Raspberry Danish Murder (Hannah Swensen #22)(85)

“No. Really I don’t.” Hannah was puzzled. “Please tell me what will happen, Florence.”

“It’s simple, and you’ve been through it before. The orange you chose will leave you. It’ll roll away from you one day when you’re not at home. And you’ll never see it again!”

“But why?”

“Your chosen orange has to be your only orange. It’s that simple.”

“If my orange rolls away, I’ll just choose another.” Hannah reached out for another orange, but Florence pushed her hand away. “Oh no, you don’t, Hannah Swensen!”

“But I need another orange!”

“Need, schmeed,” Florence snorted derisively. “You don’t deserve another orange after the way you treated your first one!”

“But . . . it wasn’t my fault that my first orange rolled away!” Hannah could feel the tears gather in her eyes. “Really it wasn’t!”

“I should have known you wouldn’t believe me. Your kind never does. You treat your orange badly and then you’re surprised when it doesn’t want to stay with you.”

“Please, Florence. I love oranges! Can’t you please let me have another? I promise I’ll do better with the next orange.”

Florence shook her head. “I can’t give you another orange. You knew the rules. Your orange gave you the key to its heart and you didn’t appreciate what your orange had given you.”

“But I promise that I won’t do it again!”

“I don’t believe you. I let you have not one, but two oranges who wanted to stay with you forever. Both of them were willing to give you the keys to their hearts, and you rejected both of them. I really thought you’d changed your attitude, that you were ready to appreciate citrus, but you haven’t changed one bit! It’s clear to me that you don’t know how to treat the oranges you say you love!”

“But I do! And I want one! Please! I love oranges and I’ve got to have one!”

“Hannah?” a voice asked, but it didn’t sound like Florence. Perhaps Florence had developed a cold.

“I want an orange! I need an orange! I can’t live without an orange!”

“Hannah! Wake up. You’re dreaming,” the new voice said. “Open your eyes and look at me.”

Hannah opened her eyes. At first, everything was hazy, but then she realized that Michelle was sitting on the edge of her bed. Florence was gone, the pyramid of beautiful oranges was gone, and the nightmare began to dissolve. “I was dreaming?”

“You certainly were! Now I know that I need to stop baking anything with fruit in the morning. You did it again.”

“Oh,” Hannah said, waking up enough to sit up and rub her eyes, but she still felt a bit out of touch with reality. “I remember now. What did you bake today? It smells scrumptious.”

“Orange Marmalade Muffins. You still had that big jar of marmalade in your pantry. I made three batches so we can take some with us to our booth at the convention.”

“Just smelling them makes me hungry,” Hannah told her. “I’ll take a quick shower, get dressed as fast as I can, and come out to the kitchen to taste one.”

“Do you want me to bring you a wake-up cup of coffee?”

“No thanks. I can wait. The shower will wake me up.”

“Just as a precaution, please remember not to tip your head up toward the bathroom ceiling.”

“Why?”

“Because if you fall asleep in the shower that way, you’ll probably drown!”

Hannah was true to her word. She showered and dressed as fast as she could, and she was in the kitchen only a few minutes past the ten-minute mark. She started to walk toward the coffeepot, but Michelle waved her down into a chair at the kitchen table.

“I’ll get it,” she said. “I can see you’re ambulatory, but I don’t think you’re ready to carry a hot cup of coffee quite yet.”

Hannah sank down in the chair at the Formica-topped table that was soon to become an antique, along with the matching chairs and the apple-shaped clock that hung on the wall. “Thanks,” she said, when Michelle set the coffee mug in front of her. “Muffins?”

“Coming right up,” Michelle reassured her. She tipped two muffins out of the tin, put them on a plate, and carried it to the table. “I haven’t had one yet, either,” she said, fetching another cup of coffee and sitting down across from Hannah.

Hannah peeled off the cupcake paper and split the muffin in half. The warm orange marmalade was pooled in the center, and she breathed deeply. “I love oranges,” she said, biting into the muffin without benefit of butter.

“What do you think?” Michelle asked her.

“I think these are winners.” She took another bite and looked thoughtful. “Is that oatmeal I taste?”

“Yes. These are Orange Marmalade Filled Oatmeal Muffins. I thought the orange and the oatmeal would be a good combination.”

“You thought right.” Hannah reached for the dish of salted butter on the table and buttered the other half of her muffin. Then she took another bite and smiled. “They’re great with salted butter, too.”

“Let it cool and see how that tastes,” Michelle advised.