Peach Cobbler Murder (21 page)

Now’s the perfect time to hit him with some questions! Hannah’s inner voice prompted. Opportunity had knocked. While Mike was at lot ebb, feeling sad about Shawna Lee’s death, she could probe him about the murder investigation. He was far from his usual sharp self and he might tell her all sorts of useful information.

On the other hand, was it fair to take advantage of a man’s grief? Hannah thought about that for a moment. of course it wasn’t, but he’d used her to kill time. And he’d sued her to make Orange Julius for the woman who might convince him to spend the night with her. All was fair in love and war, and this was one of the above, or both of the above, Hannah wasn’t quite sure which.

“So how is the investigation going?” Hannah asked in her best casual voice, dumping ingredients into the blender.

“It’s not. Everyone who had a motive has an alibi.”

“Including me?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“Including you. I’m beginning to think that this was a random killing and the killer’s long gone. That means we’ll never solve it.”

“It’s possible, I guess,” Hannah said, although she didn’t believe it for a moment. “But do you really think a deranged killer would drive into Lake Eden, walk around to the back of the Magnolia Blossom Bakery, wipe a spot clean on the kitchen window, and shoot Shawna Lee for absolutely no reason when she was taking a peach cobbler out of the oven?”

“Not really. Not when you put it like that. But there aren’t any other suspects.”

“How about someone from Shawna Lee’s past? Did you look into that?”

“We knew the same people in the Cities and I checked with them. They couldn’t think of anyone who’d want to kill her.”

“How about before that? When she was living in Georgia?”

“Shawna Lee moved to Minneapolis five years ago. I don’t think anyone would carry a grudge that long.”

“You’re probably right. But is it possible she made an enemy when she went back there in December for her brother-in-law’s funeral? That was only two months ago.”

”It’s possible.” Mike looked thoughtful. “I’ll ask Vanessa about it tonight. Thanks for the idea, Hannah.”

“You’re welcome,” Hannah said, and then she turned on the blender to discourage future conversation. Why had she given Mike a lead to investigate? He was getting information form her when it was supposed to be the other way around!

It didn’t take long to make the Orange Julius. Hannah poured the mixture into a pitcher, added extra orange juice, and clamped on the lid. “Here you go. I want the pitcher back.”

“You’ll get it.” Mike set the pitcher down on stainless steel surface of the workstation and pulled her into his arms. he held her so tightly, Hannah could barely breathe, and her chances at normal respiration vanished when his lips met hers and he kissed her deeply

When Mike released her, more than a couple of minutes later, Hannah felt as limp as the rag doll her mother had displayed in the front window of Granny’s Attic. She reached up to touch her lips and was surprised they hadn’t burst into flames and disintegrated.

“I’d better go now.” Mike picked up the pitcher and headed for the door. “Thanks, Hannah. I really don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re the best friend I ever had.”

Hannah stared at the door as it closed behind Mike. How could he walk away so nonchalantly? Were the kisses that turned her knees weak and made her heart pound like a trip-hammer just casual kisses to him? She felt like the world’s biggest chump!

FAKE ORANGE JULIUS

3 cups orange juice 1 envelope dry Dream Whip (the kind that makes 2 cups) 1 package dry vanilla pudding (the kind that makes 2 cups) 3 more cups orange juice

Pour the orange juice into a blender. Add the dry Dream Whip and the dry pudding. Blend it for one minute on low and another minute on medium speed.

Pour the mixture in a 2-quart pitcher. Add another 3 cups of orange juice and stir well.

Serve over ice.

Yield: Makes almost 2 quarts.

Hannah was not in the best of moods when she drove to work the next morning. It had nothing to do with the report Andrea had given her last night. As usual, her younger sister had gotten the goods from someone who probably didn’t even know he’d talked out of turn. Kyle had delivered Shawna Lee’s yellow roses at eleven. At that time, the bakery had been open and packed with customers. But on Kyle’s afternoon run, there had been another bouquet for Shawna Lee. When Kyle had delivered that, at four-thirty in the afternoon, the bakery had been closed and Shawna Lee had invited hi min for a cup of coffee. Kyle had sworn to Andrea that Shawna Lee had been very much alive when he’d left her at five. And since Lisa and Herb’s wedding had started at five and the guests were already seated by then, Shawna Lee’s killer must have been someone who attended the ceremony at the church.

Of course Andrea had asked who’s sent Shawna Lee the second bouquet and the answer had set her back on her heels. Mayor Bascomb had sent it. Kyle remembered the card. It had read, Southern Flowers for a Southern Flower, and it had consisted of magnolias, camellias, and hawthorn. Since it was February I Minnesota, and the flowers had to be flown in from hothouse growers, it had knocked Mayor Bascomb back to the tune of a hundred and fifty dollars.

All this had been interesting and most likely libelous, but Hannah knew Mayor Bascomb hadn’t shot Shawna Lee. He had been sitting in a prominent front pew of St. Peter’s Catholic Church with his wife during Lisa and Herb’s wedding, and when it was time to start for the reception, Lake Eden’s first couple had fallen into line right behind the limo that Hannah had been driving.

Hannah shook her head to clear it. Her bad mood was growing worse and the weather wasn’t helping. Big wet flakes of snow splattered against her windshield and she was forced to use her wipers. Her windshield hadn’t been washed for a while, and the blades left streaks in the shape of arches to obscure her vision. Hannah slowed to a crawl, pulled over to the side of the road, left the wipers on to dance their stately winter-time gavotte, and got out to remedy the problem.

It was quite a feat to find clean snow by the side of a busy road in February. The snow that was falling hadn’t piled up enough to be of any use, and the hard-packed snowbanks the county snowplow had left were too dirty to clean anything. Hannah found a clear spot several feet away that was covered with a thin coat of ice. As she broke through the crust, pulled it apart with both hands, and scooped out the clean snow underneath, it reminded her of the way her father had broken open the crust of chicken potpie to get at the meat.

Hannah filled both hands with snow and trudged back to her truck. She tossed the clean snow at her windshield, and smiled as she went back for more. Someone from out of state had once recommended that she carry a can of Coca-Cola in her cookie truck during the winter to clean her windshield. Hannah was sure it would work. Miss Bruder, her fifth grade teacher, had shown the class how to clean coins by dropping them into a glass of Coke. But if Hannah stored a can of Coke in her truck and the temperature dipped below freezing, the soda would expand and she’d end up with Coke-flavored ice all over her floorboards.

It took several more trips and at least two sets of wiper gavottes before her windshield was clean. Hannah dusted off her gloves, knocked the snow off her boots, and climbed back in behind the wheel.

As she drove toward town, Hannah forced herself to smile and pretend that everything has hunky-dory. Sometimes the simple act of smiling, no matter how forced, was enough to lighten a person’s mood. It was as if the corners of the mouth told the brain what to feel. Unfortunately, the smile Hannah manufactured didn’t affect her outlook one iota and it quickly dropped to a glower. Her feet were cold from tramping around in the snow and it was difficult to be upbeat when cold feet were part of the equation.

A glance at the clock on her dash, one feature of her truck that actually worked as advertised, told Hannah that she’d have to step on it if she wanted to get to The Cookie Jar by five. She didn’t have to be there by five. Unless she had a special last-minute dessert to bake for a catering job, she seldom came in before six. But this morning she had an ulterior motive for arriving an hour ahead of schedule. Although she knew full well that people who spied on other people often discovered things they wished they hadn’t, Hannah had decided to drive down the alley in back of the Magnolia Blossom Bakery so see if Mike’s Hummer was still there.

Hannah took the turnoff into town with grim resolve. Mike had once told her that if he decided to marry again, he’d marry her. He’d also told her that he loved her. The three little words had passed his lips only twice, but Hannah was convinced he meant them. The important question for her had to do with loyalty. If Mike was still at the Magnolia Blossom Bakery, she wanted to know it. Comforting a grief-stricken sister shouldn’t take all night.

What would she do it she saw Mike and Vanessa, silhouetted against the window, locked in a passionate embrace? Hannah groaned at the thought. She wasn’t the morality police and she didn’t have the authority to rap on the window and shout out, “Put your hands in the air! Step away from the cop! Now!” What she would do was drive quietly away and never tell anyone what she’d seen. But she wouldn’t make the mistake of marrying Mike. If he ever asked her. Which was doubtful if he was still with Vanessa.

Hannah gripped the wheel tightly as she turned into the alley. She had the urge to fold her hands, shut her eyes, and pray that Mike’s Hummer wouldn’t be there. But not even Reverend Knudson, who was a great believer in prayer, advocated driving that way. Instead Hannah concentrated on the alley itself, keeping her truck rolling smoothly through the freshly fallen snow at the center of the pavement, and looking neither to the left nor the right.

As Hannah approached the parking lot for the Magnolia Blossom Bakery, something hit the side of her truck. She slammed on the brakes and turned just in time to see a snowball hit the passenger window.

Hannah peered out into the darkness to see a man in a parka standing at the side of the alley. He was forming another snowball and as she watched he pegged it straight at her windshield.

“Mike?” Hannah gaped, wishing that an alien spaceship would appear overhead and beam her up. But of course that didn’t happen and when he motioned with his hand, she rolled down her window.

“What are you doing here?”

“Checking up on Vanessa.” Hannah grabbed the first excuse that flashed through her mind. “I figured that if her lights were still on, I’d offer to make her some coffee, or something.”

It was a lame excuse made even lamer by the blush that colored her cheeks, but Mike didn’t seem to notice and he reached out to pat her hand. “That’s nice of you, but Vanessa’s okay. She fell asleep on the couch about an hour ago and I covered her up with a blanket. I think sleep’s the best thing for her now.”

“You’re probably right,” Hannah managed to say despite the ton of guilt that settled on her shoulders. Not only had she been spying on Mike, she’d also lied about doing it.

“I was just going out for some breakfast before I got ready for work. Do you want to run out to the Corner Tavern with me?”

“I can’t,” Hannah said without regret. The last thing she wanted to do was manufacture more excuses and tell more lies. “I’ve got to get to work. We’ve got lots of customers, now that . . . you know. Vanessa’s not going to reopen today, is she/”

“Not today. She’s not in any shape to do the baking.”

How hard can it be to open up a package of frozen peach cobbler and stick it in the oven? the mean little voice in Hannah’s head asked. But Hannah didn’t say anything. She knew better.

“Vanessa says she might not reopen at all. She was only doing it for Shawna Lee. See you alter, Hannah.”

Hannah gave a casual little wave as she drove off, but inside she was shaking. Thank goodness Mike hadn’t put two and two together and realized that she’d been checking up on him, not Vanessa!

So what had she learned from her spying? Hannah asked herself that question as she parked behind The Cookie Jar, plugged in her head-bolt heater, and unlocked the back door. She’d discovered that Mike had still been with Vanessa at five in the morning, but she had no way of knowing if he’d acted as Vanessa’s understanding friend, or if he’d played another, more romantic role. Hannah wanted to think he’d been the understanding friend and it did make some kind of sense. After all, what man would have the hubris to invite his girlfriend out for breakfast when he’d just finished romancing another woman?

Hannah flicked on the lights and groaned as the answer came to her. Only one man would have the nerve to do something like that. And that man’s name was Mike Kingston.

Andrea pushed through the door the moment Lisa unlocked it and shivered as she hung up her coat. “There are times when I hate Minnesota!”

“What happened?” Hannah asked her.

“I got stuck in the school driveway and three boys from Drew Vavra’s basketball squad had to push me out.”

“But that’s not so awful,” Lisa commented, bringing Andrea a mug of coffee and two cookies without being asked.

“Yes, it is. It was really embarrassing. Everybody else was driving right in and out again, and I was the only one who got stuck!”

“So you hate Minnesota in the winter,” iterated. “How about the summer?”

“I don’t like the summer, either. I hate mosquitoes. And those awful June bugs that gash against the screen and scare you half to death. I want to move to . . . I don’t know where, but there’s got to be someplace better.”

“There’s no place better,” Hannah told her, feeling a bit like the Lake Eden Chamber of Commerce and the Minnesota Tourist bureau, all rolled up into one.

“But there must be!”

“There isn’t.” Hannah shook her head. “Minnesota’s unique. It holds a special place in the lineup of states.”

“You’re kidding me!” Andrea accused her, but she was clearly interested in what Hannah had to say.

“I just don’t know how you can even think of moving away from a state where you can warm up your hands by sticking them in your freezer.”