Blueberry Muffin Murder

Book 3: Hannah Swensen Mystery

by Joanne Fluke

Genres: Mystery

Synopsis

Hannah’s popular Minnesota bakery, The Cookie Jar, is best known for its tempting confections—until best-selling cookbook author and television personality Connie McIntyre is murdered in its pantry. Despite police warnings to steer clear of the case, Hannah is soon chasing down a bevy of suspicious characters.

Release date: September 1, 2011

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 336

Sample

Hannah Swensen awoke to a curious sensation. Her body was warm, but her nose felt like an icicle. She sat up in bed, reached out to snap on the light, and stared at the little puffs of moisture her breath left in the air. No wonder her nose felt so cold! The furnace had gone out again and Lake Eden, Minnesota, was smack-dab in the middle of a February cold snap.

“Moishe? Where are you?” Hannah glanced around the bedroom, but her feline roommate wasn’t in any of his usual places. There was no orange-and-white cat nestled in the cushioned depths of her laundry basket, the top of her dresser held only its usual collection of books, and the windowsill with its view of the bird feeder was bare. There was, however, a good-sized lump in the middle of her bed.

Hannah stared at the lump for a moment. It was too small to be one of her pillows and too large to belong to an errant sock. She lifted the covers to find her feline roommate curled up in the middle of her bed, soaking up the warmth from her electric blanket.

“What are you doing under there?” Hannah asked, eyeing her fiercely independent tomcat with surprise. Moishe seldom cuddled for more than a few moments, and he’d never crawled under the covers with her. The cold must have driven him under her quilt and blanket. And he came equipped with a fur coat!

As if on cue, the alarm clock began its infernal electronic beeping. It was time to get up in the predawn freeze, when all Hannah really wanted to do was crawl back under the covers. She sighed and reluctantly swung her feet over the edge of her bed, feeling around with her toes for her slippers.

One slipper was immediately accessible. Hannah wiggled her left foot inside and attempted to find its mate. This took a moment, for it was hiding out near the foot of her bed. By the time Hannah located it and shoved her foot inside, her teeth were chattering in a lengthy drum roll.

“Come on, Moishe. Today’s a big day.” Hannah slipped into her warmest robe, a quilted relic from Lake Eden’s only thrift store, and belted it around her waist. Then she folded back the covers until Moishe was exposed with no place to go. “I know it’s cold. We’ll have breakfast in front of the fireplace.”

Hunger must have won out over comfort in Moishe’s mind, because he padded after her down the hallway and into the kitchen. Hannah flicked on the lights and gave a thankful sigh as she saw that the timer on her coffeemaker had worked. She poured a cup of the strong brew, cupped it in both hands, and took a scalding sip. There was nothing better than hot coffee on a very cold morning. Then she filled Moishe’s bowl with kitty crunchies and carried her coffee and Moishe’s breakfast out into the living room.

The fireplace sprang into life as Hannah flicked the switch on the wall, and Moishe settled down in front of the blaze to have his breakfast. Hannah pulled up a chair, rested her feet on the hearth that was home to the fireplace tools she didn’t really need, and gave thanks for the wonders of a gas log. All things being equal, she preferred a real fireplace that could burn aromatic woods like cedar and pine, but a gas log was much more convenient. She never had to carry wood up the stairs to her second-floor condo, or sweep out the ashes and haul them down to the garage Dumpster in a metal pail. Her fireplace was hassle-free and the warmth was instantaneous. Flick, it was on. Flick, it was off.

As she sat there toasting her feet and waiting for the caffeine to jump-start her morning, Hannah heard a distant clanging from the nether regions of the basement. Someone was working on the furnace. Which early riser had notified the maintenance people?

Hannah considered it as she sipped her coffee. There was a separate furnace for each building, and her building contained four condo units, two on the ground floor and two on the second floor. It was doubtful that Mrs. Canfield, who owned one of the ground-level units, would have noticed the problem. She’d once told Hannah that she didn’t stay up past ten, and the furnace had been working just fine then. Clara and Marguerite Hollenbeck, the two unmarried sisters who owned the unit above Mrs. Canfield, were out of town this week. They’d stopped by Hannah’s cookie shop on Monday to tell her that they’d be attending a Bible teachers’ conference at Bethany Lutheran College. The Plotniks lived directly below Hannah and they were the most likely candidates. Phil and Sue had a four-month-old baby, and he still demanded an occasional bottle in the middle of the night.

There was a grinding noise from the basement, and Moishe looked startled as he lifted his head from his food bowl. The grinding was followed by a series of clanks and clunks, and Hannah felt a surge of warm air emerge from the heater vents. The furnace was back on. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about leaving the gas log on for Moishe, or putting her stash of Diet Coke in the refrigerator to keep the cans from freezing and popping their tops.

“I’ve got to get ready for work, Moishe.” Hannah gave him a pat, drained the last of her coffee, and flicked off the fireplace. Once she’d carried his bowl back to the kitchen and given him fresh water, she headed off to the shower. Today would be a busy day and she had tons of cookies to bake. As the proprietor of The Cookie Jar, Lake Eden’s coffee shop and bakery, she’d contracted to provide all the cookies for the Lake Eden Winter Carnival.

As Hannah turned on the water, adjusted the temperature, and stepped into her steamy shower enclosure, she thought about the plans that Mayor Bascomb and his Winter Carnival committee had made. If they were successful, the carnival would bring new life to Lake Eden at a time of year when everyone needed a boost. There wasn’t much winter business in their small Minnesota town, and the promise of crowds with cash to spend had everyone filled with enthusiasm.

Lake Eden was a popular tourist spot in the summer months, when the town was flooded with visitors. Every year, on the day that fishing season opened, a lengthy parade of fishermen towing boats drove through Lake Eden to try their luck at the lake that was just within the town limits. The sky blue water was peppered with boats from dawn to dusk in the summer, and a record number of walleyes were pulled from its depths.

Good fishing wasn’t all Eden Lake had to offer. With its picturesque shores and sandy beaches, it was also a popular family vacation spot. Summer cabin rentals were in high demand, and the lucky locals who owned them used the profits to pay their mortgages and fatten their savings accounts for the lean winter months.

When the summer season was over, right after Labor Day, the tourists and vacationers left town. The fine restaurants that overlooked the lake shut down their grills, the Lake Eden Bait and Tackle Shop boarded up its windows, and the boat launch was chained off for the winter. By the time the leaves on the trees had begun to display their fall colors, only the year-round residents were left.

Hannah liked the fall season. The nights were brisk with a hint of snow to come, and hoarfrost lined the edges of the road when she drove to work. Winter wasn’t bad either, at first. Then the snow was white and pristine, the crisp, cold air made the inside of her nose tingle, and her regular customers at The Cookie Jar were full of holiday plans and good cheer.

When Christmas and New Year’s were over, it was another story. Heating bills soared and seemed to approach the magnitude of the national debt, and business slowed down to a trickle. There was a brief flurry of activity for Valentine’s Day, but after the heart-shaped boxes of chocolates were only a pleasant memory, winter seemed to stretch out endlessly with no spring flowers in sight.

Late February was the dreariest time of year in Lake Eden. The weak, anemic sun barely peeked out of overcast skies, and tree branches were black and stark against a horizon that was sometimes indistinguishable from the colorless banks of snow. It was difficult to maintain a sunny disposition when every day looked exactly like the one before it, and depression became the epidemic de jour. To combat this yearly malady, Mayor Bascomb had scheduled Lake Eden’s very first Winter Carnival in the third week of February.

Not to be confused with the Winter Carnival in St. Paul, with its gigantic Ice Palace and hundreds of thousands of visitors, Lake Eden’s event was set on a much smaller scale. Hannah regarded it as a cross between a county fair and a mini Winter Olympics. There would be Nordic skiing, snowmobile competitions, speed-skating exhibitions, dogsled races, and ice fishing on Eden Lake. There would also be contests in Lake Eden Park for the kids, including the best family-made snowman, the best “snow angel,” and a host of others that even the little ones could enjoy.

The Jordan High auditorium had been designated as the hospitality hub, and all the Lake Eden clubs and societies were busily setting up displays and booths. Winter Carnival visitors would park their cars in the school lot, and shuttle sleighs were scheduled to leave Jordan High every thirty minutes to transport people to the event sites.

Hannah gave her hair a final rinse and stepped out of the shower to towel it dry. The air outside her steamy bathroom was frigid, and she shivered as she quickly dressed in jeans and her official Lake Eden Winter Carnival sweatshirt. It was bright blue with a flurry of white snowflakes that formed block letters on the front. The legend read “LAKE EDEN,” because “LAKE EDEN WINTER CARNIVAL” had exceeded the manufacturer’s ten-letter maximum.

Moishe had joined her in the bedroom, and he watched as she pulled on warm socks and slipped her feet into a pair of high-top moose-hide moccasin boots with rubber soles. Then he followed her down the hall to the kitchen, attempting to snag the laces on her boots.

Hannah refilled Moishe’s food before he had time to yowl for more, poured herself another cup of coffee, and sat down to organize her day at the old Formica table she’d rescued from the Helping Hands Thrift Shop. But before she could flip to a blank page in the steno pad she kept propped up next to her salt and pepper shakers, the phone rang.

“Mother,” Hannah said with a sigh, and Moishe halted in mid-crunch to give the phone a baleful look. He wasn’t fond of Delores Swensen, and Hannah’s mother had six pairs of shredded pantyhose to prove it. Hannah stood up to grab the wall phone and sat back down again. Her mother wasn’t known for brevity. “Good morning, Mother.”

“You really shouldn’t answer that way, Hannah. What if I’d been someone else?”

Hannah gave a fleeting thought to the logic class she’d taken in college. It was impossible for someone to be someone else. She decided not to argue the point—it would only prolong their conversation—and she settled for her standard reply. “I knew it was you, Mother. It’s never anyone else at five-thirty in the morning. How are the shuttle sleighs coming along?”

“They’re all ready to go, and that includes the one that Al Percy’s uncle donated.” Delores gave a rueful laugh. “You should have seen it, Hannah. It was such a wreck that all they could keep were the runners and the hardware. The shop class had to build a whole new body and it looks fabulous.”

“Great,” Hannah commented, and took another sip of her coffee. Delores had been instrumental in helping Mayor Bascomb round up sleighs for the Jordan High shop class to rejuvenate. She had a real knack for ferreting out antiques, and old sleighs in decent condition weren’t easy to locate.

“I found a picture on a Christmas card and they modeled it after that. The boys are lining it with white fur throws today, and we’re going to use it for the Prince and Princess of Winter.”

Hannah pictured it in her mind. It sounded perfect for the Winter Carnival royalty. “How many sleighs do you have?”

“Twelve.” There was a note of pride in Delores’s voice. “And before I got involved last month, they only had two.”

“You did a great job. I’ll bet you could get a fleet rate on the insurance with a dozen.”

There was a silence, and Hannah heard her mother draw in her breath sharply. “Insurance? I hope the Winter Carnival Committee thought of that! Why, someone could fall off and sue the town, and—”

“Relax, Mother,” Hannah interrupted her. “Howie Levine’s on the committee and he’s a lawyer. I’m sure he thought of it.”

“I hope so! I’ll call the mayor this morning, just to make sure. I promised to call anyway, to tell him when the Ezekiel Jordan House was finished.”

“It’s all finished?”

“It will be this morning. All I have to do is hang the drapes and put up some pictures in the parlor.”

“Good work, Mother,” Hannah complimented her. She knew that Delores hadn’t been given much time to whip the project into shape. At their January meeting, the Lake Eden Historical Society had decided to create a full-scale replica of the first mayor’s house for the Winter Carnival crowd to tour, and they’d rented the two-story building next to Hannah’s cookie shop for the purpose. Since Delores was Lake Eden’s foremost antique expert and a founding member of the historical society, she had taken on the project. Carrie Rhodes had volunteered to help her, and when the two mothers weren’t actively working on the re-creation, they were busy making plans to marry Hannah off to Carrie’s son, Norman.

Replicating the Ezekiel Jordan House was a difficult task. Since there were no existing pictures, Delores and Carrie had contacted the first mayor’s descendants to request any information they might have about the five-room dwelling. One of Mrs. Jordan’s great-great-grandnieces had responded by sending a box of her ancestor’s effects and a stack of letters that the first mayor’s wife had written to her family back east. In several of the letters, Abigail Jordan had described her home and furniture in detail, and Delores had used her knowledge of antiques to fill in the blanks.

“Will you have time to stop by this morning, Hannah?” Delores sounded a bit tentative, and that was unusual for her. “I’d like your input before anyone else sees it.”

“Sure. Just bang on my back door when you’re ready and I’ll dash over. But you’re the antique expert. Why do you need my input?”

“For the kitchen,” Delores explained. “It’s the only room Abigail Jordan didn’t describe. She talks about baking in every one of her letters, and I’m not sure I have all the utensils in the proper places.”

“I’ll check it out,” Hannah promised, knowing full well that her mother had never used a flour sifter or rolling pin in her life. Delores didn’t bake and she made no bones about it. The desserts of Hannah’s childhood had always come straight from the Red Owl grocery store shelves.

“Thank you, dear. I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to get off the line. Carrie’s picking me up and she said she’d call when she left her house.”

“Okay. Bye, Mother.” Hannah hung up the phone and made a mental note to tell her sister, Andrea, never to mention the option of call-waiting to their mother. This morning’s call had been the shortest in history. After a glance at her apple-shaped kitchen clock, Hannah rinsed out her coffee cup, refilled Moishe’s food bowl for the final time, and scratched him near the base of his tail, an action that always made him arch his back and purr. “I’ve got to run, Moishe. See you tonight.”

Hannah had a routine to perform before she left her condo in the winter. She shrugged into her parka, zipped it up, and pulled her navy blue stocking cap down over her unmanageable red curls. Then she went into the living room to turn the thermostat down to an energy-saving sixty-five degrees, flicked on the television to keep Moishe company, picked up her purse, and slipped on her fur-lined gloves. She gave Moishe one more pat, checked to make sure she had her keys, and stepped out into the dark, frigid morning that still looked like the middle of the night.

The security lights on the side of the building went on as Hannah descended the outside staircase. Because of the Northern latitude, they got a real workout during the winter, when the days were short and the sun shone for less than eight hours. Most Lake Eden residents drove to work in the dark and came home in the dark, and if they worked in a place without windows, there were days at a stretch when they never caught a glimpse of the sun.

Hannah blinked in the glare of the high-wattage bulbs, designed to ensure a crime-free environment, and held onto the railing as she went down the steps. Once she arrived at ground level, another set of stairs led to the underground garage. Hannah was about to descend them when a tough-sounding male voice rang out behind her.

“Put up your hands and face the wall, lady. Do exactly what I say, or I’ll blow you away!”

Hannah wasn’t sure whether to be frightened or angry as she raised her hands in the air. There’d never been any sort of crime in her condo complex before, and it was the last thing she’d expected. Mike Kingston, head of the Winnetka County Sheriff’s Detective Division, had promised to teach her some self-defense moves, but he hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Hannah dated him occasionally, and after two separate occasions when she’d found herself in imminent danger of occupying one of Doc Knight’s steel tables at the morgue, Mike had suggested she learn what to do if someone threatened bodily harm.

Even though she didn’t appreciate being waylaid only a few feet from her door in a condo complex that had been gated to keep out intruders, Hannah knew she shouldn’t take foolish risks. She took a deep breath and dutifully recited the phrase that her father had drummed into her head when she’d gone off to college. “Take anything you want, but please don’t hurt me.”

“Hug the wall and don’t move a muscle. Keep your hands up where I can see them.”

Hannah frowned as she followed his orders. His voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. She was still trying to identify it when a snowball splattered harmlessly over her head, raining snow down on the top of her stocking cap.

“Gotcha!”

The moment the man laughed, his voice was paired with a freckled face in Hannah’s mind and she whirled around angrily. “Greg Canfield! Of all the idiotic, senseless…”

“Sorry, Hannah,” Greg interrupted her tirade. “I saw you walking to your truck and I couldn’t resist. Are you mad at me?”

“I should be. You scared me half to death!” Hannah gave him a reluctant smile. When they’d been in third grade, Greg Canfield had made a practice of lying in wait and pelting her with snowballs on her way home from school. Not one to take things lying down, Hannah had fought back. She’d landed her share of cold missiles that had dripped icy snow down Greg’s neck, and their snowball battles had lasted all winter, despite dire warnings from both mothers. When fourth grade had begun, Greg and Hannah had called a truce and they’d become friends. Hannah had been very disappointed when Greg’s parents had moved to Colorado, pulling Greg out of school before they entered the ninth grade.

All through high school, Hannah had thought about Greg and how much easier her social life would have been if she’d had a friend of the opposite sex. She’d even imagined that they might have been a lot more than just friends until she’d heard that Greg had married his high school girlfriend right after graduation.

“It’s good to see you again, Hannah.”

“Same here…I think,” Hannah responded, wondering why Greg was here. His grandmother, Mrs. Canfield, was one of her downstairs neighbors, but it was too early for a visit. “You’re not going to wake up your grandmother, are you?”

“Of course not.” Greg stepped forward to brush the snow from her cap. “Grandma always sleeps until nine.”

Hannah was even more confused. “Then what are you doing out here so early?”

“I woke up when the furnace went out and I went down to the basement to fix it. It was simple, just a loose connection. I didn’t want Grandma to wake up to a cold house.”

“You’re living with your grandmother now?”

“It’s just temporary. I had to stick around to tie up some loose ends and the house sold a lot faster than I expected. You never got out to my store at the mall, did you?”

Hannah felt a twinge of guilt. Her former classmate had moved back to the area a little over a year ago. He’d bought a house in a neighboring town and opened an import store at the Tri-County Mall. “I’m sorry, Greg. I really meant to drive out to see it, but the time was never right.”

“You should have come for my closeout sale. I had some incredible bargains.”

“I heard. Andrea was there and she said she practically bought you out. I’m sorry your store closed, Greg.”

“Water under the bridge,” Greg said with a shrug. “Retail really wasn’t my thing anyway. The hours were too long, and dealing with my suppliers was a nightmare.”

Hannah felt a bit uncomfortable. She really didn’t know what to say to someone who’d lost his business. “How about your wife? Is she living with your grandmother, too?”

“No. Annette flew to Denver right after the house sold. That’s where her parents live.”

Hannah nodded, wondering if Greg’s wife had bailed out on him. She’d met Annette only once, and she’d been left with the impression that Greg’s wife spent money as fast or faster than he could make it. It hadn’t taken Annette more than three minutes to inform Hannah that she’d been a classmate of Greg’s at one of Colorado’s most prestigious private schools, and that her parents lived on an estate in an exclusive suburb of Denver.

With a start, Hannah realized that Greg was gazing at her expectantly, and she responded with the first thing that popped into her mind. “Will you be staying in town for the Winter Carnival?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” Greg started to grin, the same friendly grin Hannah recalled from her childhood, and the one she’d hoped would be smiling down at her in her senior prom picture. “It’s a great chance to see some of the kids I used to know. Maybe we can all get together for dinner at the Lake Eden Inn.”

“That would be great,” Hannah agreed. The inn’s owners, Dick and Sally Laughlin, had agreed to stay open for the Winter Carnival crowd. Between the Hartland Flour Bake-off last November and the party crowds at Christmas, the inn had generated good winter business. Sally had told Hannah that if the Winter Carnival turned into an annual event, they might be able to stay open year-round.

Greg glanced at his watch and frowned slightly. “Let’s try to get together later, Hannah. I’d love to stand here and chew the fat, but it’s almost time for me to go to work.”

“You’re working in Lake Eden?” Hannah was surprised that Greg had taken a temporary job. Perhaps his closeout sale hadn’t gone very well.

“I’m working out of Grandma’s condo and it’s going just great. I’ve made more money in the past three weeks than I ever made in retail.”

“Really?” Hannah was pleased for him. “What are you doing?”

“On-line stock trading. All I need is a computer and a modem and I can work anywhere.”

Though Hannah was certainly no expert, she knew something about on-line stock trading. Dick Laughlin, a former stockbroker in Minneapolis, had written a series of articles about it for the Lake Eden Journal. “But isn’t day-trading risky?”

“Only if you don’t know what you’re doing. You ought to try it. I could give you some tips.”

“Not me. I don’t have any money to spare. Everything I have is tied up in The Cookie Jar.”

“But you don’t need a lot of venture capital to get started. And you can always borrow the money and pay it back when your stock hits.”

“Is that what you did?”

“No. I took the proceeds from my closeout sale and put every cent in Redlines. They’re the hottest new Internet provider. When it peaked yesterday morning, I sold.”

“And you made money?”

“I tripled my original investment, and it was more than enough to pay off my creditors. I put the rest of my profits in some other hot stocks, and they were way up at closing yesterday. I’ve got a system, Hannah. I figure that by the time I leave for Denver, I’ll be worth close to a million.”

The doubts in Hannah’s mind grew by leaps and bounds. Dick Laughlin had called day-trading the newest form of gambling, and he’d warned of the consequences of investing borrowed money. Greg thought he had a system, and he’d been lucky once, but what if that system failed? Hannah was reminded of the spots on late-night television that advertised a sure-fire system for winning at blackjack. She figured that if a gambler really had a winning system, he wouldn’t need to peddle books he’d written about it.

“I’ve got to run, Hannah. I want t. . .