Apple Turnover Murder Part 15

"Moishe's sleeping with Mich.e.l.le, Mother and Andrea left at eleven-thirty, and Norman took Cuddles home."

"Norman's back?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing really. He didn't seem very glad to be back, but he was probably just tired."

"It could be the wedding, too."

"The wedding?"

"His mother just got married again. Maybe that made him feel a little strange. It doesn't matter how old you are. If your mother gets married again, it's still an adjustment. It might even have made him miss his dad more...you know?"

"You're right! I didn't even think of that." Hannah felt a bit foolish for ignoring the obvious.

"Okay. Let's get this done." Mike took out his notebook while Hannah poured him a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table. He took a sip, ate one of the Chocolate Marshmallow Cookie Bars she served to him, and gave her a thumbs-up. "These are my new favorites," he declared, taking another sip of coffee and setting the mug down on the table. "Ready?"

"I'm ready."

"Tell me everything that happened from the time you left the ladies dressing room until you called me on your cell phone."

Hannah complied, telling the events in her own words. She recounted how she'd wondered why the curtain wasn't going up, how she'd glanced at the stage as she pa.s.sed the wings, and how she'd seen Bradford sitting there in a chair. She told Mike how she'd attempted to wake him verbally from what she'd a.s.sumed was a nap. And then she stopped, s.h.i.+vering slightly.

"Good," Mike praised her. "Now tell me what happened next."

Hannah took another swallow of coffee in an attempt to clear the lump in her throat. She wasn't sure why it was so hard to talk about Bradford, but it was. "When shaking his shoulder the first time didn't work, I shook him harder. And then he toppled out of the chair and onto the floor and I...I saw he was...dead."

"Approximately how much time do you think elapsed between the point when you realized that Professor Ramsey was dead and the call you placed to me?"

"I don't know. Maybe two or three minutes? I stared at him for a while. It was just such a shock when he tumbled out of that chair. I remember noticing that he'd been eating one of our apple turnovers, because it was on the floor and half of it was gone."

"What made you suspect he was dead?"

"I knew that just falling to the floor from a chair shouldn't kill him. He hit his head, but not that hard. It was mostly as if he just crumpled, you know?"

"I know. Go on."

"Well...he wasn't moving and he didn't seem to be breathing, either. I knew something was wrong, so I got out my LED light on my keychain. It took a minute for me to find it in my purse. When I switched it on, I looked at him and I knew."

"How did you know?"

"I'm not sure, but I just knew. I didn't feel for a pulse. I really hate to do that with dead people, and I was pretty sure he was dead. And that was when I called you so you could come and take care of it."

"Thanks, Hannah." Mike made a final note in his book and put down the pen. "That was very good. You covered almost everything without being asked."

"That must be due to the practice I'm getting. How many dead bodies have I found anyway?"

"I think this makes it over a dozen, but who's counting?"

Hannah refilled their coffee mugs and pa.s.sed the platter of goodies again. This time Mike took an Aggression Cookie. "How did he die? Do you know yet?" she asked, before he could take a bite.

"I'm sorry, but that information..." Mike stopped and shrugged. "I don't know why I'm bothering to give you the official party line. You'll find out anyway. Professor Ramsey was stabbed."

"Stabbed? But I didn't see a knife!"

"That's because the killer pulled it out and took it with him."

Hannah felt a sudden chill and she cupped her hands around her mug of coffee. How close had she come to surprising the killer and putting herself in mortal danger?

"What's the matter?" Mike asked.

"I was just wondering how close I came to..." Hannah stopped and swallowed hard.

"Interrupting the killer?" Mike waited until Hannah nodded and then he went on. "Did you see anyone backstage?"

"No. Not a soul."

"Did you hear footsteps? Breathing? Anything that might have indicated another human presence somewhere in the vicinity?"

Hannah thought about that for a moment, and then she shook her head. "No. I think I would have known if someone were there."

"How would you know if you didn't see or hear them?"

"This might sound a little crazy, but I would have gotten that creepy feeling I get when I'm supposed to be alone and I'm not."

"Okay. I'll buy that."

"You will?" Hannah was surprised. "It's not exactly scientific."

"Maybe not, but I get it, too. And it could be scientific."

"How?"

Mike grinned and Hannah thought he looked a little sheepish. "It's like a change in atmosphere, or in air pressure, or something like that."

"You mean...you can feel that there's another body in the s.p.a.ce?"

"Yes. It's like there's a certain amount of air in the room. That's what you expect when you first walk in. But then you realize there's less air than you expected because somebody else who's not supposed to be there is breathing some of it."

"That's it!" Hannah stared at him in amazement. "That's exactly what I mean, but I never thought to say it that way."

There was a moment when both of them were silent, eyes locked together, minds merged as one. And then both of them broke the connection. Hannah's gaze dropped to her coffee mug, and Mike's to his notebook.

"Only a couple more questions and we're through," Mike told her. "Do you know anyone who might have wanted to kill Professor Ramsey?"

"Me," Hannah said, acting on instinct and jumping off into s.p.a.ce like a cliff diver trusting that he'd hit the water just right and find the coins that the tourists had thrown for him.

It took Mike a moment to recover. Then he looked up from his notebook and stared at her. "What did you say?"

"Me," Hannah repeated. She knew she had to tell him the truth, or at least part of it. Herb had heard her fighting with Bradford, and she wasn't about to presume on their friends.h.i.+p by asking him to lie for her. She looked up at Mike, locked eyes with him again, and spoke in a completely steady voice. "I wanted to kill Bradford Ramsey," she said.

Another pot of coffee later, and Hannah had told as much of her history with Bradford Ramsey as she wanted to tell. Mike had listened to every word, making no comment throughout her long recital, until she arrived at the conclusion. "And that's why I wanted to kill him," she said.

"But you didn't."

"No. But I wanted to, especially after that crack he made about Mich.e.l.le."

"Can't say as I blame you," Mike gave her a little smile. "As a matter of fact, it might be a good thing I'm already investigating his murder."

This time it was Hannah who smiled. Mike hadn't come right out and said he wanted to kill Bradford for what he'd done, but Hannah knew that's what he was implying.

"I hope you'll help me out on this one, Hannah," Mike said, turning to a fresh page in his notebook.

"I will if I can."

"I'm starting with a blank slate here. I didn't know the victim at all. Any background I get on him has got to come from computer searches or other people. I want you to think back, Hannah. Do you know anyone, from your time in college right up to the present, who might have had a reason to kill Professor Ramsey?"

"Try his ex-wife," Hannah suggested. "At least I think she's his ex-wife. He was married when I left college and there's no wife in the picture now."

Mike made a note in his book. "Anyone else?"

"You might want to check around at the community college. He started teaching there before Christmas, and he was the type to play around."

"With students?"

"Students, faculty, whoever," Hannah said with a shrug. "It's possible he left a trail of angry women behind him. And if any of those angry women are married, there could be angry husbands, too."

"I'll check on that. I'm almost positive this is a crime of pa.s.sion and a jealous husband or wife would fit the M.O."

"How do you figure that?"

"The knife wounds were deep, and Doc Knight said the killer used a lot of force. Whoever did it really wanted Professor Ramsey dead. And although the first stab wound was lethal, the killer stabbed him four more times." Mike jotted another note to himself in his book and then he looked up. "Any other suggestions? You knew him a hundred percent better than I did."

"That's true, but it's been a while and it's not like we kept in touch. And I never knew that much about him personally. You could pull his personnel records from the college and explore his job history. And it wouldn't hurt to find out how he got along with his colleagues and his bosses. That might be important."

"How about Mich.e.l.le?"

Hannah had all she could do not to gasp. "What about her?" she asked.

"She's been at Macalester for over two years. She might have heard some rumors about him."

"You're right." Hannah breathed a sigh of relief. Mike wanted nothing more than background from Mich.e.l.le. "I'll ask her in the morning and get back to you."

Mike snapped his notebook shut and stuck it back in his pocket. Then he reached out to pet Moishe, who had left Mich.e.l.le's bed and come out to join them midway through the interview. "I guess that's it then."

"Aren't you going to ask if I'm going to nose around? And then warn me about interfering with an official investigation?"

"Are you going to nose around and interfere with an official investigation?"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Hannah said quite honestly. She never dreamed about things she was going to do.

"Gotta move, big guy," Mike said, gently unseating Moishe so that he could stand up. "Call me if you come up with anything, will you?"

"You'll be the first to know." Hannah followed Mike to the door.

"There's only one thing I don't get," Mike said, turning around to face her.

"What's that?"

"If you knew Professor Ramsey that well when you were in college, why did he pretend he didn't know you when he came here for Christmas Eve dinner?"

"He wasn't pretending."

"What?"

Hannah gave a little shrug, as if she didn't care. "Bradford didn't remember me," she said. "He knew my name because Mich.e.l.le mentioned it, but he had no idea who I was."

Mike was silent for a moment and then he pulled her into his arms. He gave her a hug and then he kissed her. It was not the sort of kiss you'd give to an old friend, and Hannah felt her knees go weak.

"It's like I said before..." Mike reached out to touch her lips with his finger and then he opened the door and stepped out. "It's a good thing I'm already investigating his murder!"

Chapter Sixteen.

It was just as her grandmother Ingrid had said. Old habits died hard. Hannah's eyes flew open on the dot of four twenty-nine and she reached out to shut off the alarm before it could ring. When her fingers touched the b.u.t.ton that wasn't pulled out to activate the alarm, she remembered. This was the morning she could sleep in for an extra two hours. Lisa had promised to recruit Marge and Patsy to help her with the baking.

Two more hours in bed was a luxury. Hannah fell back against the soft pillows and gave a contented sigh. She reached out to pet the cat who was purring on the pillow next to hers, and let her eyes flutter closed. Two more hours of sleep was the best present in the world. She felt just like she had on Christmas morning, years ago, when she'd run down the stairs to find a s.h.i.+ny new bicycle under the tree!

The pillow was soft, the sheets were still warm, and sublime comfort was all around her, from the darkened room with the low glimmer of the bulb in the Tiffany lamp her mother had given her to the fluffy quilt kept ready at the foot of the bed, a precaution in case the morning hours brought the damp or the cold. This morning the air was perfect, both in temperature and in humidity. The slight breeze from the screened window was like a caress on her skin, and she was totally relaxed. She was tired, yes. But she wasn't sleepy. Not a bit. Not even a smidgen. And her mind was doing jumping jacks behind her closed eyelids, begging for its morning coffee.

Hannah mumbled a word she'd never use around her young nieces and sat up in bed. Since she couldn't go back to sleep, she might as well get up and start the day. Perhaps she'd have time for a nap in the afternoon. Just because she hadn't napped since she was three years old didn't mean it couldn't happen today.

Once she'd showered and dressed, Hannah hurried down the hallway, being careful to tread quietly as she pa.s.sed the guest room. Mich.e.l.le hadn't gotten much sleep either, and before Delores had left, she'd told Mich.e.l.le to take the morning off and come in at noon.

As she approached the kitchen, Hannah began to frown. The bright lights were on. She must have been so tired last night that she'd forgotten to switch them off.

"Hannah!" Mich.e.l.le gasped, so startled she came very close to knocking over the mug of coffee she was drinking at the kitchen table. "What are you doing up so early?"

"Woke up. Couldn't sleep," Hannah explained in the fewest words possible. This was not the time for an involved explanation that would take precious time, not when her throat felt parched and every cell in her body was screaming for caffeine.