Candy Cane Murder (2 page)

“Here's your receipt for the presents, Wayne.” Sally passed him a folded sheet of paper. “Mayor Bascomb did it through the Lake Eden Boosters this year.”

“My receipt?”

“You know, the one you need for your corporate taxes. Mayor Bascomb said to tell your accounting department that the Boosters got their nonprofit status in June last year. He'll fax you a copy of the paperwork for your files.”

“Right.” He shoved the receipt in his pocket and turned to Hannah. “I'll need the rest of that candy. I'm playing Santa at the store tomorrow.”

What a cheapskate!
Hannah thought. And being a cheapskate was probably how rich people got rich in the first place. Wayne Bergstrom owned Bergstrom's Department Store, the busiest and most profitable retailer at the Tri-County Mall. He had displays of miniature candy canes at every checkout counter, the tubs stacked one on top of the other like red and white striped pyramids. There was no reason he needed to take what Hannah had come to think of as
her
leftovers.

“Here,” Hannah said, handing over the basket.

“It's her basket,” he said, gesturing to Sally. “Dump the candy in my pocket.” Then he held open one of the massive pockets on the jacket of his Santa suit, and waited for Hannah to dump them in.

“I'll drop off the elf costume at the store tomorrow unless you want it now,” Hannah told him. “It'll only take me a couple of minutes to change.”

“Keep it. We couldn't sell it anyway now that you stretched it out. You can use it again next year.”

“No flying pigs around here,” Hannah muttered just under her breath, and she was rewarded by a startled chortle from Sally. When Sally had asked her if she would be Wayne's regular elf for future Christmas parties at the Lake Eden Inn, Hannah had responded with,
Sure, when pigs fly!

With Sally struggling to maintain her composure, Hannah was just searching around for a topic of polite conversation when Sally's husband, Dick, walked up.

“Good job, Wayne.” Dick clapped him on the back. “The kids loved you. Go change out of your suit and I'll mix you a Peppermint Martini.”

“Tempting, but not tonight,” he answered in his husky voice. “Got to rest my throat.”

“Hot water, honey, and lemon,” Hannah advised him. “It's like making hot lemonade. Then pour in a little brandy and top it off with grated nutmeg.”

“Does the brandy help?” he asked her, clearing his throat with obvious difficulty.

“Not really. Your throat still hurts just as much, but after three or four cups, you don't care anymore.”

PEPPERMINT MARTINI

Hannah's 1
^st
Note: These recipes are from Richella and Priscilla, Dick Laughlin's bartenders at the Lake Eden Inn. Dick says if you don't have martini glasses, you should run right out and buy them. Both Dick and Sally swear that these martinis taste a hundred percent better in martini glasses.

Combine in a shaker and shake with ice. Strain into two martini glasses and garnish with miniature candy canes hooked over the rims of the glasses.

PEPPER MINT MARTINI

Hannah's 2
^nd
Note: Here's the second recipe. You may notice that “pepper” and “mint” are separated in the title. The reason will become obvious when you read the recipe.

Crush the mint with the back of a spoon. Combine with the other ingredients in a shaker and shake with ice. Strain into two martini glasses and garnish with miniature candy canes hooked over the rims of the glasses.

H
annah gave one more glance in the mirror and this time she smiled. Claire Rodgers, her business neighbor on Main Street, had chosen Hannah's party outfit from her selection at Beau Monde Fashions. Claire and Hannah had worked out a barter system in the two years they'd been neighbors. Hannah dropped in with cookies for Claire, and Claire sold Hannah fashionable clothing at her cost. Tonight's outfit was a color Hannah had always wanted to wear, one she thought of as “lavender blue,” the title of one of her grandmother's favorite folk songs. She'd always assumed it would clash with her hair, but Claire had urged her to try it on and it worked perfectly. The romantic lines of the long, draped jacket hid two of her figure faults, and the black silk pants emphasized her height and made her look thinner.

One last smoothing pat to the curls she'd given up trying to tame while she was still in grade school, and Hannah was ready for the party. She turned to look at the elf costume still hanging on a hook. Wayne had told her she could have it, but she knew she'd never wear it again unless someone had a gun to her head. And even then, she might take several moments to think it over. If she left it there behind the door, perhaps someone would take it before the night was over. Someone who'd enjoy it. Someone who didn't have bright red hair and ten extra pounds around the middle.

“How're you doing, Hannah?” a voice greeted her as she stepped out of the dressing room and Hannah turned to see Cory Reynolds, Wayne Bergstrom's brother-in-law, leaning up against the wall. Since there was no other reason he'd be in this particular hallway, he was obviously waiting for her.

“Fine, Cory. How about you?” Hannah put on a smile. Cory was a nice enough guy, and it wasn't his fault that his sister had married a rich tightwad like Wayne.

“Things are good. I just wanted to tell you that the story you told about how Wayne lost his voice was great.”

“Thanks. I was hoping it would work. Wayne sounded awful.”

“I know. He's even worse now. I ran into him outside the back door and he said he was going straight home to have some of that hot lemonade and brandy you told him about.”

“Good. It should make him feel better.”

“I really didn't think he'd be able to do Santa tonight. I even offered to take over, but he wouldn't have it.”

Too bad you didn't
, said the voice in Hannah's head,
because maybe you would have given me the rest of those candy canes!
But that was meanspirited and this was the Christmas season. She could afford to be a little charitable. “Has Wayne been hoarse all day?” she asked.

Cory shook his head. “He was fine at noon. We had a manager's meeting at the store during lunch.”

“You mean you had to give up your lunch break?”

“Yeah, but at least it was on a weekday. Sometimes we have managers' meetings on Saturdays. Or Sundays. Wayne says that anyone who's not willing to come in twenty-four/seven will never be a manager at Bergstrom's.”

“I'll bet that makes him really popular,” Hannah muttered. But she must have said it a little louder than she thought, because Cory gave a startled bark of laughter.

“It doesn't put him in the top ten for the Best Boss of the Year award. But it's like he always says…it's his money and it's his store. He can run it any way he wants to.”

“What department do you manage?” Hannah continued to make polite conversation.

“Wonderful Weddings. I moved there last year from Men's Clothing. We book weddings and provide everything the wedding party needs.”

“Sounds nice,” Hannah said, wondering why Cory had chosen to talk to her. Perhaps he was just lonely, now that Wayne had left?

“So tell me about Wayne's laryngitis,” she prompted. “Sally said he could barely talk when he came in the kitchen door.”

“That figures. He called me around five-thirty on my cell phone and he was already pretty hoarse. I had to ask him to repeat himself a couple of times and it didn't exactly make him happy. That's when I asked him if he wanted me to take over for him at the party.”

Hannah heard Sally's voice over the loudspeaker, inviting everyone to come to the buffet tables. Cory heard it too, and he extended his arm. “Shall we, Hannah?”

“Absolutely. Thank you, Cory.” Hannah took his arm and hoped he hadn't heard her stomach growl as they headed off to join the line for the buffet.

 

Sally's dessert buffet was splendiferous. Hannah eyed a piece of Italian Apple Tort and was about to succumb to temptation when she remembered how tight the tights on her elf costume had been.

“Trying to decide?” Mike asked, causing her to jump.

“Trying to resist,” Hannah corrected him. “How do you do that anyway?”

“Do what?”

“Sneak up on people.”

“We learn it in cop school.” Mike flashed her a grin that made her stomach do a little flip-flop. If someone conducted a poll of the single, divorced, and widowed women in Lake Eden, Minnesota, Mike Kingston, Chief Detective at the Winnetka County Sheriff's Department, would be a shoo-in for most desirable husband. “Too bad you took off your costume. I thought you looked cute in it.”

Hannah stared at him for a minute in utter disbelief and then she said, “I think the county pays for that.”

“Pays for
what?”

“Eye surgery. I understand they're doing wonders with lasers now.”

Mike laughed so loudly several guests at the buffet turned to look at him. “Very funny, Hannah. But I really did think you looked cute. If you're not going to have a slice of that apple thing, do you want to dance?”

Did she want to dance? Hannah ranked that question right up there with
Do you want to breathe?
Did she want Mike to put his arms around her and hold her close? Did she want to look up at him and realize that their lips were only inches apart? Did he even have to
ask?!

“Hannah?” Mike prompted, and Hannah came out of her musings to realize that he was holding out his arm.

“Thanks, Mike. I'd love to dance,” she said quickly, accepting his arm and walking with him to the dance floor.

Dancing with Mike must have broken the ice, because once the last notes of music had faded away, Norman appeared to claim her for the next dance. After that, Andrea's husband, Sheriff Bill Todd, piloted her around the floor. Then there was a series of local men, one right after the other, including Cory Reynolds, Mayor Bascomb, Doc Knight, Reverend Knudson, her host Dick Laughlin, and the town druggist, Jon Walker.

“I'm not moving for at least ten minutes,” she declared, sinking into a chair at the table she was sharing with her sisters. She slipped off her shoes and wiggled her feet, hoping that the feeling would eventually return to her toes.

“Feet hurt from all that dancing?” Andrea asked her.

“Sure do. And skipping in those pointy toed elf shoes didn't help either.” She glanced around and didn't spot Bill. Lonnie Murphy, one of Bill's deputies and Michelle's date for the evening, was nowhere in sight either. “Where are Bill and Lonnie?”

“Lonnie's dancing with his mother. His dad's outside fixing a car,” Michelle explained.

“And Bill's dancing with Barbara Donnelly,” Andrea named the head secretary at the sheriff's station. “I'm so glad she's not married!”

Michelle and Hannah exchanged a
Did-you-understand-that?
glance, immediately followed by a
Not-me!
shrug.

“Okay, I'll bite.” Hannah caved in and turned to Andrea. “Why are you glad Barbara's not married?”

“Because then her husband would ask me to dance, and I'd have to do it to be polite. And I'm too tired to dance. I made four batches of Whippersnappers this afternoon.”

Hannah stared at her sister in utter amazement. When most women talked about “batches,” they were referring to cookies, brownies, muffins, or some type of baked goods. Surely Andrea had another explanation. As far as Hannah knew, her sister didn't even know how to turn on her oven, much less mix up a batch of anything and bake it.

“Tracey has her dance class Christmas party tomorrow and I promised Danielle I'd make enough for everybody. Most of the other mothers are bringing refreshments, too.”

There was total silence while Hannah and Michelle digested that information. Refreshments meant food, and both of them knew that Andrea's only culinary skill was heating water in the microwave for instant coffee or Jell-O.

“What's the matter?” Andrea asked, realizing at last that her sisters were perfectly silent.

“We're wondering what…uh…Whippersnappers are,” Michelle explained.

“They're cookies.”

“You baked
cookies?!
” both Michelle and Hannah exclaimed in unison.

“Yes, I did. And they were so easy! Carli Spurr e-mailed me with the recipe. You remember Carli, don't you? She coached the cheerleading squad.”

“I remember,” Hannah said, her mind flying through dire possibilities. Perhaps, through some miracle, Andrea had managed to mix up and bake several batches of cookies, but they couldn't possibly be good. Of course she couldn't say that without hurting her sister's feelings, and Andrea looked very proud of her accomplishment. It would be kinder to pretend that everything was fine, at least until she found out more.

“I've never heard of Whippersnappers before,” she commented, fishing for information. “What kind of cookie are they?”

“I made lemon. Carli said you could make any flavor, and Tracey really likes lemon.”

“Lemon's good.” Hannah gave a quick smile, but she felt more like groaning. Lemon cookies usually called for lemon zest and she was almost positive Andrea had never heard of it.

“Did you have to go out and buy a zester?”

Michelle asked the question, and Hannah turned to give her a quick nod. She was willing to bet that they were on the same page.

“What's a zester?”

That answered
that
question! Hannah gave a little groan before she responded. “A zester is like a grater for lemon peel,” she explained.

“Why would I need that? There's no lemon peel in Carli's recipe.”

“No lemon zest, either?” Hannah quizzed her, trying to cover all the bases.

“No. What does lemon zest do?”

“It makes things taste really lemony,” Michelle answered her.

“Well, I didn't need any zest, because my Whippersnappers taste nice and lemony without it. Is that a word?”

“Yes. Zest is the yellow part of the lemon peel,” Hannah told her.

“Not
that
. I was talking about
lemony
. Is lemony a word?”

“If it's not, it should be,” Hannah settled that query and moved on toward her objective. “If Michelle and I drop in at Tracey's party, can we taste your cookies?”

“Sure, but you don't have to wait until then. Just give me a ride home and we'll have some. Bethie caught a little cold and I want to check in on her.”

“Good idea,” Hannah said, giving her sister an approving nod. Andrea had been a nervous first-time mom with Tracey, reading every baby care book she could get her hands on, and trying to follow everyone's advice. Of course that was impossible, but Andrea still felt like a failure as a mother whenever Tracey cried. Finally, in desperation, she'd gone back to work as a real estate agent and hired the best nanny in Lake Eden, “Grandma” McCann, to take care of Tracey.

“Won't Bill mind if you leave?” Michelle asked her.

“No. He's already danced with me twice, and that's all the time he has for me tonight. He's got fifteen ladies to go.”

“Fifteen ladies?” Hannah asked, glancing at Michelle, who looked every bit as puzzled as she felt.

“I asked Sally for an advance copy of the guest list and Bill and I made up our game plan last night. A sheriff has certain obligations, you know, especially if he wants to serve more than one term. Bill has to play politics and dance with all the important women here.”

“Are you talking about women who are married to important men?” Michelle asked, frowning a bit.

“Not necessarily. Rose McDermott is on Bill's list. You might not think she's important, but a lot of local people go into the café. If Rose likes Bill and thinks he's doing a good job, she'll mention it and that can influence a lot of people when they go to the polls.”

“You're right.” Michelle looked thoughtful.

“And then there's Bertie Straub. She's not shy about telling her customers down at the Cut 'n Curl who they should vote for.”

Hannah was amused. The next election for county sheriff was over three years away. “So you're already launching Bill's campaign?”