Plum Pudding Murder. Joanne Fluke
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notebooks, books, and the occasional laptop computer. Even though the evening had turned cold and her mother had taken the precaution of plugging her sedan into the power strip that ran around the perimeter of the parking lot, most of these students were dashing along with their parkas unzipped and their heads bare. Some were even wearing tennis shoes rather than boots and Hannah remembered the same phenomenon occurring on the campus she’d attended. They were young. They were invincible. They were much too healthy to succumb to winter colds or other illnesses.
Delores slowed near the door to Stewart Hall to let a large group of students pass by. Hannah saw her mother eyeing them critically and as soon as they were gone, she turned to her mother. “What is it?”
“Not one single girl in that group had a hat or gloves. Don’t they know what will happen to their skin and hair if they continue to expose it to this dry winter air? Or is it just that they don’t care?”
“Both,” Hannah took her mother’s arm and escorted her into the warmth of the building. “Where’s our class?”
“It’s on the second floor. Follow me.” Delores led the way to a stairwell and began to hurry up the steps. Hannah followed, but once she’d reached the landing between the first and second floors, she was sadly out of breath. She should have continued her exercise class at Heavenly Bodies Spa, but life had intruded with holiday orders for cookies coming in fast and furiously. She just didn’t have the luxury of setting aside an hour and a half every day. At least that’s what she told herself whenever the subject crossed her mind.
“Hurry, dear.” Delores called out, turning around to look over her shoulder as she reached the door to the second floor. “We don’t want to be late.”
We don’t want to be embarrassed either, Hannah thought, and I’ll be completely humiliated if I hurry into class breathing like a steam engine.
“Hannah?” Delores called out.
“Just a second, Mother.” Hannah knew she had to take a few seconds to catch her breath so she bent down to fiddle with the sole of her boot. “I think I stepped on a tack. Just go and wait for me in the hall. I’ll pull it out and be right there.”
It didn’t take long for Hannah’s breathing to return to normal. Perhaps some small benefit from her exercise class had stuck with her. She straightened up, climbed the rest of the stairs, and pushed open the door to the hallway. Her mother was waiting and Hannah had just about reached her when she caught sight of a vaguely familiar figure racing toward them from the other end of the hall.
The man glanced at his watch as he sped forward. It was clear he didn’t notice Delores and Hannah standing there, and he struck Hannah’s arm as he ran past, knocking her notebook from her hand and sending it flying across the hallway. He stopped and turned back, and then he retrieved her notebook and handed it back to her with an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m late for class, but that’s no excuse. I should have been more careful. Are you all right?”
Hannah stared up at him and her breath caught in her throat. She must be imagining things. It couldn’t be. She opened her mouth to assure him that she was fine, but no words came out.
“Don’t worry. She’s fine,” Delores said, stepping into the breach. And then she turned to Hannah. “Aren’t you, dear?”
It was like pulling teeth, but Hannah managed to croak out one word. “Fine,” she said in a voice that didn’t sound at all like hers.
“As long as you’re okay, I’d better go,” the man said. “My students are probably waiting for me.”
“What do you teach?” Delores asked, picking up the conversational ball since Hannah was perfectly silent.
“Poetry, but I’m part of a team that’s here from Macalester. We’re putting together an intercollegiate event called the Christmas Follies.”
“That sounds wonderful!” Delores exclaimed. “Will the show be open to the public?”
“Yes, and it’s also being televised. It should be quite a production with talent from five different colleges.” The man turned to Hannah. “Excuse me, but you look so familiar. Have we met before?”
As she looked up into the dark blue eyes she’d once described as marvelous and soul-searching, Hannah wanted to die. She prayed that the floor beneath her feet would disappear, dropping her all the way down to the basement so that she could hide in the darkest corner. It was achingly clear that he didn’t remember. And he should!
“Hannah?” Delores prompted, and even without looking, Hannah knew her mother was regarding her curiously.
“Yes, we’ve met,” Hannah said in a voice that was amazingly steady considering the circumstances. Then she took her mother’s arm and pulled her down the hall, not looking back to see if he had continued on his way.
“Hannah!” Delores chided her in a whisper that seemed far too loud to Hannah. “You were rude to that nice young professor.”
“Yes,” Hannah admitted. There was no arguing with her mother’s assessment.
“I don’t understand.”
“I know you don’t, Mother.”
Mother and daughter walked on until Delores stopped at a classroom door. “This is it,” she said, glancing at her watch. “We have one minute before we’re late. Who was that man, Hannah?”
“Someone I once thought I knew. Let’s go in, Mother.”
“Not quite yet.” Delores grabbed Hannah’s arm. “Why did you act as if you could hardly wait to get away from him?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“But I do! Was he the man you told me about, the reason you left college?”
Hannah drew a deep breath. A small part of her wanted to confide in her mother, but no good would be served by recounting the story of her failed and foolish romance. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said firmly, opening the door and ushering her mother into the classroom.
Time had never passed so slowly. Some said that at the instant of a man’s death, his whole life passed before his eyes. This was just the opposite. Hannah had never seen the minute hand move so slowly. After watching the clock for what seemed like three hours and was actually four minutes, Hannah took notes just for something to do as Miss Kimberly Whiting, CPA, droned on and on about profit and loss statements, the proper way to invoice, and the essentials of sales tax record-keeping. The information was dispensed fast and heavy with no break for questions until the dot of seven twenty-five when Miss Whiting stopped speaking and picked up the folder she’d placed on the podium.
“It’s time for bad business practices,” she said, and even those class members who’d been dozing sat up straight in their chairs. “Tonight’s example concerns a large screen television dealership.”
Hannah listened as their teacher went on to describe the four-man partnership. Three invested equal amounts of money and the fourth invested his time and expertise by actually running the business. There were handouts showing profit and loss statements, tax returns, copies of bank statements, and payroll rosters. Their assignment was to figure out how the dealership had managed to stay in business for more than five months despite selling television sets for less than cost.
As they filed out of class, Hannah found herself dreading the ride home. Delores was bound to ask more questions about Bradford Ramsey and she’d been perfectly honest when she’d said that she didn’t want to talk about it.
They’d descended the staircase and were walking past the classrooms on the first floor when Hannah spotted someone she thought she knew. “Is that Dr. Love?” she asked her mother.
“Yes, but she’s Dr. Schmidt out here,” Delores said, poking her head in the open door and waving.
“Hello, Delores!” Dr. Love sounded very glad