Lemon Meringue Pie Murder (Hannah Swensen #4)(43)

"No problem. I'll make the reservations if you tell me what time."

Hannah glanced up at the clock and figured out the logistics. It was seventy-thirty on the nose, so traffic would be light. It would take her fifteen minutes to get home and two minutes to pour some kitty crunchies into Moishe's bowl. That was a total of seventeen minutes. She didn't need time to dress because the outfit she was wearing was perfect for dinner out. She'd need another three minutes to wash her face, brush her teeth, and comb her hair, and she'd tack on an extra ten minutes just to be on the safe side. "Make our reservations for eight-thirty and pick me up at my condo at eight."

"You can drive home and get ready to go out in half an hour?"

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Hannah started to grin. Mike had sounded shocked. "Of course I can."

"But most women take longer than that to get ready for a date."

'Tm not most women. I'll be ready when you get there. Just buzz me and I'll walk out to the road to meet you."

Chapter Thirteen

Hannah glanced at the clock as she refilled Moishe's food bowl. It was ten minutes to eight. Her face was washed, her teeth were brushed, and her hair was secured in the clasp that Michelle had sent her last year from the Macalester College Arts Fair. She'd even taken time to spritz on a little perfume from the bottle her college roommate had given her. She was ready and she had ten minutes to kill before Mike buzzed her from the gate.

There was a yowl from the direction of the food bowl and Hannah turned toward her resident feline. "Don't worry. Mike's just taking me out to dinner, and then we're going to pick up Michelle at the bus stop."

That seemed to satisfy Moishe because he lowered his head to his food bowl again and didn't look up as Hannah sat down at the kitchen table with her steno pad.

Five minutes passed in relative silence, if one didn't count Hannah's sighs as she went over her notes on Rhonda's murder and the sound of Moishe's dinnertime crunching. She really hadn't learned much so far. She knew that Claire had given Rhonda the lemon pie. At least that mystery was solved. And she'd find out tonight if the takeout osso buco had come from Alfredo's Ristorante. If luck was with her,

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Rhonda's boyfriend had picked up the takeout and someone would remember him. If not, she'd just have to dig deeper to uncover his identity.

Learning that Rhonda really had a boyfriend had given Hannah several new motives to explore. If the man was married, as Carrie and Delores suspected, his wife could have murdered Rhonda in a fit of jealousy. She'd have to be a strong woman. Digging a grave for the "other woman" in the earthen floor of the basement furnace room would have taken some muscle.

One by one, other motives and possibilities occurred to Hannah and she jotted them down. If Rhonda's affair had led to the breakup of a marriage, anyone involved, even a teenager, could have retaliated by killing the woman who'd led his or her dad astray. It was a little far-fetched, but not impossible that several siblings had banded together to get rid of their mother's rival.

There was also Rhonda's big mouth to consider, especially if her gossiping had really hurt someone. Carrie and Delores could check out that possibility for her.

Then there was Rhonda's job at the drugstore. If Rhonda had been instrumental in getting a coworker fired, that person could have taken revenge. She'd run down to Lake Eden Neighborhood Drugs tomorrow to check with Jon Walker, the pharmacist and owner.

The buzzer by the phone sounded and Hannah pressed the switch that opened the wooden arm at the gate. She said good-bye to Moishe, topped off his food bowl for the final time, grabbed her notebook, and went out the door. It was a beautiful evening if you ignored the muggy air and the mosquitoes that descended like miniature Draculas on any carelessly exposed patch of skin.

Mike's car was just rounding the bend and Hannah took the shortcut through the planter. Even though the condo association had forbidden the practice, almost all of the residents took the shortcut instead walking down the much longer winding sidewalk to the street. Use of the shortcut had be-

come so widespread that the association had been forced to cave in and instruct the gardeners to place stepping stones over the path the residents' shoes had worn.

Mike gave a little toot on his horn as Hannah approached and Hannah raised her hand to wave. That was when she realized that she still held her steno pad in her hand. She shoved it down into the bottom of her shoulder bag. Mike had seemed much more tolerant of her investigation this time around, but flaunting the tangible proof of her detective work would still be a little like waving a red flag.

Hannah smiled happily as she looked around her. Alfredo's Ristorante was impressive and so was their cuisine. Mike had reserved a table by the window overlooking Eden Lake and while she'd ordered polio piccata, a boneless chicken breast sauteed with lemon and capers, she'd talked Mike into the osso buco. Just as she'd expected, it had come with a garnish of sliced ripe olives.

"Don't you want your pasta?" Mike asked, eying the side dish the waitress had placed by Hannah's entree.

"Of course I want it, but I can't have pasta on my diet."

"Do you mind if I eat it then?"

Hannah shook her head, even though she minded a lot. According to the menu, the pasta was homemade fresh riga-toni tossed with first-press, extra-virgin olive oil and butter, and liberally sprinkled with parmigiano reggiano, the best Parmesan cheese money could buy. She couldn't have it, but she really didn't want Mike to eat it. It was the spurned lover's reaction, If I can't have you, nobody can. And that was a possibility she hadn't thought of before. If Rhonda had been involved with two men and she'd made noises about leaving one for the other, the loser could have killed Rhonda rather than let her go. It was one of the reasons why so many love triangles ended in tragedy.