Apple Turnover Murder (Hannah Swensen, #13)(43)

“We all knew him, Mother,” Hannah said, settling for a partial truth. “Not only was he Michelle’s faculty advisor, he was a guest right here in my condo for Christmas Eve dinner. But of course you were here too, so you already knew that.”

“Yes. I just meant that … you seemed to be so upset when he bumped into you at Stewart Hall last winter when we were going to my small business class.”

“Of course I was upset. He scattered the contents of my purse all over the floor.”

“But you made some comment about how he wasn’t a nice man.”

“That’s perfectly true. I thought his apology wasn’t sincere. Anyone who was truly sorry would have gotten right down there on his knees and helped me pick up the contents of my purse, even though I said I didn’t need help.”

“Oh. Well … I suppose you’re right. He did seem more interested in getting to his class on time than he was about helping to right the damage he’d caused.”

“My point exactly. You remember what I said when you asked me about it, don’t you?”

“Yes. You said you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s right. I was trying to calm down, and talking about it would have just made me angry at him again.”

“Oh.” Delores gave her a searching look. “Then I totally misinterpreted the reason you didn’t want to discuss it?”

“Yes.” Hannah found she couldn’t quite meet her mother’s eyes, so she busied herself by placing several cookie bars on a plate and carrying them to the table.

“These look lovely,” Delores complimented her. “I’m glad you baked, dear.”

“So am I. Baking is wonderful therapy.” And then, because she just couldn’t resist, Hannah added, “You really ought to try it sometime.”

“Moi? Surely not, dear! Why would I even attempt to bake when you do it so well?”

Nicely said, Mother, Hannah thought, but she didn’t say it. Instead she motioned toward the plate. “Please help yourself.”

Delores selected one of the cookie bars and took a bite. A moment later, her face was wreathed in a smile. “Delicious!” she pronounced. “These are just wonderful, dear.”

“I’m glad you like them. Will you excuse me for a couple of minutes? Michelle and I need to finish the Wacky Cake batter.”

“The what, dear?”

“Wacky Cake. It’s a one-pan cake. You mix it and bake it in the same pan. And it doesn’t have any eggs.”

“That’s unusual for a cake?” Delores guessed.

“Very unusual,” Hannah told her. “This is a cake that Suzy’s grandmother used to make during the Second World War when there was rationing and sometimes people couldn’t buy eggs.”

“I remember your grandparents talking about that.”

“There’s a note on the recipe,” Hannah told her, retrieving the folded piece of paper from the counter. It says, From the time of World War Two when eggs could be scarce unless you kept chickens, there weren’t fifteen different types of flour in the grocery store, and tap water was safe to drink.”

Delores gave a little laugh. “I guess that says it all.”

“I’ll finish the cake,” Michelle offered. “You can sit down and talk with Mother.”

Hannah’s eyes narrowed as she shot a look at her baby sister. The last thing she wanted to do right now was converse with her mother, and Michelle knew it. Delores would want to know the whole story of how she’d found Bradford dead on the stage, and she didn’t feel like talking about it.

“Thanks a lot, Michelle,” Hannah said, and Michelle winced slightly. It was clear she knew that Hannah meant just the opposite.

She was stuck and she knew it. Hannah poured herself a cup of coffee and carried it to the table. But before she could sit down across from Delores, the doorbell rang. She’d been saved by the bell, the doorbell to be specific. Mike must be here to take her statement.

“That’s probably Mike,” she said to her mother. “He said he’d drop by to interview me.”

Delores looked pleased. “That’s perfect, dear. I was planning to ask you all about it. If Mike takes your statement right here at the table, you won’t have to tell your story twice.”

Hannah said nothing, although she was fairly certain Mike would insist on taking her statement in private. Even though he was no longer a complete slave to police procedure, she doubted he’d bend the rules just to satisfy her mother’s curiosity. She walked to the door and opened it, but it wasn’t Mike who was standing there on the landing.

“Hi, Hannah,” Andrea said, stepping into the condo. “I thought you might be upset, so I came over just as soon as I put Tracey to bed. Is that Mother’s car in your extra space?”

“Yes. Come on in. We’re in the kitchen, baking.”

“Mother’s baking?”

“Not Mother. Michelle and I are baking.”

“But … isn’t that a little inappropriate under the circumstances?”

“What’s inappropriate about baking? I do it every day.”

“I know that, but you just found another dead body. Aren’t you upset?”

“Of course she’s upset,” Delores answered Andrea’s question. “It’s like this, dear … some people cry when they’re upset. Other people yell and throw things. Hannah bakes. And Michelle bakes, too.”