Wedding Cake Murder (Hannah Swenson, #19)

“Ross likes you, too,” Hannah said, and then she took another deep breath. I have to ask you this . . . do you think that we can still be friends?”


It took Norman a long time to respond. It was obvious that he was thinking it through. “I think so. I’m not completely sure, but I know I’m going to try.” He took another deep breath and then he reached out for her hand again. “I love you, Hannah. I’ll never stop loving you. If anything ever goes wrong and you need me, don’t hesitate. You can always come to me.”

“What do you mean, Norman? What could go wrong?”

“I don’t know. Life is uncertain except for one thing. And that one thing is that I’ll always be there for you. Please, Hannah. I want you to remember that.”

“I’ll remember,” Hannah told him. “I promise, Norman.”





The hands of the clock on the kitchen wall seemed to march forward in double time as Hannah filled several display jars for the coffee shop, mixed up a batch of Cherry Winks and baked them, put on a fresh pot of coffee, and prepared another plate of Chocolate Almond Crisps for Mike’s arrival. Before she’d entirely recovered from Norman’s visit, there was another knock on the kitchen door.

Hannah sighed. Mike was here. Why hadn’t she scheduled his visit for tomorrow instead? Perhaps Michelle was right and she really was a glutton for punishment.

“Hi, Hannah,” Mike said, stepping into the kitchen. “So who’s my partner for the wedding party? Andrea, or Michelle?”

“Andrea.” Hannah poured coffee for Mike and moved the plate of cookies on the counter between them. “I paired Norman with Michelle.”

“How about Bill? Won’t he feel left out?”

“No. He was worried that if both of you were in the wedding party, there might be some kind of emergency call at the sheriff’s department and neither one of you could go.”

“Good thinking.” Mike took a cookie and bit into it. “These are good. What are they?”

“Chocolate Almond Crisps. Michelle made them this morning.”

“From your recipe?”

“No, it’s hers.”

“Michelle’s a good baker.” Mike finished his first cookie and took a second. “You said Norman was paired with Michelle for the wedding. Is he okay with being in the wedding party?”

Hannah chose her words carefully. She wasn’t about to describe Norman’s reaction to her marriage with the man who had been Norman’s rival for her affections. “I saw Norman earlier and he agreed to do it.”

“But was he okay with it?”

It took Hannah a moment to answer. Again, she knew she had to choose her words carefully. “Norman said yes when I asked him. He said he likes Ross.”

“So do I, but that doesn’t mean I’m totally okay with you marrying him. It’s just there’s not much I can do about it except kidnap you and hold you hostage.”

Hannah smiled. There was very little chance of that happening. “You can’t do that,” she pointed out. “Kidnapping’s illegal and you’re a cop.”

“True. There’s one thing I want you to promise me, though.”

“What’s that?” Hannah held her breath, waiting for Mike’s answer. She hoped he’d ask her to promise something reasonably simple so that she could say yes.

“Promise me that if Ross ever does anything to hurt you in any way, you’ll let me know right away.”

“Mike!” Hannah was flabbergasted. “Ross would never hurt me!”

“Maybe not. But if he does, I want you to tell me right away. Will you do that, Hannah?”

“Yes, I promise,” Hannah said. She was convinced that Ross would never hurt her. He loved her. He’d told her so, and he’d shown it in countless other ways.

“Just don’t forget what you promised.”

“I won’t forget,” Hannah said, but she was puzzled. What possible reason could Mike have for asking her to promise such a ridiculous thing? There was only one way to find out. She had to ask him. Hannah looked up, met his eyes, and asked, “Why did you ask me to make that promise? Do you have some reason to think that Ross might hurt me?”

Mike frowned slightly. “No. I don’t have anything concrete, but there’s something about him that’s . . . I’m not sure how to say this, but there’s something that’s not quite right. It’s a feeling I have.”

“A suspicion?”

“Not exactly. It’s not as strong as a suspicion. It’s not even really a hunch, but it’s something that makes me twitch.”

“Is that the cop in you talking?”

“Maybe. All I know is that I’ve been a cop for a long time and I’ve developed some kind of a sixth sense about some people, a little prickling at the back of my mind. I get the feeling that something about Ross is a little off-center, but I don’t know what it is.”