Key Lime Pie Murder. Joanne Fluke
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of chocolate chips on the top?”
“I remember. And it worked because you always cleaned your bowl.”
“You only thought it worked. I ate off the brown sugar and the chocolate chips, and then I gave the bowl to Bruno when you weren’t looking.”
“You did?” Hannah was disillusioned. She thought she’d been so clever in getting her sister to eat oatmeal, and the Swensen family dog had gotten it instead.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you,” Andrea said, watching the play of emotions that crossed Hannah’s face.
“That’s okay.” Hannah began to smile as she thought of the perfect ploy. She’d get Andrea to eat oatmeal now, every single day, to make up for her deception! “Bruno was a gorgeous dog. I used to wish I had hair that color.”
“I know. And his coat was so soft. I still get a little lump in my throat every time I see an Irish Setter.”
Hannah took a deep breath. She was about to drop the other shoe. “I’m glad you told me about the oatmeal.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because now I understand why Bruno never went gray. It must have been the oatmeal you gave him. Too bad you didn’t eat it.”
Andrea groaned. “If I’d known, I would have. And now I suppose it’s too late!”
“Not necessarily. Mother never used to eat it when she was young.”
“Really?”
“You were probably too little to remember, but all she used to have for breakfast was coffee. She said she never got hungry until noon, but I think that was just an excuse.”
“For what?”
“For not admitting that she was on a diet. Mother put on a little weight after Michelle was born and she had a hard time taking it off.”
“So when did she start eating breakfast?”
“It was after I went off to college. I’m not positive because I wasn’t there, but I think she started eating oatmeal for breakfast right after she got her first gray hair.”
Andrea shuddered slightly. “Okay, I’ll just have to do the same thing. It’s close to a toss-up, but I’m pretty sure that I hate gray hair more than I hate oatmeal.”
“Atta girl!” Hannah reached into her purse and pulled out a bag of cookies. “And just to make that oatmeal more palatable, here’s a present for you.”
“Cookies?”
“Karen Lood’s Swedish Oatmeal Cookies. They’re authentic and they’re absolutely delicious. Mother got the recipe from Karen before she moved out of town.”
“Thanks, Hannah. I don’t usually like oatmeal cookies, but they’re bound to be better than eating oatmeal in a bowl.”
“Taste one.”
Andrea pulled out a cookie and took a bite. She chewed and then she smiled. “Good! I like these, Hannah!”
“I knew you would. They’re a really simple cookie, and sometimes simple is best.”
“Maybe this is crazy, but these remind me of your Old-Fashioned Sugar Cookies.”
“It’s not crazy at all. Both of them are buttery, crunchy, and sweet. Just make sure you have three a day, and come down to the shop for more when you run out. We bake them every day in the summer. There’s no chips to melt and they hold up really well in hot weather.” Hannah glanced down at her watch and started to frown. “You’d better get a move on, Andrea. You don’t want to be late turning in that photo.”
“Right.” Andrea stood up and took a step away from the picnic table. Then she turned to smile at Hannah. “Thanks, Hannah. No matter what’s bothering me, you always make me feel better.”
Hannah smiled back. Andrea could be a pain at times, especially when she went into a tirade about the unfashionable way Hannah dressed, or the fact that she was a bit too plump. But on that giant tally sheet sisters kept in their heads, she’d won this round hands down.
SWEDISH OATMEAL COOKIES
(Karen Lood)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in middle position.
1 cup butter (2 sticks, ½ pound)
¾ cup white (granulated) sugar
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup flour (no need to sift)
2 cups oatmeal (I used Quaker Oats—Quick)
1 egg yolk
Melt the butter in a microwave safe bowl on HIGH for approximately 1½ minutes. Let it cool to room temperature. Mix in the white sugar.
Add the baking soda, flour, and oatmeal. Stir thoroughly.
Beat the egg yolk with a fork until it’s thoroughly mixed. Add it to the bowl and stir until it’s incorporated.
Grease (or spray with Pam or other nonstick cooking spray) a standard-sized cookie sheet. Make small balls of dough and place them on the cookie sheet, 12 to a sheet. Press them down with a fork in a crisscross pattern the way you’d do for peanut butter cookies.
Bake at 350 degrees F. for 10 to 12 minutes or until they’re just starting to brown around the edges. Let the cookies cool for a minute or two on the sheets and then transfer them to a wire rack to complete cooling.
Yield: approximately 5 dozen, depending on cookie size.
“Did I say thank you for the cookies?” Pam Baxter, the head of the three-woman judging panel, reached for another cookie.
“You did. About six times.”
“And did I?” Willa Sunquist asked, reaching in right after Pam.
“Seven times, I think.”
“What did you call them again?”
“Pineapple Delights. We got the idea from Lisa’s aunt, Irma Baker. She uses dried apricots too, but Lisa changed it to all pineapple because Herb’s crazy about pineapple.”
“Well it’s a cinch you’ll win the cookie competition!” Willa declared.
“No, I won’t. I run a bakery and coffee shop, and according to the rules, I’m not allowed to enter.”
“That’s a break for the rest of the contestants,” Willa said with a laugh. A nice-looking woman in her late twenties, Willa had just finished the school year as Pam’s classroom aide. The job hadn’t paid much, but Pam and George had given Willa a break by renting their basement apartment to her at a ridiculously low price so that she could finish her teaching degree at Tri-County College.
“Do you have any questions about the rules, Hannah?” Pam asked, closing her slim booklet titled, Guidelines for Judging Baked Goods.
“I don’t think so. The score sheets spell everything out. We just rate each entry on the variables, using a scale from one to ten.”
“And when we’re finished with an entry, Pam collects the score sheets,” Willa said. “At the end of the night, we add up the numbers, enter them on the master score sheet, and Pam authenticates it by signing her name.”
Pam glanced down at the