Key Lime Pie Murder (12 page)

“Marge Beeseman’s Mock Apple Pie.”

“Mock apple?” Delores looked puzzled. “Is that a new type of fruit?”

Hannah just smiled. “It’s a very special pie, Mother. It’s Lisa’s Mom’s recipe, and I’ll bake it for you sometime. And a lady from Browerville came in third with her pineapple custard pie. Her first name was Doreen, I think.

“Oh, my!” A heavyset woman with frizzy brown hair began fanning herself with a Lake Eden Historical Society brochure.

“That’s her pie,” the lady standing next to her explained. “She told me she didn’t think it could win because she put in too much pineapple.”

Hannah laughed. “That’s one of the things we liked about it.”

As the ladies wandered off by twos and threes, Hannah walked around the corner of the booth to see precisely what she’d be facing when she assumed the position of dunkee on Saturday afternoon.

Florence Evans, the owner of the Lake Eden Red Owl Grocery, was sitting on the stool. She looked happy enough, and Hannah noticed that her clothing was dry, so perhaps this wouldn’t be as bad as she’d thought.

“Hi, Hannah!” Florence greeted her with a smile. “Want to try to dunk me? Only five dollars for three balls, and it goes to a good cause.”

“Sure. Where do I buy the balls?”

“Right around the corner from your mother, or Carrie.”

Hannah retraced her steps. Her mother was still knee-deep in conversation with two ladies who hadn’t gone to see the posted results of the pie contest, but Carrie was free. Hannah told her she wanted to buy three balls and forked over a five-dollar bill. A moment later, she was standing in front of the target, wondering how close she could come to hitting it.

“Ready, Florence?” she asked.

“I’m ready.”

“Okay. I’ll give it my best try.”

“Make it your second-best try,” Florence said with a laugh. “I’m through in twenty minutes, and I’d like to stay dry.”

Hannah threw three balls, missing with each by a country mile. “You’re still dry,” she said when she’d finished.

“And I’m grateful. Did you miss on purpose?”

“No. I’ve never been any good at pitching balls. And I figured that if I tried to miss, I might just hit the bull’s-eye. So I just aimed for it and hoped my natural nonexistent talent would keep you dry.”

“Whatever. It worked.” Florence looked over Hannah’s shoulder and groaned.

Hannah turned around to see a tall, lanky young man approaching. He waved at Florence, and then he went around the corner of the booth. “What’s the matter?” she asked Florence.

“That’s Bernie Fulton.”

Hannah let that sink in, but the light failed to dawn. “Who’s Bernie Fulton?”

“He’s a pitcher on the Twins farm team. Everybody says they’re going to bring him up from triple A by the end of the season. He’s pitched three no-no’s, and that’s practically unheard of.”

“No-no’s?”

“No runs, no hits.”

“Then he’s very good!”

“The best.” Florence gave another little groan. “He’s dunked every single woman volunteer at least once.”

“But why?”

“For the publicity. At least that’s what he told the other women before he dunked them.”

Both Hannah and Florence waited breathlessly. Was Bernie going to do it again, or had he gone on to another booth? A few seconds later, their question was answered as he reappeared, juggling three baseballs in one hand.

“Ready?” he asked Florence.

Florence sighed in resignation. “I’m as ready as I’m ever going to be.”

“It’s nothing personal. I’m just trying to get publicity so they’ll bring me up early. And don’t forget that my publicity is your publicity, too. Delores just told me that contributions tripled since they ran that television spot on the sports news last night.”

Hannah glanced around. Sure enough, there was Wingo Jones with his cameraman, ready to capture Florence’s dunking for the KCOW sports news. “Hang in there, Florence,” she said, giving the object of Bernie Fulton’s publicity a sympathetic glance. “I’ll go get you a towel.”

As she hurried around the corner of the booth, Hannah heard three sounds in rapid succession: a thud, a shriek, and a loud splash. Bernie Fulton was impressive. It sounded as if he’d succeeded with his first pitch.

“Take this to Florence, will you dear?” Delores handed Hannah a fluffy bath towel without being asked, and Hannah got the impression she’d known exactly what was going to happen.

“Thanks.” Hannah grabbed the towel and rushed back to Florence to help her dry off. It was only after Florence had resumed her place on the stool and Hannah was walking away that she realized Bernie “No-No” Fulton had called her mother Delores.

Hannah’s eyes narrowed, and she turned back to give her mother an assessing look. Delores waved and assumed a perfectly guileless smile that didn’t fool Hannah for a second. Bernie obviously knew Delores. And Delores knew the evening news crew at KCOW Television, including the sports commentator, Wingo Jones. She’d also expected that Bernie would dunk Florence because she’d had the towel ready and waiting. Was it possible that her mother had set everything up to garner more publicity and more donations for her favorite project?

“Uh-oh,” Hannah said with a sigh, turning on her heel and heading off in the direction of the Sinful Pleasures booth. She needed a deep-fried Milky Way, and she needed it now. There was no doubt in her mind that Delores intended to sacrifice every one of her frilly-dressed volunteers, including her eldest daughter, to the huge tank of water that was positioned beneath the dunking stool at the Lake Eden Historical Society booth.

MOCK APPLE PIE

Preheat oven to 450 degrees F., rack in the center position

Yes, that’s four hundred and fifty degrees F. and not a misprint.

Use your favorite piecrust recipe to make enough pastry for an eight-inch double crust pie.*

Assemble the following ingredients:

20 salted soda crackers

1/4 to 1/2 cup softened butter

11/2 cups cold water

11/2 cups white (granulated) sugar

3 Tablespoons lemon juice (freshly squeezed is best)

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

11/2 teaspoons cream of tartar

*
If you’re in a hurry, you can use two frozen pie shells—just thaw them and use one for the bottom and one for the top.

Butter the soda crackers, (I ended up using just a bit over a quarter-cup of butter to do this,) put the buttered crackers in the saucepan, and break them up into fairly large pieces with a wooden spoon.

Add the water, sugar, lemon juice, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cream of tarter. Give everything a good stir with your spoon and bring the mixture to a boil over medium to high heat on the stovetop.

Once the boil has been reached, turn down the heat and simmer for exactly two minutes.

Set the saucepan aside on a cold burner.

Divide your piecrust dough in half and roll out the bottom crust large enough to line an 8-inch pie plate.

Pour the soda cracker mixture into the lined pie plate and cover it with the top crust. Crimp the edges together. Cut a couple of slits in the top crust to let out the steam while the pie bakes.

Bake the pie at 450 degrees F., for 15 to 20 minutes, or until the top crust is nicely browned.

Cool and serve.

Jo’s Note: This pie has fooled everyone every single time I’ve served it!

Lisa says she likes this pie best with vanilla ice cream. Herb prefers it with cinnamon ice cream. Lisa’s dad likes to accompany it with a slice of sharp cheddar. Herb’s mom likes hers with sweetened whipped cream.

Hannah set her Key Lime Pie down on the counter and waited until Ruby had finished waiting on three giggling girls and an overweight man who kept glancing over his shoulder.

“Hi, Hannah,” Ruby said when everyone had left. “Are you ready to try that candy bar yet?”

“I’m ready. I need a dose of carbs and chocolate.”

“What’s wrong?”

Hannah gave a deep sigh. There was no doubt in her mind that she’d be getting a dunking in the historical society booth on Saturday. “I just found out that my mother set me up again.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. And I can understand why you need something to cheer you up. Did you decide which candy bar you want to try first?”

“First?” Hannah gave a little laugh. “I like the way you think, Ruby! I’ll have the deep-fried Milky Way and then, if I can still waddle, I’ll have…” Hannah stopped in midorder as she heard someone call her name. “Oh no! Not again!”

“This one’s real cute,” Ruby said, glancing over Hannah’s shoulder. “Tall and handsome with a great body on him. If he doesn’t work out, I’ll be surprised.”

Hannah turned around and put a smile on her face. “Oh, he works out, all right. He’s got a minigym at his apartment complex, and there’s a full one out at the sheriff’s department.”

“Bet he looks good in his dress uniform.”

“Oh, yes,” Hannah said, and turned to greet Mike. “Hi, Mike. Meet Ruby. She runs the most intriguing booth on the midway.”

“I can see that.” Mike glanced up at the sign that said Sinful Pleasures and gave a little chuckle. “Hi, Ruby. How’s business?”

“Very good, thank you. The deep-fried Milky Ways are the big seller tonight.”

Mike turned to Hannah. “Were you going to order one?”

“Of course she wasn’t,” Ruby covered for her. “Hannah was curious about the batter, that’s all. How about you? Would you like one? It’s on the house.”

Mike shook his head. “I’d love to, but I gained a pound last week and I have to watch it.”

A pound. He’d gained a pound and he was already dieting. Hannah gave a little laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Mike asked, turning to her.

“You gained one pound and you’re already dieting?”

“That’s right. I figure it’s like clearing the highways in the winter. They call out the plows when it starts to snow, because if they wait for it to pile up, it’s a lot harder to get rid of.”

Ruby looked interested. “So you don’t want your weight to pile up?”

“Exactly right. If I gain a pound, I take it off before it can turn into two or three. I like to get a jump on it, you know? That’s one of the reasons I weigh myself every morning.”

“I see,” Hannah said, settling for one of the most noncommittal comments she could make and squelching the urge to haul back and slap the face she found so incredibly attractive. She didn’t start worrying about her weight until she gained at least five pounds. And since weighing in was such an ordeal, she’d been known to read the scale by peeking through her fingers, a technique left over from childhood for watching scary movies.

“So that would be a no on the deep-fried candy bar, then?” Ruby asked, winking at Hannah.

“Right. They do look good, though. And thanks a lot for the offer.” Mike turned back to Hannah. “I need to talk to you.”

“Officially or unofficially?”

“Officially.”

“Then you’re working?”

“I didn’t even have time to get home before they called me in again.”

“That sounds like something big.”

“Big enough.” Mike took her arm and walked her over to one of the unoccupied food tables. “There was a break-in at the Great Northwestern Rodeo and Carnival office.”

Hannah sat down and unleashed the questions that flashed through her mind. “Somebody broke in? When did it happen? Was anybody hurt? Did they steal something, or was it vandalism?”

“If you get me a cup of coffee, I’ll tell you all about it,” Mike said, sliding into a seat across from Hannah. “I’d do it myself, but I’m beat.”

It was rare that Mike asked for help, and Hannah was up in a flash. She got two Styrofoam cups of coffee from the corn dog booth and carried them back to the table. “Here you go, Mike.”

“Thanks. You probably just saved my life.” Mike took a swig and made a face. “This coffee is worse than the stuff at the station.”

“Do you want me to try another booth?”

“No. I just need it to wake up, and it’s strong enough to do the trick. Sit down and I’ll tell you about the break-in.”

“I’m listening,” Hannah said, sitting back down and leaning forward across the table.

“The secretary, Miss Vincent, locked up at six. That’s routine. It’s when the office closes every night.”

“And all the employees know that?”

“Not just the employees. The hours are posted on a sign outside the door. She’s new at the job, but she’s been with the show for over a year. Before she took over as secretary, she worked at the ticket booth.”

“Then she travels with the company?”

“Yes.” Mike gestured toward the group of motor homes and trailers that were parked in the vacant lot behind the grove of trees. “It’s the blue one just to the left of that arc light.”

“I see it,” Hannah told him, spotting it through the branches of the trees.

“Anyway, she got to her trailer at six-thirty, fished around for her keys to unlock the door, and realized that she’d left them in her center desk drawer at the office.”

“So she went back to the office?”

“That’s right. She got back there at a quarter to seven, but she didn’t go in. She noticed that one of the windows on the side of the door was broken, and she did the smart thing. She walked to the gate and had them call for a security guard. That was…” Mike paused to flip open his notebook and refer to the notes he’d taken. “Mr. Roland Weiss. He’s a retired Winnetka County Deputy. Mr. Weiss unlocked the door with his master key and went in to assess the situation, but the burglar was long gone.”

Hannah caught Mike’s use of the term. “You said burglar. What was missing?”

“Money. The cash box was full when Miss Vincent left. It had all the entrance fees for the rodeo contests, the gate receipts from yesterday and this afternoon, and the midway receipts. All told, it was over ten thousand dollars.”

Hannah’s mouth formed a silent O of surprise. “That’s a lot of money,” she said.

“I know, and it’s all in untraceable cash. It would have been even more, but she’d already paid the hourly workers for the day.”