Blueberry Muffin Murder. Joanne Fluke

smooth or crunchy, your choice)

      2 beaten eggs (just whip them up with a fork)

      2 ½ cups flour (no need to sift)

      Microwave the butter in a microwave-safe mixing bowl to melt it. Add the sugar, vanilla, and molasses. Stir until it’s blended, then add the baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Mix well.

      ***If you like a sweeter cookie, add ½ cup more of sugar or roll the dough balls in sugar before baking.

      Measure out the peanut butter. (I spray the inside of my measuring cup with Pam so it won’t stick.) Add it to the bowl and mix it in. Pour in the beaten eggs and stir. Then add the flour, and mix until all the ingredients are thoroughly blended.

      Form the dough into walnut-sized balls and arrange them on a greased cookie sheet, 12 to a standard sheet. (If the dough is too sticky to form into balls, chill it for a few minutes and try again.)

      Flatten the balls with a fork in a crisscross pattern. (If the fork sticks, either spray it with Pam or dip it in flour.)

      Bake at 375ºF for 8 to 10 minutes, or until the edges are just beginning to turn golden. Cool on the cookie sheet for 2 minutes, then remove to a wire rack to finish cooling.

      My niece Tracey’s Favorite PBJ snack: Spread jam on one cookie and stack another on top. Mother likes PBFs better (that’s fudge frosting between the cookie layers).

      Chapter Three

      “That’s all you want?” Hannah was surprised when the handsome mayor of Lake Eden nodded. She’d expected a problem of gigantic proportions, but all he’d asked her to do was meet Connie MacIntyre at the Lake Eden Inn at noon today. “Of course I’ll do it, no problem.”

      “Thanks, Hannah.” The mayor brushed a nonexistent piece of lint from his jacket and reached out to take a Peanut Butter Melt from the plate Hannah had placed between them on the stainless steel surface of the work island. “You know how these celebrities are. If someone doesn’t meet her and take her on a guided tour, she’ll feel slighted.”

      Hannah supposed that he was right. Connie Mac was a star and she’d expect to be treated like visiting royalty. It had been an incredible coup for Mayor Bascomb when a member of Connie Mac’s staff had called to say that she’d be honored to attend their Winter Carnival and bake the official Winter Carnival cake for tomorrow evening’s banquet. Hannah, who seldom took things at face value, suspected that the “Cooking Sweetheart” hadn’t agreed to attend this small-town event purely out of the goodness of her heart. One of Connie Mac’s kitchen boutiques was opening at the Tri-County Mall three days from now, and promoting it at the Winter Carnival was a smart business move.

      “Make sure you drive past the venues on your way to town,” Mayor Bascomb instructed between bites of his cookie. “Then take her to Jordan High so she can visit the hospitality hub and see the shuttle sleighs.”

      “Will do.”

      “Then drive her to the community center and show her the library. Marge is looking forward to meeting her.”

      Hannah grinned at that obvious understatement. Marge Beeseman, their volunteer librarian, had been positively ecstatic when Connie Mac had agreed to sign copies of her new cookbook as a fund-raiser for the library. According to Delores, Marge had paid Bertie Straub a small fortune to cover up the gray and give her a new, sophisticated hairstyle.

      “When you’re through with Marge, take her down to the banquet room. She wants to go over the menu with Edna.”

      “Got it,” Hannah responded, wondering how Edna Ferguson, Jordan High’s head cook, would react if Connie Mac suggested changes in the menu. The food for the banquet had already been ordered, and Edna had done most of the preparation in advance. “Where shall I take her after that?”

      “The Ezekiel Jordan House. Your mother promised she’d have it ready by noon. I called her yesterday to see if I could drop in for a quick peek, but she won’t allow anyone in until it’s completely finished. You know how your mother is, Hannah. She’s treating this whole thing like a state secret and there’s no reason she should…” Mayor Bascomb stopped speaking as the back door opened and Delores stuck her head in.

      “Speak of the devil,” Hannah murmured, and then she put on a bright smile for her mother’s benefit. “Hi, Mother. Is the house finished?”

      “Not yet, dear. I just came over to ask you about a very peculiar rolling pin I found with Mrs. Jordan’s kitchen utensils. Hello, Ricky-Ticky. I didn’t expect to find you here.”

      Hannah covered her gasp of startled laughter with a cough. Her mother was the only person in town who dared call the mayor by his childhood nickname. Hannah’s grandparents had lived next door to the Bascombs, and Delores had been his babysitter one summer.

      “Morning, Delores.” Mayor Bascomb gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and Hannah could tell that he didn’t appreciate being reminded of those early childhood years. According to Delores, he’d been a spoiled brat. “I’ve got to run, ladies. My meeting with the steering committee starts in fifteen minutes. The cookies are delicious, Hannah. I’m going to pick up a bag from Lisa on the way out and treat the committee.”

      Hannah watched as the mayor clamped his hat on his head and headed toward the swinging door that led into the coffee shop. The moment he was out of earshot, she turned to her mother with a frown. “I think you embarrassed him when you called him Ricky-Ticky.”

      “Of course I did. That’s exactly what I intended.” Delores walked over to take the mayor’s stool and reached out for a cookie. “He’s been acting like a big shot lately and it’s time someone reminded him that he had his diapers changed like every other child in Lake Eden. Now, about that rolling pin, Hannah…it’s carved on the outside with little panels of designs.”

      Hannah nodded. “It’s probably a Springerle rolling pin. They’re used to make a type of rolled German cookie.”

      “Oh, yes. One of your great-grandmother Elsa’s friends used to bake them every Christmas. I always had to eat one to be polite, but I never liked them. They were flavored with licorice.”

      “Close enough,” Hannah said, not wanting to get into a discussion about the subtle differences between anise and licorice. “Most women who had Springerle rolling pins liked to show them off by hanging them on the kitchen wall. They were handed down from generation to generation, and sometimes the carvings were personalized.”

      “I’ll put it on the wall above the kitchen table,” Delores said, finishing her cookie and rising to her feet. “I’ve got to get back, Hannah. We’re almost ready to hang the parlor curtains.”

      “Hold on a second.” Hannah carried the plate over to the counter and transferred the cookies to one of her distinctive carrier bags. It was a miniature shopping bag, white with red handles, and the words, “THE COOKIE JAR,” were stamped in red block letters on the front. “Take these with you. Carrie loves my Peanut Butter Melts.”

      “I know she does. So does Norman.” Delores frowned slightly as she took the bag. “You’ve been neglecting him lately, Hannah. Carrie tells me that Ronni Ward has been in twice this month to have her teeth cleaned, and you know what that means!”

      “Her teeth are dirty?” Hannah teased, knowing full well what her mother had meant.

      “Don’t be flippant, Hannah. Norman’s single and he’s got eyes in his head. Just in case you’ve forgotten, Ronni won the Eden Lake Bikini Contest three years in a row.”

      Hannah sobered as her mother went out the door. She found it difficult to picture Norman with a beauty queen, but thinking about it gave her an unpleasant sensation in the pit of her stomach. She told