Joanne Fluke Christmas Bundle: Sugar Cookie Murder, Candy Cane Murder, Plum Pudding Murder, & Gingerbread Cookie Murder (35 page)
Authors: Joanne Fluke,Leslie Meier,Laura Levine
Tags: #Mystery & Detective, #Fiction
CHOCOLATE CANDY CANE COOKIES
Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position.
Cookie Dough:
4 squares unsweetened baking chocolate
(4 ounces)
1¼ cups
(2
½
sticks, 10-ounces)
chilled butter
2 cups white
(granulated)
sugar
2 beaten eggs
(just whip them up in a glass with a fork)
2 teaspoons baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
1
⁄
3
cup corn syrup
(I used white Karo syrup)
2 Tablespoons water
1 Tablespoon
(3 teaspoons)
vanilla
4 cups flour
(pack it down in the cup when you measure it)
Topping:
¼ cup white
(granulated)
sugar
¼ cup finely crushed mint candy canes
(about 12 mini candy canes)
Melt the butter and the chocolate squares together, mix them thoroughly, and set them on the counter to cool. You can do this in a microwave-safe bowl for 3 minutes on HIGH, or in a pan over low heat on the stovetop.
(I do it by microwave in a Pyrex one-quart measuring cup.)
Hannah’s 1
st
Note: If you like a strong peppermint flavor, use 2 teaspoons of vanilla and one teaspoon of peppermint extract instead of the Tablespoon (3 teaspoons) of vanilla extract that’s called for in the recipe.
In a large bowl, combine the white sugar and the eggs. Beat the mixture until it’s a uniform pale yellow color.
Add the baking soda and salt. Mix them in well.
Mix in the corn syrup, water, and the vanilla.
Hannah’s 2
nd
Note: Whenever I measure something sticky like corn syrup, maple syrup, or honey, I spray my measuring cup with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray first. Then the sticky stuff slides right out and it’s easy to wash the cup.
Add half of the flour to your bowl.
(That’s 2 cups.)
Mix it in. Then add the remaining flour
(that’s 2 cups)
and mix thoroughly.
Give the bowl a final stir by hand, cover it with plastic wrap, and let it rest on the counter while you spray your cookie sheets with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray and crush your candy canes.
Hannah’s 3
rd
Note: I unwrap my candy canes, stick them in a heavy plastic bag, and hit them with a little rubber mallet I got from Dad’s hardware store before we sold it. Lisa says she does hers almost the same way, except she puts a board over the bag and bangs on the board with a hammer. Any way you want to crush the candy is fine—just be really careful with hammers and mallets if you have ceramic tile counters. You can also break the candy canes in pieces with your hands and then pulverize them in a food processor with the steel blade. (Read your instruction manual to make sure the food processor you have will handle a task like this.)
I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but last summer when Andrea, Michelle, and I were staying out at Mother’s lake cottage, we couldn’t find a hammer, so I put the candy canes in a triple layer of plastic bags and Michelle backed over them several times with the car. (It worked.)
Measure out a quarter cup of finely crushed candy canes and place them in a small bowl. Add a quarter cup white granulated sugar and mix it all up with a fork.
(The goal is to get an equal amount of sugar and crushed candy cane on each of the dough balls that you’ll make.)
Roll the dough into one-inch diameter balls with your hands. This dough may be sticky, so roll only enough for the cookies you plan to bake immediately and then put the bowl in the refrigerator.
Roll the dough balls in the bowl of topping and place them on the greased cookie sheets, 12 balls to a standard sheet. Flatten them slightly with a metal spatula or the heel of your impeccably clean hand.
Bake the cookies at 350 degrees F. for 8 to 10 minutes. Cool them on the cookie sheet for a minute and then remove the cookies to a wire rack to complete cooling.
(If you leave them on the cookie sheet for more than a minute, they may stick. It’s not the sugar—it’s the crushed candy canes. They melt and then stick to your baking sheets.)
Yield: approximately 8 dozen yummy cookies
T
he special elevator that carried them up to the penthouse over Bergstrom’s department store had been opulent with gold-tone mirrors and a pink velvet bench that ran around its perimeter. Hannah had never seen an elevator with seating before, and she was even more impressed when it rose to the fifth floor in one smooth motion and the doors whispered open to reveal even more luxury.
The foyer they stepped into could have graced any one of several five-star hotels. Two walls were covered with a silvery silken material that matched the pillows on the pink and light green silk couches. Wing chairs in light blue silk were grouped around oval-shaped gold tables with mirrored tops, their beveled edges trimmed in gold. The other two walls were made entirely of glass, affording a spectacular view of the pine-dotted snowscape outside.
“Holy Hannah!” Hannah breathed, taking her own name in vain. “This is even better than Teensy’s Penthouse!”
“Better than
what?”
“Teensy’s Penthouse. Tracey put it on her Christmas wish list. It’s the hot item this year and all the stores I called are sold out. There was one that had it, but they wanted a hundred and twenty dollars. And that was without Teensy!”
“And Teensy is a doll?”
“She’s not
just
a doll,” Hannah corrected him. “Teensy is a fully articulated reproduction of a female child in miniature. She has her own series of children’s books and DVDs, and there’s a Saturday morning cartoon. She’s a little rich girl with a fabulous wardrobe and all sorts of places they call
environments
like ski chalets, thoroughbred horse farms, and ocean cottages. Teensy lives in the lap of luxury.”
Norman smiled. “Correction. Teensy’s
manufacturer
lives in the lap of luxury.”
“Sir? Madam?” The same maid who’d answered the door and taken their coats addressed them from the doorway. “Mrs. Bergstrom will see you now. Please follow me.”
Hannah and Norman were led past priceless artwork and more ornate furniture as they traversed the wide carpeted hallway to an arched doorway near the rear of the penthouse.
“Through here, please,” the maid said, opening the arched door and stepping aside. “Mrs. Bergstrom wishes to meet with you in the indoor garden. She designed it shortly after her marriage and it’s her favorite spot to entertain. Just follow the path to the seating area by the fountain.”
As Hannah and Norman entered the warm, humid space, they gave nearly simultaneous gasps of surprise. It was a tropical paradise filled with exotic plants, ferns, and even trees. Flowers in riotous colors were blooming everywhere, enough to keep a florist in business for the whole winter season.
“Wow!” Hannah said, turning to Norman. “The only other time I get to see this much green in the winter is on St. Patrick’s Day. This is just like Mother’s
orangery
.”
“Your mother’s what?”
“
Orangery
. Mansions in England had them during the Regency period. It was a solarium, an indoor greenhouse, with all sorts of exotic plants, fruit trees, and flowers.”
“I think this probably qualifies,” Norman said, gazing around him. “It’s like a jungle in here. Or maybe a rain forest. I’m not that well acquainted with the difference.”
“It’s paradise,” Hannah said, “especially in the dead of winter.” It was true. Melinda’s solarium was a paradise requiring only constant temperature and humidity monitoring, and expert gardening. To add to the sensory delights, the indoor garden had two walls and a ceiling made of glass. The frigid winter scene outside was a startling juxtaposition to the lush tropical illusion inside.
“This way,” Norman indicated a path made of smooth round stones. “She said there was a fountain and I can hear falling water.”
Hannah looked down at the stones on the walkway as she followed Norman. She figured they were probably fabricated. As far as she knew, stones were like snowflakes. If you made it your life’s work, you might find two that were exactly the same, but you certainly wouldn’t be lucky enough to find the thousands of identical pebbles it had taken to line Melinda Bergstrom’s solarium walkway.
Hannah hadn’t seen Melinda recently, but the former-model-turned-wife hadn’t changed one iota. She was seated in a rattan peacock chair by the fountain and she was just as svelte and impeccably groomed as she’d been when she’d strolled down the runway. She was wearing what Hannah assumed was a designer pantsuit made of black velvet that set off her light ash-blond hair and her peaches-and-cream complexion. Her feet were encased in black sandals with stiletto heels, something that gave Hannah pause. Would a grieving widow wear stiletto heels? Perhaps, if she happened to be a former model. But wouldn’t a grieving widow who’d been crying all night and day have swollen eyelids and blotchy cheeks? She’d have to ask Andrea if there was a way to hide prolonged tears with makeup.
“Mrs. Bergstrom.” Norman stepped forward to take Melinda’s outstretched hand. “We’re so sorry for your loss.”
Hannah took her cue from Norman. “This must be a very difficult time for you.”
“Oh, it is. I can’t seem to stop blaming myself. I should have gone with Wayne instead of keeping my appointment with Pierre.”
“Pierre from
Le Petit Salon
?” Hannah asked, naming the exclusive beauty shop downstairs in the mall.
“That’s right. Pierre came up to style my hair at seven-thirty, right after they closed the salon. He was still here when the deputies came to tell me that Wayne was…was…” Melinda gave a quavering sigh and her voice trailed off.
“I’m glad you had someone with you,” Hannah said, filing away the information she’d been given for later. “Cory probably told you, but Norman and I came up to bring you some of my Devil’s Food Cookies. We thought maybe the chocolate might help to make you feel better.”
“How sweet of you!” Melinda accepted the bag Hannah handed her and peeked inside. “They smell so good.”
“They’re very popular down at The Cookie Jar. Have one and tell me if you like them.”
“I really shouldn’t. So many calories. You make them with real butter?”
“Yes.” Of course she made them with real butter. Minnesota was a dairy state and no scientist had yet found a perfect substitute for butter.
“Maybe I’ll have one tonight after dinner.” Melinda folded the bag closed and set it on the rattan table in front of her chair. “Do sit down. Would you care for coffee? Or tea?”
Hannah shook her head. “No, thank you. I’d like to use your powder room, though, if that’s all right.”
Norman shot her a startled look. He knew she’d gone off to the ladies’ room shortly before they’d caught the elevator to the Bergstrom penthouse.
“Certainly. I’ll ring for Emily. She can show you the way.”
“There’s no need to call your maid.” Hannah stood up. “Just give me directions and I’ll find it.”
“Turn left when you leave here, and then turn to the right when you get to the next hallway. There’s a guest bath three doors down on your left.”
As Hannah walked away, she heard Norman begin to praise Melinda’s design for the solarium. Norman might not know exactly what she was up to, but Hannah knew he’d keep Melinda busy talking until she got back.
Instead of following Melinda’s instructions, Hannah turned in the opposite direction. She passed a huge master suite and noticed a large piece of mahogany furniture against one wall. It was a valet stand, the sort of standing rack that held a man’s hat, suit, and shoes. This piece of furniture was a quadruple valet stand with an upholstered bench in the center. Each side was flanked by two valet stands, one raised as high as the mirror in back of the bench, and the one at normal height. The massive piece of furniture was decorated with carvings of stag, and deer, and moose. It was the most magnificent piece of furniture Hannah had ever seen.
Hannah paused, letting her eyes roam the room. This master bedroom was larger than her whole condo. There were walk-in closets on either side of the room and the doors were open. Hannah spotted men’s clothing in one closet, and absolutely nothing in the other. Had Melinda moved out of the master bedroom, unable to bear the loneliness of the suite she’d shared with her husband?
Afraid she might be caught staring for too long, Hannah moved on down the hallway. She turned the corner and passed another bedroom with an open door. This one was obviously Cory’s. There was a shirt hanging just inside the door. It was in a see-through dry cleaner’s bag and she recognized the distinctive gold and silver shirt that Cory had worn the previous evening.
Hannah walked on to the next room. The door was ajar and she made it even more so. This was a woman’s bedroom. There were fresh flowers on the ornate dresser, and another set of see-through dry cleaner bags containing party dresses and women’s suits. Hannah was about to go on to greener pastures when something she spied turned this room into a shade of emerald she couldn’t resist.
It was a photo album, sitting on a table by the window. Photos could be revealing, and Hannah wanted to take a quick peek. If a guest was staying here with Melinda and Cory, she might have information about why Wayne was murdered. There was only one way to tell who that guest was. Hannah had to get a look at the photo album before Melinda’s maid came in search of the wayward visitor who had missed the guest bathroom and was in some other part of the penthouse.
Hannah glanced up and down the hallway. No one was in the immediate vicinity. She knew she was taking a chance, but she ducked in the open door and hurried to the table with the album.
The photo album had initials on the front in fancy gold script. The letters were so stylized that they were difficult to read, but Hannah was almost positive that they were M. A. A.
In the space of no more than a heartbeat, she opened the album and looked inside. It was a family album. There was a wedding with people Hannah didn’t recognize. And then there was a baby in a baptismal gown. The father holding her looked proud and happy and the mother, who was standing at his side, looked a lot like Melinda Reynolds Bergstrom!
She was taking a chance standing here snooping, but there was no way she could squelch her curiosity. Hannah flipped through the pages, gazing at pictures of a small girl being steadied by her dad on a hobbyhorse, a preschooler riding a tricycle, and a little girl getting on a school bus, waving at whoever was holding the camera. There were pictures of family vacations with mom, dad, and daughter. One was taken at the Wisconsin Dells. Hannah recognized Storybook Gardens. There was another series of snapshots of Crystal Cave in Wisconsin. These were obviously Melinda’s parents, and as Melinda grew older, Hannah recognized her. But where was Melinda’s brother, Cory? He wasn’t in any of these early family photos.
Hannah made a lightning quick search of the album. Christmas in grade school, no Cory. A family trip to Itasca to see the origin of the Mississippi River, no Cory. The family at Melinda’s high school graduation, no Cory. There wasn’t one single picture of Melinda’s brother, and that was unusual to say the least!
Now for the room. Was it Melinda’s? Hannah thought that it must be. There were several framed magazine covers that Melinda had posed for, hanging on the walls. When had she moved here, next to Cory, instead of sharing the master suite with her husband? Hannah made a quick survey of the bedroom, gathering information. There was an archive-size stack of modeling magazines in the white wrought-iron bookcase against the far wall, and every inch of the closet was filled with clothing. There were personal items in the dresser. Hannah pulled out a few drawers to check the contents, and she noticed gardening books on another table, their pages marked by colored tabs. One gold-colored slipper peeked out from beneath the bed, and a silk dressing gown was tossed on a chair in the corner. It was an assumption, but Hannah made it without quibbling. This was Melinda’s room and she’d been using it for quite a while.
Hannah’s head snapped up as she heard footsteps. Someone was coming! She glanced around quickly, and headed straight for the bathroom. She shut the door just a heartbeat before she heard someone enter the bedroom.
“Miss Swensen?” It was a voice Hannah recognized. Emily the maid was looking for her. “Are you in here, Miss Swensen?”
“I’m in the bathroom,” Hannah answered, flushing the toilet to add credence to her words. She was busted, caught red-handed, snooping in Melinda’s bedroom. But why was Melinda sleeping in this bedroom when the master bedroom was right down the hall?
There was no time to think about that now. She was going to have to do some fast talking and hope that Emily would buy it. Hannah took a deep breath, opened the door, and gave the maid her brightest smile.
“I hope I found the right bathroom,” she said. “I forgot whether Melinda said to go left, or right.”
The maid looked suspicious for a brief moment and then she smiled. “You didn’t, but that’s all right. I’ll escort you back to the garden. Mrs. Bergstrom paged me. She was afraid you were lost.”
“I guess I was!” Hannah said. “But I’m glad you’re here, Emily. I’d like to know if this is Melinda’s bedroom.”
“Oh! Well…yes. Yes, it is. But that’s Mrs. Bergstrom’s private business. I can’t say anything more.”
“Of course you can,” Hannah interrupted her. “Your employer’s dead, murdered in cold blood, and his widow doesn’t seem to be grieving very much. Do you think she cares?”