Joanne Fluke Christmas Bundle: Sugar Cookie Murder, Candy Cane Murder, Plum Pudding Murder, & Gingerbread Cookie Murder by Joanne Fluke, Laura Levine, Leslie Meier Page B
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective
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approximately ½ cup over the top of the cheese round, letting it drip down the sides and puddle on the plate. Accompany it with a basket of crackers or cocktail bread, and enjoy.
Yield: One cheese round that should serve as an appetizer for 6 to 8 people.
Chapter Eight
T he alarm clock went off much too early to suit Hannah. All she wanted to do was duck back under the covers and hide from the day that was about to begin. Why couldn’t she just find a nice nine to five job? Other people had jobs that paid benefits, and overtime, and periodic raises, and a bonus at Christmas, and…
Hannah’s busy mind skidded to a halt. Christmas. It smelled like Christmas in her bedroom. The lovely pine scent from the Christmas tree that Norman had bought for her was perfuming her whole condo with the scent of a winter forest. Why hadn’t she ever had a Christmas tree before? The scent was wonderful and it would be so nice to sit on the living room couch and gaze at lovely ornaments glowing in the reflections from soft twinkling lights nestled among the branches. She could sip hot chocolate, snuggle up warm and cozy with Norman, or Mike, or even Moishe.
Hannah’s thoughts took another quick three-sixty. She was almost positive that Moishe had been in bed when the alarm went off. Her arm was still slightly numb from twenty-three pounds of purring feline using it as a pillow.
She reached out to flick on the light. Moishe had been here, but he wasn’t here now. There was no cat in the bed, no furry pal on the windowsill hoping to catch a glimpse of a rabbit running across the snowy rose garden, no feline roommate perched on top of her dresser, purring loudly in an invitation to get up and feed him. Moishe wasn’t in her bedroom at all.
There was a crash in the distance. It wasn’t a loud crash, but it was worthy of notice. It seemed to take a long while to happen, like a tree toppling in the forest. Branches crackled, something swished, and a moment later, there was a hollow thud. And then there was water splashing out and then dripping…dripping…dripping…in her living room!
Moishe. Her Christmas tree. What was surely no more than a nanosecond after the thought occurred to her, Hannah was up and running. She sped down the hallway, flicking on lights as she went, and came to a skidding halt as she reached the tree, the one that had been in the corner of her living room and was now prone on her rug, the tree stand tipped up on two legs over an impossibly large lake of water that was spreading out over her carpet.
Hannah hissed out a word she would never have used around her nieces. All her precautions had been for naught. Her tree was down and the plastic pan had caught only a small amount of the water that had been in the tree stand. Her precaution hadn’t worked. There was a rapidly spreading lake of water on her rug.
A groan worthy of a rudely awakened hibernating bruin emerged from Hannah’s throat. As she stood there watching in dismay, the rest of the water saturated the fibers of her rug, seeped through the pad under her carpet, dripped past the joists that separated her apartment from her downstairs neighbors, and soaked the insulation and drywall that rested immediately above Phil and Sue Plotnik’s living room ceiling.
Hannah ran to the laundry room for a stack of towels and spread them out over the puddle. She patted them down, hoping she could soak up some of the moisture, and then she made her unsteady way to the kitchen for a wake-up dose of caffeine. Coffee would help and perhaps all this was a bad dream.
As she opened the cupboard and stared at the array of coffee mugs that awaited her, Hannah tried to convince herself that she was still fast asleep and merely dreaming that she was in her kitchen, choosing a coffee mug for the morning. She got out her favorite, the one that bore the words, That’s the Way the Cookie Crumbles , and carried it over to the coffee pot. It was amazing how realistic a
Yield: One cheese round that should serve as an appetizer for 6 to 8 people.
Chapter Eight
T he alarm clock went off much too early to suit Hannah. All she wanted to do was duck back under the covers and hide from the day that was about to begin. Why couldn’t she just find a nice nine to five job? Other people had jobs that paid benefits, and overtime, and periodic raises, and a bonus at Christmas, and…
Hannah’s busy mind skidded to a halt. Christmas. It smelled like Christmas in her bedroom. The lovely pine scent from the Christmas tree that Norman had bought for her was perfuming her whole condo with the scent of a winter forest. Why hadn’t she ever had a Christmas tree before? The scent was wonderful and it would be so nice to sit on the living room couch and gaze at lovely ornaments glowing in the reflections from soft twinkling lights nestled among the branches. She could sip hot chocolate, snuggle up warm and cozy with Norman, or Mike, or even Moishe.
Hannah’s thoughts took another quick three-sixty. She was almost positive that Moishe had been in bed when the alarm went off. Her arm was still slightly numb from twenty-three pounds of purring feline using it as a pillow.
She reached out to flick on the light. Moishe had been here, but he wasn’t here now. There was no cat in the bed, no furry pal on the windowsill hoping to catch a glimpse of a rabbit running across the snowy rose garden, no feline roommate perched on top of her dresser, purring loudly in an invitation to get up and feed him. Moishe wasn’t in her bedroom at all.
There was a crash in the distance. It wasn’t a loud crash, but it was worthy of notice. It seemed to take a long while to happen, like a tree toppling in the forest. Branches crackled, something swished, and a moment later, there was a hollow thud. And then there was water splashing out and then dripping…dripping…dripping…in her living room!
Moishe. Her Christmas tree. What was surely no more than a nanosecond after the thought occurred to her, Hannah was up and running. She sped down the hallway, flicking on lights as she went, and came to a skidding halt as she reached the tree, the one that had been in the corner of her living room and was now prone on her rug, the tree stand tipped up on two legs over an impossibly large lake of water that was spreading out over her carpet.
Hannah hissed out a word she would never have used around her nieces. All her precautions had been for naught. Her tree was down and the plastic pan had caught only a small amount of the water that had been in the tree stand. Her precaution hadn’t worked. There was a rapidly spreading lake of water on her rug.
A groan worthy of a rudely awakened hibernating bruin emerged from Hannah’s throat. As she stood there watching in dismay, the rest of the water saturated the fibers of her rug, seeped through the pad under her carpet, dripped past the joists that separated her apartment from her downstairs neighbors, and soaked the insulation and drywall that rested immediately above Phil and Sue Plotnik’s living room ceiling.
Hannah ran to the laundry room for a stack of towels and spread them out over the puddle. She patted them down, hoping she could soak up some of the moisture, and then she made her unsteady way to the kitchen for a wake-up dose of caffeine. Coffee would help and perhaps all this was a bad dream.
As she opened the cupboard and stared at the array of coffee mugs that awaited her, Hannah tried to convince herself that she was still fast asleep and merely dreaming that she was in her kitchen, choosing a coffee mug for the morning. She got out her favorite, the one that bore the words, That’s the Way the Cookie Crumbles , and carried it over to the coffee pot. It was amazing how realistic a
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