Murder Follows Money by Lora Roberts Page A

board.” Hannah’s lips thinned. “That’s when I realized that most Americans don’t have the foggiest idea of how to take good ingredients and make a meal, cookbook or not. I mean, even in the fifties, women were slavish devotees of Betty Crocker and mixes and instant foods. It was no wonder those girls liked my cooking; the previous cook had left a pantry lined with huge cans of soup and soggy vegetables and pie apples. They were so happy to get food that tasted real.”
    “Naomi worked in the kitchen too?”
    “She also needed money. I had been on the verge of dropping out because even with a scholarship, I couldn’t afford books or clothes, and she was in much the same straits. Her voice turned introspective. “My family wouldn’t help me. In my father’s opinion, college was a foolish dream. I could get a job in the local bakery, or for real class, an office job. I’d get married, and any education would be wasted once that happened. That’s how it was done in his world. I was truly at the end of my rope, financially.”
    “So that was what led to the Roxy Ripper thing?”
    She reared back, staring at me, outraged. Then, as quickly as it had come, her anger left; she sighed. “I only did it for a month. I was desperate, and so was Naomi. She didn’t mention that in her nasty memoir. We both went down to try out when we heard they were hiring, but they weren’t interested in her scrawny body.” She stopped short and used the hankie again. “God, I hate sounding so awful. But she really made me mad, implying I did that for fun. Hell, I paid her board bill as well as my own before I quit.”
    “I thought you were in the dorm kitchen.”
    “After my brief and unlamented turn as a stripper, I got the cooking job.” She was lost in her story, but not so lost that she forgot to point the gun at me. It seemed to me I was better off trying to talk her out of it than trying to take it from her. Something told me Hannah didn’t like having things taken from her.
    “And that was when you and Naomi started working together?”
    “I needed a helper, so I offered the job to Naomi." Hannah shrugged. “We worked well together. She was smart enough to know when she didn’t know something, and to follow instructions.”
    “Was your degree in domestic science?”
    “No, accounting.” She laughed. It was a rusty sound, as if not well used. “I was always good with numbers. But accounting was dull. My first job was in a stuffy firm in Boston. They didn’t really approve of women working, and wouldn’t have hired me if I’d been married.” She snorted. “Girls today have no idea of what it was like to make your way back then. Kim thinks it’s always easy to get a job that you enjoy doing. She hasn’t got a clue.”
    “How long did you do accounting?” It occurred to me that if I got out of this alive, I would have the ingredients for a very special interview with the famous Hannah Couch, an interview that would sell for a very nice price to a prestigious magazine. Or, if Hannah ended up in jail, to a less-prestigious rag that would pay even better. I wished I had my notebook, or even the little tape recorder Drake had given me for interviews.
    “Not long.” She was relaxed, now. Still gripping the gun, but not as if it were surgically embedded in her hand. My mind raced in a different direction. Could I disarm her? If there was shooting at this range someone would get hurt, and it would most probably be me. I decided to wait to try anything drastic, unless things got much dicier.
    “I got tired of crunching numbers for other people in less than a year. And I had catered a couple of parties—one for Naomi’s brother Tony’s wedding, and one for someone in the office. I realized I had a gift for it. And it was far more rewarding. Naomi and I formed a catering company, and I resigned from the accounting firm. They were sorry—realized too late what they were losing.” She laughed. I had been on the