Chocolate Chip Cookie Murder (Hannah Swensen #1)(105)

“I was just wondering how you know all that.”

Hannah shrugged. “I read it somewhere and it just stuck in my mind. Things do that sometimes.”

“Okay, I’ll take your word for it. Go on down to my office and I’ll get you some coffee from the break room. It’s fresher than what’s in the vending machine.”

“But is it better?” Hannah asked, and then she headed for his office. She’d find out soon enough.

Hannah walked down the hallway and opened the door with the fake brass plate that said, “William Todd, Detective” in stamped letters designed to look like engraving. She stepped inside the room that was more cubicle than office, and took one of the chairs in front of the desk. Regular deputies had desks in a type of squad room. Each desk was enclosed by chest-high walls that created a feeling of privacy if you were seated. That illusion was quickly shattered by standing up, and deputies practiced what they called the “over the back fence” communication all the time. When you needed to talk to another deputy, you simply stood up, peered over the walls, and shouted.

When Bill had made detective, one of the perks was an office with real walls, an actual door that locked, and a nonfunctioning window that looked over the guest parking spaces. As she waited, Hannah turned to look out Bill’s window. Her cookie truck was in plain sight, appearing more wine-colored than red in the wash of bluish light from the spotlights mounted on the front of the building. No other “guests” had arrived. Her truck was the only vehicle to break the profile of the flat, white snow stretching across the treeless expanse of county land that ended abruptly at the road.

Hannah heard footfalls outside in the hallway. It must be Bill with the coffee. She quickly stuck a smile on her face and took a deep breath to steady herself. It wasn’t in her nature to be duplicitous. Most people could tell when she was feeding them a line simply to get information. But Bill had been at work for over five hours already, and he was bound to be tired. Perhaps he wouldn’t tumble to the fact that this was far more than a social call.

“Look who I found in the break room,” Bill said, stepping in with the coffee. “I told him you brought cookies and he insisted on coming along.”

Hannah turned, expecting to see Rick Murphy or one of the other deputies she knew, but instead she found herself staring at Mike Kingston. What was he doing here so early? As head detective, he worked regular hours and never drew a double unless there was a big case or…

“Hi, Mike,” she said, interrupting her own train of thought.

“Hannah.” Mike took the other chair in front of Bill’s desk and reached out to touch her hand. “You’re up early.”

“I’m always up early. I have to bake before we open.” Hannah met his friendly blue eyes and fought the urge to lean closer. The man was charismatic, not to mention incredibly attractive. “I didn’t know you worked graveyards.”

It wasn’t until Mike laughed that Hannah realized she’d made a joke. A homicide detective working graveyards. Very funny. “Sorry about that,” she apologized. “I was just surprised to see you here this time of the morning.”

“I’m a morning person. I like to come in when it’s quiet and ease into the day. Bill said you wanted to talk to him. I can leave if it’s personal.”

“No! I mean…it’s not personal at all. It’s theoretical. At least I hope it’s theoretical.” Hannah took a deep breath and went into the speech she’d rehearsed during her drive from the condo.

“Lisa’s cousin ran away from home, and she’s only fifteen. Her mom thinks she’s bunking in with a friend and she’ll come back when she gets tired of sharing a bathroom, but she asked Lisa what would happen if the girl got picked up by the police.”

Bill smiled as he reached for a cookie. “That’s easy, Hannah. She’s underage, so the authorities would return her to the custody of her parents.”

“But what if she won’t tell the authorities who her parents are or where they live?”

“That makes it a little harder.” Bill handed the sack of cookies to Mike, who took one and passed it back. “Then the authorities will remand her to the custody of Child Protective Services until the parents can be located. What kind of cookies are these, Hannah? They’re great!”

“Butter-Scotchies. They’re made with butterscotch chips and rolled oats.” Hannah did her best to curb her impatience. She needed more information, and she had to be careful neither man suspected that she was describing Candy and her own situation at The Cookie Jar.

“These are perfect for breakfast,” Mike said, reaching for another, “especially because they’ve got oatmeal. My mother used to try to get me to eat it every morning, and I would have if she’d baked it in cookies like these.”

Hannah smiled to acknowledge the compliment, but it was time to get down to business. “Let’s say this runaway turns up right here in Lake Eden, and she refuses to cooperate with you. She won’t give her last name, or her hometown, or even her home state. She claims she’s over eighteen, but she doesn’t look it and she can’t prove it. What steps will you take?”

“I’ll contact Lisa and tell her to call her aunt. The girl can stay with Lisa and her father until her mother comes to get her.”