Apple Turnover Murder (Hannah Swensen, #13)(47)

Hannah complied, telling the events in her own words. She recounted how she’d wondered why the curtain wasn’t going up, how she’d glanced at the stage as she passed the wings, and how she’d seen Bradford sitting there in a chair. She told Mike how she’d attempted to wake him verbally from what she’d assumed was a nap. And then she stopped, shivering slightly.

“Good,” Mike praised her. “Now tell me what happened next.”

Hannah took another swallow of coffee in an attempt to clear the lump in her throat. She wasn’t sure why it was so hard to talk about Bradford, but it was. “When shaking his shoulder the first time didn’t work, I shook him harder. And then he toppled out of the chair and onto the floor and I … I saw he was … dead.”

“Approximately how much time do you think elapsed between the point when you realized that Professor Ramsey was dead and the call you placed to me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe two or three minutes? I stared at him for a while. It was just such a shock when he tumbled out of that chair. I remember noticing that he’d been eating one of our apple turnovers, because it was on the floor and half of it was gone.”

“What made you suspect he was dead?”

“I knew that just falling to the floor from a chair shouldn’t kill him. He hit his head, but not that hard. It was mostly as if he just crumpled, you know?”

“I know. Go on.”

“Well … he wasn’t moving and he didn’t seem to be breathing, either. I knew something was wrong, so I got out my LED light on my keychain. It took a minute for me to find it in my purse. When I switched it on, I looked at him and I knew.”

“How did you know?”

“I’m not sure, but I just knew. I didn’t feel for a pulse. I really hate to do that with dead people, and I was pretty sure he was dead. And that was when I called you so you could come and take care of it.”

“Thanks, Hannah.” Mike made a final note in his book and put down the pen. “That was very good. You covered almost everything without being asked.”

“That must be due to the practice I’m getting. How many dead bodies have I found anyway?”

“I think this makes it over a dozen, but who’s counting?”

Hannah refilled their coffee mugs and passed the platter of goodies again. This time Mike took an Aggression Cookie. “How did he die? Do you know yet?” she asked, before he could take a bite.

“I’m sorry, but that information …” Mike stopped and shrugged. “I don’t know why I’m bothering to give you the official party line. You’ll find out anyway. Professor Ramsey was stabbed.”

“Stabbed? But I didn’t see a knife!”

“That’s because the killer pulled it out and took it with him.”

Hannah felt a sudden chill and she cupped her hands around her mug of coffee. How close had she come to surprising the killer and putting herself in mortal danger?

“What’s the matter?” Mike asked.

“I was just wondering how close I came to …” Hannah stopped and swallowed hard.

“Interrupting the killer?” Mike waited until Hannah nodded and then he went on. “Did you see anyone backstage?”

“No. Not a soul.”

“Did you hear footsteps? Breathing? Anything that might have indicated another human presence somewhere in the vicinity?”

Hannah thought about that for a moment, and then she shook her head. “No. I think I would have known if someone were there.”

“How would you know if you didn’t see or hear them?”

“This might sound a little crazy, but I would have gotten that creepy feeling I get when I’m supposed to be alone and I’m not.”

“Okay. I’ll buy that.”

“You will?” Hannah was surprised. “It’s not exactly scientific.”

“Maybe not, but I get it, too. And it could be scientific.”

“How?”

Mike grinned and Hannah thought he looked a little sheepish. “It’s like a change in atmosphere, or in air pressure, or something like that.”

“You mean … you can feel that there’s another body in the space?”

“Yes. It’s like there’s a certain amount of air in the room. That’s what you expect when you first walk in. But then you realize there’s less air than you expected because somebody else who’s not supposed to be there is breathing some of it.”

“That’s it!” Hannah stared at him in amazement. “That’s exactly what I mean, but I never thought to say it that way.”

There was a moment when both of them were silent, eyes locked together, minds merged as one. And then both of them broke the connection. Hannah’s gaze dropped to her coffee mug, and Mike’s to his notebook.

“Only a couple more questions and we’re through,” Mike told her. “Do you know anyone who might have wanted to kill Professor Ramsey?”

“Me,” Hannah said, acting on instinct and jumping off into space like a cliff diver trusting that he’d hit the water just right and find the coins that the tourists had thrown for him.

It took Mike a moment to recover. Then he looked up from his notebook and stared at her. “What did you say?”