Blueberry Muffin Murder

"Hi, Moishe. Did you miss me?" Hannah cuddled him a moment before she dragged in her purse and shut the door. "What's the matter?"

Hannah figured that one of two things could have happened to upset her feline companion. Either his food bowl was empty again, or her mother had called. The moment Hannah set Moishe down, he led her directly into the kitchen, his tail flicking impatiently. There she discovered that it was two out of two. His food bowl was empty and the little red light on her answer phone was blinking.

"Okay, hold on a second." Hannah shrugged out of her parka and draped it over one of her kitchen chairs. She headed straight for the cupboard where she kept Moishe's food and unlocked it. When Moishe had first come to live with her, Hannah had been a big believer in what her vet called "free food." She'd made it her mission to keep the food bowl stocked so that Moishe wouldn't panic every time he saw a patch of white ceramic at the bottom. Her intentions had been good, but Moishe's table manners left a lot to be desired and he'd carried her "free food" program to the extreme when he'd learned how to open the cupboard door and help himself to the twenty-pound mother lode she kept in her broom closet. A few months ago, Hannah had decided that she'd swept up enough pilfered fish-shaped kitty crunchies to last her a lifetime, and she'd installed a hook and eye high up on her broom closet door.

"Here you go," Hannah said, scooping out the kitty crunchies and dumping them into his food bowl. "I suppose you want fresh water, too."

Moishe looked up at her and yowled. He had plenty of water in his bowl, but he liked it ice cold. Hannah turned on the faucet, let it run until it was cold, and filled his water bowl. Once she'd set it down on the Garfield mat next to his food bowl, she walked over to check her messages, wondering exactly when, in the course of their relationship, she'd become a slave to her pet.

The first message was from Andrea, who thanked her for finding Janie. She said she'd finished writing up her listing and she'd meet Hannah at the Winter Carnival banquet.

Hannah glanced over at Moishe. He hadn't been upset at hearing Andrea's voice, but when the next message came on, he bristled.

"Hannah? This is Mike. We just finished with Miss Burkholtz, and Bill's taking her out to get her car. She said she'd be staying with you. I know she's an old friend, but I can tell you right now, I don't like it. Just do me a favor and don't get involved, okay?"

"Right," Hannah muttered, bending down to give Moishe a pat. He hadn't liked the officious tone in Mike's voice, either.

"Hannah? This is your mother." The third and final message began to play, and Hannah stepped out of the way as Moishe made a beeline to the answer phone to stare at it balefully. His ears were laid back, his tail was flicking, and he looked as if he'd like to tear it off the wall.

"Relax. She's not here. It's just a recording," Hannah said, but she knew it wouldn't do much good. Every time Moishe heard her mother's voice, it upset him.

"Carrie and I are passing on the banquet. We're going to buy Tracey a pizza at the mall and then we're going to see the new Disney film. Tracey was a big help this afternoon, and she deserves a treat."

Hannah grinned. Tracey had learned how to manipulate her grandmother, and it appeared that she'd had similar success with Carrie.

"Wear a nice dress to the banquet, dear. And please try to do something with your hair. I saw Babs Dubinski this afternoon and she said her son is here for the carnival."

"Oh, great," Hannah said and followed it with a long-suffering sigh. She'd met Babs Dubinski's son at her mother's urging, and his one and only topic of conversation was tax reform.

"He just got divorced," Delores went on, "and tax accountants make very good money. Babs told me that he pulled in over seven. . . '

Hannah hit the stop button, cutting off her mother in mid-quote. She knew that Delores would prefer Norman or even Mike, but any old son-in-law, even a boring one, would do in a pinch for the daughter she feared would remain a spinster.

"We don't have to listen to the rest, Moishe," Hannah said, smoothing down his ruffled fur. "Let's go to the bedroom and you can curl up on my pillow while I get dressed."

Ten minutes later, Hannah was in the shower, enjoying the heat from the steaming spray and trying out the new bottle of Pretty Girl shampoo she'd bought from Luanne that morning. It was scented with some kind of herbal mixture, as was her new bar of soap, another acquisition from Luanne.

When her hair was thoroughly rinsed and squeaky clean, Hannah cranked off the water, toweled herself off, and stepped out of the bathroom. She glanced at her bed, where Moishe had been waiting for her, but there was an empty indentation on her pillow and a few stray orange and white hairs. She could hear him meowing from the other end of the condo, and as Hannah listened, she began to smile. Janie had come in and she was in the kitchen, having a conversation with Moishe.

As Hannah dressed, she listened to the two-sided conversation. She couldn't make out the words, but the conversational dynamics were plain. Janie would say something, Moishe would answer her, and Janie would respond to that. This went on for several minutes as Hannah put on her best wool suit, slipped into her dress shoes, and brushed her hair. She pulled her frizzy red curls back into a barrette that she fastened at the nape of her neck, debated the wisdom of switching to a purse that would match her shoes, and decided that it would be more trouble than it was worth. Andrea would just have to tolerate the scarred leather shoulder bag she usually carried.

A spritz from the perfume bottle that her college roommate had given her, a touch of lipstick that Hannah immediately wiped off with a tissue, and she was ready. She gave one more glance in the mirror, concluded that she'd done the best that she could with what she had, and walked down the hall in heels that were bound to make her feel like a giant when she stood next to her petite sister.

"Hi, Hannah. You look nice." Janie greeted her when she entered the living room. She was sitting on the couch, and Moishe looked very content curled up in her lap. "I just love your cat. He's so friendly."

"Only to people he likes. Just ask Mother if you don't believe me. His name is Moishe."

"Hello, Moishe," Janie said, giving him a scratch behind his ears. "He's really smart, too. His food bowl was empty and he showed me where you keep his food."

"That figures. So how did it go at the sheriff's station?"

"Okay, I think. I did what you said and just told them everything I could remember. When I asked them if I was a suspect, Bill said not to worry about it, but his partner told me to stay in town until they gave me permission to leave."

"That's Mike," Hannah told her, "and he's not exactly the reassuring type. Did you put all your things in the guest room?"

"Yes. I parked my car right next to your cookie truck. Is that all right?"

"That's perfect. This place comes with two parking spots. Why don't you change clothes and come to the banquet with me? I don't want you to sit here all alone."

"I'm not alone." Janie reached out to pet Moishe again. "Besides, I just want to take a shower and soak up the luxury of a real furnace. That cabin was cold!"

"Okay, if you're sure. There's plenty of food here. Just forage around if you get hungry."

"Thanks Hannah, but I'm not hungry." Janie gave a little sigh. "It's funny, in a way. Mrs. MacIntyre was always after me to lose weight, and now that she's dead, I probably will."

Andrea nudged Hannah to get her attention. They were sitting at one of the long tables in the banquet room and they'd just finished eating Edna's main course, a delicious pot roast with pan gravy. "That's the Connie Mac table over there. He's not here."

"Who?" Hannah asked, glancing over at the table of Connie Mac people.

"Paul Macintyre."

"I didn't expect him to be here. Would you go to a banquet if you'd just found out that your spouse was dead?"

Andrea shivered. "I wish you hadn't said that. I worry about Bill all the time."

"I'm sorry;' Hannah apologized. "I just meant that it wouldn't be in good taste for Paul to socialize tonight, under the circumstances."

"You're right. I was just hoping to talk to him, that's all. Guess I'll have to settle for the second-best thing. I think that's Alan Carpenter sitting next to the woman in last sea- son's Liz Claibourne."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because he's wearing an expensive suit with a silk tie, and he looks like a lawyer."

"Not that. How do you know the woman next to him is wearing last season's Liz Claibourne?"

"Because I keep up with the fashions. Living in a small town doesn't mean you have to be hopelessly out of style. I wish I knew somebody over there so we could walk over and say hello."

"I know someone," Hannah told her.

"Who?"

"Kurt Howe. He delivered some books to Marge this afternoon and she introduced me."

Andrea looked worried. "You didn't question him, did you?"

"Of course I did. I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Kurt's alibi checked out and he's in the clear." Hannah pushed back her chair and stood up. "Come on, Andrea. Let's go over and say hello before Edna brings out my dessert."

By the time the buckets of Little Snowballs were brought out to the tables, Hannah and Andrea had met several people in Connie Mac's entourage. There were the two reporters who had been covering the Cooking Sweetheart's activities, the decorator who'd designed her kitchen boutiques, the writer who was working on her biography, and the man that Andrea had pegged as Alan Carpenter.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Alan said, standing up to shake their hands. "Why don't you take our chairs? Kurt and I have to leave."

"Was it something I said?" Hannah quipped, and she was rewarded by a smile from both Kurt and Alan.

"Not at all," Alan told her, "but if we don't leave right now, we'll be late for the press conference I scheduled at my office."

"About Mrs. MacIntyre?" Hannah asked.

"Naturally. The media's in a feeding frenzy and they want to know the details. I'm the spokesman for the family and Kurt's going to handle any questions that concern Savory Press."

"This must be very difficult for you," Andrea commented, giving Alan a sympathetic smile.

"It's not easy, but I have a duty as the family counsel to spare Paul in any way I can. I'm sorry, ladies. I'd like to talk longer, but we really do have to leave now."

"Take some of these along with you for the trip," Hannah I said, taking a half-dozen Little Snowballs from the crystal bucket that one of the serving girls had placed on the table, and wrapping them in a napkin. "There's plenty of sugar in these. They'll keep you going."

After Alan and Kurt had left, Hannah and Andrea returned to their own table. They visited with the other banquet guests for a few minutes, Hannah accepted compliments on the cookies, and they watched the coronation of the Prince and Princess of Winter. When the ceremony was over, they retrieved their coats and boots and walked up the stairs to the lobby.

"I wonder how many books Marge sold," Hannah mused as they sat down in chairs at the book-signing table to switch from their shoes to their boots.

"A hundred and sixty-three. I heard her talking to Bertie Straub about it. She's taking the rest to the warm-up tents, and Mrs. Baxter's girls are going to sell them for her."

"That's great," Hannah said, stashing her shoes in her purse and opening the door so that they could step out.

"It's snowing again!" Andrea complained, gazing up at the sky as they walked across the icy parking lot to their vehicles. "I signed us up for the family snowman contest, and Tracey's really looking forward to it."

"It's supposed to stop by tomorrow morning. I heard the KCOW weather report on the drive in."

"I hope they're right." Andrea arrived at her Volvo and unlocked the door to retrieve her long-handled brush and scraper. She brushed the snow from her windshield and tossed the essential piece of winter equipment into the backseat. "I haven't built a snowman since I was a kid. Do you remember how to do it?"

'All you have to do is roll three balls of snow. You make a big one for the base, a medium-sized one for the torso, and a small one for the head. You stack them up, put on a face, and stick in some twigs for the arms. Then you decorate it with a hat or a scarf or whatever, and you're done. Anyone can build a snowman. It's easy."

"Since you know how, will you help us? Bill's going to be busy with the murder investigation, and it'd go a lot faster with three people. There's a time limit, you know."

Hannah sighed. She'd been had and she knew it. "Okay, I'll help. What time is the contest?"

"Two o'clock at the park. Thanks, Hannah." Andrea glanced at her watch in the glare from the dome light. "I've got to get a move on. Mother and Carrie are dropping Tracey off in twenty minutes. Do you want me to wait to see if your truck starts?"

"It'll start. And if it doesn't, someone will give me a jump."

Once Andrea had driven off, Hannah brushed the snow from her own windshield and started her truck. It fired up immediately and she cranked the heater up to high. As she waited for the engine to warm up, she took out her notebook and wrote down what they'd learned tonight, even though none of it seemed important.

By the time Hannah had slipped her notebook back into her purse, a whisper of tepid air was emerging from her heater vents. It was enough to chase away the frost from the inside of the windshield, but that was about it. Wishing that she'd opted for the auxiliary heater that Cyril Murphy had attempted to sell her when she'd bought her truck, she switched on her headlights and windshield wipers, and drove out of the parking lot.

Resisting the urge to drive past her shop to see if they'd taken the crime scene tape down, Hannah headed for the highway. Bill would have called if there'd been any change.

Hannah stepped on the gas, pulled in behind a rental truck with Michigan plates, and drove toward home. The only way she could get back into The Cookie Jar fast was to catch Connie Mac's killer, and that was turning out to be a lot harder than she'd hoped it would be.

-18- "This is delicious, Hannah," Janie said as she bit into the sandwich Hannah had made for her. "I still remember the first time you made us a grilled cream cheese sandwich."

"So do I," Hannah replied, smiling at the memory. She'd decided to make grilled cheese sandwiches for Andrea and Janie one high school night when they'd stayed up late, cramming for a test. She'd buttered the bread, heated the frying pan, and only then discovered that someone had eaten the last piece of American cheese in the refrigerator. Since everything else had been ready, Hannah had sliced a block of chilled cream cheese and used that as a substitute. The resulting sandwich had been so delicious, she'd never made traditional grilled cheese sandwiches again.

"You should make cooking mistakes more often." Janie smiled at her. "You always end up with something fabulous."

"Not always. Remember the time I put tomato soup in my tuna hotdish? It was so awful, we couldn't eat it and we had to go out for pizza."

Janie made a face. "I wish you hadn't reminded me. But everyone's entitled to one flop, and you've more than made up for it."

"I need to ask you about something, Janie." Hannah turned her mind back to the problem at hand. "I ran into Kurt Howe at the library today, and he told me that the television station has a lot of Connie Mac shows that haven't aired yet."

"Kurt's right. We taped the shows in June and Connie Mac did four shows a day, every other day."

"Four shows a day?" Hannah was surprised. "Isn't that an awful lot of work?"

"Yes, but not for her. The staff did all the setup work before she even got to the studio. All she had to do was assemble pre-measured ingredients while she talked to her guests, stick pans in the oven, and take out the ones we'd already baked."

"So she didn't actually cook the dinners?"

"No, we did it all in advance. That's why she worked every second day. We needed that extra day to get everything ready for her."

Hannah did a little mental arithmetic. "She did sixty shows in a month?"

"That's right. When we were all through, her producer picked out the best shows and the station put those on the schedule. They kept the rest as a backlog. I'm sure they have enough for at least a year, maybe two."

"Is that normal?" Hannah asked. "I mean . . . it's almost as if the television station expected Connie Mac to die and they prepared for it ahead of time."

"There's nothing unusual in what they did, Hannah. Taping ahead is standard business practice for any show that's so dependent on its star. They can't do it with shows that deal with current events, but cooking shows are timeless."

"Okay, if you say so." But Hannah decided she'd check it out anyway. "Was Connie Mac one of those difficult stars?"

"Only with her own staff, and she was never difficult when one of television executives was on the set. Then she was all sweetness and light."

Janie's eyes were drooping, and that prompted Hannah to glance at her watch. "It's almost eleven and Norman's late. I wonder what's keeping him."

"Maybe his car wouldn't start?" Janie suggested. "It's really cold out there tonight."

"That's possible, but I'm sure he would have called." The moment the words were out of Hannah's mouth, the phone ring. She grinned at Janie as she reached out to answer it. "I guess you were right. That's probably him now."

But the voice that greeted her wasn't Norman's, and Hannah felt a prickle of fear. "Luanne? Is there something wrong?"

"Yes. .I called to tell you that I'm here at the hospital with Norman."

"The hospital?" The prickle of fear expanded into a knot in Hannah's stomach. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, but Norman's got a bad bump on his head. Doctor Knight says he could have a concussion."

"Was it a traffic accident?"

"No, Norman got mugged on the way out to his car."

For a moment, Hannah was speechless. As far as she knew, there'd never been a mugging in Lake Eden before. "Where did it happen?"

"In the parking lot outside the Ezekiel Jordan house. We had a late portrait sitting. When I left, Norman told me he was going to reload his cameras, and then he was going to drive out to your place. That's why I called you."

"Hold on a second." Hannah shook her head to clear it. "If you left, how did you find out that Norman was mugged?"

"I went back. Norman gave me a little stuffed giraffe for Susie and I left it in my makeup kit. I was all the way out to the highway when I remembered. I went back to get it and I found Norman facedown in the snow next to his car. It was really scary, Hannah."

"I'll bet it was. Did you see the mugger?"

"No, I didn't see anybody. Norman thinks I scared him off, because it happened right before I got there. I didn't want to leave Norman there and go call for an ambulance, so I helped him to my car and took him straight out to the emergency room."

"You did exactly the right thing, Luanne," Hannah assured her.

"Can you drive out here, Hannah? I have to get home and Norman doesn't have any way back to town."

"I'll be there in ten minutes," Hannah promised. "And thanks, Luanne. I'm really glad you forgot that giraffe."

"Me, too. 'Bye, Hannah."

Hannah hung up the phone and turned to Janie, who was staring at her curiously. "Norman got mugged. He's out at Lake Eden Memorial and I'm driving out there. Do you want to come along?"

"I'd rather stay here. Is there anything I can do for you while you're gone?"

"Yes. Check to make sure all the doors and windows are locked, and don't let anyone in."

"Why?" Janie looked worried. "Is there a problem?"

"I don't know, but Norman was a suspect in Connie Mac's murder, and so are you."

"Then you think Norman's mugging has something to do with Connie Mac's murder?"

"I won't know until I talk to him, but it's better to be safe than sorry."

"Okay, Hannah. I'll wait up for you. And I'll put on a pot of coffee so it'll be ready for you when you come home."

"Thanks, but the last thing I'm going to need when I get home is a load of caffeine. There's an extra gallon of wine in the broom closet, right next to Moishe's kitty crunchies. Shove it in the bottom of the refrigerator for me, will you? I have a feeling I'm going to need it tonight."

"Hannah!" Norman looked absolutely delighted to see her ' as delighted as a man could look who was flat on his back on an emergency room cot with a blood-pressure cuff on his arm and a turban-style bandage wrapped around his head. "You came."

"Of course I came. Luanne tells me you've been testing out the theory that your head is harder than concrete."

"Wood," Norman told her, struggling up into a sitting position. "Doc Knight found a splinter in my ski cap, and he thinks it came from a baseball bat."

"Whatever. Are you supposed to sit up like that?"

"They didn't tell me not to sit up. I'm fine, Hannah. I've just got a little headache, that's all."

"Don't go all Mister Tough Guyon me," Hannah warned "You have to be hurting. Where's Doc Knight? I want to talk to him."

"He's around here somewhere. Whatever you do, Hannah, don't call my mother. She'll be out here with chicken soup and a mustard plaster. And the soup will be straight out of a red-and-white can."

Hannah laughed. Delores had done the same thing when she was sick. "Okay, I won't call her. How about the sheriff's department? They should know what happened."

"They already know. Doc Knight called them the minute I came in, and they sent Rick Murphy out to take my statement. I couldn't tell him much. I never even saw who hit me."

"Okay, I'll be right back." Hannah walked over and touched Norman's arm. She had the urge to kiss him on the cheek, but she didn't. She just patted his arm, turned on her heel, and went out to find Doc Knight.

The first three emergency room cubicles Hannah passed were empty, but there was someone in the fourth. The curtains were drawn, but she could hear Doc Knight talking to someone about zinc powder and how often to apply it. Since there'd been a recent outbreak of athletes' foot at Jordan High, Hannah figured that the person behind the curtain was another shower-room casualty.

Doc Knight stepped out of the cubicle and he smiled when he saw Hannah. "Don't worry. He'll be fine. He can leave, but don't let him sleep for at least three hours. No alcohol and a liquid diet for the first twelve hours. Bring him right back out here if he shows any signs of concussion."

"Okay," Hannah said. "Norman told me you thought it was a baseball bat?"

"Either that or something similar. He took a hard blow and he's lucky it glanced off. A direct hit probably would have killed him."

Hannah winced. She didn't want to think about that. "Like Connie Mac?"

"I'd say so,' Doc Knight looked wary, "but you didn't hear that from me. I took pictures, and I'll compare them when I get some breathing room. And I didn't tell you that, either."

"I understand. You're just a font of noninformation."

"And that's the way I want it. If the boys out at the sheriff's station find out I told you anything at all, they'll skin me alive. Now take him off my hands and give him some TLC. I've got a two-car accident coming in any minute and I need the beds."

"Aspirin?" Hannah asked.

"No. I gave him something for his headache, and he can have another pill in two hours. That should knock him out for the rest of the night."

"You got it. I'll take him straight home,' Hannah promised.

"No, not home. Take him to your place. If you take him home, Carrie will kick up a fuss and he'll never get any rest. Let him relax for a couple of hours and then he can go home. And if Carrie starts weeping and wailing, give her one of Norman's pills."

"Well, there's one good thing," Norman said, accepting the mug of hot chocolate Hannah had made for him. "Until this bandage comes off, I won't have to wear a hat."

Janie laughed. "All you need is a jewel in the middle of that turban and you'll look like a sheik."

"I think it might take a little more than that," Norman said, taking a sip of his drink. "This is really good. Hannah."

"Doc Knight told me to keep you on liquids, and I figured a shot of liquid chocolate was better than low-fat chicken broth. How are you feeling, Norman?"

"Okay. I've still got a headache, but it's not as bad as it was before. Go ahead, Hannah."

"Go ahead and what?"

"Ask me those questions you've been dying to ask. If you hold them in much longer, you're going to pop."

Hannah gave a self-conscious .laugh. Norman knew her very well. "Are you sure you're well enough to answer?"

"I'm sure. Ask me now, while everything's still fresh in my mind."

"Okay." Hannah flipped to a fresh page in her notebook. "I know you didn't actually see your attacker, but did you see or hear anything right before he hit you?"

"No."

"Did you feel anything? A leather glove? A fur jacket? Anything like that?"

"All I felt was the blow."

"Did you smell anything? A cigarette burning? A distinctive aftershave, or a scented soap?"

"No. I don't have a clue who hit me, Hannah."

"Okay," Hannah sighed, switching to another line of questions. "Who knew that you'd be taking portraits at the Ezekiel Jordan House tonight?"

"Beatrice and Ted Koester. They were my subjects. And Luanne knew because she did Beatrice's makeup. Our mothers knew because I told them. They were taking Tracey to a movie tonight and I figured they might drive past on their way home. I didn't want them to worry when they saw lights on inside."

Hannah groaned in tandem with Janie. Both of them knew that Delores was a virtual pipeline of information.

"There's one thing I know." Norman looked very serious. "I thought about it all the way back here. I wasn't mugged or carjacked. I was deliberately targeted for some reason."

Hannah stared at him in surprise. "What makes you think that?"

"If the guy wanted my car, he could have hot-wired it while I was inside loading my cameras. It took me a good fifteen minutes, and everyone else had already left. And I was carrying a waterproof gym bag with a couple of cameras and my wallet inside. I set it down on the top of the trunk while I brushed off my windshield. He could have just grabbed it and run. I think I was attacked by Connie Mac's killer."

"You're lucky he didn't kill you, Norman," Janie commented, and Hannah noticed that her face was very pale.

"I know. I think the only thing that saved me was that I dropped my car keys in the snow. He must have swung at me just as I bent down to pick them up."

"That would explain what Doc Knight told me," Hannah said. "He thought it was a glancing blow."

"Exactly. And I'm pretty sure he would have hit me a second time if Luanne hadn't driven up just then."

Hannah didn't want to think about what would have happened if Norman hadn't dropped his car keys. Instead, she concentrated on asking another question. "Let's say you were targeted by Connie Mac's killer. Why you?"

"I don't know. It's true that I was next door the night she was killed, but it's not like I could identify him or anything."

"No, but he might think you could." Hannah's mind raced through the possibilities, and one stood out. "Wait a second. Didn't you tell me that you were testing your fill lights that night?"

"Yes," Norman answered. "What does that have to do with it?"

"Did your lights flash when you were testing them?"

Norman nodded, and Hannah began to smile. "Then I've got it."

"Got what?"

"The reason why Connie Mac's killer targeted you. What if he was hiding outside The Cookie Jar that night, waiting for a chance to get Connie Mac alone and kill her? He could have seen those flashes and thought that you were taking pictures of him."

"I just remembered something," Janie told them. "Connie Mac and I saw the flashes on the snow outside. She thought that some reporter was trying to take an unauthorized picture of her through the window, but I pointed out that it was coming from the Ezekiel Jordan House, and we decided that you must have been taking portraits over there."

Hannah leaned forward in excitement. "You have to develop that film, Norman. You could have a picture of Connie Mac's killer!"

"Impossible," Norman said, shaking his head. "My camera wasn't loaded. I didn't want to waste film when I was just testing the lights."

Hannah bit back a word that might have made Janie blush and groaned instead. "For a minute there, I thought we might have a shortcut to the killer."

All three of them were silent for a moment, and then Norman turned to Hannah. "Maybe we do have a shortcut."

"How? You said your camera wasn't loaded."

"It wasn't, but the killer doesn't know that. He still thinks I've got a picture of him. He'll have to try to kill me again, Hannah. I'm sure of that. And that means we can set a trap for him."

Hannah's mouth dropped open and she stared at Norman in shock. Then she shook her head furiously. "That knock on the head must have rattled your brains. If you had any sense left at all, you'd know there's no way I'd ever let you use yourself for bait!"

GRILLED CREAM CHEESE SANDWICHES

(Hannah Swensen's Very Best Mistake)

For each sandwich you will need:

2 slices of bread (white, egg, wheat ' take your pick) 1 package of chilled block cream cheese (not softened or whipped) Softened butter

Butter two slices of bread. Place one slice buttered side down on a piece of waxed paper. Cut slices of cream cheese approximately '-inch thick to cover the surface of the bread. Put the other slice of bread on top, buttered side up.

Preheat a frying pan on the stove. Using a spatula, place your sandwich in the pan. Fry it uncovered until the bottom turns golden brown. (You can test it by lifting it up just a bit with the spatula.) Flip the sandwich over and fry the other side until it's golden brown. Remove the sandwich from the frying pan, cut it into four pieces with a sharp knife, arrange it on a plate, and serve it immediately.

This sandwich goes well with piping-hot mugs of tomato soup.

You can turn this into a dessert sandwich by using slices of banana or date-nut bread and sprinkling the sandwich with a little powdered sugar. If you really want to go whole hog, top it with a scoop of ice cream. It's delicious that way.

-19- Six o'clock came much too early and Hannah crawled out of the warm comfort of her bed reluctantly. It seemed as though just minutes had passed since she'd taken Norman to the scene of his assault to pick up his car and followed him home to make sure he got there safely. She'd idled outside the house for a few minutes, but no lights had gone on in Carrie's bedroom. When Hannah had been fairly certain that Norman wouldn't be required to deal with a hysterical mother in the middle of the night, she'd driven back to her condo and fallen into her bed for the hours of sleep that were left to her.

Hannah gazed around her, blinking in the glare from the lamp on her bed table. Moishe wasn't there. He'd probably crawled in with Janie in the wee hours of the morning. Even though she knew she was being silly, his defection disturbed her. Moishe was a male, and all the important males in her life had .deserted her in one way or another. Mike had turned cool and coplike. It wasn't surprising, considering that he was in charge of a murder investigation, but she missed the good-natured banter they'd enjoyed in the past. And Norman was just as bad. He'd told her he wasn't jealous of the time she'd spent with Mike, and now he'd had the nerve to suggest that he use himself as bait in a trap for the killer without a second thought for her feelings. Then there was Moishe. She'd taken him in, fed him the best cat food that money could buy, and taken him to the vet for his shots. And how did he repay her kind generosity? He'd left her bed in the middle of the night and deserted her for a younger woman!

Her slippers were right where she'd left them, and Hannah pulled them on. She knew she was being ridiculous, but she couldn't seem to help it. Moishe had been waiting for her in her bed when she'd arrived home last night, and he'd let her cuddle him for much longer than usual. He'd even purred and licked her cheek with his raspy tongue. He loved her; Hannah knew he did, and that was more than she could say for either Norman or Mike. She was in a bad mood this morning because she was tired, and she had to shake it off.

Once Hannah had showered, she felt much better. Ten minutes under a steaming spray had loosened her cramped muscles and erased some of the fog from her brain. She dressed in a pair of jeans, pulled on the alternate Winter Carnival sweatshirt she'd bought, and slipped her feet back into the old pair of dorm slippers she wore around the house. Then she padded down the hallway toward the kitchen. She had a lot to do, and if she didn't get a move on, she'd fall behind schedule. Today would be a prime example of "hurry up and get there so you can rush as fast as you can." That was a smidgeon better on the frustration scale than "hurry up and get there so you can wait," but not much. Somehow, she had to get energized, and a strong cup of coffee was the only cure for her case of drooping eyelids.

"Morning, Hannah," Janie greeted her. She was standing at Hannah's stove, flipping something in a frying pan. "Don't try to talk. Just sit down at the table and I'll bring you a mug of coffee."

Hannah sank down in a chair. It was much more comfortable than she'd remembered, and she resisted the urge to put her head down on her folded arms and snooze.

"Drink this;' Janie ordered, plunking a mug of coffee down in front of Hannah's nose. "It'll help."

Hannah inhaled the strong fragrance and took one huge gulp. The coffee was hot but not scalding, and she realized that Janie must have poured it when she'd heard her getting dressed. After she'd drained the cup and held it put for a refill, her eyes opened all the way and she smiled at Janie. "Thanks. I'm beginning to feel halfway human."

"Good. Now all we have to do is work on that other half. I take it Norman got home okay?"

"He should be fine. I stuck around for a few minutes to make sure his mother didn't wake up. What are you doing out here so early?"

"Moishe got me up. I think he was sorry he'd made such a mess."

"What mess?"

"He got into the cabinet where you keep the cat food. I swept it up and filled his bowl."

Hannah's gaze turned from Moishe, who was happily chowing down at his food bowl, to the broom closet door. It was locked up tight, and she knew she'd left it that way. "What happened?"

"He learned how to open the lock." Janie walked over to the door and pointed. "I think he jumped up on the top of the refrigerator and batted at the hook until it popped out."

"That figures,' Hannah said, giving Moishe a baleful look. He stared back at her with wide yellow eyes, and he didn't look at all guilty. "What are you cooking?"

"French toast. Are you getting hungry yet?"

"You bet. It smells wonderful. Are you sure you don't want to move in permanently?"

"I'll think about it." Janie laughed and flipped the French toast out onto a plate. "I got the recipe from Helen, Connie Mac's cook."

"The Cooking Sweetheart had a cook?"

"Oh, yes. She got her best recipes from Helen. The Winter Carnival cake was Helen's recipe, and she made the original one."

Hannah remembered Connie Mac's conversation with Edna and how she'd claimed she stayed up most of the night to decorate the cake. It seemed that Connie Mac had been a fake as well as a nasty person. "How about the replacement you were baking?"

"I was supposed to bake all the layers. Mrs. MacIntyre thought that I could handle that. And when I was through, she was going to call Helen and have her drive to Lake Eden to decorate it."

Hannah took another gulp of her coffee. This could be very important, especially if Helen had hated Connie Mac as much as the other people who'd worked for her. "Do you know if Connie Mac called Helen?"

"She didn't. I told Bill and Mike about it and they checked." Janie carried the plate to Hannah, went back for butter and maple syrup, and sat down in the opposite chair. "I brought in the paper. Do you want the front section?"

"No, give me the comics. I can't handle hard news until I've had at least one pot of coffee. You read it and tell me if there's anything interesting."

The French toast was delicious, light and fluffy with a mouthwatering hint of cinnamon and nutmeg. Hannah finished it in record time and got up to get refills on their coffee. She was just pouring some for Janie when she heard her gasp.

"What is it?" Hannah set the coffee pot down on the table.

"Larry Kruger wrote another ghost story. He's speculating that Ezekiel Jordan's ghost is the one who bashed Norman on the head."

"You're kidding!" Hannah started to .laugh. "I guess he doesn't know that Norman's family moved here from out of state. It's pretty unlikely that Norman could be related to anybody in F. E. Laughlin's poker game."

"Larry's got that base covered. He claims that Ezekiel's ghost was upset over the fact that Norman was taking pictures in your mother's re-creation of his house. It seems that Ezekiel Jordan was a spiritualist and he believed that a camera could steal a man's soul. He refused to pose for pictures or allow any member of his family to be photographed. According to Larry, that's why there aren't any pictures of him. Ezekiel wouldn't allow a camera anywhere inside his house."

"Larry's nothing if not enterprising," Hannah commented. "Does he think that Ezekiel's ghost hit Norman over the head to keep him from taking more portraits?"

"That's what he says. And a lot of people seem to be taking it seriously. Here's a story about another ghost sighting out at the inn last night."

"What time?" Hannah asked.

"At a quarter to ten."

"Then Ezekiel's ghost can be in two places at once. Norman told me that he was bashed on the head at nine forty-five."

Janie started to grin. "That must be an advantage a spirit has over ordinary mortals like us. Larry interviewed Sally Laughlin and she claims she saw something floating down the hall last night at a quarter to ten."

"Sally said that?" Hannah turned the article so that she could read it. Once she'd scanned it, she looked up with a frown. "That's an abrupt turn of face for Sally. When I talked to her yesterday, she told me she didn't believe in ghosts. I'm going to ask her about it when I get to the inn."

By the time Hannah got out to the inn, Lisa was already hard at work rolling dough balls for the Old-Fashioned Sugar Cookies. After apologizing for being late, Hannah pitched in to help. When the four ovens Sally had allotted for their use were filled and they'd rolled the rest of the dough balls, Lisa fetched them cups of coffee and they took a short break.

"Tell me what really happened to Norman last night," Lisa urged, sitting down on a stool next to Hannah. "I read Larry Kruger's story in the paper, but I didn't believe a word of it."

"Norman got bashed in the head on his way out to his car, Luanne Hanks pulled up just in time to scare his attacker away, and neither one of them saw who hit him. Norman figures it was Connie Mac's killer, and he asked me to set a trap and use him for bait."

Lisa's eyes widened. "Are you going to do it?"

"Of course not. It's much too dangerous. My big worry is that Norman's going to try to set up something himself."

"You could be right. A guy can be really foolish when he's trying to impress his girlfriend."

That comment stopped Hannah cold, and it took her a minute to recover. "You mean. . . me?"

"Yes, you. Norman adores you, Hannah. I've seen the way he looks at you."

"Have you been listening to Doctor Love?" Hannah asked the first question that popped into her mind.

"No, I hate that show. This is just common sense, Hannah. Norman loves you and he's trying to convince you that he's worthy of your love."

Hannah remembered having a remarkably similar conversation with Andrea. In Lisa's version, only the name of the man had changed. Was it possible that both Mike and Norman were in love with her? Life wasn't a B-movie, and she certainly wasn't the gorgeous ingenue who sashayed her way into a love triangle with two men.

"I'm right, Hannah. You've got to trust me on this."

Hannah still wasn't convinced. "Okay. What do you think I should do?"

"Think of some way to stop Norman before he gets himself into trouble."

"Right," Hannah said, wondering what that would entail. Putting Norman in a straitjacket would work, but she didn't happen to have one handy. Handcuffs were out, Norman could still walk around in those, and an enforced trip to a desert island was impractical. Instead of concentrating on a way to render Norman immobile, she had to think of a way to convince the killer that Norman hadn't taken his picture.

"The timer just rang. You sit here and think and I'll get the cookies out of the ovens. Be devious, Hannah. You're good at that."

Hannah wasn't sure if that was a compliment, but she sat on her stool and thought as she gazed out the window that overlooked the dining room. A few people were beginning to arrive for the continental breakfast that Sally always provided on Sunday mornings, and Hannah noticed a man filling his cup from the urn of coffee on the bar.

As she watched the man carry his coffee and a sweet roll to a two-person table in the center of the dining room, Hannah's thoughts turned back to Norman. How could she save him from himself? If he was trying to impress her with his courage, it was having quite the opposite effect. She could just kill him for offering to bait a trap, but she might not have the chance if the murderer got to him first.

The man she'd been watching had eaten his sweet roll and now he was finishing his coffee: Hannah expected him to go back for a second cup, but he surprised her by pulling a small notebook from his pocket and beginning to write. He was probably a reporter, and that realization gave Hannah the perfect idea to take the wind out of Norman's macho sails.

"I got it!" she called out to Lisa. "Can you hold the fort for a couple of minutes? I have to find Sally and ask her who that reporter is."

"Which reporter?" Lisa asked, walking over to peer through the window.

"The one in the center of the room. He's wearing a blue Scandinavian sweater."

"That's Larry Kruger. Alex pointed him out to me yesterday. He's the one who's been writing those ghost stories."

"Bingo!" Hannah said and gave Lisa a hug. "I'll be back right after I plant the idea for his next installment."

Larry Kruger smiled at Hannah. "It sounds like you really enjoyed my story."

"Oh, yes, very much," Hannah said, resisting the urge to kick him in the shins for all the trouble he'd caused. "I'm a friend of Norman's, and he told me something about his attack mat wasn't in the paper."

"Really?"

"Yes. Norman told me that he tried to take a picture of Ezekiel Jordan's ghost on the night that Connie Mac was murdered."

'No kidding!"

Hannah could practically see the wheels turning in Larry Kruger's brain. She had him hooked and she knew it. "Norman was right next door and he saw a very strange shape lurking around outside. He said it seemed to float. Of course he had no idea that the shape was a ghost. He just thought it was curious and he snapped a whole role of film."

"Did he . . . uh . . . develop the film?"

"Oh, yes. And absolutely nothing was on it. Of course, I wasn't surprised. 'I'm very interested in the occult, and I know that it's impossible to take a picture of a spirit. Their essence can't be captured by any mortal means."

"Uh . . . yes. I've heard that. Thanks for telling me about it."

"You're welcome. I really think people should know more facts about the spirit world. It's just fascinating. I've been toying with the idea of calling KCOW radio to tell them about Norman's experience, but I just hate to give them my name and . . ."

"You don't have to do that," Larry interrupted. "I'll be happy to call them for you. And I'll put it in the papers, too."

"And you won't use my name?"

"Not if you don't want me to," Larry promised. "I'll just say I got the information from a reliable source who knows Norman Rhodes. No one will ever connect you to my story."

Hannah put on her best grateful look. "Thank you, Larry. That'll be just fine with me."

Lisa was practically in hysterics by the time Hannah finished telling her what she'd done. "And he actually believed you?"

"Oh, yes. The story should be on KCOW radio by noon at the latest. Now all I have to do is hope that the killer is listening."

"What are you going to tell Norman?"

Hannah winced. She hadn't thought of that. "I guess I'll I just say that I knew how stubborn he could be and I wanted to save him from doing something idiotic."

"Don't say it like that!" Lisa looked appalled. "You have to be more tactful. Tell Norman that you care about him and you were worried about his safety. And admit that maybe you should have consulted him first, but you felt you had to do something."

"Okay, I can live with that. Now let's get going on these cookies. You mix up another batch of your White Chocolate Supremes and I'll start baking the Pecan Chews."

Lisa left for the pantry to gather up her supplies, and Hannah scooped out dough for the Pecan Chews. She'd just slipped the first two pans into the oven when Sally came into the kitchen.

"Pecan Chews?" Sally walked over to gaze at the dough in Hannah's bowl.

"Give the little lady a stuffed toy. Pull up a stool, Sally. I need to ask you something." Hannah waited until Sally was seated. None of the kitchen staff was close enough to hear, and it was the perfect opportunity to ask her about the ghost sightings. "I read the article in the paper this morning and it said you saw Ezekiel's ghost last night. I thought you didn't believe in ghosts."

"I don't, but your sister was right. Ghosts are good for business. The phone rang off the hook yesterday afternoon, and everyone that called in for reservations wanted to know if I'd actually seen the ghost. I happened to mention all the new business to Francine, and she thought we should actually have a ghost."

Hannah stared at Sally in amazement. "How do you actually have a ghost?"

"Francine offered to float down the hall like a ghost. She's going to put in appearances every couple of nights, just to keep the story going. I didn't want to do it at first. I mean, it's not exactly honest. But Francine pointed out that a lot of big theme hotels have events, and this was just another form of entertainment."

"That's as good a reason as any. How does Francine float down the hall?"

"She worked out a technique. You've got to see it to believe it. Do you want me to call you before she does her next appearance?"

"Absolutely," Hannah said, a plan beginning to hatch in her mind. If Sally gave her enough advance notice, she'd bring her mother and Carrie out to the inn for dinner and make sure they had front-row seats for the ghost sighting. If Francine was convincing enough, it might just scare the matchmaking schemes right out of their minds.

LISA'S WHITE CHOCOLATE SUPREMES

Preheat oven to 350'F, rack in the middle position

1 cup melted butter (2 sticks, one-half pound) ' cup white sugar ' cup brown sugar 2 teaspoons vanilla 1 ' teaspoons baking soda ' teaspoon salt 2 beaten eggs 2 ' cups flour (no need to sift) 2 cups (1/2 pound) real white chocolate (or white chocolate chips) 1 ' cups chopped macadamia nuts (measure before chopping)

Melt the butter. Mix in the white sugar and brown sugar. Then mix in the vanilla, baking soda, and salt. Add the eggs and stir again. Add the flour and mix thoroughly.

If you're using block white chocolate, chop it up into pieces roughly the size of chocolate chips. You can do this in a food processor by cutting the chocolate in chunks and processing it with the steel blade. If you're using white chocolate chips, just measure out 2cups. (You can use vanilla chips, but the cookies won't taste the same.)

Measure out the whole macadamia nuts. Chop them into pieces roughly the size of peas with a knife, or use your food processor and the steel blade.

Add the white chocolate and nuts to your bowl and mix thoroughly.

Drop the dough by teaspoons onto an UNGREASED cookie sheet, 12 cookies to a standard-size sheet. Bake at 350'F for 10 to 12 minutes or until nicely browned.

Let the cookies cool for two minutes, then remove them from the baking sheet and transfer them to a wire rack to finish cooling.

Lisa developed this recipe, and it's just like they say in the potato chip commercials ' you can't eat just one.

-20- "So what are your plans for the rest of the day?" Hannah asked Lisa when they'd finished loading the cookies into the back of her truck.

"I'm taking Dad on a tour of the Ezekiel Jordan House and we're making an appointment to have our pictures taken. Then we're going to the park to watch the family snowman contest."

"I'll see you there," Hannah told her. "Tracey's entered, and since Bill is working, I promised Andrea I'd help. Janie's coming along with me to watch."

"Tell Janie she can watch with us. I really like her, and I know Dad would like to see her again. I mentioned her name to him and he actually remembered her from years ago."

"He remembers quite a few things from the past, doesn't he?"

"That's one of the strange things about his memory. Dad can recall things from twenty or thirty years ago, but new things don't seem to register. Every time I take him to the senior center, he gets all excited because he thinks he's going there for the first time."

"At least he's never bored," Hannah said, attempting to put the brightest face on things. She knew Alzheimer's was a terrible disease, and that it was degenerative. The time could come when Jack Herman might not even remember his daughter.

"Don't be sad, Hannah." Lisa reached out to touch her arm. "I know Dad's prognosis, but at least he's happy now."

"He's very lucky he's got you," Hannah said, giving Lisa's hand a comforting pat. "And thanks for offering to entertain Janie while I'm off making a fool of myself."

Five minutes later, Hannah was zipping down the road toward her first venue. She was dropping off cookies at Jordan High, and the parking lot at the school ice rink was already dotted with cars. When she pulled in, she saw a familiar face, or at least part of one. It was Craig Kimball, and he was wearing a blaze orange ski mask.

"Hi, Miss Swensen!" Craig hailed her as she got out of her truck. "Do you need some help with your cookies?"

"Are you offering? I've got a bag of new cookies you can try if you are."

"You bet." Craig's eyes crinkled at the corners, and Hannah knew he was smiling behind all that orange yarn. "Just let me rope a couple of my friends into helping and we'll only have to make one trip."

Hannah opened the back of her truck while Craig jogged over to a group of Jordan High seniors. Before she had time to pick up the first box of cookies, she had six eager helpers. They carried the cookies over to the warm-up tent, and Hannah was amazed to see about a dozen spectators already in the bleachers that surrounded the rink. They were huddled in the front row in a tight little group, drinking steaming cups of coffee.

Once she'd paid off her volunteers, Hannah turned to Linda Nelson, who was running the counter. She was a senior, and Mrs. Baxter had told Hannah that she was the best homemaker in the class. "It looks like you've sold some coffee already."

"We sold one whole urn and we just made the second," Linda told her. "It's cold out there."

"What time does the speed-skating competition start?"

"At one o'clock. Some of the parents came early to see the warm-ups. You should come back to see it, Miss Swensen. Barry Withers is just incredible. If he can shave off a tenth of a second, he'll break the school record."

Hannah took one look at Linda's shining eyes and figured that a little romance might be brewing right along with that fresh urn of coffee. "I'll come back if I can. Right now I've got tons of cookies to deliver."

"Would you like a cup of coffee for the road?"

"I'd love it, thanks. And if you see Barry, tell him that I'm rooting for him."

Less than five minutes later, Hannah was back on the road, a fresh cup of coffee resting in the plastic carrier between her seats. The town baseball field was her next destination, and she was right on schedule.

As she pulled into the parking lot, Hannah saw that there was a flurry of activity out on the field. Two parka-clad teams of students were building snow forts at opposite ends of the field. In less than an hour, the "Great Snowball War" would begin, and the preparations were underway. Gil Surma, Jordan High's counselor and the assistant coach of the basketball team, was the general of the blue army stationed at first base. His team wore blue ski masks. The boys in the rival red army, which sported red ski masks, were engaged in building a fort by third base. They were commanded by their principal, Mr. Purvis. Both "generals" were out on the field, supervising the stockpiling of munitions to make sure that no foreign objects, such as rocks or chunks of ice, were rolled into the snowballs that were being stacked inside the forts.

Hannah parked as close to the warm-up tent as she could and got out to open the back of her truck. She stacked up as many boxes as she thought she could carry in one trip, picked them up with both arms, and headed for the entrance to the tent.

"Steady, Hannah." A familiar voice greeted her and strong arms reached out to take the top three boxes. "You were getting a little wobbly there."

Hannah smiled the moment the boxes were removed and she could see who her rescuer was. "Hi, Norman. How are you feeling?"

"Fine. My headache is gone and Doc Knight took off that bulky bandage. He says the stitches are already starting to heal."

"That's good. Did he say it was all right to judge the contest?"

Norman shook his head, and Hannah noticed that he winced slightly. No doubt his head was still sore. "I'm not judging. I came out here to take a couple of pictures for the school photography club."

"Doesn't the photography club take its own pictures?"

"Yes, but they asked me to come as backup. They want a shot of Mr. Purvis getting pelted for the yearbook."

"I guess things haven't changed that much." Hannah was grinning as they walked inside the warm-up tent with their sugary burden. "When I went to high school, we were al: ways trying to get embarrassing pictures of our principal. You'd better not get too close to the action or you'll get a face full of snow."

"I know. That's why I'm using a telephoto lens," Norman explained, handing his boxes to one of Mrs. Baxter's students and following Hannah out to get more cookies.

After they'd carried in the last of the boxes that Mrs. Baxter had ordered, Hannah asked Norman to walk her back to her truck. When they arrived, she opened the passenger door. "Get in for a minute, Norman. I need to talk to you."

"Okay." Norman slid into the passenger seat and Hannah walked around to get in on the driver's side. Once she was settled, Norman turned to her. "What is it, Hannah?"

"I did something this morning that you might not like, but I had your best interests in mind," Hannah told him, and then she gave him the details of the story she'd planted with Larry Kruger.

"I wish you hadn't done that," Norman said when she was finished. "I rather fancied myself as bait. Is there any way you can retract that story?"

Hannah shook her head. "No way. I'm sorry if you don't like it, Norman, but I have enough to do without worrying about you."

"You were worried about me?"

"Of course I was. I was scared stiff that you'd go out and do something really stupid!"

The moment the words left Hannah's mouth, she wished that she could call them back. She'd completely forgotten about tact and what Lisa had advised her to say. She expected Norman to climb out of her truck and refuse to speak to her ever again, but all he did was grin.

"You're not mad?" Hannah asked him.

"I wish you'd asked me first, but I'm not mad. Actually, I'm quite the opposite." With that comment, Norman pulled her into his arms and hugged her hard. And then he tipped up her head and kissed her. For a moment, Hannah was so startled, she almost resisted. Then nature took over and she found herself enjoying Norman's kiss thoroughly. Her instinct was to throw her arms around his neck and keep him right there in the front seat of her truck for a long, indefinite period, but before she could act on her impulse, Norman pulled back to smile at her.

"See? I'm not mad," he said, reaching out to tweak her nose. Then he opened the door and climbed out of her truck. "See you later, Hannah. I need to get some shots of Mr. Purvis inspecting those snowballs."

As Hannah drove off, she was smiling. She felt comforted, and warm, and more at peace than she'd been in days. But then her thoughts turned to Mike and she began to frown. She'd enjoyed Mike's kisses in the past, and she'd also enjoyed Norman's kiss. There was one big difference between the two. Mike's kisses made her feel sexy, on the verge of something slightly dangerous and very exciting. And Norman's kisses made her feel sexy, and natural, and good all over.

Hannah sighed. It was impossible to compare Mike and Norman. Mike was the man of her dreams, and Norman was the man of her wide-awake hours. And every time she tried to choose one over the other, she ended up wanting both of them.

Lake Eden Park was a hubbub of activity when Hannah arrived. Several shuttle sleighs were just arriving, and Hannah loaded herself up with boxes and carried them carefully through the crowd.

"The cookies are here!" one of Mrs. Baxter's girls called out as Hannah entered the warm-up tent. She rushed over to take the boxes and motioned to two other girls. "Come on. Let's go help Miss Swensen unload."

With four of them working, the unloading didn't take long. On the trips back and forth to her truck, Hannah learned that the girls had opened their concession thirty minutes early, they had already gone through three urns of coffee and one of hot chocolate, and every one of their customers had asked when the cookies would arrive.

"Here you go, Miss Swensen." One of the girls handed Hannah a hot cup of coffee without asking. "Thanks for the cookies."

Hannah left the tent intending to go straight back to her truck, but she changed her mind halfway there. It wouldn't hurt to check out the site to see which area they'd be using.

The family snowman contest would take place in the center of the park. As Hannah walked closer, she saw that the individual squares had been marked with brightly colored rope tied to ski poles. Each area was tagged and Hannah found theirs, number fifteen. It had a good-sized drift of snow in the center, and Hannah figured they'd have more than enough to make a man-sized snowman.

As she turned to leave, her eyes were drawn to a tall, familiar figure in a maroon sheriff's-issue parka. It was Mike, and he was talking to a woman she didn't know, a gorgeous platinum blond in a bright-red ski outfit. Under normal circumstances, Hannah would have walked over to say hello, but these weren't normal circumstances. She was just turning to go in the opposite direction when Mike spotted her.

"Hi, Hannah!" A huge grin spread over Mike's face and he waved his arms.

Hannah grinned back. She didn't want to, but she couldn't help it. There was something about Mike's grin that was contagious.

"Come over here for a minute," he called out, motioning to her. "I've got someone I want you to meet."

"Of all the people in all this snow, I have to run into him!" Hannah muttered, borrowing heavily from Casablanca. If Mike meant the blond, and she was sure he did, Hannah didn't want to meet her. On the other hand, they knew she'd seen them, and to ignore them would be rude.

"'Hannah Swensen, this is Kristi Hampton," Mike said. "Kristi was Mrs. MacIntyre's personal beautician."

"Glad to meet you," Hannah said without meaning it.

"Likewise," Kristi responded, but she didn't give Hannah more than a fleeting glance before she turned back to Mike.

"Is it too late to enter the contest? I don't have family here, but I could recruit you."

"Sorry, I'm working." Mike looked a bit embarrassed, and Hannah could see why. Kristi had her hand on his sleeve and was stroking it like the owner of a prized stallion.

"So, Hannah," Mike said, turning to her, "why are you here?"

Hannah smiled. It didn't hurt to be friendly, and Kristi had worked for Connie Mac. Perhaps she could learn something. "I just delivered cookies to the warm-up tent. I've got extras in my truck if you and Kristi haven't had breakfast."

"Thanks, but I never eat breakfast," Kristi said with a sultry gaze at Mike, "unless I've been up all night. And I already had my breakfast. Besides, I have to watch my carbs."

"I don't, and I could use a cookie," Mike said.

"Well, that's different." Kristi patted Mike's arm. "You men have to keep up your strength."

Mike smiled and removed her hand from his sleeve. "Excuse me, Kristi. I'm going to walk Hannah to her truck. I have to talk to her about something private."

Hannah's eyebrows shot up as Mike grabbed her arm and they set off at a fast pace across the snow. She had all she could do to resist the urge to turn back and thumb her nose.

"I've got two pieces of news for you, Hannah." Mike's grip tightened on her arm. "Is Miss Burkholtz still staying with you?"

"Yes, she is. Is that against the law?"

"Of course not. It was nice of you to take her in. I just wanted to tell you that Bill and I worked late last night doing interviews with Mrs. MacIntyre's staff. I drew Kristi, and she was very cooperative."

I'll just bet she was, Hannah thought, but she didn't say it. She just waited for Mike to go on.

"I wanted you to know that Miss Burkholtz is in the clear."

Hannah almost forgave him for the sultry look that Kristi had given him. "That's great! Just wait until I tell her."

"One of the maids that Bill interviewed said she saw Miss Burkholtz leaving the hotel at ten minutes to twelve on the night that Mrs. MacIntyre was murdered. And Kristi told me that she saw her pull into the parking lot at the inn at ten."

"And since my shop is twenty-five minutes from the inn, Janie has an alibi?"

"That's right. Kristi was just leaving the parking lot, and Miss Burkholtz took the spot she vacated. I checked it out."

"How did you do that?" Hannah was curious.

"I took Kristi out to the bar at the mall last night, and a couple of the guys remembered that she walked in at ten-twenty. I'm not surprised they noticed her. Kristi's a very attractive woman."

Hannah bit her tongue so she wouldn't ask how long Mike's interview with Kristi had lasted and exactly where they'd gone after they'd left the bar. She told herself she should be grateful to Kristi for providing Janie's alibi, but that did nothing to reduce the sharp stab of jealousy she felt.

"You said you had two pieces of news for me. What's the second?"

"I cleared Norman Rhodes."

"How did you do that?'

"It was that attack he suffered last night. At first I thought it might be faked, but there's no way he could have bashed himself on the back of the head. I think the murderer hit Norman and only Luanne Hanks's arrival kept him from being killed. What I don't know is why Mrs. MacIntyre's murderer was after Norman."

"I do," Hannah said, unlocking the passenger door to her truck. "Climb in and have a cookie, and I'll tell you."

Mike went through four cookies in the time it told her to tell her story, and Hannah figured that it was a good investment. When she was finished, she leaned back in her seat with a sigh. "What do you think? Does it make sense?"

"It makes perfect sense. Good for you for figuring it out. Just between you and me, Hannah, I'm really glad that Norman's off my suspect list."

"Why?"

"Because suspecting Norman made me really uncomfortable. My gut instincts told me that he was innocent, but what if I'd been wrong? I had to warn you, Hannah."

"I understand."

"There's another thing, too. I was afraid you'd think I was jealous of your relationship with Norman, and that was the reason I put him on my suspect list."

"Really? I didn't even think of that!"

"You didn't?"

"It never crossed my mind," Hannah told him quite truthfully. It had crossed Andrea's mind, not hers. "You aren't, are you? Jealous, I mean?"

"No. To tell you the truth, I'm relieved. I'm just not ready to settle down yet, and I'd feel guilty if you just sat around like a lovesick teenager and waited for me to call."

Hannah bristled. "I don't think you have to worry about that."

"I know. I figure the time will come when I want that kind of commitment again, but not right now. If I did want to get remarried, though. . ." Mike reached across the seat and pulled Hannah into his arms. He kissed her until both of them were breathless, and then he chuckled. "When I get to that point, you'll be the first to know."

Hannah sighed, still a little dazed from Mike's kiss. She had the urge to cuddle back up to him, but he'd been the one to break their embrace.

"I'll tell you one thing. Norman really impressed me."

"He did?"

"Absolutely. He left a message on my voice mail and I just retrieved it a couple of minutes ago. Do you know that he offered himself for bait so that we could set a trap for the killer?"

Hannah winced, wondering if she had messed up some sort of sting operation by planting the ghost story with Larry Kruger. "Are you going to take him up on it?"

"Of course not. We can't involve a civilian in something that dangerous. I called him right back to tell him that, but he wasn't home. I think we'll arrange a tail for him, though. He could be in real danger."

"I already took care of that," Hannah said. And then she told Mike what she'd done. "I was worried about him and I thought he might try to do something on his own."

Mike stopped in the act of taking another cookie and gave her a sharp look. "You were worried about Norman?"

"Of course I was. Norman's one of my very best friends." Mike stared at her for a moment. "Yeah, he's a nice guy.

Well. . . I've got to get back to work. Thanks for the cookies, Hannah."

Hannah waved at him as she pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to her condo to pick up Janie. As she zipped down the highway, she reached up to touch her lips with the tip of her finger. The thrill of Mike's kisses always lingered, and they made her hunger for more. But Norman's kiss had lingered, too. What kind of woman could be in love with two men? Or did it mean that she wasn't really in love with either of them?

-21- Hannah heard a door close as she climbed up the steps from the garage. The sound seemed to come from Mrs. Canfield's unit, and she bent down quickly to form a snowball and dropped it into the pocket of her parka. A moment later, Greg Canfield came around the corner of the building.

"Hi, Hannah. You're home from work early. Do you want to get a cup of coffee or something?"

"I'd love to, but I can't. I have to be back at the park in less than an hour. How's your day-trading going?"

"Just fine." Greg gave her a big grin. "Did you hear the latest news about Ezekiel's ghost?"

"I don't know. What's the latest?"

"KCOW radio says it attacked Dr. Rhodes last night because he tried to take its picture. They said that when Dr. Rhodes developed his film, it was blank, because you can't take a picture of a spirit. I figure that's about as believable as Paul Bunyan and his blue ox, Babe. How do they dream up stories like that?"

Hannah laughed. "I gave them that story. Thanks for telling me, Greg. I'm glad it's out there already."

Greg looked shocked. "Don't tell me that you actually believe in ghosts!"

"Of course I don't."

"Then why did you tell a whopper like that?"

Hannah hesitated, but Greg was an old friend. She'd known him for years and she could trust him. "I'll let you in on it, but you need to keep it under your hat."

"My lips are sealed." Greg pantomimed zipping his lips, a childhood ritual they'd learned in second grade from Miss Gladke.

"Norman Rhodes is a good friend of mine, and I planted that story to keep him safe. We think Connie Mac's killer attacked him."

"But why?"

"Because he thinks that Norman took his picture."

"Did he?"

"No. Norman was next door the night that Connie Mac was killed and he was testing his lights. He didn't have film in his camera, and he wasn't even aiming it out the window. We think the killer saw the flashes when he was hanging around my shop, and he thought that Norman got a picture of him."

"Did Dr. Rhodes see the killer?"

Hannah shook her head. "Norman didn't see anybody. He didn't even know that Connie Mac was dead until the next morning."

"So he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

"You got it," Hannah said with a sigh. "And he almost got killed for nothing."

"Wait a second." Greg looked confused. "I can see why you wanted to let the killer know that Dr. Rhodes didn't take his picture, but why didn't you just tell KCOW the truth?"

"The truth isn't news. I had to tie in the ghost so that KCOW and the papers would carry it."

"That's brilliant, Hannah." Greg looked impressed. "You always were the smartest one in our class. And that reminds me, Grandma said she heard that you helped to solve two murder cases already. Are you working on this one?"

Childhood friendships notwithstanding, Hannah decided that she'd gone far enough. She'd already been forced to tell several people that she was working to catch Connie Mac's killer, and it was past time to zip her own lips. "I offered to help, but they made it plain that they don't want me to get involved."

"That's a relief. I'd sure hate to see you mixed up in anything that dangerous."

Greg still looked worried, and Hannah reached out to pat him on the arm. "Don't worry about me, Greg. Two Winnetka County detectives have ordered me to stay out of it."

"But you never used to listen to orders. Remember what happened when our mothers ordered us to stop having those snowball fights?"

"Of course I do. We just escalated the battle, but I follow orders very well now." Hannah bit back a smug grin as she pulled the snowball from her pocket and let fly. It hit Greg squarely in the face and she hooted. "Except for times like this, of course."

"Janie?" Hannah called out as she opened her door. "Where are you?"

"I'm in here." Janie's voice answered her from the rear of the condo. It came from the guest room, but it was strangely muffled. Hannah felt a surge of fear and she called out again. "Are you hurt?"

"No, but I need help." Janie's answer added fuel to Hannah's feet as she hurried down the hall and barreled into the guest room. What she saw made her come dangerously close to exploding with suppressed laughter.

"Go ahead and laugh. I can just imagine how ridiculous I look. I'm afraid I'll crush something if I move, and I think Moishe is in here somewhere."

"Hold on, Janie. I'll help you," Hannah chuckled as she approached the walk-in closet. All she could see were Janie's feet. The rest of her body, including her head, was covered by mounds of old clothing that Hannah had been vowing to take to the Helping Hands Thrift Store for the past two years.

"Do you see Moishe?" Janie asked, her words almost swallowed by the old Navy peacoat Hannah had worn during her first year in college.

"Not yet." Hannah was ready to start extricating Janie from the clothing when she heard a meow. It came from above her, and when she looked up, she saw two round yellow eyes peeking out at her. "He's on the top shelf, hiding behind a box. I'll coax him down right after I get you out of the closet."

"I'm glad my mother didn't hear that!" Janie started to giggle.

Hannah stepped into the closet and grabbed an armful of clothing. She carried it out, tossed it into a corner of the bedroom, and went back for another load. It took several trips, but at last Janie could move.

"Oh, no," Janie groaned as she stood up and shook off the rest of the clothing.

"What's the matter? Are you hurt?"

"Only my pride. I'm sorry, Hannah. I crushed the velvet hat you wore to Andrea's wedding."

"That's okay. It looks awful on me and I haven't worn it since. What happened?"

"I don't know. Moishe was in the closet and I tried to get him out so I could shut the door. I was just bending down to pick him up when the closet pole gave way and everything crashed down on us."

"That pole was loose. I should have warned you. And Moishe does have a way of getting people into trouble," Hannah remarked, remembering the time she'd stepped out to retrieve the morning paper and Moishe had batted the door shut behind her. Of course it had been locked, and she'd had to run down to her neighbor's in her slippers and robe to call a locksmith.

At that moment, the subject of their conversation jumped down from the top shelf and walked over to them. He glared at them for a moment, as if the whole thing had been their fault, and then stalked off down the hallway.

"I'm just glad he didn't get hurt," Janie said. "He was after something in the closet, Hannah. Do you think it was a mouse?"

"It could have been. He's a good mouser. Sit down, Janie. I've got some great news for you."

Janie sat down on the edge of the bed. "What is it?"

"You're off the suspect list. Kristi Hampton saw you pull into the parking lot at the inn, and a maid spotted you when you left with your suitcases. That gives you an alibi, and Mike said to tell you that you're in the clear."

"That's wonderful!" Janie's face lit up in a smile. "Now I can go back out to the inn and see Paul. I didn't think I should talk to him while I was still a suspect, but I'd really like to offer my condolences and see if there's anything I can do to help."

"I've got some other good news, too. You're not the only suspect that Mike and Bill cleared."

"Norman?" When Hannah nodded, Janie's smile grew even wider. "I'm glad. I really like him, Hannah."

"I like him, too. We'd better get a move-on, Janie. Andrea will panic if I'm late for the contest."

"I'm ready. Or at least, I was. Just let me brush my hair again."

Hannah watched as Janie went over to the dresser and began to brush her hair. "Did you happen to think of anything special we could do with our snowman?"

"Yes. I forgot to tell you in all the excitement, but I think you should build a snow-woman."

'A snow-woman?"

"That's right. I thought it might catch the judge's eye if it was a snow-woman instead of a snowman."

Hannah turned to stare at the piles of clothing with a thoughtful look on her face. "Maybe we could straighten out that hat from Andrea's wedding and use it."

"Bad idea." Janie shook her head. "She'll think you didn't like it."

"I didn't."

"I know, but she chose those hats especially for us. You have others, don't you?"

"Oh, yes," Hannah said, thinking about the old adage, Always a bridesmaid, never a bride. "I've been in enough weddings to start a whole collection."

Armed with two shopping bags of snow-woman paraphernalia, Hannah and Janie arrived at Lake Eden Park. Hannah spotted Lisa and Jack Herman standing on the sidelines and she turned to Janie.

"I told Lisa that you were coming and she wanted you to watch with them."

"Great." Janie smiled. "Mr. Herman's an old family friend. He used to work with my Dad. It'll be good to see him again."

"Did Lisa tell you that he has Alzheimer's?"

"Yes. Don't worry, Hannah. I'll understand if he doesn't remember me."

When they arrived at the spot where Lisa and her father were standing, Janie greeted Lisa and then she turned to Jack Herman. "Hi, Mr. Herman. I'm. . ."

"Janie Burkholtz." Jack supplied the name, reaching out to take her hand. "I remember you from a long time ago. Your father and mother were good friends of mine, but I don't think I've seen them for a while."

"They moved to Florida a few years ago."

"Smart," Jack said, smiling. "Garland always said he wanted to get away from this. . . uh . . . white stuff on the ground."

Lisa smiled at her father. "The snow bothers a lot of people, especially when it's deep, like this year."

"Maybe Garland was smart. He always hated to shovel snow. Is there a lot of it in. . .where was it again?"

"Florida," Janie responded "It's warm all year 'round down there. Mom likes it a lot. She practically lives in shorts."

"Isobel always did have pretty legs, but they couldn't hold a candle to my wife's legs. I used to tell her she should insure them with Lloyd's of . . . whatchamacallit. That's what Betty Grable did, you know."

Janie laughed. "That's exactly what my Dad used to tell my mother!"

"Doesn't surprise me. Your father always stole my best lines. We all had fun back then. They lived right next door before they bought that place on Elm Street. We already had . . . our first baby."

"Tim," Lisa prompted.

"That's right. I think Timmy was about a year old, because he was already walking. Garland and Isobel just loved him. They used to try to get us to go out, just so they could babysit. I remember the day they got you, Janie. They were so happy to get a baby of their own."

"It's cold, Dad." Lisa noticed that her father was shivering, and she reached into his jacket pocket to pullout a pair of wool gloves. "You'd better put these on. How about a hot cup of coffee? I can go get you one."

"That sounds good, honey. How about the rest of you? It's my treat."

"Thanks, Mr. Herman. Coffee would be great," Hannah said.

"I'd like some, too." Janie turned to Lisa. "I'll come along and help you carry it, unless. . ."

Hannah knew exactly what Janie was thinking, and she reached out to take Jack's arm. "I'll stay with Mr. Herman to keep him company."

"I'm sorry, Miss . . ." Jack sighed, turning to Hannah after Janie and Lisa had left. "I forgot your name again. It starts with an 'H,' doesn't it?"

"That's right. I'm Hannah Swensen and I'm Lisa's partner at The Cookie Jar."

"Of course you are. I don't know why I can't remember your name. It just slips away from me sometimes."

"That's okay. Just ask me and I'll tell you." Hannah motioned to the gloves he was holding in his hand. "Better put those on before you get frostbite."

Jack laughed and slipped on his gloves. "You sound just like my daughter. When Garland and I were boys, we never wore gloves unless it was twenty below. It was some kind of crazy idea we had. We thought the girls would like us better if we proved how tough we were. I wonder if they still do things like that."

"I think they do," Hannah said, remembering that Craig Kimball and several of his friends had been gloveless when they'd helped her carry her cookies to the warm-up tent.

"It's good to see little Janie again," Jack smiled. "She's all grown up now, but I remember the day Garland and Isobel got her just like it was yesterday."

Something about Jack's word choice puzzled Hannah. This was the second time he'd referred to the day that Janie's parents got her. She'd noticed that Lisa often supplied the word that her father couldn't remember, and she decided she'd do the same. "I think it's nice that you remember the day that Janie was born."

"Oh, I don't remember that."

"You don't?" Now Hannah was thoroughly puzzled. "But you do remember the day they got her?"

"'Course I do. Garland got the call at work and he drove to that hospital in Minneapolis to pick up Isobel and the baby. But maybe I shouldn't have told you that. It's a big secret."

"What's a secret?" Hannah asked, even more confused.

Janie's 'adopted, but her mother never wanted her to know. You won't tell her, will you?"

"I promise I won't," Hannah said, reaching out to take Jack's hand. "Will you tell me about it?"

Jack sighed. "Guess it can't hurt, now that I let the cat out of the bag. You see, Isobel had trouble having babies. She lost two in the first two years, and it just about killed both Garland and her. Then she got pregnant again and she had to stay in bed with her feet up. She was fine for months, but it happened anyway. Garland had to call for the ambulance one night and they took Isobel to the hospital."

"That's very sad," Hannah said, patting his hand.

"I know. Isobel lost the baby, and the doctors told her she couldn't get pregnant again. It upset her so much, she went into a . . . what do you call it when you can't eat or sleep, and you cry all the time?"

"Depression?"

"That's the word. Isobel went into a depression and they kept her there in the hospital. There was a girl in the next bed and she was in trouble, too. They got to be friends, Isobel and this girl, and the girl told her she wasn't married and she was going to give up her baby for adoption. And then she asked Isobel and Garland if they wanted to take it."

"And they did?"

"The girl didn't want any money or anything like that. She just wanted to make sure her baby had a good home. There was only one condition. She never wanted her baby to know about the adoption."

"And that's what happened?"

"Yes. The girl had her baby the next day and she signed Janie over to Garland and Isobel. Her name was Janie when they got her, you know. The girl named her after her grandmother, who'd just died. I know they kept in touch with the girl. Isobel sent her letters and pictures, and the girl sent back gifts for Janie. She asked them to say the gifts were from them, and they did."

Hannah's mind was spinning. It was a great story, but she couldn't help wondering if it was a figment of Jack's imagination. "How do you know all this?"

"Garland told me. He was so excited about being a father at last. He said he had to tell someone. And he knew he could trust me."

"And you never told anyone else?"

"Not even my wife. I figured it was nobody's business."

"Did Garland tell you the girl's name?"

"No, and I didn't ask."

"How about Janie's biological father?" Jack shrugged. "I don't know his name, and I don't think Garland or Isobel do, either. The girl said that he got married before she found out that she was pregnant, and so she never told him. You're not going to tell Janie about this, are you?"

"No." Hannah shook her head. "It's your secret, and I promise I'll never tell her."

"That makes me feel a whole lot better. Say, Miss? Lisa said you were going to build a snowman. Aren't you a little old for that?"

Hannah laughed. "I'm much too old, but I'm helping my sister and my niece, Tracey."

"That name's familiar. Do I know her?"

"You met her yesterday morning and you showed her your animal collection. You even taught her about opposable thumbs."

"I did?" Jack smiled. "Well, good for me! She must have been that pretty little blond girl that asked me all those questions."

"That's Tracey."

"My daughter use to ask questions nonstop. I hope she didn't catch on that I made up the answers half the time."

"Here she comes now," Hannah said, gesturing toward Lisa and Janie, who were walking across the park toward them.

"I see her. They grow up fast, don't they? Who's that other girl with her?"

"Janie Burkholtz," Hannah said, waiting for some kind of reaction from Jack.

"Oh, yes. Did you know that her parents used to live right next door to me? They moved away from the . . . white stuff a couple of years ago. Somewhere in the south, I think she said."

"Florida." "That's right. I remember now. Let's go meet them, miss. Looks like they're bringing hot coffee."

-22- Hannah walked over to meet Andrea and Tracey, who were just getting out of their car. Tracey was dressed appropriately in a bright-pink snowsuit with a matching ski cap and mittens, but Andrea had worn an outfit that was geared more toward a fashion magazine photo shoot. Her coat was made of powder blue suede. It was decorated with white fur around the collar and the hemline, and she wore matching gloves of thin powder blue leather. Her designer boots matched her gloves, and the only concession she'd made to the contest they were about to enter was a white fur hat that barely covered her ears.

"What's wrong?" Andrea asked, realizing that her sister was staring at her.

"Your outfit. There's a snowdrift in our spot and we're going to be up to our . . ." Hannah paused and glanced at Tracey, who was hanging on her every word. ". . . you-know-whats in it. Tell me you've got Bill's snowmobile suit and choppers in the trunk."

Andrea shook her head. "Don't you like my new coat? I made a special trip out to the mall this morning to pick it up."

'It's gorgeous, and it'd be just fine if you were trying out for the part of the winter fairy.'

'I know it's not exactly practical,' Andrea conceded. 'I just thought there might be photographers here and I wanted to look my best.'

'Well, don't blame me if you catch a cold while we're building our snow-woman.'

'Snow-woman?' Tracey asked, tugging at Hannah's sleeve. 'I thought it was a snowman contest, Aunt Hannah.'

'It is, but snowman is generic. It's like when they said all men were created equal in the Declaration of Independence. They meant both men and women.'

'Right,' Andrea murmured to Hannah, taking Tracey's hand and starting out across the snow. 'Tell that to Bill. I made more money than he did last month, and he still calls my career a little hobby.'

Once they'd said hello to Lisa and her father, and Andrea had given Janie a big welcoming hug, Hannah picked up the two shopping bags and they headed to their designated spot. They'd just figured out who should roll which ball when the whistle blew and the contest began.

'You're shivering,' Hannah commented, lifting the snowball that Andrea had rolled for the torso and settling it on top of the one she'd rolled for the base.

'I know, but I look good,' Andreas said with a grin, sticking out her tongue at Hannah.

'Careful,' Hannah warned, picking up the ball Tracey had rolled for the head and plopping it down on top of the torso. 'If you leave your tongue out for too long, it'll freeze and crack off.

'Are you fighting with Mommy?' Tracey asked, sounding a little worried.

'No,' both Andrea and Hannah replied at once, and then they laughed.

'Aunt Hannah was just teasing,' Andrea explained. 'Sisters do that sometimes. It doesn't mean that we don't love each other.'

Hannah reached out to tweak the pom-pom on the top of Tracey's pink knitted cap. 'Kids always squabble when they're growing up. You'll understand when you have a brother or a sister.'

"Will you get the shopping bags, honey?" Andrea said to Tracey, and the minute that Tracey had gone to collect them, she turned to Hannah with a frown. "I wish you hadn't said that. Now she's going to be bugging me about having a baby brother or sister, and Bill and I want to wait for at least a year."

"Sorry," Hannah said, turning away to hide her grin. She was sure she knew something that Andrea didn't. Bill would be tickled pink and so would Andrea, once she'd gotten used to the idea.

"Let me see what's here." Andrea began to rummage through the bag that Tracey brought her. She plucked out a straw hat decorated with chiffon ribbons and silk flowers and held it up. "This looks like it came from a wedding."

"It did. I was a bridesmaid when my college roommate got married."

"It's almost a shame to use it. It's really rather nice." Andrea gave Hannah a sharp look. "I won't find the velvet hat from my wedding in here, will I?"

"Of course not," Hannah told her, silently thanking Janie for saving her from that particular blunder.

"Good. You really ought to wear it again, Hannah. It's still fashionable and it looks wonderful on you."

Hannah nodded and decided to change the subject, since the hat in question was as flat as a pancake. "If you don't mind, I thought I'd put one of my Cookie Jar aprons on our snow-woman."

"That's a good idea. It never hurts to advertise." Andrea turned to Tracey, who was digging through the second shopping bag. "Did you find anything you like, honey?"

Tracey held up a long rope of fake pearls. "I like these, Mommy. Now I'm looking for earrings to match."

"There aren't any," Hannah told her, walking over to glance at the contents of the bag. "But that's okay, because our snow-woman doesn't have ears. I think there's a pair of big sunglasses in the bottom. They're from a store display and they ought to fit her."

By the time the final whistle blew, their snow-woman was dressed and ready. The three of them walked over to the sidelines to chat with Janie, Lisa, and Jack Herman while the judges were deliberating.

"Do you think we'll win, Aunt Hannah?" Tracey asked her.

"I don't know, but we made a good snow-woman. I think she's just perfect."

"So do I." Tracey gave a little sigh. "I wish we could keep her, but I know we can't. She'll melt down into a puddle and go belly-up."

Andrea overheard her daughter's comment and her eye- brows shot up in surprise. "Belly-up?"

"That's what fish do when they die. We have guppies at school, and every time one goes belly-up, we tell Miss Cox and we get to have a fish funeral. Miss Cox says they go to the great fish tank in the sky, but they don't."

"They don't?"

"No. She just flushes them down the toilet after everybody leaves. I forgot my sweater once and when I went back to get it, I caught her."

Hannah felt an instant rush of sympathy for Janice Cox, who'd had to explain that to Tracey. "What did Miss Cox say?"

"She didn't know I saw. I just picked up my sweater and sneaked back out. And I didn't tell the other kids, either."

"Because you thought it might upset them?" Andrea asked.

"No. The fish funerals are fun and I want to keep on having them. We even sing a special song."

"I see," Hannah said, wondering what type of song they sang. A range of possibilities occurred to her. Nearer My Cod To Thee? O Sole A Mio? If you knew Sushi like I know Sushi?

"Why are you grinning, Aunt Hannah?"

"Oh . . . uh . . . I think the judges are finished." Hannah breathed a sigh of relief as the head judge walked up to the podium, where a microphone had been rigged. "Here we go, Tracey."

The judge announced the winner. It was Calvin Janowski and his family, and Hannah turned to her niece. She hoped that Tracey wouldn't be too disappointed.

"Don't be sad, Aunt Hannah," Tracey told her, before Hannah had decided which comforting phrase to use. "I wanted to win, but Calvin's snowman was really good."

"Okay," Hannah said, much relieved. Tracey had the right attitude.

A moment later the second place winner was announced, and Tracey let out an excited squeal. "We won, too!"

This was not the time to explain the difference between first place and second place, and Hannah just reached out to hug her. Then Andrea got into the act, and eventually all of them shared a group hug. Since Tracey was helping Delores with the tours again and spending the night with her grandma, Hannah made arrangements to meet her sister at the ice-fishing venue at Eden Lake, said her goodbyes to Lisa and her father, and set off with Janie for the trip back out to the inn.

"Aren't you coming in?" Janie asked as Hannah pulled up in front of the entrance to the inn.

Hannah shook her head "Not right away. I have to drive down to the lake to take Mrs. Baxter some Short Stack Cookies."

"What are those?"

Hannah retrieved a small bag of cookies from the back of the truck and handed them to Janie. "Try them and see. These are seconds. They're a little lopsided."

"Thanks." Janie took out a cookie and sampled it. And then she turned to Hannah in amazement. "They taste just like pancakes with butter and maple syrup on the top! You really ought to write a cookbook, Hannah. You've got some wonderful recipes."

Once Janie had gone inside with her bag of cookies, Hannah drove down the circular driveway and took the access road to the lake. The snow at the shoreline had been plowed to create a temporary parking lot, and it was chock full of cars.

Hannah trolled the rows of cars for several minutes, but not a single parking spot was unoccupied. Since she had a four-wheel-drive vehicle, Hannah decided to make her own spot and she gunned the gas, mounted the icy bank of snow the plow had left, and parked at the back of the warm-up tent. Then she grabbed several boxes of cookies, hopped out of her truck, and hurried around the side of the tent to deliver the goods.

Mrs. Baxter was working at the end of the long counter in the warm-up tent, filling large foam cups with coffee and handing them to one of her students, a pretty brunette who was dressed in a fuzzy yellow sweater. The girl was clamping lids on the cups and setting them in a large, flat box.

"Hi, Mrs. Baxter." Hannah greeted her formally since there was a student present, and set her stack of boxes on the counter. "How's your cookie supply holding out?"

Pam Baxter turned to smile at Hannah. One of the younger members of Jordan High's faculty, and married to the shop teacher, she'd been nominated for best teacher two years running. "You got here just in time, Hannah. We're almost out."

"I've got more cookies in the truck. I'll go get them."

"You've done enough;' Pam said, handing Hannah a cup of hot coffee and turning to her student. "Renee?"

The girl in the yellow sweater nodded. "We'll get them, Mrs. Baxter."

Once Renee had left with two of the other girls, Pam turned to Hannah. "I've got a problem. Mayor Bascomb said we could use his snowmobile to deliver coffee and cookies, but I don't know how to drive it. Keith Hauge said he'd do it, but he ran up to the inn to call Shelly Merkeson, and I don't think he'll be back in time."

"Do you want me to go up and get him for you?"

Pam shook her head. "I'm not sure I want him driving in his condition."

Hannah was surprised As far as she knew, Keith was about as squeaky-clean as they came. "He's been drinking?"

"Heavens, no! It's just that he had a fight with Shelly last night and now he's apologizing to her. And from what Renee tells me, it's going to take a while before she lets him off the hook. Do you know anything about snowmobiles?"

"Sure. My father had one and we used to go out every weekend in the winter."

"Have you ever driven one?"

"A couple of times," Hannah said, remembering the rare occasions when her father had held her on his lap and let her steer.

"I'm really glad to hear that. Do you think that you could drive Mayor Bascomb's snowmobile for us?"

"I don't know why not." Hannah agreed with a smile. She'd be very careful starting out, until she got the hang of it. Once she got the mechanics down, it should be a snap.

"That's great!" Pam looked very relieved "I'll have a couple of the girls load it up and you can get going."

"Okay. Where am I going?"

"Out to the ice-fishing houses. I promised to deliver hot coffee and cookies to all the contestants, and I'm already ten minutes behind schedule."

Hannah continued to smile, but she knew it was slipping. "You mean you want me to drive it out on the ice?"

"Yes. Can you do it?"

"Absolutely," Hannah promised, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. She'd assumed she'd be delivering coffee and cookies to the crowd that lined the lakeshore.

"There's no black ice," Pam assured her. "Keith Hauge checked it out when he drove Mayor Bascomb's snowmobile back to shore."

Hannah's smile slipped even further. Anyone who'd grown up in Minnesota knew that black ice was thinner. But how could you spot black ice if it was covered with a blanket of snow?

"Are you sure you can do it, Hannah?"

"Positive," Hannah responded, setting her smile on straight "Let's load it up and I'll get going."

Hannah watched as Mrs. Baxter's girls loaded the sled that was hitched behind the snowmobile. It was outfitted with an insulated box, and they packed it carefully with bags of cookies and containers of coffee. She was just settling down on the driver's seat, hoping she wouldn't make a fool of herself, when she spotted Andrea running toward her. Her sister had changed clothes since the snowman contest. Now Andrea was wearing a cherry red parka coat and a pair of matching moon boots.

Andrea arrived a bit breathless. "What are you doing on Mayor Bascomb's snowmobile?"

"I'm driving it out to deliver coffee and cookies to the contestants."

"That sounds like fun. I'm sorry I'm late. I stopped by the office to pick up my other coat. You were right. I was freezing."

Hannah gave her a smile of approval. "Good. I've got to get going. Why don't you wait in the warm-up tent until I get back?"

"No, I'll go with," Andrea said, climbing into the passenger seat. "I've never been inside an ice-fishing house before."

"That's not a good idea."

"Why not?"

Hannah glanced back at Mrs. Baxter's girls. They were within earshot, and she wasn't about to admit that she'd never driven a snowmobile before. "Because it could be a bumpy ride."

"You're crazy. The lake's as smooth as glass." Andrea grabbed the strap and buckled herself in. Then she leaned over and whispered, "I know you think I'm pregnant, but I'm not. And if you wait much longer, that coffee's going to get cold."

Hannah knew that she wasn't the only sister to inherit the Swensen stubborn streak. Once Andrea had dug in her heels, that was that.

"Are we going, or what?"

"We're going," Hannah said with a sigh, driving forward onto the icy surface of Eden Lake.

SHORT STACK COOKIES

DO NOT preheat oven ' dough must chill before baking

1 ' cups melted butter (3 sticks) 2 cups sugar 2 large beaten eggs, any brand (just whip them with a fork) ' cup maple syrup *** 4 teaspoons baking soda 1 teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon vanilla 4 cups flour (not sifted) ' cup white sugar for coating the dough balls

*** To measure maple syrup, first spray the inside of measuring cup with Pam so that the syrup won't stick to sides of cup.

Melt the butter and mix in the sugar. Let it cool and add the beaten eggs. Add maple syrup, soda, salt, and vanilla. Mix it all up. Then add the flour and mix thoroughly.

Chill the dough for at least 1 hour (overnight is fine, too).

Roll the dough into walnut-sized balls with your hands. Roll the balls in white sugar and place them on greased cookie sheets, 12 to a standard sheet. Flatten them with a spatula.

Put oven rack in the middle position. Bake at 350'F for 10 to 12 minutes or until nicely browned. Cool on the cookie sheets for no more than 1 minute, then remove the cookies to the rack to finish cooling. (If you leave them on the cookie sheets for too long, they'll stick.)

Edna Ferguson says these taste exactly like pancakes that are slathered with maple syrup and butter, and she wishes she could get away with serving them instead of real pancakes at the annual faculty breakfast.

-23- It was a great day to be out on the lake with a snowmobile. The ice was covered with a light blanket of snow that had fallen the previous evening, and it sparkled in the pale rays of a sun that had peeked out just in time for their deliveries. It was cold, but both Hannah and Andrea were dressed for the weather, and they zipped along from ice-fishing house to ice-fishing house, taking cookies and coffee to the contestants. Everyone was glad to see them. It was a break in a sport that could get rather boring if the fish weren't biting.

"I've never seen the inside of an ice-fishing house before, but they remind me of something familiar," Andrea said, buckling her seatbelt and waiting for Hannah to drive to their next stop.

Hannah looked over at her sister and grinned. "I know exactly what it is. Just think of the buildings on Grandma and Grandpa Swensen's farm, and that should jog your memory."

"What good will that do? Grandpa Swensen didn't go ice-fishing." Andrea thought for a moment. "You mean the corn crib?"

"No." Hannah pulled forward across the ice. "Guess again."

"The shed where he kept the tractor?" Andrea raised her voice so that Hannah could hear her over the sound of the engine.

"Nope."

"Then what? Their farm was nowhere near the lake, and I know they didn't have an ice-fishing house."

"You're right. They didn't. But there's another thing they didn't have ' indoor plumbing."

Andrea's mouth dropped open and then she started to laugh. "Really, Hannah!"

"Well, it's true. An ice-fishing house looks a lot like an outdoor privy. It's got four walls, a roof, and a bench. The only difference is, the hole is in the ice."

"It's true," Andrea admitted, still cracking up. "I wish you hadn't told me. Now I'm not going to be able to think of anything else."

Hannah grinned and headed across the lake at a good clip. They'd decided to start with the farthest ice-fishing houses and work their way back to shore. So far, they'd visited six, and they still had over a dozen to go.

"Don't tell me Pete's fishing from his car!" Andrea looked utterly amazed as they pulled up next to Pete Nunke's old Ford.

"Looks like it." Hannah left the snowmobile idling, and they got off to gather up Pete's cookies and his container of coffee. As they approached, Pete rolled down his window, and Hannah had all she could do not to burst into laughter. He was fishing from the passenger's bucket seat, which had been turned backward. Pete's car radio was tuned to KCOW, he had the engine idling and the heater going, and the backseat had been removed to make room for a hole in the floorboards that he'd lined up with the hole he'd chopped in the ice.

"Afternoon, Pete," Hannah greeted him. "We brought you coffee and cookies."

"Thanks, ladies." Pete reached out to take the bag and the coffee.

"Any luck?" Andrea asked.

"Not yet, but there's something down there." Pete pointed to the small monitor that had been installed on the back window ledge. "See those blips on the screen?"

Andrea peered through the window. "You've got a fish locator. That's smart, Pete."

"Took it off my boat when I dry-docked it this fall. Want to climb in and warm up? You can share the driver's seat."

"Thanks, but we'd better get going," said Hannah, shaking her head. "We still have more cookies and coffee to deliver."

"Okay. I have to move on anyway. Looks like those fish are heading for the old sunken rowboat about twenty feet to the north. It's a natural habitat."

"Are you going to chop another hole in the ice when you get there?" Andrea asked.

"Already chopped it. I put in three holes yesterday and another three this morning. All I have to do is drive over and wait for the fish to get there."

Hannah and Andrea stood by and watched as Pete drove away in his mobile ice-fishing house. Then they headed back to the snowmobile and continued on their delivery route. After another twenty minutes of passing out coffee and cookies, they had only one ice-fishing house left, and it belonged to Mayor Bascomb.

"It certainly is big," Andrea commented as they pulled up in back of the mayor's structure. "I heard he really decked it out in style."

Hannah nodded. Mayor Bascomb always had the biggest and the best. As the son of Lake Eden's most successful land developer, he'd grown up with money, and he knew how to spend it.

"What's that?" Hannah asked, cutting the motor and listening. "It sounds like voices. Mayor Bascomb must have someone out here with him."

Andrea shook her head. "I don't think so. Bill was thinking about entering and I read the rules. It's a solo contest. You have to do it all by yourself."

Hannah grabbed the last bag of cookies and handed Andrea the last container of coffee, and they walked around to the front of the mayor's ice-fishing house. She spotted a generator sitting close to the wall, and there was an electrical cord that ran through a small hole to the inside. "He's got a generator. Maybe he's listening to the radio."

The door was shut, and Hannah knocked out of pure habit. It was a real door with a handle, and it even had little panes of glass at the top.

"Come in," the mayor called out, his voice muffled by the heavy door.

"I'm surprised he doesn't have a doorbell," Hannah muttered to her sister, opening the door. She took two steps forward and then stopped in awe as she saw what Lake Eden's mayor had done to decorate his ice-fishing house. Not only was it bigger than all the others, roughly the size of her guest bedroom at the condo; it was practically a second home.

Instead of the crossed two-by-fours that the other ice-fishing houses had in place of a floor to keep the structure rigid, Mayor Bascomb had a real floor covered with indoor-outdoor carpeting. This floor ended three feet short of one of the walls to expose a strip of ice with his ice-fishing hole in the middle. Against one of the carpeted walls was a television set in an entertainment center that also included a stereo and a VCR. The set was tuned to a golf tournament, and the ocean and palm trees on the screen indicated a tropical venue. Perhaps that would have kept some people warmer by pure suggestion, but Mayor Bascomb's ice-fishing house wasn't even close to freezing, thanks to two electrical space heaters that sat on stands. A leather loveseat sat against the opposite wall, and it was flanked by two tables that both contained lamps. A coffee pot on a shelf near the door gave off the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and a microwave sat next to it.

"Don't just stand there. Come in and shut the door," Mayor Bascomb ordered, swiveling slightly in the recliner he'd placed on a raised dais at the edge of the flooring. "I'm going to need some help here. I hooked a real lunker and I can't pull him in by myself."

"But isn't that against the rules?" Andrea asked, stepping in and shutting the door.

"Forget the contest. I'll disqualify myself. This is the biggest fish I've ever hooked and I want to bring him in."

"We're coming," Hannah told him, motioning for Andrea. "What do you want us to do?"

"You two steady the line and I'll operate the winch."

"You have a winch?" Hannah was amazed. She'd never heard of anyone who'd used a winch for ice-fishing before.

"It's bolted to the studs in the wall." The mayor pointed to the hand winch. "My wife bought it for me last Christmas."

"Your wife gave you a winch for Christmas?" Andrea asked, sounding amused.

"I know it's crazy, but somebody down at the hardware store convinced her that it was a good idea. I had to put it up, but I never thought I'd actually have a use for it."

"How about your line?" Hannah walked over to glance at the mayor's fishing pole. "Is it strong enough?"

"I hope so. I rigged it for one of those twenty-pound northerns and they can put up a fight. Whatever I've got here is a lot heavier than that. I just about popped a blood vessel getting him in this far. He's got to run twenty, maybe even thirty pounds."

With Andrea helping, Hannah let out enough extra line for Mayor Bascomb to tie it to the winch cable. When that was secured, they were ready to haul the fish up.

"Stay right there, one of you on either side of the hole." Mayor Bascomb looked more nervous than Hannah had ever seen him as he gave them instructions. "I'll crank him up slow, and you steady the line. Make sure it doesn't rub against the sides of the hole. This is going to be a trophy fish and I don't want to lose him."

"He's not fighting much," Andrea commented, glancing at the bobber that was just sitting on the surface of the water.

"I know. I figure he's trying to lull me into a false sense of security and he'll put up a real fight when he breaks the water. Shout out when he gets close. I want to wrestle him in myself."

The mayor cranked, and the line began to wind around the drum. It seemed to take forever, but at last Hannah could see something red rising toward the surface of the water. "He's red. I didn't know there were any red fish in this lake."

"Neither did I," Mayor Bascomb sounded puzzled. "What the heck is he?"

"Search me," Hannah said, watching as the patch of red came up another inch. Then she gasped and hollered out to the mayor. "That's enough! Stop cranking!"

Mayor Bascomb locked the winch. "Are you ready for me to bring him in?"

"Not yet." Hannah turned to Andrea. "Do you have your cell phone with you?"

"Of course. I never know when a client might need me."

"Go sit down over there." Hannah moved to block Andrea's view of the hole and gave her sister a nudge toward 'I the loveseat. "I need you to make' a call for me. It's important."

Andrea looked as if she might object, but one glance at Hannah's serious expression convinced her to head for the loveseat. When she got there, she pulled out her cell phone and sat down. "Who do you want me to call?"

"Bill. Tell him to get right out here with Mike."

"Okay, but why do we need them?" Andrea asked.

"Just do it, Andrea."

"All right, I'm doing it." Andrea punched in the number, and then the light dawned. Her eyes widened and the color blanched from her face. "You mean. . . it's not a fish?"

Hannah shook her head. "Not unless the well-dressed fish is wearing a gold watch this season."

-24-

Hannah paced along the strip of ice in front of the hole, waiting for Bill and Mike to arrive. She'd asked Mayor Bascomb to take Andrea back to the inn to warm up, and now she was alone with the mayor's "fish." Just when she thought her feet couldn't get any colder, Hannah heard a car pull up outside. A moment later, Bill and Mike came in the door.

"You found another body?" Mike asked, sounding incredulous.

"Yup."

"And the mayor hooked it with his fishing line?"

"Yup."

Bill began to frown. "Is that all you can say?"

"Yup," Hannah answered him. "My teeth are chattering too hard to talk."

"Go stand in front of the space heater," Mike ordered, pointing to the area in front of the loveseat. "Don't you know that heat leaves your body faster if you're standing on the ice?"

"I know. I just didn't want to leave him, or her, or whatever it is. I was afraid the line might break."

Mike grabbed her arm and helped her over to the loveseat. "What were you going to do if it did break?"

"I don't know. I was too cold to figure that out."

Mike turned to Bill. "I'll stay here. You drive Hannah to the inn and come right back."

"No." Hannah shook her head. "I want to stay."

"We're going to have to bring up that body, and it won't be pretty," Mike warned her.

"That's okay." Hannah's curiosity was stronger than the tide of revulsion that rippled through her stomach. "This won't be the first dead body I've seen."

Mike stared at her for a moment. "Okay. Let's get started, Bill."

With both Mike and Bill tugging, they managed to get the body out of the water. By the time they finished, the corpse was facedown on the ice, and both men were panting. Bill rolled him over and Hannah took a step closer so that she could see the dead man's face. "It's Alan Carpenter!"

"How do you know that?" Mike asked, giving her a hard look.

"I met him at the Winter Carnival banquet. He was just leaving for a press conference."

"Did you ask him any questions?"

"Of course not." Hannah assumed a look of righteous indignation. "You made me promise to stay away from the Connie Mac people while I was out at the inn."

Mike wasn't buying it. His eyes bored through her. "Hannah?"

"Well. . . maybe a few," Hannah admitted, "but I told you before. He was just leaving. I don't think I exchanged more than a dozen words with him, and Andrea was with me the entire time."

Mike turned to Bill. "Will you call Doc Knight and tell him we need him out here?"

"Sure. How about the forensics team?"

"Them, too. I don't think they'll get much, but you never know. This ice-fishing house was out here last night, wasn't it?"

"I saw the mayor hauling it out here yesterday," Bill said. "How about Sheriff Grant? Do you want me to give him a verbal report, or do you want to do it?"

"You can handle it. Just tell him what we know so far, and say that we'll keep him apprised of any new developments. Be politic. He's not going to be happy about this."

Hannah felt a rush of warmth for Mike. With each case they handled, he was giving Bill more responsibility.

"Anything else?"

"If you think of something I missed, take care of it. We're partners. You don't have to check everything out with me. And while you're doing that, I'll take Hannah's statement."

"What statement?" Hannah was puzzled as Mike joined her on the loveseat. "I've already told you everything I know."

"Not quite. Tell me about your conversation with Alan Carpenter. It could be important."

"Let me think," Hannah said, doing her best to recall every word of their conversation. "We were introduced and. . ."

"What time?" Mike interrupted her.

"Right before Edna's girls served dessert. It was around eight-thirty, I think."

"Go on."

"Alan said it was a pleasure to meet us. And then he said he had to leave with Kurt Howe and he offered us their chairs. I asked him if it was something I said, and he laughed. And then he said that if they didn't leave right away, they'd be late for the press conference he'd scheduled at his office."

"In Minneapolis?"

Hannah shrugged. "I guess so. When we gave Connie Mac the tour, she mentioned that her corporate offices were in Minneapolis."

"Did you ask him if the press conference was about Mrs. MacIntyre's death?"

"Of course I did. It was a natural question. He told us that that the media was in a feeding frenzy and they wanted the details."

"Okay." Mike jotted it all down. "What else?"

"He said he was the spokesman for the family and Kurt was going to handle any questions that concerned the firm that published Connie Mac's cookbooks."

"That'd be Savory Press. Did you say anything else to him?"

"I don't think so. I know Andrea said something about how difficult it must be for him, and he said he had a duty as the family counsel to spare Paul in any way he could. And then he left. With Kurt Howe."

"And that's all?"

"I think so. . . . No, wait. I gave them some cookies for the trip and I said that the sugar would keep them going."

"Okay." Mike closed his notebook and slid it back into his pocket. "It's obvious he drove back here after the press conference. We'll check to find out if anyone saw him when he got back to the inn."

"I could do that for you," Hannah offered without thinking, and then she winced as Mike started to frown. She wasn't supposed to interfere. She had to remember that. "Forget I said that. I'll just keep my nose out of it and leave everything up to you."

"Sure, you will."

Mike sounded a bit sarcastic, and Hannah decided the best thing to do was to change the subject. "I wonder what Alan was doing out here on the ice. It's not exactly a normal place for a walk before bedtime."

"He didn't walk."

"You mean. . . somebody dumped him?"

Mike looked sorry that he'd said anything. "That's what it looks like to me. Did you see that wound on the back of his head?"

"I saw it," Hannah confirmed, shivering slightly. "It looks exactly like Connie Mac's wound."

"That's what makes me think he was dumped. Somebody could have forced him to walk out here at gunpoint, but that doesn't make sense."

"Because then they would have shot him instead of bashing in his head?"

"That's right. We'll know more when Doc Knight gets here. He'll be able to tell us if Mr. Carpenter was dead when he entered the water."

'But how. . ." Hannah stopped in mid-question. She didn't really want to know how Doc Knight could tell something like that. "Never mind. I'd better go see how Andrea's doing."

"I'll take you back to the inn." Mike motioned to Bill. "Secure the crime scene and don't let anyone but Doc Knight and the forensics team in."

Hannah started to grin as she followed Mike out of the ice-fishing house. The moment the door was shut behind them, she grabbed his arm. "Are you going to rope off Mayor Bascomb's ice-fishing house?"

"I don't know. That all depends on what the forensics team finds. There could be trace evidence."

"DNA?"

"If that's where Mr. Carpenter went through the ice, I wouldn't be surprised."

"Then it'll be a crime scene, the mayor can't get back in?'

"Yes. What are you getting at, Hannah?"

"Mayor Bascomb's not going to happy about that, and neither is Sheriff Grant. I heard them talking about going up to Mille Lacs Lake next weekend. They do it every winter. Sheriff Grant reserves the spot and Mayor Bascomb brings his ice-fishing house."

Mike groaned. "I'll be taking plenty of flack about it, but there's nothing I can do. Rules are rules."

"So you're not going to bend those rules for the mayor and Sheriff Grant?"

"No." Mike turned to give her a puzzled look. "I wasn't just picking on you, Hannah. I had to secure your shop. And I may have to secure the mayor's ice-fishing house."

Hannah grinned up at him. "I'm probably crazy, but that makes me feel better. I still think you're pig-headed, but you're pig-headed with everybody."

"Thanks, I think." Mike grinned and held out his arms.

Hannah walked into them and they shared a hug. Then he opened the passenger door of the squad car and waited for her to get in.

"Are you sure you don't want me to ride in back?" she quipped.

"Don't be ridiculous. I don't have any reason to believe you're a suspect. . . do I?"

"When has that stopped you?" Hannah answered his question with a question of her own. "You suspected Norman, didn't you?"

"Not for long, and only because I had to. I told you be- fore. I didn't really believe that Norman did it."

Hannah shut her mouth and climbed into the front seat of the squad car. Mike had certainly sounded serious when he first told her that Norman was a suspect, but this wasn't the time to remind him of that.

"Hannah?" Mike climbed in the driver's seat and reached out to touch her arm. "Uh . . . I've been thinking about that jealousy thing."

"What jealousy thing?"

"You know. . . that maybe I suspected Norman because I was jealous of the time you spend with him. That might not be so crazy, after all."

"Really?" Hannah said, and then she held her breath.

"What I told you this morning is true. I'm glad that you're not sitting home waiting for me to call you. But I do get kind of a wrench in my gut when I think about you with somebody else. I don't know if you can call that jealousy, but it's close."

"Okay," Hannah said, hiding a smile. "As long as we're being truthful, I got a little wrench when I saw Kristi Hampton dangling all over you. And I don't know if that's jealousy, either."

"Dangling all over me? Is that what you thought? She was just being friendly, that's all."

"Oh, I see." Hannah allowed her smile to come out. "In that case, maybe we should get a little friendlier."

"Maybe we should." Mike pulled her into his arms and gave her a thorough kiss. It lasted for several minutes, until both of them were as warm as toast and breathing as if they'd just run a marathon.

"Friendly enough?" Mike asked as he started the squad car and drove forward across the frozen lake.