Wedding Cake Murder (Hannah Swenson, #19)
Joanne Fluke
Chapter One
“No, it’s not the wedding I dreamed of, but it is the wedding I want!” Hannah Swensen’s hands shook slightly as she replaced her cup of coffee in the bone china saucer. She’d been so startled by Grandma Knudson’s question that a few drops had sloshed out of her cup and landed in its matching saucer. The matriarch of Holy Redeemer Lutheran Church was known for being outspoken, but Hannah hadn’t expected to be grilled about her upcoming nuptials when Grandma Knudson had called her at The Cookie Jar, Hannah’s coffee shop and bakery, and invited her to the parsonage for coffee.
“Everyone’s talking, you know,” Grandma Knudson confided, leaning forward in her chair. “No one can understand why they haven’t been invited to the wedding. I told them you preferred a small, intimate family affair, but they feel left out. And almost everyone from my Bible study group asked me if there was something wrong.”
“Wrong?” Hannah repeated, not certain what Grandma Knudson meant.
“Yes. People always think that there’s something wrong when a wedding takes place behind closed doors. Weddings aren’t supposed to be private. They’re supposed to be joyous celebrations.”
“I am joyous! I mean, joyful. And so is Ross. I just thought it might be easier for everyone if we didn’t have a big public display.”
“Because of Norman and Mike?”
“Well . . . yes. That’s part of the reason. This is rather sudden, and they haven’t had time to get used to the idea that Ross and I are getting married. I thought it would be . . .” Hannah paused, trying to think of another word, but only one came to mind. “I thought it would be easier for them this way,” she finished.
Grandma Knudson was silent as she stared at Hannah, and that made Hannah want to explain. “You know . . .” she continued. “If I’d invited everyone to a huge wedding and reception, it would be almost like . . . like . . .”
The older woman let her struggle for a moment, and then she gave a nod. “Like rubbing their noses in it?”
“Yes! I mean, not exactly. But some people might think that that’s what I was doing.”
“Perhaps,” Grandma Knudson conceded. “Tell me about Ross. Did he think that a small, private wedding was a good idea?”
“I . . . actually . . .” Hannah paused and took a deep breath. “Ross and I didn’t really talk about that. He just told me that anything I wanted to do about the wedding would be fine with him.”
“I see. Did you at least meet with Mike and Norman and talk to them about what you’d decided?”
“No. I wanted to spare their feelings. I thought it might be too painful for them to discuss it.”
“You mean you thought it might be too painful for you to discuss it, don’t you?” Grandma Knudson corrected her bluntly.
Hannah sighed heavily. She had to be truthful. “Perhaps you’re right,” she admitted, and made a move to pick up her cup and saucer rather than meet the older woman’s eyes. “I guess I really wasn’t thinking clearly, and I certainly didn’t think that a small wedding would cause all this fuss. I just wanted to get married before I had to leave for the Food Channel Dessert Chef Competition. I thought that Ross could go with me and it would be our honeymoon.”
“I see. And the competition is in three weeks?”
“That’s right.” Hannah managed to take a sip of her coffee and then she put it back down on the table again. Why was Grandma Knudson asking all these questions? There must be a reason. As Hannah sat there, trying to think of why Grandma Knudson was giving her the third degree, the light dawned. “Mother!” Hannah said with a sigh.
“What did you say?”
“I said Mother. She put you up to this, didn’t she? She wanted me to have a big wedding and I refused. So Mother came running to you to see if you could convince me to change my mind! Isn’t Mother the reason you invited me here for coffee?”
“She’s part of the reason. But the other part is that I wanted you to taste my lemon pie. It’s the easiest pie I’ve ever made. All you need is a lemon, sugar, butter, and eggs. You put everything in a blender, pour it into one of those fancy frozen piecrusts Florence carries down at the Red Owl, and bake it. But you haven’t even sampled it yet.”
Hannah looked down at the dessert plate resting next to her cup and saucer. Grandma Knudson’s pie did look delicious. “Is that crème fraiche on the top?”
“Yes. It’s your crème fraiche, the one you use on your strawberry shortcake. And if you don’t want to go to the bother of making that, you can use vanilla ice cream or sweetened whipped cream. Taste it, Hannah. I want your opinion.”