Chocolate Chip Cookie Murder (Hannah Swensen #1)(77)

Moishe turned to give her a long, level look and then he hopped off the couch and padded into the kitchen to his food bowl. He yowled once, calling for her to get out the kitty crunchies, and Hannah went off to comply. Moishe was the most intelligent cat she’d ever met. He was waiting for her to fill up his food bowl because he knew that she had to leave again.



Danielle opened the door several inches, but no wider. “Hi, Hannah. I…uh…I’m busy right now. Could you come back a little later?”

“No.” Hannah wedged her foot into the crack. “It’s important, Danielle. Is Boyd home?”

“No, he’s not. He’s got…football practice…at the school.”

“Good. That’ll give us some time alone. We have to talk, Danielle.”

“But I…I have to put on some makeup. I was just…uh…taking a nap and…” Danielle’s voice trailed off and she gave a little sob. “Please, Hannah. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

Hannah made one of her instant decisions. Right or wrong, she was coming in. Never one to dither once she’d made up her mind, she simply pushed Danielle back and stepped inside.

“Oh, Hannah!” Danielle’s hands flew up to her face, but not before Hannah had spotted her black eye and the red welts in the shape of a handprint across her left cheek.

“Good God, Danielle!” Hannah reached out to shut the door. “What happened to you?”

“I…uh…I—”

“Never mind,” Hannah interrupted what was bound to be some sort of hastily fabricated story. “Come on. Let’s get some ice on your face.”

“I don’t have any.”

“I’ll find something.” Hannah took her arm and led her into the kitchen. “Are you sure he’s not coming back?”

Danielle managed to look even more embarrassed. “Who? The…intruder?”

“Your husband.” Hannah opened the freezer and rummaged around for something that would work as an ice pack. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Danielle. I know he beat you up.”

“How do you know that?”

One of Danielle’s eyes opened wide in surprise, but the other was almost swollen shut. Hannah drew out a package of frozen peas, whacked it against the counter to loosen the contents, and handed it to her, along with the kitchen towel that was draped over the handle of the stove. “Sit down at the table. Wrap the peas in the towel and hold it up to your eye. I’ll get another one for your cheek.”

“Thank you, Hannah.” Danielle sank down in a chair. “This is all my fault. I forgot to fill up the ice trays.”

Hannah pulled out another package of frozen peas and wrapped it in a clean towel from the drawer. She held it up to Danielle’s cheek and sighed deeply. “It’s not your fault. Hold that with your other hand and tell me where you keep the coffee.”

“I don’t have any. I ran out and I forgot to buy more. That’s why Boyd got so mad at me.”

Hannah bristled. There had been a couple of mornings when she thought she might kill for a cup of coffee, but she hadn’t really meant it literally. “How about tea?”

“I’ve got some instant. It’s in the cupboard over the stove. And there’s a hot water spigot on our Sparklettes dispenser.”

Hannah found two cups, spooned in instant tea and a generous helping of sugar, and filled them with steaming water from the dispenser. She carried one over to Danielle and set hers down on the other side of the table. Hannah didn’t like tea, but that didn’t matter. Sharing tea gave them a common bond. “Let me look at your cheek.”

“It feels better.” Danielle removed the towel and managed a small smile. “I never even thought about using frozen peas before. I guess it’s true when they say that vegetables are good for you.”

Danielle’s sad attempt at humor made Hannah see red. Danielle had said she’d never thought about using frozen peas before. This obviously wasn’t the first time that Coach Watson had battered his wife. Hannah thought about trying to convince Danielle to press charges, or offering her advice about how she could get out of her abusive situation, but that could wait until later. Right now she had to find out if Boyd Watson was a murderer, as well as a wife beater.

“It looks a lot better,” Hannah assured her. “Have some tea and then hold it there for another couple of minutes.”

Danielle nodded and took a sip of her tea. “You put a lot of sugar in.”

“Sugar’s good for shock.” Hannah retrieved the bag of Black and White cookies she’d brought in from her truck. “Have a cookie. They’re chocolate.”

Danielle reached for a cookie and nibbled at it. “These are good, Hannah.”

“Thanks. Do you have a headache?”

“It’s not a concussion, Hannah. I know the symptoms.”

I’ll bet you do! Hannah thought. If she remembered correctly, Danielle had been in the hospital several times in the past—once for a broken leg and other times for less serious injuries. She’d always claimed that she’d been clumsy and fallen on the ice, or broken something skiing, or been in a boat accident while she was fishing with her husband. Hannah remembered her sister’s comment about Danielle’s clothes and how they always covered her completely. That should have set off alarm bells in Hannah’s mind, especially since Luanne had already told her that Danielle used theatrical makeup for facial blemishes. The only thing that erupted on Danielle Watson’s face was her husband’s bad temper!