Joanne Fluke - Key Lime Pie Murder

CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE MURDER

STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE MURDER

BLUEBERRY MUFFIN MURDER

LEMON MERINGUE PIE MURDER

FUDGE CUPCAKE MURDER

SUGAR COOKIE MURDER

PEACH COBBLER MURDER

CHERRY CHEESECAKE MURDER

KEY LIME PIE MURDER

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

A HANNAH SWENSEN MYSTERY WITH RECIPES

www.kensingtonbooks.com

This book is dedicated to Tooni,
who truly knew how to love.

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Index of Recipes

For Ruel, my in-house story editor and research team.
And for the kids, whove learned not to count carbs out
loud whenever I serve dessert.

Thank you to our friends and neighbors:
Mel & Kurt, Lyn & Bill, Gina & the kids, Adrienne, Jay,
Bob, Amanda, Dale, John, Trudi, Dr. Bob & Sue, Laura &
Mark, Richard & Krista, Barbara & Val,
Lana from Baltimore,
and Mark Baker, who always shows up, sometimes twice.

Thank you to my editor-in-chief, John Scognamiglio.
Without you, this wouldnt be nearly as much fun and Id
probably fall flat on my face.
The same goes for Walter, Steve, Laurie, Doug, David, Joan,
Maureen, Magee, Meryl, Colleen, Jessica, Justin, Robin,
Lydia, Lori, Mike, and Barbara.

Thank you to Hiro Kimura, superb cover artist, for the
yummy key lime pie.
And thanks to Lou Malcanji for designing such a delectable
dust jacket.

Thanks also to all the other talented folks at Kensington
who keep Hannah sleuthing and baking up a storm.

Thanks to John for fixing all the computer tech stuff I dont
understand and cant spell.

Thank you to Dr. Rahhal & Trina for all that you do.

Big hugs to Terry Sommers for trying out all the recipes in
this book and never once bringing up the subject of calories.

Thank you to Jamie Wallace for her superb work on my
Web site
MurderSheBaked.com

And many, many thanks to everyone who e-mailed or snail
mailed. Im baking key lime pie for dessert tonight.
How about you?

A t precisely eight forty-five on the second Monday morning in June, Hannah Swensen took a number from the deli-style dispenser mounted on a pole next to the secretarys desk and plunked herself down in one of the nondescript chairs in the nondescript waiting room to wait her turn.

It was hot and muggy, standard fare for this time of year. While other states boasted of fish that jumped, living that was easy, and cotton that was high, summertime in Minnesota was just the opposite. The muggy heat caused fish to lurk at the bottom of the lake, totally unmoved by even the tastiest bait, and the living was far from easy, especially if you owned a family farm. The corn might be knee high by the Fourth of July, if it was a good year, but the only thing that was high in the second week of June was the humidity.

A low rumble made Hannah frown. She hoped the sound came from one of the big trucks shed seen delivering carnival rides to the midway and not from gathering storm clouds. This was the first day of the Tri-County Fair and the gates opened at noon. The coming week would be like a holiday, with hundreds passing through the turnstiles to look at the exhibits, enjoy the rides on the midway, and attend the rodeo that was held every afternoon.

Hannah brushed several orange cat hairs from her tan slacks. They landed on the seat of the orange plastic chair next to her. Although she vacuumed every weekend, it was a losing battle. Her orange and white tomcat, Moishe, contributed twice as much hair as she collected in the bag of her vacuum. There were times when Hannah seriously considered installing an orange and white carpet, buying orange and white furniture, and eating only orange and white food during the shedding season. It wouldnt cut down on the cat hair, but it would be camouflaged. At least she wouldnt be aware of how many strands she was walking on, sitting on, and ingesting.

This type of chair would work. Hannah couldnt even see where the cat hairs had landed. But spending more time in a chair like this was something to be avoided. It was a clone to every other molded plastic chair in every other waiting room in the state. Perhaps it was true that form followed function, but in this case it was horribly uncomfortable and as ugly as sin.

Rather than glance at her watch for the third time in as many minutes, Hannah thought about why so many businesses bought these chairs for their waiting rooms. The plastic was impervious to spills and scratches, and they did add a splash of color to an otherwise drab room. The chairs were bolted to rails that conjoined them as sextuplets. Hannah supposed that this was meant to discourage theft, but she seriously doubted that anyone would want to steal them anyway.

Sitting up straight didnt help to relieve the strain on her back, so Hannah tried slouching. That was even worse. A little notice stamped on the back of the chair in front of her said that it had been designed to fit the average body. And that brought up another question. Was anybody truly average? Average was a statistical tool that took tall people over six feet, added them to short people under five feet, and came up with an average of five and a half feet. Hannah knew from bitter experience not to buy slacks marked average . They were too short for tall people and too long for short people. Perhaps somewhere there might be a handful of people the slacks would fit, but Hannah had never met them. And if these chairs were designed for an average body, it was clear that the model the manufacturer had used bore little resemblance to Hannah. Looking around her, Hannah suspected that she wasnt alone. Everyone who was waiting to see the secretary at the Tri-County Fairgrounds looked just as uncomfortable as she did.

Swensen? the secretary called out, and Hannah walked over to take the seat in front of the secretarys desk that had been recently vacated by a man in work clothes and a hardhat. I need some information from you before I can issue your pass.

Hannah waited while the woman opened a drawer and pulled out a book of bound and printed forms. She flipped it open, retrieved her pen, and looked up at Hannah. Your full name please?

Hannah Louise Swensen.

Marital status?

Single.

Age?

Thirty. Hannah gave a little sigh. This was June and her thirty-first birthday was in July. When did a woman become a spinster? Had it happened last year when she hit thirty? Or would the womens movement grant her a reprieve so she wouldnt enter the old maids category until she reached forty? This was a question she could ponder by herself, but she certainly wouldnt discuss it with her mother! Delores Swensen wasnt reticent about reminding her eldest daughter that her biological clock was ticking.

Street address?

Forty-six thirty-seven Maytime Lane, Hannah replied, smiling a bit as she gave the address of her condo complex. Maybe she was a spinster but she owned her own home and business.