she hadn’t carried her socks into the kitchen this morning, and the sock ball hadn’t been there last night. Moishe must have done it, but how? He couldn’t pull out her sock drawer, and she hadn’t done a load of laundry since Saturday.

  Hannah grabbed the sock ball and turned to look at her cat again. He still looked innocent. She tossed it in the air, and Moishe followed it with his eyes, but he made no move to intercept it. Then she bent down and rolled it across the floor so that it landed right next to him, hoping he might do something to incriminate himself, like grabbing it in his mouth, jumping up to the counter and then to the top of the refrigerator, and dropping it there.

  Of course it didn’t work. Moishe ignored the sock ball. He ignored her also and concentrated on an area of the wall immediately behind her head. His fur bristled slightly and his eyes widened, causing her to swivel around to see what he was reacting to, but there was absolutely nothing there.

  Trying to establish a cat’s guilt or innocence was a time waster. There was no way she’d solve the mystery of the sock balls this morning. Hannah tabled it for another time and filled Moishe’s bowl with his favorite kitty crunchies. Once she’d given him fresh water, she poured her coffee and sipped it on her way to the bathroom to take her shower and get ready to go to work.

  “Hi, Norman,” Hannah greeted him as he pushed through the swinging door at The Cookie Jar and joined her in the kitchen. “I’ve got a great new cookie. How about trying one of Mother’s Orange Creams?”

  Norman stared at her for a moment, an expression of complete astonishment on his face. “Your mother bakes Orange Creams?”

  “Not Mother.” Hannah gave a little laugh at the concept. Delores did not bake and never had. “Mother got the recipe from an Irish woman who lives in England. You can make them in lemon or orange, and I’ll give you one of each. We’re going to serve both kinds at her launch party.”

  Norman looked at the cookies with interest as Hannah delivered them to the workstation, along with his cup of coffee. “They’re pretty,” he said.

  “That’s what Mother thinks. She said the burst of citrus flavor would have been a huge hit in Regency England, where only the wealthy had orangeries.” Hannah noticed Norman’s puzzled look and went on to explain. “Orangeries are interior greenhouse gardens with fruit trees and exotic flowers.”

  “Like Wayne Bergstrom’s penthouse garden?”

  “Exactly right.” Hannah remembered the garden well. She’d been back several times since Jenny had moved into the penthouse with Anna, and the only change they’d made to the garden was to add several fruit trees. One had been a mandarin orange tree so Norman was doubly right. Not only did it look like an orangery, it was an orangery.

  As Norman picked up an Orange Cream and tasted it, Hannah tried not to think about the department store mogul and how he’d died.

  “Very tasty,” Norman said, pulling Hannah out of her contemplative mood. “The orange flavor is really intense.”

  “Lots of orange zest. Try the lemon.”

  Norman put down the rest of his orange cookie and picked up the lemon. He took a bite, and made a little sound of enjoyment. “Very good. I think I like the lemon best, but I’d better give the orange another try in the interest of fairness.”

  Hannah began to smile. “Just in the interest of fairness.”

  “Yes.” Norman popped the rest of the orange cookie in his mouth. Once it was gone, an expression of mock horror spread over his face. “Uh-oh! I didn’t mean to finish it. I wasn’t through comparing the lemon with the orange.”

  Hannah laughed and went to fetch two more cookies. She could hardly wait to tell Delores how much Norman liked them.

  “Did they have their new pastrami burger on the menu when you went out to The Corner Tavern with Mike on Saturday?”

  Hannah was surprised at the question. How had Norman known that she’d gone out to dinner with Mike on Saturday night? But Mike had probably mentioned it. The two men were friends, after all. “Yes, they did,” she told him. “It was the first item on the burger page.”

  “How was it?”

  “I didn’t have it. I ordered the bacon cheeseburger melt. It’s one of my favorites.” Hannah was silent, wondering if she should ask if Norman had gone out to dinner with Doctor Bev. Several of her regulars at The Cookie Jar had mentioned that they’d seen them together on multiple occasions. “How about you?” she finally asked, hoping it sounded like a casual, friendly question. “Did you have it?”

  “Oh, we weren’t there. I took Bev out to Bertanelli’s for a jumbo Hawaiian special.”

  “But I thought you didn’t like pineapple on your pizza!” The words flew out of Hannah’s mouth before she could stop them. She was shocked that someone had actually talked Norman into eating something he’d told her he didn’t like.

  “I’m still not that fond of it, but it’s Bev’s favorite pizza so I’m trying to learn to like it.”

  You always ordered a half and half with me, Hannah thought, but of course she didn’t say it. There was no way I could get you to even try one anchovy! You must like her better than you like me.

  “I’d rather be with you,” Norman said, reaching out for her hand. And then, just when Hannah was beginning to feel good again, he continued, “but I get tired waiting for my turn to see you. It’s great to have someone else who likes to spend time with me. If I want to go out to dinner and you’re doing something with Mike, I ask Bev.”

  And Doctor Bev’s just sitting there waiting for you? Hannah wanted to ask, but she didn’t.

  “Bev’s usually available, so it works out just fine. She dates only one other man in town.”

  “One other man?” This time Hannah asked the first question that popped into her mind.

  “Mike.” Norman must have seen the surprised look on her face, because he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I thought for sure he told you. Bev lives right across from him, and it’s really convenient. If she’s out with Mike, you’re usually available to go out with me. And if you’re with me, she goes out with Mike. It keeps everybody happy and it levels the playing field.”

  Hannah frowned slightly. The way Norman described it, Beverly Thorn
dike sounded like a fuzzy yellow tennis ball, bouncing between the two men. The analogy pleased her until she realized that she fell into that same category, dividing her time between the two players, Mike and Norman, unable to settle on one or the other side of the court.

  But thinking like this would get her nowhere, and it certainly wouldn’t answer the question that was foremost in her mind.

  “What?” Norman asked, noticing that Hannah had fallen silent, an unusual state for her.

  It was now or never, win or lose, do or die. Hannah took the bull by the horns, yet another cliche, and faced Norman squarely. “Why did you ask to see me alone, Norman?”

  “I told you after the party last night. It’s because I haven’t spent much time with you lately and I miss you.”

  “Then you didn’t come here to break up with me?”

  “Break up with you?” Norman looked truly confused. “Of course not! I came to ask if you’d like to go out to dinner with me tonight.”

  “Oh,” Hannah said, completely taken off guard.

  “Will you?”

  “I…yes. Yes, I will.”

  “Good!” Norman got to his feet and carried his coffee cup to the sink. “I’ll pick you up at seven, and we’ll go out to the Inn, if that’s okay with you.”

  “It’s fine with me.” Hannah made a mental note to call Sally this afternoon and tell her that she’d told Norman the trifle recipe was complicated.

  Norman pushed back his stool and stood up. “I’d better run. I’ve got a patient in ten minutes. See you tonight, Hannah.”

  After Norman had left, Hannah sat on her stool at the workstation sorting through the new information she’d learned. Both Norman and Mike were dating Doctor Bev. Norman had come right out and told her that he’d rather be with her, but was that true? If she stopped dating Mike, would Norman stop dating Bev? And was that something she wanted them both to do?

  “Hannah?”

  Hannah looked up, startled, as Lisa stepped in through the swinging door. “Yes?”

  “Grandma Knudson just called. She wants to know when you’re going to deliver the cookies for her meeting this afternoon.”

  “Tell her I’m on my way,” Hannah said, jumping to her feet and grabbing her parka. She didn’t bother with her snow boots. The walks were shoveled every day at the parsonage, and she’d park in the rear, right next to the kitchen door. She picked up the box of cookies on the counter, grabbed her purse from its perch on top of the water cooler, and headed out the door at a trot.

  ORANGE OR LEMON CREAMS

  Do not preheat the oven yet—this dough must chill for an hour or two.

  For The Cookies:

  2/3 cup ultrafine bakers sugar (I used C&N in the carton) ***

  1 cup (8 ounces, 2 sticks, ½ pound) salted butter, softened

  1 egg yolk, lightly beaten (just whip it up in a glass with a fork)

  2 teaspoons orange or lemon juice (or an orange or lemon fruit liqueur)

  Zest of one lemon or orange (I measured mine after zesting—it was a little less than ½ teaspoon)****

  2 and ¼ cups all-purpose flour (scoop it up and level it off with a table knife—don’t pack it down)

  *** - If you don’t have ultrafine bakers sugar, you don’t have to crank up the car and run to the store to get some. Simply put some white, granulated sugar in your food processor and zoop it up with the steel blade. Then measure it and use it in this recipe. (You have to measure AFTER processing because the granules will be smaller and you’ll get a bit more sugar to the cup.) In England this sugar is called castor sugar.

  **** - The zest is the colored part of the rind. Try to grate only the colored part, not the white part under it. The white part is bitter.

  For The Sandwich Cream Frosting:

  1/3 cup salted butter, softened

  4 and ½ cups powdered (confectioners) sugar (no need to sift unless it has big lumps) *****

  4 Tablespoons (that’s ¼ cup) milk or light cream

  1 and ½ teaspoons orange or lemon juice (or fruit liqueur)

  ***** - In England this sugar is called icing sugar.

  To make the cookies, beat the sugar and salted butter together until they’re soft and fluffy. You can do this with an electric mixer, or by hand. (It’s easier with a stand mixer.)

  Beat in the egg yolk, fruit juice or liqueur, and fruit zest. Make sure it’s well mixed. You want that zest to be thoroughly incorporated.

  Measure the flour by scooping it up and then leveling off the measuring cup with a table knife. Don’t pack it down in the cup for this recipe.

  Stir or beat in the flour in half-cup increments (just eyeball it—you don’t have to be exact) stirring or beating after each addition.

  Round the dough up in the mixing bowl, and divide it into 2 parts. Pat the two parts into balls. Wrap the balls in plastic wrap, and refrigerate them for at least one hour. (Overnight is fine, too.)

  When you’re ready to bake, preheat the oven to 375 degrees F., rack in the middle position.

  On a floured board, roll out the dough (just like piecrust) to a 1/8-inch thickness. Use a round cookie cutter, or the rim of a drinking glass to cut out dough circles.

  ALTERNATIVELY:

  For those of you who don’t like to make rolled cookies, let your dough come up to room temperature and then use a 2-teaspoon scooper to make dough balls. Place them on a standard-size cookie sheet sprayed with Pam (or another nonstick cooking spray) or on a parchment-covered cookie sheet. You should have no more than 12 dough balls on your cookie sheet.

  Flatten your dough balls with the blade of a metal spatula, or the flat bottom of a drinking glass, pressing down until they’re approximately 1/8-inch thick.

  Bake the cookies at 375 degrees F. for 8 to 10 minutes or until they’re very slightly golden.

  Take the cookies out of the oven and let them cool on the cookie sheets for 5 minutes. Then transfer them to a wire rack to cool completely.

  To make the frosting, beat the softened butter until fluffy. (This is easy with an electric mixer. It takes a bit more effort by hand.)

  Measure out the powdered sugar and put it in another bowl. Scoop it up and level off the cup as you measure, but don’t bother sifting unless it’s got lumps.

  Beat in approximately half of the powered sugar. (You don’t have to be exact.) Mix it up thoroughly.

  Slowly, beat in half of the milk. Mix thoroughly.

  Mix in the fruit juice or liqueur.

  Beat in the remaining powdered sugar, mixing it all up thoroughly.

  Slowly, mix in the rest of the milk. Careful! You may not use it all! Stop adding milk when your frosting reaches spreading consistency.

  If you goof, don’t despair. This sandwich cream frosting is very forgiving. If your frosting is too runny, add more powdered sugar until it’s just right. If your frosting is too thick, add a little more milk until it’s just right.

  When your cookies are thoroughly cooled and you’re ready to assemble the Lemon or Orange Creams, spread a small amount of frosting on the ‘wrong’ side of a cookie, (that’s the bottom part). Put the ‘wrong’ side of another cookie on top of the frosting to make a cookie sandwich.

  Kelly-Anne says that this cookie dough can be frozen for up to 6 weeks, and the frosting can be frozen for the same amount of time. She tends to stamp out her shapes, then store them between layers of greaseproof paper (I’m guessing this is wax paper) before freezing. She writes, “This way I can have one or two freshly baked cookies anytime I feel like it, without having to make a whole batch.”

  Yield: 2 dozen 2-inch round Lemon or Orange Sandwich Creams, or 1 dozen 3-inch round Lemon or Orange Sandwich Creams.

  Chapter Nine

  When Hannah opened the kitchen door at the parsonage, she found Grandma Knudson standing at the stove, stirring a big pot of soup. “That smells wonderful!” Hannah told her, stepping into the steamy warmth and immediately shedding her parka. “Is that homemade chicken soup?”

&nbs
p; “Yes. And no.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “The only homemade part is the chicken. It’s a recipe I got years ago from my daughter-in-law, Janelle. She was a lawyer and she didn’t have time to cook when she got home from work. Sit down at the table and I’ll give you a bowl so you can try it.”

  Hannah’s stomach growled as Grandma Knudson ladled some soup into a bowl and set the steaming vessel in front of her. The aroma was heavenly.

  “It’s hot. You’d better blow on it to cool it down.”

  Hannah did just that, but it was hard to wait when something smelled as delicious as Janelle’s chicken soup. She forced herself to give it several cooling blows, but then hunger overcame caution.

  The soup was still hot, but not so hot that she couldn’t taste the complex flavors. It was absolutely perfect, and she had to have the recipe. “Sour cream?” she asked, dipping her spoon in again the moment the question had left her mouth.

  “Yes. You put it in at the very end. I added yours to your bowl right after I dished it up.”

  “It’s wonderful. Will you give me the recipe if I promise you my firstborn son?”

  Grandma Knudson laughed. “They only did that in the Old Testament. You can have the recipe, no promises necessary. I’ll copy it out for you right after you finish your soup.”

  “Thanks!” Hannah said, and she finished her soup in record time.

  “More?”

  “No, thanks. That really hit the spot, but I’m saving myself for dinner tonight. Norman’s taking me out to the Lake Eden Inn.”

  “Then could you run over to the church and tell Matthew it’s time for his lunch? I tried calling him on the phone, but he didn’t answer.”