Cinnamon Roll Murder (Hannah Swensen, #15)(17)

“Great. Do you know how to make a biscuit crust from scratch?”

“I think I can handle that. Do you want it now?”

“Start it now, and I’ll watch the hamburger. We need to use the biscuit dough as a bottom crust in the cake pan.”

“I like that. And then the hamburger, onions, veggies, and cheddar cheese soup go on top of it?”

“Right. It’s all mixed up together and then the shredded cheese goes on top of that. It should look nice, and I bet it’ll taste good too.”

The two sisters worked in companionable silence for several minutes. Then Michelle gave a long, drawn-out sigh.

“What is it?” Hannah asked her.

“I was thinking about Norman. You two made such a nice couple. I know you like Mike. I like him, too. But I always kind of hoped that you and Norman would get married. And now it won’t ever happen. Because of her! She’s going to make sure he never sees you again. She’s holding that daughter of hers over his head like a carrot!”

Or like an albatross, Hannah thought, swallowing past the lump in her throat. The last time she’d been alone with Norman, the day he told her about the daughter he had, he’d looked so miserable it had almost broken her heart. “It’s a very sad situation,” she said, trying to be charitable. “I’m sure she has her daughter’s best interests at heart. And I know Norman wants to do the right thing by Diana.”

“Is it the right thing? But maybe Diana’s not Norman’s daughter. Maybe she just said that so she could latch on to a nice successful guy who wouldn’t even question it.”

These same thoughts had been running through Hannah’s mind lately, but she didn’t want to talk about it now. It was too late. The die was cast. Norman was going to marry Doctor Bev, and that was that.

The phone rang to disrupt Hannah’s unhappy thoughts, and she hurried to answer it. It didn’t really matter who was on the other end of the line. She was grateful for the interruption. “Hello?”

“It’s me, Hannah,” Andrea said in a voice that was little more than a whisper.

“Andrea? What’s wrong with your voice?”

“I don’t want Bill to hear me. He’s upstairs changing his clothes to go back to the sheriff’s station.”

“He’s going back tonight?” Hannah glanced at the clock. It was already eleven-thirty.

“You know how it is. If something big happens, the sheriff has to be there. And this is big!”

“What’s big?”

“It’s that bus driver, the one who went off the road with the band and got killed.”

“Clayton Wallace?”

“Yes, that’s his name. Doc Knight just called. He finished the autopsy, and he said that the accident didn’t kill Clayton Wallace, that he was already dead when the bus went off the road.”

Hannah remembered what Buddy had told her, that he thought the driver had suffered some kind of sudden attack and that’s why the bus went off the road. “Was it his heart?” she asked.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“When Michelle and I got to the bus, Buddy Neiman told us that they were traveling along just fine. And then all of a sudden, they were barreling into the ditch. He thought the driver must have had a heart attack or a stroke.”

“Well, he was right. Doc’s running some tests again to make sure, but he told Bill the results of the first blood test.”

“What was it?” Hannah did her best not to sound impatient. Andrea would tell the story in her own way, and she knew from past experience that trying to speed up the process was useless.

“If the first test was accurate, Mr. Wallace overdosed on his heart medicine.”

“Was it an accidental overdose?” Hannah asked, hoping that it had been a simple mistake, but not at all convinced it was, especially after Buddy’s murder. Two people on the same bus were dead and it wasn’t due to the traffic accident.

“There’s no way for Doc to tell whether it was accidental or deliberate. And you know the rules. If there’s the possibility that it could be a homicide, the department has to investigate.”

“So now they have two homicide investigations.”

“That’s right. I know Bill ...” Andrea stopped talking and gave a little gulp. “I have to go. He’s coming down the stairs.”

“What is it?” Michelle asked, when Hannah got off the phone.

“There’s the possibility of another murder.”

“Who?”

“Clayton Wallace, the band bus driver. Doc Knight thinks he was dead before the bus crashed into the ditch.”

“You mean ... somebody on the bus killed him?”

“Maybe. And maybe not. All Doc Knight knows at this point is that Clayton took an overdose of his heart medication.”

“You mean he could have taken extra pills by mistake?”

“It’s possible. Sometimes pills look alike. But it’s also possible that someone could have tampered with his medicine.”

“I wonder what he did when he traveled with the band?” Michelle looked thoughtful. “Did he take his pill bottles with him? Or did he have one of those matrix things marked with the days of the week, and ...”

“Uh-oh!” Hannah gasped as an image of the dead bus driver, still strapped in his seat, flashed across the screen of Hannah’s mind. There was something directly below him on the floor, and she’d reached down to pick it up. Even though the light was dim, she’d noticed that it was square and had little compartments. It sounded a lot like the pill matrix that Michelle had just described.