Apple Turnover Murder

Chapter Twelve

“You can go home, Hannah.” Mike walked over to the chair where she was sitting and patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll come by later to take your statement.”

“Thanks,” Hannah said, pushing back her chair so that she could stand up. Except that she couldn’t stand up. Her legs didn’t seem to want to hold her upright.

“Take my arm,” Mike said, and he lifted her to her feet. “You don’t look good, Hannah.”

Hannah pretended outrage. “That’s something you should never say to a lady!”

“You’re right. And I’m glad to see your mouth’s all right, even if your legs are still shaky.” Mike gave her a little hug. “All the same, I don’t think you’re in any condition to drive. Is Norman here?”

“No. Something came up and he’s not coming back until tomorrow.”

“Too bad. You could use some help. I’d better have someone take you home.”

“Michelle can drive my truck if you can find her. She said she was coming to the show.”

“She’s here. I spotted her a couple of minutes ago. I’ll have someone send her back here to you.”

“Thanks.”

“I want you to go home and rest. I’m going to be tied up here for at least two hours, probably three. We have to question all the members of the audience.”

“To see if they noticed anyone who went backstage between the time the victim got his turnover and the time I discovered him?”

“That’s right. It shouldn’t take too long. I called in my whole squad to help. I’ll stop by your place when I’m through to take your statement. Let’s say around…” Mike glanced at his watch. “Is eleven-thirty too late?”

“No. I probably couldn’t sleep anyway.”

Mike gave her a sympathetic smile. “It’s not easy finding murder victims. And you seem to do it an awful lot.”

“That’s what Mother always says.”

“Okay, then. I’ll see you…”

“Wait!” Hannah interrupted. “I almost forgot to ask you about the talent show. They’re not going to do the second act, are they?”

“No. The stage is a crime scene. Since there were so many performers in and out of the area, it’ll take the crime scene team the whole night to investigate. After that, the charity event can resume. Mrs. Bascomb is telling everyone to come back for the talent show on Saturday night. They’re going to repeat both acts then.”

“Do you mean…” Hannah cleared her throat. It was difficult to force out the words. “Do you mean that Herb has to do his magic act again?”

“That’s right. Mrs. Bascomb didn’t think it would be fair if the judges had a three-day lapse between the acts. They’re going to do the whole show over again on Saturday.”

Hannah felt her knees buckle and she sat back down. She told herself that it was the shock of finding Bradford dead that had made her a little light-headed, but she knew the real reason for her weak knees, her clammy palms, and her pounding heart. She’d thought it was over, that she could put it all behind her and dwell on more pleasant things. But how could life return to normal when she’d have to wear that awful purple dress again?

Of course they’d stopped to pet the cats who were snoozing on the back of the couch. Hannah buried her face in Moishe’s soft fur and smiled as she heard him start to purr softly. It must be true that stroking a pet’s fur can lower blood pressure and reduce stress. It certainly seemed to be working for her, because she felt much better than she had only moments before.

Michelle, who had been petting Cuddles, glanced over at her. “Do you want me to hang your purple dress in your closet?”

“No, I want you to hang my purple dress in your closet. I don’t even want to look at it until I have to put it on again Saturday night.”

While Michelle took care of the despised dress, Hannah went to the kitchen to put on the coffee. Then she went to the pantry to get out a bag of chocolate chips, a package of miniature marshmallows, and a box of unsweetened chocolate squares. She was standing at the counter, reading through the recipe she’d just taken from a drawer when Michelle came into the kitchen.

“I just can’t believe he’s dead! Why would someone…I mean, what reason did the killer have for…” Michelle stopped speaking as Hannah took a stack of mixing bowls out of the cupboard and reached for a baking pan. “What are you doing?”

“I’m baking.”

“But you just found Bradford’s body! You’ve got to be horribly upset!”

“I am.”

“But you’re going to bake?”

“That’s right. Some people cry when they’re upset. And some people yell and punch holes in the wall with their fists. I bake.”

“I think that’s…that’s good.” Michelle drew a shuddering breath. “Can I bake with you?”

“It’s may I.”

The corners of Michelle’s mouth turned up just a smidgen. “May I?”

“Yes. Set the oven for three-fifty, will you? And go get an apron. I think we should make something with chocolate, don’t you?”

“Chocolate would be good.”

Hannah pointed to the handwritten recipe on the counter. “Jerry Meek, one of the contestants from the first Hartland Flour Bakeoff, gave me this recipe. He told me it was his favorite, and I’ve been meaning to try it. I think I’ve got everything I need on hand.”

“Two kinds of chocolate?” Michelle surveyed the lineup on the counter.

“Yes. And marshmallows. And I know I’ve got cream cheese and chopped pecans.”

“You can’t go wrong with chocolate, and marshmallows, and cream cheese, and nuts,” Michelle said, blinking hard several times. And then, even though she did her best to control her emotions, Hannah saw the tears begin to roll down her face.

“Don’t you dare cry for him,” Hannah admonished her. “He wasn’t worth it.”

Michelle wiped away her tears with the back of her hand and lifted her head to stare at her big sister. “How…how do you know that?”

“I found out the same way you did. We both misjudged him and made a bad mistake.”

“You…” Michelle stopped and took a deep breath. “You knew him?”

“I knew him years ago, and he was a snake back then. He wasn’t the type to change his ways.”

Michelle grabbed an apron and tied it on, and when she looked up again, she seemed a bit more composed. “The other college he told me about…you were there?”

“I was there. He was an assistant professor in the poetry department and I was a very naïve graduate student.” Hannah stopped speaking as the tears threatened her as well. She looked down at the recipe, and even though she tried to concentrate on the list of ingredients, the memories rushed back. “I think it was his eyes,” she said. “He had the most wonderful eyes.”

Michelle swallowed hard. “He did have wonderful eyes. They were so perceptive…or at least I thought they were. I really believed he knew what was in my heart.”

“It was the poetry that convinced me. He read it so beautifully. He told me that I was his inspiration and we’d always be together.”

Michelle just nodded. She didn’t seem capable of speech.

“If I hadn’t found the old hand-bound book when I was waiting for him in his office, I would have gone right on believing that he’d written that lovely poetry himself.”

“He didn’t write that poetry himself? The one about the angels and the faces in the clouds?”

“That poem and all the others were written by someone named Nathaniel Woodman. The book was dated eighteen-ninety.”

A little sob escaped Michelle’s throat. “He said I was his Elizabeth Barrett and he was my Robert Browning. I was so stupid to believe he loved me! And now I don’t know if I should be sad, or…or glad, or…I don’t know how I should feel!”

Hannah crossed the space between them to give her sister a hug. The whole Swensen family was restrained when it came to physical demonstrations of affection, but Hannah deemed a hug appropriate between two sisters who weren’t sure whether to grieve or celebrate.

“He played both of us,” Michelle said, blinking back bitter tears. “He must have felt pretty smug making two sisters fall in love with him.”

Hannah took a deep breath and spoke the words that were so painful to her. “He didn’t know we were sisters. He’d forgotten all about me. He didn’t even recognize me when you brought him to the condo for Christmas Eve dinner. That’s how important I was to him.”

Michelle stared at Hannah in shock, and then she made a little sound of distress. She threw her arms around Hannah and hugged her so tightly that Hannah wondered if she’d have any ribs left intact.

“I’m sorry, Hannah,” Michelle said when the hug had ended. “I’m so sorry. I…I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Hannah reached out to smooth back Michelle’s hair, the way she’d done when her sister was a small child and had awakened with a nightmare.

“I wonder how many other women there were,” Michelle said at last, and there was an undertone of bitterness in her voice.

“A lot,” Hannah answered.

There was a moment, a long moment, when neither of them spoke. And then Michelle asked the question that weighed heavily on both of their minds. “Does anyone have to know?”

“No,” Hannah said in her most definite, not-to-be-doubted tone. “No one has to know except the two of us.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Just get some eggs, butter, and cream cheese out of the refrigerator. We’re going to make Jerry’s Chocolate Marshmallow Cookie Bars, and then we’ll mix up some Aggression Cookies.”

“Aggression Cookies?”

“They’re Karen Moon’s recipe, another one from last year’s cookie exchange. Karen told Mother that when she has a bad day, she just mixes up a batch and punches out all her frustration on the dough.”

“Do you think it’ll work?”

“I don’t know, but Mother said the cookies were excellent and it can’t hurt to try it. Maybe it’ll make you forget you ever even knew Bradford Ramsey.”

Michelle smiled, but then she quickly sobered. “What if they question me? If Mike asks, I’ll have to say I had a…a relationship with him!”

“Did anyone ever see you together in a situation that might suggest you were more than student and professor?”

“No. I was very careful about that. He was my faculty advisor at Macalester so nobody suspected anything when they saw us together on campus. Actually…” Michelle stopped and swallowed again and Hannah suspected she was choking back another sob. “Nothing ever happened at Macalester. It was only after he came here that…”

“I don’t need to know the timeline,” Hannah interrupted what was obviously a painful admission. “If Mike asks, just say that he was your faculty advisor.”

“Okay.” This time Michelle couldn’t hold back a little hiccup of a sob. “I wish I could go back in time and do everything over!”

Hannah reached out to give her another hug. “So do I,” she said.