“So both of the hairs were from Chef Duquesne?” Andrea asked with an expression that came close to mirroring both Hannah and Michelle’s disappointment.
“No. That’s just it. One sample was from Chef Duquesne. But since the rare genetic marker was found in both samples, Doc’s friend gave him a ballpark guess that if the hair found in Chef Duquesne’s throat contained the same rare genetic marker, it must be from Chef Duquesne’s immediate family.”
Hannah took a moment to digest this. “I’m assuming this includes his parents and his siblings. How about his children?”
“Yes, they would be included. Do you know if he has any children?”
“His Food Channel biography didn’t mention any,” Michelle said, “but I’ll do another search online.”
Hannah turned to her mother again. “Does Mike know about this?”
“No, dear. Doc decided not to mention it until the conclusive results are in from the lab. That’ll take another five days or so. It’s just a hunch at this point, and Doc didn’t want to risk sending the police on what might turn out to be a wild goose chase.” She reached out to pat Hannah’s hand. “Just put all this out of your mind for now and do a good job with your cookies tonight. You have a reputation for excellence to protect, and everyone in Lake Eden is counting on you.”
“But no pressure, Hannah,” Michelle said under her breath.
“I heard that!” Delores responded, turning to give Michelle the look that all three sisters had termed Mother’s drop dead look.
“I’d better get back to work,” Hannah said, rising to her feet.
Michelle caught Hannah’s cue and she stood up, too. “I’ll go tell Aunt Nancy that you want to see her on her break. She might know more about Chef Duquesne’s relatives.”
“And I’ll take her place in the coffee shop,” Andrea offered, also rising to her feet.
Hannah waited until both of her sisters had left the kitchen and then she turned to smile at her mother. “Thank you for telling me, Mother. And I promise to visit you in jail.”
“What are you talking about?!!” Delores was clearly flabbergasted.
“It took you twenty minutes to tell me about the DNA. And you could have covered everything in two minutes or less.”
Delores gave a little laugh. “That’s not exactly a criminal offense, dear.”
“Oh, yes it is.” Hannah smiled, so that her mother would know that she was teasing. “While I was waiting for you to get to the point, I just about died of curiosity. And that means you’re guilty of attempted murder!”
Chapter Twenty-three
Hannah smiled as she sniffed the air. Her Angel Crunch Cookies were almost ready to come out of the oven and they smelled delicious. It was a new recipe she’d decided to try, a variation on an old recipe she’d been using for the past few years, and she was surprised she hadn’t thought to try it before. The oven timer went off, and she walked over to peek in at the cookies. They were a lovely shade of golden brown, and she quickly pulled the pans from the oven and slipped them on the baker’s racks to cool.
“Those cookies smell great!” Michelle complimented her. “What are they?”
“A meringue cookie made with brown sugar, vanilla, and ground pecans.”
“They sound really good, too. When will they be cool enough to eat?”
“In five minutes or so. Then we can sample them to see if they’re good enough to serve.”
Hannah walked over to join Michelle at the stainless-steel work island. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go over what we learned about Chef Duquesne’s family.”
Michelle pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and activated the notebook function while Hannah turned to the correct page in the steno pad.
“I’ll go first,” Michelle said. “Stop me if you want to add anything. Chef Duquesne has an older sister. She’s married and she runs a fishing lodge with her husband in Canada. Aunt Nancy called her and she hasn’t been back to the States since she attended her mother’s funeral four years ago.”
Hannah glanced down at her steno pad. “Chef Duquesne’s father is still alive, but he’s confined to a wheelchair. He lives in an assisted living place back east. Aunt Nancy talked to his nurse on the phone and he’s too frail to travel. She needed some excuse for asking about him, so she told the nurse she wanted to send him some cookies.”
“So we’re going to ship some from these batches?” Michelle gestured toward the baker’s rack.
“Yes, as long as Mike doesn’t eat them all.”
“Mike’s coming here?”
“Probably. He usually checks in with me the day after a murder to find out if I’ve learned anything that he doesn’t know.”
“And to warn you to leave murder investigations to the professionals, like him,” Michelle added with a laugh.
“That, too. He always manages to get here about the time a fresh batch of cookies is cool enough to eat.”
“That’s not difficult. You bake cookies all day long. There’s always a fresh batch of cookies.”