Red Velvet Cupcake Murder (Hannah Swensen, #16)(58)

“Oh, yes. I was his nurse. And we were . . . friends. Good friends. I love to cook and I used to cook dinner for him every once in a while.”

Hannah remembered the bottle of premium Chianti, and the gift-wrapped box of truffles that Mike said the Minneapolis police had found in Clayton’s house. “Do you like to cook Italian food?” she asked.

“It’s my favorite. It was Clay’s favorite, too. He always brought me a bottle . . .”

Hannah held up her hand. “Let me guess. A bottle of premium Chianti and a box of Fanny Farmer truffles?”

Jenny looked mystified as she nodded. “How did you know?”

“I knew because the Minneapolis police found those two items in his house. Were you planning on having dinner with him right after his trip to Lake Eden?”

“Yes,” Jenny said, and her voice shook slightly. “He was such a nice man and I was hoping that . . .”

Hannah didn’t say anything. She just gave Jenny some time to compose herself. A few moments passed and Hannah waited until Jenny was calm again before she asked the next, very critical question. “You said you were Clayton’s nurse. Where was that?”

“At the Hennepin Eye Clinic. He was so brave and his sense of humor was wonderful. He knew he was losing his sight, but somehow he managed to cope with it. I think that’s why I fell in love with him. And then, after he died, I just couldn’t work at the clinic anymore. There were too many memories and I had to go somewhere else.”

“Of course you did,” Delores said, patting Jenny’s hand.

“I have one more question,” Hannah told her. “How bad was Clayton’s eyesight when he drove the Cinnamon Roll Six here? It’s important.”

“Not bad enough to cause an accident,” Jenny said, sitting up a little straighter. “I can give you his complete diagnosis and his prognosis, but you probably won’t understand it. To put it in layman’s terms, his vision was disintegrating from the center out. That means he had just started having trouble seeing small items in the center of his field of vision.”

Like pills, Hannah thought, her heart beginning to pound faster. “By small items do you mean things like pills?” she asked.

“That’s it exactly. He said he was having trouble putting pills in the proper compartments of his pill box. He said he might need help doing that very soon and I told him to call me any time he needed me.”

“When did he say that?”

“The afternoon he left for Lake Eden. He told me he’d managed to do it, but it had been difficult. And I never . . .” Jenny stopped and swallowed hard. “I never heard from him again.”

“Would you be willing to tell all this to a detective from the sheriff’s department?” Hannah asked her.

“Yes, but . . . I don’t understand. Why does the sheriff’s department want to know about it?”

“Because the Minneapolis police concluded that Clayton’s death was a suicide. And you can prove it wasn’t.”

Quickly Hannah explained about Clayton’s son and how the insurance company wouldn’t honor Clayton’s policy if the cause of death was suicide. Jenny’s eyes flashed with anger.

“Of course I’ll help you clear this up!” she promised. “Clay told me all about the provisions he made for his son, and there’s no way I’ll let the insurance company get away with that!”

Once they’d made some plans and had their coffee and cookies, Jenny and Delores left. Lisa went back to tell her story to the next group of customers, and Hannah was left alone in the kitchen.

“This one just fell in my lap,” she said to absolutely no one as she removed the pans of bar cookies from the oven and slid them onto shelves on the baker’s rack. “I must have done something right because I really lucked out with Clayton.”

Then she poured a fresh cup of coffee, sat down on her stool again, and fervently wished that proving herself innocent in Doctor Bev’s death wouldn’t be as difficult as she thought it would be.

“Once more from the heart, Jack,” Hannah told him. “And remember to keep it simple. All you have to do is tell her you love her and say you want her to be your wife. After that just say, Will you marry me, Marge?”

“But what if I forget her name like I did the last time we rehearsed? It won’t be good if I forget her name.”

“You only forgot because you were nervous.”

“I know, but what if I’m nervous again?”

Hannah thought about that for a moment. “You can work around it. Just say, Will you marry me, my love?”

“That’s good. I can do that. Let’s do it again, Hannah.”

“Okay.” Hannah stood up and Jack got down on one knee. He took her hand and kissed it.

“My dearest,” he began, looking up at her. “I love you so much. You’re so good, and kind, and . . . and sweet. I want you to be my wife. Please be my wife. Will you marry me, my love?”

Hannah was about to tell him what a wonderful job he’d done when she heard two gasps from the doorway that led into the coffee shop.

“Uh-oh!” Jack said, getting to his feet as fast as he could. “We’re busted!”

Hannah swiveled around to see Lisa and Marge standing there with identical expressions of shock and dismay on their faces.