Fudge Cupcake Murder (Hannah Swensen, #5)(84)

Test your chocolate mixture to make sure it's cool enough to add. (You don't want to cook the eggs!) If it's fairly warm to the touch but not so hot you have to pull your hand away, you can add it at this point. Stir thoroughly and you're done.



Let the batter rest for five minutes. Then stir it again by hand and fill each cupcake paper three-quarters full. If you decided to use the 8-inch cake pan instead of the 6-cup muffin tin, fill it with the remaining batter.



Bake the cupcakes in a 350 degree F. oven for 20 to 25 minutes. The 8-inch cake should bake an additional 5 minutes.



Fudge Frosting



18 cupcakes, or 12 cupcakes and 1 small cake, cooled to room temperature and ready to frost.



2 cups chocolate chips (a 12-ounce package)

1 14-ounce can sweetened condensed milk



If you use a double boiler for this frosting, it's foolproof. You can also make it in a heavy saucepan over low to medium heat on the stovetop, but you'll have to stir it constantly with a spatula to keep it from scorching.



Fill the bottom part of the double boiler with water. Make sure it doesn't touch the underside of the top.



Put the chocolate chips in the top of the double boiler, set it over the bottom, and place the double boiler on the stovetop at medium heat. Stir occasionally until the chocolate chips are melted.



Stir in the can of sweetened condensed milk and cook approximately two minutes, stirring constantly, until the frosting is shiny and of spreading consistency.



Spread on cupcakes, making sure to fill in the "frosting pocket."



Give the frosting pan to your favorite person to scrape.



These cupcakes are even better if you cool them, cover them, and let them sit for several hours before frosting them.





Chapter Twenty-Nine





Hannah stared out the window at the highway in the distance and tapped her fingers against the counter. It was almost six-thirty and Ted still wasn't here. There also hadn't been any sign of his transport and Hannah was beginning to wish she hadn't volunteered to take Beatrice's place.

It was cold in the trailer and Hannah pulled her bomber jacket a little closer around her shoulders. Perhaps she should have taken Beatrice up on her offer to plug in the heater. It was going to be a cold night. The moment the sun had gone down, the wind had picked up in velocity. By now it was just about as fierce as a fall wind could get.

Gusting winds rattled the metal walls of the trailer and sent dead leaves skittering under the hulks of wrecked cars like thousands of miniature mechanics, trying to fix the impossible. At least it was a lot warmer inside than it was outside. When Hannah had dashed out to her truck to get her jacket and try the cigarette lighter in the hole in her dash, she thought she'd smelled a hint of snow in the air.

Hannah's Grandma Ingrid always claimed she could smell snow coming, and attempted to teach Hannah how to do it. Hannah had memories of sitting in a porch swing on the Swensen family farm, wrapped up in a warm quilt with her grandmother, so they could smell the freezing air. There had been a barely detectible odor. Hannah had smelled it. When she'd asked what it was, Grandma Ingrid couldn't identify it by name, but she'd insisted that whenever Hannah smelled that scent on the wind, it was going to snow.

Bright lights flashed as a vehicle turned off the highway. Hannah watched, her expectations high, as it came down the access road toward the scrap yard. As it approached the gates, Hannah could see that it was the kind of truck used to haul cars. She zipped up her bomber jacket and headed out the door to greet the driver. The transport was here at last.

The driver gave her a wave and proceeded to unload the cars, exactly as Beatrice had said he would. Hannah stood at the window and watched him do it, smiling at the ease with which he backed the big truck down the narrow road that led to the dismantling shed. But when the driver began to unload the cars, her smile turned to a puzzled frown. She was certainly no expert, but they looked much too nice to be sold as scrap and dismantled. There must be something seriously wrong with each of them that wasn't immediately apparent to the casual observer.

Once he'd finished, the driver climbed back into his rig and drove up to the trailer again. Hannah walked out to the driver's window, signed her name to the receipt he had on his clipboard, and took the bill of lading he handed her.

"Gonna be a cold one tonight," the driver said.

"Sure seems like it," Hannah answered.

"New here?" the driver asked, staring at her hard, as if to memorize her features. "I talked to Ted this morning and he said he'd be here."

"He had to go out on a tow, and I'm just filling in for his wife. She had a family emergency."

"Okay," the driver said, giving her a half salute before he rolled up his window. Then he put his truck into gear and pulled forward, heading for the gates.

Hannah watched his taillights until he'd navigated the access road and turned back onto the highway. Then she carried the bill of lading into the trailer and found the clipboard Beatrice had placed on the counter. She was just about to clip it on when she happened to notice the list under it.

It had to be from the man in Minneapolis. Hannah ran her finger down the neat column of typing and counted the items. Ted's customer must own a chain of repair shops. There was no way one shop could use all these parts in a week.