Blueberry Muffin Murder (20 page)

"It's supposed to stop by tomorrow morning. I heard the KCOW weather report on the drive in."

"I hope they're right." Andrea arrived at her Volvo and unlocked the door to retrieve her long-handled brush and scraper. She brushed the snow from her windshield and tossed the essential piece of winter equipment into the backseat. "I haven't built a snowman since I was a kid. Do you remember how to do it?"

'All you have to do is roll three balls of snow. You make a big one for the base, a medium-sized one for the torso, and a small one for the head. You stack them up, put on a face, and stick in some twigs for the arms. Then you decorate it with a hat or a scarf or whatever, and you're done. Anyone can build a snowman. It's easy."

"Since you know how, will you help us? Bill's going to be busy with the murder investigation, and it'd go a lot faster with three people. There's a time limit, you know."

Hannah sighed. She'd been had and she knew it. "Okay, I'll help. What time is the contest?"

"Two o'clock at the park. Thanks, Hannah." Andrea glanced at her watch in the glare from the dome light. "I've got to get a move on. Mother and Carrie are dropping Tracey off in twenty minutes. Do you want me to wait to see if your truck starts?"

"It'll start. And if it doesn't, someone will give me a jump."

Once Andrea had driven off, Hannah brushed the snow from her own windshield and started her truck. It fired up immediately and she cranked the heater up to high. As she waited for the engine to warm up, she took out her notebook and wrote down what they'd learned tonight, even though none of it seemed important.

By the time Hannah had slipped her notebook back into her purse, a whisper of tepid air was emerging from her heater vents. It was enough to chase away the frost from the inside of the windshield, but that was about it. Wishing that she'd opted for the auxiliary heater that Cyril Murphy had attempted to sell her when she'd bought her truck, she switched on her headlights and windshield wipers, and drove out of the parking lot.

Resisting the urge to drive past her shop to see if they'd taken the crime scene tape down, Hannah headed for the highway. Bill would have called if there'd been any change.

Hannah stepped on the gas, pulled in behind a rental truck with Michigan plates, and drove toward home. The only way she could get back into The Cookie Jar fast was to catch Connie Mac's killer, and that was turning out to be a lot harder than she'd hoped it would be.

"This is delicious, Hannah," Janie said as she bit into the sandwich Hannah had made for her. "I still remember the first time you made us a grilled cream cheese sandwich."

"So do I," Hannah replied, smiling at the memory. She'd decided to make grilled cheese sandwiches for Andrea and Janie one high school night when they'd stayed up late, cramming for a test. She'd buttered the bread, heated the frying pan, and only then discovered that someone had eaten the last piece of American cheese in the refrigerator. Since everything else had been ready, Hannah had sliced a block of chilled cream cheese and used that as a substitute. The resulting sandwich had been so delicious, she'd never made traditional grilled cheese sandwiches again.

"You should make cooking mistakes more often." Janie smiled at her. "You always end up with something fabulous."

"Not always. Remember the time I put tomato soup in my tuna hotdish? It was so awful, we couldn't eat it and we had to go out for pizza."

Janie made a face. "I wish you hadn't reminded me. But everyone's entitled to one flop, and you've more than made up for it."

"I need to ask you about something, Janie." Hannah turned her mind back to the problem at hand. "I ran into Kurt Howe at the library today, and he told me that the television station has a lot of Connie Mac shows that haven't aired yet."

"Kurt's right. We taped the shows in June and Connie Mac did four shows a day, every other day."

"Four shows a day?" Hannah was surprised. "Isn't that an awful lot of work?"

"Yes, but not for her. The staff did all the setup work before she even got to the studio. All she had to do was assemble pre-measured ingredients while she talked to her guests, stick pans in the oven, and take out the ones we'd already baked."

"So she didn't actually cook the dinners?"

"No, we did it all in advance. That's why she worked every second day. We needed that extra day to get everything ready for her."

Hannah did a little mental arithmetic. "She did sixty shows in a month?"

"That's right. When we were all through, her producer picked out the best shows and the station put those on the schedule. They kept the rest as a backlog. I'm sure they have enough for at least a year, maybe two."

"Is that normal?" Hannah asked. "I mean . . . it's almost as if the television station expected Connie Mac to die and they prepared for it ahead of time."

"There's nothing unusual in what they did, Hannah. Taping ahead is standard business practice for any show that's so dependent on its star. They can't do it with shows that deal with current events, but cooking shows are timeless."

"Okay, if you say so." But Hannah decided she'd check it out anyway. "Was Connie Mac one of those difficult stars?"

"Only with her own staff, and she was never difficult when one of television executives was on the set. Then she was all sweetness and light."

Janie's eyes were drooping, and that prompted Hannah to glance at her watch. "It's almost eleven and Norman's late. I wonder what's keeping him."

"Maybe his car wouldn't start?" Janie suggested. "It's really cold out there tonight."

"That's possible, but I'm sure he would have called." The moment the words were out of Hannah's mouth, the phone ring. She grinned at Janie as she reached out to answer it. "I guess you were right. That's probably him now."

But the voice that greeted her wasn't Norman's, and Hannah felt a prickle of fear. "Luanne? Is there something wrong?"

"Yes. .I called to tell you that I'm here at the hospital with Norman."

"The hospital?" The prickle of fear expanded into a knot in Hannah's stomach. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, but Norman's got a bad bump on his head. Doctor Knight says he could have a concussion."

"Was it a traffic accident?"

"No, Norman got mugged on the way out to his car."

For a moment, Hannah was speechless. As far as she knew, there'd never been a mugging in Lake Eden before. "Where did it happen?"

"In the parking lot outside the Ezekiel Jordan house. We had a late portrait sitting. When I left, Norman told me he was going to reload his cameras, and then he was going to drive out to your place. That's why I called you."

"Hold on a second." Hannah shook her head to clear it. "If you left, how did you find out that Norman was mugged?"

"I went back. Norman gave me a little stuffed giraffe for Susie and I left it in my makeup kit. I was all the way out to the highway when I remembered. I went back to get it and I found Norman facedown in the snow next to his car. It was really scary, Hannah."

"I'll bet it was. Did you see the mugger?"

"No, I didn't see anybody. Norman thinks I scared him off, because it happened right before I got there. I didn't want to leave Norman there and go call for an ambulance, so I helped him to my car and took him straight out to the emergency room."

"You did exactly the right thing, Luanne," Hannah assured her.

"Can you drive out here, Hannah? I have to get home and Norman doesn't have any way back to town."

"I'll be there in ten minutes," Hannah promised. "And thanks, Luanne. I'm really glad you forgot that giraffe."

"Me, too. 'Bye, Hannah."

Hannah hung up the phone and turned to Janie, who was staring at her curiously. "Norman got mugged. He's out at Lake Eden Memorial and I'm driving out there. Do you want to come along?"

"I'd rather stay here. Is there anything I can do for you while you're gone?"

"Yes. Check to make sure all the doors and windows are locked, and don't let anyone in."

"Why?" Janie looked worried. "Is there a problem?"

"I don't know, but Norman was a suspect in Connie Mac's murder, and so are you."

"Then you think Norman's mugging has something to do with Connie Mac's murder?"

"I won't know until I talk to him, but it's better to be safe than sorry."

"Okay, Hannah. I'll wait up for you. And I'll put on a pot of coffee so it'll be ready for you when you come home."

"Thanks, but the last thing I'm going to need when I get home is a load of caffeine. There's an extra gallon of wine in the broom closet, right next to Moishe's kitty crunchies. Shove it in the bottom of the refrigerator for me, will you? I have a feeling I'm going to need it tonight."

"Hannah!" Norman looked absolutely delighted to see her ' as delighted as a man could look who was flat on his back on an emergency room cot with a blood-pressure cuff on his arm and a turban-style bandage wrapped around his head. "You came."

"Of course I came. Luanne tells me you've been testing out the theory that your head is harder than concrete."

"Wood," Norman told her, struggling up into a sitting position. "Doc Knight found a splinter in my ski cap, and he thinks it came from a baseball bat."

"Whatever. Are you supposed to sit up like that?"

"They didn't tell me not to sit up. I'm fine, Hannah. I've just got a little headache, that's all."

"Don't go all Mister Tough Guyon me," Hannah warned "You have to be hurting. Where's Doc Knight? I want to talk to him."

"He's around here somewhere. Whatever you do, Hannah, don't call my mother. She'll be out here with chicken soup and a mustard plaster. And the soup will be straight out of a red-and-white can."

Hannah laughed. Delores had done the same thing when she was sick. "Okay, I won't call her. How about the sheriff's department? They should know what happened."

"They already know. Doc Knight called them the minute I came in, and they sent Rick Murphy out to take my statement. I couldn't tell him much. I never even saw who hit me."

"Okay, I'll be right back." Hannah walked over and touched Norman's arm. She had the urge to kiss him on the cheek, but she didn't. She just patted his arm, turned on her heel, and went out to find Doc Knight.

The first three emergency room cubicles Hannah passed were empty, but there was someone in the fourth. The curtains were drawn, but she could hear Doc Knight talking to someone about zinc powder and how often to apply it. Since there'd been a recent outbreak of athletes' foot at Jordan High, Hannah figured that the person behind the curtain was another shower-room casualty.

Doc Knight stepped out of the cubicle and he smiled when he saw Hannah. "Don't worry. He'll be fine. He can leave, but don't let him sleep for at least three hours. No alcohol and a liquid diet for the first twelve hours. Bring him right back out here if he shows any signs of concussion."

"Okay," Hannah said. "Norman told me you thought it was a baseball bat?"

"Either that or something similar. He took a hard blow and he's lucky it glanced off. A direct hit probably would have killed him."

Hannah winced. She didn't want to think about that. "Like Connie Mac?"

"I'd say so,' Doc Knight looked wary, "but you didn't hear that from me. I took pictures, and I'll compare them when I get some breathing room. And I didn't tell you that, either."

"I understand. You're just a font of noninformation."

"And that's the way I want it. If the boys out at the sheriff's station find out I told you anything at all, they'll skin me alive. Now take him off my hands and give him some TLC. I've got a two-car accident coming in any minute and I need the beds."

"Aspirin?" Hannah asked.

"No. I gave him something for his headache, and he can have another pill in two hours. That should knock him out for the rest of the night."

"You got it. I'll take him straight home,' Hannah promised.

"No, not home. Take him to your place. If you take him home, Carrie will kick up a fuss and he'll never get any rest. Let him relax for a couple of hours and then he can go home. And if Carrie starts weeping and wailing, give her one of Norman's pills."

"Well, there's one good thing," Norman said, accepting the mug of hot chocolate Hannah had made for him. "Until this bandage comes off, I won't have to wear a hat."

Janie laughed. "All you need is a jewel in the middle of that turban and you'll look like a sheik."

"I think it might take a little more than that," Norman said, taking a sip of his drink. "This is really good. Hannah."

"Doc Knight told me to keep you on liquids, and I figured a shot of liquid chocolate was better than low-fat chicken broth. How are you feeling, Norman?"

"Okay. I've still got a headache, but it's not as bad as it was before. Go ahead, Hannah."

"Go ahead and what?"

"Ask me those questions you've been dying to ask. If you hold them in much longer, you're going to pop."

Hannah gave a self-conscious .laugh. Norman knew her very well. "Are you sure you're well enough to answer?"

"I'm sure. Ask me now, while everything's still fresh in my mind."

"Okay." Hannah flipped to a fresh page in her notebook. "I know you didn't actually see your attacker, but did you see or hear anything right before he hit you?"

"No."

"Did you feel anything? A leather glove? A fur jacket? Anything like that?"

"All I felt was the blow."

"Did you smell anything? A cigarette burning? A distinctive aftershave, or a scented soap?"

"No. I don't have a clue who hit me, Hannah."

"Okay," Hannah sighed, switching to another line of questions. "Who knew that you'd be taking portraits at the Ezekiel Jordan House tonight?"

"Beatrice and Ted Koester. They were my subjects. And Luanne knew because she did Beatrice's makeup. Our mothers knew because I told them. They were taking Tracey to a movie tonight and I figured they might drive past on their way home. I didn't want them to worry when they saw lights on inside."

Hannah groaned in tandem with Janie. Both of them knew that Delores was a virtual pipeline of information.