Chocolate Chip Cookie Murder Part 27

It would have been a perfect fantasy, except for one jarring note. The heater in Hannah's truck was failing, and her teeth were chattering in a lengthy drum roll that would have been the envy of the rhythm section of the Jordan High marching band. As she had on every other morning this week, she promised herself that as soon as she got a little ahead, she'd have it fixed. In the meantime, her warmest parka and gloves would have to do.

Almost there, Hannah told herself as she stopped for the red light at the intersection of Old Lake Road and Carter Avenue. Old Lake Road was fairly busy at peak traffic hours, but Carter Avenue led to only one sprawling showplace home in the center of a private pine forest. That home belonged to Mayor Bas...o...b..s in-laws and everyone knew that he'd installed the stoplight to please his wife, Stephanie.

Since the light had a reputation for taking a while, Hannah wiggled her toes inside her boots in an effort to restore warmth and mobility. Then she counted to a hundred. And then two hundred. She had reached five hundred and was mentally composing a letter to the editor of the Lake Eden Journal Lake Eden Journal, expressing the need for a sensor on the stoplight, when it finally clicked to green and she could drive forward again.

Another five minutes and she was turning in at the city limits, driving down the quiet streets with their darkened houses. Everyone was asleep, and she would be too, if she didn't have to bake the day's cookies before she opened her coffee shop and bakery, The Cookie Jar.

The Lake Eden business district was deserted at this time of morning. All the stores had dim lights inside, the result of an article Sheriff Grant had written for the Lake Eden Journal Lake Eden Journal on burglary prevention, but nothing was moving inside. It would be another hour before Hal unlocked the front door at the cafe for the workers on the morning s.h.i.+ft at DelRay Manufacturing. on burglary prevention, but nothing was moving inside. It would be another hour before Hal unlocked the front door at the cafe for the workers on the morning s.h.i.+ft at DelRay Manufacturing.

Hannah drove down Main Street and was about to turn on Fourth, when she noticed that the twinkle lights around the inside of the window of her coffee shop were still on. She thought she remembered turning them off, but perhaps she'd forgotten. She had been in a rush to get home last night. Hannah just hoped her power bill wouldn't be sky high for this one infraction. After all, how much current could a hundred-bulb string of minilights draw? Perhaps she wouldn't even see an increase. She was usually very careful when it came to turning off the lights and locking up.

As she pulled into the alley, Hannah slowed her truck to a crawl to navigate the icy ruts that a truck had made, delivering donations to the Helping Hands Thrift Shop. A hundred yards and a dozen or so jarring thumps later, she was turning into her own lot and parking in her spot by the back door.

To plug in, or not to plug in. That was the question. Rayne Phillips, the weatherman on KCOW radio, had promised the day would warm to the high twenties. As Hannah climbed out of her truck and eyed the strip of outlets installed at b.u.mper level at the back of her building, she added that bit of information to the mix. If Rayne had it right, she wouldn't need to use her heater. But if Rayne was wrong, her oil would chill to the consistency of chewing gum and her truck wouldn't start when it was time to drive home.

Hannah stood still, debating with herself for a moment, and then she laughed. Rayne Phillips had been wrong about the weather more times than he'd been right, and it would be wise to play the percentages. Plugging in her car might be unnecessary, but not not plugging in her car could mean she'd have to call Cyril Murphy at the garage. plugging in her car could mean she'd have to call Cyril Murphy at the garage.

Once plugged in, Hannah headed for the back door of the white stucco building. She was about to insert her key in the lock when she stopped short and frowned. The k.n.o.b was a bit icy, as if a warm hand had recently gripped it. That was odd. Her a.s.sistant, Lisa Herman, wasn't scheduled to come in this early. If, for some reason, Lisa had arrived first, her old car would be here. Unless, of course, her car had failed to start and she'd caught a ride to work with one of her neighbors.

Hannah stood dithering for a moment. If Lisa was here, it would account for the lights she'd seen. She always turned them on and propped open the swinging door to the coffee shop, so that she could enjoy them while she helped with the early morning baking.

Standing here wondering was not only silly, it was cold! All she had to do was go inside and see. Chiding herself for her chilly mental debate, Hannah unlocked the door and flicked on the lights. And then she blinked. And blinked again. Several times.

Lisa had been here and the proof was right in front of her eyes. The dirty dishes they'd left in the sink were gone, and the floor had been freshly mopped. Normally, Hannah and Lisa did these things before they left for the night, but Hannah had been in a hurry to get home, and Lisa had invited two of her dad's friends for dinner. Unless the elves had left the shoemaker's shop and taken up residence at The Cookie Jar, Lisa must have come in sometime during the night to wash the dishes and mop the floor!

Perhaps she'd put on the coffee, too? Hannah glanced at the kitchen pot, but the little red light wasn't glowing. No coffee there. She went through the swinging door to check the big thirty-cup percolator, but it was still tipped upside down on a towel, the way they always left it after they washed and dried it. Lisa loved coffee as much as Hannah did. It would be ready if she'd come in early.

Hannah felt a chill that had nothing to do with the winter weather as she noticed that the multicolored lights were off. They'd been on when she'd driven past only minutes ago. Her early morning cleaner must have vamoosed only moments before she pulled up in her parking s.p.a.ce. If she'd hurried just a little, she could have caught her, or him, or perhaps several elfin thems!

Remembering the thin sheen of ice on the doork.n.o.b made Hannah discard her theory of helpful storybook creatures who could sneak in and accomplish great quant.i.ties of work in the blink of an eye. Her benefactor had been a real live person, one who could reach the doork.n.o.b and who didn't drink coffee. But who had cleaned up the kitchen on one of the coldest mornings of the year? And why?

Lisa came in the back door at a quarter to seven, fifteen minutes before she was expected. She found Hannah sitting at the work island in the center of the room, sipping a cup of coffee.

"Hi, Hannah," she said, hanging her coat on the rack by the back door and slipping out of her boots and into her work shoes. "You cleaned up the kitchen and did all the baking without me?"

Hannah shook her head. "I did the baking, but I didn't clean the kitchen. That was all done when I came in at a little before five this morning. I thought maybe you couldn't sleep and you'd done it."

"No way. And I don't sleepwalk, either. I wonder who..." Lisa stopped in midthought and began to frown. "Is anything missing?"

"Nothing I can see. Besides, our mystery cleaner left us a gift, and people who come in to steal things don't usually do that."

"What gift?"

Hannah pointed. "Candy. The note said they're called Brown Sugar Drops and they're on a plate right next to the coffee pot."

"Did you try one?"

"Of course. They're wonderful."

"Okay. I'll try one, too."

"You'll try one now that I've acted as official poison taster and I haven't keeled over yet?"

"That's right." Lisa laughed as she walked over to get a piece of candy. She popped it into her mouth, chewed, and headed for the pot to pour herself a cup of coffee. "This is good candy. It reminds me of the maple sugar candy my dad used to buy, except that was a little different. I just wish we had the recipe."

"We do," Hannah told her, pulling out a stool so that Lisa could sit at the workstation, and handing her the handwritten recipe their early morning visitor had left.

Lisa glanced down at the recipe. "This is great. I'm really glad she left it for us."

"She?"

"I think so. The writing looks feminine."

Hannah began to grin. "Because it's neat?"

"That could be part of it. But it's also small. The letters are delicate and all the men I know write a lot larger."

"I don't think that proves anything. My dad had small handwriting. He could fit things on drawer labels that I had to abbreviate. I think it depends on how you were taught. People used to take great pride in their handwriting. If you look at doc.u.ments from the eighteen hundreds, you'll find some notable men with perfect penmans.h.i.+p. And how about the illuminated ma.n.u.scripts all those monks wrote in the Middle Ages?"

"You're right," Lisa admitted. "I guees I made a s.e.xist remark."

"You certainly did. And I totally agree with you."

"You do?"

"Absolutely. I'm convinced that a woman wrote that recipe."

"Why?"

"Because men don't usually use turquoise ink."

Lisa took a huge swig of her coffee. "I'm not awake enough for this yet." She took another swig and then she looked at Hannah again. "If you agreed with me in the first place, why did you argue?"

"Because I like to argue. It gets my brain cells firing and we need all the brainpower we can get today."

"You mean because we have to figure out who broke in and cleaned our kitchen for us?"

"That's right. And we have to figure out something else, too."

"What's that?"

"The next time it happens, we have to figure out how to get her to put on the coffee before she leaves."

BROWN SUGAR DROPS.

Hannah's 1st Note: Candy told us that the original name of this recipe was "Browned" Sugar Drops. Over the years, it got shortened to Brown Sugar Drops, even though there's no brown sugar in the candy.To make this candy, you will need a candy thermometer. I use the kind with a gla.s.s tube and a sliding metal clamp that attaches to the side of a saucepan. And even though the recipe calls for a 3-quart saucepan, I always use my 4-quart pan. That way I don't have to worry about the candy foaming up over the sides.1 cup b.u.t.termilk2 cups white (granulated) (granulated) sugar sugar1 teaspoon baking soda2 Tablespoons (1/8 cup) (1/8 cup) white Karo syrup white Karo syrup cup b.u.t.ter, room temperature (1 stick, pound) (1 stick, pound)Before you start, get out a 3-quart saucepan and your candy thermometer. Place the thermometer inside the saucepan with the sliding clamp on the outside. Slide the thermometer through the clamp until it's approximately inch from the bottom of the pan. (If the bulb touches the bottom of the pan, your reading will be wildly off.) (If the bulb touches the bottom of the pan, your reading will be wildly off.)On a cold burner, combine the b.u.t.termilk, sugar, baking soda, and white Karo syrup in the saucepan. Stir the mixture until it's smooth.Turn your burner on medium high heat. STIR the candy mixture CONSTANTLY until it boils. (This will take about 10 minutes, so pull up a stool and get comfortable while you stir.) (This will take about 10 minutes, so pull up a stool and get comfortable while you stir.)Move the saucepan to a cold burner, but don't turn off the hot burner. You'll be getting right back to it.Drop the b.u.t.ter into the candy mixture and stir it in. (This could sputter a bit, so be careful.) (This could sputter a bit, so be careful.) Slide the saucepan back on the hot burner and watch it cook. STIRRING IS NOT NECESSARY FROM THIS POINT ON. Just give it a little mix when you feel like it. Enjoy a cup of Swedish Plasma and one of those yummy cookies you baked last night while you wait for the candy thermometer to come up to the 240 degree F. mark. Slide the saucepan back on the hot burner and watch it cook. STIRRING IS NOT NECESSARY FROM THIS POINT ON. Just give it a little mix when you feel like it. Enjoy a cup of Swedish Plasma and one of those yummy cookies you baked last night while you wait for the candy thermometer to come up to the 240 degree F. mark.When your thermometer reaches 240 degrees F., give the pan a final stir, turn off the burner, and take your candy from the heat. Let it cool on a wire rack or a cold burner until it returns to almost room temperature. Then stir it with a wooden spoon until it looks creamy.Lay out sheets of wax paper. Drop the Brown Sugar Drops by a spoon onto the paper. Don't worry if your "drops" aren't of uniform size. Once your guests taste them, they'll be hunting for the bigger pieces.Hannah's 2nd Note: If the time gets away from you and your candy hardens too much in the pan, you can stick it back on the burner over very low heat and stir it constantly until it's the proper creamy texture again.Lisa's Note: This candy reminds me of the kind that's shaped like maple leaves. Dad used to bring it back from Vermont when he went back to visit Uncle Fritz and I loved it. Just for fun, I tried adding a teaspoon of maple extract and it was really good that way!Yield: 3-dozen bon-bon size pieces of delicious candy.

Chapter Two.

Candice Roberts arranged her sleeping bag under the lights by the front window of The Cookie Jar. The heater in the coffee shop blew out warm air that smelled like cookies, and Candy's stomach growled even though there was no way that she could be hungry. She'd eaten the ham and cheese sandwich that the red-haired owner had left for her, along with the bag of potato chips and the sour dill pickle that had reminded her of the kind Granny Roberts used to make. And then, for dessert, she'd polished off six of a dozen cookies that had been left on a plate for her, and she'd washed them down with a full gla.s.s of milk from the walk-in refrigerator.

Once the sleeping bag was arranged to her satisfaction, Candy snuggled in and thanked her lucky stars that she wasn't outside in the bitter cold. Her sleeping bag was rated for twenty below, but a glance at the thermometer in the kitchen window had told her that it was twenty-three below zero tonight, and it would probably get even colder before the sun came up in the morning.

A tear rolled down Candy's cheek and dripped onto the fabric of her sleeping bag. It had been her dad's last Christmas present to her, along with the down-filled, quilted field jacket that was getting just a bit too tight across the shoulders, and the buckskin mittens he'd called "choppers" that were lined with real fur. Dad had grown up in Minnesota, and they'd planned to go winter camping at the campground he remembered on the sh.o.r.es of Eden Lake.

Another tear joined the first, and then another. Now she'd never go camping with her dad again. A year ago, Dad had gone down to the clinic for an emergency. On his way home, a drunk driver had hit him and he'd died on the way to the hospital.

For a long while, Candy hadn't thought she'd ever be happy again. She missed him so much. But she'd talked a lot with Mom, and that had helped. She was just starting to feel as if things might actually be okay when disaster struck again.

Just thinking about it caused another tear to fall, and then the dam broke. Candy cried until there were no more tears left, and then she closed her swollen eyes. She missed her dad, but missing him couldn't bring him back again. And she missed her mom, but she wouldn't see her again for a long, long time.

"You really wouldn't mind driving past my shop?" Hannah asked, turning to Norman to make sure he was serious. They'd just finished dinner at the Lake Eden Inn where they'd had several new appetizers that Sally Laughlin, the co-owner and chef, would be featuring at her huge Christmas party next Friday night. It was a straight shot from the Lake Eden Inn to Hannah's condo, but driving into town, where Hannah's cookie shop was located, amounted to a twenty-six-mile detour.

"Why would I mind?" Norman answered her question with a question, something that Hannah's mother frequently accused her of doing. "It gives me more time with you."

The smile Norman gave her looked perfectly genuine in the dim light coming from his dashboard. Hannah smiled back and they were off, heading to Lake Eden on a wintry night that suddenly seemed much warmer to Hannah. "Would you like to hear about the night visitor I had this morning?" she asked.

"A night visitor in the morning morning?" Norman turned on the winds.h.i.+eld wipers to handle the light sprinkling of snow that was falling. "Isn't that a contradiction in terms?"

"No. Do you want to hear about it?"

"Yes, I want to hear about it."

"All right then. The lights in the window were on when I drove past the front of the shop this morning. And then, when I unlocked the back door, I noticed that there was ice on the k.n.o.b, as if a warm hand had gripped it just moments before."

"You thought someone might be inside your shop and you went in anyway?" Norman glanced at her sharply.

"Of course I did. This is Lake Eden. We don't have any crime to speak of."

Norman didn't say anything. He didn't have to. He just ran his finger across his throat in a slas.h.i.+ng motion.

"Okay, okay. I get your point. Maybe we do have a little little crime. But it was only one double-homicide, and I don't think we've ever had one before. Lake Eden's a really safe place to live in the winter, at least as far as break-ins go." crime. But it was only one double-homicide, and I don't think we've ever had one before. Lake Eden's a really safe place to live in the winter, at least as far as break-ins go."

"It's too cold for crime?" Norman guessed.

"That's part of it. Everybody's so busy concentrating on keeping warm, they don't have time to commit petty theft. I never double-lock the back door to The Cookie Jar in the winter. What if some homeless person is freezing outside and needs to get in out of the cold?"

Norman turned to give her a smile. "You're a kind woman, Hannah. Foolish, but kind."

"Well, I've never had any trouble, and I didn't have any trouble this morning. As a matter of fact, whoever slept at The Cookie Jar last night got up early, did all the dishes, and mopped the floor."

"As a thank-you for the warm place to sleep?"

"I think so. She also made us a batch of really great candy and left us the recipe. That's what gave us the idea to offer candy over the holidays. Homemade candy is so much better than anything you can buy in the stores. And a lot of people don't have time to make their own."

"Good idea. If you can make English Toffee, I'll get some for my mother for Christmas. It's her favorite, and she's always complaining that the kind you buy isn't as good as the kind her mother used to make."

"Ibby used to make English Toffee. It was really good, and she gave me a copy of her recipe."

"Who's Ibby?"

"A teaching a.s.sistant in the English Department. I met her when I took a graduate seminar in college. Ibby was an expert on Seventeenth-Century English Metaphysical Poets."

"Like Donne?"

Hannah gave him a thumbs-up. "That's right."

"And...Traherne?"

"Right again." Hannah was impressed. Most people had no idea who the metaphysical poets were and certainly wouldn't be able to name two of them. "How did you know that?"

"Mother."

"Your mother liked the metaphysical poets?"

"No, she liked 'A Visit from Saint Nicholas.'"

"So does Mother. But what does that have to do with Donne and Traherne?"

"We had a big family Christmas every year with all the uncles, aunts, and cousins. I made the mistake of memorizing it when I was four, and every year from then on, my mother asked me to recite it."

"That can be embarra.s.sing, especially if you don't want to do it," Hannah sympathized.

"Not to mention 'dangerous.'"

"Dangerous?"

"That's right. My cousins didn't like it when I was in the spotlight, and they used to give me a hard time after we were excused from dinner. I told my mother and she said to ignore them, that they were just jealous."

"So what did you do?"

"A week before the next Christmas, I memorized four pieces from the metaphysical poets, the longest ones I could find."