Key Lime Pie Murder (2 page)

“It doesn’t matter. You still look gorgeous.”

“It’s nice of you to say that, but I don’t have time to talk about that now. I tracked you down because I need your help and I’m in a real rush.” Andrea stopped and stared as someone opened the shutters on the fried candy bar booth from the inside. “I read about those deep-fried candy bars in the Lake Eden Journal. You’re not going to order one, are you?”

“They’re not really open yet,” Hannah hedged. “None of the food booths open until noon.”

“Well, that’s a relief!” Andrea fanned her face with her hand. “I don’t have to tell you that they’re loaded with calories, and you still haven’t lost the weight you put on over Christmas, do I?”

“Absolutely not,” Hannah said. Wild horses wouldn’t get her to admit to Andrea that she was sorely tempted to come back when the fair officially opened and order one. “Why do you need my help?”

“Let’s sit down and I’ll show you.”

Andrea led the way to one of the picnic tables that sat in the shade of a huge elm. She brushed off the top and opened the file folder she was carrying.

“Photos for the Mother-Daughter contest?” Hannah stated the obvious as Andrea laid out four different poses of her and Hannah’s oldest niece, Tracey.

“That’s right. Norman dropped them off last night and I can’t decide which one is the best. I have to turn it in at ten this morning,” Andrea frowned as she glanced at her watch, “and I’ve got only twelve minutes to take it to the secretary’s office.”

Hannah looked at each photograph in turn. They were all good, but one was a smidgeon better. “This one,” she said, pointing it out.

“Why that one?”

“Because your heads are tilted at exactly the same angle.”

“That’s true,” Andrea said, but she didn’t look happy. “How about the one on the end?”

“It’s a good picture, but the resemblance isn’t as striking. Tracey’s looking straight at the camera, and you’re looking off to the side.”

“I know. I noticed that. It’s just…” Andrea’s voice trailed off, and she gave a little sigh.

“It’s just what?”

“My hair looks better in the picture on the end.”

“True, but it’s not a beauty pageant. It’s a mother-daughter look-alike contest.”

“You’re right, of course.” Andrea gathered up the photos and put them back in the folder. “I’ll use the one you picked.”

Hannah’s sisterly radar went on full alert. Something was wrong. Andrea was worried about how she looked, and she’d mentioned her hair twice in the past three minutes. “What’s wrong with your hair?” she asked, forgetting to even try to phrase the question tactfully.

“I knew it!” Andrea wailed, and her eyes filled with tears. “You noticed and that means everyone in town will notice. Bill said he couldn’t see any more, but he must have missed one.”

“One what?”

Andrea took a deep breath for courage and then she blurted it out. “A gray hair! I’m going gray, Hannah, and I’m only twenty-six. It’s just awful, especially since Mother isn’t even gray yet!”

She would be without the wonders of modern cosmetology, Hannah thought, but she didn’t say it. She’d promised Delores she’d never tell that an expensive hair color called Raven Wing was partially responsible for her mother’s youthful appearance. Wishing for the wisdom of the Sphinx, or at least that of a clinical psychiatrist, Hannah waded in with both feet. Her goal was to make Andrea feel better even if it took a little white lie to accomplish it. “Oatmeal,” she said, remembering the extra bag of cookies she was carrying in her large shoulder bag.

“What?”

“Mother swears oatmeal prevents aging. She eats it every day.”

“I know it’s supposed to be good for your cholesterol, and some people use it for facials.” Andrea looked thoughtful. “Does Mother really believe that it keeps her from going gray?”

“Absolutely. But whatever you do, you can’t mention it to her.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re not supposed to believe she’s old enough to have gray hair. If we mention it, she’ll take it as an insult.”

Andrea thought about that for a moment. “You’re right. I’ll never mention it.”

“So are you going to try it?”

Andrea made a face. “I hate oatmeal. Remember how you used to try to trick me into eating it by sprinkling on brown sugar and making a face out of chocolate chips on the top?”

“I remember. And it worked because you always cleaned your bowl.”

“You only thought it worked. I ate off the brown sugar and the chocolate chips, and then I gave the bowl to Bruno when you weren’t looking.”

“You did?” Hannah was disillusioned. She thought she’d been so clever in getting her sister to eat oatmeal, and the Swensen family dog had gotten it instead.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you,” Andrea said, watching the play of emotions that crossed Hannah’s face.

“That’s okay.” Hannah began to smile as she thought of the perfect ploy. She’d get Andrea to eat oatmeal now, every single day, to make up for her deception! “Bruno was a gorgeous dog. I used to wish I had hair that color.”

“I know. And his coat was so soft. I still get a little lump in my throat every time I see an Irish Setter.”

Hannah took a deep breath. She was about to drop the other shoe. “I’m glad you told me about the oatmeal.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because now I understand why Bruno never went gray. It must have been the oatmeal you gave him. Too bad you didn’t eat it.”

Andrea groaned. “If I’d known, I would have. And now I suppose it’s too late!”

“Not necessarily. Mother never used to eat it when she was young.”

“Really?”

“You were probably too little to remember, but all she used to have for breakfast was coffee. She said she never got hungry until noon, but I think that was just an excuse.”

“For what?”

“For not admitting that she was on a diet. Mother put on a little weight after Michelle was born and she had a hard time taking it off.”

“So when did she start eating breakfast?”

“It was after I went off to college. I’m not positive because I wasn’t there, but I think she started eating oatmeal for breakfast right after she got her first gray hair.”

Andrea shuddered slightly. “Okay, I’ll just have to do the same thing. It’s close to a tossup, but I’m pretty sure that I hate gray hair more than I hate oatmeal.”

“Atta girl!” Hannah reached into her purse and pulled out a bag of cookies. “And just to make that oatmeal more palatable, here’s a present for you.”

“Cookies?”

“Karen Lood’s Swedish Oatmeal Cookies. They’re authentic and they’re absolutely delicious. Mother got the recipe from Karen before she moved out of town.”

“Thanks, Hannah. I don’t usually like oatmeal cookies, but they’re bound to be better than eating oatmeal in a bowl.”

“Taste one.”

Andrea pulled out a cookie and took a bite. She chewed and then she smiled. “Good! I like these, Hannah!”

“I knew you would. They’re a really simple cookie, and sometimes simple is best.”

“Maybe this is crazy, but these remind me of your Old-Fashioned Sugar Cookies.”

“It’s not crazy at all. Both of them are buttery, crunchy, and sweet. Just make sure you have three a day, and come down to the shop for more when you run out. We bake them every day in the summer. There’s no chips to melt and they hold up really well in hot weather.” Hannah glanced down at her watch and started to frown. “You’d better get a move on, Andrea. You don’t want to be late turning in that photo.”

“Right.” Andrea stood up and took a step away from the picnic table. Then she turned to smile at Hannah. “Thanks, Hannah. No matter what’s bothering me, you always make me feel better.”

Hannah smiled back. Andrea could be a pain at times, especially when she went into a tirade about the unfashionable way Hannah dressed, or the fact that she was a bit too plump. But on that giant tally sheet sisters kept in their heads, she’d won this round hands down.

SWEDISH OATMEAL COOKIES (Karen Lood)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in middle position.

1 cup butter (2 sticks, 1/2pound)

3/4 cup white (granulated) sugar

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 cup flour (no need to sift)

2 cups oatmeal (I used Quaker Oats - Quick)

1 egg yolk

Melt the butter in a microwave safe bowl on HIGH for approximately 11/2 minutes. Let it cool to room temperature. Mix in the white sugar.

Add the baking soda, flour, and oatmeal. Stir thoroughly.

Beat the egg yolk with a fork until it’s thoroughly mixed. Add it to the bowl and stir until it’s incorporated.

Grease (or spray with Pam or other nonstick cooking spray) a standard-sized cookie sheet. Make small balls of dough and place them on the cookie sheet, 12 to a sheet. Press them down with a fork in a crisscross pattern the way you’d do for peanut butter cookies.

Bake at 350 degrees F. for 10 to 12 minutes or until they’re just starting to brown around the edges. Let the cookies cool for a minute or two on the sheets and then transfer them to a wire rack to complete cooling.

Yield: approximately 5 dozen, depending on cookie size.

“Did I say thank you for the cookies?” Pam Baxter, the head of the three-woman judging panel, reached for another cookie.

“You did. About six times.”

“And did I?” Willa Sunquist asked, reaching in right after Pam.

“Seven times, I think.”

“What did you call them again?”

“Pineapple Delights. We got the idea from Lisa’s aunt, Irma Baker. She uses dried apricots too, but Lisa changed it to all pineapple because Herb’s crazy about pineapple.”

“Well it’s a cinch you’ll win the cookie competition!” Willa declared.

“No, I won’t. I run a bakery and coffee shop, and according to the rules, I’m not allowed to enter.”

“That’s a break for the rest of the contestants,” Willa said with a laugh. A nice-looking woman in her late twenties, Willa had just finished the school year as Pam’s classroom aide. The job hadn’t paid much, but Pam and George had given Willa a break by renting their basement apartment to her at a ridiculously low price so that she could finish her teaching degree at Tri-County College.

“Do you have any questions about the rules, Hannah?” Pam asked, closing her slim booklet titled, Guidelines for Judging Baked Goods.

“I don’t think so. The score sheets spell everything out. We just rate each entry on the variables, using a scale from one to ten.”

“And when we’re finished with an entry, Pam collects the score sheets,” Willa said. “At the end of the night, we add up the numbers, enter them on the master score sheet, and Pam authenticates it by signing her name.”

Pam glanced down at the sample score sheet that had come with the booklet. “Do you have any questions about the variables?”

“Just one,” Willa said with a frown. “What’s the difference between presentation and appearance?”

Pam gave her a quick smile. “I asked the same thing! Presentation is how the entry looks when we first see it on the plate or platter. Appearance is what it looks like when it’s sampled.”

“That makes sense,” Hannah said. “The decoration and frosting on a cake would be judged under presentation. We don’t judge appearance until we actually cut the cake and see how it slices and looks inside.”

“How about pies?” Willa asked, still looking a bit confused.

“We rate the top crust or the meringue under the presentation variable. And we don’t rate appearance until we actually dish out a slice and see if the custard slumps, or the berries are too juicy.”

“Got it,” Willa said. “How about breads and coffeecakes? That’s what we’re judging tonight.”

“If it’s been baked in a pan, we judge presentation on how evenly the top crust and the sides are browned. If it’s a coffeecake and it’s frosted or studded with fruit, we rate how that’s done. The same goes for sweet rolls, sticky buns, and doughnuts.”

“Okay.” Willa glanced down at her booklet again. “Muffins and quick breads would be exactly the same, but how do you judge cookies on presentation and appearance? It’s not like you slice them or anything.”

“Hannah?” Pam turned to her.

“It’ll be harder, but it can be done. Some cookies are frosted or decorated with sugar. That would be presentation. Others might be decorated with nuts and dried fruits. And if the cookie isn’t decorated at all, we’ll have to judge the presentation on how expertly the baker browned it in the oven.”

“How about appearance?” Pam asked, looking almost as puzzled as Willa.

“We’ll have to bite into the cookie or break it apart to judge appearance. If it has a filling, we can judge how well that’s placed in the cookie. If it’s chocolate chip, or chopped nuts, we can judge how many there are and whether the cookie might need more, or less. With cookies I think we’ll have to take it on a case-by-case basis.”

“Good thing you’re filling in as a judge,” Willa said. “Judging cookies sounds really tricky.”

“Maybe, but it’ll be fun. What time should we meet tonight?”

Pam glanced down at the schedule. “It has to be after six. That’s the cutoff for the day’s entries.” She turned to Willa. “You’re through at eight, aren’t you, Willa?”

“Yes. I can come right over here after the pageant. Once the curtain closes, the girls are free to go home.”

Hannah’s ears perked up. “Are you talking about the Miss Tri-County Beauty Pageant?”

“Yes, I’m the chaperone.”

“My baby sister’s a contestant,” Hannah told her. “Michelle Swensen?”

“I saw her name on the roster.”

“If you get the chance, say hello from me and tell her I’ll be by to see her at Mother’s when I’m through judging. She came in on the bus early this morning.”

“From college?” Willa guessed.

“Macalester. She’s a theater major. I wonder if she’s got a chance of winning.”

“Everybody’s got a chance. Your sister’s pretty. I saw her picture. But the judging covers a lot more than that.”

“Talent? Personality?” Pam looked puzzled when Willa shook her head.