Cinnamon Roll Murder

“Middle name?”

“Louise.”

“Last name?”

“Swensen.”

“Occupation?”

“Cookies.”

“Age?”

“I don’t want to think about that.”

“Weight?”

“Michelle! Cut that out!”

“Okay. Your brain seems to be working again now. What’s a ravening beast?”

“Ravening comes from the Middle French word raviner, which means to rush or take by force. It was first used in the sixteenth century. Ravening means to possess the ability to devour greedily, or to prowl for prey. In other words, I’ll crush you like a bug if you mess with me first thing in the morning.”

“Forewarned is forearmed. What are you doing today? Or is it too early to ask?”

“I’m finishing my coffee so that I can stay awake and not drown in the shower. And then I’m going to get dressed and see if I can find something for breakfast.”

“I’ve got that covered. I’ll make another pot of coffee while you shower. And then we can taste the bran cookies I baked this morning.”

“You baked this morning?” Hannah asked, and then she remembered smelling the sweet scent of cinnamon and sugar when she came into the kitchen.

“I was up early thinking about the cookies we promised to bake for Doc. And I had a brainstorm, so I got up and tried out a recipe.”

“What kind of a brainstorm?”

“I’ll tell you after you taste them. Now hurry up and take your shower.”

Less than ten minutes later Hannah came back into the kitchen. She was dressed in clean jeans and a long- sleeved sweater. She was wearing her moccasin boots, the ones with the fringe on the sides, and Moishe and Cuddles were on her heels, one on the left and the other on the right, trying to capture the fringe as she walked.

“How about one of those cookies?” she asked, refilling her coffee mug and then sitting down at the kitchen table.

“Do you like bran?”

“Not particularly. I don’t hate it, but I wouldn’t choose it.”

“Good.”

“Why good?”

“Because if you really loved bran you might love the cookies even though they weren’t that tasty. Let’s see if you like these.” Michelle walked over with a napkin containing two cookies.

Hannah took a bite and chewed. “Nice aftertaste,” she said. “These are really good cookies, and I love the cinnamon and the raisins. They remind me of something, but I don’t know what.”

“Think back to your childhood,” Michelle advised, “and try another bite.”

“With pleasure.” Hannah took another bite. Then she took another, bigger bite and the cookie was gone.

“Did you remember?”

“No.” Hannah picked up a second cookie. “These are definitely winners, Michelle. I like these as much as I used to love ...” She stopped and looked up at her sister in shock as the light dawned. “Grandma Ingrid’s bran muffins?”

“That’s right. I just made a couple of changes and baked her bran muffins as bran cookies.”

“That’s brilliant,” Hannah said, and then she looked puzzled. “Where did you get her recipe?”

“It was in one of those shoe boxes on your bookshelf.”

“Really? I didn’t even know I had it!”

“It was in the third box I tried.”

“Well, good for you! These are definitely great cookies, and Doc’s going to absolutely love them!”

“Shall I pack them up so we can take them out to the hospital today?”

“Sure. We should do a little more snooping around out there anyway. If we talk to the right person, maybe we can learn something new.”

The phone rang, and Hannah reached up, grabbed the wall phone over her head, and answered, “Hello?”

“Hello, dear,” her mother’s cheerful voice greeted her. “I’m here at the hospital and we wanted to know if you and Michelle would like to join us for Sunday brunch at the Inn.”

Hannah thought about it for a nanosecond. Two bran cookies, no matter how tasty, did not a breakfast make. “We’d love to. Thanks for asking, Mother. But who’s we?”

“Doc, Marlene, Vonnie, and me. I’m going to call Andrea, too. She said that Bill’s going out to the station today, and she loves Sally’s brunch.”

“We all love Sally’s brunch,” Hannah said, and as she did so, visions of popovers swimming in butter and freshly made preserves danced through Hannah’s head. They were followed by crisp strips of bacon that twirled like prima ballerinas, succulent sausages strutting their stuff, pancakes as light as a feather wheeling up like doves toward the sky, and homemade crullers rolling like wheels on a path to her plate.

“Bring your murder book,” Delores reminded her. “Vonnie checked Buddy in, and she remembers something that might help you. And Marlene was with him part of the time in the hospital. She could have new information for us.”

“There’s Doc, too. He may know something new.”

“He doesn’t,” Delores said.

Her mother answered so fast, Hannah frowned. “How do you know that?”

“If Doc knew something new, he would have told me. He doesn’t have any secrets from me.”

“Really?”

“No. Well ... not unless it involves a patient. Then it’s confidential. Meet us at ten-thirty in the lobby, dear. And do dress up a little. It is Sunday, you know.”

DOC’S BRAN-OATMEAL-RAISIN COOKIES

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position.

? cup raisins (either regular or golden, your choice)

? cup boiling water

1 cup white (granulated) sugar

? cup brown sugar (pack it down when you mea- sure it)

? cup (1 and ? sticks, 6 ounces) salted butter, softened to room temperature

2 large eggs

? teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking soda