Red Velvet Cupcake Murder

 

 

CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE MURDER

 

STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE MURDER

 

BLUEBERRY MUFFIN MURDER

 

LEMON MERINGUE PIE MURDER

 

FUDGE CUPCAKE MURDER

 

SUGAR COOKIE MURDER

 

PEACH COBBLER MURDER

 

CHERRY CHEESECAKE MURDER

 

KEY LIME PIE MURDER

 

CANDY CANE MURDER

 

CARROT CAKE MURDER

 

CREAM PUFF MURDER

 

PLUM PUDDING MURDER

 

APPLE TURNOVER MURDER

 

DEVIL’S FOOD CAKE MURDER

 

GINGERBREAD COOKIE MURDER

 

JOANNE FLUKE’S LAKE EDEN COOKBOOK

 

CINNAMON ROLL MURDER

 

RED VELVET CUPCAKE MURDER

 

 

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

JOANNE FLUKE

KENSINGTON BOOKS
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

Hugs to Ruel and the kids, my chief taste testers. Oodles of love to the grandkids, who think the four food groups are cookies, pies, cakes, and fudge.

 

Thank you to my friends and neighbors: Mel & Kurt, Lyn & Bill, Lu, Gina, Adrienne, Jay, Bob, Laura Levine & Mark, Danny, Judy Q., Dr. Bob & Sue, Richard & Krista, Mark B., Angelique, Daryl and her staff at Groves Accountancy, Mandy at Faux Library, and everyone at Boston Private Bank.

 

Thank you to my Minnesota friends: Lois & Neal, Bev & Jim, Lois & Jack, Val, Ruthann, Lowell, Lila & Curt, Dorothy & Sister Sue, Mary & Jim, Tim Hedges, and the waiter at Manny’s Steakhouse.

 

Special thanks to my great Editor-in-Chief and friend, John Scognamiglio.

 

Hugs all around to Steve, Laurie, Doug, David, Adam, Peter, Robin, Karen, Vida, Lesleigh, Darla, and all the other folks at Kensington Publishing who keep Hannah sleuthing and baking up a storm.

 

Thanks to Hiro Kimura, my superb cover artist, who’s outdone himself on this cover. Those cupcakes are definitely a work of art!

 

Thank you to Lou Malcangi at Kensington for designing Hannah’s gorgeous covers.

 

Thanks to John at Placed4Success.com for Hannah’s movie and TV spots, and for handling my social media.

 

Thanks to Kathy Allen for the final testing of Hannah’s recipes and taking a bite of banana for the Hannah team.

 

Hugs to my friend Trudi Nash for going with me on book tours and convincing me that she likes it.

 

Thank you to JoAnn Hecht for making Hannah’s recipes look beautiful and taste yummy at launch parties. Special thanks to Gail DeVri for taking me up to the Seattle Space Needle and pointing out their window-washing cage.

 

Hugs to Lois Brown, my wonderful food stylist in Phoenix, who bakes almost as much as Hannah does.

 

Thank you to Dr. Rahhal, Dr. and Cathy Line, Dr. Wallen and Dr. Niemeyer.

 

Thanks to Jamie Wallace for keeping my Web site,
MurderSheBaked.com
up to date and looking great!

 

Thank you to Leah and Fern for looking after Hannah on Facebook.

 

Thanks to the “Double D’s” for giving me at least one laugh a day.

 

Thank you to all the readers who sent family recipes for
Hannah to try.
Let’s hope she doesn’t run out of chocolate!

“
Y
ou’re staring at me again!” Hannah Swensen emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, a towel wrapped around her unruly red curls. She grabbed her favorite robe, shrugged into it quickly, and turned to face the only other occupant of her bedroom. “It’s not polite to stare at me when I’m not wearing anything and you’re sitting there in your fur coat.”

When there was no response to her comment, Hannah sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the package of panty hose she’d purchased on her way home from The Cookie Jar, her coffee shop and bakery. She wasn’t looking forward to putting on her best formal clothing on the hottest, muggiest evening ever recorded in Lake Eden, Minnesota’s history. Actually, if she was completely honest, she
never
enjoyed donning formal clothing, even when the weather cooperated. She was much more comfortable in jeans and a billboard T-shirt, or, as a concession to her family, a comfortable pantsuit. She wasn’t looking forward to tonight’s party either. She’d much rather spend the evening on her living room couch, sipping cold lemonade and watching a movie on television with one of her boyfriends, either Norman Rhodes or Mike Kingston. Unfortunately, her presence tonight was mandatory since The Cookie Jar was catering dessert.

“It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity,” she told her roommate, who was watching her intently. “At least that’s what Great-Grandma Elsa always used to say. But she also used to say that nobody in Minnesota needed air-conditioning, that a fan blowing over a block of ice was enough.”

This comment was met with widened eyes and what she interpreted as an incredulous look.

“I know,” she reassured him. “Great-Grandma Elsa was wrong. Or maybe it was cooler back in her time. I’ll turn the air-conditioner on high just as soon as I’m through getting dressed.”

Even though the sun would be setting while she was gone, Hannah knew that air-conditioning would be necessary. In some areas of the country, the nights cooled off considerably, but not in central Minnesota. Perhaps the temperature would drop a few degrees as night approached, but that wouldn’t provide much relief. The outside walls of her condo had been baking in the sun all day and they would still be warm to the touch long after midnight.

It was hot in her bedroom. She’d opened the window to let in some outside air, but the curtains hung limp and lifeless. There was no breeze and the humidity was still sky high. Hannah could testify to that fact because even though she’d dried off thoroughly after her shower, her skin felt moist and hot again.

“It’s not even summer yet,” she told him, sighing a bit. “The Summer Solstice isn’t until June twentieth this year and today is only the ninth. Technically, it’s still spring and this afternoon it was hot enough to fry an egg outside.”

It was difficult to tell, but Hannah thought he looked impressed at this news. Earlier in the afternoon, when the mercury had reached its highest peak in the thermometer that hung outside the window in the coffee shop, her customers had decided that it was hot enough to cook an egg on the hood of a car. Hannah’s partner, Lisa Herman Beeseman, had volunteered her old black Ford for the test and the egg was duly cracked on the hood. After twelve minutes in the blazing sun, the yolk was still a bit runny, but the white was definitely cooked. Since no one wanted to stand around in the heat any longer to wait for the yolk to solidify, the dozen or so customers who’d trooped out to the parking lot to watch had declared the experiment a success.

Hannah rolled up one leg of the panty hose and glanced over at him again. It seemed to her that he was smiling. “Watch it,” she warned. “I don’t know if you can laugh or not, but if you even
look
amused, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” She paused to choose the most effective threat. “I’ll put you on a diet!”

“Rrrowwww!” The twenty-three pound orange and white tomcat, who was perched on top of her dresser, let out a howl.

“That’s right. A
diet
. And that means no more salmon-flavored, fish-shaped kitty treats. So if I were you, I’d be very careful!”

Hannah gave a little nod of satisfaction as Moishe turned his head away. She wasn’t sure if he’d understood her words, or simply reacted to the tone in her voice, but the desired effect was the same. As she looked down at the rolled sock in her hand, she thought about how much she hated to put on panty hose. The way she saw it, she had two choices. She could stretch out on the bed on her back, raise the panty hose up in the air, and try to thrust both feet into the sock parts at the same time. That required coordination she wasn’t sure she possessed. The second method was to sit on the edge of the bed, lean over and place one foot in the sock part, pull the panty hose up part way, and then try to get her other foot in. Either way required perfect balance and the skill of a contortionist.

“Gotta do it,” she said, deciding to try the second method. But just as she began to thrust her right foot into the toe of the sock, the doorbell chimed.

There was a ripping noise that sounded very loud to Hannah’s ears, and she let out an exasperated expletive that she would never have used around her two nieces. Her toe had poked completely through the sock part and there was no way she could wear these pantyhose now. It was a good thing she’d bought an extra pair.

Hannah reached for her slippers and glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was only six-fifteen and her sister wasn’t due to pick her up until seven. Barring some kind of family emergency or national disaster, there was no way Andrea would be forty-five minutes early.

The doorbell pealed again and Hannah stood up. Salesmen weren’t allowed in her condo complex, but sometimes one slipped past the guard at the kiosk. It could also be a neighbor with a problem and now that she was a member of the homeowners’ association board, she had a duty to listen. As she hurried down the carpeted hallway with Moishe at her heels, she thought about how interruptions always seemed to come at precisely the wrong time. But was there a right time for interruptions? She really wasn’t sure.

Hannah glanced down at her cat as they arrived at the door. She was hoping that Moishe would give her some sort of clue to the identity of the person standing outside the door. “Who is it?” she asked him in a whisper.

If ever a cat could shrug, Moishe did. But there were other signs that told Hannah something about their visitor. His ears weren’t back against his head, and he didn’t seem agitated in any other way. That meant it couldn’t possibly be her mother. Delores Swensen was not Moishe’s favorite person and her mother had several pairs of snagged silk stockings to prove it.

“Okay, it’s not Mother,” she whispered. “And it can’t be Norman. He’s my date for the party, but he’s working late at the dental clinic and he said he’d meet me there.”

Moishe moved closer to the door and the end of his tail began to flick in excitement. It was definitely someone he knew. Hannah was about to unlock the door to see for herself, when she remembered that she should check the peephole.

One glance and Hannah’s mouth dropped open. It
was
Andrea! She unlocked the door in a rush and pulled it open. “What’s wrong?” she asked the second she saw her sister’s worried expression.

“Everything!” Andrea exclaimed, stepping in.

“Bethie’s okay, isn’t she? And Bill? Tracey?”

“They’re all fine. Mother called and told me to get right over here.” Andrea shut the door behind her. “I didn’t even have time to finish my French braid.”

“You can do it in the guest bathroom. The light’s good and there’s a vanity in there.” Hannah stopped speaking as a dire possibility occurred to her. “Mother’s all right, isn’t she?”

“Mother’s fine. She’s worried about
you
.”

“Me?”

“Yes. She wanted me to get right over here and give you the news in person before anyone else told you about it.”

“What news?”

“Bad news.”

“Is anyone sick? Or injured? Or . . . or dead?” Hannah felt her heart rate soar at the possibility.

“No. Nothing like that. You’d better sit down, Hannah. It’s shocking.”

“What’s shocking?”

“The bad news.”

Hannah sat down on the couch. Andrea was so agitated, she wasn’t making much sense, but if she sat down it might have a calming effect. “Okay, I’m sitting. Now tell me.”

“You’ve got to promise not to get too upset.”

“Why should I get upset? I don’t even know what you’re talking about yet.”

“All right then.” Andrea took a deep breath. “
She’s
back!”

“Who’s back?”

“
Her!
Mother and I just don’t know what to do! We never thought we’d see her again, but she’s back and she’s staying out at the Lake Eden Inn with Roger Dalworth. Sally called to tell Mother. But that’s not the worst part of it. Sally told Mother that she’s coming to the grand opening with Roger tonight!”

“Sally’s coming to the opening with Roger?”

“No!
She’s
coming to the opening with Roger. And that’s why I had to get right over here to warn you.”

“Thanks, but I still don’t know who you’re talking about.” Hannah grabbed her sister’s arm and pulled her down on the couch. “Take a deep breath and calm down.”

“I can’t! Tonight is going to be a nightmare. If I didn’t have to go, I wouldn’t, but I have to go because I’m selling the condos for Roger. And it’ll be even worse for you. I just don’t know how we’re going to get through it with
her
there!”

“Who’s
her
?” Hannah asked, doing her best not to sound exasperated at Andrea’s overuse of pronouns.

“Doctor Bev! She’s back in town! And Sally thinks she’s dead set on revenge!”