Apple Turnover Murder

Chapter Five

“Remind me not to order that again,” Mike said, pulling into the alley that ran past the back of The Cookie Jar.

“You didn’t like your peanut butter pepper burger?”

“It was…interesting.”

Hannah laughed. “That word covers a multitude of put-downs.”

“That’s true.” Mike pulled into the parking lot at the back of The Cookie Jar, parked next to Hannah’s cookie truck, and grabbed the bag of burgers they’d brought for what Hannah thought of as the Beeseman-Herman clan. “Beautiful night,” he said, looking up at the night sky.

“Yes.” Hannah looked up at the myriad of stars shining brilliantly overhead. After a day that had topped the eighties, the temperature had dropped to the low seventies and the air felt cool, a rarity in Minnesota where the difference between the high and low in the summer was seldom more than a few degrees.

There was a low sound as Hannah passed Herb’s cruiser. It was midway between a whimper and a bark, and she moved a few steps closer. The windows were down, and she could see Herb and Lisa’s puppy on a rug in the back bench seat. “Hi, Dillon,” she said. “What are you doing out here all alone?”

Dillon stared at her with sad puppy-dog eyes, and Hannah would have reached in to pet him, but she knew that Herb was training him and she didn’t want to break any rules. “I’ll come back with a treat,” she promised, “if Daddy says it’s all right.”

“Poor little guy’s probably lonely out here,” Mike said. “Why don’t you ask Herb if he can come in?”

“I would if you weren’t here. It’s against health board regulations.”

“I’m not the health board.”

“Then it’s okay?”

“It’s okay by me. Besides, Herb’s training him to be a police dog. Police dogs can go anywhere they’re needed.”

“And Dillon is needed inside?”

“I’d say so. Somebody might break in and try to steal those apple turnovers you’re making. If that happens, Herb and I might need a little police dog assistance.”

Hannah gave Mike an approving look. When he’d first come to Lake Eden, he’d been a “by-the-book” cop. He’d moved here from Minneapolis, and big city police departments had to be stricter and their officers were expected to follow regulations to the letter. It had taken quite a while for Mike to learn that things were more relaxed in Lake Eden, and the rules were tempered by common sense.

When Hannah and Mike opened the back door of The Cookie Jar, a delightful scent rolled out to meet them. Hannah identified cinnamon, cardamom, and apples baking in what she was sure was a buttery crust.

“Mmmm,” Mike said with a sigh, taking a big gulping breath of the heady scent. “Nothing smells better than apple pie in the oven.”

“They’re apple turnovers,” Marge corrected him.

“I know, Mrs. Beeseman. Hannah told me. But it smells like my mom’s kitchen during apple-picking season. She used to make at least a dozen pies a day.”

“Did she sell them?”

“No, they were for the freezer. Apple pie was my dad’s favorite and he always wanted it for Sunday dinner.”

“Your Mom must have used cinnamon, nutmeg, and cardamom,” Lisa told him. “That’s what Marge uses.”

Mike shrugged. “I guess she must have because it sure reminds me of home. My mouth’s watering and my stomach’s growling, and I just had a full meal.”

“My stomach’s growling and my mouth’s watering, too,” Jack Herman, Lisa’s father, spoke up. He was a tall, silver-haired man in his sixties who’d been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease a little over two years ago. When Lisa had married Herb, Marge had given them her house as a wedding present. She’d moved in with Lisa’s father and had become his primary caretaker so that Lisa would be free to enjoy married life with her son.

Normally, in a small town the size of Lake Eden, people would have voiced loud disapproval of a widow who moved in with a widower without benefit of marriage. In Jack Herman and Marge Beeseman’s case, there wasn’t a breath of censure, or even gossip. Everyone in Lake Eden liked Herb. He was their town marshal in charge of parking enforcement. And everyone thought Lisa was a sweet, selfless young woman for giving up her college scholarship to stay home and take care of her dad. Both Jack Herman and Marge Beeseman were respected members of the community, and if they wanted to share a house, that was fine with Lake Edenites.

“Your stomach’s growling because you haven’t had supper,” Marge said, smiling at Jack. Then she turned to her sister Patsy, who also lived with them. “Don’t start thawing that next batch of puff pastry. We’ll take a break to eat and then we’ll get right back to it.”

Hannah handed the bag of burgers to Marge, and then she turned to Herb. “How about Dillon? Is it okay if he comes inside for a cookie?”

Herb glanced at Mike. “How about the health regulations?” he asked.

“They don’t apply to special needs dogs or police dogs,” Mike told him.

“Great! Will you open the door, Hannah? I’ll call him.”

“Sure, but he’s inside your cruiser.”

“That’s okay. The windows are down. Just open the door and watch what happens.”

Hannah opened the back door. “What now?” she asked Herb.

“Now I call him.” Herb pulled a silver whistle from his pocket and put it to his lips. Hannah listened but the whistle didn’t make a sound.

“Is it broken?” Patsy asked.

“No, it’s a dog whistle. It’s such a high frequency humans can’t hear it.” Herb raised the whistle again. “Step aside, Hannah. He’ll come barreling in any second.”

Herb blew the whistle again and Hannah heard a thump outside as Dillon hit the ground running. A second later he raced in the door, skidded to a stop in front of Herb, and sat down on his haunches.

“Good boy!” Herb praised him. And then he patted Dillon on the head and scratched him behind the ears.

“Impressive,” Mike said. “There’s only one thing I’m wondering about.”

“What’s that?”

“Will Dillon come to anybody who blows a dog whistle?”

“No, not unless they know the code.”

“This little dog knows codes?” Jack asked, looking astounded.

“Just one, and I guess it can’t hurt to tell you. It’s three blasts on the dog whistle, a pause, and then two more blasts. That’s the only thing he responds to. Any other combination of whistles and he just sits there waiting.”

“Smart.” Mike said.

“Very smart,” Jack agreed, eyeing the bag of hamburgers on the counter. “Is there a hamburger for…what was his name again, son?”

“Dillon,” Herb told him.

“Right. And it’s for Marshal Dillon. I keep thinking it’s Field Marshal Montgomery, but he’s British and my grand-dog’s not British. Dillon’s foreign, but he’s from Labrador.”

Herb and Lisa laughed, and Jack looked pleased. “But he’s only half Labrador. The other half’s…what is it again?”

“Jack Russell Terrier,” Lisa told him, “and heaven only knows what else is in there.”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s a handsome guy.” Hannah went to the kitchen cabinet and took out a box of dog treats. “Can he have one of these, Herb?”

“Yes, but he won’t take it.”

“Why? Jon Walker’s dog, Skippy, just loves them.”

“Oh, Dillon would love one, but he won’t take it unless I say it’s all right. Go ahead and try to give it to him.”

Hannah walked over to Dillon with the dog treat and held it out. “Here you go, Dillon. Have a treat.”

Anyone watching could tell that Dillon wanted the treat. He gave a soft little whimper, but he turned his head away.

“Try again,” Herb said.

“Here, Dillon.” Hannah waved the treat under his rose. “It’s really good and it’s yours.”

Dillon turned his head away for the second time, and Herb gave a proud smile. Then he said to Hannah, “Okay, try it again. This time I’ll tell him it’s okay.”

Hannah held out the treat. “Do you want this?”

“It’s okay, Dillon,” Herb said, and Dillon gently took the treat from Hannah’s hand.

“That’s really impressive,” Hannah said. “Do you train cats?”

Everyone laughed, including Herb, who finally stopped chuckling enough to speak. “If you’re talking about Moishe, the answer is no. Moishe’s a very smart cat. If I tried to train Moishe, he’d end up training me!”

“What’s the count?” Hannah asked at a few minutes past ten.

“Two hundred forty,” Lisa answered, picking up the last tray to come out of the oven and carrying it to the baker’s rack. “Do you think I should freeze these while they’re still warm?”

“Wait until morning,” Marge told her. “They’ll get ice crystals if you freeze them while they’re warm. Cover them with a sheet of wax paper until morning, and then wrap and freeze them.”

Hannah stood up and stretched her back. “You’re the boss, Marge,” she said, wiping down the work surface. She stopped as she came to the apple peeler that Marge and Jack had brought with them. “Do you want to take this home with you?”

“No sense in that,” Patsy said, also standing and stretching. “We’re just going to use it tomorrow night. Can you stick it in that industrial dishwasher of yours and save it for us when we come down here tomorrow night?”

“Sure, but are you sure you want to do this again tomorrow?”

Patsy laughed. “We’d better. Mrs. Mayor said she needed turnovers for the talent show, Casino Night, and Donkey Baseball. I figure that’s got to add up to seven hundred, maybe even a thousand.”

“You’re right,” Mike offered his opinion. “Anybody who eats one at intermission tomorrow night is going to want another one on Casino Night and another at Donkey Baseball. People are going to be talking about how good these turnovers are. That’s word of mouth and it’s going to send sales through the roof.”

“So you like my apple turnovers?” Marge asked him.

“They’re even better than my…” Mike stopped and looked as guilty as a small boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar. “Don’t tell anybody I said this, okay? Mom’s apple pie is great. I love Mom’s apple pie. But your apple turnovers are even better!”