Lemon Meringue Pie Murder (Hannah Swensen #4)(79)

The wind began to pick up as Hannah passed the Quick Stop. She noticed that Ron and Sean had battened down the hatches by taping huge cardboard sheets to the inside of

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their front windows. They'd never done that before and Hannah turned on the radio to see if there might be a tornado warning in effect.

At first there was only static and then a faint announcer's voice that cut in and out. Hannah had only managed to catch the words, "storm" and "century" before a sharp gust of wind caught the side of her truck and caused her to swerve dangerously. Just as she'd righted her heading and maneuvered back into her own lane of traffic, another gust of wind from the opposite direction sent her perilously close to the ditch. Hannah was seriously considering the wisdom of stopping and waiting until the winds had subsided when the decision was taken out of her hands. The wind gusted a third fierce time, snapping off a branch from a giant oak tree by the side of the road and hurtling it through the air, straight toward the front of her truck.

Hannah cranked the wheel as hard as she could, but there was no avoiding the wooden missile. It crashed into her windshield with a mighty thunk that rattled her truck and then it bounced back off again, taking the radio antenna with it. Hannah hit the brakes and muscled the truck over to the side of the road, pulling to a stop in a churning spume of gravel. By the time she'd stopped shaking and gotten out to assess the situation, the rain was beginning to fall. The branch didn't seem to have done too much damage, at least none that a bottle of touch-up paint wouldn't cure, but her radio antenna had snapped off at the base, leaving dangling wires and a hole in her hood where it had been attached.

"At least I won't have to listen to the storm warnings," Hannah muttered, picking up the wires and poking them back through the hole. The antenna was nowhere to be found, but she was sure that Ted Koester would be able to replace it with a new one from his salvage yard. Her windshield was intact and her truck was still running, and those were the important things. She should be able to get the rest of the way home.

It was only after she'd slid back into the driver's seat that

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Hannah realized her blouse and jeans were soaked. There was nothing like driving home in a storm, sopping wet. This was the sort of thing colds were made of and Hannah hated summer colds. She reached into the back of her truck, shoved aside the down pillow that Michelle had picked up for her, and grabbed a towel from the stack she carried for catering. After her hair, face, and hands were dry, she felt much more in charge. This wasn't so bad. The log hadn't crashed through the windshield and she wouldn't melt like sugar just because she was wet. Hannah was preparing to pull back out on the road again when she realized that her passenger's-side windshield wiper had stopped working altogether and the one on the driver's side was limping along like a lame duck.

There was nothing to do but go for it. Sitting here at the side of the road wouldn't get her anywhere and there was no way she wanted Norman and Mike to find her in this helpless position. Hannah pulled out on the road again, thankful that the rain was light. Her wiper was operating hi fits and starts. Every time the wind gusted, it stopped Hannah inched along in the gathering darkness, hoping that no one would come up behind her at a speedy clip.

She'd gone only about a quarter of a mile when the rain began to fall harder. The small drops turned into larger drops and then into sheets of pouring rain. Her wiper stuttered with each new gust of wind, locked into a life-or-death battle with the elements. When it seemed certain that the elements would win, Hannah pulled over to the side of the road again and thumped her hand against the steering wheel in frustration.

"Oh, great!" Hannah groaned, accepting the inevitable. If she wanted to get home, there was only one thing to do. She lowered her window, poked her head out, and drove slowly down the shoulder of the road, listening for upcoming traffic and peering into the driving rain to look for her turnoff.

It was slow going. Every minute or so, Hannah had to stop to wipe off her face and her hair. She could think of

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pleasant ways to spend an evening and this wasn't one of them. If she'd known this was going to happen, she would have encouraged both Norman and Mike to follow her home!

By the time Hannah reached the turnoff, she felt like a drowned rat. Her hair was hanging in limp strands and her cheeks were raw from the stinging rain. She glanced at her watch and groaned loudly. It was almost an hour since she'd left the lake cottage. Visions of Mike and Norman waiting for her at her condo when she arrived were daunting, and she knew she'd better call to let them know that she was all right.

The first place Hannah passed was the apartment where Rhonda had lived. She pulled into the garage, parked her truck in a spot designated for visitors, and headed straight for Beatrice and Ted Koester's apartment. They owned and managed the building and they'd let her use their phone.

"Hannah!" Beatrice looked shocked when she opened her door in response to Hannah's knock. "Did your truck break down?"

"Yes, and no. It's still running, but the windshield wipers conked out on me. I had to stick my head out the window and that's why I'm so wet."

"Well, don't just stand there. Come in and dry off." Beatrice held the door open wider. "I'll get you a bath towel."

Hannah smiled her thanks as she slipped out of her soggy sandals in the hall and padded into Beatrice's dry apartment. "Could I use your phone? Mother's waiting for my call and I want to let her know that I'm all right. I promise I'll try not to drip on anything."