Hot Dish Heaven: A Murder Mystery With Recipes Read Free Page A

conversation to bite into another bar. I savored its rich taste and buttery texture. “These are incredible.”
    “Thanks,” Margie replied with just a hint of pride. “They won me a grand champion ribbon at the county fair some years back, so I reckon they’re not too bad.”
    I bit back a smile. My editor, a New York transplant, often contended that Minnesotans had a hard time accepting that they were the best at anything. According to him, you only had to look at the state’s major sports’ teams. He’d say, “If they’re about to win a title, they’ll choke. Second or third place is good enough for them. Hell, if you give a Minnesotan a gold medal, he’ll have the damn thing bronzed!” Margie Johnson, the maker of the best bars I’d ever tasted could only admit they weren’t “too bad.” She was a true Minnesotan.
    “Yah, Lena was somethin’.” Margie examined one recipe card after another. “Once she got settled out on the farm, she started waitin’ tables and workin’ in the kitchen here. Before long, she was a pretty fair cook. I taught her how to make lutefisk , even if I couldn’t get her to eat it.” She tilted her head. “But she liked lefse . Sometimes she’d use lefse instead of tortillas to make tacos. We’d call ’em Norwegian taco nights.”
    “I bet you’ve heard every Ole and Lena joke in the world.”
    “And some a hundred times.” A wistful expression overtook Margie’s face. “Followin’ Ole’s funeral, the ‘V’ was packed, the beer was flowin’, and every toast began with a Ole and Lena joke.” Her voice was weighted down with sadness.
    Out of respect, I wanted to offer her my undivided attention but couldn’t because of the battle waging in my head. It was over whether or not to eat a third bar. Convincing myself I needed to surrender to focus fully on my host, I plucked another from the plate. I was determined to eat this one more slowly, but didn’t, and wound up posing my next question amid bites. “Where’s Lena now?”
    Margie closed her eyes. “She died four years ago this past spring. The doctor said it was due to a broken heart. Did ya know that could really happen?”
    Smacking my lips, I shook my head.
    “Well, it can, and it did. Lena loved Ole so much she never got over him leavin’ her.”
    Again she stared out the window, her expression remote. “Uff-da, I miss her.”
    I was confused. “I thought you said Ole and Lena had a good marriage?”
    She refocused on me. “Yah, they did, for a long time.”
    “Then what went wrong? Why’d he leave her?”
    Margie heaved a heavy sigh. “Oh, about five years ago, ’round Ole’s fiftieth birthday, he started drinkin’ and actin’ wild. He began neglectin’ the farm, spendin’ most of his time down the hall in the ‘V’ with Samantha Berg, the day-time bartender.” She tore at the edge of her paper napkin. “Well, one thing led to another, and soon they were havin’ an affair. No one could believe it. Ole had always been faithful to Lena, and Samantha had always been … um … a tramp.”
    She dropped the napkin and pointed at me with her kitchen-scarred index finger. “Ole’s mistake was bein’ too nice to her. Most men ’round here only liked Samantha on her back in the bed of a pickup. But not Ole. He wasn’t that way. So when she finally got her chance, she was all over him like a bad case of poison ivy.” Margie raised her cup to her mouth only to set it back down again. “To make a long story short, he moved in with her and goaded Lena into a divorce.”
    Ole’s affair clearly upset Margie, causing me to wonder why she’d brought it up in the first place. But since she had, I was determined to pursue it. Gathering recipes and material for a short profile piece wouldn’t take long. I had time. And Ole’s affair was bound to be more interesting than Jell-O recipes or learning what it was about hot dish that excited Margie so.
    “What happened next? Did Ole and Samantha