Chocolate Chip Cookie Murder Part 19

That hadn't quite done it. Bill had still been upset about the fact that Hannah had led his wife into a potentially dangerous situation. But Hannah had posed a question: Wasn't it lucky that they'd found Max's body before the trail had gone cold?

Bill had reluctantly agreed, but he'd laid down some ground rules. The next time Hannah decided to follow up a lead, she should check with him first. Hannah had promised and she'd meant it. Finding two dead bodies was more than enough for one lifetime. But then Bill had started to ask questions about exactly why they hadn't come out to the accident scene to get him earlier, and Andrea had gone into lip-quivering mode.

One glance at Andrea's close-to-tears countenance and Bill had melted. He'd hugged Andrea and told her that he'd get a ride to Hannah's condo so that he could drive her home. And then he'd a.s.sured her that he wasn't angry with her or with Hannah.

"Moishe is a very comforting sort of pet." Andrea's fingers strayed toward the sensitive spot behind Moishe's ear and he purred even louder. "It's really amazing that he's so domesticated, considering the kind of life that he used to lead. He's just sitting here and purring. I never knew that he was so sweet."

Hannah wasn't about to tell Andrea how Moishe acted when he was hunting. She doubted that any small rodent or flightless bird would describe him as sweet. "I need to talk to you about Mr. Harris, Andrea. You said he was waiting at the Peterson property when you got there on Wednesday morning?"

"That's right. I met him at nine-thirty, but he said he was there a lot earlier than that." Andrea thought about it for a moment, and then her eyes widened. "Do you think he might have seen something?"

Hannah shrugged. "That depends on what time he got there. He didn't tell you if he knew Max or Ron, did he?"

"No. He said he didn't know anyone in-" Andrea stopped and stared at Hannah as the light dawned. "Do you think Mr. Harris killed Max and Ron?"

"The time frame works, but Mr. Harris doesn't have a motive as far as we know. I'd certainly like to talk to him about it. You don't happen to have his home phone number, do you?"

"Of course I do. I'm a real estate agent. I always carry my clients' numbers with me. Just hand me my purse. I don't want to disturb Moishe."

Hannah walked over to get the purse from the chair near the door and handed it to Andrea. When her sister had opened it, Hannah admired the way the interior was organized. Andrea's makeup was in a see-through pouch so that she could easily find the item she wanted, her keys were clipped to a leather strap, and her wallet was neatly stowed away in a leather holder on the side. There was even an inside pouch for the gla.s.ses that Andrea needed for reading, but refused to wear.

Andrea reached inside another pouch and drew out a small address book. She flipped to the proper page and handed it to Hannah. "Here it is. You're not going to call him now, are you?"

"There's no time like the present."

"But it's almost midnight. What are you going to say?"

"I don't know yet, but I'll think of something." Hannah grabbed the phone. "Relax, Andrea. I won't mention your name."

As she punched out the number, Hannah considered her options. Mr. Harris would be more likely to give her information if she had some sort of credential. She could say that she was a reporter with the Lake Eden Journal, Lake Eden Journal, but that might backfire. If Mr. Harris had anything to hide, he'd simply hang up on someone who said they worked for the town newspaper. As her call was connected, Hannah made a snap decision. Mr. Harris wouldn't dare to hang up on the police. but that might backfire. If Mr. Harris had anything to hide, he'd simply hang up on someone who said they worked for the town newspaper. As her call was connected, Hannah made a snap decision. Mr. Harris wouldn't dare to hang up on the police.

"h.e.l.lo?"

The voice on the other end of the line sounded groggy, as if she'd awakened him, and Hannah did her best to sound official. "Mr. Harris? I'm sorry if I woke you, but this is Miss Swensen from the Winnetka County Sheriff's Station. We're investigating a crime that occurred at the Cozy Cow Dairy on Wednesday morning, sometime between six-fifteen and eight. We need to know if you happened to observe anything that could relate to the crime. I understand that you were in the area at that time?"

"Yes, I was. What happened?"

Hannah smiled. Mr. Harris sounded cooperative. "I can't give you the details, but I need to know the time that you arrived in Lake Eden and what you saw while you were there."

"Let me see. I got to Lake Eden about a quarter to seven and drove straight out to the Peterson farm. I did see one thing that was odd, but I'm not sure if it's helpful."

"Tell me anyway, Mr. Harris." Hannah maintained her professional voice.

"As I approached the dairy, a car pulled out of the driveway. The driver was in a real hurry. He skidded over the centerline, and I had to swerve to avoid him."

"You said he, he, Mr. Harris. The driver was a man?" Mr. Harris. The driver was a man?"

"I'm not sure. I didn't actually see him. The sun visor was down."

"Very good." Hannah grabbed the notebook and pen that were sitting on the coffee table and made a note. "Could you describe the car?"

"It was a small black compact with a rental sticker on the window. The sticker was white with red lettering, but I didn't see the name of the company. I always use Hertz, myself. My company gets a special rate from them."

"Then you don't own a car, Mr. Harris?" Hannah winked at Andrea. Her question had nothing to do with the investigation, but she wanted to find out if he'd told Andrea the truth.

"I have a vintage Jaguar, but I prefer not to drive it out of the city. I'm certainly glad I didn't drive it on Wednesday! That other driver came very close to hitting me. I just wish that Marshal Beeseman had been there to give him a ticket."

Hannah's eyebrows rose and she jotted another note. "You're acquainted with Marshal Beeseman?"

"Yes. He saw my car parked in front of the Peterson place and drove up to ask me what I was doing there."

Hannah wrote down Herb's name. "What time was this, Mr. Harris?"

"A minute or so past eight. I was listening to the radio and the eight o'clock news had just started."

"You've been very helpful, Mr. Harris." Hannah turned to wink at Andrea before she asked her final question. "Perhaps this has nothing to do with our case, but could you tell me why you decided not to buy the Peterson property?"

For a moment Hannah thought that Mr. Harris would refuse to answer, but then he cleared his throat. "My fiancee said she wanted to live in the country, but she broke off our engagement on Tuesday night. That's why I came to Lake Eden so early. I couldn't sleep and I decided that driving might make me feel better. I suppose I should have told Mrs. Todd the reason that I pa.s.sed on the house, but I really didn't want to discuss it."

"That's certainly understandable." Hannah made a note on her pad and pa.s.sed it to Andrea. "Thank you, Mr. Harris. We appreciate your cooperation."

Andrea waited until Hannah had hung up the phone and then she pointed to the note. "Mr. Harris was buying the Peterson place for his girlfriend?"

"That's what he said. She broke off their engagement on Tuesday night. You would have sold it if she'd hung on for just one more day."

"Oh, well. You win some and you lose some." Andrea shrugged and drained the last of her wine. "After all I've been through tonight, I think I deserve another gla.s.s of wine. It's really excellent, Hannah. I wasn't sure at first, but it definitely has legs. There's more, isn't there?"

Hannah went off to fetch her sister another gla.s.s of Chateau Screw Top. If Andrea wanted to get a little smashed, that was fine with Hannah. She just hoped that when Bill arrived, Andrea wouldn't need to be slung over his shoulder like a gunnysack and carried down the stairs.

The night wasn't peaceful, not by a long shot, and when Hannah's alarm went off at six the next morning, she felt as if she'd just closed her eyes. Her dreams had been peppered with bullet holes, blood, and stiff, cold legs sticking out like boards behind couches, chairs, and bookcases. There had even been a cow in her dreams-a huge, homicidal Guernsey that had chased her over fences and past bubbling vats of cream.

Hannah groaned and sat up in bed. Duty called. She had to bake the Black and Whites for the sheriff department's open house.

As she padded into the kitchen, stepping carefully to avoid Moishe's morning rubs against her ankles, she wondered about the new hotshot detective from the Minneapolis Police Department. Would he approve of the way that Bill was handling the double-homicide case? Sheriff Grant had obviously been impressed with the new man. According to Bill, he'd set up an interview the day that his application had come in the mail.

"Here's your breakfast, Moishe." Hannah dumped dry crunchies into Moishe's bowl and gave him fresh water. Then she stumbled toward the coffeemaker and poured her first cup. She must be a caffeine addict. She really couldn't function without a wake-up cup, or three, in the morning. She just hoped the FDA and the president's drug czar didn't ever turn her into a criminal by cla.s.sifying coffee as a drug.

Some days it was easier to operate on automatic pilot. Hannah didn't want to wake up to the point where she recognized how tired she really was. She slugged down only one cup of the steaming brew, enough so that she wouldn't fall asleep and drown in the shower, and then she went back to her bedroom to get ready for work. When she had showered and dressed, she came out to empty the rest of the coffee into the large-sized car caddy that Bill had given her for Christmas. She refilled Moishe's food bowl, grabbed her jacket and keys, and stepped out into the predawn freeze.

The blast of cold air that greeted Hannah caused her eyes to snap open all the way. Her breath came out in white puffs and she s.h.i.+vered her way down the outside stairway to the garage. It was time to break out her full winter gear.

The garage was deserted, the cars lined up in even rows against the painted cinderblock walls. Hannah hurried to her Suburban and jumped inside, cranking the motor over twice before it started. Time to plug in her truck, too.

The heater kicked in about the time she turned onto Old Lake Road. Hannah reached over and turned the levers on both vents to direct the warm air to her side of the vehicle. As she zipped down the dark road, she flipped on the radio, and the impossibly cheery voices of Jake and Kelly, the crazy duo that hosted KCOW's "News At O'Dark-Thirty Show," a.s.saulted her ears. She switched to WEZY's mellow strains and thought about the peculiar call letters of Minnesota radio stations. If the transmitter was east of the Mississippi River, the call letters started with a W. If it was west of the Mississippi, the call letters started with a K. The same was true for television stations. It was all controlled by the FCC. Hannah wondered what the bureaucrats would do if a station built a bridge over the Mississippi and mounted their transmitter in the middle.

Deliberately averting her eyes from the dairy as she pa.s.sed it, Hannah made her way into town. There was no way she wanted to be reminded of Max's lifeless body this early in the morning. She spotted Herb Beeseman a block from her shop and flagged him down. Plying him with the rest of the Chocolate-Covered Cherry Delights in exchange for information, she verified that he'd talked to Mr. Harris at the Peterson farm at eight on Wednesday morning.

Hannah pulled into her parking place at six forty-five. After she'd locked up her truck, she plugged in the head-bolt heater and opened the back door to the bakery. The sweet dark scent of chocolate greeted her, and Hannah began to smile. Next to coffee, chocolate was her favorite aroma.

After she'd flicked on the lights, fired up the ovens, stuck on her cap, and scrubbed her hands at the sink, Hannah got out a mixing bowl. She had to make a sample batch of Old-Fas.h.i.+oned Sugar Cookies for the woman who'd catered the Woodleys' party.

Hannah poured herself a cup of coffee from the car caddy and read over the recipe while she ingested more caffeine. Mixing cookie dough was something she never did on automatic pilot. She'd tried it once and left out an ingredient that was essential to every cookie: sugar.

When the dough was ready, Hannah covered it with plastic wrap and stashed it in her walk-in cooler. The dough for the Black and Whites was thoroughly chilled and she grabbed a bowl and carried it over to the work island. She'd just finished rolling enough dough b.a.l.l.s for two sheets of cookies when Lisa came in the back door.

Hannah glanced at the clock. It was only seven-thirty and Lisa wasn't scheduled to come in until eight on Sat.u.r.days. "Hi, Lisa. You're half an hour early."

"I know. I just thought you might need some help with the customers this morning. We'll be packed."

"We will?"

"You bet. They'll all come in to find out what you know about Max."

Hannah's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "How did you you find out so fast?" find out so fast?"

"I was listening to Jake and Kelly, and they said that Max was dead. Those two guys are crazy. They were making bad cow jokes and calling it a tribute to Max."

"Bad cow jokes?" Hannah looked up from her task of rolling the dough b.a.l.l.s in powdered sugar.

"You know the type," Lisa explained as she hung her jacket on the hook by the door. "'Why did Farmer Brown buy a black cow? Because he wanted to get chocolate milk.' That was the best of them. The rest were so bad, I don't even remember them. Do you want me to start the coffee and set the tables up in the shop?"

Hannah nodded and slid the first two cookie sheets into the ovens. She set the timer for twelve minutes and walked back to the work island to start rolling more b.a.l.l.s. Lisa was right. If Jake and Kelly had discussed Max Turner on their show, The Cookie Jar would be flooded with customers this morning. And when the news got out that she'd been the one to find Max's body, it would be standing room only. Hannah sighed as she rolled more dough b.a.l.l.s in powdered sugar. If she were ever unlucky enough to find a third body, she'd probably have to buy the building next door and expand.

Old-Fas.h.i.+oned Sugar Cookies Do not preheat oven yet-dough must chill before baking.

2 cups melted b.u.t.ter (4 sticks) (4 sticks)2 cups powdered (confectioners') (confectioners') sugar sugar (not sifted) (not sifted)1 cup white (granulated) sugar2 eggs2 teaspoons vanilla1 teaspoon lemon zest (optional) (optional)1 teaspoon baking soda1 teaspoon cream of tartar (critical!) (critical!)1 teaspoon salt4 cups flour (not sifted) (not sifted) cup white (granulated) sugar in a small bowl (for later) (for later)Melt b.u.t.ter. Add sugars and mix. Let cool to room temperature and mix in the eggs, one at a time. Then add the vanilla, lemon zest, baking soda, cream of tartar, and salt. Mix well. Add flour in increments, mixing after each addition.Chill dough for at least one hour. (Overnight is fine.) (Overnight is fine.)When you're ready to bake, preheat oven to 325 degrees F. and place rack in the middle of the oven.Use hands to roll dough in walnut-sized b.a.l.l.s. Roll dough b.a.l.l.s in a bowl of white sugar. (Mix white sugar 2 to 1 with colored sugar for holidays-green for St. Pat's Day, red and green for Christmas, multicolored for birthdays.) (Mix white sugar 2 to 1 with colored sugar for holidays-green for St. Pat's Day, red and green for Christmas, multicolored for birthdays.) Place on a greased cookie sheet, 12 to a standard sheet. Flatten dough b.a.l.l.s with a greased spatula. Place on a greased cookie sheet, 12 to a standard sheet. Flatten dough b.a.l.l.s with a greased spatula.Bake at 325 degrees F. for 10 to 15 minutes. (They should have a tinge of gold on the top.) (They should have a tinge of gold on the top.) Cool on cookie sheet for 2 minutes, then remove to a rack to finish cooling. They can be decorated with frosting piped from a pastry bag for special occasions or left just as they are. Cool on cookie sheet for 2 minutes, then remove to a rack to finish cooling. They can be decorated with frosting piped from a pastry bag for special occasions or left just as they are.Used these for the chorale's fund-raiser decorated with music notes in fudge frosting-rave reviews!Yield: 8 to 10 dozen, depending on cookie size.

Chapter Twenty-One.

Hannah had just turned over the baking to Lisa and poured herself a cup of coffee when the phone rang. "That's got to be Mother. She's the only one who calls me this time of the morning."

"Do you want me to get it?" Lisa offered helpfully, even though her hands were covered with powdered sugar.

"No, it'll only postpone the inevitable." Hannah lifted the receiver and gave her standard greeting. "The Cookie Jar. Hannah speaking."

"I'm so glad I caught you, dear. I promised the girls I'd check. Are you booked for the second Thursday in December?"

Hannah stretched out the phone cord and walked over to her calendar, flipping the pages to December. No one booked this this early, and Hannah knew that her mother was just fis.h.i.+ng for information about Max Turner. "I'm free, Mother." early, and Hannah knew that her mother was just fis.h.i.+ng for information about Max Turner. "I'm free, Mother."

"Good. I joined a new group."

"That's nice." Hannah gave the appropriate response. She really should be more grateful. Delores had become a joiner since Hannah's father had died, and her groups always booked Hannah to cater their events. "What's the name of this group, Mother?"

"The Lake Eden Quilting Society, dear. They meet every other Thursday in the back room at Trudi's Fabrics."

Hannah obediently wrote down the information, but she was puzzled. As far as she knew, her mother had never picked up a needle in her life. "You're sewing sewing now, Mother?" now, Mother?"

"Good heavens, no! I managed to find them two quilting frames at an auction last month and they awarded me an honorary members.h.i.+p. I just go to be sociable."

"How many groups does that make now, Mother?"

"Twelve. When your father died, Ruth Pfeffer told me that I should develop outside interests. I'm just taking her advice."

"You're taking Ruth's advice seriously?" Hannah was shocked. Ruth Pfeffer, one of her mother's neighbors, had volunteered to do grief counseling at the community center after only one two-credit cla.s.s at the community college. "Ruth's a dingbat-you said so yourself-and she's not qualified to counsel anyone. I'm surprised she didn't suggest suttee!"

Delores laughed. "You're right, dear. But that's illegal, even in India."

"Very good, Mother," Hannah complimented her. Occasionally Delores's sense of humor kicked in, and those were the times when Hannah liked her the best. "What kind of cookies would you like?"

"How about those Chocolate-Covered Cherry Delights? Andrea told me that they were fabulous."

Hannah jotted it down and then she realized what her mother had said. Andrea had tasted those cookies for the first time last night. If she'd mentioned them to Delores, it must have been earlier this morning. "Did you call Andrea this morning, Mother?"

"Yes, dear. We had a lovely chat. As a matter of fact, I just got off the phone with her."

Hannah's eyes widened. Her sister was not not a morning person. "You called Andrea before eight? On a Sat.u.r.day?" a morning person. "You called Andrea before eight? On a Sat.u.r.day?"

"Of course I did. I wanted to make sure she was all right. The poor dear sounded dreadful. She told me that her head was still reeling from that awful migraine."

Hannah started to grin. It wasn't surprising that Andrea's head was reeling. She'd polished off four gla.s.ses of that "impudent little wine" before Bill had come to drive her home. "I've got to run, Mother. It's late and I have to get ready to open the shop."

"You don't open until nine this morning. How about Max Turner? I heard on the radio that he was dead."

Hannah rolled her eyes at Lisa, who was trying not to look amused at her attempt to end the conversation. "That's true, Mother."

"I know it's not nice to speak ill of the dead, but Max made a lot of enemies here in Lake Eden. I don't think anyone is going to shed tears for him."

"Really?" Hannah thought she knew exactly what her mother was talking about, but she wanted to hear it from Delores. "Why is that?"

"He wasn't a nice man, Hannah. I don't want you to repeat this, but I heard that several families lost their homes because of Max Turner."

"Really?" Hannah did her best to sound as if this was the first she'd heard of it.

"He was a..." Delores paused, and Hannah knew that she was attempting to think of the proper word. "What's that term, Hannah? I know it has something to do with a fish."

"A loan shark?"