Fudge Cupcake Murder

one of those strange dreams that didn't make any sense. She could have sworn that Andrea had said nail polish. 'Bill threw out your what?'

    'My nail polish.'

    Hannah was relieved to know that her hearing was fine, and she must be awake if she'd heard Andrea correctly. But asleep or awake, she was still confused by her sister's answer. 'Why do you keep nail polish in the refrigerator?'

    'It lasts longer that way. You know how after you use about half a bottle, the rest gets all gunky and thick?'

    'No.'

    Andrea sighed so loudly that Hannah could hear it over the line. 'You'd know it if you wore nail polish. And you should, Hannah. Your nails are a disgrace. Mother and I were just talking about…'

    'Forget it, Andrea,' Hannah interrupted. 'In my line of work, nail polish would last about five seconds before I ruined it.'

    'You're right, I suppose. Anyway… if you keep nail polish in the refrigerator, it doesn't dry out. I read that in a beauty tip column and it really works. I keep mine in those little round cups on the door.'

    'The egg keepers?'

    'So that's what they're for! Anyway, I used to keep the bottles in the meat drawer, but they rolled around in there. I moved them to the egg keepers and they fit really nice.'

    'And Bill threw out all the bottles?'

    'Well… he didn't actually throw them out, but he might just as well have. He took them out and put them in a box for safekeeping. And now he can't remember where he put the box. I just know that by the time we find it, the polish will be all gunky. That's why I need to get out of here, Hannah. I'm really mad at him and I have to cool off. And there's another reason, too.'

    'What's that?' Hannah asked, settling back on the sofa. This could take a while.

    'Bill said that since Tracey's gone, he's going to clean out the attic tonight.'

    'Where's Tracey?'

    'At Mother's. She called and asked if Tracey could stay overnight. I think she felt guilty because she turned me down the other day.'

    Hannah snorted. 'Guilty? Mother?'

    'You're right. That can't be it. But Bill's going to want me to go up to the attic with him and I just know we're going to have a big fight over which things to toss and which things to keep.'

    'And if you're busy and you can't help him, he might forget the attic and do something innocuous like watch sports on television?'

    'Exactly. So what time can you pick me up?'

    Hannah shook her head to clear it and glanced at her watch. It was already eight-fifteen. 'Forty-five minutes?'

    'Perfect. I'll think of some excuse for Bill. Just honk the horn when you get here and I'll come right out.'

    'I brought the list of suspects Nettie gave us,' Andrea said, as Hannah backed out the driveway. 'I thought we could go over it together and try to remember if we spotted any of them at the funeral.'

    'That's good. Where are we going?'

    'Let's go to Bertanelli's. I'm in the mood for one of their pizzas.'

    'You didn't have dinner?'

    'Of course I did, but I didn't eat very much. Bill made chicken and it wasn't very good. You drive and I'll call a couple of names on the way there.'

    Hannah glanced at her watch. It was already nine-fifteen. 'It's a little late to call now, isn't it?'

    'For here it is, but I haven't checked out Ivan Hill yet. He lives in California and it's only seven-fifteen out there.'

    Hannah took the road out of town. If Andrea wanted a pizza, that's what they'd get. 'Who's Ivan Hill?'

    'The father of the other boy in the car when Jamie was killed.'

    'Right,' Hannah said and turned onto the highway. If what Nettie told them was accurate, Ivan Hill could be their killer. Sheriff Grant had been harassing Mr. Hill, calling him on the phone and trying to dig up evidence that his son had been drinking and driving, even when the initial accident report clearly stated that Jamie was behind the wheel. Sheriff Grant couldn't bring himself to blame his son, not even when the lab reports confirmed that Jamie's blood-alcohol level had been three times the legal limit. Nettie had said it was possible that the long-suffering Mr. Hill finally snapped and decided to end her husband's harassment.

    Hannah kept her eyes on the road, but she listened as Andrea placed the call and got Ivan's wife on the line. Once Andrea had explained that Sheriff Grant was dead, the rest of the conversation was one-sided and there was little Hannah could learn from phrases like 'Oh, that's too bad,' and 'I'm so sorry.'

    'Well, that was a waste,' Andrea said, disconnecting the call and tossing her phone back in her purse. 'Ivan Hill had a heart attack the night before Sheriff Grant was murdered.'

    'He's dead?'

    'No, he's going to make it. But his wife said they had to do a triple bypass and he's still hooked up to all kinds of monitors. He's in the clear, Hannah. There's no way he flew to Minnesota less than a day after open-heart surgery and bashed in Sheriff Grant's head.'

    'I guess not,' Hannah said, turning in at their favorite pizza place. Bertram and Ellie Kuehn owned the pizzeria and between the two of them, they couldn't come up with a single drop of Italian blood. But when they ran their first names together, it sounded Italian and that's why they'd named their place Bertanelli's.

    'I can hardly wait,' Andrea said, unbuckling her seat belt and getting out of the truck. 'I'll make more calls while we're waiting for our order. I want an Ellie's special with everything on it. How about you?'

    'That's fine with me. How about the anchovies?' Hannah raced a little to keep up. Even though Andrea complained she was having trouble with her balance, she could certainly move fast when there was food involved.

    'Hold on. Let me check.' Andrea stopped in mid-waddle and looked down at her ankles. Even in the dim glow of the neon sign that beckoned them to the best pizza in Winnetka County, Hannah could see that they were swollen.

    'You'd better not,' Hannah advised. 'Your ankles look like sausages.'

    'I know. I probably shouldn't eat pizza either, but I really want it.'

    'Let's compromise,' Hannah suggested. 'We'll get a medium pizza instead of a large and then you won't eat as much.'

    Andrea gave her a saucy grin as she pushed open the door and the aroma of freshly baked pizza embraced them. 'Wanna bet?'

    Five minutes later, they'd placed their order and were waiting at a table in the back with large diet cokes and a tray containing glass shakers of Parmesan cheese and crushed red peppers, and a basket of moist towelettes in individual foil packages.

    'I love this place,' Andrea said, looking around her with pure adoration. 'Their pizza's the best and they always…”

    'What is it?' Hannah asked, when Andrea stopped speaking abruptly.

    Andrea took a deep breath and when she replied, her voice was shaking. 'It's him!'

    'Who's him?' Hannah asked, wondering if there was a more grammatically correct way to ask the question.

    'Mike.' Andrea said his name with pure distaste. 'He's sitting in a booth in near the front with someone I don't know. She's wearing a sheriff's department jacket, so maybe Mike hired her to…' Andrea stopped and swallowed hard, '…replace Bill.'

    Hannah sat up straighter for a better view and her stomach slammed all the way down to her toes as she caught sight of Mike. He was so handsome and she was so ready for this whole fight to be over. Here he was, a mere twenty feet away, and she couldn't even smile at him the way the new deputy was doing, or reach out and