Chocolate Chip Cookie Murder Part 11

"What a nice restaurant!" Lisa smiled happily as a waitress led them to a wooden booth in the rustic-looking dining room. "Just look at those Indian blankets on the wall. They're gorgeous."

"Yes, they are." Hannah glanced at the vividly colored blankets. Though they added coziness to the cavernous wood-paneled room, their woven designs didn't look anything like the Sioux blankets she'd seen on her trip to the museum. Perhaps authenticity didn't really matter to a gambler.

"Do you think we should take Herb's suggestion and try the ribs?" Lisa looked up from her menu. It was printed on a type of plastic that resembled birch bark and there was a stick drawing of a teepee on the front.

"That sounds good to me. If Herb recommended them, they must be good. He always had a knack for ferreting out the best item on a menu when we were cla.s.smates in high school."

When the ribs came, they were tender and juicy, slathered with a sauce that reminded Hannah of aromatic wood smoke and sweet vine-ripened tomatoes. As they ate, occasionally wiping their hands on the wet napkins the waitress had provided, Hannah thought about the best way to identify the bouncer who'd fought with Ron. If she asked the management, they'd be paranoid about possible lawsuits. She had to think of some nonthreatening excuse to convince them that she needed the bouncer's name.

By the time they'd wiped their hands the final time and shared an excellent cranberry cobbler, Hannah knew exactly how to proceed. She paid their tab, got Lisa settled in front of a quarter slot machine with the change from The Cookie Jar, and set out to find the manager.

After being referred to several employees, Hannah finally found a security guard who agreed to escort her to the manager's office. The guard was tall, broad-shouldered, and perfectly impa.s.sive as he blocked a lighted security panel with his body and punched numbers on a keypad that opened the door to an inside corridor.

Hannah gave him a friendly smile as he motioned her through the door, but he didn't smile back. It was obvious that a stern demeanor topped the list of requirements for casino security guards.

Once she'd arrived at the proper door, the guard knocked twice and then opened it. "A Miss Swensen to see you. She says it's personal."

A voice from the interior told Hannah to enter and she stepped into the office. The room was large and beautifully decorated. Three walls were ivory and the fourth was painted an attractive shade of Chinese red. It contained an ivory silk-covered sofa and two matching chairs that flanked a black lacquer coffee table with gold inlay dragons. The decor was an odd choice for an Indian casino, and Hannah was surprised. There wasn't a single Native American blanket or artifact in sight.

An older man with carefully styled gray hair rose from his chair behind a black lacquer desk. "Miss Swensen? I'm Paul Littletree, the casino manager. Won't you sit down?"

"Thank you," Hannah replied and took the chair in front of his desk, a lovely black lacquer armchair upholstered in Chinese red silk.

"You can leave us, Dennis." Paul Littletree waved a dismissal to the security guard.

Hannah waited until the door had closed behind the security guard and then she launched into the speech she'd prepared. "This is really embarra.s.sing, Mr. Littletree. I'm afraid my brother got a little out of hand the last time he was here. My parents sent me out to apologize and offer to pay for any damage that he did."

"When was this?"

"On Tuesday night. When he got home, he told my mother that he'd been in a fight with one of your bouncers." Hannah lowered her eyes and attempted to look embarra.s.sed about her mythical brother's actions. "We think it's that new girlfriend of his. She's involved in some kind of antigambling movement and she talked him into driving out here to pa.s.s out brochures. My brother just has some scratches and bruises, but my parents asked me to check to make sure that your bouncer's all right."

"That would be Alfred Redbird. I noticed that he had some bruises and a black eye when he came in from the parking lot."

"I'm so sorry." Hannah sighed deeply. "Of course we'll be glad to pay his medical expenses and make up for any time he lost from work."

"That's very generous, but it's not necessary. Alfred didn't need more than a couple of Band-Aids."

"I'm so glad to hear that. My mother's been worried sick about it. Was Mr. Redbird able to finish his s.h.i.+ft on Tuesday night?"

"No," Paul Littletree chuckled, "but that had nothing to do with your brother. His wife called at midnight and Alfred left to take her to the hospital. Their first baby was born at eight the next morning."

Hannah smiled, even though she felt more like frowning. The bouncer was sounding less and less like a viable suspect. "I'd still like to apologize to him personally. Is he working tonight?"

"No, I gave him the rest of the week off with pay. He'll be back on Monday and he should be used to being a new father by then. Relax, Miss Swensen. Your brother didn't do any real damage, but I'm afraid we'll have to ban him from the casino for a while."

"I certainly can't blame you for that. You have a very nice place here, Mr. Littletree. My friend and I just finished having the ribs at your restaurant and they were delicious."

"I'm glad you're enjoying your evening with us." Paul Littletree rose from his chair and Hannah knew that her interview was over. "Tell your parents that we appreciate their concern. And come out to see us again soon."

When Hannah emerged from the office, the security guard was waiting for her. He wore the same unsmiling visage as he escorted her back into the main part of the casino, and Hannah fought the urge to do something to rattle his composure. If he ever decided to move to England, he'd be a shoo-in to replace one of the guards at Buckingham Palace.

Lisa was right where Hannah had left her, sitting in front of the same slot machine. There was a pile of quarters in the tray and Hannah was surprised. "Are you winning, Lisa?"

"I think I'm a couple of dollars ahead." Lisa glanced down at her tray. "Why don't you try it? It's really a lot of fun."

"All right, but only for a few minutes. I want to get back before nine. Just let me get some change."

"Take some of these." Lisa scooped some quarters out of the tray and handed them to her. "Maybe they'll bring you luck."

The machine next to Lisa was empty and Hannah sat down. Her last suspect had been eliminated. If the bouncer had been at the hospital with his wife, there was no way he could have shot Ron. As Hannah pulled the handle and lost her first quarter, she wondered what people found so fascinating about slot machines. They weren't really interactive, but the man across the aisle from her was patting his machine with his left hand while he pulled the handle with his right.

It must be superst.i.tious behavior, Hannah decided, and as she glanced at the people around her, she realized that every one of them was doing something to try to change their luck. The lady in the red dress talked to her machine, murmuring endearments as the reels spun around. The older man in the polo s.h.i.+rt held down the handle until the reels stopped moving and then he released it to fly back with a jerk. The young brunette in the pink sweater was cupping her left hand in the coin tray as if she could will the coins to fall. Hannah was amused as she turned back to her machine. Everything was mechanized. Didn't they realize that nothing they could do would change the outcome? Hannah decided, and as she glanced at the people around her, she realized that every one of them was doing something to try to change their luck. The lady in the red dress talked to her machine, murmuring endearments as the reels spun around. The older man in the polo s.h.i.+rt held down the handle until the reels stopped moving and then he released it to fly back with a jerk. The young brunette in the pink sweater was cupping her left hand in the coin tray as if she could will the coins to fall. Hannah was amused as she turned back to her machine. Everything was mechanized. Didn't they realize that nothing they could do would change the outcome?

Prompted by the thought that the sooner they left, the sooner she could get home to Moishe and her comfortable bed, Hannah noticed that it was possible to drop five quarters into the coin slot before she pulled the handle. That was nice. She'd get rid of her money five times faster that way. Hannah concentrated on dropping in multiple coins, pulling the handle, and waiting to drop in more.

"Isn't this fun, Hannah?"

Lisa turned to grin at her and Hannah put on an answering smile. Some fun. As far as she could see, the only benefit that might come from playing the slots was a possible strengthening of the muscles in her right arm.

Hannah dropped in her last five quarters. One more pull of the handle and she'd be finished. She yanked down the lever and turned to Lisa to ask her if she was ready to leave, when a siren wailed, red lights flashed, and quarters began to spew out of her machine.

"You hit a jackpot!" Lisa jumped up from her chair and rushed over to watch the hailstorm of coins bouncing down. "How many quarters did you put in?"

Hannah just stared at the avalanche of coins clanking noisily into the metal tray. "As many as it could take. I just wanted to finish so that we could go home."

"You did it, Hannah!" Lisa's mouth dropped open as she looked up at the flas.h.i.+ng numbers above the machine. "You just won one thousand nine hundred and forty-two dollars!"

Hannah stared at the flas.h.i.+ng numbers with absolute amazement. Then she looked down at the reels and saw that they were all lined up on the jackpot icons. No wonder people liked to play the slot machines. It was a lot more fun than she'd thought.

Chapter Thirteen.

"Hey, Moishe. How about some grub?" Hannah tossed her purse onto the couch and carried Moishe out to the kitchen. She draped her parka over a chair, set Moishe down next to his food bowl, and poured in a generous serving of Meow Mix. Then she remembered that she'd just won a slot machine jackpot and she opened a can of fancy albacore tuna and dumped that in, too. Moishe meant more to her than any of the other males in her life. He should enjoy the fruits of her good fortune.

She'd already shared her winnings with Lisa. Hannah had given her a bonus of two hundred dollars, making her promise to buy a fancy dress to go with her new shoes. Lisa hadn't wanted to take it, but after Hannah had convinced her that she never would have played the slots if Lisa hadn't urged her, she'd accepted the money.

Hannah had done some mental arithmetic as she'd driven home, taking into account the money she'd spent investigating Ron's murder for Bill. Even after she'd subtracted the cost of the makeup from Luanne, the dress from Claire, and the money they'd spent at Twin Pines, she'd still come out over a thousand dollars to the good.

While Moishe munched and rumbled his contentment, Hannah marched to the kitchen phone to call Bill and tell him that she'd eliminated the bouncer as a suspect. Bill wasn't at his desk at the sheriff's station, but she left a message there and another with Andrea, who promised to prop up a note by the phone. Hannah hung up, her duty done, and went to her bedroom to change into the oversized sweats.h.i.+rt and sweatpants she'd bought when the furnace had gone out last winter.

Ten minutes later, Hannah was sitting in her favorite spot on the couch, sipping her wine and holding Moishe. He was always starved for affection when she'd been gone for hours, and tonight was no exception. She scratched him under his chin until he purred in ecstasy and she sang the silly little song she'd made up for him. She'd never been able to carry a tune, but as long as she kept on scratching, Moishe seemed to enjoy it. Perhaps it was a very good thing that she lived alone. If anyone had heard her singing about how much she adored her "big strong puss," she'd be locked up as a nutcase.

The condo complex had free cable and Hannah surfed through the channels. There were fifty, but there was still nothing she wanted to watch. She settled for a doc.u.mentary on forensics. It was possible she might learn something. But all the expert talked about were the new advances in fingerprint technology. Hannah listened to him expound on the use of superglue in subzero temperatures to lift prints from a victim's skin and then she switched to the cla.s.sic movies channel. Klute Klute was playing and she'd seen it before, but she didn't feel like channel-surfing any longer and she left it on. was playing and she'd seen it before, but she didn't feel like channel-surfing any longer and she left it on.

Hannah thought about the crime for a while, but that was depressing. None of her sleuthing had done a particle of good. The cup with the lipstick had been promising at first, and she'd managed to find out that Danielle had been with Ron right before he'd been murdered. But what Danielle had told her really hadn't mattered in the long run. She'd checked out Coach Watson and the jealousy motive, but he'd been with Maryann at his mother's house when Ron had been shot. Norman was no longer a suspect, now that Delores had confirmed his alibi, and the homeless man that Claire had seen had been eating breakfast at the critical time. The bouncer that Ron had fought with at Twin Pines would be in the clear just as soon as Bill checked with the hospital, and Hannah was fresh out of suspects. She had to come up with some other suspects, but she didn't have any idea where to start.

She reached for the notepad she kept by the couch and scrawled a list of names: Coach Watson, Norman, Blaze, and Alfred Redbird. Then she sighed and drew a line through each of them. As an afterthought, Hannah added Danielle to the list, but she really didn't think that Danielle had shot Ron. All the same, she decided to check to see if she had an alibi.

Hannah picked up the phone book and paged through to find Danielle's number. If Coach Watson answered, she'd just hang up.

Danielle picked up on the second ring and Hannah breathed a sigh of relief. "Hi, Danielle. It's Hannah Swensen. Can you talk?"

"Just a minute, Hannah." Hannah heard Danielle say something to Boyd about ordering cookies and then she came back on the line. "We'll need five dozen for my art cla.s.s Halloween party, Hannah. I was thinking of something with orange frosting."

"No problem," Hannah answered quickly. "If I ask you yes or no questions, will that be all right?"

"Yes."

"Great. Did you see anyone or make any calls after Ron dropped you off on Wednesday morning?"

"Yes. I'd love to see a sample, Hannah, but I can't come in that early on Wednesday morning. The Sparklettes man delivers our water between eight and nine and I have to be here to let him in."

"Can you figure out any way to tell me exactly what time he was there?"

"I hate those morning deliveries, too. Last Wednesday he was here at eight and I almost overslept."

"Thanks, Danielle." Hannah hung up and jotted down a note by Danielle's name. She'd check with the Sparklettes driver and if he'd delivered water to Danielle at eight, she could cross Danielle's name off the list.

It was another dead end. Hannah sighed and tried to think of something positive. Positive thoughts were supposed to lead to pleasant dreams and she didn't want a repeat of last night's nightmares. At least she was getting along with Andrea much better lately. Perhaps all the old resentments were fading with the years and they could actually become friends.

Hannah had to admit that she'd been a pretty hard act to follow in school. Andrea had taken a lot of criticism from her teachers about the fact that Hannah had been a straight-A student. Instead of competing with Hannah's academic record, Andrea had thrown herself into extracurricular activities. She'd starred in school plays, sung solos at concerts, and edited the school paper and yearbook. And Andrea had certainly been more popular with the boys than Hannah had been. Andrea's Friday and Sat.u.r.day nights had been booked from her freshman year through her senior year.

Hannah sighed. She could boast of only two dates during her entire time in high school. One had been a study date at her house with a cla.s.smate who was about to flunk chemistry and it had taken some very broad hints from Delores before he'd agreed to take Hannah out for pizza to thank her for his pa.s.sing grade. The other had been her senior prom date. Hannah had found out later that it had entailed a promise of a part-time summer job in her father's shop for Cliff Schuman to show up at her door with a corsage in his hand.

College had been different. There she hadn't been treated as a pariah because she read the cla.s.sics and knew who Wittgenstein and Sartre were. In college, the ability to do an algebraic equation in her head wasn't considered a personality defect, and no one thought less of her if she knew the atomic number of einsteinium. Of course, there had been a group of incredibly gorgeous, bubbleheaded girls who'd turned male heads, but most of them had either flunked out or left to get their MRS degrees.

Hannah had finally started to date as a soph.o.m.ore in college. She'd gone out with a too-tall, too-thin history major for several months. After that, there had been an intense art major who'd confided that he was celibate right after she'd begun to think they'd had something going, and a master's candidate who'd wanted her input on his thesis. True love, or perhaps it was true l.u.s.t, hadn't found her until November in her second year of postgraduate work. That was when Hannah had met the man she'd thought would be her soul mate.

Bradford Ramsey had been the a.s.sistant professor in Hannah's poetry seminar, and the first time he'd given a lecture, she'd been spellbound. It hadn't been his manner of speaking or the way he'd read stanzas from Byron and Keats. It had been his marvelous, soul-searching dark blue eyes.

Social meetings after cla.s.s with the professor had been frowned upon by the administration unless several students were in attendance, but Brad had found ways around the rules. Hannah had gone to his office for several student-professor conferences. After he'd told her that he thought he was in love with her, she'd wound up at his apartment, sneaking through the lobby at eleven at night with the hood of her parka obscuring her face. That night, and the nights that followed, had been memorable. Hannah had discovered that s.e.x was a lot more fun than she'd thought it would be. But the last night she'd spent with her handsome professor had been memorable in a way she'd never antic.i.p.ated. His fiancee had driven in for a surprise visit, Brad had panicked, and Hannah had been forced to vacate his bed by way of an icy fire escape.

Hannah had broken it off and told herself that she was wiser for the experience, but that hadn't made it any easier. Seeing her former lover stride across campus with a gaggle of young, impressionable girls in his wake had been almost too painful to bear. It had come as a relief when Andrea had asked her to leave college and come back to Lake Eden to help settle her father's affairs. That didn't mean that Hannah had given up on men. She was just taking a breather, waiting for one she could love and trust to come along. In the meantime, she had her family, her work and her loyal cat. And if her bed was lonely and she sometimes wished that she had someone without furry paws to cuddle, she could deal with it.

The phone rang and Hannah reached out to answer it. "Hi, Bill. It's about time."

"How did you know it was me?"

"Who else could it be? Mother never calls me this late and Andrea told me she was going to bed an hour ago. Did you find out anything new about Ron?"

"Not a thing." Bill sounded depressed. "Ron had no known enemies, he didn't owe any large amounts of money, and there were no deposits to his bank account that couldn't be explained. I've got zilch."

Hannah was quick to commiserate, "Me, too. I talked to the manager at the casino and I think we have to eliminate the bouncer as a suspect. His name is Alfred Redbird and you should check with the hospital. His wife had a baby that morning. If he was with her the whole time, he couldn't have shot Ron."

"Okay." Bill sounded even more discouraged. "I'm fresh out of leads, Hannah. If we had a motive, we'd have something to go on, but we don't even have that."

Hannah's eyes were drawn to the television screen. Klute Klute was still playing and that gave her an idea. "Maybe we was still playing and that gave her an idea. "Maybe we do do have a motive. What if Ron saw something that morning, something that could incriminate his killer in some way? That might be why he was shot." have a motive. What if Ron saw something that morning, something that could incriminate his killer in some way? That might be why he was shot."

"And Ron was murdered before he could implicate his killer in another crime?" Bill was silent for a long moment and Hannah knew he was thinking it over. "You could be right. But how do we find out what Ron saw?"

"I'll go back to my source, the one with the pink lipstick. She can tell me if anything unusual happened that morning."

"Okay." There was another long silence and then Bill sighed. "Maybe you'd better warn her to be careful. If you're right and she saw what Ron saw, the killer might come after her."

"He won't. I'm the only one who knows who she is and she's sure that no one spotted her with Ron. If the killer wanted to murder her, he would have done it by now."

"Maybe."

Bill didn't sound convinced and Hannah frowned. For Danielle's sake she certainly hoped that she was right.

"You've been a big help, Hannah. By the way, did you know that your mother saw Ron pulling away from Norman's dental office right before she went in for her appointment?"

"Norman told me about it. I questioned him, but he said that Ron was only in his chair for twenty minutes. He gave Ron a shot of Xylocaine for his cracked tooth and Ron was supposed to come back to get it fixed. I'll get back to you as soon as I talk to my source. I'm sure she'll be at the Woodleys' party. And if you want to talk to Norman, he'll be there, too."

"Andrea told me that you were going to the party with Norman. Is it serious?"

"Serious? With Norman Norman?"

"I was just teasing you, Hannah. I'll see you at the party and we can compare notes."

Hannah hung up and flicked off the television. She scooped up Moishe, carried him into the bedroom, and deposited him on the pillow she'd designated as his on the first night he'd spent in her condo. Then she went back for her winegla.s.s and flicked off the lights, taking a seat in the old wing chair she'd placed in front of her bedroom window. The snow was still falling and it created lovely halos around the old-fas.h.i.+oned streetlights that lined the brick walkways between the units. It was a perfect winter scene, worthy of Currier and Ives. According to her college art professor, people who lived in warm climates loved winter scenes with their glittering expanses of unbroken snow and yellow light spilling out from the windows of snug, cozy homes. Minnesotans who bought scenic art usually avoided winter scenes. Hannah didn't find that surprising. Minnesota winters were long. Why would they want to buy a painting that would constantly remind them of the bone-chilling cold, the heavy snow that had to be shoveled, and the necessity of dressing up in survival gear to do nothing more than take out the garbage?

Hannah had finished the last of her wine and was about to rouse herself to climb in under the covers when she noticed that one of the cars in the visitors' parking lot was idling, its exhaust pipe sending up plumes of white against the dark night sky. Its headlights were off and that was odd, unless someone was taking a very long time to say goodbye to his date. She could see only one occupant, a bulky figure behind the wheel that she a.s.sumed was a man. As she watched, she saw a reflection glinting off two round lenses in front of his face. Binoculars? Or eyegla.s.ses? Hannah couldn't tell at this distance, but the fact that no one else was in the car made her nervous.

Hannah stared at the car, memorizing its shape. It was a small compact in a dark color, but it was parked too far away to identify the manufacturer. The roof looked lighter than the body, and Hannah a.s.sumed that it was covered with snow. This car had been parked for a while and the driver appeared to be watching her building.

There were only four units in her building. Phil and Sue Plotnik lived below her and there was no earthly reason why anyone would sit in a parked car to watch their place. Phil was home tonight. She'd seen his car in the garage when she'd driven in and she'd heard their new baby fussing softly as she'd climbed the stairs to her unit. Hannah's other neighbors were equally unremarkable. Mrs. Canfield, an elderly widow, had the bottom unit next to the Plotniks. She lived on her husband's retirement money and gave piano lessons during the week. Above her were Marguerite and Clara Hollenbeck, two middle-aged unmarried sisters who were very active at Redeemer Lutheran Church. As far as Hannah knew, there wasn't a breath of gossip about them, except for the time they'd washed the altar cloths with a red blouse of Clara's and they'd come out pink.

Hannah felt a chill as she stared at the car and its motionless driver. There was only one unit the man could be watching and it was hers.

Ron's killer! The thought struck Hannah like a lightning bolt of dread. Bill had told her to be careful about asking questions and she thought she had. But what if the killer had the misguided notion that she was hot on his trail? Bill's words came back to haunt her: If he killed once, he won't hesitate to kill again. If he killed once, he won't hesitate to kill again.

The security light had been on this morning. Hannah s.h.i.+vered as she remembered. She'd a.s.sumed that a bird had set it off, but perhaps she'd been wrong. Had Ron's killer attempted to get into her condo?

Hannah swallowed past the lump of fear in her throat, took a deep breath, and forced herself to think rationally. She really hated to call Bill and roust him out of his comfortable bed. Bill would race right over here to question the guy, but she'd feel like a fool if the driver had some perfectly good reason for being there. But what reason could there be for sitting in a car in the dead of night, alone in the snow?

She thought about it for several minutes and she came up with only one possible scenario. The driver was locked out of his condo. But why would he park in the visitors' lot if he lived here? It was a lot warmer in the garage.

Hannah didn't think she was in any actual danger. Bill had installed a police-recommended deadbolt on her door when she'd first moved in and he'd put extra locks on all the windows. She even had an alarm system, installed by the previous owner, that boasted a siren, clanking bells, and two keypads, one by the front door and another in her bedroom. Hannah had never bothered to turn it on before, but tonight she would. She hadn't been born with nine lives like her feline roommate.

She was about to go to the keypad to activate the system when she had a brilliant idea. The moment she thought of it, she jumped up and rummaged through the closet for her camera. She'd take a picture of the car. It was sitting right under the streetlight and the license plate would show. And she'd turn the film over to Bill in the morning.

Her camera was out of film and it took a frantic search to find a roll. Hannah turned off the flash, knowing it would just glare off her windowpane, and used the zoom lens to snap several shots of the car. Then she activated the security system and sat down in her chair. She'd done all she could, with the exception of alerting Bill, but she'd never be able to sleep peacefully. She might as well resign herself to an all-night stint of surveillance.