Chocolate Chip Cookie Murder by Joanne Fluke Page B

and a flowered sweatshirt, and hurried back to the kitchen to fast-forward through the messages on her answering machine. They were all from her mother. Delores sounded like a talking chipmunk at the increased-speed playback and Hannah was amused. She knew she’d have to return her mother’s calls eventually, but that could wait until she got to The Cookie Jar.
    â€œSee you tonight, Moishe.” Hannah grabbed her keys from the corkboard next to the phone and glanced at the African violet as she passed by the table. Its leaves were turning yellow and it looked in imminent danger of becoming mulch. She shrugged into her bomber jacket and snatched up the plant, carrying it with her out the door. Lisa was a wizard with plants. She might be able to resuscitate it.
    It wasn’t until Hannah was approaching the dairy that it hit her, and she winced as she drove past the white cinderblock building with the huge Cozy Cow sign on the roof. Ron was gone. She’d never see him loading his truck again.
    That was a sobering thought and Hannah almost blew off the stop sign at the corner of Main and Third. She managed to brake just in time and she smiled guiltily at Herb Beeseman, who was lurking in the alley by the Cut ’n Curl. Herb just shook his finger in a good-natured “no-no” gesture, and Hannah breathed a sigh of relief. Herb was being very nice this morning. He could have given her a ticket for reckless driving, but he seemed more amused than angry. The Molasses Crackles she’d given him yesterday afternoon had been a very good investment.
    As she turned the corner and drove into the alley behind her shop, Hannah wondered who’d hauled away Ron’s truck. Max Turner would be livid if it had been impounded and he was one truck short for his delivery routes. She steered a wide berth around the place where Ron had been shot and gave a fleeting thought to the difference between the fronts of the shops and the backs. There were no decorative planters in the alley for shrubbery or flowers, no plate-glass windows for displays and signs. The backs of the shops were institutional-looking, just parking places, Dumpsters, and blank walls with small doors set in at regular intervals. It wasn’t a nice place to die, but that raised another question. Was there a nice place to die? And did it really matter to the deceased?
    Morbid thinking was getting her nowhere, and Hannah drove on down the alley. If Ron had been killed on the street, there might have been witnesses, but the alley was usually deserted and she hadn’t seen any activity when she’d driven in yesterday morning. Even though she hadn’t been paying much attention, Hannah was sure she would have noticed if there had been anyone prowling around the Dumpsters or standing near any of the doorways. The only other person she’d seen yesterday morning had been Claire Rodgers.
    As Hannah unlocked her back door, she decided she’d have a chat with Claire. Bill or one of the other deputies must have already interviewed her, but it couldn’t hurt to ask a few more questions. Hannah had the perfect excuse to talk to Claire. Just as soon as she mixed up her cookie dough, she’d dash next door and take a look at the cocktail dress that Claire had seemed so eager to sell to her.
    She switched on the lights, fired up the ovens, and headed for the sink. After she’d slipped on her paper cap and given her hands a thorough scrub, Hannah reached for the book of laminated recipes that hung on a hook by the sink. She was catering the Lake Eden Regency Romance Club meeting at four this afternoon and she needed to make a batch of Regency Ginger Crisps.
    Hannah read through the recipe before she began to work. She also used an erasable felt-tipped marker to check off the ingredients as she added them to the bowl. It was possible to leave out a critical ingredient when she was distracted, and Hannah was definitely distracted. She