Cream Puff Murder (Hannah Swensen, #11)(70)

There was silence for a minute, and then Mike sighed. “Well, that can’t be right. There’s no way he could carry that much food in only two trips. He’s got to be eating it, Hannah.”

“But he’s not. I’m almost positive of that.”

“Okay. Let’s figure this out right now. I want you to put the tape back in the camera and turn it on.”

Hannah reached up to flick the red switch. The moment she did, her phone started to make a high-pitched hum. “I think there’s something wrong with my phone,” she told him. “It sounds like a mosquito.”

“I can’t hear it on this end. It’s probably some sort of interference.”

“Then it must be from the surveillance camera. It started the second I flicked it on. I’m going to turn it off and see if it stops.”

“Good idea. I’ll hold.”

Hannah flicked off the camera, and the mosquito sound disappeared. “It’s the camera. The sound stopped.”

“I’ll try it with my cell phone the next time I come over, and if it happens with mine, I’ll write it in my report to the company. In the meantime, let’s test out that camera. Turn it on again, and crawl into the living room.”

“Crawl?! Why do I have to crawl?”

“Because you’re a lot taller than Moishe. I want to see if the camera’s aimed right.”

Hannah thought about arguing, but it wasn’t worth the effort. She dropped to her knees and crawled through the doorway to the living room. She moved to the side so she wasn’t within camera range, and on the count of ten, she dropped to her knees and crawled back into the kitchen.

“Okay. Done,” she reported when she’d picked up her cell phone again.

“Great. Now do it three more times to make sure. And then turn off the camera, stick the tape in your VCR, and see if it caught the action.”

Crawling through the door and back three more times would kill her. Hannah was quite certain of that. But the surveillance camera picked up movement, and it didn’t really matter what was doing the moving, did it? That theory in mind, Hannah opened her pantry and surveyed the contents. What was capable of rolling and wasn’t any larger than Moishe? Almost immediately, Hannah had the answer. She grabbed three fifty-ounce cans of chicken broth. They were smaller than Moishe, but that was all right. She bought the cans of chicken broth whenever Florence had a sale at the Red Owl, and stockpiled them in her pantry to use in her Holiday Squash Soup.

Getting back down to the floor with the cans wasn’t easy. Hannah resorted to sitting on her haunches since her knees were so sore. Then she picked up one can, positioned it on its side, and rolled it through the doorway.

It was like bowling with soup cans. Hannah laughed out loud as she sent the second can rolling. Once it stopped several feet into the living room, she rolled the third can on its way. A moment later, she’d taken the tape from the camera, slipped it into her VCR, and was watching it on her television screen. In the first shot, she emerged on hands and knees through the doorway, but on the next three shots, the cans of chicken broth took center stage.

“It worked,” she reported, picking up her cell phone again.

“That was fast! I thought it would take you much longer. It’s difficult for people over thirty to crawl. I think we forget how unless we make it a part of our daily fitness routine.”

“I think you’re right,” Hannah said, her tongue firmly in cheek. “This must be one of the benefits from all that exercise I’m getting.”



Most cat owners could tell the difference between an inquiring meow, a grateful meow, and a downright thrilled meow. Moishe’s meow was a combination of all three as Hannah pulled up in the circular driveway at Norman’s country home.

Before Hannah could even reach in the back of the truck to snap on Moishe’s leash, the door opened and Norman came out. He walked straight up to the passenger door and started to open it.

“I don’t have his leash on yet,” Hannah called out.

“That’s okay.” Norman opened the door all the way and held out his arms. Moishe jumped into them, purring all the while. “I’ve got him, Hannah.”

“I thought he only did that with me,” Hannah said. And although she tried not to react, she felt a tiny little stab of jealousy.

“He doesn’t do it for me very often. It happens only when I’ve got Cuddles waiting inside.”

That made her feel better, especially when she reminded herself that Norman had built this house with Moishe in mind. There was a kitty staircase leading to nowhere in the den, with several marvelous views of the purple grackles that gathered on Norman’s lawn. Both Cuddles and Moishe loved it, and they spent hours chasing each other up and down the carpeted steps, stopping every once in a while to look out at the aviary feast they longed to catch.

“Did you find out where the Big Guy is hiding his food?” Norman asked, scratching Moishe under the chin.

“Not yet. I talked to Mike on the phone, and he told me how to re-aim the camera to get the best results. I’ll have to wait until I get home to see if it worked.”

“I hope it did.” Norman juggled Moishe to a new position in his arms. “I’m with you, Hannah. I don’t think he’s eating more. He seems to be the same weight as always.”