Chocolate Chip Cookie Murder (Hannah Swensen #1)(94)

Almost there, Hannah told herself as she stopped for the red light at the intersection of Old Lake Road and Carter Avenue. Old Lake Road was fairly busy at peak traffic hours, but Carter Avenue led to only one sprawling showplace home in the center of a private pine forest. That home belonged to Mayor Bascomb’s in-laws and everyone knew that he’d installed the stoplight to please his wife, Stephanie.

Since the light had a reputation for taking a while, Hannah wiggled her toes inside her boots in an effort to restore warmth and mobility. Then she counted to a hundred. And then two hundred. She had reached five hundred and was mentally composing a letter to the editor of the Lake Eden Journal, expressing the need for a sensor on the stoplight, when it finally clicked to green and she could drive forward again.

Another five minutes and she was turning in at the city limits, driving down the quiet streets with their darkened houses. Everyone was asleep, and she would be too, if she didn’t have to bake the day’s cookies before she opened her coffee shop and bakery, The Cookie Jar.

The Lake Eden business district was deserted at this time of morning. All the stores had dim lights inside, the result of an article Sheriff Grant had written for the Lake Eden Journal on burglary prevention, but nothing was moving inside. It would be another hour before Hal unlocked the front door at the café for the workers on the morning shift at DelRay Manufacturing.

Hannah drove down Main Street and was about to turn on Fourth, when she noticed that the twinkle lights around the inside of the window of her coffee shop were still on. She thought she remembered turning them off, but perhaps she’d forgotten. She had been in a rush to get home last night. Hannah just hoped her power bill wouldn’t be sky high for this one infraction. After all, how much current could a hundred-bulb string of minilights draw? Perhaps she wouldn’t even see an increase. She was usually very careful when it came to turning off the lights and locking up.

As she pulled into the alley, Hannah slowed her truck to a crawl to navigate the icy ruts that a truck had made, delivering donations to the Helping Hands Thrift Shop. A hundred yards and a dozen or so jarring thumps later, she was turning into her own lot and parking in her spot by the back door.

To plug in, or not to plug in. That was the question. Rayne Phillips, the weatherman on KCOW radio, had promised the day would warm to the high twenties. As Hannah climbed out of her truck and eyed the strip of outlets installed at bumper level at the back of her building, she added that bit of information to the mix. If Rayne had it right, she wouldn’t need to use her heater. But if Rayne was wrong, her oil would chill to the consistency of chewing gum and her truck wouldn’t start when it was time to drive home.

Hannah stood still, debating with herself for a moment, and then she laughed. Rayne Phillips had been wrong about the weather more times than he’d been right, and it would be wise to play the percentages. Plugging in her car might be unnecessary, but not plugging in her car could mean she’d have to call Cyril Murphy at the garage.

Once plugged in, Hannah headed for the back door of the white stucco building. She was about to insert her key in the lock when she stopped short and frowned. The knob was a bit icy, as if a warm hand had recently gripped it. That was odd. Her assistant, Lisa Herman, wasn’t scheduled to come in this early. If, for some reason, Lisa had arrived first, her old car would be here. Unless, of course, her car had failed to start and she’d caught a ride to work with one of her neighbors.

Hannah stood dithering for a moment. If Lisa was here, it would account for the lights she’d seen. She always turned them on and propped open the swinging door to the coffee shop, so that she could enjoy them while she helped with the early morning baking.

Standing here wondering was not only silly, it was cold! All she had to do was go inside and see. Chiding herself for her chilly mental debate, Hannah unlocked the door and flicked on the lights. And then she blinked. And blinked again. Several times.

Lisa had been here and the proof was right in front of her eyes. The dirty dishes they’d left in the sink were gone, and the floor had been freshly mopped. Normally, Hannah and Lisa did these things before they left for the night, but Hannah had been in a hurry to get home, and Lisa had invited two of her dad’s friends for dinner. Unless the elves had left the shoemaker’s shop and taken up residence at The Cookie Jar, Lisa must have come in sometime during the night to wash the dishes and mop the floor!

Perhaps she’d put on the coffee, too? Hannah glanced at the kitchen pot, but the little red light wasn’t glowing. No coffee there. She went through the swinging door to check the big thirty-cup percolator, but it was still tipped upside down on a towel, the way they always left it after they washed and dried it. Lisa loved coffee as much as Hannah did. It would be ready if she’d come in early.

Hannah felt a chill that had nothing to do with the winter weather as she noticed that the multicolored lights were off. They’d been on when she’d driven past only minutes ago. Her early morning cleaner must have vamoosed only moments before she pulled up in her parking space. If she’d hurried just a little, she could have caught her, or him, or perhaps several elfin thems!

Remembering the thin sheen of ice on the doorknob made Hannah discard her theory of helpful storybook creatures who could sneak in and accomplish great quantities of work in the blink of an eye. Her benefactor had been a real live person, one who could reach the doorknob and who didn’t drink coffee. But who had cleaned up the kitchen on one of the coldest mornings of the year? And why?