Cinnamon Roll Murder (Hannah Swensen, #15)(48)

“Food,” Hannah said to Michelle after she’d hung up the phone and gone back to the kitchen.

“You’re hungry?”

“Not me. Mike. We’ve got cookies, but what can we fix for a main course? Since we didn’t stop at the Red Owl today, the food situation is the same as it was last night.”

“Minus the hamburger,” Michelle pointed out. “But I think you’ve got some elderly bacon in the refrigerator.”

Hannah laughed. “Elderly bacon? I like that! How elderly is it?”

“I’ll see.” Michelle rummaged in the refrigerator for the package of bacon she’d spotted. “You’re in luck. The sell-by date is today. But there’s only half a package left. That’s not going to be enough for Mike, is it?”

“Not just the bacon, no. But I’ve got something in mind that ought to work. How many eggs are left?”

Michelle opened the egg carton. “Four.”

“That’s perfect. And how much flour is left in the bag that was frozen?”

“A little more than a cup. I measured it before I dumped it back in.”

“Do I have milk?”

Michelle shook her head. “All you have is whipping cream. Will that work?”

“I don’t see why not.” Hannah took out a frying pan and plunked it on the stovetop. “If you’ll hand me that bacon, I’ll start frying it.”

“I can do that. What else do you need to make whatever you’re making?”

“Salt and vanilla. That’s it. Although ...”

“What?”

“Was there any cheese left in that package of shredded cheese we used last night?”

“No. We used it up, but I saw a package of cream cheese in the back behind the whipping cream.”

“That’ll do. Mike likes cream cheese.”

“Flour, whipping cream, eggs, bacon, salt, vanilla, and cream cheese ...” Michelle stopped and shook her head. “What are you making?”

“What Grandma Elsa used to call German pancakes.”

“But Grandma Elsa wasn’t German.”

“Neither were the pancakes. At least I don’t think they’re German. I just thought it would be easy to make them because they’re baked in the oven. I can remember her beating them with an egg beater, but I’m going to use the mixer. It’ll go a lot faster that way. Everything except the bacon and cream cheese goes into the mixer.”

“What do you want me to do with the bacon.”

“Fry it hard, and then cool it off and crumble it. It’ll take me a while to beat the batter. I need a lot of air in it.”

In a minute or two the kitchen was redolent with the smell of bacon frying. It smelled wonderful, and Hannah realized that the bacon was the new applewood smoked bacon that Florence at the Red Owl had begun to carry right after Christmas. Surprisingly, the sweet smokiness of the bacon and the scent of vanilla combined to create a breakfast perfume that made Hannah’s mouth water even though she wasn’t at all hungry.

“It sure smells good in here,” Michelle said, mirroring Hannah’s thoughts exactly.

“I know. How’s that bacon coming?”

“Almost done. I’m going to stick it in your freezer on a paper plate to cool it down fast. Do you want me to get out a pan?”

“Yes. I need an eight-inch square metal pan. I would have doubled the recipe and made it in a nine-inch by thirteen-inch if we’d had more ingredients, but we didn’t.”

“That’s okay. I’m not hungry. It just smells good, that’s all.”

Ten minutes later, Mike’s breakfast was assembled and Hannah slipped the pan in the oven. “Done,” she said. “Now we can have a cup of ...” She stopped and gave the phone an unhappy glance as it rang. “If that’s Mike and he says he’s not coming, we’ve just made something for nothing.”

Michelle plucked the phone from its wall cradle and answered it. “Hannah’s place. Michelle speaking.” She listened for a minute and then she laughed. “I don’t believe it! You never get up that early, especially two days in a row! Hold on for a second and I’ll get her for you.”

Michelle didn’t have to tell Hannah who it was. Only one person they both knew deserved the comment Michelle had made about never getting up early two days in a row. She took the phone from Michelle and said, “Hi, Andrea. What’s up?”

“Me, but I’m going to bed right after this phone call. I’m picking you up tomorrow morning at six. We’re driving to the Cities.”

“Why?”

“Because Bill says we’re going to run into traffic from all the weekday commuters and we have to leave that early if we want to get there by nine.”

“Okay. I’ll buy that. Why do we have to get there by nine?”

“Because I have a meeting with Swartznagel Realty.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to show my client a house they just listed in White Bear Lake.”

“Why do I need to go with you?”

“Because you’re the client, but don’t tell Bill. He thinks you’re just going with me to keep me company.”

“Why am I going with you? And why am I pretending to be your client? I’m not in the market for a house.”