Apple Turnover Murder Part 24

They stood there quietly, looking at each other, until Hannah dropped her eyes. "Goodnight, Mike," she said.

"Goodnight, Hannah." Mike pulled open the door, but he didn't step out immediately. First he touched her cheek very gently, with the tip of his finger. "Take care," he said, giving her a smile. And then he turned and walked down the stairs.

Chapter Twenty-Four.

Hannah awoke to a rough tongue licking her nose and sunlight streaming in her bedroom window. "What time is it?" she asked her feline bedfellow.

"Rrowww!" Moishe answered, a.s.suming a sphinx-like posture on the pillow next to hers.

Since she didn't speak cat and had no interpreter, Hannah turned to look at the clock. It was seven-thirty, and she'd gotten over six and a half hours of sleep. This hadn't happened since...Hannah's mind balked at going that far back in time. It certainly hadn't happened since she'd opened The Cookie Jar.

She threw back the light cotton coverlet she used during the summer months and smiled. This morning there was time for a luxurious cat stretch that imitated Moishe's ritual stretch. Hannah rolled over on her stomach and extended her arms and legs in random order until they were spread out in opposite directions. When that was concluded, she tucked arms and legs back in and rolled to one side, then the other side, and ended up on her back. And then came the best stretch of all, with all four paws, or in Hannah's case limbs, pointing straight up to the heavens. After that there was a flip to the side, another stretch extending toward the doorway, and Hannah sat up on the edge of the bed feeling better than she had in months. Obviously sleep was the key. If only there were some way to get more of it! Leaving her roommate to take quite literally a spit bath, Hannah headed off to the shower.

Twelve minutes later, cat and mistress left their bedroom and padded down the hall. Moishe was wearing his orange and white fur suit, and Hannah was dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved b.u.t.tercup yellow blouse. Hannah was still wearing her fur-lined slippers and Moishe was doing the same.

"Oh, my!" Hannah said as a welcome aroma drifted out from the kitchen. She'd forgotten to set the timer for the coffee last night, but Mich.e.l.le had made a pot.

"Good morning, Hannah," Mich.e.l.le greeted her. "I'm falling down on the job. All I made for breakfast this morning is coffee."

"Coffee's perfect. It's exactly what I need. Can you think of a better way to start the day?"

Mich.e.l.le didn't waste any time thinking. "You're right. Sit down and I'll get yours. And I'll have another cup with you."

"You know, it's just amazing how alert I feel. And I haven't even had my first cup of coffee."

"Sleep will do that to you. You should really try it more often." Mich.e.l.le handed Hannah her coffee cup and sat down at the table with her.

The two sisters sipped in companionable silence for several minutes, and then Hannah spoke. "What are your plans for the day?"

"Mother doesn't need me, so I thought I'd run out to the college and talk to Tim Pearson if I can borrow your truck."

"Ride in to work with me and you can have it. Just make sure you're back before the Donkey Baseball Game."

"When is that?"

"It starts at three and lasts until six. Then there's a barbecue and pizza feed in the big tent on the football field."

"And after that is the auction...right?"

"Right. I know Mother was resisting. Did Stephanie end up talking her into donating something?"

"Yes, she did. Mother gave her a carved umbrella stand. It's ebony and Luanne got it at an estate sale in Edina."

"Sounds nice."

"It isn't. The carving is well done, but there are grotesque-looking rodents all over it. Mother's never been able to sell it, so she decided to give it to Stephanie and take the write-off."

"Smart move," Hannah said, downing the last of her coffee and standing up. "Let's get ready to go. I want to take a look at that umbrella stand for myself. I might just bid on it for Moishe."

Lisa looked shocked as Hannah came in the back door of the shop. "It's only nine o'clock. You didn't have to come in this early."

"Yes, I did. I wanted you to see how alert I am before I get tired again."

Lisa laughed. "Marge baked her Cottage Cheese Cookies this morning. I'll bring you a couple."

Hannah poured herself a cup of coffee from the kitchen pot and sat down at the stainless steel workstation. Lisa brought her two cookies on a napkin and sat down across from her.

"Very good," Hannah said after one bite. "How did Herb's meeting with the mayor go?"

"Just fine. He's going to start patrolling the cemetery this afternoon. He's going to do a drive-through every two hours in the afternoon and increase it to once every hour when it gets dark out."

"He's not going to patrol all night, is he?" Hannah asked, hoping Mayor Bas...o...b..wasn't expecting his town marshal to go without sleep.

"Just for the first two nights. And that's because Friday and Sat.u.r.day nights are popular date nights. The mayor figures the news will spread pretty quickly and parking in the cemetery will lose its appeal."

"But how can the mayor possibly expect Herb to go two nights without sleep?"

Lisa laughed. "I guess I forgot to tell you. Mayor Bas...o...b..relieved Herb of all his other duties until the city maintenance crew can put up motion lights. They promised him the lights would be up and working by Sunday afternoon. They're sending a man out there this morning to take photos and measurements. They did the same thing with the road past the apple orchard. They put up motion lights."

"I wonder where the kids will move next?" Hannah mused. "And I also wonder if Mayor Bas...o...b..owns stock in any motion light company."

The next two hours pa.s.sed quickly while Hannah baked. She was about to mix up a batch of Mystery Cookies when Lisa came in from the coffee shop.

"Norman's here to see you," she said. "Shall I tell him to come back here to the kitchen?"

"Yes, please," Hannah said, wondering why Norman hadn't simply parked in her spot and come in the kitchen door.

It appeared that Norman had been waiting very close to the door for Lisa's summons, because Lisa left and only a second or two later, he pushed through the door.

"Hi, Norman. Coffee?"

"I'd love some. Thanks. Is it okay if I sit here?"

Hannah nodded when Norman pointed to a stool at the workstation. It was the same stool where he usually sat. Either Norman had suffered some unfortunate memory loss that had erased all recollection of their former relations.h.i.+p, or he was withdrawing again.

"Here you go," Hannah said, setting his coffee in front of him. "How about a cookie?"

"That would be nice. Whatever you've got is fine."

Hannah placed a Mola.s.ses Crackle and a Black and White on a napkin and handed them to Norman. And then, because she was frustrated with what she thought of as a subterfuge, she asked, "What's wrong, Norman?"

"What do you mean?"

Since he'd dropped his eyes, Hannah could tell he knew exactly what she meant, but she decided to spell it out for him. "Sometimes you're warm and loving, just like you were before the wedding. But other times, like now, you're cold and distant. You're perfectly polite, but you're treating me like a stranger."

"Fair enough." Norman signed deeply. "I'm sorry, Hannah. It's a personal problem I'm trying to work out. It has nothing to do with you."

"But it affects me."

"Yes. It does." He was silent for a moment and then he gave her a little smile. "Just try to be patient with me. I'll work it out eventually."

"And then things will return to normal?"

"I hope so. Just give me a little time, Hannah. That's all I ask. Will you do that for me"

"Of course," Hannah said. What else could she say? But she was left with a vague and unsatisfactory answer to what was obviously a big problem. Rather than dwell on it and make both of them miserable, she smiled brightly and asked, "What did you learn from Kyle Williamson? I've been on pins and needles, waiting to hear."

"I learned a lot." Norman returned her smile. "I like him and I think the feeling's mutual. At least he really opened up to me. He reminds me of me at that age. A little nerdy, a little bit too non-athletic to be very popular with the girls, and a little too eager to speak up in cla.s.s when he knows the answer."

"He sounds like a kid I might like," Hannah ventured.

"You would. And he's not really a kid. He's got a degree in music from Juilliard, but it's like he says, there's not much work for a concert pianist who came in fourth in the important compet.i.tions and didn't quite make the concert circuit. You know what I mean?"

"I do know. I thought for a while that I wanted to write poetry. I cared so much and I tried so hard. I put my heart on the page, but I just wasn't good enough."

"Do you still have any of your poetry?"

"It's probably kicking around somewhere in the guest room closet."

"If you're willing, I'd like to read it sometime."

"Maybe sometime," Hannah said, wondering if that would ever come to pa.s.s. She couldn't help but doubt the depth of their relations.h.i.+p. Right now, at this moment, Norman was his old self. But he could change in an instant to that distant stranger.

"I painted," Norman said. And then he was silent. Hannah wondered if he were wis.h.i.+ng he hadn't revealed that about himself.

"What did you paint?" she asked.

"Houses." Norman waited for a beat and then he chuckled. "Gotcha! You're thinking house painter, right?"

"Yes, I was. But you painted...?"

"Cityscapes mostly. I concentrated on urban architecture. Houses, apartment buildings, landmarks...that type of thing. Mine were a bit different than most because the frame was always a window. And occasionally the perspective was not from the window itself, but from a point across the room from the window."

Hannah stared at Norman in amazement. She'd seen several paintings of that description in the house Norman had built. She'd a.s.sumed they were prints of famous works, or original oils purchased for their investment potential. "The belfry?" she asked referring to the painting she'd noticed hanging in his study.

"The bell tower at Notre Dame. I painted it after a trip I took as a student. It's my last one."

"But it's beautiful. I love it. Why did you stop painting?"

"I'm a lot like Kyle. I realized I wasn't good enough to make a decent living at it, so I went to dental school."

"That doesn't mean you have to give up painting. You could paint on the weekends, or at night, or whenever. You don't have to stop creating!"

"I might take it up again someday...as a hobby. But the fire to succeed as an artist of note is gone."

"But you shouldn't just give up. You should..."

"Do you still write poetry?" Norman interrupted her with a question.

"I...I...no. I haven't written anything since I left college."

"Point made," Norman said.

"Point taken," Hannah replied. "I just wish that..."

"Another time. Don't you want to hear why Kyle flunked Professor Ramsey's Intro to Poetry cla.s.s?"

Hannah nodded, pulling herself out of her self-indulgent dream, where they traveled to wonderfully scenic places so that Norman could paint and she could write. "Tell me," she said.

"Kyle told me his girlfriend broke up with him right before Christmas. She said she was in love with Professor Ramsey."

"Oh, no!" Hannah said, feeling sorry for the jilted student.

"They'd both enrolled in his Intro to Poetry cla.s.s, and Kyle convinced himself that it was just a pa.s.sing thing and she'd come around as soon as she saw that he still loved her. The first day of cla.s.s rolled around, and Kyle managed to sit next to her, but she wouldn't even speak to him. That was the way things went for the first week of cla.s.s. Kyle kept trying, and she kept refusing to have anything to do with him. He said he had to watch her flirting with Ramsey and that it was really hard to take."

"I can imagine that! Poor Kyle."

"And then Professor Ramsey started singling her out for things, keeping her after cla.s.s, and inviting her to visit his home campus at Macalester. Kyle could tell she was falling completely under his spell, and he just couldn't stand to watch it any longer."

"So he started skipping cla.s.ses, even when there were tests?" Hannah guessed.

"That's about the size of it. Once he realized that Professor Ramsey was returning his girlfriend's overtures, he stopped going to cla.s.s altogether. It was just too painful to watch them interact. He would have dropped the cla.s.s, but it was too late to drop, so he just took the failing grade."

"That's really sad."

"I know." Norman gave another little sigh. "He was very stoic about it. And he was also very convincing."

"Convincing?"

"He convinced me that he still loved his girlfriend and he was hoping to get her back now that Professor Ramsey was dead."

"Did he tell you the name of his girlfriend?"

"No. I asked, but he didn't want to say. And I didn't think I'd better push it or he'd clam up and stop answering my questions."

Hannah was silent for minute, digesting all that she'd learned. "He's certainly got a motive, especially if he thinks he can get his girlfriend back now that his rival's dead. What about Wednesday night? Does he have an alibi?"

"Yes, and it's a good one. There's no way Kyle could have killed Professor Ramsey since he was hundreds of miles away from the scene of the crime. He flew out to Arizona State University on Wednesday morning to watch his sister graduate, and his parents were with him. They were all having dinner at T. Cooks at the Royal Palms Hotel when Professor Ramsey was killed."

COTTAGE CHEESE COOKIES.