Chocolate Chip Cookie Murder (Hannah Swensen #1)(69)

Hannah glanced at the clock. It was only seven-thirty and Lisa wasn’t scheduled to come in until eight on Saturdays. “Hi, Lisa. You’re half an hour early.”

“I know. I just thought you might need some help with the customers this morning. We’ll be packed.”

“We will?”

“You bet. They’ll all come in to find out what you know about Max.”

Hannah’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “How did you find out so fast?”

“I was listening to Jake and Kelly, and they said that Max was dead. Those two guys are crazy. They were making bad cow jokes and calling it a tribute to Max.”

“Bad cow jokes?” Hannah looked up from her task of rolling the dough balls in powdered sugar.

“You know the type,” Lisa explained as she hung her jacket on the hook by the door. “‘Why did Farmer Brown buy a black cow? Because he wanted to get chocolate milk.’ That was the best of them. The rest were so bad, I don’t even remember them. Do you want me to start the coffee and set the tables up in the shop?”

Hannah nodded and slid the first two cookie sheets into the ovens. She set the timer for twelve minutes and walked back to the work island to start rolling more balls. Lisa was right. If Jake and Kelly had discussed Max Turner on their show, The Cookie Jar would be flooded with customers this morning. And when the news got out that she’d been the one to find Max’s body, it would be standing room only. Hannah sighed as she rolled more dough balls in powdered sugar. If she were ever unlucky enough to find a third body, she’d probably have to buy the building next door and expand.





Old-Fashioned Sugar Cookies




Do not preheat oven yet—dough must chill before baking.

2 cups melted butter (4 sticks)

2 cups powdered (confectioners’) sugar (not sifted)

1 cup white (granulated) sugar

2 eggs

2 teaspoons vanilla

1 teaspoon lemon zest (optional)

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon cream of tartar (critical!)

1 teaspoon salt

4? cups flour (not sifted)



? cup white (granulated) sugar in a small bowl (for later)



Melt butter. Add sugars and mix. Let cool to room temperature and mix in the eggs, one at a time. Then add the vanilla, lemon zest, baking soda, cream of tartar, and salt. Mix well. Add flour in increments, mixing after each addition.



Chill dough for at least one hour. (Overnight is fine.)



When you’re ready to bake, preheat oven to 325 degrees F. and place rack in the middle of the oven.



Use hands to roll dough in walnut-sized balls. Roll dough balls in a bowl of white sugar. (Mix white sugar 2 to 1 with colored sugar for holidays—green for St. Pat’s Day, red and green for Christmas, multicolored for birthdays.) Place on a greased cookie sheet, 12 to a standard sheet. Flatten dough balls with a greased spatula.



Bake at 325 degrees F. for 10 to 15 minutes. (They should have a tinge of gold on the top.) Cool on cookie sheet for 2 minutes, then remove to a rack to finish cooling. They can be decorated with frosting piped from a pastry bag for special occasions or left just as they are.



Used these for the chorale’s fund-raiser decorated with music notes in fudge frosting—rave reviews!



Yield: 8 to 10 dozen, depending on cookie size.





Chapter Twenty-One




Hannah had just turned over the baking to Lisa and poured herself a cup of coffee when the phone rang. “That’s got to be Mother. She’s the only one who calls me this time of the morning.”

“Do you want me to get it?” Lisa offered helpfully, even though her hands were covered with powdered sugar.

“No, it’ll only postpone the inevitable.” Hannah lifted the receiver and gave her standard greeting. “The Cookie Jar. Hannah speaking.”

“I’m so glad I caught you, dear. I promised the girls I’d check. Are you booked for the second Thursday in December?”

Hannah stretched out the phone cord and walked over to her calendar, flipping the pages to December. No one booked this early, and Hannah knew that her mother was just fishing for information about Max Turner. “I’m free, Mother.”

“Good. I joined a new group.”

“That’s nice.” Hannah gave the appropriate response. She really should be more grateful. Delores had become a joiner since Hannah’s father had died, and her groups always booked Hannah to cater their events. “What’s the name of this group, Mother?”

“The Lake Eden Quilting Society, dear. They meet every other Thursday in the back room at Trudi’s Fabrics.”

Hannah obediently wrote down the information, but she was puzzled. As far as she knew, her mother had never picked up a needle in her life. “You’re sewing now, Mother?”

“Good heavens, no! I managed to find them two quilting frames at an auction last month and they awarded me an honorary membership. I just go to be sociable.”

“How many groups does that make now, Mother?”

“Twelve. When your father died, Ruth Pfeffer told me that I should develop outside interests. I’m just taking her advice.”

“You’re taking Ruth’s advice seriously?” Hannah was shocked. Ruth Pfeffer, one of her mother’s neighbors, had volunteered to do grief counseling at the community center after only one two-credit class at the community college. “Ruth’s a dingbat—you said so yourself—and she’s not qualified to counsel anyone. I’m surprised she didn’t suggest suttee!”