Hanging Hannah

Hanging Hannah by Evan Marshall

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Authors: Evan Marshall
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woman anymore. We should leave all that to the police.”
    But mention of the police made Jane think of Greenberg, of visiting the cave, of meeting Doris and Arthur at the station in the morning.
    While Nick turned back to Winky, Florence shot Jane a look that said, “Let’s change the subject.”
    â€œYes,” Jane said. “We have many other things to worry about. Like homework.”
    Nick slumped in his chair. “Blech.”
    â€œNever mind blech,” Jane said. “You still have to finish that report on Sussex County. Have you finished gathering your information?”
    Nick shrugged indifferently. “No. I’ll get it tonight off the Internet.”
    â€œAll right. I’ll help you.”
    â€œAnd what about the New Jersey cake?” Florence asked. “Aren’t we supposed to bake Sussex County?”
    Nick slammed down his fork. “Have you ever heard of anything so stupid?” he said, his eyes bulging so that he looked the way Kenneth always looked when he was exasperated. “What’s the point of baking a cake in the shape of Sussex County? What do we learn from that?”
    â€œYou learn the counties of New Jersey, obviously,” Jane said. “The cake makes it fun. And when you have fun learning something, you’re more likely to really learn it and remember it.”
    Nick gave her a distasteful look. “Mom, you sound like some kind of textbook or something. Well,” he said with a sigh, “I’m not baking any counties.”
    â€œNo one asked you to,” Florence said. “I will bake Sussex. I have the mix and everything.” She looked slightly embarrassed. “Normally I would not use a mix”—she spoke as if doing so were a sacrilege—“but for this project I think it is okay, and besides we are in a hurry.” Nick hadn’t told Florence and Jane he needed a cake in the shape of Sussex County until that morning. “But I’ll need that template Mrs. Arnold gave you,” Florence went on.
    â€œYeah, yeah,” Nick said. “It’s with my stuff in my backpack.” He put down his fork and got up, heading for the green backpack leaning against the kitchen wall near the back hall.
    Florence smiled at Jane and shook her head.
    In actuality, Jane had wondered more than once why Mrs. Arnold couldn’t have simply had the children color a map of New Jersey’s counties, but one never undermined the teacher. So she jumped up, full of enthusiasm. “I’ll clear the table and load the dishwasher, Florence. You and Nick can start on Sussex.”
    â€œThanks, missus. This will be fun.” But as soon as Nick had left the kitchen in search of scissors for cutting out the template, Florence’s face grew troubled again, and Jane had no doubt as to the subject of her thoughts.

    Later that night, as Jane lay in bed, eyes shut as she waited for sleep, the Irish Chain pattern of Louise’s quilt appeared before her. How had the quilt gotten into the cave ? She didn’t want to know. In fact, she wished she had never recognized it. But it was her own fault; she’d asked Greenberg to take her to the cave.
    She drifted closer to sleep, then remembered something, and her eyes popped open. She’d forgotten to call Doris. She checked her bedside clock. It was a little after eleven. She grabbed the phone and dialed Doris’s number. Doris answered on the first ring.
    â€œDoris, I’m sorry to call you so late. I did speak with Greenberg. He said he’d like to ask Arthur some questions. He wants Arthur at the station at eight-thirty tomorrow morning. I’ll meet you both there at twenty past.”
    â€œAll right,” Doris said.
    â€œOh, and Doris—” Jane said uneasily. “He said that if Arthur doesn’t show up, he’ll have to have him picked up and brought in.”
    â€œHe’ll show up,” Doris said.

Eight
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