Cinnamon Roll Murder

Chapter Seventeen

It was eight-fifteen the next morning and the winter sun was already melting the snow at the sides of the exit ramp when Andrea turned off the highway.

“Why are we stopping here?” Hannah asked, as they pulled into a parking spot right next to the green and white striped awning over the front entrance of Perkins Family Restaurant.

“You need to get ready. My meeting with Swartznagel Realty is in forty-five minutes.”

“But I am ready ...” Hannah stopped and stared hard at her sister. “At least I thought I was ready. Tell me, Andrea. What is there about me that’s not ready?”

“It’s your hair. It just won’t do, Hannah.”

Hannah had a sinking feeling in the bottom of her stomach. Michelle had predicted this. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

“It’s too ...” Andrea paused and Hannah could tell she was searching for a word. “It’s just too memorable.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s like when witnesses give descriptions of somebody they saw holding up a bank, or breaking into a house. They always notice a person’s most memorable feature. Sometimes it’s a tattoo, sometimes it’s a birthmark, and sometimes it’s the fact the perp had a scar. You know what I mean. In your case, it’s your hair.”

“My hair is a disfigurement?”

Andrea gulped. “No! Of course not! It’s just that it’s ... distinctive. People notice it because it’s so ... unusual.”

“By distinctive you mean bright red, kinky, and unruly?”

“Well ... yes. And I want you to remember that you put it that way. I didn’t. Don’t get me wrong, Hannah. Your hair looks good on you. You wouldn’t be our Hannah without it. But the thing is, I don’t want Doctor Bev’s mother to be able to describe you that accurately.”

“So?” Hannah held her breath. If Andrea had brought a bottle of black hair dye, she was going to refuse to use it. There was no way she was going to color her hair.

“So Bertie Straub gave me a wig for you to use as a disguise.”

Hannah couldn’t help it. She laughed. She’d never worn a wig in her life and all she could think of was the fake blond wig Delores had worn when she’d gone undercover in her black leather biker chic outfit at the Eagle.

“What’s so funny?” Andrea asked. “A lot of people wear wigs.”

“I know. I was just thinking about the blond wig Mother wore out at the Eagle.”

Andrea laughed. “I agree that was pretty awful, but she was trying to look cheap to fit in out there. This wig isn’t like that one at all.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Tell me what kind of wig you brought for me.”

“It’s a brown wig. I thought brown would be the best color because it’s nondescript. This wig is streaked with blond because Bertie didn’t have any plain brown ones, but a lot of people with nondescript brown hair streak it with another color.”

“Don’t let Michelle hear you say that! She has brown hair.”

“I know, but her hair isn’t nondescript. It’s not really brown, either. It’s more of a ... a chestnut color. And it shines in the light like ... like ...” Andrea stopped, lost for a descriptive metaphor.

“Like liquid chocolate?” Hannah suggested.

“Exactly! And that’s distinctive. I’m talking about plain brown here, the kind of brown paper bag brown.”

“Okay, but I still wouldn’t mention it to Michelle.”

“I won’t. Now let’s go in and try on that wig. I can hardly wait to see what it looks like on you.”

“Can’t I just leave my hair as it is and have Doctor Bev’s mother think I’m wearing a wig?”

“Hannah! You know that won’t work!”

Andrea stared at her in such dismay that Hannah relented. “Okay. Fine. This is your show, and I’ll wear the wig. You’ll have to help me get it on, though.”

“Oh, I will! That’s no problem. Let’s go in and have coffee. I could use another cup. And then we’ll go to the ladies room and you can try on your wig. It’s going to look great on you, Hannah. You’ll see.”

Less than a minute later, they were seated in a four-person booth. There weren’t many people in the restaurant, and their waitress came up to them almost immediately.

“Good morning,” she said, giving them both a big smile. “Would you like coffee to start?”

“Yes, please,” Andrea replied. “And I think coffee is all we’re going to have.” She turned to Hannah. “Unless you want something.”

“Just coffee for me, too. Black.”

“Cream and sugar for you, Ma’am?” The waitress turned to Andrea.

“Cream, unless it’s that coffee whitener.”

“It’s real cream and it comes in those little covered cups. Do you want one, or two?”

“Two please. Where’s your ladies room?”

The waitress gestured toward the rear of the restaurant. “Back there. The ladies is the first door on your right.”

“Let’s go,” Andrea said as soon as their waitress had left. “I want to see how that wig looks on you. Bertie gave me a sock for your hair.”

Hannah was puzzled as she slid out of the booth and followed her sister. “A sock?”

“It’s like a hairnet, but she called it a sock. It’s made out of stretchy material, and you just gather up all your hair into a high ponytail on top of your head. Then you fasten the ponytail inside the sock. It’s easier to put on the wig if your own hair doesn’t get in the way.”

“Makes sense,” Hannah said gathering her hair into a high ponytail the way Andrea had instructed. She took the fastener Andrea gave her and secured the ponytail. “Can you put on the sock?” she asked. “I can’t see to do it.”

“No problem. Just crouch down a little, will you? You’re a lot taller than I am.”

A lot taller, a lot heavier, and a lot less pretty, Hannah thought to herself. Andrea and Michelle had inherited their mother’s petite frame and classic good looks, while Hannah looked more like her tall, big, gangly, and unhandsome father. When they were children and Delores had taken her three daughters out to lunch, or for an afternoon outing, everyone commented on the family resemblance and how you could certainly tell that Andrea and Michelle were Delores’s daughters. No one ever made that comment about Hannah. They probably assumed that she was a step-daughter, or perhaps a friend who’d been kindly included in the mother-daughter outing.

Hannah crouched, and Andrea slipped the elastic sock over her ponytail. She took the wig out of the wig box and settled it on Hannah’s head. Then she did something with a comb, pulling down sections of hair to frame Hannah’s face. At least Hannah thought that was what she was doing. Since her back was to the mirror, she had no way of actually knowing.

“All done,” Andrea said. “You can stand up and turn around now. I want to know what you think of it.”

Hannah stared at the stranger in the mirror. She blinked several times, and then she stared some more. It had to be her reflection. When she raised her arm, the stranger in the mirror raised her arm. And when she turned toward Andrea, the stranger mirrored her motion.

“Well?” Andrea prompted her. “What do you think?”

“I think I need a new name.”

“What?”

“I said, I think I need a new name. And then I think I need to go down to CIA headquarters and fill out an application for deep undercover work. Nobody will ever recognize me in this wig.”

“I knew it.” Andrea looked proud. “But you didn’t tell me. Do you like it?”

“I love it! The minute we get back to Lake Eden, I’m going to buy this wig from Bertie.”

“Because you like your new look so much?”

“Not exactly. I’ll buy it because it’ll be so much fun to wear it to the next potluck dinner, and see if Mike tries to pick up the new gal in town.”

“Here we are.” Andrea pulled up in front of a house that was eerily similar to the one the Cleavers had owned on every Leave it To Beaver rerun that Hannah had watched.

“It’s awfully big for just one person,” Hannah commented.

“It’s not just one person. You’re moving your whole family here. I told you that you were married with children, didn’t I?”

“Yes. My husband’s name is Phillip and I have two kids. They’re both in school so I’m concerned about the local elementary schools in the area.”

“Good. And your name is?”

“Joyce Newhall.”

“And you’re from?”

“Royalton. I drove up here today to house hunt while my husband’s at work and the kids are in school.”

“That’s just fine. You sound very convincing. Now why are you moving to Minneapolis, Hannah?”

“It’s Joyce, and I’m moving to the Cities because my husband just accepted a job at Xcel Energy. It’s a Fortune Five Hundred company, and Phillip is a tax attorney.”

“Excellent. You’re ready.”

“I know, but are you?”

Andrea looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Do you have a plan for getting the DNA sample?”

“Not yet, but don’t worry. I’ll think of something when we get there. Now let’s hurry up and take a look at this house so that we can go next door.”

After a quick glance in the mirror on the passenger side visor to make sure her wig was on straight, Hannah got out of Andrea’s Volvo and followed her up the front walkway. Once her sister had retrieved the key from the lockbox and opened the front door, they stepped inside.

“Gorgeous!” Hannah said, catching sight of the massive curved staircase that led up to the second floor. Then she turned to shut the front door, and noticed the round, faceted window that was at least fifteen feet above the front door. “Look at that window, Andrea.”

Andrea glanced up. “It’s beautiful and it must have cost a bundle.”

“Not that. I can tell it’s expensive. But it’s way up there. How do you clean it?”

“I should have known that would be the first question you’d ask.” Andrea gave a little laugh. “The answer is, you don’t clean that window. You hire someone to come in every month with a special ladder, and they clean that window.”

“But ... wouldn’t that be expensive?”

“Of course it would be expensive. But you don’t care about that because Phillip makes huge pots of money, and he needs to impress everyone with his expensive home.”

“Right.” Hannah trotted obediently after her sister as Andrea led the way to a massive kitchen that would be almost impossible for one ordinary housewife to keep clean, several powder rooms on the main floor, and a small bedroom, living room, and bathroom that Andrea called the maid’s suite.

The second floor was next, and Hannah counted six roomy bedrooms with walk-in closets and three full bathrooms. The master suite was behind doors and boasted a Jacuzzi in the massive bathroom, and a double fireplace that was built into the wall between the sitting room and the bedroom. There was even a refrigerator and a wine cooler in the sitting room, presumably there so that the master and mistress of the manor wouldn’t have to trek all the way down the stairs to get their late-evening libations.

Hannah was glad when Andrea locked the door behind them. All this luxury coupled with the enormous asking price of the house they’d just seen was making her head spin. It was a relief to go next door to the modest two-story home that belonged to Doctor Bev’s mother.

“If Diana’s not home, I’ll have to find something of hers to take with me,” Andrea said as she prepared to ring the doorbell. “I hope she invites us in.”

Hannah wasn’t sure what she expected when Mrs. Thorndike answered their knock on the door, but it certainly wasn’t the woman standing there. Bev’s mother was the polar opposite of Delores although they were roughly the same age. Doctor Bev’s mother was pleasantly plump, while Delores was sleek and svelte. And while Delores dressed in designer outfits, Doctor Bev’s mother was wearing pull-on slacks and an old University of Minnesota sweatshirt that had seen better days. Doctor Bev’s mother wore no makeup, and she’d had, in Hannah’s opinion, a total of zero facelifts.

“Hello,” she said cheerily. “I’m Judy Thorndike. I saw you looking at the house next door.”

“Grace Benson from Up-Front Realty,” Andrea introduced herself. “This is my client, Mrs. Newhall.”

“Call me Joyce,” Hannah held out her hand. “I’m glad to meet you, Mrs. Thorndike.”

“ Judy. So what did you think of the house?”

“It’s just beautiful,” Hannah said truthfully, “but I think it might be a little too large for us.”

“How many children do you have?”

“Two,” Hannah replied. But at almost the same time, Andrea said, “Three.”

Hannah’s mind went on red alert. Andrea had strayed from the script. She latched on to the first explanation that occurred to her, and gave a little laugh. “I’m afraid Grace is guilty of counting chickens before they’re hatched. Or in this case, counting babies before they’re born. Our third won’t be making an appearance until right after Christmas.”

“Joyce was wondering about the schools in this area,” Andrea said, returning to the script.

“Oh, they’re very good. There’s a private elementary school, Scott Academy, only three blocks from here. It has an excellent reputation although it’s not inexpensive, if you know what I mean. The public schools are also very good, but the nearest, Taft Elementary, is almost a mile away. There’s an excellent preschool called Ready-Set-Learn that’s only two blocks from here. My granddaughter, Diana, goes there and she absolutely loves it. I just know she’s going to be terribly upset when we have to leave.”

“You have to leave?” Hannah asked.

“Yes. My daughter’s marrying a dentist, and his clinic is over forty miles from here. She’s a dentist too, and she works there now. They’re getting married next weekend, and she wants me to move into his house with her to take care of Diana while they work. But Diana and I have made such a nice life for ourselves here, that I just hate to give it all up and start over.”

“Oh, dear.” Hannah gave her a sympathetic glance. “Have you lived here long?”

“Over forty years. It’s a wonderful neighborhood. I can tell you all the names of the neighbors and where the best grocery stores are, and ... would you like to come in and have a cup of coffee with me? I just put on a second pot.”

“We’d love to,” Hannah accepted quickly. It was exactly as they’d hoped. Doctor Bev’s mother was friendly, and she’d invited them inside the house where Diana lived.