Chapter
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“This is really sweet of you, Norman,” Hannah said, opening the back door of his car and placing the bags of cookies she’d prepared on the seat. Once she’d stashed the goodies, she got into the front seat and smiled. It was warm inside Norman’s car. And warmth was a luxury in the winter in Minnesota. Even though Mike had fixed the heater on her cookie truck, it was still drafty and the cavernous space in the back was always cold in the winter months.
“I enjoy going places with you, Hannah.” Norman backed out of the parking spot and headed down the alley that ran in back of Hannah’s shop. “You know I like helping you investigate, and Doc Bennett’s filling in for me for the rest of the day at the clinic.”
Hannah glanced at Norman’s profile as he drove down the alley and turned onto Third. He wasn’t what any woman would call a heartthrob, but he was nice looking. It was his personality that catapulted him straight to the top of the handsome category. Her great grandmother Elsa used to say, Handsome is as handsome does, and it was true. Norman was kind, intelligent, sweet, and caring. They were qualities that Hannah held dear, right along with Norman’s sense of humor, his kindness, and his willingness to indulge her chocolate-loving soul.
The afternoon sun sparkling on the snow that had fallen CANDY CANE MURDER
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the previous night was so bright that Hannah almost wished she’d worn sunglasses. And then, before she could do more than think it, Norman had opened the glove compartment and was handing her a pair.
“Here,” he said. “It’s really bright out today.”
Hannah slipped on the sunglasses. “So how long have you been doing it?”
“Doing what?”
“Reading my mind.”
Norman waggled his eyebrows at her. “As kindred souls we share our thoughts in a way that others can only envy.”
“Very poetic!”
“I know. It must be a reaction to all that flowery language at the Regency luncheon.”
“That could be. But you did read my mind.”
“Not really. I just noticed that you were squinting, that’s all.”
Norman clicked on his turn signal and they made a left turn at the bright green shamrock-shaped sign that spoke of Cyril’s heritage. Hannah’s truck hadn’t required Cyril’s services for several months and she hadn’t had occasion to visit the garage. During this time, a new building had been erected between the huge corrugated shed that housed the used cars Cyril sold, and the garage itself. The garage was a fairly large structure containing four work bays in the rear and gas pumps out in front. The new building was attached to the side of the garage and there was a bright green sign just under the roof that read, SHAMROCK LIMOS. The building had a door that was presently rolled up and Hannah could see three sparkling white limousines parked inside.
“Looks like Cyril is branching out,” Norman said, pulling past the pumps and parking at the side of the new building.
“The last time I was out here, he had just one limo.”
“Business must be good,” Hannah said, reaching in back to select one of the bags while Norman got out and walked around the car to open her door. They had arrived at an un-74
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spoken arrangement over two years ago. Norman knew that Hannah could open her own car door, but he liked to do it for her. And although Hannah bristled slightly, sitting there and waiting for him to do something she could perfectly well do for herself, she let him do it because it pleased him.
Norman took her arm and Hannah let him. This time it wasn’t an unspoken arrangement; it was necessity on both of their parts. It was icy and their chances of falling were greatly diminished if they hung on to one another. Slipping and sliding, they made it around the side of the building and through the door to the garage.
Cyril was sitting behind the counter, talking to one of his mechanics. Hannah knew he was a mechanic because everyone who worked at Murphy’s Garage wore shamrock-green coveralls. Cyril gave them a wave to acknowledge them, said something about rotors, tolerances, and millimeters, and the mechanic hurried back into the first work bay.
“Hannah. Norman.” Cyril gave them a smile that made his eyes crinkle. He was what Hannah’s dad would have called “black Irish.” His hair was curly black and his eyes, under dark expressive brows, were such a deep blue color, the pupils were just barely distinguishable from the irises.
“Something wrong with the cookie truck?”
“Not a thing,” Hannah answered, handing him the bag of cookies. “These are for you. They’re Christmas Date Cookies.”
Cyril looked pleased as he accepted the bag. “Thanks, Hannah. They’re my favorites. What did I do to deserve cookies?”
“It’s not what you did. It’s what you’re going to do.”
“Uh-oh.” Cyril gave a long sigh. “This must be about Wayne Bergstrom. I figured you’d hear about that fight we had sooner or later, and it looks like it’s sooner. Who told you?”
“Two people,” Hannah said and left it at that. It was a slight exaggeration, but it all depended on how you counted.
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Lisa had told her about the fight, but Herb had been the one to tell Lisa.
“So you think I killed Wayne?”
“Of course not!” Hannah shook her head. “You couldn’t have done it. You’re Irish.”
“What does that have to do with it?”
“Your heritage is part of your personality. My dad was part Irish and he explained it to me. If an Irishman’s mad enough to kill somebody, he doesn’t lie in wait like some coward and attack when nobody’s looking. He takes his enemy on fair and square in front of everybody in town.”
Cyril threw back his head and laughed. “Your dad was part Irish, all right! He told you a whopper and you bought it.”
“I guess I did,” Hannah said with a laugh, glad that the story she’d made up on the spur of the moment had worked to relax Cyril. “But you didn’t lay in wait and kill Wayne last night, did you?”
“No. I was mad enough to do it, but I had another sort of revenge in mind.”
“What was that?” Norman asked.
“I was going to undercut him and sabotage his limo business. It probably would have bankrupted me before it was over, but it would have been worth it.”
It took a few minutes and some cogent questions for the story to come out, but at last they had the facts. The reason Cyril had bought two more white limousines was that Wayne had promised to use his limo service for the weddings he booked through the new Wonderful Weddings department at the store.
“I thought it was all set. Wayne promised to use Shamrock Limos, and I promised I’d get two more cars.”
“But Wayne reneged on his promise?” Hannah guessed.
“That’s right!” Cyril’s eyes glittered and both Hannah and Norman could tell that he was still steaming about it.
“Wayne decided to start his own limo service. And since we 76
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didn’t have a signed contract, I couldn’t prove he’d agreed to use Shamrock Limos.”
“That would have burned me up, too!” Norman said, and then he turned to Hannah. “Can we take Cyril off the suspect list?”
“Just as soon as he tells us his alibi.” Hannah pulled out her steno pad and flipped to the suspect page. “Did you watch Wayne play Santa last night?” she asked Cyril.
“Sure did. And right after that, I went out to take a look at Florence Evans’s van. She said it was cutting in and out, and she didn’t want to get stuck on the way home.”
“And that was in the parking lot?”
“No, she parked in front in the loading zone. She told me she figured she was entitled since she was carrying all the Christmas stockings the Women’s Club stuffed for the kids at the Home.”
“Works for me,” Hannah said. “As far as we know, Wayne left by the back door and went around the side of the building to the path that leads to the parking lot. Did you see him?”
Cyril shook his head. “I must’ve been busy working on Florence’s car. I fixed the problem, it was a loose spark plug, and then we went back inside.”
“And you were with Florence the whole time?”
“Most of it. She went back in a couple of times to bring me coffee, but she wasn’t gone more than five minutes. When we got back inside, Sally was telling everybody the buffet was open and we got in line with Brigit.”
Hannah and Norman said their goodbyes and left the warmth of the garage. A light snow had started to fall and as they walked to Norman’s car, Hannah was thoughtful. Cyril had an alibi, but it wasn’t exactly a get-out-of-jail-free card.
Even if Florence substantiated his story, it was possible that Cyril had seized his opportunity and killed Wayne in the few minutes that Florence was inside getting coffee for him.
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“Where to?” Norman asked, once he’d settled Hannah in the passenger seat and climbed in behind the wheel.
“The mall?” Hannah phrased her answer in the form of a question, something that had always driven her a little bit crazy when she watched Jeopardy. “I’d like to check with Wayne’s brother-in-law Cory if he’s in today. He’s head of the Wonderful Weddings department.”
“Fine with me. I need to pick up something for Mother anyway. So far, all I’ve got is a book and that’s not enough for Christmas. Maybe you can help me choose something.”
Hannah was about to make a sarcastic crack about the blind leading the blind when she remembered something Delores had told her. “I think you should buy her a silk wreath.”
“You mean … a Christmas wreath?”
“No, a flower wreath. Delores just bought one made from dried pink roses for her guest bath and Carrie thought it was beautiful. She said she might look for one for herself, but she wanted hers to be blue hydrangeas.”
“I’m not really big on flower names. Are hydrangeas the velvety looking blue flowers clumped together on a stalk?”
“Good description! But hydrangeas aren’t just blue. They can also be pink, depending on the pH value of the soil.”
“That’s interesting,” Norman said, and Hannah knew he was one of the few guys who would think so.
“Grandma Ingrid liked the pink ones,” Hannah went on.
“She used to take me outside to garden with her and I remember helping her dig around the hydrangea bushes so she could sprinkle in some chemical.”
“It was probably lime. She would have used aluminum sulfate or sulfur if she’d wanted the blue. Maybe I should plant some hydrangeas. They’re like nature’s litmus strips.”
“Red cabbage.”
“What?”
“Red cabbage really is nature’s litmus strip. I noticed it 78
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when I tested Minnie Holtzmeier’s recipe for Scandinavian Red Cabbage for the Lake Eden cookbook.”
“Now why doesn’t this surprise me?” Norman glanced at her, gave her a quick smile, and then quickly returned his attention to the road. He’d been in Minnesota long enough to know that it was dangerous to get distracted when you were driving in the winter. “What, exactly, did you notice?” he asked her.
“I shredded some red cabbage in the food processor and kept it in some cold tap water in the cooler until I was ready to use it. By that time it was bluish purple instead of red. Tap water is slightly alkaline, isn’t it?”
“Usually. I’m almost sure it is here in Lake Eden.”
“That’s what I thought. When I’d finished gathering the other ingredients, I drained the red cabbage. The water was fairly blue by that time. Then I added the dry red wine the recipe called for and the cabbage turned red again.”
“The red wine was acidic.” Norman gave her another quick glance. “You would have made a good scientist, Hannah.
You’re very observant.”
“And you’re not,” Hannah smiled to take the sting out of her words.
“What makes you think I’m not observant?”
“Because we just passed the last entrance to the mall and now you have to look for a place to turn around and drive back.”
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