Chocolate Chip Cookie Murder (Hannah Swensen #1)(49)

Norman was obviously impressed because he accepted a caviar-laden toast point from the waiter and smiled in anticipation as he raised it to his mouth. Then he looked over at Hannah and froze. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I should have asked. Would you care for some caviar?”

“No, thanks. I know that beluga’s the best that money can buy, but I grew up right next to a lake. It’s still all just fish eggs to me.”

While Norman busied himself with the caviar, Hannah walked over to survey the rest of the buffet. She’d heard that Judith had hired the best caterer in Minneapolis. Hannah could believe that as she walked past evenly fanned slices of beef fillet, platters of Smithfield ham, a whole poached salmon on a bed of dill, and several massive plates of carved chicken and turkey breast. There was a silver platter of tender baby asparagus, each tip pointing outward to form a giant wheel with a silver pitcher of hollandaise in the center, and a large crystal bowl that was filled to the brim with glazed carrots. Hannah spared only a passing glance for the tiny red potatoes that had been steamed in their colorful jackets and the deviled quail eggs. Her area of interest was the dessert table.

The desserts were gorgeous. There were small bites of cake that were frosted and decorated with tiny edible flowers, an array of truffles on a platter strewn with rose petals, chocolate-dipped strawberries with their stems intact, and a large silver basket filled with sugar cookies. Her professional interest aroused, Hannah selected a cookie and tasted it.

The cookie crunched in her mouth, just the way it should, but it was definitely on the dry side. The anticipated burst of butter that should have exploded on her taste buds was lacking. There was no vanilla taste, either, and Hannah began to frown. These cookies looked nice, but they really had no taste at all.

“Excuse me?” The female caterer, dressed in an expensive suit, walked over to give Hannah a nervous smile. “I couldn’t help noticing your reaction to the cookies. Don’t you like them?”

Hannah thought about tact. Then she thought about new business. New business won out and she decided that she wouldn’t be doing the caterer any favors if she didn’t tell her the truth. She stepped closer and lowered her voice so that none of the other guests would hear. “The cookies are disappointing. I hope you didn’t make them.”

“You don’t pull any punches, do you?” The caterer looked amused.

“Not really. Did you make them?”

“No. I bought them from a supplier.”

Hannah was relieved. At least she didn’t have to tell the caterer that her own recipe was at fault. “Don’t buy from them anymore. They use cheap shortening instead of butter and they’re much too light on the vanilla. They overbake them, too. They probably set their ovens low to keep them from browning and leave them in for too long.”

“How do you know they use shortening?”

“There’s no butter taste,” Hannah explained. “A sugar cookie without butter is like a car without gas. It looks good, but it doesn’t work.”

The caterer laughed. “You’ve got a point. How could you tell that they’re overbaked?”

“That’s easy. They’re as dry as sawdust. Taste one—you’ll see.”

“I already have and you’re right. Are you in food service?”

“Just cookies. I own a place called The Cookie Jar. If you give me your card, I’ll send you a sample box of good sugar cookies.”

The caterer reached into her pocket and handed Hannah a card. “I’ve been thinking about switching suppliers. Could you handle a standing order?”

“That depends on the order.” As Hannah opened her dress purse and stuck the card inside, she wished that she’d had cards made. She really hadn’t thought it was important until now. “Call me if you like the cookies and we’ll discuss it. I’ll include my card when I send them.”

After the caterer had left, Hannah turned to look for Norman. She found him standing a few feet behind her and he was grinning from ear to ear. “What is it, Norman?”

“You. You’re amazing, Hannah.” Norman took her arm and walked her toward the grouping of small tables that were set up for dining. “If I went after new business the way you do, I’d have to enlarge the office and put in a revolving door.”

Hannah laughed. “I guess you’re right. When it comes to my cookies, I know they’re the best and I’m not shy about telling people. But I almost goofed, Norman. I never thought about having cards made before.”

“You don’t have business cards?”

Hannah shook her head. “I just didn’t think it was important. I told that caterer I’d include one with the cookies, so I guess I’ll have to order some.”

“I’ll do some for you on my computer,” Norman offered. “That’s how I print mine.”

“Thanks, Norman.” As they neared the tables, Hannah thought again about how nice Norman was. Then someone stood up and waved, and Hannah recognized Lisa and Herb. “There’s Lisa. She’s my assistant at the shop. And you must know Herb Beeseman. He’s our town marshal.”

‘’Marshal? I thought he was in charge of parking enforcement.”

“He is, but the job doesn’t pay much. Herb was the only applicant and they let him choose his own title. He’s always been fascinated by the Old West.”