Chapter Nineteen
Hannah was about to back out of her parking spot when Mike pulled up to block her. Hannah watched in the mirror on her door as Mike got out of the cruiser and approached her truck. The legend on her mirror read, Objects in mirror are closer than they appear, but it should have read, Objects in mirror are angrier than they appear. Mike looked ready to spit nails as he opened the passenger door and got into the truck with her.
"Why did you tell everyone in town that I ditched you for a blond?" Mike asked, his eyes flashing fire.
"I didn't."
"You didn't?"
"Not me. Babs Dubinski spotted you taking a blond into your apartment complex last night."
"That was Shawna Lee. I was just taking her home."
"Shawna Lee lives with you?"
"Of course not! She lives in the same apartment complex, that's all. Her car wouldn't start and she needed groceries so I took her to the Red Owl."
"Oh," Hannah said, maintaining her pleasant expression. She wanted to ask Mike why that shopping trip had ended up at Bertanelli's Pizza, but she didn't.
"She invited me over to her place for dinner as a thank you, but she's a lousy cook and I took her out for pizza instead."
Hannah's suspicious heart did a little jump and skip as Mike smiled at her. She reminded herself that there was only one way Mike could know that Shawna Lee was a lousy cook, and her heart slowed to a regular rhythm again.
"You're probably wondering how I know she's a lousy cook," Mike said, appearing to read Hannah's mind.
"Actually… I was," Hannah admitted.
"We had a potluck lunch out at the station and she brought tuna hotdish. It was awful."
"Oh, really?" The hackles on the back of Hannah's neck subsided and she felt better immediately. At least the woman Mike claimed wasn't her competition was a lousy cook.
"There's only one exception and that's her baking. She makes great brownies."
"That's nice," Hannah said, making a mental note never to bake brownies for Mike.
"I've always been crazy about brownies," Mike went on, not realizing that he was digging a deeper hole. "And with Shawna Lee's brownies, you never know what kind of good things you're going to get. Last Thursday, she put in miniature marshmallows and pecans. It was almost like eating rocky road ice cream. Maybe you should try something like that, Hannah. They'd probably go over great in your shop."
Mike's grin was engaging, the kind of grin that conjured up thoughts in Hannah's mind of walking in the summer twilight holding hands, or ducking under a tall pine in the winter to share a kiss that chased away the cold. Then she reminded herself that Mike had just suggested she bake Shawna Lee's brownies to sell in her shop and she began to bristle. The more she thought about it, the angrier she got, and she had the urge to kick Mike in the shins. It was only through supreme effort of will that she managed to keep both feet firmly on the floor mat.
"So are we all okay now?"
"Okay about what?" Hannah asked, rousing herself from contemplating how many years she might get for assault and battery on an acting sheriff.
"About me taking Shawna Lee out to the grocery store and then to Bertanelli's for pizza."
"Sure." What else could she say?
"And I guess I'd better tell you the rest before somebody else does it for me. After the pizza I went over to Shawna Lee's apartment to help her hook up her surround sound."
"That's neighborly," Hannah said, inwardly fuming.
"I think she'd give you her brownie recipe if I asked her. Do you want it?"
Hannah blinked away the red she saw before her eyes. "No, thanks. I'm sure I can come up with something on my own."
"When you do, I'll taste them for you. I can tell you if they're as good as hers."
"Right," Hannah said, and then she clamped her lips together before she could say any more and verbally abuse an acting sheriff.
"Bill's waiting for me. I've got to run."
Mike reached out for her and pulled her into his arms before Hannah could come up with the strength to resist. His lips came down on hers and even though Hannah knew she was being a slave to her own desires, she didn't pull back. Kissing Mike was like flirting with fire, passing the flame close enough to heat, but not burn.
"I really missed you, Hannah," Mike breathed, pulling her closer. And even though Hannah was in an awkward position with one foot wedged under the brake pedal, his embrace was still thrilling.
Long moments passed in pure bliss before Mike finally released her. Hannah could feel that her breathing was ragged and she took a deep breath and let it out again in a shuddering sigh.
"How about some night this week?" Mike asked, opening the passenger door.
"What?"
"Will you have dinner with me some night this week? I'll call you when I can get free and set up the time."
"Sure," Hannah said and then the manners Delores had taught her kicked in. "That would be really nice, Mike. Thank you for asking."
Mike reached over to touch her cheek and then he was gone. Hannah blinked as the door closed behind him and drew another deep breath. What would a more sophisticated woman do with a man like Mike? It didn't seem to matter how angry she was with him. He still made her knees turn weak, her pulse race, and her stomach bounce all the way down to her toes.
Hannah buckled her seatbelt, started her engine, and checked her rearview mirror to make sure that Mike and Bill had driven away. But all she saw was gray. Her windows were steamed up. She was a bit old at thirty, but she'd finally joined the ranks of teenage couples that kissed in parked cars in cold weather and steamed up the windows.
"Come on, Moishe. Doctor Bob said you'd like it. It tastes really good." Hannah held Moishe with one hand and nudged the tip of the dropper against his mouth with the other. "It'll be all over in a second if you just open up."
Moishe glared at her balefully and his mouth remained tightly closed. For a cat who normally mewed and yowled on his prowls around the condo, Moishe had gone perfectly mute the moment he'd spotted the dropper in her hand.
"Don't make me late," Hannah warned, nudging a little harder with the dropper. "It's down the hatch with the vitamins and then you can have the food you really like."
Moishe gave a growl deep in his throat, but his mouth remained tightly closed. Hannah could tell he wasn't buying it. The growl gained in volume as she continued to poke at his mouth with the dropper and suddenly, as quick as lightning, Moishe backed out from under her hand, did a flip in midair, landed with a thud on the carpet, and streaked off toward the bedroom.
"Uh-oh," Hannah groaned, fearing the worst as she followed him. Just as she expected, Moishe had taken up a highly defensible position under her bed, where he knew she couldn't reach him.
"You know I can't pull you out when you go under there," Hannah complained, dropping to her knees to peer under the bedspread. "Come on out and take your medicine, Moishe. The other kitties like it."
A keening yowl emanated from the dark recesses where the head of the bed met the far wall. Hannah stretched out on her stomach and reached under the bed as far as she could, but the only things she encountered were a crumpled tissue, an old sock with a hole in the toe, and a ball point pen.
More yowls ensued as she pulled her hand back, and Hannah sighed as she got to her feet. "Right. Sure. You wouldn't do it when I had the dropper ready, but now you open your mouth!"
Once Hannah's five groups were involved in their baking, she motioned for Beatrice to join her by the rack of cupcakes she'd baked. "Try one of these. I didn't frost them this time, but you can probably tell if I'm on the right track."
"I think I can," Beatrice said, taking one of the cupcakes and peeling off the paper liner. She took a bite, chewed and swallowed, and then she shook her head. "Sorry, Hannah. These aren't right. Alma's were heavy, but not this heavy. Is that peanut butter I taste?"
"Yes. Whatever Alma used, it wasn't that thick. I knew it wasn't going to work, but since I'd mixed them up already, I figured I might as well bake them."
"They're not Alma's, but they're good," Beatrice said, reaching out for a second one. "Maybe you've got a new recipe here, Hannah."
"That's how I develop some of my cookie recipes. I start with an idea of how it should taste and a basic no-frills cookie recipe. Then I add and subtract ingredients until what I bake matches what I've imagined. Sometimes I stop short of the mark if I stumble on a really good variation. I remember when I was trying to make…”
"Hannah? We've got a problem."
Hannah stopped in mid-sentence and turned to see Winnie Henderson waving at her. Winnie looked distressed and there wasn't much in this world that rattled Winnie. She never gave her exact age, but Hannah knew that she was old enough to have outlived four husbands, given birth to two children by each, and have almost three-dozen grandchildren and great-grandchildren that loved to come and stay with "Grannie," who'd played on an all-female baseball team during the Second World War and could still hit a ball out of the park.
"I'll tell you more later," Hannah told Beatrice, and then she hurried over to Winnie's kitchen workstation. "What's wrong, Winnie?"
Winnie gestured toward her mixing bowl and gave the contents a stir. "It's this banana bread. It smells great, but it's going to come out as heavy as a rock. Stir it yourself if you don't think I'm right."
"No need for that," Hannah said, shaking her head when Winnie offered her the spoon. "I can see you're right. The batter's much too stiff and it probably won't rise at all. Are you sure you measured everything correctly?"
Geraldine Goetz, who was the measurer in the group, nodded quickly. "I know we did. Luanne stood next to me and we double-checked everything."
"How about the flour. Did you sift it?"
"No," it was Lolly Kramer's turn to answer. "It called for unsifted flour. I scooped it out and leveled it off with a knife just the way you told us to."
Hannah smiled. "You did that exactly right, Lolly. And if you measured correctly and used all the right ingredients, the fault has to be with the recipe. Whose is it?"
"Regina Todd's," Winnie handed her copy of the recipe to Hannah. "Do you think we should call her to see if she left out something?"
"Don't bother. If this is Regina's recipe, I know what's wrong. Show me the eggs you used, Patsy."
Patsy Beringer opened the refrigerator, took out a carton of eggs, and handed them to Hannah. "I used these. They're okay, aren't they?"
"They would be if this weren't Regina's recipe." Hannah breathed a sigh of relief now that she'd arrived at the answer to the problem. There would have been big fireworks between the two families if Hannah had failed to put Andrea's mother-in-law's recipe in the Lake Eden Cookbook.
"Why is Regina's recipe different?" Winnie asked, and Hannah realized that she hadn't explained her cryptic comment.
"Regina raises laying hens and the eggs she gets are at least double the size of the large eggs you can buy at the Red Owl. When she said three eggs, she meant three of her eggs, not three ordinary eggs."
Understanding dawned in Winnie's eyes. "I get it. More eggs would be more liquid. But how much more liquid can an egg add?"
"You'd be surprised. If a recipe doesn't specify the size, always use medium to large eggs. Each medium to large egg should yield a quarter of a cup."
"Then three eggs is three-fourths of a cup?" Winnie sounded surprised.
"It's supposed to be." Hannah handed the carton of eggs to Lolly Kramer. "Let's test it out. I think doubling the eggs ought to fix up that banana bread batter. Break three into a measuring cup, Lolly, and whisk them up with a fork. Then we'll see how much we get. We have to mix them up anyway, since we're trying to incorporate them after the fact." Lolly broke three eggs into a measuring cup and whisked them until they were a uniform color. Then she set the cup down on the counter so the contents could settle and she could read the measurement.
"Three-quarters of a cup," she announced stepping back so that the others in her group could move closer and see for themselves. "Do you always measure your eggs this way, Hannah?"
Hannah shook her head. "I don't measure mine unless they seem unusually small or unusually large. And I always mix them up before I measure them. That way I can pour out some if I have too much, or add another egg if I don't have enough."
Winnie, who was a lot stronger than her small size would indicate, dumped the extra eggs into the bowl and mixed them into the batter. It took a few minutes, but soon they were incorporated.
"This feels about right," Winnie said, giving the mixture another stir and then handing the spoon to Hannah. "You try it."
Hannah stirred the batter. "It should work now. Pour it into the pans and let's bake it. If it turns out all right, we'll revise the recipe by doubling the eggs."
Several other groups asked for Hannah's opinion on various aspects of baking and soon the Jordan High Home Economics room was filled with delicious smells. There was an apple pie, a pan of pecan bars, a lemon poppy seed cake, Hannah's own recipe for German Chocolate Cake Cookies, and Andrea's mother-in-law's banana bread. All these different sweets baking at once had everyone's mouth watering.
Hannah walked from group to group, making sure she made contact with each of her students. She answered the occasional question, gave advice where it was needed, and offered her expert opinion when Donna Lempke couldn't decide if her group's lemon poppy seed cake was ready to take out of the oven. Then, when everything was cooling including the ovens, Hannah sat down at the teacher's desk and assembled recipes for her students to take home and test.
It was quiet in the huge room, even though the members of her class were chattering among themselves. Hannah was puzzled for a moment and then she realized that she was comparing the noise level this week with the noise level last week. Mike was no longer teaching the class next door and there were no more yells and whistles. Rick Murphy had taken over as the self-defense instructor and he'd told Hannah,, before his class had started, that he planned to take his students outside during the second half of the period so that they could practice approaching a parked car and walking in a dark parking lot.
Once Hannah's class received their homework and divided up the goodies from the night's baking, everyone except Hannah headed for home. When the last of her students had left, Hannah checked the workstations to make sure everything was shipshape. That done, the only chore that remained was taking out the garbage.
Hannah picked up the garbage bag and headed for the outside door. She opened it, took one step toward the Dumpster, and stopped in her tracks. She knew she was being silly, but it seemed like tempting fate to approach the same Dumpster where she'd found Sheriff Grant.
"Hannah?"
A voice called out behind her and Hannah almost spilled the garbage. She whirled, then gave a sigh of relief as she saw Rick Murphy. "You scared me, Rick!"
"Sorry. I meant to get here earlier, but one of my students wanted some advice on home security. Just hand me that bag and I'll carry the garbage out for you."
"You will?" Hannah was puzzled. "But I can do it, Rick. It's not like my arm's broken or anything."
"I know, but Mike asked me to stop by after class and do it. And then I'm supposed to walk you out to your car. Mike said that since he couldn't be here, he wanted me to make sure you weren't alone."
Five minutes later, Hannah was in her cookie truck, driving home, and there was smile on her face that had enough wattage to light up Eden Lake's official Christmas Tree. Mike had been concerned and he'd asked Rick to look out for her. That was really very sweet of him, almost sweet enough to make Hannah forget all about Shawna Lee's perfect figure and her fantastic brownies… almost, but not quite.