Chapter Eighteen
“T
his is pretty,” Michelle said as they drove down a well-maintained private road that wound through a grove of pine trees. “I can hardly wait to see the house.”
“We may not get to see the house,” Hannah told her. “Look over there toward the left.”
“What do you mean, we may not . . . oh!” Michelle spotted the set of ornate, wrought-iron gates that blocked the winding road ahead.
Hannah hit the brakes and they stopped at the side of the road. “We need a game plan before we get to those gates. There’s probably a buzzer I can press to connect with someone at the house. Whoever answers is going to ask us why we’re here. What do you think I should say?”
“We have a cookie delivery for Mrs. Dortweiler from The Cookie Jar bakery in Lake Eden? That’s not exactly a lie.”
“No, it’s not and that might work to get us through the gates, but once we drive up to the house, someone on her staff may come out to the truck to pick up the cookies. And then we may not get inside to see Mrs. Dortweiler personally.”
“You’re right. But how do we get inside the house?”
Hannah thought for a long moment. “I could say that Judge Colfax ordered the cookies for her because he tasted them and liked them. That much is true. Howie’s taken him cookies from my bakery on several occasions. And then I could say that Judge Colfax told me that he wanted to apologize for being late with her last alimony check.”
“But won’t they still come out to get the cookies without letting us in?”
“Probably. I’d have to add something like, “Judge Colfax gave me a message for Mrs. Dortweiler.”
“They might ask you to write out the message so that they can give it to her.”
“I’ve got an answer for that. I’ll say that Judge Colfax asked me to deliver it personally and not divulge it to anyone else.”
Michelle was silent for a moment. “That should get you in. But how about the personal message? What are you going to tell her?”
“I’m going to say I lied.”
“
What?
” Michelle looked completely confounded.
“I’m going to tell her I lied. And then I’m going to tell her why. And after that, I think she’ll cooperate and answer any questions I have.”
“This I’ve got to see! Go ahead, Hannah. Try it.”
Five minutes later, Hannah and Michelle were sitting in surprisingly comfortable chairs with gold velvet upholstery and spindly legs in the south wing of Sheila Dortweiler’s massive home. The home was what Hannah would have called a mansion and the room was what her mother, a Regency romance fan and writer, would have referred to as a “withdrawing chamber.”
They heard the sound of someone walking toward them in the hallway outside and Michelle sat up a little straighter. “Here she comes.”
Sheila Dortweiler entered the room with the force of a whirlwind. She was a thin woman, beautifully dressed in an obviously expensive suit with obviously expensive jewelry adorning her ears, throat, and fingers, and obviously colored coal-black hair worn in an elaborate style. She was wearing an obviously annoyed expression on her face, which had obviously seen some extensive cosmetic surgery. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“I’m Hannah Swensen, Mrs. Dortweiler, and this is my sister, Michelle. I own a cookie shop and bakery in Lake Eden, Minnesota, called The Cookie Jar. I brought two dozen Banana Frosted Peanut Butter cookies for you. Your husband ordered them.”
“My ex-husband.”
“Yes. I believe the order was by way of apology for a late alimony check.”
“Well . . . that’s a first!” Mrs. Dortweiler’s expression may have softened a bit at Hannah’s explanation, but if it had, it wasn’t discernible. “You
do
know my ex-husband is dead, don’t you?”
“I do. I found his body.”
Mrs. Dortweiler reared back slightly in surprise. “Really! They told
me
he died at the courthouse.”
“That’s true. I was waiting for my case to be called when the clerk told me that Judge Colfax wanted to see me in his chambers. I was waiting in his anteroom when I heard a crash and went in to investigate.”
“Investigate?” Mrs. Dortweiler’s eyes narrowed. “
Hannah Swensen
! I knew I’d heard that name before! You’re the nosy one that solves murders!”
Hannah knew that it was time to take charge of the conversation before they were shown out of Mrs. Dortweiler’s house and her life. “That’s right,” she said, meeting the older woman’s eyes. “I don’t appreciate your terminology, but your facts are correct. I do solve murder cases and I’m going to solve your ex-husband’s murder case. He dismissed the case against me despite the fact that it was brought by his current wife’s nephew, and I owe him one.”
This time Mrs. Dortweiler’s expression
did
soften. It wasn’t much, but Hannah noticed it. “I read about your court case, too. It was about as bogus as it gets. Nora is an idiot and so is her whole family, including that nephew of hers. So why are you here, Miss Swensen? You don’t think I killed my ex-husband, do you?”
“Not you. You were having too much fun punishing him for leaving you. Why would you give that up?”
Mrs. Dortweiler let out a short bark of laughter. “How perceptive of you! And you’re right. I
was
punishing Geoffrey. But if you know that I didn’t kill him, why are you here?”
“I need answers. And I need those answers from someone who has no vested interest in killing Judge Colfax, or in keeping him alive. You fit the category and that’s why I’m here.”
“So you need a disinterested party!” Mrs. Dortweiler crossed to a chair and sat down. “But are you sure I’m really disinterested? How about the alimony? I didn’t want that to stop, did I?”
“I don’t think that you cared about the alimony, one way or the other. You didn’t need the money, but it was amusing to put the bite on your ex-husband every month. You wanted to be a thorn in his side.”
“Very true. But perhaps I tired of the game and decided to take revenge for past wrongs. Geoffrey was a bit of a . . . player, you know. Perhaps I was jealous because I wasn’t the most important person in his life.”
“That’s not it,” Hannah said, shaking her head.
“Why not? I knew that he was having an affair while we were married.”
“If you’d been that jealous and upset, you would have killed him instead of filing for divorce.”
As Hannah watched, a slow smile played over Mrs. Dortweiler’s lips. “You’re good at this, Miss Swensen. And I’m beginning to enjoy it. Are your cookies as delicious as your questions?”
“Try one and see.” Hannah opened the box and smiled as Mrs. Dortweiler chose a cookie and began to eat it.
“Excellent!” she pronounced, once she’d finished the cookie. “I’ll ring for tea.”
“How about changing that to coffee, Mrs. Dortweiler?” Hannah suggested. “Coffee is a better complement for peanut butter and bananas.”
“I agree. And call me Sheila.” She turned to Michelle. “And you’re Michelle. Do you ever talk, Michelle?”
“Only when she lets me.”
Sheila laughed. “Humor runs in your family, I see. Just let me order the coffee and then I’ll give you the dirt on Geoffrey and all the people in his life. I just love to dish dirt about Geoffrey. This is going to be the best afternoon I’ve had in years!”
Chapter Nineteen
“M
e or you?” Michelle asked Hannah, who was following her up the stairs.
“You,” Hannah said. “I’ll take your grocery bag.”
“Okay.” Michelle handed her the bag with tomorrow night’s dinner ingredients and Hannah watched her brace herself on the second floor landing outside the door. “It’s quiet inside your living room. Maybe Moishe is sleeping.”
Hannah shook her head. “He’s not sleeping. And if he was sleeping before we got here, he opened his eyes the second he heard us coming. Norman was here, waiting for me to come home one day, and he said that Moishe went on the alert the moment he heard my cookie truck pull into the garage.”
“How can you tell when Moishe goes on the alert?”
“His ears perk up and his tail starts swishing back and forth. Norman knew I was coming home because Moishe started purring, jumped down from Norman’s lap, and headed straight for the door.”
“Impressive,” Michelle said, taking up a stance with her feet apart in the center of the landing. She leaned forward to use her key and then she turned around to look at Hannah. “Ready?”
“I’m ready. And I’m willing to bet that Moishe is, too.”
Michelle leaned forward to unlock the door. She pushed it open and a flying bundle of orange and white fur went airborne and hurtled into her waiting arms.
Michelle made a sound midway between a gasp and a grunt with the emphasis on the grunt. Hannah had heard that sound only once before. It was at a family picnic when her father and uncles had decided to throw their father’s medicine ball to each other. It had looked similar to a bowling ball, but it was covered with leather. And instead of weighing twelve or thirteen pounds, her grandfather’s medicine ball weighed in at almost thirty pounds. The merriment had stopped after only a few throws and that night Delores had rubbed her husband’s back with liniment.
“Either Moishe’s gaining weight or I’m growing weaker,” Michelle said, carrying him into Hannah’s living room and placing him on the back of the couch.
“It might be both,” Hannah commented, smiling to show her sister that she was teasing. Michelle had always been strong and athletic. “Let’s go change, relax for a couple of minutes, and then we’ll bake my cake. Ross asked me to bake it. He told me he loves tangerines.”
Hannah fed Moishe and then she went off to her bedroom to change into what Andrea called her “at-home ensemble,” which consisted of a pair of grey sweatpants and an old college sweatshirt. When she came back into the living room, she found Michelle sitting on the couch in a similar outfit with Moishe in her lap and two glasses of white wine sitting in front of her on the coffee table.
“You’re only twenty-one,” Hannah told her. “Are you turning into a two-fisted drinker already? And why on earth did you put ice cubes in my jug wine?”
Michelle laughed. “It’s not your jug wine. It’s lemon soda. I bought it at the Red Owl because Florence convinced me that we’d like it. And the reason I added ice is because it’s not chilled. I put it in a wineglass because it looked prettier that way.”
“Is it any good?”
“I don’t know. I was letting it chill down a little. Try it and see what you think.”
Hannah took a cautious sip. “Yes.”
“What does
yes
mean?”
“It’s not bad at all. It might even be good.” Hannah took another sip. “Actually, I like it. It’s lemonade with fizz.”
“Thanks for being my taste tester,” Michelle said with a smile. “Now that I know it’s not awful, I’ll try it, too.”
“So I was your guinea pig?”
“You could say that.” Michelle took a sip. “You’re right, Hannah. It
is
good. I’ll pick up another six-pack tomorrow.”
They sat in companionable silence for several minutes with the exception of Moishe, who was purring loudly every time Michelle scratched him behind the ears.
Then Hannah took her last sip of lemon soda and stood up. “I’d better start baking. If I sit here much longer, I’ll nod off.”
Michelle got up and picked up her glass. “Didn’t you sleep long enough?”
“I did, thanks to you. That was really nice of you, letting me sleep. I never get the chance to do that when you’re not here.”
“It’s one of the reasons I like to stay with you. When I stay at Mother’s, I don’t feel helpful. When I stay with you, I do. And sometimes I even get to help you with an investigation. I really like that.”
“You do?”
“I really do. It’s such a change from my classwork.”
“I should hope so! Unless, of course, those lectures you go to are deadly boring.”
Michelle laughed and so did Hannah. They were still laughing when Hannah placed the recipe she’d printed out at The Cookie Jar on her kitchen counter and they went off to gather the ingredients. Hannah was just picking the seeds from the last tangerine when she heard soft footfalls that meant Moishe had entered the kitchen.
“Don’t tell me you’re hungry again!” she said, expecting a yowl in response. But there was no yowl from Moishe. Instead, he made a muffled cry.
“What’s the matter?” Hannah responded immediately, whirling around to discover that Moishe was holding a blue and white mitten in his mouth. “Moishe! Where did you get that mitten?” She made a grab for the mitten and managed to extricate it without any damage to either her fingers or the mitten.
Michelle turned to look at the mitten that Hannah was holding. “Is it yours, Hannah?”
“No, and I don’t recognize it. How about you?”
Michelle shook her head. “It’s not mine. I’ve never had a pair of blue and white mittens.”
“It’s pretty,” Hannah said, examining the mitten. “I like the little snowflake design.”
“I like it, too. And I think this mitten’s homemade. See that thumb? It reminds me of the mittens that Grandma Ingrid used to knit for me.”
“That’s because the thumbs were always a little crooked and placed in the wrong spot. Grandma Ingrid hated to knit thumbs. I watched her finish a pair of mittens once, and I asked her why she had little needles around the hole on the side. She said that it was the thumbhole and she hated to knit thumbs because she could never get them right.”
“Well, this mitten has to belong to somebody we know.”
“That’s right,” Hannah said. “And that someone has another one just like it.”
Michelle rolled her eyes. “Very funny.”
“I thought so,” Hannah said with a smile and then she quickly sobered. “It’s not mitten weather yet so this mitten must have been left here last year.”
“
If
it was left here.”
“Yes, if it was
left
here.” Hannah said, glancing at Moishe who was sitting in front of the refrigerator looking as pure as the driven snow.
Hannah and Michelle stared at the mitten for long moments and then Hannah gave an exasperated sigh.
“What?” Michelle asked.
“I totally forgot. We’ve got a perfect way to tell if Moishe got out and brought this mitten home.”
“The surveillance system,” Michelle said, catching on immediately. “You told me that Mike installed it this morning.”
Hannah placed the mitten on the counter. Then she thought better of it and stuck it in a drawer. Moishe could jump up on the counter, but he’d never opened a kitchen drawer. “Let’s get that cake into the oven and then we can watch the surveillance tape while it’s baking. Maybe we can catch our cat burglar red-pawed and it’ll show us how he gets out.”
“There’s nothing on the tape,” Michelle said, sighing deeply. “All we did was watch Moishe jump up on the couch and down from the couch a bunch of times, and walk back and forth between the kitchen and the hallway.”
“That’s true, but we did learn a lot.”
“Like what?”
“We learned that Moishe didn’t go out the door to the landing, but he still had something that didn’t belong to us.”
“Okay,” Michelle conceded, “but we don’t know if he got that mitten today. For all we know, he could have stolen it three days ago, hidden it under a bed, and just now got it out to play with it.”
“You’re right. The only thing we know for sure is that Moishe had it in his mouth when he walked past the camera on his way to the kitchen. And the camera was trained on the outside door. Let’s reposition the surveillance system so it shows the length of the hallway. Mike showed me how to do it.”
“What good will that do?”
“It’ll narrow things down. Maybe Moishe does have a stash of hidden bounty somewhere. If he does, and if we find it, we might discover something we’ll recognize. Then, if we can identify the owner, at least we’ll know where Moishe’s been.”
“But we won’t know how he got there,” Michelle pointed out. “I can’t believe we’re spending all this time tracking a cat!”
Hannah raised her eyebrows. “Don’t sell him short, Michelle. My felonious feline is a cagey one.”
Michelle laughed. “He certainly is! Maybe we’d better look around for a hidden treasure map.”
“Or a tunnel like the ones the pirates used to move stolen goods between their ships and the coastal towns. It’s pretty obvious that Moishe knows how to dig. I have to sweep up kitty litter every morning.”
“Then a tunnel is a definite possibility.” Michelle looked very serious. “I wonder where his tunnel could be. Do you think we should tear up the living room carpet to take a look?”
Hannah glanced down at her faded green carpeting. She’d hated the color when she’d moved in and she hated it even more now. She gave a little sigh, but she shook her head. “This carpeting’s so old, it might be an improvement, but let’s not do anything that rash until we give up on Mike’s surveillance system. New carpeting is expensive. Come on, Michelle. Let’s reposition that camera and hope for the best.”
Fifteen minutes later, the job was done. Hannah started to walk back into the living room when she noticed that Michelle was standing motionless, staring up at the camera that was positioned over the doorway to her bedroom. “What is it?” Hannah asked her.
“It’s that camera. It’s going to catch me every time I go in and out of my bedroom.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s a
camera
!”
“Okay, it’s a camera. What’s wrong with a camera?”
“It’s a camera and I’m an actress. Every time an actress sees a camera, she gets the urge to perform. I don’t think you’re going to appreciate hearing the first three numbers from
Jesus Christ Superstar
when I get up to go to the bathroom at three in the morning.”
“That’s better than Hamlet’s soliloquy, but I see what you mean. Can’t you perform any quieter scenes? Like the body in the pool at the beginning of
Sunset Boulevard
?”
“But the body in the pool doesn’t have any lines until they go back in time to when he was alive.”
“I know. That’s the whole point.”
Michelle laughed. “I’ll work on it. Or better yet, I just won’t look up at the camera in the middle of the night.” She was quiet for a moment and then she glanced at her watch. “Are you tired, Hannah?”
“Not really. Why?”
“Because Seth Dortweiler is performing at the Eight Ball Bar in Grey Eagle tonight. His set starts at nine.”
“And you want me to interview him tonight?”
“Why not? Unless you’d rather wait until tomorrow night when Ross gets here.”
Hannah shook her head. She certainly didn’t want to work on a murder case the first night that Ross was in town. “I’d rather go tonight. And then, tomorrow morning, we can try to catch the judge’s widow at home.”