Chapter Five
The headlights of Hannah’s cookie truck glared against the row of single-pane windows marching across the front of the squat red brick building that housed the Winnetka County Sheriff’s Department. It was a fairly new structure, built with county money, and the windows, one to each office, didn’t open. This made it more energy efficient, according to county government guidelines. Regardless of the season or the outdoor temperature, the inside was maintained at a politically correct sixty-eight degrees.
There were eight head-in parking spots that were earmarked for visitors, and Hannah had her pick of all eight of them. Since her mother hadn’t raised a fool, she took the one closest to the front door. Grabbing the sample box of toffee she’d prepared before she’d left her condo, and armed with three bags of day-old cookies that would be speedily devoured by anyone on duty inside, she made a hasty exit from her truck and hurried to the front door.
Hannah pushed open the first door and stepped into the enclosure that served as a cloakroom. It was narrow, more like a hallway than a room, and it contained a rack for boots and a series of hooks for hanging parkas and scarves. The door to the inside of the sheriff’s station was at the end, and the enclosure also served as a buffer between the frigid winter air and the deputy who manned the front desk.
Hannah couldn’t help grinning as she slipped out of her boots and hung her parka on a hook. The county board had spent thousands of dollars to research the energy-saving inner door and outer door plan, something any Minnesotan who had an enclosed front or back porch could have told them for free.
Just as Hannah was reaching for the inner door to let herself in, it opened and Bill appeared. “Come on in, Hannah. I was in the office and I saw you pull up.”
“Hi, Bill,” Hannah greeted him, handing over the plate of toffee.
“What’s this?”
“English Toffee. I made it last night. And I brought cookies, too. Do you have time for coffee? I need to talk to you about something.”
“I’ve got nothing but time. It’s been dead as a doornail all night.” Bill stopped and frowned slightly. “I wonder what that means anyway.”
“What what means?”
“‘Dead as a doornail.’ I’ve been saying it all my life and I don’t know what it means.”
“It dates back to the thirteen hundreds. Shakespeare even used it in Henry IV. Most scholars think it came from clinching a nail.”
“What’s that?”
“Driving in a long nail and hammering the end over on the inside, so it can’t be removed. That’s what they used to do before they had screws to lend extra strength to things like doors. The doornails were called ‘dead’ because they were bent and they couldn’t be pulled out and used again.” Hannah stopped talking when she noticed that Bill was staring at her in amazement. “What?” Hannah said.
“I was just wondering how you know all that.”
Hannah shrugged. “I read it somewhere and it just stuck in my mind. Things do that sometimes.”
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it. Go on down to my office and I’ll get you some coffee from the break room. It’s fresher than what’s in the vending machine.”
“But is it better?” Hannah asked, and then she headed for his office. She’d find out soon enough.
Hannah walked down the hallway and opened the door with the fake brass plate that said, “William Todd, Detective” in stamped letters designed to look like engraving. She stepped inside the room that was more cubicle than office, and took one of the chairs in front of the desk. Regular deputies had desks in a type of squad room. Each desk was enclosed by chest-high walls that created a feeling of privacy if you were seated. That illusion was quickly shattered by standing up, and deputies practiced what they called the “over the back fence” communication all the time. When you needed to talk to another deputy, you simply stood up, peered over the walls, and shouted.
When Bill had made detective, one of the perks was an office with real walls, an actual door that locked, and a nonfunctioning window that looked over the guest parking spaces. As she waited, Hannah turned to look out Bill’s window. Her cookie truck was in plain sight, appearing more wine-colored than red in the wash of bluish light from the spotlights mounted on the front of the building. No other “guests” had arrived. Her truck was the only vehicle to break the profile of the flat, white snow stretching across the treeless expanse of county land that ended abruptly at the road.
Hannah heard footfalls outside in the hallway. It must be Bill with the coffee. She quickly stuck a smile on her face and took a deep breath to steady herself. It wasn’t in her nature to be duplicitous. Most people could tell when she was feeding them a line simply to get information. But Bill had been at work for over five hours already, and he was bound to be tired. Perhaps he wouldn’t tumble to the fact that this was far more than a social call.
“Look who I found in the break room,” Bill said, stepping in with the coffee. “I told him you brought cookies and he insisted on coming along.”
Hannah turned, expecting to see Rick Murphy or one of the other deputies she knew, but instead she found herself staring at Mike Kingston. What was he doing here so early? As head detective, he worked regular hours and never drew a double unless there was a big case or…
“Hi, Mike,” she said, interrupting her own train of thought.
“Hannah.” Mike took the other chair in front of Bill’s desk and reached out to touch her hand. “You’re up early.”
“I’m always up early. I have to bake before we open.” Hannah met his friendly blue eyes and fought the urge to lean closer. The man was charismatic, not to mention incredibly attractive. “I didn’t know you worked graveyards.”
It wasn’t until Mike laughed that Hannah realized she’d made a joke. A homicide detective working graveyards. Very funny. “Sorry about that,” she apologized. “I was just surprised to see you here this time of the morning.”
“I’m a morning person. I like to come in when it’s quiet and ease into the day. Bill said you wanted to talk to him. I can leave if it’s personal.”
“No! I mean…it’s not personal at all. It’s theoretical. At least I hope it’s theoretical.” Hannah took a deep breath and went into the speech she’d rehearsed during her drive from the condo.
“Lisa’s cousin ran away from home, and she’s only fifteen. Her mom thinks she’s bunking in with a friend and she’ll come back when she gets tired of sharing a bathroom, but she asked Lisa what would happen if the girl got picked up by the police.”
Bill smiled as he reached for a cookie. “That’s easy, Hannah. She’s underage, so the authorities would return her to the custody of her parents.”
“But what if she won’t tell the authorities who her parents are or where they live?”
“That makes it a little harder.” Bill handed the sack of cookies to Mike, who took one and passed it back. “Then the authorities will remand her to the custody of Child Protective Services until the parents can be located. What kind of cookies are these, Hannah? They’re great!”
“Butter-Scotchies. They’re made with butterscotch chips and rolled oats.” Hannah did her best to curb her impatience. She needed more information, and she had to be careful neither man suspected that she was describing Candy and her own situation at The Cookie Jar.
“These are perfect for breakfast,” Mike said, reaching for another, “especially because they’ve got oatmeal. My mother used to try to get me to eat it every morning, and I would have if she’d baked it in cookies like these.”
Hannah smiled to acknowledge the compliment, but it was time to get down to business. “Let’s say this runaway turns up right here in Lake Eden, and she refuses to cooperate with you. She won’t give her last name, or her hometown, or even her home state. She claims she’s over eighteen, but she doesn’t look it and she can’t prove it. What steps will you take?”
“I’ll contact Lisa and tell her to call her aunt. The girl can stay with Lisa and her father until her mother comes to get her.”
Hannah came close to groaning. Mike was taking her literally. Perhaps she was better off asking Bill. “Okay, forget I mentioned Lisa. I’m curious and I want to go back to the theoretical. Let’s pretend that you don’t know the girl and you don’t know the parents. What will you do, Bill?”
“After we interview her, we’ll call Child Protective Services to come and get her. They’ll take custody and make sure she’s cared for. Then we’ll concentrate on finding out where she came from.”
“How will you do that?”
“We’ll check the missing persons reports,” Mike stepped in, “and compare the picture we took of her to the pictures on file. And we’ll file our own report with her picture, saying we found her and listing anything we know about her. Then we’ll run her prints to see if she’s in the juvie system. If she’s run away from home before, she could be there.”
“And that’s it?” Hannah asked, gazing at the two men in surprise. “That’s all you’ll do?”
“That’s all we can do,” Mike corrected her.
“So she’ll just stay in the Winnetka County Children’s Home until they decide she’s eighteen?”
Mike shrugged. “That’s the way it happens sometimes. But don’t forget that there’s a reason she ran away from home in the first place. Maybe she’s better off in the county home.”
Hannah had done volunteer work at the Winnetka County Children’s Home. The children were well cared for and the staff tried their best to make it cheerful, but the old granite building was an institution, not a real home.
“Gotta run,” Mike said, standing up and reaching out for Hannah’s hand. “How about Saturday night? Do you want to go have a burger and take in a movie or something?”
“I’d love to,” Hannah said, glad that her voice hadn’t squeaked, or quavered, or done anything to show how excited she was that he’d asked her for another date.
“See you at six, then. If you’re ready to leave now, I’ll walk you to the front door.”
“We’ll both walk her to the front door,” Bill said, getting to his feet. “It’s the least we can do for all those cookies.”
Hannah felt a little strange as Bill took her left arm and Mike took her right. And she felt even stranger as they walked down the hallway toward the desk at the entrance. If anyone had been waiting in the plastic chairs in the lobby, she might have felt the need to explain that she wasn’t under arrest, that the detective on her left was her brother-in-law and the man on her right was her date for Saturday night.
BUTTER-SCOTCHIES
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position.
1 cup butter (2 sticks, ? pound—melted)
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup white (granulated) sugar
2 eggs—beaten (just beat them up in a glass with a fork)
1 teaspoon baking powder
? teaspoon baking soda
? teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 cups flour (don’t sift—pack it down in the cup)
2 cups butterscotch chips (an 11-ounch package will do just fine)
1 ? cups rolled oats (uncooked oatmeal—I used
Quaker’s Quick 1-Minute rolled oats)
Melt the butter in large microwave-safe bowl. (About 90 seconds on HIGH.) Add the sugars and let it cool a bit. Then add the beaten eggs, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and vanilla extract.
Mix in the flour and then the butterscotch chips. Add the rolled oats and mix in thoroughly. Let the dough rest, uncovered, for 10 minutes to allow the butter to solidify.
You can either drop this dough by rounded teaspoon onto a greased cookie sheet, 12 to a sheet, or roll the dough in balls with your hands and place them on the cookie sheet, pushing them down just a bit so they won’t roll off on their way to the oven. (I prefer rolling the dough balls—the cookies turn out nice and round.)
Bake at 350 degrees for 12 to 15 minutes. Cool on the cookie sheet for 2 minutes and then remove them to a wire rack to cool completely.
These freeze really well if you roll them in foil and put them in a freezer bag.
Yield: This recipe makes approximately 8 to 9 dozen cookies, depending on cookie size.
Hannah’s Note: Mother’s friend Carrie just loves these when I use one cup of butterscotch chips and one cup of milk chocolate chips.