Fudge Cupcake Murder

FUDGE CUPCAKE MURDER

    by

Joanne Fluke

    March 2004

Chapter One

    Hannah Swensen moved to the front of the rectangular box and braced herself. Although she had no specialized training, she felt like a member of a bomb squad who was preparing to disarm an explosive device. Taking a deep breath for courage, Hannah reached forward and released the catch that held the grate in place, jumping back to what she hoped would be a safe distance.

    'Good heavens!' Hannah gasped as Moishe shot out of the veterinarian-approved small dog carrier and barreled into the kitchen. She'd had no idea her feline roommate could move that fast. He resembled an orange and white blur with multiple feet, all of them moving at warp speed.

    Hannah picked up the carrier and stashed it in the laundry room cupboard. The one time she'd forgotten to put it away, Moishe made inroads on the plastic, and it now looked as if a miniature plow had been digging furrows in the top. At least the plastic carrier had held up better than the cardboard one she used the first time she took Moishe to the vet. By the time she arrived, the cardboard was in shreds and Moishe was out and prowling around in the back of her truck, yowling in outrage.

    Pausing in the doorway, Hannah was relieved to hear a loud crunching noise coming from the depths of the kitchen. The early morning trip to the vet had been traumatic for both of them and Moishe was attempting to forget the ordeal by eating. It was a good thing she'd topped off his food bowl before they left the condo.

    Hannah grabbed the bag of 'senior' kitty crunchies her vet had recommended and carried them to the kitchen. Doctor Bob warned her that some cats rejected new food and he'd handed her a handout of helpful tips that were supposed to transform all cats into eager eaters of senior fare.

    Moishe raised his head from his bowl to glare at Hannah balefully. It was the same look one might give to a traitor or an unfaithful spouse, and Hannah immediately felt guilty.

    'Okay, I'm sorry. I know you hate to go to the vet,' Hannah did her best to explain to a cat who'd never looked more unforgiving. 'You were due for your shots and I'm only trying to keep you healthy.'

    Moishe stared at her for another long moment and then turned back to his food bowl again. Hannah took advantage of this temporary truce to pour a cup of coffee from the thermos she'd filled before they'd left. 'I'll be right back,' Hannah said to the ears that stuck up over the rim of the food bowl. The rest of Moishe's face was buried in its depths. 'I have to change clothes. You shed all over my new sweater.'

    Moishe didn't deign to reply and Hannah headed off toward the bedroom. Her resident feline always shed when he was unhappy. It wasn't Doctor Bob. Moishe liked him as well as a cat could like the man who gave him his shots and prodded him in undignified places. He just hated the process of traveling there.

    Once Hannah had changed into clothing less hairy, she came back to the kitchen to find Moishe sitting beside an empty food bowl. Since there was no time like the present to try out his new cuisine, Hannah dumped in the senior food and crossed her fingers for luck. Leaving Moishe sniffing the new food suspiciously, she slipped into the old bomber jacket she'd found at Helping Hands, Lake Eden's thrift shop, and headed for the door. But before Hannah could grab the battle-scarred shoulder bag purse that contained everything she might need for the day and then some, the phone rang.

    'Mother,' Hannah muttered in the same tone she reserved for the expletives she tried not to use around her five-year-old niece, Tracey. It had to be her mother. Delores Swensen was a genius at calling at precisely the moment that Hannah intended to step out the door. Sorely tempted to let the answering machine bail her out, Hannah thought better of it. Her mother would only call again at an even more inconvenient time. Giving a deep sigh, she retraced her steps and grabbed the wall phone above the kitchen table.

    'Hello, Mother,' Hannah said, sinking down in a chair. Conversations with Delores were seldom brief. But the voice that answered her wasn't her mother's.

    'I called the shop, but Lisa said you were coming in late because you had to take Moishe to the vet.'

    'That's right,' Hannah said, getting up to pour the last of the coffee into her cup. It was her sister and conversations with Andrea weren't exactly short either.

    'There's nothing wrong, is there?' Andrea asked.

    'Only with my ears. Moishe yowled all the way there and all the way back. He's fine, Andrea. I just took him in for his shots and his yearly checkup.'

    'That's good,' Andrea said, sounding relieved. 'I know how crazy you are about him. Did you take one of Bill's posters to the vet's office?'

    'Yes. Sue was just putting it up in the window when I left.'

    'Oh, good. Every poster helps. Have you read the paper yet?'

    Hannah glanced down at her purse. The Lake Eden Journal, still in its heat- sealed plastic sleeve, was stuck in the side pocket. 'I'm bringing it to work with me. I thought I'd read it when I take my break.'

    'Look at it now, Hannah. Turn to page three.'

    'Okay,' Hannah agreed, proceeding to do just that. But page three was the editorial section, where she didn't see anything that would account for Andrea's excitement.

    'Do you see it?' Andrea asked, an I-know-something-you-don't-know note in her voice.

    'No.'

    'It's the election poll!'

    Hannah bent over the paper for a closer look at the small box Rod Metcalf had been running in the paper for the past month. Then she let out a whoop of excitement. 'Bill's running neck and neck with Sheriff Grant!'

    'That's right! I told him we could do it! Of course the election's still two weeks away and anything can happen, but wouldn't it be wonderful if Bill actually won?'

    'Absolutely! You've done a wonderful job running his campaign, Andrea.'

    'Thanks. I've got some other news, too.'

    'What's that?'

    'Doc Knight moved up my due date to the third week in November.'

    Hannah frowned. 'Can he do that?'

    'Sure. It's all guesswork, anyway. Everybody thinks they can tell, but they can't. Bill's mother says she's sure the baby will be born on election night, but I think she just wants to take my place at Bill's victory party. Mother's holding out for early December. She says I'm not as big as I was with Tracey and it'll be a while yet. Then there's Bill. He thinks I'll have the baby early, like before Halloween.'

    'When do you think it'll be?'

    'On Thanksgiving Day, just as we're sitting down to dessert.'

    'How can you tell?' Hannah asked. 'Is there some sort of sixth sense that expectant mothers have?'

    'No, it's just that your pecan pie is my favorite part of Thanksgiving dinner. And I'm looking forward to it so much, I just know I'm going to miss it.'

    'You won't miss it. If you have to go to the hospital, I'll bake another pie and bring it to you.'

    'That's so sweet! Thanks, Hannah. I'd better run… or maybe I should say waddle. My balance is off today. I'll check in with you later.'

    Hannah said goodbye and hung up the phone. She refilled Moishe's water and told him what a good boy he