"He learned how to open the lock." Janie walked over to the door and pointed. "I think he jumped up on the top of the refrigerator and batted at the hook until it popped out."
"That figures,' Hannah said, giving Moishe a baleful look. He stared back at her with wide yellow eyes, and he didn't look at all guilty. "What are you cooking?"
"French toast. Are you getting hungry yet?"
"You bet. It smells wonderful. Are you sure you don't want to move in permanently?"
"I'll think about it." Janie laughed and flipped the French toast out onto a plate. "I got the recipe from Helen, Connie Mac's cook."
"The Cooking Sweetheart had a cook?"
"Oh, yes. She got her best recipes from Helen. The Winter Carnival cake was Helen's recipe, and she made the original one."
Hannah remembered Connie Mac's conversation with Edna and how she'd claimed she stayed up most of the night to decorate the cake. It seemed that Connie Mac had been a fake as well as a nasty person. "How about the replacement you were baking?"
"I was supposed to bake all the layers. Mrs. MacIntyre thought that I could handle that. And when I was through, she was going to call Helen and have her drive to Lake Eden to decorate it."
Hannah took another gulp of her coffee. This could be very important, especially if Helen had hated Connie Mac as much as the other people who'd worked for her. "Do you know if Connie Mac called Helen?"
"She didn't. I told Bill and Mike about it and they checked." Janie carried the plate to Hannah, went back for butter and maple syrup, and sat down in the opposite chair. "I brought in the paper. Do you want the front section?"
"No, give me the comics. I can't handle hard news until I've had at least one pot of coffee. You read it and tell me if there's anything interesting."
The French toast was delicious, light and fluffy with a mouthwatering hint of cinnamon and nutmeg. Hannah finished it in record time and got up to get refills on their coffee. She was just pouring some for Janie when she heard her gasp.
"What is it?" Hannah set the coffee pot down on the table.
"Larry Kruger wrote another ghost story. He's speculating that Ezekiel Jordan's ghost is the one who bashed Norman on the head."
"You're kidding!" Hannah started to .laugh. "I guess he doesn't know that Norman's family moved here from out of state. It's pretty unlikely that Norman could be related to anybody in F. E. Laughlin's poker game."
"Larry's got that base covered. He claims that Ezekiel's ghost was upset over the fact that Norman was taking pictures in your mother's re-creation of his house. It seems that Ezekiel Jordan was a spiritualist and he believed that a camera could steal a man's soul. He refused to pose for pictures or allow any member of his family to be photographed. According to Larry, that's why there aren't any pictures of him. Ezekiel wouldn't allow a camera anywhere inside his house."
"Larry's nothing if not enterprising," Hannah commented. "Does he think that Ezekiel's ghost hit Norman over the head to keep him from taking more portraits?"
"That's what he says. And a lot of people seem to be taking it seriously. Here's a story about another ghost sighting out at the inn last night."
"What time?" Hannah asked.
"At a quarter to ten."
"Then Ezekiel's ghost can be in two places at once. Norman told me that he was bashed on the head at nine forty-five."
Janie started to grin. "That must be an advantage a spirit has over ordinary mortals like us. Larry interviewed Sally Laughlin and she claims she saw something floating down the hall last night at a quarter to ten."
"Sally said that?" Hannah turned the article so that she could read it. Once she'd scanned it, she looked up with a frown. "That's an abrupt turn of face for Sally. When I talked to her yesterday, she told me she didn't believe in ghosts. I'm going to ask her about it when I get to the inn."
By the time Hannah got out to the inn, Lisa was already hard at work rolling dough balls for the Old-Fashioned Sugar Cookies. After apologizing for being late, Hannah pitched in to help. When the four ovens Sally had allotted for their use were filled and they'd rolled the rest of the dough balls, Lisa fetched them cups of coffee and they took a short break.
"Tell me what really happened to Norman last night," Lisa urged, sitting down on a stool next to Hannah. "I read Larry Kruger's story in the paper, but I didn't believe a word of it."
"Norman got bashed in the head on his way out to his car, Luanne Hanks pulled up just in time to scare his attacker away, and neither one of them saw who hit him. Norman figures it was Connie Mac's killer, and he asked me to set a trap and use him for bait."
Lisa's eyes widened. "Are you going to do it?"
"Of course not. It's much too dangerous. My big worry is that Norman's going to try to set up something himself."
"You could be right. A guy can be really foolish when he's trying to impress his girlfriend."
That comment stopped Hannah cold, and it took her a minute to recover. "You mean. . . me?"
"Yes, you. Norman adores you, Hannah. I've seen the way he looks at you."
"Have you been listening to Doctor Love?" Hannah asked the first question that popped into her mind.
"No, I hate that show. This is just common sense, Hannah. Norman loves you and he's trying to convince you that he's worthy of your love."
Hannah remembered having a remarkably similar conversation with Andrea. In Lisa's version, only the name of the man had changed. Was it possible that both Mike and Norman were in love with her? Life wasn't a B-movie, and she certainly wasn't the gorgeous ingenue who sashayed her way into a love triangle with two men.
"I'm right, Hannah. You've got to trust me on this."
Hannah still wasn't convinced. "Okay. What do you think I should do?"
"Think of some way to stop Norman before he gets himself into trouble."
"Right," Hannah said, wondering what that would entail. Putting Norman in a straitjacket would work, but she didn't happen to have one handy. Handcuffs were out, Norman could still walk around in those, and an enforced trip to a desert island was impractical. Instead of concentrating on a way to render Norman immobile, she had to think of a way to convince the killer that Norman hadn't taken his picture.
"The timer just rang. You sit here and think and I'll get the cookies out of the ovens. Be devious, Hannah. You're good at that."
Hannah wasn't sure if that was a compliment, but she sat on her stool and thought as she gazed out the window that overlooked the dining room. A few people were beginning to arrive for the continental breakfast that Sally always provided on Sunday mornings, and Hannah noticed a man filling his cup from the urn of coffee on the bar.
As she watched the man carry his coffee and a sweet roll to a two-person table in the center of the dining room, Hannah's thoughts turned back to Norman. How could she save him from himself? If he was trying to impress her with his courage, it was having quite the opposite effect. She could just kill him for offering to bait a trap, but she might not have the chance if the murderer got to him first.
The man she'd been watching had eaten his sweet roll and now he was finishing his coffee: Hannah expected him to go back for a second cup, but he surprised her by pulling a small notebook from his pocket and beginning to write. He was probably a reporter, and that realization gave Hannah the perfect idea to take the wind out of Norman's macho sails.
"I got it!" she called out to Lisa. "Can you hold the fort for a couple of minutes? I have to find Sally and ask her who that reporter is."
"Which reporter?" Lisa asked, walking over to peer through the window.
"The one in the center of the room. He's wearing a blue Scandinavian sweater."
"That's Larry Kruger. Alex pointed him out to me yesterday. He's the one who's been writing those ghost stories."