Chapter Twenty-Five
“I still can’t believe that’s why Earl was so evasive with me.”
Delores gave a little laugh and Hannah glanced over at her mother as she pulled into the parking lot at the college. Delores looked happier than Hannah had seen her in weeks and the worry lines on her forehead had completely vanished. “You’re not angry that Carrie kept the news from you?”
“No. Carrie explained everything to me this afternoon. Her romance with Earl was so wonderfully sudden and unexpected, she was afraid to talk about it. She said it was like a beautiful dream that would vanish if she woke up and opened her eyes.”
The parking lot hadn’t filled up yet, and Hannah found a space right next to her mother’s sedan. She noticed that Michelle had unwound the extension cord that had been coiled around the bumper and plugged it into the power pole between the two spaces. Hannah copied her sister actions and plugged in her cookie truck. And then she opened the passenger door for her mother.
“When was Carrie planning to tell you about Earl?” she asked, waiting for her mother to emerge.
“On Christmas Eve. She planned to bring Earl to our dinner and tell us all then.”
“How about Norman? She was planning to tell him before then, wasn’t she?” Hannah took her mother’s arm since Delores was wearing fashionable boots with high heels.
“Yes, tonight. Carrie said she was going to have a talk with him when he picked her up for the Christmas Follies. And then, if Norman took it well, they were going to meet Earl in the auditorium so they could all sit together.”
“Was she afraid that Norman wouldn’t approve?” Hannah asked as they crossed the road to the well-shoveled sidewalk that led to the college auditorium.
“Yes. She thought he might have issues with her marrying again, especially to someone he didn’t know that well.”
The auditorium was just ahead. Hannah and Delores stepped into the foyer and joined the line that was waiting to be seated.
“I’m a little nervous about Michelle’s number,” Delores confessed in a whisper.
“So am I, but I talked to her this morning and she wasn’t worried at all. She said they’re going to tape it and show it to angels.”
Delores reared back and stared at Hannah in shock. “What did you say?”
“Michelle said they’re going to tape it and show it to angels. That’s what they call the money men who finance new theatrical productions.”
“Oh. Those kinds of angels!” Delores looked relieved. “For a moment there, I thought that you were so nervous, you weren’t making sense.”
The college orchestra was playing as they were led inside by one of the ushers. Michelle had arranged for two seats in the center section quite near the front, and Hannah waved as they passed Andrea, Bill, and Tracey who were sitting in the front row on the side. Delores nudged Hannah and they both gave a wave as they spotted Norman, Carrie, and Earl. Mike wasn’t there, and Hannah knew he probably wouldn’t be. He was too busy working on Larry Jaeger’s murder case.
Once they’d reached the center of their row, Hannah and Delores sat down and slipped off their coats. The auditorium was dark and warm, and the seats were comfortable. That was three strikes out for someone like Hannah who’d had only four hours of sleep. To keep herself from emitting embarrassing snorts or snores on the eve of her sister’s big musical comedy debut, Hannah busied herself by reading the program the usher had handed to her.
“Look, Mother,” she pointed to a section listing the songs the college choir would perform. “They’re singing O Christmas Tree in German.”
“O Tannenbaum,” Delores said with a smile. “I still remember my grandmother singing that.”
“And here’s Feliz Navidad in Spanish and English.”
“Wonderful. That’s such a happy song. What else are they singing, dear?”
“It says they’re singing White Christmas in Italian.”
“Bianco Natale,” Delores said, smiling at Hannah.
“I didn’t know you spoke Italian!”
“I don’t. Your father hired an Italian immigrant to help out in the hardware store when we were first married. I invited him to Christmas dinner since his family was still in Italy and he sang Bianco Natale for us.”
“That’s nice, Mother,” Hannah said. And then, as she glanced down at the program again, her eyes widened. Bianco was the last name of the man who invested in Larry’s Hollywood Home Theater company and committed suicide when he lost his retirement. Miss Whiting was the teacher who gave them the handout of financial date from Larry’s Hollywood Home Theater company. Larry’s company sold giant screen television sets. A woman had shot Larry’s television set after she’d killed Larry. And bianco meant white in Italian. What if Miss Whiting’s name had been Bianco and she’d Americanized it?
“What’s the matter, dear?”
Hannah didn’t realize she’d gasped out loud until her mother asked the question. “Just something I remembered,” she said, and settled back in her seat to think it through once again. She was almost certain that a woman who had a connection to the Hollywood Home Theater bankruptcy had killed Larry Jaeger. There were just too many coincidences. But how could she prove that Miss Whiting was connected to Salvatore Bianco?
The moment a probable answer occurred to her, Hannah turned to her Mother. “Miss Whiting said she was a visiting professor. Do you happen to know where she’s from?”
“I think she mentioned it at the beginning of the course, but I’m not sure, dear. I believe it was a college town in a neighboring state, perhaps Iowa? Or Wisconsin?”
Another coincidence? Hannah was collecting far too many to believe, but she still had no proof of anything. If she could tie Miss Whiting to Wisconsin, that would help. Hannah reviewed her brief conversations with their business teacher in her mind. Miss Whiting had been here for three months. She’d mentioned that. Perhaps she’d been so busy she hadn’t gotten around to applying for a Minnesota driver’s license or re-registering her car.
“What kind of car does Miss Whiting drive?” Hannah asked.
“A little silver compact. I can never tell the difference between them. They all look alike to me.”
That was enough for Hannah, especially when she remembered that a little silver Honda had been parked in front of The Cookie Jar when she’d come in to find Miss Whiting sitting at the table with Delores.
“I have to do something, Mother,” Hannah said. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
“All right, but hurry. Your sister’s act is third on the program.”
“I’ll be back in plenty of time,” Hannah promised, and then she began to squeeze past people’s knees to make her way to the end of the row. She had to go out to the parking lot to find Miss Whiting’s silver Honda to see if it had Wisconsin plates.
For once KCOW radio’s weatherman had been right. The wind was picking up and snow had started to fall. It felt at least ten degrees colder than it had when they’d walked to the auditorium less than fifteen minutes ago, but Hannah didn’t think the actual temperature had fallen. It was wind chill that was robbing heat from her body much faster than still air could do.
Her hands were cold. Hannah thrust them into the pockets of the black dress coat her mother had given her as a present, and pulled out the dress gloves that had come with it. She’d worn the coat and the gloves to please her mother, but she’d drawn the line at dress boots. Delores had offered, on more than one occasion, to buy her a pair, but Hannah had steadfastly refused. She loved her moose-hide boots. They were an acquisition from the Helping Hands Thrift Shop and she’d decided to let the original owner, whoever she might be, feel the guilt about supporting an industry that made footwear out of animal skins. The boots were already made, the moose was long deceased, and Hannah was certain that no rational person could blame her for purchasing second-hand moose-hide boots from a store that supported a soup kitchen for the needy.
The wind whistled harder and picked up loose snow to pelt against her face. She hadn’t worn a hat because her knitted ski cap had looked ridiculous with her dress coat. Now she wished she’d had the foresight to stuff it into her pocket. There was no one to see her. Everyone who was coming was already inside the college auditorium where the Christmas Follies were about to begin.
Hannah rushed across the road with the wind and dashed down the first aisle in the parking lot, only to find that there were two silver Hondas. Did one of them belong to Miss Whiting? How could she identify the teacher’s car?
One glance at her mother’s car answered Hannah’s question. There was a blue parking sticker with STUDENT written across it on the lower right-hand corner of Delores’s windshield. Were faculty parking stickers a different color?
Hannah walked down the first aisle of cars again, checking the stickers. The two silver Hondas had blue student stickers, but the car at the end of the row had a red parking sticker with FACULTY written across it.
Now that she’d identified her quarry, Hannah moved faster, stopping only at silver Hondas to identify their parking sticker color.
It was cold work and Hannah felt like a walking block of ice by the time she’d finished. She’d found six silver Hondas, but not one of them had displayed a red faculty parking sticker. Either Miss Whiting wasn’t here tonight, or she’d ridden to the college in someone else’s car.
Hannah was about to leave when a car turned into the lot. She watched as it drove past one of the argon lights that illuminated the area, and her heart began to beat faster. It was a silver compact and the driver found a spot at the very end of the center row. Hannah couldn’t tell if it was a Honda from this distance, and she hurried over for a closer look.
It was a Honda and a woman was opening the driver’s door. It was Miss Whiting and she waved as she saw Hannah.
“Hello, Hannah. What are you doing out here all alone?”
Hannah thought fast. She needed a plausible excuse. “I left my purse in the truck, and I had to come back out here to get it,” she said.
“We’d better hurry if we want to get inside before the program begins,” Miss Whiting said.
“Yes.” Hannah tried to get a look at the license plate, but Miss Whiting was blocking it with her body. The teacher just stood there, waiting for Hannah to turn around and head back to the auditorium, but Hannah couldn’t do that. She had to get a look at Miss Whiting’s license plate.
“Are you coming?” Miss Whiting asked, and that was when Hannah remembered the tactic she’d used at the Lake Eden Inn. There was no reason why it wouldn’t work now.
“Oops!” Hannah exclaimed, and dropped her purse. Then she bent down to pick up the items that had spilled out, moving from spot to spot to retrieve them, and attempting to read Miss Whiting’s license plate at the same time.
She managed to catch a glimpse of the top right hand corner of the license plate. It was a graphic of a barn with a silo. Any state in the heartland could have a barn with a silo on its license plate.
“I think my pen dropped over here somewhere.” Hannah leaned to the left and searched in the freshly fallen snow. She extended as far as she could and spied the letter “W” on the upper left hand corner of the plate.
She still didn’t have enough. The “W” could stand for Wyoming, or West Virginia, or Washington. She needed one more letter to be sure.
That was when Miss Whiting moved three steps to the side, exposing the entire license plate to Hannah’s view. “Is that a little easier for you?” she asked.
She knows what you’re doing! Hannah’s suspicious mind shouted. But as she got to her feet, Hannah told herself that perhaps Miss Whiting had moved over so that more light would fall on the dropped items.
“Thanks,” Hannah said, holding the purse in both hands. “I think I’ve got everything I need.”
“I’m sure you do, especially now that you’ve seen my Wisconsin plates.”
“What do you mean?” Hannah did her best to look innocent, but her heart sank to her toes. She was out here alone with Miss Whiting. And Miss Whiting had killed Larry Jaeger.
Miss Whiting took a step closer.
Hannah jumped back.
“What’s wrong?” Miss Whiting smiled a chilling smile. “Are you frightened of me?”
There was nothing to be gained by avoiding an answer. “Yes,” Hannah said.
“Why?”
“Because I think your name is Bianco. And you shot Larry Jaeger because of your connection with Salvatore Bianco.”
“Well, well. You’re smarter than I thought you were.” Miss Whiting smiled that chilling smile again. “Salvatore Bianco was my father and Larry killed him. Oh, he wasn’t there physically, but his finger was on the trigger. And it was all because I convinced my father to invest every cent of his retirement money in Larry’s business.”
“That’s…awful!” Hannah’s mind was buzzing at warp speed, trying to figure out how she could get away from Miss Whiting. She’d killed once. She had nothing to lose if she killed again.
“Yes, it’s awful. I loved him, you know.”
“Your father,” Hannah commiserated.
“And Larry. I loved Larry, too…or at least I thought I did.” Miss Whiting reached into her purse and pulled out a gun. “That’s enough talking. Walk.”
Hannah walked. What else could she do? But she kept talking as they stepped closer and closer to the edge of the hill. “Why did you shoot Larry’s television screen?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.
“That was a mistake, but I got so angry when I saw it.”
“Because of Hollywood Home Theater?”
“Yes. I let my anger get in the way of my good sense, and I left an arrow pointing in my direction. If I’d just killed Larry and walked away, you never would have connected me with his murder. No one but you put that last piece together. You’re a good student, Hannah. I could make you into an excellent C.P.A. You have a logical mind and it’s a pity I have to kill you.”
Her goose was cooked if she didn’t do something. They were at the edge of the parking lot and Hannah’s eyes darted left and then right, searching for some avenue of escape. That was when she saw it, the stack of Sliders the shop class had made. If she could just throw Miss Whiting off balance, she could grab one and…
“That’s far enough,” Miss Whiting ordered, and the steely tone in her voice told Hannah that this was the time to act. She whirled around, threw her purse directly in Miss Whiting’s face, raced to the rack, and grabbed the top Slider. Even though she wanted to turn and see if Miss Whiting had recovered from the blow she’d received, Hannah just held the Slider to her chest, took three steps to the precipice, and hurtled over the edge into space.