Cinnamon Roll Murder

and I’m Tommy Asch. I play sax and clarinet.”

“Conrad Bergen. Bass,” the guy who looked like the boy next door in so many old movies introduced himself.

“I’m Eric Campbell,” the guy with long, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail gave them a smile. “And he’s Drake Mason,” he introduced the bald, slightly heavyset guy sitting next to him. “We’re brass.”

“I’m Cammy.” The girl with an extremely low-cut sweater told them. “I travel with the band.”

The bleached blonde sitting next to her gave both of them an assessing look to see if they might be competition. “And I’m Lynnette. We help the boys set up and ... uh ... things like that.”

Hannah was not about to ask what things like that meant. Instead she said, “I understand the driver is dead?”

“Yeah. I went up there to check on him. He was dead.”

“Did you try to find a pulse?” Michelle asked her.

“Do I look like an idiot? Sure I tried to find a pulse. There wasn’t any, and he wasn’t breathing either. I’ve got some medical training, you know.”

Of course you do, Hannah’s mind replied. You know how to say “Doctor will see you at ten on Thursday, Mrs. Smith. Please let us know twenty-four hours in advance if you can’t keep your appointment.” But instead of voicing her thoughts, she asked, “Do you mind if I take a look, Lynnette? Sometimes those pulse points can be very difficult to find, especially if the patient is comatose. It’s not that I don’t trust you. I’m sure you know what you’re doing. It’s just that if I don’t check to make certain, I could lose my license.”

“Oh. Well ... sure! That’s different. Have at it.” Lynnette dismissed her with a wave. “No way I’m going up there again. Clay looked really creepy.”

Wonderful! Hannah’s mind replied. I can hardly wait to see what you think is creepy. But of course she didn’t say a word. She certainly wasn’t looking forward to a trip to the front of the bus. It would be a test of agility because she’d have to walk in the metal trough that formed the high part of the upside down ceiling, but she wanted to spare her sister the sight of the dead driver. She turned to Michelle and chose her words carefully. If Michelle thought she was needed, she’d come along even if the prospect was daunting. “I’ll go check on the driver. You stay here and see if you can help anyone else.”

“No way. I’m going with you.”

“But you don’t have to ...”

“Yes, I do.” Michelle insisted. “I don’t want to lose my license either.”

The trip up the nonexistent aisle wasn’t easy. The way Hannah assessed it, they had two choices. They could walk upright, putting one foot directly ahead of the other and risk losing their balance, or they could straddle the very center of the ceiling and walk with their feet spread out several feet apart. Hannah opted to straddle the steepest part of the ceiling and they preceded forward, small step by small step, with their arms extended out from their sides for balance.

Michelle waited until they were out of earshot and then she tapped Hannah on the arm. “What license are we in danger of losing if we don’t do this?”

“Uh ...” Hannah thought fast. “I think that would be our Good Sense license. I’m willing to bet that Lynnette didn’t even know how to check for a pulse.”

“I’ll buy that.”

The two sisters made their way toward the front of the bus. The dim glow from the strips of LED lights was cold and blue, and everything, even ordinary things like bus windows and shades, seemed eerie and unreal. Most of the bus seats had fallen open into a reclining position, and hung above their heads flapped out like giant prehistoric bats.

When they reached the front, Michelle glanced around. There was no one slumped by the walls or spread out on the ceiling that was now the floor. “I don’t see the bus driver. Where is he?”

“There,” Hannah answered, pointing upward at the driver still strapped in his seat above them.

For a moment neither sister said a word. They just stared at the driver, suspended by his seat belt, with one arm dangling down so far the fingers almost touched their heads. His mouth was open as if in surprise, and he appeared to be regarding them fixedly with his sightless eyes.

Michelle shivered, and then she turned to Hannah. “Lynnette’s right. He’s creepy,” she whispered.

“No argument here,” Hannah replied, taking Michelle’s arm and turning her around. “Let’s go.”

“But ... shouldn’t we check for a pulse?”

Hannah was about to point out that the driver’s neck was twisted at an impossible angle and no one could live with his neck turned halfway around like that, but Michelle looked shaken enough as it was. If Michelle wanted her to feel the dead driver’s wrist for a pulse, she’d do it.

She was about to reach up for the driver’s wrist to search for signs of life she knew weren’t there when Buddy hailed them from the back of the bus.

“Come on back! The paramedics just arrived!”

Chapter Three

“Is everybody okay back there?” Hannah asked as she turned onto the highway.

“We’re fine,” one of the wives responded. Hannah wasn’t sure which wife it was since there were two married couples riding in the back of her cookie truck. They were part of the group that Doc Knight’s interns had asked her to take to the hospital, since there were only a few vehicles available and the ambulances were transporting the more seriously injured.

Luckily, the two couples had escaped with minor scrapes and bruises. One of the husbands had a cut on his leg that might require a couple of stitches, and the other husband had suffered a blow to his head and would be watched for several hours for signs of a concussion. The wives had scrapes and bruises, but their injuries were minor. They had been on their way to the Tri-County Mall to see a movie when they’d come upon the accident and been unable to avoid becoming part of the massive pileup.

“How about you, Buddy?” Hannah asked. The keyboard player had the most serious injury in her little group of what Ben Matson, one of Doc’s interns, had called the “walking wounded”.

“I’m okay, except those cinnamon rolls are driving me crazy. Usually we stop somewhere on the road, but we were supposed to have dinner out at the Lake Eden Inn before our practice.”

“All he had was some of my vegetable chips,” Lynnette, the final member of Hannah’s group reported. She was completely uninjured, but she was riding along so that she could rejoin the rest of the band at the hospital.

“We were going to have dinner at the food court out at the mall,” one of the husbands told Hannah, “so we’re pretty hungry, too. How long until we get there?”

“No more than fifteen minutes. I have to make a quick stop to drop off the puppy, and then we’ll go straight to the hospital. We’ll get you all something to eat from the vending machines just as soon as we get there.”

“Forget the dog, just get us some food,” Buddy said, sounding more than a little petulant. “I want one of those cinnamon rolls right now.”

Hannah shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. The cinnamon rolls are part of an order that’s been bought and paid for. But I do have some cookies in the back. How about a couple of Triplet Chiplets?”

“What are those?” one of the wives asked.

“Cookies with three kinds of chips. These have white chocolate, semi-sweet chocolate, and milk chocolate chips.”

“Too bad that white chocolate’s not peanut butter chips,” Buddy complained.

Well it’s not, and there’s not a lot I can do about it at this late date, Hannah thought, but she snapped her mouth tightly shut and reminded herself that Buddy had been in an traumatic accident. It was true that his injury wasn’t life threatening, but he was probably afraid that his wrist was broken, and that might end his musical career.

“Try one. You’ll like them,” Michelle said, just as Hannah pulled into Lisa and Herb’s driveway. “Hannah’s