Cinnamon Roll Murder

“Oof!” Hannah said quite involuntarily. “I think he’s gotten heavier.”

“You could weigh him to see. Just stand on the scale with him in your arms. And then put him down and weigh yourself.”

“Not a good idea.” Hannah walked into her living room and set her cat down in one of his favorite places. Moishe loved to sit on the back of the couch and peer through the living room window.

“Why isn’t it a good idea?”

“Because I don’t want to weigh myself. And if I want to find out how much Moishe weighs, I’ll have to do it.”

“Oh.” Michelle walked over to the arm of the couch where Cuddles, a much smaller grey tabby, was sitting. “Hi, Cuddles,” she said, giving her a scratch under the chin. “When’s Mike coming over? And shall we feed him?”

“I think we’d better. He made a point of telling me he didn’t have time to eat dinner.”

“Good. I’m hungry, too.”

“But you had a cinnamon roll and four cookies,” Hannah reminded her.

“I know, but now I need something substantial, something with meat, something really good. What shall we make?” Michelle hung her coat in the closet, rubbed Moishe’s ears as she walked by, and headed to the kitchen.

“I don’t know.” Hannah followed her.

“Then let’s see what you’ve got, and maybe it’ll give us some ideas.”

“I doubt it. I’ve been so busy, I haven’t been to the Red Owl for at least a week.”

“I can see that,” Michelle said, surveying the nearly empty refrigerator shelves. “Do you have any hamburger?”

“I think there’s some in the freezer.” Hannah opened the door to look. “Here’s a one-pound package of lean ground beef. Will that do?”

“It’s perfect. Let’s thaw it right in the frying pan.”

“Okay. I’ll put it on.” Hannah got out a frying pan, unwrapped the frozen hamburger and plunked it in, covered the pan and turned the burner on medium heat. “What are we making?”

“I don’t have a name for it yet. Do you have any frozen veggies?”

Hannah went back to the freezer and looked. “Broccoli, cauliflower, frozen chopped onions, and a bag of peas and carrots.”

“Is that last one a mix?”

“Yes. It’s the kind with green peas and carrots cut in little cubes.”

“Great! I need a cup.”

Hannah carried the bags to the counter. She opened the peas and carrots, poured out a cup for Michelle, and put a twist tie on the bag. “How many chopped onions do you need?”

“Forty-seven.”

“What?” Hannah paused, the open bag of onions in her hand.

“Just kidding. Take out a quarter cup or so. I don’t think that proportions will be that critical.”

Hannah measured the onions, twist tied the bag closed, and put the bags back into the freezer. “You have a recipe for whatever you’re making, don’t you?”

Michelle laughed. “Not really. I’m winging it.”

“What kind of meal do you think it’ll be?”

“A hamburger bake. I do bakes every week or so at college. Most of the time they turn out to be good. If they’re not, we just smother them in ketchup and eat them anyway.”

Hannah began to smile. Michelle was turning out to be a real Minnesota cook, using whatever was in the refrigerator, freezer, or pantry and coming up with her own dish. “Do you want the onions in the frying pan with the hamburger?” she asked.

“Yes. Do you have any canned soup?”

Hannah added the frozen onions to her frying pan. “I’m pretty low on canned soup. I was going to pick some up last week, but I forgot.” She opened the cupboard door and surveyed her canned goods. “I’ve got split pea, cream of asparagus, and cheddar cheese. Will any of those work for you?”

“Sure. I’ll take the cheddar cheese. It’s condensed, right?”

“That’s right. You have to add milk.”

“We will, but not as much as it calls for. Do you have a quarter cup of milk?”

“I’m sure I do. And if it’s too old to use, I’ve got a can of evaporated milk.”

“That’ll do. I think I saw half a package of shredded cheese in the meat drawer. Will you check to see what kind it is?”

Hannah went to the refrigerator while Michelle flipped the hamburger and onions. “It’s cheddar,” she reported.

“Great. Do you know how to make a biscuit crust from scratch?”

“I think I can handle that. Do you want it now?”

“Start it now, and I’ll watch the hamburger. We need to use the biscuit dough as a bottom crust in the cake pan.”

“I like that. And then the hamburger, onions, veggies, and cheddar cheese soup go on top of it?”

“Right. It’s all mixed up together and then the shredded cheese goes on top of that. It should look nice, and I bet it’ll taste good too.”

The two sisters worked in companionable silence for several minutes. Then Michelle gave a long, drawn-out sigh.

“What is it?” Hannah asked her.

“I was thinking about Norman. You two made such a nice couple. I know you like Mike. I like him, too. But I always kind of hoped that you and Norman would get married. And now it won’t ever happen. Because of her! She’s going to make sure he never sees you again. She’s holding that daughter of hers over his head like a carrot!”

Or like an albatross, Hannah thought, swallowing past the lump in her throat. The last time she’d been alone with Norman, the day he told her about the daughter he had, he’d looked so miserable it had almost broken her heart. “It’s a very sad situation,” she said, trying to be charitable. “I’m sure she has her daughter’s best interests at heart. And I know Norman wants to do the right thing by Diana.”

“Is it the right thing? But maybe Diana’s not Norman’s daughter. Maybe she just said that so she could latch on to a nice successful guy who wouldn’t even question it.”

These same thoughts had been running through Hannah’s mind lately, but she didn’t want to talk about it now. It was too late. The die was cast. Norman was going to marry Doctor Bev, and that was that.

The phone rang to disrupt Hannah’s unhappy thoughts, and she hurried to answer it. It didn’t really matter who was on the other end of the line. She was grateful for the interruption. “Hello?”

“It’s me, Hannah,” Andrea said in a voice that was little more than a whisper.

“Andrea? What’s wrong with your voice?”

“I don’t want Bill to hear me. He’s upstairs changing his clothes to go back to the sheriff’s station.”

“He’s going back tonight?” Hannah glanced at the clock. It was already eleven-thirty.

“You know how it is. If something big happens, the sheriff has to be there. And this is big!”

“What’s big?”

“It’s that bus driver, the one who went off the road with the band and got killed.”

“Clayton Wallace?”

“Yes, that’s his name. Doc Knight just called. He finished the autopsy, and he said that the accident didn’t kill Clayton Wallace, that he was already dead when the bus went off the road.”

Hannah remembered what Buddy had told her, that he thought the driver had suffered some kind of sudden attack and that’s why the bus went off the road. “Was it his heart?” she asked.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“When Michelle and I got to the bus, Buddy Neiman told us that they were traveling along just fine. And then all of a sudden, they were barreling into the ditch. He thought the driver must have had a heart attack or a