Free Hot Dish Heaven: A Murder Mystery With Recipes by Jeanne Cooney Page A

with bananas. I didn’t want any but feared I’d be asked if I’d tried at least one, so I scooped up a small amount of something that appeared to be—and hopefully was—more Cool Whip than Jell-O.
    While shaking the pink concoction onto my plate, I noticed the steady stream of people now entering the building. I’d planned to do some serious eating, and for that, I needed to be seated, so I quickly claimed my silverware and a cup of freshly brewed coffee and scanned the room for a spot to squat. Spying an empty booth in the far corner, I turned to inform my elderly companions, only to find them still way back in line. I considered waiting for them, but my hunger and desire to rest my rear won out.
    Promising to track them down later, I wove through the burgeoning crowd, dodging elbows and beer bellies while struggling to keep my plate and cup upright. My moves were tentative, accompanied by a low, monotone chant of, “ Pardon me. So sorry. Excuse me.” My chant was accompanied by another fake smile. What can I say? Genuine charm is difficult when near faint from hunger.
    Reaching the booth, I settled down and dug in. Pizza Hot Dish first. Cheeseburger Hot Dish after that. Both were delicious, yet I knew I was only using them to tease my taste buds, and when I couldn’t hold out any longer, I devoured the object of my afternoon fantasies—Tater-Tot Hot Dish. I savored every bite, soft moans of delight actually escaping my lips. Okay, that was a little embarrassing .
    Later, with my stomach full, I strained to see the desserts on the counter, but from where I sat, I couldn’t tell a Lemon Treat from a Date Bar. What I could tell, however, was that the Anderson ladies were still dawdling in line, even though everyone who’d accompanied us along the buffet route was seated and eating.
    Curious , I thought, until I realized what the old girls were really doing. I blinked to make sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me. They weren’t. The Anderson sisters were pilfering food.
    That’s right. In addition to filling their plates, they were stuffing hot dish, dinner rolls, and dessert bars into zip-lock freezer bags partially concealed in their big purses. Little Hester was even trying to smuggle Jell-O, but discreetly spooning that into a half-hidden plastic bag was proving difficult.
    “How despicable,” I muttered under my breath. “How reprehensible. How … funny!”
    Sure, it was wrong of me to think that way, but I couldn’t help myself. There was something darkly amusing about a trio of elderly, prim-and-proper-looking women stealing food from a benefit dinner. And while no one else appeared taken by the scene, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Were these three Kennedy’s biggest criminals? Its most notorious gang? True, they didn’t sport traditional gang colors or tattoos, but they did dress alike, in gingham house frocks and black orthopedic shoes.
    Of course I was being silly, but given what was playing out in front of me, silly seemed appropriate, prompting me to go with it until a hand squeezed my shoulder and startled the silliness right out of me. I’m pretty sure I catapulted a foot before jerking around to discover Margie laughing at how she’d made me jump.
    After patting me on the back, she motioned to her elderly aunts. “They do that all the time. Everyone knows and simply ignores ’em.”
    I smoothed the front of my shirt, doing my best to downplay that my heart had relocated to my throat. “Well,” I uttered with a dry swallow, “at least I now understand why they didn’t want to be last in line.”
    Margie snickered and passed me a few more cards. “These are the recipes for the rest of what’s up there. I didn’t have time to make everythin’. Father Daley helped me out some.”
    The recipe on top looked to be for the pink stuff on my plate. I meant to read it over but again got distracted by the Anderson sisters.
    Emme, do you really want to ask them about Ole? It was a voice from