Cream Puff Murder (Hannah Swensen, #11)(19)

“Good idea!” Hannah began to smile. “What else?”

“Get applesauce and don’t forget the sour cream. You can serve those on the side. I’ll wrap up your sausage while you go and get the rest. And pick up some ice cream. You can serve it for dessert, along with some of the cookies you always carry around in your truck.”



“Sausage tonight,” Hannah announced to the cat that hurtled himself into her arms the moment she pushed open her door.

“Rowwww.”

“I knew you’d like that. And Uncle Mike is coming for dinner.” Hannah stopped and stared down at Moishe, who was staring up at her with startled yellow eyes. “Did I really call him Uncle Mike? I did, didn’t I?” She kicked the door shut behind her and placed her resident feline on top of the couch so that she could shrug out of her parka. “Sorry, Moishe. I must be hanging around Andrea too much.”

Moishe said nothing. He was a smart cat. Hannah went back outside, picked up the Kitty Valet boxes and the sack of groceries she’d propped up outside her door so that she’d be able to catch him, and carried them inside. She tossed the boxes on the couch and carried the sack to the kitchen. The ice cream went into the freezer, the sausage and the chicken breast that would constitute the meat portion of her dinner went into covered pans in the oven, the hash browns sat on the counter waiting for her attention, and the kitty crunchies came out of the bag in her broom closet.

“I know you’re hungry. Just hold on a second,” Hannah said as she scooped up a generous portion and put it in the bottom of Moishe’s empty food bowl to cover the grinning portrait of Garfield, whose cartoon countenance appeared every time the bowl was emptied. Another generous scoop ensured that Hannah would have time to mix up the potato pancakes. Once Moishe’s water bowl was filled, she was free to continue the preparation of Mike’s dinner for at least ten minutes, maybe fifteen, or until her cat ran out of essentials.

The hash browns went into the food processor and were more finely chopped by the steel blade. Hannah imagined her Great-Grandmother Elsa spinning in her grave because she’d used boughten hash browns, but that couldn’t be helped. Two large eggs sans shells had found their way into a large mixing bowl. Hannah whipped them up until they were fluffy and then added onion powder, season salt, black pepper, and two tablespoons of cracker crumbs. She stirred everything up, covered it with a paper towel just in case feline interest escalated, and turned back to her food processor. Once the hash browns had been removed to a cutting board and patted dry with paper towels, she spooned them into her mixing bowl, gave everything an encompassing stir, recovered the bowl with the kitty deterrent towel, put on a fresh pot of coffee, and headed off to the bedroom to change clothes for Mike’s arrival.

She wasn’t a moment too soon. When Hannah came out of the bedroom wearing her favorite forest green top and clean jeans, she heard the doorbell ring. Mike was here. She had to hurry. She opened the door, ushered him in, gave him a cup of coffee, and settled him on the couch with the Kitty Valet boxes to assemble the contents while she went into the kitchen to finish preparing their meal.

Heating the butter and olive oil didn’t take long. Hannah gave the contents of her mixing bowl a stir, decided the batter was neither too dry nor too wet, and began to scoop tiny pancakes into her largest frying pan. She flattened them slightly with a metal spatula so that the shredded potatoes would form a single layer, and then she opened the oven to check the progress of Mike’s sausage and her skinless, boneless, chicken breast.

The sausage was heated through, and it smelled delicious, the chicken breast less so. Hannah returned it to the oven hoping that some of the sausage flavor might migrate behind the closed, sealed door, and turned her attention to dishing up the sour cream and the applesauce.

“Almost ready,” she called out to Mike once she’d checked her pancakes, found them browned nicely, and flipped them over. “What would you like to drink?”

“I’d like a Cold Spring Export, but I’ll settle for coffee. I’m on duty tonight.”

“I know. What’s the latest? Are Jessica and the baby going to be all right?”

“They think so, but it’ll be touch and go for another couple of days. Bridget and Cyril are keeping Rick’s oldest, and Rick’s staying at the hospital with Jessica.”

Hannah bit her tongue. She really wanted to ask if Mike knew the truth about Rick and Ronni, but that would be fishing for gossip. It wasn’t her business. She didn’t need to know. But oh, how she wanted to!

“Rick said they’d been fighting about Ronni. Jessica got really upset, and he thinks that’s why she went into premature labor. He feels horribly guilty about it.”

He ought to if what I heard is true, Hannah thought, but of course she didn’t say it. She said nothing and waited for the floodgates to open and Mike to go on.

“Nothing happened, you know. Ronni told me that. She said Rick had a little crush on her, but she handled it without hurting his feelings.”

“Oh?” Hannah said, but she thought something different. And just how did she do that? her mind queried.

“She told him he was very attractive, but she never dated married men,” Mike answered her unspoken question.

I’ll bet! Hannah’s mind said sarcastically, but her mouth said, “That’s good.”