Blueberry Muffin Murder - Joanne Fluke A Hannah Swensen Mystery

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do you mean?”

      “She’s been singing Norman’s praises to me all week. I think she sees a potential son-in-law slipping away.”

      Andrea took her eyes off the road for a moment. “Why? Is Norman dating someone else?”

      “Not yet. Watch the road, Andrea. There’s an icy patch up ahead.” Hannah waited until her sister had turned her attention back to the road. “Carrie told Mother that Ronni Ward’s been having her teeth cleaned too often.”

      “Ronni Ward and Norman?” Andrea thought about it for a moment. “That’s not quite as crazy as it sounds. Norman makes good money, and Ronni always said she wanted to marry a doctor.”

      “Norman’s a dentist,” Hannah pointed out.

      “But people still call him Dr. Rhodes. That’s all that matters to Ronni. She always wanted to be Mrs. Dr. Somebody-or-other.”

      “Maybe she should concentrate on Reverend Knudson. He’s a doctor of divinity.”

      Andrea laughed, and Hannah knew she was imagining their dour Lutheran minister with Lake Eden’s three-time bikini queen. “Maybe you should call him to remind him that you’re still available.”

      “Reverend Knudson?”

      “No, Norman.”

      “I will. But I thought you were rooting for Mike as a brother-in-law.”

      “I adore Mike; you know that, and so does Bill. Bill says that he’s the best partner he’s ever had. But it’s like Mother always says: Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.”

      “So you think that I should keep dating both of them?”

      “It couldn’t hurt. You’ve got to play the odds, Hannah. Think of how you’d feel if you ditched Norman and Mike didn’t propose. Or vice versa.”

      “Disaster,” Hannah said, nodding solemnly. And then she turned away to hide a grin. Andrea was just like their mother. They were both trying to marry her off, and the event seemed to matter much more than the identity of the groom.

      Connie Mac’s limo driver seemed intent on his driving, and that suited Hannah just fine. She’d never been any good at uttering polite banalities in the name of social grace.

      Connie Mac had arrived at the inn an hour behind schedule, and she’d offered the services of her personal limo and driver for the tour. Hannah had climbed in front to direct the driver to the venues, and Andrea, who was sitting in the back with Connie Mac, had explained which events would be held there. After a brief stop at Jordan High, where they’d viewed the displays, examined the shuttle sleighs, and spoken to the principal, Mr. Purvis, they were on their way to the Lake Eden Community Center to meet Marge Beeseman at the library and to check in with Edna Ferguson.

      Everyone who was walking down Main Street stopped to stare as Connie Mac’s limo passed by. That didn’t surprise Hannah. Connie Mac was the first big celebrity to come to Lake Eden, and her limo was definitely an eye-catcher. It was painted peach, Connie Mac’s favorite color, and her name was lettered in flowing gold script on the doors. Even though the windows were tinted so that no one could see in, anyone who could read knew exactly who was riding inside.

      The intercom chimed as they neared the community center, and Connie Mac’s voice came over the speaker. “Pull up in front of the door, Spencer.”

      “Yes, ma’am.” The driver pulled up next to the curb in a no-parking zone and hopped out of the limo to open the door. As Hannah watched him usher Connie Mac out, she wondered if Spencer ever felt silly in his uniform. It was black, the type that chauffeurs always wore in the movies, but his shirt and tie were peach to match the color of the limo.

      Andrea and Hannah scrambled out of the limo with no assistance from Spencer. He obviously knew his priorities. They followed Connie Mac up the front steps that led to the community center and into the lobby.

      “This won’t take more than a few minutes,” Connie Mac told Spencer. “Park in the lot and watch the door. When I come out, pull up in front.”

      “Yes, ma’am,” Spencer said, tipping his cap and turning to go.

      “Spencer?”

      Spencer halted and turned to face her. “Yes, ma’am?”

      “I’ve warned you before to wait until I dismiss you. I won’t remind you again.”

      Spencer shifted from foot to foot and dropped his gaze to the brown indoor-outdoor carpeting that covered the floor of the lobby. The color crept up the back of his neck, and Hannah knew he was embarrassed at being reprimanded in front of them.

      “Your notepad, Spencer?”

      Spencer responded, pulling a small leather-bound notebook and pen from his pocket. “Yes, ma’am?”

      “Call the chef at the inn and tell him I want free-range capon tonight, no substitutes.”

      “Yes, ma’am. Would you care for a salad?”

      “Endive, radicchio, and butter lettuce with a vinaigrette of extra virgin olive oil and balsamic vinegar mixed at table-side. No potatoes. In a small town like this, they’ll probably be french fries.”

      Hannah bit her tongue to keep silent. Her friend, Sally Laughlin, was the chef at the inn and her french fries were legendary.

      “Rolls with the salad course, but make sure they’re not commercial,” Connie Mac continued, “and fresh raspberries drizzled with Grand Marnier for dessert.”

      Spencer jotted that down and then he looked up from his notepad. “Will there be anything else, ma’am?”

      “Contact the desk and have them send up a maid to unpack for me. She should hang everything on padded hangers and press anything that’s wrinkled.” Connie Mac stopped and frowned slightly. “Make sure someone from my staff is there to keep an eye on her. I brought some of my good jewelry for the banquet tomorrow evening. Do you know if the inn has a safe?”

      “No, ma’am.”

      “Call the desk and ask. And tell them to send a bottle of properly chilled Pouilly Fuisse to my suite.” Connie Mac paused and a tiny frown appeared on her forehead. “I know there’s something else, but I can’t think of it right now. That’s all, Spencer. You may go.”

      “Thank you, ma’am.”

      Spencer tipped his hat again and this time he made it out the door. Hannah tried to catch her sister’s eye, but Andrea seemed starstruck and completely oblivious to the fact that the Cooking Sweetheart had just embarrassed her chauffeur, insulted Sally’s culinary skills, and questioned the honesty of the maids at the inn.

      Chapter Four

      “I’m just so thrilled to meet you, Mrs. MacIntyre.” Marge Beeseman’s voice shook slightly as she reached out to take Connie Mac’s hand. Her brown hair was clipped short and frosted with blond, but it was clear to Hannah that Marge’s new “do” hadn’t succeeded as a total confidence builder. “Your cookbooks arrived yesterday, all two hundred of them.”

      Connie Mac smiled the sweetest smile that Hannah had seen yet, the very same smile she used on her show. “You really must call me Connie Mac. ‘Mrs. MacIntyre’ is simply too formal. May I call you Marge?”

      “Of course,” Marge breathed, obviously impressed by Connie Mac’s tailored suit of peach wool and her gracious manner. “Just follow me and I’ll show you the table I set up for your book signing. It’s going to be such a wonderful fund-raiser for the library! Everyone in town wants to meet you and buy an autographed copy.”

      Connie Mac frowned as they approached the table that Marge had set up at the back of the library. “This is where you want me to sign my books?”

      “Yes, I

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