Carrot Cake Murder (Hannah Swensen, #10)(72)

“No, it’s something I had at my place. Ronni brought Fred back from Florida. She bought him on that trip she took with Bill. And then she moved and she didn’t have room, so I kept him at my place. I offered to give him back when she moved in across the hall, but she said she didn’t want Fred anymore because he didn’t match the colors in her living room.”

“I see,” Hannah said, wishing she hadn’t asked.

“Well, I’d better go. I’m really glad Moishe likes Fred. I got a new 50-inch television and he was in the way.”

Hannah walked Mike to the door, thanked him again, kissed him briefly, and sent him on his way. Then she closed and locked the door, and turned to stare at the fuchsia Phoenicopterus.

“I know you like Fred, now,” Hannah said, watching her cat rub his head up against the flamingo’s legs, “but do you know what he eats?”

Moishe turned to look at her, and Hannah thought he seemed concerned about the diet of Ronni’s second-hand shorebird.

“Fred eats shrimp, Moishe, lots and lots of shrimp. Maybe you’d better shred him up now. Then the next time I thaw a bag of shrimp for you, you won’t have any competition.”

“Rowww!” Moshe responded enigmatically, staring at her with his big yellow eyes.

“You’re right.” Hannah gave him a smile. “Maybe I’d better take a lesson from you when it comes to Fred’s first owner, and shred her, too.”





Chapter Twenty-Four


“’Bye, Moishe.” Hannah tossed him a few salmon-flavored kitty treats as she headed toward her condo door. “Try to be a good boy again today. I’ll be home early this afternoon to feed you.”

Her hand had just connected with the doorknob when the telephone rang. Hannah muttered a phrase she wouldn’t have used around her nieces in any circumstances and headed back to the kitchen to answer it. The hair on Moishe’s back wasn’t bristling, so it probably wasn’t Delores.

“Hello?” she said, wondering who’d be calling her this early.

“Hi, Hannah.”

“Norman!” Hannah began to smile as she recognized his voice. “Where are you?”

“At the airport in Atlantic City. We landed about twenty minutes ago. I’m just waiting to rent a car with GPS, and then I’ll be off to find Mood Indigo.”

Hannah glanced at the clock. It was five forty-five in the morning. That meant it was seven forty-five in Atlantic City. “It won’t be open this early,” she reminded him.

“I know. I’ll just drive over and take a look at it. Then I’ll have some breakfast.”

“When are you coming home?” Hannah couldn’t help but ask. It was silly since Norman had been gone for less than a day, but she already missed him.

“If things go the way I hope they will, I should be back early tomorrow morning, maybe sooner if everything works out.”

“Well, come by here first thing,” Hannah told him. “I don’t care how early it is. I want to hear all about it. Or if it’s past six in the morning, stop by The Cookie Jar. I should be at work by then.”

Hannah had just taken the last two trays of Cherry Winks from the oven and slid them onto the baker’s rack when the back door opened and Lisa came into the kitchen.

“Lisa! What are you doing here? I thought you were frying pancakes for the big Game Day breakfast this morning.”

“That was the plan, but it changed. I got your mother and Carrie to fill in for me.”

“Uh-oh!” Hannah winced visibly. “I’m not sure about Carrie, but I know for a fact that Mother’s never fried a pancake in her life. Dad always fixed breakfast for all of us.”

“Don’t worry. Your mother and Carrie are just setting the tables and mixing up the orange juice. That frees up Patsy to help Marge with the pancakes.”

Hannah gave a big sigh of relief. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re here. I finished the baking, so I really don’t need any help.”

“Yes, you do. I’m going to help Luanne open so that you can go out to the lake. Dad remembered something this morning, and he won’t tell anybody except you.”

“Is it about Gus’s murder?”

“I don’t know. Herb’s with him at the cottage, and they’re waiting for you to drive out. You don’t think Dad might have…I mean…I just can’t believe that…”

“Neither can I,” Hannah interrupted her, “and I’m positive that he didn’t. But maybe he remembered something from the past that’ll help catch the killer.”

Less than twenty minutes later, Hannah was knocking at the door of the cottage. She’d pushed her cookie truck to the limit on the highway and paid no heed to the health of her shocks as she’d flown over the gravel road that ran around the perimeter of Eden Lake.

“Hannah!” Herb greeted her, looking surprised. “How did you get here so fast?”

“Lisa said it was important.”

Herb began to frown, and Hannah knew he was mentally calculating the distance and figuring out her average speed. As the only traffic enforcement officer hired by the city of Lake Eden, he’d given out enough speeding tickets to know when someone had broken the law.