Chocolate Cream Pie Murder (Hannah Swensen #24)(7)

The weathermen on local radio and television had not predicted this sudden winter storm. It had blown in seemingly out of nowhere. In the space of a few short minutes, the wind had reached gale force and mothers, glancing out kitchen windows as they made preparations to start the family supper, realized that some of their young offspring were holding on to the arms of their older siblings and trying to trudge through the snow to the back door.

Parents rushed outside to herd their children into warm houses and to dry wet, snow-covered clothing. Soup was heated, and soon the children, dressed in warm bathrobes and slippers, were sipping hot soup from mugs at kitchen tables.

Even though it was only mid-afternoon, the sky began to darken as the snowfall intensified. The readings on outdoor thermometers dropped lower, and levers on thermostats all over town were raised to higher temperatures. Windows rattled like a cadence played on snare drums, and television sets and radios were tuned to weather reports.

The hillocks in backyards turned into snowbanks that shot up faster than a preteen with a growth spurt while local weathermen compared this winter storm to the blizzard of ought-nine. Hearing that news, farm wives donned parkas and went out to make sure the ropes from the house to the barn were intact while their husbands and hired hands rounded up livestock and led them into the barn. And while all this was happening, Hannah was sleeping, exhausted and depressed from her morning ordeal.

*

Once Hannah woke up, after a two-hour nap, she barely recognized the landscape outside her bedroom window. Everything, as far as she could see, was covered with an unending sheet of snow. The familiar scene she saw every day was completely transformed into a pillow of white. She could no longer see where the planter between the buildings began and ended. And to her surprise, she could barely see the building only a bit over several dozen feet away from hers. Her view was obscured by blowing snow, and the icy flakes were still falling, swirling in dizzying patterns outside the double-paned glass.

“It’s snowing, Moishe,” Hannah said to the cat who was sleeping next to her. “It’s a winter storm and it looks like a bad one.”

Moishe yawned widely and gave a little quiver as he roused himself. Then he got to his feet, reluctantly she thought, and yawned again.

Hannah glanced at the clock on her bed table, blinked several times, and then read the time again. She had to wake up and get ready to meet her whole family for dinner at the Lake Eden Inn. When Delores and Doc had married, they’d decided to make Sunday family night. Thankfully, as far as everyone was concerned, Delores was no longer cooking their family dinners. Hannah’s mother only knew how to make three entrées and, for years, Hannah and her sisters had suffered through Hawaiian Pot Roast, EZ Lasagna, or reheated baked chicken purchased from the Lake Eden Red Owl Grocery store.

“Come on, Moishe.” Hannah sat up on the edge of the bed and grabbed her warm, fleece-lined slippers. “We’d better check the weather report.”

Hannah got to her feet and walked down the carpeted hallway to the living room with Moishe following behind her. The interior of the condo was chilly, and she turned up the thermostat a couple of degrees and switched on the gas log fireplace before she sat down in her favorite spot on one of the reclining couches that her family had given her for a wedding present. The television control was on the coffee table in front of her, and Hannah grabbed it to switch on the giant flat-screen television.

Even though it was time for the Sunday afternoon movie, Rayne Phillips, the KCOW Television weatherman, was on the screen. The words SEVERE STORM WARNING flashed across the bottom of the screen, and the map of Minnesota displayed on the screen was covered with bands of yellow, orange, and red. The bright red color was centered over the Lake Eden area, and Hannah turned up the volume so that she could hear what Rayne had to say.

“. . . inches before morning.” Hannah caught the tail end of Rayne’s sentence. “You’d better hope your pantries are full, folks, because there’s no relief in sight until mid-afternoon on Wednesday. At that point, we may have as much as three feet of snow on the ground.”

Hannah shivered even though the living room was warming up nicely. Three feet of snow was a lot, especially if the winds continued to blow and even larger snowdrifts were formed. If Rayne’s prediction was accurate and the storm continued until Wednesday, she could forget about going in to work in the morning. It would be futile to bake when she’d have no customers to eat her cookies.

“And now we have Chuck Wilson and Dee Dee Hughes standing by in the newsroom with winter weather tips, some travel advisories from the Minnesota Highway Patrol, and a list of school closures for Monday morning.”

Hannah watched as Chuck Wilson, the chisel-faced anchor, began to talk about the storm. One glance at the weather map behind him and Hannah could see that the storm was already rolling in with the speed of a freight train.

“Currently, the winds are from the north with a velocity of thirty miles an hour and occasional gusts up to sixty miles an hour. Wind speeds are expected to increase to gale force over the course of the night, and the Minnesota Highway Patrol is advising drivers to seek shelter immediately.” Chuck stepped a bit closer to the camera and flashed his perfect smile. “I can tell you folks out there that everyone here at KCOW Television plans on hunkering down right here for the night so that we can bring you the latest news.”

Dee Dee Hughes, the anorexic blond anchor, walked onscreen to take her place behind the news desk next to Chuck. Both of them had a sheaf of papers that Hannah knew, for a fact, they’d never read and wouldn’t use during the newscast. Betty Jackson, who had moved from a temporary position to a permanent job at the television station, had told Hannah that the newsroom gave them the same sheaf of papers every day. There was nothing written on the papers and they were simply a prop. Betty also said that both Dee Dee and Chuck used the TelePrompTer during their newscast, and that neither of them had ever noticed that the papers were blank.