Cream Puff Murder (Hannah Swensen, #11)(13)

“I heard you went out to Heavenly Bodies this morning,” Mike said by way of a greeting as he seated himself on a stool at the workstation.

Hannah was so surprised she almost dropped the mug of coffee she’d just poured for him. How did Mike know that? She was about to ask him how he’d heard when she glanced at the clock. It was ten forty-five, and Andrea had most certainly called Bill at work the moment she’d gotten home from the gym. And since Mike had a meeting with Bill every morning to go over the night’s crime reports, what Hannah had come to think of as her secret exercise regime was no longer a secret at all.

“I suppose everyone in town knows,” Hannah said, delivering Mike’s coffee and two of his favorite Twin Chocolate Delights on a napkin.

“Maybe not everybody. Stan Kramer and his wife are on vacation, and I think Irma York’s off visiting her cousin in Brainerd.”

“Thanks a lot.” Hannah tried not to show how amused she was. There were times when Mike was really pretty funny.

“So what if people know you’re working out at Heavenly Bodies? That’s certainly nothing to be ashamed of. I’m proud of you for trying to get in shape.”

Trying to get in shape. The phrase ricocheted around in Hannah’s mind like a marble in a blender. It was the word trying that bothered her the most. Trying meant that she wasn’t in shape. And it also insinuated that she might not succeed in her attempt to get there. That might not be far from the truth considering her track record for starting an exercise program and then dropping it after a couple of days, but voicing it constituted an insult from the man who’d once asked Hannah to marry him. She was about to object to Mike’s turn of phrase when he popped to his feet like a marionette that had been jerked upright by invisible strings.

“I almost forgot. I’ve got something in the cruiser for you. Hold on just a second and I’ll get it.”

Hannah held on. She held on to her coffee cup and she also held on to her temper. She really shouldn’t be angry with a man who’d brought her a present…unless, of course, the present was also something insulting, like a bathroom scale, or a diet book.

In a very few moments, fewer than it would have taken Hannah to run through the coffee shop, get something out of a parked car, and retrace her steps to the kitchen, Mike was back.

“Here,” he said, thrusting a huge, gift-wrapped package into her arms. “It’s for you and Moishe.”

All traces of Hannah’s earlier pique dissipated. It didn’t matter what the present was. It was sufficient that Mike had thought enough of her pet to get something for Moishe. She supposed that was why Andrea got all dewy-eyed when a guest brought a “little something” for Tracey or Bethie. It was a case of Love me, love my kid. Or in Hannah’s situation, it was Love me, love my cat.

“Thank you, Mike,” Hannah said in a voice that came close to emulating Moishe’s best purr.

“You’re welcome. Open it now and see if you think the Big Guy’ll like it. I got it out at the pet store in the mall.”

The box was wrapped in bright yellow paper with brown animal footprints all over it. It reminded Hannah of the time Moishe had knocked over a bottle of chocolate syrup and decorated her kitchen floor with a similar design. She squelched her urge to pluck the elaborate bow from the top and rip off the paper. She’d found out the hard way that people got upset when they paid extra for gift wrapping and she destroyed it in nanoseconds before their very eyes.

“This is really nice paper,” Hannah said, paying homage to Mike’s thoughtfulness, “and the bow’s nice, too.”

“Forget the wrapping and open it. I’m due back at the station in fifteen minutes.”

Hannah smiled. Mike was a man after her own heart. She pulled off the bow, shredded the paper with one well-placed fingernail, and uncovered the box. It said Kitty Valet in big red letters, and Hannah was still puzzled after she opened the box and drew out two plastic bowls and two see-through cylinders.

“They’re self-feeders,” Mike explained. “One’s for food and the other’s for water. When Moishe eats food from the bowl, it creates a space and the food in the cylinder drops down to fill it. As long as you fill up the cylinders in the morning, Moishe can’t run out of food or water.” Mike stopped and frowned slightly. “At least I don’t think he can.”

“It should work, Mike,” Hannah said, although, if she were a betting person, she’d lay odds on her cat. Moishe had been a found cat, abandoned on the winter streets of Lake Eden. There might not be food tomorrow, so if there was food today, you’d better eat it all. Immediately. If there were a way to empty both the bowl and the feeder tube, Moishe would do it.

“So do you want to go out to dinner tonight? I’m off at five. We could go eat something that’s on your diet. Whatever that is.” Mike was silent for a moment. “What’s on your diet?”

“A six-ounce portion of fish or lean meat, a small garden salad with two tablespoons of dressing, and a smidgeon of carbohydrate that translates to half a dinner roll without butter, a minuscule baked potato with nothing but salt, or one four-inch celery stick dipped in a teaspoon of mustard.”

“What was that last thing?” Mike asked in disbelief.

“One four-inch celery stick dipped in mustard, but I was just kidding.” Hannah shook her head in disgust. “It’s really hard to go out to dinner when I’m trying to get in shape for Mother’s launch party. Why don’t you come over at six, and I’ll cook something that both of us can eat.”