department had already talked to them, but it couldn’t hurt to do it again. Sometimes people didn’t want to get involved and told the authorities as little as possible.
A glance at the clock told Hannah that it was time to leave, but she took time to add one last item to her list. Local Grudge, she wrote. It was possible that the murder wasn’t related to Boyd’s nasty comments as a substitute judge. Someone had been angry enough to pick up his hammer and bash in Boyd’s skull, and she needed to find out if anyone else in Lake Eden had a compelling reason to want him dead.
* * *
Lisa had come in early again and had everything under control by the time Hannah arrived at The Cookie Jar. Hannah did a few things in the bakery, then went into the coffee shop to enjoy twenty minutes of unexpected downtime. She didn’t turn on the lights. That would have invited early customers. She just poured herself another cup of coffee and sat at one of her little round tables, enjoying the customer’s view of her gleaming mahogany counter and the shelves that held glass cookie jars filled with the day’s offerings.
Opening The Cookie Jar had been Andrea’s idea. When Hannah had come home from college to help her mother cope with her father’s death, she’d been at loose ends. Though her family had urged her to go back to finish her thesis, the prospect of teaching English literature to a class of uninspired students had lost its appeal. There was another, private reason, one she hadn’t mentioned to her mother or her sisters; the campus was simply too small for Hannah, her former lover, and his new wife.
Hannah sighed and cupped her hands around her coffee mug. The old platitude was true, and time did heal. On the rare occasions she thought about Bradford Ramsey and their time together, she experienced only a slight twinge of regret.
It had been his first term teaching, and he’d been young, handsome, and brilliant. Hannah had been passionately in love and just about as naive as a woman her age could be. She should have suspected that the reason Brad could never spend any holiday with her had less to do with his aged parents and more to do with his fiancee, who’d been staying with them at the time.
Hannah had grown up a lot since she’d come back to Lake Eden. She loved her work, had much more self confidence, and had managed to establish a warm relationship with Andrea. She’d even learned to cope with her mother, which took some doing. The only area of her life that still gave her problems was romance. Once slammed in the face by that particular door, she was going to be careful about opening it again.
The sight outside the huge plate-glass window was spectacular, and Hannah began to smile. The winter sun was peeping over the horizon, and pale golden rays touched the snow-covered roofs, making them glisten as if they were made of bits of colored glass. The huge old pine, directly across the street from her shop, resembled a perfectly flocked Christmas tree with its snow-laden branches. Several brilliant blue jays and bright red cardinals were perched on its branches like avian ornaments. As Hannah sat there enjoying the picture-perfect view, a car pulled up in front of her shop. Plumes of white exhaust rose up from the tailpipe, and Hannah got up and moved closer to the window to see who was inside. She didn’t recognize the car. It was a new Grand Am in a sporty red color and had dealer plates. In a town the size of Lake Eden, new cars gave their owners bragging rights, and Hannah hadn’t heard anyone say that they’d bought a new vehicle.
The driver’s door opened and a woman emerged. She had short black hair, stylishly cut, and was wearing the expensive teal-colored winter coat that Hannah had seen in the window of Beau Monde Fashions. The woman turned and walked toward the front door of The Cookie Jar, and Hannah’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. It was Lucy Richards, a reporter for the Lake Eden Journal, and she had a whole new look.
Mentally, Hannah added up the cost of Lucy’s new acquisitions. The coat had cost four hundred dollars. Hannah knew because she had priced it when she’d first seen it in Claire Rodgers’s window. The fur-lined leather boots that Lucy was wearing hadn’t come cheap, and Hannah couldn’t even begin to speculate on the cost of the fancy Grand Am. Lucy lived rent-free in the attic apartment of her great aunt, Vera Olsen, but that couldn’t account for all those new things. Rod Metcalf, the owner and editor of their small weekly paper, didn’t pay much over minimum wage. There was no way that Lucy could have saved up enough for a new coat, new boots, and a new car!
Hannah sat back against the wall, hoping she wouldn’t be spotted. There was no way she’d open early for Lucy Richards. They’d crossed swords last week after Lucy’s story about the Hartland Flour Dessert Bake-Off had run in the paper. She’d put words in Hannah’s mouth that she hadn’t said, and Hannah was still doing a slow burn about it.
Lucy hammered on the door and stood there, tapping her foot impatiently. Hannah let her tap, knowing full well that it was freezing outside. She was due to open in less than fifteen minutes, and perhaps Lucy would give up and go away.
Then Lucy started to shiver, and Hannah took pity on her. Perhaps she’d come to apologize for the misquote. Hannah got up from her chair, hit the light switch, and headed for the door to unlock it.
“It’s cold out there!” Lucy waltzed in and stamped her feet on the mat by the door. “Is the coffee ready?”
“Of course.” Hannah gestured toward a stool and moved behind the counter to pour Lucy a cup.
“Thanks. I’ll take a couple of those Oatmeal Raisin Crisps.” Lucy laced her fingers around the mug, shivering slightly. Then she took a deep breath, and said, “Sorry about the story. My recorder didn’t work, and I was writing it from memory.”
It wasn’t really an apology, but the fact that Lucy had offered any kind of excuse was a first.
“But that’s not what I came about.”
“Oh?” Hannah served Lucy two oatmeal cookies on one of her white napkins with red block letters that advertised the name of her shop. Then she picked up a cloth and wiped down the already spotless counter. Lucy wanted something, and Hannah wasn’t about to ask what. She’d just outwait her and force Lucy to make the first move.
“I wanted to talk to you privately, Hannah.” Lucy finished her first cookie and started in on the second. “I know we don’t see eye to eye, but I want you to understand that I have a job to do.”
“It must be a very good job.” Hannah gestured toward the, new Grand Am. “That car must have cost a bundle.”
“It’s a lease. And I didn’t earn the money for it at the paper. Rod pays me only a fraction of what I’m worth.”
It was a perfect straight line, and Hannah could think of several appropriate rejoinders. She had to bite the inside of her cheek, but she didn’t give voice to any of them. Instead, she said, “I see you have a new coat. Very pretty. And new boots.”
Once that comment was delivered, Hannah leaned back and waited. After six years of college and standing in the interminable registration lines each semester, she was very good at waiting.
“Yes.” Lucy looked a bit uncomfortable. “Actually, my advance paid for that.”
“Advance?”
“For my book.”
“Really?” Hannah was curious. “I didn’t know you’d written a book.”
“Oh, I haven’t, not yet. That’s why they call it an advance. It’s going to be an expose about a rich and famous person.”
“That sure leaves out anybody in Lake Eden!”
“True.” Lucy gave a little laugh. “I can’t tell you any details, Hannah. My publisher doesn’t want me to detract from the shock value when my book comes out.”
“When will that be?”
“I’m not sure yet. It all depends on when I finish writing it. They’re in a big rush, but I told them I didn’t want to let Rod down at the paper. He depends on me for all the big stories.”
“That’s very loyal of you.” Hannah had all she could do not to hoot out loud. Rod had hired Lucy as a favor to Vera Olsen, and Hannah knew that he didn’t let Lucy write anything he considered important news.
Lucy preened a bit, warming to her subject. “They think it’s going to be the smash hit of the year. That’s why I got such a big advance.”
“I see.” Hannah took that with several grains of salt. Lucy had never mentioned knowing any rich and famous people before, and Hannah suspected she’d fabricated the whole thing to explain her new car and her new wardrobe. Either Lucy had run up her credit cards to the max, or the money had been a gift from a lover with plenty
