Read Lemon Meringue Pie Murder (Hannah Swensen Mysteries) for Free Online Page B

chocolate shake?”
    “Sure, Freddy. Knock yourself out.”
    “Why do I have to do that?”
    “Do what?”
    “Knock myself out.”
    Jed laughed and glanced back at Hannah. “It’s just an expression, Freddy. I didn’t really mean that you should hit yourself.”
    “What did you mean, then?”
    “I meant that you should order whatever you want and I’ll pay for it.”
    “Okay. I’ll have chili, and onion rings with ketchup, and a chocolate shake, and pickles. And maybe I’ll have coconut cake, too.”
    Hannah was grinning as the door closed behind them. Freddy didn’t get the chance to eat at the café very often and it sounded like he was ready to take full advantage of the unexpected treat. If Jed didn’t keep an eye out, Freddy would eat up their whole day’s salary and then some.

Chapter
Four
     
     
    H er weekend had been boring beyond belief and Hannah was not in the best of moods on Monday morning as she began to bake the cookies they’d need for the day. With Mike in Iowa and Norman busily calling contractors and getting estimates on the work to be done, Hannah had decided she’d finally do the spring housecleaning she’d put off for three months.
    When The Cookie Jar had closed at five on Saturday, Hannah had driven straight home to feed Moishe and fix her evening meal. She’d done her utmost to pretend that her green dinner salad was a piece of buttery garlic bread, her boneless skinless chicken breast was a thick slab of country ham, and each floret of steamed broccoli was a crispy French fry, but her powers of self-deception had failed her before she’d even raised the fork to her mouth. She’d eaten most of it anyway and shared a few bites of her chicken with Moishe, who’d seemed delighted that she was dining on one of his favorite meats. Once her dishes were stashed in the dishwasher, she’d grabbed one of her ever-present steno pads to make a list of the tasks she needed to tackle and before she’d crawled under the covers at eleven, her kitchen floor had been spotless, all the burned-out lightbulbs in her condo had been replaced, every inch of her carpet had been sucked free of dirt and unidentified fibers, and all the clothes she’d sprinkled and stuck in the freezer to avoid mildew attacks before she got around to ironing them had been neatly pressed and were hanging in her closet.
    Sunday had been more of the same. Hannah had risen early, eaten one piece of dry toast and a half grapefruit for breakfast, and salivated for a full two minutes when she’d smelled bacon frying in a neighbor’s apartment. She’d read the Sunday paper and then she’d tackled the rest of her to-do list. She’d carried the contents of Moishe’s litter box down to the Dumpster in the garage, scrubbed the fixtures in her bathroom until they were sparkling, and straightened the linen cabinet. After a big bowl of mixed vegetables for lunch, she’d rearranged her spice drawer, washed all the windows, dusted the bookshelves, and emptied the trash. She’d even cleaned out the kitchen cupboards, although it had taken every ounce of willpower she possessed to toss out the half-eaten canister of caramel corn that Bertie Straub had given her for Christmas.
    Dinner had been a nice piece of fish with a small baked potato sans sour cream and butter, and another mixed salad with low-cal dressing. Since Hannah had never been fond of fish, Moishe had gotten the lion’s share of that. She’d alleviated her urge to snack by munching celery sticks as she’d watched several insipid movies, and she’d crawled under the covers at ten, hoping that sleep would silence the rumbling of her stomach.
    “Hi, Hannah,” Lisa greeted her as she walked in at seven-thirty. “Something smells good.”
    “That would be cookies. I’m just glad my nose is stuffed up!”
    “The diet’s getting to you?” Lisa gave her a sympathetic look.
    “Yes. ‘Diet’ has a lot in common with some other four-letter words.”
    “I