A HANNAH SWENSEN MYSTERY
WITH RECIPES
STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE
MURDER
JOANNE FLUKE
Chapter One
The sound of a crash startled Hannah Swensen awake. It was the middle of the night, she lived alone, and someone was in her condo. She sat up and grabbed the first thing handy, her goose-down pillow, before her sleep-numbed mind realized that it wasn’t a very effective weapon. She had to wake up and take action. Then she heard a second noise, coming from the direction of her kitchen. The intruder was dragging something across the linoleum floor.
Hannah peered into the darkness, but all she could see was the dim outline of the window. She knew that turning on her bedside lamp would only make her a more visible target, and she quickly dismissed that option. Hannah slid out of her warm bed to retrieve the baseball bat she’d kept in the comer of her bedroom ever since the night she’d suspected that Ron LaSalle’s killer was staking out her home. Thankfully, all that was in the past, now that the murderer was behind bars.
The noises from the kitchen continued as Hannah crept down the hallway, bat grasped firmly in both hands. A less courageous person might have stopped to dial nine-one-one on the bedroom extension, but the concept that someone had invaded her home made Hannah see red. There was no way she was going to cower in the closet, waiting for someone from the sheriff’s department to arrive. She had the advantage of knowing every inch of her condo in the dark, and her bare feet were soundless on the thick-pile carpet. With a little luck and a better swing than she’d had in Little League, she could bash the intruder over the head before he even knew what had hit him.
The dim light filtering in through the miniblinds at the kitchen window revealed no dark shape pressed against the walls, no threatening figure crouched beneath the table. But there was a curious chewing sound that didn’t cease as she stepped through the doorway. What kind of burglar would break into her home and take a break for a late-night snack? Hannah moved closer, bat at the ready, and gave a relieved sigh as she spotted a pair of startled yellow eyes near the bottom of the refrigerator. Moishe. She should have known better than to leave a pot of catnip out on the kitchen counter.
Hannah turned on her heel and headed back to the bedroom, leaving her orange-and-white feline chewing and purring simultaneously. There was no sense in reprimanding Moishe. The damage was done, and he’d simply ignore anything she said. He was a cat, and Hannah had learned that it was just the way cats were. She’d clean up the mess in the morning.
It seemed as if she’d no sooner climbed back in bed and closed her eyes, than the alarm went off. Hannah glanced at the dial, it was six in the morning, and she swore with more vehemence than usual as she reached out to shut it off. She flicked on the lamp next to her bed and yawned widely as she massaged the back of her neck. Moishe was back in her bed, hunkered down on her pillow and purring loudly. No wonder her neck was stiff. He’d stolen her favorite pillow again.
Hannah sighed deeply and began the painful process of mentally preparing herself for the million and one things she had to do today. It had been a late night. Mike Kingston, the supervisor of detectives at the Winnetka County Sheriff’s Station, had taken her to a party at the Lake Eden Inn, and she hadn’t gotten home until after midnight.
“Move it, Moishe.” Hannah roused the disreputable tomcat she’d rescued from the streets and reclaimed her pillow. Then she slipped her feet into the fur-lined moccasins by the side of her bed and made her way to the kitchen. Coffee was a necessity at this hour of the morning, and she’d set the timer on her coffeemaker so that it would be ready when she woke up.
It was December in Minnesota and the morning sky was masquerading as night. Daybreak wouldn’t come for another hour and a half. Hannah had no sooner switched on the banks of fluorescent tubes that gave her gleaming white kitchen the luminescence of an operating room, than the phone rang. There was no one else who’d call this early and Hannah groaned as she reached for the receiver. “Good morning, Mother.”
Of course Delores Swensen wanted to know all about her date with Mike. Hannah gave her a brief description as she poured her first cup of coffee and gulped it, scalding hot. What was a little pain compared to the blessings of caffeine? Once she’d reported that Mike had driven her out to the Lake Eden Inn, they’d enjoyed a buffet dinner with the contestants who’d arrived for the Hartland Flour Dessert Bake-Off, listened to the after-dinner speech by Clayton Hart, the owner of Hartland Flour, and gone back to her shop to mix up the cookie dough for today’s baking, there was nothing else to say. “That’s it, Mother. Mike was really nice, and I had a good time.”
Hannah tucked the phone between her shoulder and her ear and grabbed the broom to sweep up the dirt and shards of pottery from the catnip pot. There were no leaves left. Moishe had scarfed up every one. Then she opened a new box of kitty crunchies for Moishe, who was insistently and none too gently rubbing against her ankles, and answered her mother’s question. “No, Mother. Mike didn’t mention’ marriage. The subject’s never come up.”
Hannah rolled her eyes as she dumped dry cat food into the Garfield ceramic bowl she’d found at Helping Hands, Lake Eden’s thrift shop. Delores believed that a woman who was almost thirty and still unmarried just wasn’t trying hard enough. Hannah disagreed in principle and especially in her own case. She didn’t want to get married at this time in her life. Actually, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to marry.
“Look, Mother…” Hannah made a conscious effort to keep her tone pleasant. “There’s nothing wrong with being single. I’m running a successful business, I own my own condo, and I have plenty of friends. Can you hold on a second? I have to get Moishe some water.”
Hannah placed the receiver on the counter and turned on the faucet, filling Moishe’s water bowl to the brim. She set it down next to his food bowl, and whispered an aside to him, “She’ll start in on the baby thing next. I’d better head her off at the pass.”
“It’s not like I’m dying to have children, Mother.” Hannah settled the phone against her ear again. “I’ve got Tracey and I see her almost every day. Between the shop and catering, I wouldn’t have time to be a good mother anyway.”
Delores launched into her predictable argument and Hannah half listened while she poured herself a second cup of coffee. It was nothing new; she’d heard it all before. Hannah’s niece, Tracey, couldn’t possibly take the place of Hannah’s own child, Hannah didn’t know what she was missing, and there was no joy like holding your own baby in your arms. When Delores got to the part about ticking biological clocks, Hannah glanced up at her own kitchen clock, shaped like an apple and another acquisition from Helping Hands. It was time to end the conversation, and that wouldn’t be easy. Delores didn’t like to be stopped short in the middle of one of her lectures.
“I’ve got to run, Mother. I promised to be at the school in less than an hour.”
Just saying that she was in a hurry didn’t sway Delores from her purpose. She had to give one last warning about Mike Kingston and how she didn’t think he was interested in marriage. Hannah was forced to agree with that assessment. Mike’s wife had been killed two years earlier, and Hannah knew that he was in no hurry to remarry. But then Delores brought up the subject of Norman Rhodes, Lake Eden’s bachelor dentist, and Hannah let out an exasperated sigh. Her mother had been in league with Norman’s mother, Carrie, in trying to promote their romance ever since Norman had come to town to take over his father’s practice.
“I know you’re close to Carrie, but you’re both trying to make something out of nothing,” Hannah responded quickly, before Delores could go into her litany of Norman’s virtues.
“I like Norman. He’s nice, he’s intelligent, and he’s got a great sense of humor. But we’re just good friends, and that’s all there is to it.”
