Fudge Cupcake Murder (Hannah Swensen, #5)(31)

Chapter Twelve





Hannah woke up the next morning to the sound of contented feline purring. It grew louder and when she opened her eyes in the early morning gloom, she saw a pair of yellow eyes staring down at her expectantly.

"Okay, I'm getting up," Hannah said, sitting up with a groan and reaching out to flick off the alarm, which was due to go off any second. Moishe often woke her up right before the alarm sounded and she didn't really mind. Waking up to a purr was much more pleasant than startling awake to eardrum-piercing electronic beeping.

Hannah slipped her feet into the fur-lined moccasins she kept near the bed and padded down the hall to the kitchen. "Come on, Moishe. I'm too tired to fight with you this morning. I'll just give you what you want for breakfast."

Even though she knew she shouldn't have, Hannah'd given in last night and filled Moishe's bowl with his regular kitty crunchies. Tip number six on her vet's list of ways to convince him to eat senior fare hadn't worked any better than tips one through five. Last night's attempt involved drizzling the juice from a can of tuna over the bowl and, for a moment, Hannah thought it might actually be successful. Moishe headed straight for his food bowl and licked the senior pellets with gusto. Unfortunately, that's all he did. When Hannah examined his food more closely, she discovered that Moishe had licked off every bit of the tuna-flavored juice and left the senior nuggets, pristine and untouched, in his bowl.

The coffee was ready and Hannah poured a cup. She took one bracing sip, then went to the broom closet where she kept Moishe's regular food. When he had been fed and watered, Hannah slugged down a mug of coffee and hurried off to shower and dress.

Hannah often boasted that she could get ready for work on automatic pilot, without completely opening her eyes. This morning was no exception and fifteen minutes later, Hannah walked into the kitchen again. Her eyes were now wide open, her hair was dry, and she was appropriately dressed for her workday in jeans and a long-sleeved top that bore the legend, Take Life with a Grain of Chocolate.

Moishe's bowl was empty and Hannah refilled it before settling down at her kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee and what she'd come to think of as her crime book, the green-lined steno pad she carried with her constantly. This steno pad was no different than the dozen or so steno pads placed in every room of her condo. She'd also taken them to The Cookie Jar and put them in the kitchen, storage room, pantry, and coffee shop. Perhaps it was all those years of attending college lectures and taking notes, but Hannah tended to regard being caught without pen and paper as a sin even worse than substituting margarine for butter in one of her cookie recipes.

What did she know about Sheriff Grant's murder? Hannah paged through her notes. According to the autopsy report, the sheriff died between eight and nine-thirty and the cause of death was a blow to the head with a blunt instrument. Sheriff Grant had been standing a few feet from his car when he was assaulted. The killer then dragged the sheriff's body at least ten yards to the school Dumpster and toppled him inside.

Hannah stopped and stared at her notes. Perhaps it wasn't all that important, but she should find out if Sheriff Grant had been dead, or alive when the killer dragged him to the Dumpster. Andrea could get that information for her. All her sister had to do was call Doc Knight, ask him some trumped up pregnancy question, and get him to talk about the autopsy.

Once Hannah had written Dumpster-dead or alive? on her to-do list, she snapped the notebook shut and reached for her jacket. But before she had her arm in the sleeve, the phone rang.

"Mother," Hannah muttered, earning a mini-growl from Moishe. Delores Swensen's name did not appear on his list of favorite people, or even of those people he could tolerate. Hannah dropped her jacket and reached for the phone. "Hello, Mother."

"It's not Mother. It's me," Andrea's voice came over the line. "But I'm calling you about Mother. Do you know what's wrong with her?"

"Many things, but she's our mother and we love her anyway," Hannah shot back with a grin.

"Don't joke, Hannah! I really think there's something wrong. Mother's just not herself and… and… I couldn't sleep at all last night thinking about it. That's why I'm calling so early."

"Calm down, Andrea. Getting upset isn't good for the baby. What do you mean, Mother's just not herself?"

"Well, you know how she feels about Tracey. Mother adores her, right?"

"Absolutely."

"And she loves to spend time with Tracey."

"That's true, she does."

"Well, I called her last night and asked her if she wanted to come to the library with us next Saturday. They're having a special program for kids and their grandparents."

"That's right up Mother's alley. She loves things like that."

"That's what I thought," Andrea said with a sigh, "but Mother didn't seem all that eager. And then, when I suggested that she take Tracey after the program and keep her overnight, she said she'd have to let me know, that she might have other plans."

Hannah frowned. That wasn't like their mother at all. Delores loved to keep Tracey overnight and her granddaughter always came first. "What other plans did Mother have? Did you ask?"

"Of course I did, but she told me it was none of my business. And then she said I should remember that she had a life of her own."