Key Lime Pie Murder. Joanne Fluke
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shook herself mentally and glanced at her watch. It was nine-thirty and she had to meet Pam and her teacher’s assistant, Willa Sunquist, at ten. She didn’t have time to think about marriage now.
She turned her attention back to the photograph. It was huge, two feet by three feet, and Norman had taken it at The Cookie Jar. The sign painted on the window was clearly visible in the mirror behind the counter, and that must be the way the secretary had recognized her. Hannah was standing behind the counter, looking off into the distance, and there was a very loving, almost beatific expression on her face. It was clear she was thinking about someone or something she loved, and Hannah wished she could remember who or what it was.
There was a calendar on the wall to the left of the counter, and Hannah noticed the date. Norman had taken this photograph when Ross Barton and his movie crew were in Lake Eden. The clock on the wall told her that it was almost noon, the time when Ross and his crew arrived to have lunch at The Cookie Jar. Hannah guessed she could have been thinking about Ross, her old college friend who’d turned out to be much more than that.
Then there was Mike Kingston. She could have been thinking of Lake Eden’s most eligible bachelor, the best-looking detective in the Winnetka County Sheriff’s Department. Thoughts of Mike always put a smile on her face and made her heart race harder in her chest. Or perhaps she’d been thinking of Norman. While he wasn’t heart-stopping handsome, he was kind, and sweet, and sexy, and gentle, and…
“Good heavens!” Hannah exclaimed under her breath. Since she didn’t remember why she’d been smiling, her smile would just have to remain a mystery. She gave one last look and turned to head for the Creative Arts Building, reminding herself that no one knew why the Mona Lisa had been smiling, either.
Hannah took a shortcut through the food court, an area with picnic tables that was ringed by food and snack stands. Some of them were getting ready to open, and Hannah stopped in front of a sign that read, DEEP-FRIED CANDY BARS.
One glance at the description that was written in smaller type near the bottom of the sign and Hannah’s mouth started to water. The candy bars were impaled on sticks, chilled thoroughly, dipped into a sweet batter that was a cousin to the one used for funnel cakes, and then deep-fried to a golden brown. The booth was called Sinful Pleasures, and that was entirely appropriate. There should have been a warning sign that read, NO REDEEMING NUTRITIONAL MERIT WHATSOEVER, but Hannah doubted that would stop anyone from ordering. The choices of candy bar were varied, and she was in the process of debating the virtues of a Milky Way over a Snickers bar when she heard a voice calling her name.
Hannah turned to see her sister Andrea running toward her across the food court. Her face was pink from exertion, and wisps of blond hair had escaped the elaborate twist she’d pinned up on the top of her head. She was wearing a perfectly ordinary outfit, light blue slacks with a matching sleeveless blouse, but she still looked like a fashion model.
“Amazing,” Hannah muttered under her breath. “Totally amazing.”
“What’s amazing?” Andrea asked, arriving at her side.
“You look gorgeous.”
“You need glasses. I’m wearing my oldest clothes and my hair’s a mess.”
“It doesn’t matter. You still look gorgeous.”
“It’s nice of you to say that, but I don’t have time to talk about that now. I tracked you down because I need your help and I’m in a real rush.” Andrea stopped and stared as someone opened the shutters on the fried candy bar booth from the inside. “I read about those deep-fried candy bars in the Lake Eden Journal. You’re not going to order one, are you?”
“They’re not really open yet,” Hannah hedged. “None of the food booths open until noon.”
“Well, that’s a relief!” Andrea fanned her face with her hand. “I don’t have to tell you that they’re loaded with calories, and you still haven’t lost the weight you put on over Christmas, do I?”
“Absolutely not,” Hannah said. Wild horses wouldn’t get her to admit to Andrea that she was sorely tempted to come back when the fair officially opened and order one. “Why do you need my help?”
“Let’s sit down and I’ll show you.”
Andrea led the way to one of the picnic tables that sat in the shade of a huge elm. She brushed off the top and opened the file folder she was carrying.
“Photos for the Mother-Daughter contest?” Hannah stated the obvious as Andrea laid out four different poses of her and Hannah’s oldest niece, Tracey.
“That’s right. Norman dropped them off last night and I can’t decide which one is the best. I have to turn it in at ten this morning,” Andrea frowned as she glanced at her watch, “and I’ve got only twelve minutes to take it to the secretary’s office.”
Hannah looked at each photograph in turn. They were all good, but one was a smidgeon better. “This one,” she said, pointing it out.
“Why that one?”
“Because your heads are tilted at exactly the same angle.”
“That’s true,” Andrea said, but she didn’t look happy. “How about the one on the end?”
“It’s a good picture, but the resemblance isn’t as striking. Tracey’s looking straight at the camera, and you’re looking off to the side.”
“I know. I noticed that. It’s just…” Andrea’s voice trailed off, and she gave a little sigh.
“It’s just what?”
“My hair looks better in the picture on the end.”
“True, but it’s not a beauty pageant. It’s a mother-daughter look-alike contest.”
“You’re right, of course.” Andrea gathered up the photos and put them back in the folder. “I’ll use the one you picked.”
Hannah’s sisterly radar went on full alert. Something was wrong. Andrea was worried about how she looked, and she’d mentioned her hair twice in the past three minutes. “What’s wrong with your hair?” she asked, forgetting to even try to phrase the question tactfully.
“I knew it!” Andrea wailed, and her eyes filled with tears. “You noticed and that means everyone in town will notice. Bill said he couldn’t see any more, but he must have missed one.”
“One what?”
Andrea took a deep breath for courage and then she blurted it out. “A gray hair! I’m going gray, Hannah, and I’m only twenty-six. It’s just awful, especially since Mother isn’t even gray yet!”
She would be without the wonders of modern cosmetology, Hannah thought, but she didn’t say it. She’d promised Delores she’d never tell that an expensive hair color called Raven Wing was partially responsible for her mother’s youthful appearance. Wishing for the wisdom of the Sphinx, or at least that of a clinical psychiatrist, Hannah waded in with both feet. Her goal was to make Andrea feel better even if it took a little white lie to accomplish it. “Oatmeal,” she said, remembering the extra bag of cookies she was carrying in her large shoulder bag.
“What?”
“Mother swears oatmeal prevents aging. She eats it every day.”
“I know it’s supposed to be good for your cholesterol, and some people use it for facials.” Andrea looked thoughtful. “Does Mother really believe that it keeps her from going gray?”
“Absolutely. But whatever you do, you can’t mention it to her.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re not supposed to believe she’s old enough to have gray hair. If we mention it, she’ll take it as an insult.”
Andrea thought about that for a moment. “You’re right. I’ll never mention