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"Sure. I've got her address in my client file. She lives at the apartment building that Beatrice and Ted Koester bought last year."
"Could you run over there in the morning and check to see if her car is still in the garage? It would save me a trip."
"I can do that. What do you want me to do if it's there?"
"Nothing. Just drop by The Cookie Jar and tell me. We'll decide what to do about it then."
"Okay. I'd better get to bed before Bill starts wondering what I'm doing out here. I'll see you in the morning, Hannah."
Hannah hung up and opened the bedroom window to catch any night breezes that might blow her way. Then she doused the light to stop the moths from trying to commit suicide against her screen and crawled under the sheet she used as a quilt in the summer. There was a thump, resembling a mini-earthquake, and a furry shape crept up in the near darkness. Hannah grabbed her pillow protectively and glared in his direction. "This pillow is mine. I won't let you have it until my new one comes."
There was a rustle and then another thump as Moishe settled down on the other pillow, the foam one she'd designated for his use. Silence filled her bedroom for several moments and then Hannah heard a rumbling purr. She reached out and stroked Moishe's soft fur three times and pulled her hand back. Experience had taught her that four strokes would cause him to move to the bottom of her bed. Hannah checked to make sure her alarm clock was set correctly and then she seized her pillow in a death grip and closed her eyes, hoping that her arms wouldn't loosen as she slept so that Moishe could steal it again.
Chapter Ten
Hannah awoke to an inky black bedroom and the infernal electronic beeping of her alarm clock. It took her a minute to sit up and shut it off, but when she did, she realized that her head had been lying on the mattress. She flicked on the light and turned to eye her goose-down pillow. Moishe had commandeered it once again.
Even though she wanted to settle back down for another few minutes of rest, Hannah tossed back the sheet, placed her feet firmly on the floor, and got out of bed. It was a psychological trick she'd learned in college and it worked for those mornings when she was tired and wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. Once she'd thrown back the covers and was standing by the side of the bed, the task of straightening the bedding to climb back in seemed like more work than starting the day.
Hannah stuffed her feet into her slippers and walked down the hallway to the kitchen. Once she got there, she switched on the light and headed straight for the coffeepot. There was coffee in the carafe and the little red light was glowing. She sent up a short, thankful prayer for modern conveniences and poured her first cup of the day.
The coffee was hot, practically scalding, but Hannah sipped
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gratefully. Even the kink in her neck seemed to straighten out somewhat with the invigorating infusion of Swedish Plasma. She drank one cup standing, leaning one hip against the counter, and then she poured a second. Her eyes were no longer at half-mast and her brain was beginning to function again.
There was a plaintive yowl from the direction of Moishe's food bowl and Hannah turned to frown at him. The new pillow couldn't come soon enough to suit her! Even though her neck was still stiff as a result of Moishe's nighttime theft, her heart wasn't hard enough to resist the appeal in his round yellow eyes.
Once Hannah had given Moishe fresh water and filled his bowl with kitty crunchies, she carried her second cup of coffee to the table and opened her steno pad. It was time to organize her day, now while she was still only three-quarters awake. If she waited until she was fully alert, the task would seem daunting.
Hannah glanced at the calendar that hung on the kitchen wall, an exact duplicate of the one in the kitchen at her cookie shop. She had a two o'clock cookie-catering job for the Lake Eden Quilt Society at Trudi's Fabrics, and a three o'clock at the community center for the Lake Eden Friends of the Library. She jotted those down, then turned to other matters. She had to mail off the rent check for The Cookie Jar, change the batteries on the flashlights she carried in her truck, and buy a bag of lettuce and some sliced low-fat turkey breast for her dinner salad. These were small things, easily accomplished, but they all took time. And somewhere between her trip to the grocery store, her baking, and her catering, she had to find time to investigate Rhonda's murder.
"Shower time," Hannah said, glancing at Moishe, who was more concerned with crunching down his breakfast than anything she might have to say. His bowl was still half full, but Moishe was a pessimist. A half-full bowl was half empty to him, and he'd panic if any part of Garfield's picture on the
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bottom came into view. Hannah added another scoop for insurance before she headed off to the shower.
In exactly fifteen minutes, Hannah emerged from her bedroom, dressed and ready for her day. She owned three short-sleeved cotton pantsuits that she wore for summer catering jobs and she'd chosen the green one this morning. As she'd pulled on the pants, she'd noticed that they'd felt a bit looser. It was difficult to judge with elastic waists and perhaps it was only wishful thinking on her part, but she really thought her diet was working.
Since she still had a few minutes before she had to leave, Hannah retrieved the steno pad she was using for Rhonda's case notes and sat back down at the kitchen table. She'd written down what Norman had told her, that Marjorie Hanks had been the one to clean the Voelker place. She'd even thought about calling Luanne's mother when she'd gotten home last night, but she'd decided that it was too late. Now it was too early. Even if Marjorie rose before sunrise, she wouldn't appreciate getting a phone call first thing in the morning.
Hannah flipped to the next page. She'd copied the list of pie buyers that Lisa had given her and it was time to go over them again. Perhaps she'd see a connection now that it was morning and she was more alert.
There were ten names. Hannah checked them off one by one. Most were repeat customers, mothers who always came in for pie on Friday to serve it to their families that night. There was no way any of them had given their dinner pie to Rhonda. The two men on the list were easy to eliminate. One lived out at the retirement home and shared Hannah's pie with his friends. The other was a Jordan High student who took Hannah's pies to his girlfriend's mother when he went to her house for Friday night dinners.
Hannah shook her head. There was one name left, Claire Rodgers. And Claire had bought three pies. Hannah stopped to think about that for a moment. Claire was single and she
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lived alone. If she'd bought three pies, she must have planned to take them somewhere. Was it possible she'd given one of her pies to Rhonda?
Several more sips of idea-generating caffeine and Hannah had come up with a possible scenario. What if Rhonda had gone into Claire's shop on Friday afternoon to purchase a new wardrobe for her trip? If Claire had already picked up her pies, Rhonda might have seen them and mentioned that she liked lemon meringue. Claire might have given one pie to Rhonda as a thank-you, especially if Rhonda had just spent a lot of money on clothes.
Hannah knew her scenario was reasonable. It could have happened that way. She'd drop by Beau Monde the first chance she got and ask Claire if she was right.
The sky was beginning to lighten by the time Hannah turned into the alley behind The Cookie Jar, but she didn't turn off her headlights. They were still necessary to distinguish the dark blobs of the Dumpsters from the darker blobs of the buildings.
Hannah parked in her spot and shut the windows, but she left an inch gap on the driver's side to defeat the greenhouse effect. She grabbed the old beach towel she kept on the passenger's seat, folded it twice because it was so threadbare, and draped it over the steering wheel. The seats in her truck didn't get that hot. They were upholstered in fabric. But her steering wheel was covered in black vinyl and it soaked up the sun. All would be well if she'd wear oven mitts to drive, but she didn't.
As Hannah stepped out of her truck, the air hit her like a tangible force. She'd never really thought about air having weight before, but this air was like walking through invisible pudding. It was so heavy with moisture, the humidity had to be close to the hundred-percent mark.
The first thing Hannah did when she stepped inside her
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kitchen was switch on the air conditioning. The next thing she did was to check to see if the cooler was running. It was, and she heaved a big sigh of relief as she carried out the bowls of cookie dough and set them on the surface of the workstation. She had the urge to drag a stool into the cooler and sit there for a while, but there was work to do and she didn't have time. She fired up her ovens, clamped one of the little paper caps mandated by the health board over her unruly red curls, and washed her hands thoroughly. Then she tied on an apron and got right to work. There were multiple batches of cookies to bake and she wanted to finish before Lisa came in. Her partner had enough work to do waiting on their customers, taking phone orders, and boxing up cookies for special orders.
Just as she'd planned, Hannah had finished the baking when Lisa arrived. Racks of cooling Black and Whites, Oatmeal Raisin Crisps, and Twin Chocolate Delights filled the kitchen, and other varieties of cookies were already in the glass jars they used for display behind the coffee shop counter.
"You've been busy!" Lisa exclaimed, glancing around her. "How many did you snitch?"
"None. I didn't even taste the Cinnamon Crisps and that's my newest recipe."
"Where did you get it?" Lisa asked, reaching for one and taking a bite.
"I made it up. My dad used to make us cinnamon toast for breakfast when Mother was out antiquing. I thought that cookies with the same taste would be good."
"They are good," Lisa said, taking another bite. 'They're crunchy and simple and absolutely delicious."
"You really like them?"
"Well... I'm not exactly sure, now that I think about it" Lisa gave an impish grin. "I might have to eat a few more before I can make up my mind."
Hannah laughed. "Go ahead. This batch is a test run. I won't sell them until I get them perfect."
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"They're perfect." Lisa grabbed two more cookies and headed for the swinging door to the coffee shop, "I'll start the coffee and fill the rest of the serving jars."
The chores didn't take long with both of them working together. When they'd finished, they had twenty minutes before it was time for them to open, and they carried mugs of coffee to their favorite table in the back of the coffee shop.
"Did you decide?" Lisa asked, taking the chair across from Hannah.
"About the Cinnamon Crisps?"
"No, about Rhonda. You're going to catch her killer, aren't you?"
"I'm going to try."
"Good." Lisa shivered slightly and cupped her hands around her mug of coffee. "I just can't get over it. She was here one day and dead the next. How about that pie you found? Do you think it has anything to do with her murder?"
"Maybe, but even if it doesn't, it'll help me establish a timeline for the day of her death. I need to know where she went, who she talked to, and what she did."
"That seems like a good place to start. What can I do to help?"
"Just keep your ears open. People talk and someone may know something about Rhonda's last hours. If you pick up anything, tell me right away and ..." Hannah stopped speaking and winced.
"What's the matter?" Lisa asked, looking concerned.
"I'm getting a terrible headache. I swear I can actually hear my head pounding."
"That's not your head. It's some kind of noise coming from outside. Hold on a second and I'll go look."
Lisa unlocked the front door and peered out. When she came back, she was grinning. "You were right. It's a headache, all right."
"What is?"
"The Jordan High marching band. What you heard was
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their bass drum. I'll get the aspirin bottle. They're headed this way."
After she'd washed down two aspirin, Hannah watched as the band came into view. Even though the doors and windows were closed, she could hear the mutilated strains of "The Stars and Stripes Forever."
"They're awful," Lisa said, reaching up to cover her ears.
Hannah did the same. The trumpet section could certainly use a review lesson in sharps and flats, and she shuddered to think of what would happen when they got to the piccolo ob-bligato, since there wasn't a piccolo in sight.
Hannah held her breath as the band reached the critical measures and then she groaned aloud. Two girls on clarinets were attempting the part, and it was obvious they weren't at all skilled on the upper registers.
"Maybe they'll get better in time for the parade," Lisa mused, but after a glance at Hannah's pained expression, she shook her head. "You're right. That's probably asking too much."
When the hands of their wall clock reached nine, Lisa unlocked the door and customers began to come in for morning coffee and cookies. Business was brisk for the first hour and it took the efforts of both Hannah and Lisa to serve their customers. Things didn't slow down until after ten and that was when Andrea walked in. By the smile on her sister's face, Hannah knew she had information about Rhonda.
"What is it?" Hannah asked, pouring Andrea a glass of orange juice.
Andrea glanced around her. The only other people at the counter were Amalia Greerson and Babs Dubinski, engrossed in a conversation of their own. "The subject's car is still there."
"You mean Rhonda's?"
"Shh!" Andrea put a finger to her lips.
"It's okay." Hannah leaned forward across the counter. "Babs is trying to play matchmaker."