-11- Hannah led Andrea into the lobby and they took two overstuffed chairs next to the massive granite fireplace. It was as far from the desk as they could get, and they had the huge room all to themselves.
"Sally told me the granite slabs for the fireplace came from Cold Spring," Andrea informed her. "F. E. Laughlin used local granite and he had it carved with his own designs. Isn't it beautiful?"
"It's certainly impressive," Hannah said, deciding not to risk further comment. With murder foremost on her mind, the three-dimensional angels that appeared to be emerging from the gray-veined surface reminded her of headstones in a graveyard.
Andrea inched a little closer to the blaze that was burning in the grate and then unzipped her leather-bound organizer. "What do you want me to do first?"
"Go talk to Francine." Hannah found the page of notes she'd taken when they talked to Sally. "Find out what she knows about the fight that Connie Mac had with Kurt Howe. Then ask her opinion of the reporter who wrote the story about the ghost."
Andrea jotted it down with her gold Cross pen. "Do you really think he might have murdered Connie Mac to add excitement to his ghost story?"
"Not really, but it's something we have to rule out. And don't forget to ask if Francine knows Janie."
"You want me to ask everyone about Janie, don't you?"
"Absolutely."
"I'm writing down a series of questions," Andrea said, her pen flying swiftly across the page. "I want to know the last time they saw her, any friends she talked about, and whether she ever mentioned a particular place she liked to go, like a hotel or a resort."
"That's a very good idea." Hannah was impressed, Andrea seemed to have the questions about Janie covered.
"Then I'll ask them to put themselves in Janie's place and tell me where they think she might. . ." Andrea stopped speaking and stood up. "My phone's ringing."
"I didn't hear anything."
"I switched it to vibrate so it wouldn't disturb us. Maybe it's Alex. We asked her to phone if Janie called."
Hannah thought that was a little too much to hope for, but she was on full alert as Andrea retrieved her cell phone and answered the call.
"Hello?" There was a pause and then Andrea smiled. "Hi, honey."
It had to be Bill, and Hannah settled back in her chair. Tracey was the only other person Andrea would call "honey."
"Of course Hannah's with me. We're out here at the inn. Sally said she could bake out here. Do you want to talk to her?"
Hannah reached out for the phone, but Andrea shook her head. She listened for another few moments and then she started to smile. "That's just great, honey. I'll see you in about half an hour."
"That was Bill," Andrea said, pressing a button and dropping the phone back into her coat pocket.
"I gathered that."
"They're on their way out here and they're bringing all your cookie dough."
Hannah gave a huge sigh of relief: Once she had her cookie dough, today's baking would be a snap. "Let's get our things together and go talk to Earl Flensburg about the man Connie Mac fired. I saw him drive in, and he should be finishing his first cup of coffee about now."
"Too bad Ray didn't wait a day to tell her what happened." Earl picked up the remainder of his glazed doughnut and stared at it thoughtfully. He was a bear of a man, and his quilted orange parka with the Winnetka County Towing Service insignia on the right front breast pocket made him look even larger than he was.
Hannah guessed what was on his mind. "Because then she wouldn't have had the chance to fire him?"
"Yeah. I should call him to tell him what happened, but I never got his number. Didn't get his last name either, come to think about it. We just need the owner's name for the form."
"Sally told us the accident wasn't his fault," Hannah prompted.
"That's right. A semi spun out in front of him and he took the ditch to avoid it. The van was fine, if you don't count the sissy color. Not a scratch on it."
"So the only thing damaged was Connie Mac's cake?" Andrea asked.
"That's about the size of it. Ray was fine, too, but he was shook up bad I told him to sit in the rig while I hooked up. His face was as white as that snowbank he hit."
"Were you there when he called Connie Mac?" Hannah asked, even though Sally had already told her. It was always better to get things firsthand.
"You betcha. I let him make the call from my rig. He had the phone up to his ear real tight, but I could still hear her yelling at him."
"Connie Mac wasn't exactly known for her sweet disposition." Hannah ventured a small grin. "Didn't Ray tell her that he couldn't avoid the accident?"
" 'Course he did, but it didn't count for a hill of beans with her. Guess I should say I'm sorry she's dead, but I'm not. She was real nasty to Ray."
"From what we hear, she was nasty to a lot of people," Andrea commented.
"Doesn't surprise me. But chickens come home to roost, you know?"
"That's what they say," Hannah agreed. "Do you think those chickens had any help from Ray?"
"No way!" Earl shook his head emphatically. "All Ray wanted to do was crawl home with his tail between his legs. I seen enough people in my life to know he wasn't the killer type. Besides, he was nowhere near here last night."
"Are you sure?" Hannah asked, not willing to rule out Connie Mac's driver solely on Earl's assessment of his character.
"Sure, I'm sure. After she fired him, I dropped him out at the Quick Stop so's he could catch the bus home."
"Do you know where he lives?" Andrea asked the next question.
"Can't say as I do. He lives with his folks, though. He told me that. Hope they weren't too mad at him for losing his job. From my way of thinking, it was the best thing that ever happened to him. A clean-looking kid like Ray's gonna get another job real fast."
"Clean-looking?" Hannah prompted.
"Dark hair cut short, a real nice smile, and a polite way of talking. He called me 'sir,' and hardly nobody does that. Said he wanted to go to college, but he had to work for a year first."
"He does sound nice," Hannah commented. "What time did you drop him off at the Quick Stop?"
"I got my next call at four-thirty, and that was right after I dropped him off." Earl's eyes narrowed and he stared at Hannah suspiciously. "You gonna go check to make sure Ray got on that bus, even after I told you he couldn't have killed her?"
Hannah hesitated. She didn't want to hurt Earl's feelings, but she wasn't going to lie, either.
Andrea stepped in. "I think we should go out there and check. If Hannah and I can prove that Ray got on that bus, the police won't have to bring him back here to question him.?
Earl thought it over for a minute. "That's a good idea. If the police drag Ray all the way back here, it would just about kill a sensitive kid like him. You girls go check. And tell Sean and Don I sent you."
Hannah stood in Sally's kitchen and watched as Bill and Mike carried in her cookie dough. There were thirty-five bowls, each covered with plastic wrap. The Winter Carnival guests wouldn't have to go hungry for cookies this afternoon.
Mike placed the bowl he was carrying on Sally's stainless-steel counter and turned to Bill. "Is that all?"
"I think so. I'll go back out and check."
"I really appreciate this, Bill," Hannah said, addressing her brother-in-law and pointedly ignoring Mike.
Mike's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't say anything until Bill had gone back out to the cruiser. Then he turned to Hannah with a frown. "Come on, Hannah. I know how hard it is for you to be locked out of your shop, but I was just doing my job."
"Some job!" Hannah muttered, but she had to admit he had a point. Perhaps it was time to lighten up a little and see what information she could weasel out of him.
"I don't like it when you're mad at me. How long am I going to be in the doghouse, anyway?"
The note in Mike's voice made Hannah fight back a grin. He sounded like a petulant little boy who'd just been told he couldn't have dessert until he finished his vegetables.
"Was that a smile?"
"It was the ghost of a smile," Hannah admitted. "And speaking of ghosts. . ."
"I heard all about it from Sheriff Grant. He said he got a call from someone who thought we should put Ezekiel's ghost on our suspect list."
"Sheriff Grant didn't take that seriously, did he?"
"No, not at first. Then I pointed out that the killer could have started the ghost story as a diversion to throw us off the track."
Hannah was impressed. She hadn't thought of that angle. "Then you're going to investigate the ghost?"
"It sounds a little crazy when you put it like that, but yes. If we find the person who started the ghost story, it could lead us to the killer."
Hannah bit back the urge to tell Mike who'd written the ghost story and why, but he'd told her not to interfere with his investigation, so he could figure it out by himself. "Any news about Janie?"
"No. You're not trying to find her, are you?"
"No," Hannah said, and it was the truth. They hadn't even started their search for Janie yet. "Did Doc Knight tell you when Connie Mac was killed?"
"Why do you want to know?"
Mike looked suspicious, and Hannah knew she had to give him a reason that had nothing to do with her investigation. "I have a vested interest. She was killed in my pantry, and something like that doesn't happen every day."
"I guess it can't hurt to tell you. Doc said the murder weapon was a heavy, rounded object, and she was killed between ten and midnight."
"From ten to midnight," Hannah repeated, and then she began to frown. "I just thought of something. Connie Mac must have been in the habit of staying out all night."
Mike looked surprised at her comment. "What makes you think that?"
"Because her husband didn't report her missing when she didn't come back to their room last night."
"You're barking up the wrong tree, Hannah. Mr. MacIntyre got in late, and they have a suite with connecting bedrooms. When he didn't hear any sounds coming from her room, he assumed that she'd already gone to sleep. He didn't know that she wasn't there until we called him this morning."
Hannah didn't say what was running through her mind After the nasty mood Connie Mac had been in that afternoon, she couldn't blame Paul for not wanting to wake her. "Where was Paul MacIntyre last night?"
"Out at the Tri-County Mall, doing a walk-through of the kitchen boutique with the mall manager. After that, they went over all the paperwork to make sure everything was in order. Alan Carpenter was with him, and they both said they didn't get back here until after midnight."
"Then they're both in the clear, right?"
"They will be if their story checks out." Mike reached out and took Hannah's arm. "Did you know that Norman was at the Ezekiel Jordan House last night?"
"He told me. He also told me that he didn't notice anything wrong at The Cookie Jar when he left at nine."
"And you believed him?"
"Of course I did." Hannah pulled back slightly. She didn't like the turn their conversation was taking. "What are you getting at, Mike?"
"Something came up when we did interviews in the area this morning. We found out that Norman had a compelling reason to be angry with Mrs. MacIntyre."
Hannah took a giant step back and stared at Mike in shock. "You think Norman killed Connie Mac?"
"It's possible. I spoke to your mother and she said Mrs. MacIntyre was a royal pain when Norman photographed her. She didn't like any of the old-fashioned costumes, and it took all of your mother's tact to persuade her to wear one of them."
"My mother's tact? My mother doesn't have any tact! She's even worse than I am."
"Maybe, but she said Mrs. MacIntyre made Norman move all his equipment at least six times, and she was very condescending to him. Your mother thought Norman showed remarkable restraint, but she could tell that he was steaming. The way I see it, Norman's the type that suffers in silence. And then, long after the situation is over, he dwells on how ineffectual he was. It preys on his mind, you know. He thinks, I should have done this, I should have done that, but I just stood there and took it like a wimp. He gets more and more frustrated at his own inability to act until. . . wham! The whole thing explodes in an act of violence."
Hannah's mouth dropped open. Mike was spouting pop psychology like a talk-show host. She wanted to tell him to stuff it, but that would do Norman more harm than good. "But it doesn't track, Mike. You said that Connie Mac was killed between ten and midnight, and Norman left the Ezekiel Jordan house at nine."
"That's what he says, but no one saw him leave. He could have left at ten. Or eleven."
"Norman was home at eleven. I called him after I got home last night."
"Why did you call him?"
"Just to talk," Hannah said, not wanting to get into the real reason she'd called Norman. "He sounded perfectly normal to me."
"That doesn't prove anything. If he killed her at ten, he had a whole hour to calm down. Look, Hannah . . . I know it's not something you want to believe about Norman, but you've got to admit it's possible it happened the way I just said."
Hannah closed her eyes. If she stared at Mike's earnest face looming over hers, she'd probably hit him right in the beak. And that would bear out his theory! She took a deep breath, collected her wits, and looked up at him again.
"Well, isn't it possible?" Mike prodded her for an answer.
Obviously, the man didn't know when to quit. Hannah sighed and gathered herself to speak in her calmest, most rational voice. "No, Mike. It isn't possible. Norman told me about all the trouble he had with Connie Mac right after we left The Cookie Jar last night. He was over being miffed with her. As a matter of fact, he was even joking about it."
"Of course he was. Norman wouldn't let you know how angry he was, not if he was planning to kill Mrs. MacIntyre later."
"He wasn't planning on killing her," Hannah argued, even though she knew it wouldn't do any good. She took a deep breath, calmed her jangled nerves, and addressed exactly what he had said about Norman's motivation. "Listen to me, Mike. The situation with Connie Mac didn't prey on Norman's mind, he didn't explode in an act of violence, and he didn't kill Connie Mac."
Mike didn't look at all convinced. "Why not?"
"Because Norman's not a killer. Besides, if every person Connie Mac ordered around had taken offense and clubbed her, she would have looked like a piece of Swiss steak!"
"How do you know that? Have you been running around out here asking questions?"
Hannah sighed. She'd already promised herself that she wouldn't lie to him. Mislead perhaps, but not lie.
"Have you?" Mike prodded her for an answer.
"You have my word, Mike." Hannah looked him straight in the eye. "I haven't seen or spoken to any of the Connie Mac people."
"Then how did you know that Mrs. Macintyre ordered people around?"
"It's simple. You're forgetting that Andrea and I took her on a tour of Lake Eden. It was impossible not to notice something like that."
"Oh," Mike said, appearing to accept that at face value. "For a minute there, I thought you were playing detective again."
"There's no way I'll ever play detective again," Hannah declared, pushing down the little niggle of guilt that she felt. She wasn't going to play at being a detective. She was going to be a detective and solve Connie Mac's murder before he did.
Mike reached out to give her a hug. "I've got to get back to work. Just promise me that you'll be careful around Norman."
"Norman didn't kill Connie Mac."
"I know you don't believe that he could do it, but I understand Norman a lot better than you do."
"Really?" Hannah worked hard to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. As far as she knew, Mike hadn't spent more than a few casual moments with Norman.
"That's right. Men understand each other better than a woman ever could. I can appreciate your loyalty to Norman, and I'm not asking you to believe that he's the killer. I just want you to stay away from him until we find out, one way or the other."
Hannah stared after him as he walked out the door. In just one morning, Mike had managed to close down her business, tie her down with a promise not to interfere with his investigation, accuse a man she was dating of murder, and claim that a woman couldn't possibly understand a man's motives. This whole thing with Mike was enough to make her pick up the phone and make an appointment with the nearest shrink. For the life of her, she couldn't understand how such an obstinate, boneheaded chauvinist could make her pulse race and turn her insides to jelly.