Case of the Butter Cream Cookie Hanging

by Jessica Lansberry

  Just the sight of her made Beatrice feel nauseous. Perhaps that was a slight over exaggeration, but there was something about her that just seemed off. She was wearing a very over-the-top, bright smile, her blonde hair bouncing around in their cute braids and a lightweight, flowing dress that showed off young legs and a tight frame.

  If Beatrice was honest, she reminded her a lot of herself when she was a teacher. This was only confirmed by the way that those she passed had stopped to say hello and offer her their affirmations, she was obviously well liked. But what's more, she obviously liked being liked.

  "Ms. Fletcher," she called as she reached Beatrice. "I was so glad to catch you before you left."

  "Ms. Elwin," Beatrice beamed as much as she dared. "Nice to see you again."

  "Look, I was hoping for a moment of your time? If you don’t mind? Five minutes." She held that incredibly fake smile the whole time, not even blinking as she fixed her eyes with Beatrice. All Beatrice could do was nod and agree. How could she not?

  Five minutes later, Beatrice found herself in a small, school kitchen. It was one of those that was comprised of a series of kitchen counters; all decked out with mini-ovens, stove tops, sinks, and microwaves.

  Of course, as this was Ms. Elwin, she even had a box of cookies ready to hand out. Beatrice began to suspect that maybe cookies were the only thing that she was capable of cooking and she had everyone fooled into believing that she was some masterful chef. The very thought of that brought a smile to her face.

  "Cookie?" Ms. Elwin offered, holding the box out.

  Beatrice eyed them, noting that they were again the same buttercream ones that she had now seen so many times before. "No thank you, I just ate," she replied pleasantly, patting her stomach.

  "I'm surprised," Ms. Elwin beamed with equal pleasantness. "You know I've heard so much about the Cookie Club Bake Sales. They're famous around here."

  "Oh, stop," Beatrice pretended to gush.

  "No really. Just promise me that next time you throw one you let me know. I'd love to contribute."

  "Cookies?" Beatrice asked, unable to help herself.

  "Maybe," Ms. Elwin replied. Beatrice was sure that she picked up on the connotation. "Anyway, I brought you here because, well, because quite frankly I'm concerned."

  "For me?" Beatrice asked, wondering what on earth she could mean.

  "No, for Lucy. I spoke to her earlier, and she told me what the two of you are doing, don't try and deny it.

  "Lucy told you?" Beatrice asked, surprised. She has expressly told Lucy to keep it to herself, for obvious reasons. And although she didn't suspect Ms. Elwin, it still did no good letting her know what they were up to.

  "She did. The two of us are very close." She paused for a moment as if letting it sink in. "I just wanted to offer my two cents. I know what kids are like. I am a teacher after all, and I just don't think that it's healthy, indulging in Lucy's fantasies like this."

  "What fantasies?" Beatrice asked. She was a little angry that this woman would try and tell her how to raise her granddaughter, but she kept that to herself. No sense in getting into an argument.

  "Murder fantasies – now maybe he was and maybe he wasn’t," she hurried, seeing Beatrice about to respond. "But that's what we have police for. I just don't think an eleven-year-old should be spending her spare time trying to track down a murderer. Do you?"

  Beatrice knew what response she was after and again considered arguing her point, but there wasn't one. She was going to continue what she was doing, regardless of what this lady said. Better to let her think that she had won and leave it at that. Besides, she never knew when she might need her on her side. Better to pour honey in her ear rather than vinegar.

  "You're right," Beatrice conceded, letting off a long sigh. "I just got so excited to be spending more time with Lucy that I... it doesn't matter. I'll let Lucy know that we need to stop this before we get ourselves in trouble. Thank you, Ms. Elwin, you've been a great help."

  It was said with incredible condescension, so much so that Beatrice was sure she would pick up on it, but if she had, she ignored it, beaming at Beatrice as she held her arms out for a hug. "Perfect. You know Beatrice, something tells me that you and I are going to be the best of friends."

  "Oh, I'm sure you're right," Beatrice said, hugging her back. It was one of the more awkward hugs she had ever had, and that includes the time she hugged a man she thought might be trying to kill her.

  Beatrice was back in her car five minutes later, trying to evaluate what had just happened. Ms. Elwin wasn't a murderer, that was for sure. What she was though was a busy body that was a little too close to Lucy for Beatrice's liking. It was time for Beatrice to step up her relationship with Lucy a notch.

  It was jealousy in its purest form, but Beatrice was alright with it. She had time to solve a murder and improve her relationship with her granddaughter. Why couldn't she?

  12

  Following her morning at the school, Beatrice found herself at a loss for things to do. Usually, she would be at the bakery on a Monday, but it was closed. When she wasn't working there, she usually had catering to do, but she had stopped taking orders in the lead up to the bake sale and was therefore fresh out of catering jobs.

  The next option was to call the girls together for a bit of baking. Unfortunately, Stella was preoccupied. It turned out that she hadn't worn that fireman out as much as she had thought. They had spent the last two nights together and were now stretching their shenanigans into the day time.

  She even tried calling Sophie and was shocked to find that Sophie too was busy. Sophie had recently become involved in a book writing club. It was much the same as a book reading club, but each week the members would write a short story and then read it out to the other members of the club.

  Sophie gushed on the phone over the murder mystery she was writing, even stating that she had written a character based on Beatrice called Betty. Beatrice couldn't wait to read the finished product, and that was the truth. She had a feeling that it would be an interesting book, to say the least.

  That left her with nothing to do but ponder the case. Unfortunately, there wasn't much left to ponder. She had the details, now all she needed to do was piece them together and create the bigger picture, whatever that may be.

  To Beatrice, this was always the hardest part of any case. There was always that gap between the initial evidence collecting and that moment where the clues all fall into place. Usually, she liked to have someone to bounce clues off. And, as much as she didn't want to admit it, there was one person in particular who was most adept at this task.

  "I was wondering when you were going to call," the deep voice of Detective Rogers chortled into the phone. "Someone was murdered, Beatrice knows them, so surely she has gotten involved. But now, hitting a roadblock, she needs a helping hand. Tell me I'm wrong?"

  Beatrice rolled her eyes as she sat on the couch, phone pressed up to her ear. "Actually, I was calling to see about that date?" To say it was a lie wouldn't be one hundred percent truthful. She truly was calling for a date, but that was just a means to an end.

  "Really?" She could almost hear him sitting up in excitement.

  "Really," she smirked to herself. "What are you doing in.. Oh, say twenty minutes?"

  "I'm at work," he pouted. "But I guess I can duck out?" He offered.

  "Would you?" She asked, enjoying the way he scurried. She wondered what else she could get him to do, but decided against that. She was already calling him with the intention of using him. Best not push her luck.

  "Why not? It's a slowish day anyway. So, what did you have in mind?"

  --

  For Beatrice, it wasn't so much a date as it was an excuse to take advantage of free labor. Thanksgiving was right around the corner, and as always, Beatrice was in charge of the cooking. This year was going to be the biggest one yet, by all accounts anyway.

  In attendance so far was Evelyn and Trevor, Sophie and Stella, she was still ho
lding out for Lucy and her father and if Beatrice was to warrant a guess, Stella's current fireman friend. That was barring any unforeseen late arrivals. In small towns like this one, that kind of thing tended to happen a fair bit. All in all, Beatrice was expecting at least eight to ten people to be seated around her dining room table on Thanksgiving day.

  As such, Beatrice had a lot of cooking preparation to do. Now usually, Beatrice loved to shop for food stuff. She was on first name terms with just about every store owner and shop assistant in town, and when it came to baking, most knew what she wanted before she had so much as stepped foot in the store.

  Thanksgiving was no ordinary day. There were dozens of different herbs, spices, and condiments to collect, not to mentions the sides, appetizers and of course the turkey. It was a real drag every year, and Beatrice hated doing it. So, she thought to herself, why not get some help where it was offered?

  "This wasn't what I had in mind," Detective Rogers sulked as he pushed the shopping cart through the aisles of the busy supermarket.

  "Really?" Beatrice asked, pretending to sound surprised as she handed him item after item. "What did you think we would be doing?"

  "I pictured a table first of all, in front of us, with food on it. Maybe candles? I was even being hopeful and expecting an orchestra of sorts..." he wandered off as Beatrice passed him a sack full of potatoes.

  "Well, you have the food part. So be happy about that," she chuckled, directing the cart through the throngs of people. Indeed the supermarket was packed, and she was glad to have someone with her to navigate its busy aisles.

  "You know what I meant," he said in a huff, pouting as he did. He wasn't in the best of moods, which Beatrice really couldn't blame him for. Although he should have also known that he wasn't going to get a real date out of Beatrice, not that easily anyway. Especially after what happened last time.

  "How about this?" Beatrice begun, preparing to enact the second part of her plan. She had invited Rogers for a particular reason. She just hoped that he was as easy to manipulate as usual, despite his mood. "I'll go on a real date with you, candlelight and everything, if you do me a teensy, tiny little favor?"

  "Ok?" He eyed her skeptically, furrowing his brow.

  "It's about this murder case --"

  "Ha," he exclaimed. "I knew you were going to look into it. I should have put money on it."

  "And I wouldn't have taken the bet," she countered. "Seriously though, if you answer my questions and I'm happy with the answers, then I'll consider a date," she finished, tossing him a bag of crushed herbs, which he caught and threw into the cart.

  "What do you want to know?" he asked. "Keep in mind that it's early still. You probably know more than I do."

  "I want to know what you know about Principal Chalmers."

  "And his British nephew, right?" Rogers finished with a tone that implied that he was suspenseful of the nephew as Beatrice was. "Yeah, I met and spoke to them both."

  "And?" Beatrice prompted. They had stopped pushing the cart by now. Beatrice didn't care much for shopping when she was in the middle of an investigation. She needed all her focus on one thing at a time.

  "And nothing. Simon was odd, and a little callous taking the dead janitor's job the next day, but that's not a crime. We're looking into him of course, but so far, nothing."

  "How about Mr. McKay?"

  "The science teacher? What about him?" Rogers asked, sounding curious. She was delighted to hear that he obviously hadn't even considered the possibility of McKay. It always gave her a weird sense of delight to out detect the detective.

  "He was having an affair, which Thomas knew about. Also, as you said, he was a science teacher. Who else could cook up a slow acting poison?"

  "You think the poison was slow acting on purpose?" He asked, sounding surprised by this concept. The fact that this surprised him was what shocked Beatrice. To her, it only made sense that the poison was slow acting on purpose. The murderer had really completed the perfect murder, well, if it wasn't for Beatrice that is.

  "Of course. This whole thing looking like a suicide was no accident. The murderer wanted to get away with it. They didn't even want it to be considered murder."

  Detective Rogers gave her a thoughtful look; one that could even be read as him being impressed. "OK, I'll give him a look. But all of this is moot at the moment anyway," he finished, continuing to push the cart.

  "How so?" She asked, grabbing the cart to stop it.

  "These kind of cases are extremely hard to solve, considering that we're coming in dry. The only way to really solve it is to figure out how he was poisoned. Which again is going to be hard as his closest has already been cleared out by the Principal and his nephew. We think he was poisoned on school grounds, but there's no way to prove that of course."

  "So, once we figure out how he was poisoned..."

  "Well, have a lot better chance of working out who poisoned him. Until then, everyone is a suspect, but not one of them is concrete."

  As Rogers continued to push the cart down the busy aisles, Beatrice remained where she was, thinking about his words. Trying to figure out how he was poisoned was going to be as challenging as it sounded. If they had suspected poison from the start then maybe, but now? Well, now it was near impossible.

  Well, not impossible. As far as Beatrice was concerned, there was only one way to go about such an investigation.

  13

  The inside of Thomas' house was nothing like Beatrice expected. Although the truth is, she had never imagined what the inside of a janitor's house would look like, just that it would be neat and tidy. Thomas' house was anything but neat and tidy.

  The small, studio apartment was a hodgepodge of what Beatrice assumed to be everything that Thomas had ever owned in his life. Right from birth and all the way up to his untimely death. That was the only way to explain the sheer mountains of random trinkets, treasures, and collectibles; stacked in every available space of the apartment to such a degree that the room took on the appearance of a pirate's treasure cave -- only with no treasure.

  Beatrice knew that the best chance that she had of finding whatever it was that poisoned Thomas was by searching his apartment. Even then, it wasn't likely, but even so, she had to try.

  So, with the other two members of the Cookie Club and Lucy, the newest addition, they made their way to Thomas' apartment and started searching the inside. It wasn't just Thomas' house that they were going to search. If this house failed to yield any results, Beatrice was fully prepared to break into both Chalmers and McKay's houses too. It was going to be a full day of sleuthing.

  "Do you think he'll mind if I borrow these newspapers?" Sophie asked as they walked through the house. She was referring to the stacks of old newspapers that littered the house, many dating back as far at the 1950's.

  "Why would you need old papers?" Beatrice asked as she looked through his fridge. It was a disgusting as she imagined it to be, full of rotting food and old cakes and brownies. He evidently had a bit of a sweet tooth.

  "You never know when they will come in handy," Sophie defended. "That way I'll be prepared for the future."

  "By studying the past?" Stella asked, confused.

  "What?" Sophie asked back, genuinely looking confused by the observation. The ridiculousness of this question by Sophie was only heightened by her messy green hair and the big glasses that were slowly sliding down her nose. And in the green moo-moo dress that she currently had on, she somehow managed to resemble a giant, senile, turtle.

  Beatrice, of course, chose to ignore the conversation going on behind her. There was never any point in getting involved in the random musings of Sophie.

  "Take whatever you want Sophie," Stella finished. "I don't think that Thomas will mind. Honestly, the sooner we get out of here, the better." She shivered as if the ghost of Thomas had just passed right through her.

  "Lucy, dear," Beatrice began, turning back to find Lucy, going over the counters in the kitchen. "Is there anyth
ing that you can think of, something personal to Thomas that could be used against him?"

  "Ummm," Lucy thought, holding her finger up to her mouth. "He had diabetes," she said. "The kind where he was always eating sweets."

  "Really?" Beatrice asked, becoming more interested now. "That's --"

  "Agghhhhhh!" Stella screamed, leaping across the room as if she had wings. A second later she was deftly balanced on the kitchen top, one leg on the counter, the other using an old rocking chair for support.

  "What?" Beatrice swung around, forgetting all about the little nugget of information that Lucy had just provided. "What's wrong?"

  "A rat... I think I just saw a rat," Stella wailed, still perched on the kitchen counter. It was lucky that she had chosen to wear her black, leather catsuit, Beatrice thought to herself. Who would have guessed that it would have come in handy to such a degree?

  Beatrice let out a sigh, purposefully ignoring her friend's plea. She was almost certain that there were dozens of rats in here and realistically a lot worse things than that. But she didn't have time to console her friend. Between that and Sophie, now sitting down and reading the old newspapers, the odds of them finding anything was slim.

  The hour spent in the house was essentially wasted. The only juicy piece of information that Beatrice received was that concerning his diabetes. And if an insulin shot was used to kill Thomas, then there wasn't much that Beatrice could do.

  So, with their heads held high and resolution in their hearts, the ladies of the cookie club moved onto their next target – Principal Chalmers' house.

  --

  Principal Chalmers' house was opposite in style and layout than Thomas'. First of all, the size dwarfed Thomas' studio apartment. Chalmers lived in a two-story suburban home, complete with living room, dining room, multiple bedrooms and a kitchen that most, including Beatrice, would envy, not to mention the level of cleanliness.