Strawberry Shortcake Murder (10 page)

“What is it, Hannah?” Danielle asked. “Did you find another nice picture?”

“No. Does Doc Knight let you get up to use the bathroom, Danielle?”

“Not yet. He says I’m still too weak, and I might slip and fall. He promised me that I could get up tomorrow though.”

“That’s good.” Hannah blocked the sampler with her body, lifted it off the wall, and slid it into the largest pocket of her parka. She salved her conscience by telling herself it wasn’t stealing since she intended to bring the frame back tomorrow with something more appropriate inside. “I’d better go, Danielle.”

“Are you going to look for the woman who made that phone call?”

“That’s the plan.” Hannah walked over to pat Danielle’s shoulder. “I’ll be back to see you tomorrow. And while I’m gone, I’ve got some homework for you.”

Danielle actually smiled. “If I do my homework, will you bring me some more chocolate cookies?”

“Absolutely,” Hannah promised. “I want you to make a list, Danielle. Write down the names of everyone who had some reason to be angry with Boyd.”

“But Boyd didn’t do anything wrong, Hannah. Why would anyone be angry at him?”

Hannah realized that Danielle was still in denial, and nothing she could say would convince her that Boyd hadn’t been a good husband, a good neighbor, and a good man. “It doesn’t matter whether Boyd did anything wrong or not. People still get angry at other people, and their reasons aren’t always justified. Herb Beeseman gave my mother a speeding ticket three months ago. She admits that she was speeding, but she’s still miffed at him.”

“I see what you mean.” Danielle pulled out the drawer on her nightstand and took out a Winnetka County Sheriff’s Station notepad and a pen. “Mike Kingston gave this to me. It’s funny, Hannah. He asked me to make the same kind of list.”

“He did?” Hannah’s eyebrows shot up. Perhaps she’d been hasty in her judgment of Mike. If he’d asked Danielle to make a list, he might not be knuckling under to Sheriff Grant after all. “Write down everyone you can think of and give us both a copy. List anyone who was irritated with Boyd, regardless of the reason.”

Danielle flipped the notebook open and reached for another cookie. “I’m glad you asked me to do something, Hannah. It makes me feel like I’m helping. But are you sure you want me to write down everyone?”

“I’m sure.”

“Even if it’s over something silly?”

“Don’t leave anyone out.”

“Okay.” Danielle wrote a name on the first line. “I’ll start with Norman Rhodes.”

“Norman?” Hannah was surprised. “Why was Norman angry with Boyd?”

“Because he canceled three appointments in a row and then his temporary filling fell out. Norman wasn’t exactly happy when he had to go down to his office at midnight to glue it back in.”

Hannah reconsidered her original instructions. “Maybe then you’d better make a note of why each person was angry with Boyd. That’ll make it a lot easier for me.”

“Okay, I’ll do that. See you tomorrow, Hannah. I’ll have the list all ready for you, I promise.”

Hannah gave a little wave and headed for the door, leaving Danielle to her work. If the way Danielle’s pen was practically flying over the paper was any indication, she’d have a list of suspects as long as the Lake Eden telephone directory.

“So?” Andrea asked, the moment Hannah had slid behind the wheel.

“So I left Danielle making a list of people who were angry with Boyd.” Hannah buckled her seat belt and turned the key in the ignition. “And she told me about a strange phone call that Boyd got on Tuesday when he came home for lunch.”

Andrea listened as Hannah told her about the phone call and how Boyd had blackened Danielle’s eye immediately after he’d hung up. When Hannah had told her the whole story, Andrea said, “Danielle’s right. The phone call could be the key to Boyd’s murder. Who do you know with a speech impediment?”

“There’s Freddy Sawyer, but he’s the wrong sex.” Hannah named the mildly retarded man who did odd jobs around town. “And Lydia Gradin has a slight lisp, but she doesn’t slur her words. How about you? Do you know anyone/”

Andrea thought about it as Hannah backed out of the parking spot. “There’s Mrs. Knudson. She’s been slurring her words since she had that stroke.”

“Mrs. Knudson is eighty and Danielle said the woman sounded young,” Hannah reminded her. “She also said that the woman was rude. Can you imagine Reverend Knudson’s grandmother being rude?”

“No, she’s always very polite. There’s Loretta Richardson. She still has her Southern drawl, but Danielle would know her voice. And Helen Barthel stutters every once in a while when she gets nervous, but she doesn’t slur her words.”

“Anyone else?” Hannah drove around the hospital and down the snow-covered drive.

“I don’t think so. It’s got to be somebody we don’t know. Is Danielle sure the call was local?”

“She’s sure.” Hannah braked at the stop sign, looked both ways, and pulled out onto Old Lake Road. “It could be someone who came to town for the bake-off. Most of them checked in on Tuesday morning. Do you have time to run out to the Lake Eden Inn?”

“I’ve got nothing but time. Tracey doesn’t get out of preschool until four, and today’s my day off. I’d still be in bed if it wasn’t for Lucy Richards. That witch called at the crack of dawn this morning!”

“Witch?”

“Witch with a ‘b’. Now that I’m a mother, I have to watch my language. It’s like Tracey’s teacher says, Little pitchers have big ears.”

“I’m not a little pitcher, I’m a big one. You won’t corrupt me.” Hannah grinned as she turned off on the road that led around the lake. “And I agree with you completely abut Lucy Richards. She came in the shop this morning and tried to pump me for information about Boyd’s murder.”

Andrea looked surprised. “How did she find out that you were there?”

“She said one of her sources told her. I kept telling her that I didn’t know anything and I couldn’t tell her if I did, but it still took me ten minutes to get rid of her. And that’s not the half of it. When she finally left, she skinned out without paying for her cookies and coffee.”

“Lucy’s the rudest person I’ve ever met.” Andrea’s voice was hard, and Hannah knew she was still angry about the early-morning phone call. “If she slurred her words, I’d suspect that she was the woman who called Boyd.”

“But she doesn’t slur her words.”

“I know.”

Hannah turned right at the reflective sign that said “Lake Eden Inn,” and followed the gravel road that led through a large stand of oak. Their branches were black and stark against the leaden sky and they looked as dead as doornails. Of course they weren’t. New green leaves would begin to pop out with the first breath of spring. They always did. She emerged from the oaks, drove around a curve, and the huge, rustic summer home that sally and Dick Laughlin had converted to a lakeside hotel came into view.

“The inn’s just gorgeous,” Andrea commented. “Every time I drive out here, I’m impressed.”

“Me too. Sally and Dick spent a lot of time and money renovating this place.”

Hannah pulled into the parking lot and began tot roll for a space. It was filled with the guests’ cars, and the only one she recognized was Dick’s old VW bus. It was parked at the end of the back row, and Hannah pulled in beside it, making her own space. That was one advantage to owning a four-wheel-drive vehicle in the winter. The Suburban could make its own space in the unplowed snow.

“Did you have to park here?” Andrea complained, opening the passenger door and staring down at the snow.

“Yes. All the regular spaces were full. Slide across and get out my side. There’s less snow over here.”

As Andrea slid over, Hannah thought about the lineage of the Lake Eden Inn. The original building had been in the Laughlin family for five generations. Built in the late nineteenth century, Dick’s great-great-grandfather had spared no expense to build his summer retreat. Franklin Edward Laughlin, a lesser-known iron ore magnate, had packed up his family, his staff, and any friends who wished to spend a few months at the lakeshore, and they’d all traveled by carriage to the forty-room mansion he’d modestly called “Lake Eden Cottage.”

“This place is practically a monument to Dicks’ great-great-grandfather, isn’t it?” Andrea climbed out and led the way up the long winding path to the entrance of the inn.

“That’s what I’ve always thought,” Hannah agreed. F.E. Laughlin must have regarded his summer home as his personal edifice, because he’d established a fund to be used solely for upkeep on the property. The “cottage,” in pristine condition but never modernized, had passed from oldest son to oldest son until Dick had inherited it four years ago. F.E.’s iron ore fortune had been passed along, too, as part of the legacy, but it hadn’t fared as well. By the time Dick had inherited “Lake Eden Cottage,” the family coffers were very nearly depleted.

Hannah gazed around her as they walked past Dick’s topiary. His evergreen shrubs were growing nicely, and all of the animals were recognizable. The lion’s mane still wasn’t full enough, but a season’s growth would take care of that. The squirrel, with its bushy tail was taking shape, and the bear looked great. It was standing on its hind legs and was already five feet tall.

Dick and Sally had been living in Minneapolis when he’d inherited the inn. They’d come out to look at the property, fallen in love with the place, and moved to Lake Eden the next week. They’d been forced to borrow heavily to install electricity, indoor plumbing, and a modern kitchen with restaurant-sized appliances, but that gamble was paying off. Last year, Dick and Sally had been fully booked for the entire season, and the Lake Eden Inn was finally showing a profit.

“Something sure smells good,” Andrea said, as they climbed the wooden steps and pushed open the front door.

“Yes, it does.” Hannah began to smile as she stepped into the huge lobby with its massive wooden beams and gigantic rock fireplace. The scent in the air was mouth-watering. It was tantalizingly spicy, and under the spice she could detect a hint of chocolate. It had to be Sally’s Chicken Mole, one of her favorite dishes.

“Come on, Andrea. Let’s head for the bar.” Hannah set off at a fast pace for the wood-paneled bar that also served as the dining room. “If the buffet is still out, I’ll treat you to lunch.”

The moment they entered the bar, Hannah spotted Sally Laughlin. She was hard to miss with her bright orange maternity top. The Laughlins’s first child would be born in January, and Sally was sitting on a barstool with her feet elevated on a neighboring stool. The buffet table was still out, and Hannah turned to Andrea. “Just wait until you taste Sally’s Chicken Mole. It’s fantastic.”

“I’ve never even heard of Chicken Mole before. What is it?”

“It’s Mexican cuisine, chicken baked in a dark chocolate sauce with lots of spices.”

“Chicken and chocolate?” Andrea shuddered. “That doesn’t sound very appetizing.”

“But it is. Just try it and see.” Hannah bit back a grin. She should have remembered that Andrea wasn’t very adventuresome when it came to food. Last Thanksgiving, Hannah had added red bell peppers and water chestnuts to the turkey stuffing, and Andrea had refused to try it.

“Come on, Andrea. Let’s go say hello to Sally. I think Doc Knight is wrong about her due date. She looks like she’s almost ready to pop.”

Andrea looked as if she might object to that turn of phrase, but once she caught sight of Sally, she forgot to tell Hannah to be more tactful. “I hope having all these guests isn’t too much for her. She doesn’t look very comfortable.”

“Hi there.” Sally’s face lit up in a smile as they approached her barstool. “I’m just taking a break. What are you girls doing way out here?”

“We came for the Chicken Mole,” Hannah answered, before Andrea could say anything.

“Then go fill your plates and come back here. You can tell me all the local gossip.”

“And you can tell us all the gossip about your guests.” Andrea seized the opportunity and jumped into the conversation. “I live hearing about people from out of town.”

Hannah waited until they’d walked over to the buffet table and then she turned to Andrea. “That was good, Andrea.”

“What was good?” Andrea picked up a plate and dished out a helping of spinach salad.

“That bit about how you love to hear about people from out of town.”

“Oh, that.”

Andrea dismissed it with a wave of the salad tongs. “I just thought Sally would be more likely to talk to us if we said we were interested. I just wish you hadn’t said we came for the Chicken Mole.”

“Why not?”

“Because now I’ll have to take some, and since we’ll be sitting at the bar with Sally, I’ll have to eat it.”

“Relax, you’ll like it.” Hannah patted her on the shoulder. “And think of how much fun you’ll have telling Tracey about it.”

“That’s what you always used to say when you made supper and it didn’t turn out right. This is really exotic. Andrea. Try some so you can tell all your friends about it.”

Hannah winced. Andrea was wise to her, and whatever she said would only make matters worse. She watched her sister take a small helping of the mole and a large helping of macaroni and cheese in silence. She wasn’t about to make the mistake of telling Andrea that Sally’s macaroni and cheese didn’t come out of a blue box.

Once their plates were filled, Hannah led the way back to the bar and they climbed up on stools next to Sally. Hannah was amused when Andrea tried her Chicken Mole first. When she’d been a kid, she’d done the same thing with her vegetables.

Andrea chewed thoughtfully and then she smiled at Sally. “This is wonderful, Sally. I wasn’t sure I’d like chicken and chocolate, but I do.”

“Thanks. The guests all raved about it, too. Buffet food is pretty standard, but I try to do one unusual dish every day to keep them interested.”

“Are they a pretty good crowd?” Hannah asked, forging the way for discussion about the guests.

“Super. Of course, some of the contestants are a little nervous. It’s a pretty big deal, you know.”

“How about the three ladies who were eliminated last night?” Hannah asked. “I know I probably shouldn’t say it under the circumstances, but I bet they weren’t exactly happy with what Boyd Watson said on television.”