Hannah grinned. Tracey had learned how to manipulate her grandmother, and it appeared that she'd had similar success with Carrie.
"Wear a nice dress to the banquet, dear. And please try to do something with your hair. I saw Babs Dubinski this afternoon and she said her son is here for the carnival."
"Oh, great," Hannah said and followed it with a long-suffering sigh. She'd met Babs Dubinski's son at her mother's urging, and his one and only topic of conversation was tax reform.
"He just got divorced," Delores went on, "and tax accountants make very good money. Babs told me that he pulled in over seven. . . '
Hannah hit the stop button, cutting off her mother in mid-quote. She knew that Delores would prefer Norman or even Mike, but any old son-in-law, even a boring one, would do in a pinch for the daughter she feared would remain a spinster.
"We don't have to listen to the rest, Moishe," Hannah said, smoothing down his ruffled fur. "Let's go to the bedroom and you can curl up on my pillow while I get dressed."
Ten minutes later, Hannah was in the shower, enjoying the heat from the steaming spray and trying out the new bottle of Pretty Girl shampoo she'd bought from Luanne that morning. It was scented with some kind of herbal mixture, as was her new bar of soap, another acquisition from Luanne.
When her hair was thoroughly rinsed and squeaky clean, Hannah cranked off the water, toweled herself off, and stepped out of the bathroom. She glanced at her bed, where Moishe had been waiting for her, but there was an empty indentation on her pillow and a few stray orange and white hairs. She could hear him meowing from the other end of the condo, and as Hannah listened, she began to smile. Janie had come in and she was in the kitchen, having a conversation with Moishe.
As Hannah dressed, she listened to the two-sided conversation. She couldn't make out the words, but the conversational dynamics were plain. Janie would say something, Moishe would answer her, and Janie would respond to that. This went on for several minutes as Hannah put on her best wool suit, slipped into her dress shoes, and brushed her hair. She pulled her frizzy red curls back into a barrette that she fastened at the nape of her neck, debated the wisdom of switching to a purse that would match her shoes, and decided that it would be more trouble than it was worth. Andrea would just have to tolerate the scarred leather shoulder bag she usually carried.
A spritz from the perfume bottle that her college roommate had given her, a touch of lipstick that Hannah immediately wiped off with a tissue, and she was ready. She gave one more glance in the mirror, concluded that she'd done the best that she could with what she had, and walked down the hall in heels that were bound to make her feel like a giant when she stood next to her petite sister.
"Hi, Hannah. You look nice." Janie greeted her when she entered the living room. She was sitting on the couch, and Moishe looked very content curled up in her lap. "I just love your cat. He's so friendly."
"Only to people he likes. Just ask Mother if you don't believe me. His name is Moishe."
"Hello, Moishe," Janie said, giving him a scratch behind his ears. "He's really smart, too. His food bowl was empty and he showed me where you keep his food."
"That figures. So how did it go at the sheriff's station?"
"Okay, I think. I did what you said and just told them everything I could remember. When I asked them if I was a suspect, Bill said not to worry about it, but his partner told me to stay in town until they gave me permission to leave."
"That's Mike," Hannah told her, "and he's not exactly the reassuring type. Did you put all your things in the guest room?"
"Yes. I parked my car right next to your cookie truck. Is that all right?"
"That's perfect. This place comes with two parking spots. Why don't you change clothes and come to the banquet with me? I don't want you to sit here all alone."
"I'm not alone." Janie reached out to pet Moishe again. "Besides, I just want to take a shower and soak up the luxury of a real furnace. That cabin was cold!"
"Okay, if you're sure. There's plenty of food here. Just forage around if you get hungry."
"Thanks Hannah, but I'm not hungry." Janie gave a little sigh. "It's funny, in a way. Mrs. MacIntyre was always after me to lose weight, and now that she's dead, I probably will."
Andrea nudged Hannah to get her attention. They were sitting at one of the long tables in the banquet room and they'd just finished eating Edna's main course, a delicious pot roast with pan gravy. "That's the Connie Mac table over there. He's not here."
"Who?" Hannah asked, glancing over at the table of Connie Mac people.
"Paul Macintyre."
"I didn't expect him to be here. Would you go to a banquet if you'd just found out that your spouse was dead?"
Andrea shivered. "I wish you hadn't said that. I worry about Bill all the time."
"I'm sorry;' Hannah apologized. "I just meant that it wouldn't be in good taste for Paul to socialize tonight, under the circumstances."
"You're right. I was just hoping to talk to him, that's all. Guess I'll have to settle for the second-best thing. I think that's Alan Carpenter sitting next to the woman in last sea- son's Liz Claibourne."
"What makes you think that?"
"Because he's wearing an expensive suit with a silk tie, and he looks like a lawyer."
"Not that. How do you know the woman next to him is wearing last season's Liz Claibourne?"
"Because I keep up with the fashions. Living in a small town doesn't mean you have to be hopelessly out of style. I wish I knew somebody over there so we could walk over and say hello."
"I know someone," Hannah told her.
"Who?"
"Kurt Howe. He delivered some books to Marge this afternoon and she introduced me."
Andrea looked worried. "You didn't question him, did you?"
"Of course I did. I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Kurt's alibi checked out and he's in the clear." Hannah pushed back her chair and stood up. "Come on, Andrea. Let's go over and say hello before Edna brings out my dessert."
By the time the buckets of Little Snowballs were brought out to the tables, Hannah and Andrea had met several people in Connie Mac's entourage. There were the two reporters who had been covering the Cooking Sweetheart's activities, the decorator who'd designed her kitchen boutiques, the writer who was working on her biography, and the man that Andrea had pegged as Alan Carpenter.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Alan said, standing up to shake their hands. "Why don't you take our chairs? Kurt and I have to leave."
"Was it something I said?" Hannah quipped, and she was rewarded by a smile from both Kurt and Alan.
"Not at all," Alan told her, "but if we don't leave right now, we'll be late for the press conference I scheduled at my office."
"About Mrs. MacIntyre?" Hannah asked.
"Naturally. The media's in a feeding frenzy and they want to know the details. I'm the spokesman for the family and Kurt's going to handle any questions that concern Savory Press."
"This must be very difficult for you," Andrea commented, giving Alan a sympathetic smile.
"It's not easy, but I have a duty as the family counsel to spare Paul in any way I can. I'm sorry, ladies. I'd like to talk longer, but we really do have to leave now."
"Take some of these along with you for the trip," Hannah I said, taking a half-dozen Little Snowballs from the crystal bucket that one of the serving girls had placed on the table, and wrapping them in a napkin. "There's plenty of sugar in these. They'll keep you going."
After Alan and Kurt had left, Hannah and Andrea returned to their own table. They visited with the other banquet guests for a few minutes, Hannah accepted compliments on the cookies, and they watched the coronation of the Prince and Princess of Winter. When the ceremony was over, they retrieved their coats and boots and walked up the stairs to the lobby.