Red Velvet Cupcake Murder (Hannah Swensen, #16)(82)

“You still look kind of shaky. Do you want some water, or something?”

“Water would be good, but chocolate would be better.”

“Where is it?”

Hannah pointed to the baker’s rack where her experimental brownie cookies were cooling.

“I figured that around here chocolate would be easy,” Norman said, heading over to the baker’s rack and picking up a cookie. He carried it over to her and put it in her hand. “Eat this.”

Hannah took a huge bite and her eyes began to water. “Where was this cookie? Which rack?” she managed to gasp out.

Norman shrugged. “I think it was the top rack. Do you want me to check?”

“No, but water would be good now. Water would be very, very good! Second thought? Milk! Just bring me the carton. And please hurry!”

Norman was back in very short order with a carton of milk in one hand and a glass in the other. “Here you go,” he said, trying to hand her the glass. But Hannah waved the glass away and grabbed the carton. A second later, she was glugging down milk straight out of the carton, something she’d never been allowed to do when she was a child.

“Is there something wrong with this cookie?” Norman asked her, bending down to pick up the rest of the cookie that Hannah had dropped on the floor.

“No. It’s perfect. Mike’s going to love them when he gets here. Better dump the rest of that cookie in the garbage and wash your hands before you touch your face or rub your eyes.”

Norman examined the pieces of cookie he held in his hand, and started to laugh. “Chopped Jalapenos,” he said.

“Right. I made three batches of brownie cookies. One has raisins, chocolate chips, and walnuts. They’re called Fruit and Nut Brownie Cookies. The second batch has chopped green chilies. They’re called Hot Stuff Brownie Cookies. And the third batch has chopped jalapenos. I’m calling those Four Alarm Brownie Cookies.”

“And I gave you a cookie from the four alarm batch?”

“Right. And guess what?”

“What?”

“I don’t feel at all shaky any longer. I just feel like drinking more milk.”

By the time Norman left, Hannah felt much better. She’d told him all about Moishe’s encounter with the weasel and he’d shared her excitement over the fact that one of Barbara’s delusions hadn’t turned out to be a delusion after all. But Norman hadn’t been able to offer any reasonable explanation for the button that Doctor Bev had sent to Hannah. They’d gone through the possibilities and had come up with only one scenario that worked. The crime scene team had missed the button when they’d searched the penthouse and Doctor Bev had come across it when she’d moved some of her things to the penthouse on the morning of her death.

The oven timer rang and Hannah took the final batch of cookies from the oven. The Cookie Jar was crowded again today and she’d mixed up a batch of Old-Fashioned Sugar Cookies just in case the dozens and dozens of cookies they’d already baked weren’t enough. Once the cookie sheets were on the racks and cooling, Hannah sat down with a cup of fresh coffee and thought about the package that Doctor Bev had sent her.

There were so many unanswered questions. Why hadn’t Doctor Bev written her name anywhere on the envelope? Was it because she had wanted to remain anonymous? Or had Doctor Bev simply dropped the envelope in a handy mailbox, intending to tell Hannah where she’d found it before it came in the mail? There was another possibility, a darker possibility that neither Norman nor Hannah had mentioned. Was Doctor Bev the person who had attacked Barbara? She hadn’t been a large woman, but neither was Barbara and Doctor Bev was younger and stronger. But then why had Barbara told them that her brother had attacked her? If Barbara was unable to remember Doctor Bev’s name, wouldn’t she have said her sister instead of her brother?

Hannah gave a sigh of pure frustration. She simply couldn’t explain why Doctor Bev had sent the button to her. That was the trouble with trying to devise a likely scenario when you were missing key pieces of the puzzle. There was only one person who could have filled in the gaps and that person, Doctor Bev, had been murdered before she could explain anything to anybody.

“Lisa called the station and said you needed me,” Mike said, walking into the kitchen from the coffee shop. “What’s up, Hannah?”

Hannah pointed to the padded envelope on the counter. “This,” she said. “It came in yesterday’s mail and I opened it this morning. The only thing inside the envelope was a button from the blouse Barbara was wearing the night she was attacked.”

“Did you touch the button?”

“No. I used a paper napkin to push it in here.” Hannah handed him the small paper bag.

Mike opened the bag and glanced inside. “It’s pretty small and it’s got a rough surface, but maybe they can recover some partials. You touched the envelope when you opened it, didn’t you?”

“Yes, and so did Lisa. She got it out of our box at the post office and she carried it in here to me.”

“I think we can forget about fingerprints on the envelope. It went through the mail and it must have been handled by several people including Lisa and you.” Mike walked over and picked up the envelope to examine it. “There’s nothing distinctive about the envelope. You can buy them at any stationary store. No return address?”