Plum Pudding Murder by Joanne Fluke Read Free Book Online Page B

fudge sauce.
    Hannah’s Note: If I want my dessert to be extra fancy, I make up some of the fruit sauce I use on potato pancakes and create little designs around the edge of large dessert plates while the Hot Fudge Sundae Cakes are baking. Mother prefers it that way. My sisters like it with their choice of ice cream. Andrea prefers chocolate, Michelle likes butter-brickle, and I think it tastes best with coffee ice cream.

Chapter Five
    W hen Norman pulled into the crowded parking lot, Hannah saw her sister standing in the center of a parking space right next to the entrance, waving her arms frantically. Andrea’s green Volvo was parked next to the spot and it didn’t take an expert on string theory to surmise that she was standing there to save the parking place for them.
    The first thing Hannah heard when she emerged from Norman’s car was a tinny version of Hark the Herald Angels Sing played at earsplitting volume. She glanced across the street at the houses nearby, and wondered whether any of the homeowners had filed nuisance complaints.
    Hannah covered her ears and gave a little groan. And then she greeted her sister. “Hi, Andrea.”
    “Hi, Hannah.” Andrea turned to Norman. “I’m really glad you came along. Three opinions are better than two.”
    “And four opinions are even better,” Hannah told her. “Mike should be here any minute, and before he gets here I need to warn you about standing in the middle of parking spots to save them. That really wasn’t smart, Andrea. What if someone had pulled in too fast? They could have plowed right into you.”
    “But nobody would do that! Everybody knows I’m the sheriff’s wife!”
    “True, but what if they didn’t see you in time? It’s not exactly daylight out here.”
    Andrea thought about that for a moment and Hannah could tell from her sister’s set expression that she wasn’t willing to give up the argument quite yet. “Norman saw me in plenty of time. He slowed down.”
    “Norman’s a good driver. But what if someone else had been driving, someone who’d stopped at the Lake Eden Municipal Liquor Store to have a couple of hot toddies before coming here to buy a tree?”
    “Well…” Andrea sighed. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have been standing there in the middle of the space.” She turned to Norman. “Don’t tell Bill, okay?”
    Norman smiled. “Don’t worry, I won’t. I know what can happen to a messenger who delivers bad news.”
    “What’s that?” Andrea asked.
    “Sometimes they’re killed. Sophocles’ messenger in Antigone starts right off by saying, Don’t kill the messenger.”
    “That’s awful!” Andrea was clearly appalled. “You can’t just go around murdering people because you don’t like the news they give you. Did the killers get life sentences? Or did this happen in a state with capital punishment?”
    Hannah was used to her sister’s hit or miss brush with literature and history and she hurried to explain. “This happened a long time ago in a different part of the world, and nobody really knows what happened. But the phrase stuck with us. Shakespeare used it in Henry IV, Part 2, and some people say that Oscar Wilde and Mark Twain used it, too.”
    “Mark Twain’s real name was Samuel Clemens,” Andrea announced, clearly proud of herself for remembering. She turned to look as a car entered the parking lot and gave a smile. “Oh, good! Here comes Mike. But there’s no space left. I wonder where he’s going to park.”
    “Anywhere he wants to,” Hannah replied, watching as Mike turned on the flashing red lights on top of his cruiser and pulled up horizontally behind Norman’s sedan and Andrea’s Volvo.
    Once Mike had joined them, Andrea gave them the note Tracey had brought home from her teacher. The tree should be between four and five feet tall, it should have short needles, and the branches should have space between them so that it would be easier for the children to hang ornaments.
    “Blue