Fudge Cupcake Murder (Hannah Swensen, #5)(9)

"Okay, Mother. I'm back," Hannah said, grabbing the phone and sitting down at the table in one fluid motion. "What did you hear?"

"Not much. All Bill told Andrea was that you found Sheriff Grant inside the school Dumpster."

"That's what happened all right."

"I feel so sorry for poor Nettie Grant!"

"Me, too," Hannah said. Sheriff Grant's wife had practically gone into seclusion three years ago when the Grants had lost their only child in a car crash.

"This is going to be so difficult for her," Delores went on. "She was just getting over Jamie's death, and now her husband is gone, too! Do you think they're related, Hannah?"

"Who?" Hannah asked, thoroughly confused by her mother's question.

"Not who… what! I'm talking about Jamie's death and Sheriff Grant's death."

"I don't see how they could be related, Mother."

"Use your head, Hannah. We know that Nettie was totally grief-stricken when Jamie was killed and it took her almost a whole year to come out of her depression. It must have hit Sheriff Grant just as hard. I wouldn't be a bit surprised to find out that his grief had gotten the best of him and he'd decided that he just couldn't go on any longer."

"You mean… suicide?"

"Of course I mean suicide. Do you think that's what happened?"

"No."

"Why not? It makes sense to me."

Hannah sighed deeply. She hadn't intended to give her mother any of the gruesome details, but she couldn't let Delores run around town expounding her suicide theory.

"It wasn't suicide, Mother."

"How do you know?"

"I think it's unlikely that Sheriff Grant ate one of my cupcakes, bashed himself in the back of the head so hard that he cracked it open, and then dragged himself to the school Dumpster and crawled in to die. I'll admit my cupcakes weren't perfect, but they weren't that bad."

"This is not the time to be flippant, Hannah!"

"Right," Hannah said and then she was perfectly silent. Her mother was a bright woman. It might take her a moment or two, but Delores would pick up on the obvious.

"Wait a minute!" Delores was so excited her voice shook. "Did you say that Sheriff Grant was killed by a blow to the back of his head?"

"That's right."

"But that's impossible, unless…" Delores drew out her last word so long it came out of Hannah's receiver as a hiss. "He was murdered! Why didn't you tell me before?!"

"You didn't ask."

"Well, I'm asking now. And a good daughter would have told me before I had to ask! Sit down if you're not sitting already, and tell me everything that happened. And don't you dare leave anything out!"



Ten minutes later, Hannah hung up the phone. Her neck was sore from cradling the phone between her head and her shoulder while she talked and foraged for something to eat, but her hunt through the refrigerator and the pantry had been successful. It was a far cry from a steak, but she managed to open a can of tuna, mix it with a little mayonnaise, and spread it on a piece of dark pumpernickel. She spread a second piece of pumpernickel with cream cheese softened in the microwave and topped it off with wafer thin slices of sweet onion that Lisa had grown in her greenhouse. Once the two halves of the sandwich were stacked together and cut into quarters, Hannah poured herself a glass of what she called Chateau Screwtop, the white jug wine currently on sale at CostMart.

"You've got your own yummy food," Hannah said, glancing down at Moishe. He was pressing against her ankle again and a twenty-three pound cat could press hard.

Moishe yowled and Hannah realized that she was being ridiculous. Who was she trying to kid? The most expensive cat food in the world couldn't compare to one of her tuna sandwiches.

Once she'd managed to seat herself on the sofa despite Moishe's efforts to trip her, Hannah flicked on the television with the remote control and bit into her sandwich. Delicious! Lisa's onion was excellent. She'd have to remember to mention it tomorrow morning when Lisa came in to work. In the meantime, there was a whole sandwich to eat and Hannah applied herself to that task with true dedication.

Once the sandwich was gone and Moishe had been pacified with several morsels of tuna that she'd set aside for him, Hannah settled down to watch television with her glass of wine.

Cable programming was nothing to write home about on this particular Monday night and Hannah flicked through the channels, wondering how anyone could be content to stay home and watch television. There was only one program that interested her, a study of holiday fruitcakes and how they had evolved over the years.

Hannah watched with interest. Most of the fruitcakes they showed were beautiful when they were sliced, the candied fruit resembling brightly colored jewels under the lights. She'd always thought that in a perfect world, fruitcake would taste as good as it looked. Unfortunately, as far as Hannah was concerned, it didn't. There was only one fruitcake that Hannah liked and it was her own recipe. She created it for her father and it didn't have a single speck of citron or candied fruit. It was called Dad's Chocolate Fruitcake and she planned to put it in the Lake Eden cookbook.

The program was almost over when Hannah caught a glimpse of an orange and white blur out of the corner of her eye. It was Moishe, heading off to the laundry room, even though he'd just come from there a few minutes ago. Now that she thought about it, Hannah was almost sure she'd seen him take the same route several times.