Mike stopped in the act of taking another cookie and gave her a sharp look. "You were worried about Norman?"
"Of course I was. Norman's one of my very best friends." Mike stared at her for a moment. "Yeah, he's a nice guy.
Well. . . I've got to get back to work. Thanks for the cookies, Hannah."
Hannah waved at him as she pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to her condo to pick up Janie. As she zipped down the highway, she reached up to touch her lips with the tip of her finger. The thrill of Mike's kisses always lingered, and they made her hunger for more. But Norman's kiss had lingered, too. What kind of woman could be in love with two men? Or did it mean that she wasn't really in love with either of them?
-21- Hannah heard a door close as she climbed up the steps from the garage. The sound seemed to come from Mrs. Canfield's unit, and she bent down quickly to form a snowball and dropped it into the pocket of her parka. A moment later, Greg Canfield came around the corner of the building.
"Hi, Hannah. You're home from work early. Do you want to get a cup of coffee or something?"
"I'd love to, but I can't. I have to be back at the park in less than an hour. How's your day-trading going?"
"Just fine." Greg gave her a big grin. "Did you hear the latest news about Ezekiel's ghost?"
"I don't know. What's the latest?"
"KCOW radio says it attacked Dr. Rhodes last night because he tried to take its picture. They said that when Dr. Rhodes developed his film, it was blank, because you can't take a picture of a spirit. I figure that's about as believable as Paul Bunyan and his blue ox, Babe. How do they dream up stories like that?"
Hannah laughed. "I gave them that story. Thanks for telling me, Greg. I'm glad it's out there already."
Greg looked shocked. "Don't tell me that you actually believe in ghosts!"
"Of course I don't."
"Then why did you tell a whopper like that?"
Hannah hesitated, but Greg was an old friend. She'd known him for years and she could trust him. "I'll let you in on it, but you need to keep it under your hat."
"My lips are sealed." Greg pantomimed zipping his lips, a childhood ritual they'd learned in second grade from Miss Gladke.
"Norman Rhodes is a good friend of mine, and I planted that story to keep him safe. We think Connie Mac's killer attacked him."
"But why?"
"Because he thinks that Norman took his picture."
"Did he?"
"No. Norman was next door the night that Connie Mac was killed and he was testing his lights. He didn't have film in his camera, and he wasn't even aiming it out the window. We think the killer saw the flashes when he was hanging around my shop, and he thought that Norman got a picture of him."
"Did Dr. Rhodes see the killer?"
Hannah shook her head. "Norman didn't see anybody. He didn't even know that Connie Mac was dead until the next morning."
"So he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?"
"You got it," Hannah said with a sigh. "And he almost got killed for nothing."
"Wait a second." Greg looked confused. "I can see why you wanted to let the killer know that Dr. Rhodes didn't take his picture, but why didn't you just tell KCOW the truth?"
"The truth isn't news. I had to tie in the ghost so that KCOW and the papers would carry it."
"That's brilliant, Hannah." Greg looked impressed. "You always were the smartest one in our class. And that reminds me, Grandma said she heard that you helped to solve two murder cases already. Are you working on this one?"
Childhood friendships notwithstanding, Hannah decided that she'd gone far enough. She'd already been forced to tell several people that she was working to catch Connie Mac's killer, and it was past time to zip her own lips. "I offered to help, but they made it plain that they don't want me to get involved."
"That's a relief. I'd sure hate to see you mixed up in anything that dangerous."
Greg still looked worried, and Hannah reached out to pat him on the arm. "Don't worry about me, Greg. Two Winnetka County detectives have ordered me to stay out of it."
"But you never used to listen to orders. Remember what happened when our mothers ordered us to stop having those snowball fights?"
"Of course I do. We just escalated the battle, but I follow orders very well now." Hannah bit back a smug grin as she pulled the snowball from her pocket and let fly. It hit Greg squarely in the face and she hooted. "Except for times like this, of course."
"Janie?" Hannah called out as she opened her door. "Where are you?"
"I'm in here." Janie's voice answered her from the rear of the condo. It came from the guest room, but it was strangely muffled. Hannah felt a surge of fear and she called out again. "Are you hurt?"
"No, but I need help." Janie's answer added fuel to Hannah's feet as she hurried down the hall and barreled into the guest room. What she saw made her come dangerously close to exploding with suppressed laughter.
"Go ahead and laugh. I can just imagine how ridiculous I look. I'm afraid I'll crush something if I move, and I think Moishe is in here somewhere."
"Hold on, Janie. I'll help you," Hannah chuckled as she approached the walk-in closet. All she could see were Janie's feet. The rest of her body, including her head, was covered by mounds of old clothing that Hannah had been vowing to take to the Helping Hands Thrift Store for the past two years.
"Do you see Moishe?" Janie asked, her words almost swallowed by the old Navy peacoat Hannah had worn during her first year in college.
"Not yet." Hannah was ready to start extricating Janie from the clothing when she heard a meow. It came from above her, and when she looked up, she saw two round yellow eyes peeking out at her. "He's on the top shelf, hiding behind a box. I'll coax him down right after I get you out of the closet."
"I'm glad my mother didn't hear that!" Janie started to giggle.
Hannah stepped into the closet and grabbed an armful of clothing. She carried it out, tossed it into a corner of the bedroom, and went back for another load. It took several trips, but at last Janie could move.
"Oh, no," Janie groaned as she stood up and shook off the rest of the clothing.
"What's the matter? Are you hurt?"
"Only my pride. I'm sorry, Hannah. I crushed the velvet hat you wore to Andrea's wedding."
"That's okay. It looks awful on me and I haven't worn it since. What happened?"
"I don't know. Moishe was in the closet and I tried to get him out so I could shut the door. I was just bending down to pick him up when the closet pole gave way and everything crashed down on us."
"That pole was loose. I should have warned you. And Moishe does have a way of getting people into trouble," Hannah remarked, remembering the time she'd stepped out to retrieve the morning paper and Moishe had batted the door shut behind her. Of course it had been locked, and she'd had to run down to her neighbor's in her slippers and robe to call a locksmith.
At that moment, the subject of their conversation jumped down from the top shelf and walked over to them. He glared at them for a moment, as if the whole thing had been their fault, and then stalked off down the hallway.
"I'm just glad he didn't get hurt," Janie said. "He was after something in the closet, Hannah. Do you think it was a mouse?"
"It could have been. He's a good mouser. Sit down, Janie. I've got some great news for you."
Janie sat down on the edge of the bed. "What is it?"
"You're off the suspect list. Kristi Hampton saw you pull into the parking lot at the inn, and a maid spotted you when you left with your suitcases. That gives you an alibi, and Mike said to tell you that you're in the clear."
"That's wonderful!" Janie's face lit up in a smile. "Now I can go back out to the inn and see Paul. I didn't think I should talk to him while I was still a suspect, but I'd really like to offer my condolences and see if there's anything I can do to help."