"Hello, Kurt." Hannah greeted him, wincing a bit as the scratch began to throb under the tight latex glove. Kurt worked for the company that was going to publish the Lake Eden cookbook.
"Hi, Hannah. I called to see how the cookbook's coming along."
"Just fine. I'm teaching a night class at the school and we're testing all the recipes. Then we're going to have a big potluck dinner for the whole town and let everyone vote on which recipes should be included."
"When's the potluck?"
That question surprised Hannah. Kurt hadn't been that interested in their schedule before. Perhaps he wanted to come to Lake Eden to taste the recipes and vote? "We haven't set a firm date yet, but I want to do it right after Thanksgiving. We'd love to have you come, if you can."
"I'll try to make it. Just call and give my secretary the date. I've got some really big news, Hannah. I convinced my publisher to release your cookbook early. We thought it would be a perfect gift for the holiday season."
"You mean Christmas?"
"Christmas, Hanukah, Kwanzaa, whatever. It's going to be mostly buffet recipes, right?"
"Well… I guess you could call them buffet recipes. In Lake Eden we just say potluck."
"I like that better, personally. Potluck is much more ethnic. But my publisher wants to use the words holiday and buffet in the title. Do you think you could live with that?"
"Well…"
"He's sure it would sell better in upscale places like New York and Los Angeles."
Hannah's eyebrows headed for the ceiling. When Kurt first mentioned the cookbook, she'd envisioned something that would be sold locally, or perhaps statewide. She'd never even considered the possibility that it would be sold all over the country.
"Hannah? I know people voted and you decided on Green Jell-O, A Lake Eden Potluck Cookbook as a title, but my publisher doesn't think that'll do well nationally. He'd rather have Holiday Buffet. If you absolutely hate it, I can go back to him with alternatives."
"No," Hannah managed to croak out. "No, he probably knows best. After all, buffet is just a fancier name for potluck. But these are pretty simple recipes. Is that all right?"
"Give me an example."
"Well… there's Edna's Make Ahead Mashed Potatoes. She brings them to every potlu… uh… buffet we have. And then there's my mother's Hawaiian Pot Roast, and a couple of variations of Minnesota Hotdish."
"That all sounds great. You're making me hungry, Hannah."
"I know what you mean," Hannah said, feeling a bit hungry herself. "But since your publisher wants a fancier title, doesn't he want fancier names for the recipes?"
"Like what?"
"Like… Minnesota Hotdish could be Minnesota Cassoulet."
"No, hotdish is good. It'll make people think about sitting around the dinner table with family and friends. Just leave the recipe names the way they are, Hannah. If we have problems with any of them, we'll get together and change them."
"And our deadline is still the same?"
Kurt gave a little laugh. "I'm afraid not. That's the reason I called. Hold onto your hat, Hannah."
"Why?" Hannah sucked in her breath and held it. She had the feeling she wasn't going to like Kurt's answer.
"We're going to need everything in three weeks."
"Three weeks?!" Hannah was so shocked she almost dropped the phone. "But it wasn't supposed to be for three months!"
"I know. This is a fabulous opportunity, Hannah. My publisher's going to pull out all the stops to make your cookbook a success. I know the deadline is tight and it'll be a lot of work, but think about how proud everyone will be to see their favorite recipes in print."
"I'm thinking, I'm thinking," Hannah said. And she was. Perhaps she could do it if she had help.
"So shall I tell my publisher it's a go?"
Hannah took a deep breath and let it out again. And then she said the words that would add several big helpings to her already overflowing plate. "Yes, Kurt. Tell him it's a go."
An hour later, Hannah walked up to the counter at Lake Eden Neighborhood Pharmacy. Lisa had insisted that she talk to Jon Walker to get some kind of antibiotic cream for her hand. The cat scratch Moishe had given her this morning was puffing up and it was painful to touch.
"Hello, Hannah. What's wrong with your hand?" Jon greeted her.
"Cat scratch." Hannah held it out so that he could see. "Lisa sent me down for some antibiotic cream."
"Good for her. Cat scratches can be dangerous. Haven't you ever heard of cat scratch fever?"
"Only on an old rock and roll record my father used to play in the garage. There was one about poison ivy, too."
"A full-blown case of cat scratch fever and you'd wind up in the hospital. But don't worry, Hannah. We caught this in plenty of time. You should take some oral antibiotics to clear up the infection, and I'll get you some over the counter cream. Filling your prescription might take a while. I'll drop it off on my afternoon break if you'll treat me to a cookie."
"You're welcome to a cookie, but I don't have a prescription."
"You will just as soon as I put in a call to Doc Knight. Here's your cream. Use it morning, noon, and night and keep water away from that scratch."
Five minutes later, when Hannah walked in the front door of The Cookie Jar, Lisa was on the phone. She motioned to Hannah and Hannah slipped behind the counter to join her.
"It's Andrea," Lisa said, "and you should take it in the kitchen. She says she's got news for you about you-know-what. I'll stay on until you pick up."
Hannah took enough time to slather on some of the antibiotic cream and then she picked up the phone. "I'm on now, Lisa."
"And I'm off," Lisa replied, hanging up with a click.
"Hi, Hannah," Andrea greeted her. "I called to tell you that Sean and Don have an airtight alibi for last Monday night. A bus came in a little before eight and it had a flat tire. Sean and the driver changed it while Don waited on all the passengers."
"Okay. I'll put it in the book."
"And I contacted all the names on Nettie's list. Every single one has an alibi."
Hannah was so astounded she gulped. "Every name? But there were so many!"
"No, there weren't, not when I weeded out all the sheriff's department personnel that Bill and Mike are checking."
"You're right," Hannah said, giving her sister a thumbs-up she couldn't see over the phone. "There's no sense in duplicating our efforts. So you wrote down the alibis and now you want me to verify them?"
"No, I already did that."
"You did? But how did you find the time?"
"It's a trade secret I learned in real estate school. Do you remember that old perfume ad, Promise her anything, but give her Arpege?"