by K. J. Emrick
“In a Lifetime movie, maybe,” Jerry said. “This is real life.”
“So this wasn’t a lover’s spat?”
Cookie shifted in her seat. “Of course not.”
She had appreciated the way Mason had called her pretty, but not the comment about her being an older woman. Very rude.
Then Jerry’s reaction had surprised her. It was like he was defending her honor.
She liked that.
“So,” Mason continued, “did he owe you money?”
Money? Cookie nearly laughed again. She was the one who owed money to people, not the other way round. “No. The only business we did together was him buying his crème puff every day.”
“Did you owe him money?”
She brought herself up as tall as her short frame would let her. “I don’t borrow money from customers.”
“And what will we find if we look at your financials?”
Now there was a question. “I pay my bills.”
“Well, that’s all I got.” He pushed away from the doorframe and stretched. “Haven’t heard from the hospital over in Bridgefield yet so I don’t have a cause of death. Seems none of your other customers,” he paused to look over at Jerry with a little nod, “have taken sick and died, so if anything we’re looking at a poison in the crème puff he ate. I want you to lay out everything you use to make them. Sugar. Flour. Uh, cream. Special secret ingredients, or whatever. My boys are going to take it with us to have it analyzed at the crime lab up in the state capitol.”
“You can’t be serious!” Cookie protested, pushing herself off the stool. She was half a foot shorter than Mason, and more, but she didn’t care. “What am I supposed to do if you take all of that with you? I keep my supplies in bulk. Do you know how much that’s going to cost me, to have it walk out the door with you?”
Jerry spoke to her softly. “Cookie, it’s what we have to do. Plus, you don’t know if maybe some of it was poisoned. You don’t want to use it for any other customers. Not without knowing for sure.”
Her shoulders sagged. She knew Jerry was right. That didn’t mean she was going to like it. She just wanted to run her business and forget that any of this had happened.
Mason yawned again, then turned and walked back out to where the two other officers were standing guard at the front door. Cookie could see him giving them directions, his big hands gesturing to fill in the details.
“Charming,” she remarked. “No wonder folks in this town don’t like to call on the police.”
She knew that wasn’t fair, especially to Jerry, but it was how she felt and she’d heard lots of other people say it. Now she understood why.
“He’s just doing his job, Cookie.”
She blew out a noisy breath, her heart unclenching a little. This was so wrong. So, so wrong. “I have a business to run, Jerry. Do you think I can bake this afternoon?”
“I would wait until the crème puff test comes back. If there was something in it then you have to figure out where it came from.”
Fantastic. Just what she needed. By now it was already all around town, what had happened to Julien. Would anyone else think she was a murderer? Did Mason Kent? Did Jerry, she wondered? He’d said no, but still. That would mean the death of her bakery, not just the death of Julien.
No. She couldn’t think like that. She had to save this business. She’d worked too long and too hard to give up now.
“It’s all right, Cookie.” Jerry put his notebook away, and gave her an apologetic frown. “It’s just a day. Let’s get together the flour and whatever else goes into your crème puffs for the guys to take.”
“You don’t understand.” Unexpected tears came to her eyes. “This is what I do. It’s how I pay the bills. I’ll have to open again at some point. But it’s more than just that. Imagine if somebody came to you tomorrow and said you couldn’t be a cop. How would you feel about that?”
He nodded to that. “Not very good. All right. How about I promise to help the investigation speed along. Okay? I’ll keep on the lab to get the tests done today, and as soon as the hospital gives us a definitive cause of death, I’ll let you know. Would that make you feel a little better?”
“Yes, actually. It would. Thank you, Jerry.”
She hadn’t realized how close he was standing until he reached out and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. Suddenly she didn’t know what to do with her hands, and she all but forgot how to breathe.
Then it was over far too quickly and they were moving around the kitchen putting large containers of flour and sugar and salt on the counter. She removed the cream from the fridge and also the container marked with Julien’s name that held the special lactose free cream mixture she used for his crème puff. Jerry’s eyebrows lifted when he saw it but he didn’t say anything.
She showed him where to get everything else, and one of the other officers photographed it all on the counter before they took it away. Which was silly, in Cookie’s opinion, because she had moved all that stuff herself this morning. The officers were careful to use rubber gloves when they touched everything. Jerry explained it was to preserve fingerprints. That, and keep anyone from touching any poison that may or may not be there.
The fact that he added “may not” to that sentence didn’t make it any easier to take.
She brought out the half-empty carton of eggs she’d been using and the bottle of real vanilla flavoring—not imitation, thank you very much—and that was everything.
“Take the trash, too,” Jerry directed. The other officer nodded and started tying up the white bag from the plastic garbage can.
Cookie gave Jerry a skeptical look. He shrugged. “You never know, Cookie. We’re going to take the other crème puffs, too, just in case.”
Well at least he was thorough. If there was something here, he’d definitely find it.
“Thank you for staying with me,” she told him as he and the other officers headed for the front door, garbage in hand. She meant it, too. This morning had been one of the hardest in a long time. What with Benjamin Roth’s letter all but bullying her into selling, and worrying about her business, not to mention how all of this would affect Clarissa who had come here so she could get some order and stability in her life. It had been a rough few hours.
Having Jerry here had made it better. She hadn’t been able to say that about a man in a very long time.
She stared at him, trying to put words to her rampant thoughts. “Do you really think someone killed Julien?”
“I don’t know, Cookie. It’s possible he just had a heart attack and died. Things like that happen. Even here in Widow’s Rest.”
“Do you think I killed him?” she asked next. She cringed, waiting for the answer.
When it came, it was with another hug, and that very nearly made everything all right.
“No, Cookie, I don’t. Go on upstairs. That granddaughter of yours needs you.”
Cookie decided she needed more of this right here, but he was right. She was the grown up and she had to set the example for her wayward, headstrong granddaughter.
Then she remembered what she had wanted to tell Jerry in the first place. About last night. The other officers were gone and Jerry was just about to leave but she caught ahold of his uniform sleeve, wishing she could be bolder about it like he’d been and just take hold of him. For now, his shirt sleeve was as far as she dared let herself go. “Wait, I want to tell you more about Cream’s behavior. Last night, I mean.”
“Okay.”
His eyes drifted down to where she had hold of his sleeve and she pulled her fingers back like she’d touched a hot stove. Smooth, she told herself. To cover up her awkwardness she motioned to one of the empty tables for them to sit at. “Um. So. Cream is a good dog, I just want you to know that.”
“I know that, Cookie. I’ve seen him in here lots of times. Never gives anyone a hassle. Not even Julien until today, and I think your dog felt the same way about the man that you did.”
“Heh. No doubt. But he’s not much of a watchdog, is what I’m getting at. When I told you he was barking at the front door for no reason, there really was no one there. But there had been someone earlier.”
She saw Jerry’s eyebrows quirk, and noticed how he was suddenly very interested in this new wrinkle. “All right. That could be important. Who was it?”
“I didn’t get a good look.” She felt foolish again, remembering how she chased the teen up the street. “It was dark, and he was dressed all in black, and he ran away when I confronted him.”
Even though I chased after him huffing and puffing, she almost added.
“Was he wearing a mask?”
“No,” Cookie said, then thought about it. “I don’t think so. It was so dark. I’m sure I saw his eyes, if that helps.”
“Maybe. Do you think you’d recognize him again if you saw him?”
“I don’t see how.”
His frown deepened. “Cookie, you should have called the police.”
“But he was gone long before anyone could have gotten here. Then I’d just be a crazy old woman calling about shadows.”
She could tell by the look on his face that he thought she was probably right. “But, it would have shown someone else was here the night before Julien dropped dead in your store.”
Oh. She hadn’t looked at it that way.
“So Cream didn’t bark at this kid. He barked later?”
“Right. It was odd, I can tell you that.”
“Has he ever acted like that before?”
“No, he’s a good dog.”
“I believe you. So he didn’t bark at the kid. How many times did you see him?”
She tried to remember. “A handful. More than twice, less than half a dozen, I suppose.”
He smiled as he shook his head. “Leave it to a baker to count things by the dozen.’
“Half dozen.”
“Same thing.” Drumming his fingers on the table he seemed to come to some kind of conclusion. “All right. So a teenager loiters around outside of your bakery, obviously checking the place out. You don’t call the police—” she scowled at him “—and then a man dies in your shop. Can we see a connection with any of that?”
She sure couldn’t. “I think my blood sugar is low. I haven’t eaten anything since I got up.” If she didn’t count the samples of her cooking she always snatched to make sure things were turning out all right.
Too bad you couldn’t do that with real life. Just sample a piece of it to see if what you were planning was going to turn out the way you planned. Like cookie dough. If it tasted all right, then you served it up and there you were. If things turned out badly, you could just dump it all and start over with a fresh batch of dreams and plans. What she wouldn’t give for it to be that easy.
All her thinking about life and baking and cookie dough really was making her hungry. Her stomach growled. After a few minutes more of silence Jerry finally left to head back to the police station.
Well. No sense staying here unless she wanted to make a meal out of the pastries and cookies and donuts she wasn’t going to get to sell today.
Besides, she had a teenager upstairs to feed.
Chapter Four
The choices of restaurants in Widow’s Rest was limited. There was a McDonald’s of course, because those things were everywhere, but Cookie definitely was not in the mood for a Happy Meal. She decided to take Clarissa to The Eagle’s Nest instead.
The Eagle’s Nest at Widow’s Rest. That was the logo on the front window. It was locally famous, to the point where people came in from other towns to eat here. The place was usually packed at midday. Thankfully they’d missed the lunch rush.
“So what do you feel like eating?” Cookie asked, trying to be cheerful as they strolled up the sidewalk that led them right to the long square building.
“I’d like to go eat with my friends,” was the tart reply. “At our favorite spot back in the city.”
“Hmm. Well, maybe we could invite them here for a day or two.”
That seemed to surprise Clarissa. “Really?”
“Certainly, dear. You’re my guest, not my prisoner.”
“Sure doesn’t feel that way.”
The girl stuffed her hands into the front pockets of her jeans and stared down at her toes. She resisted any other attempts at conversation that Cookie tried, and they were at the front door of the Eagle’s Nest anyway, so Cookie let it pass for now.
Truthfully, she hadn’t felt like going out to eat at all. She had considered ordering a pizza to be delivered from Giovanni’s like she did sometimes, but that would mean staying cooped up in the apartment. She wanted to let Clarissa see the town, get to know some people, feel more comfortable here. For all the complaining her granddaughter was doing, she might better have made them peanut butter sandwiches and turned on Netflix.
The smell of burgers on a fryer met them as they went in. The lights were dim and the noise of people talking and eating was a pleasant sort of music. Maybe this was just what she needed after her harrowing morning. A relaxing meal out.
Clarissa looked around, trying to be aloof, but Cookie saw the way she breathed in the aroma of good food, too, and how she eyed the Specials board on the wall next to them. Maybe this was what they both needed.
“Come along, dear,” she said, starting over to a table in the corner. “Should we start with some appetizers? They make wonderful mozzarella sticks here. The breading is to die for.”
Clarissa shrugged, and looked at the menu on the table. When the waitress came over they ordered their sodas and then silence fell again. Cookie watched her granddaughter, knowing they should talk about what had happened in the store this morning but not knowing how to start.
Clarissa did it for her.
“Grandma, why did that man die this morning?”
“That’s a good question, dear. I don’t have the answer right now.”
“Are you going to find it? The answer, I mean.”
Now there was an idea. The police were working on it now. Jerry was working on it. He’d said that he would tell her as soon as he knew something. Would that be soon enough to save her reputation and her store?
Should she do something herself?
The waitress came and took their orders. A cheeseburger with bacon for her, and a turkey sandwich with lettuce and tomato for Clarissa. They waited, talking about how and why people die. It was the first time that Clarissa had actually wanted to talk to her. The subject might be morbid, but Cookie relished the time.
When the food came they fell silent again. The moment had passed.
After a few bites Cookie looked up and noticed two men coming in to sit at a table across the room from them. She recognized both of them. Should she go over? Well. If she was going to help herself save her business, she supposed she’d have to.
“Honey,” she said to Clarissa. “Can you stay here? I have a little business to take care of.”
“What? Here?” Clarissa was confused.
“Those men over there. I need to have a quick chat with them.”
The girl looked where Cookie pointed. “Who’re they?”
“One of them is the mayor of the town, Mister Belvedere Carson. This will be boring grown-up stuff, dear. Won’t be a moment.”
“Grandma?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Can you stop calling me dear?” Clarissa made a face. “It makes you sound old and me feel like a little girl.”
She was a little girl, in a lot of ways, but Cookie didn’t point that out to her. “Since you asked so nicely, Clarissa, then that’s what we’ll do. You know, your mother let me call her by that nickname until she was thirty.”
“I’m not my mother.”
With that she went back to eating her turkey sandwich, the matter closed as far as she was concerned.
Cookie sighed. One step forward, two steps back.
The two men were laughing when she came over. Something was funny. A ma
n had died just a few short hours ago and the mayor of the town was sitting there laughing it up with… him.
“Excuse me,” she said.
The two men looked up at her. Surprise registered in the expression of the man sitting with the mayor. For his part, Belvedere Carson sat back in his chair, a smile on his wide face. His skin always reminded her of rich milk chocolate. He was always friendly, and always had a smile for everyone, and always wore those nice shirts with the high collars. Cookie wasn’t sure what combination of those things resonated so much with the people of Widow’s Rest, but he had gotten himself re-elected four times so far. The people certainly liked him.
“Hello, Cookie,” he greeted her warmly. “Good to see you out after that nasty business this morning.”
“So you heard?” she asked him. “I thought you might. You and Julien were friends, weren’t you?”
“True! Good friends for years. Sad that he’s gone.”
You don’t look sad, Cookie thought. Maybe he was grieving on the inside.
“I’m sure they’ll find it was natural causes,” the mayor said, spreading his hands. “The man didn’t exactly keep himself healthy. Didn’t he eat a crème puff from your shop every morning? Mm-mmm. No offense, Cookie, but that’s no way to start a day.”
Funny. It was like he was blaming her for Julien dying and telling her it was all right both at the same time. Politicians really could talk out of both sides of their mouth.
And it made her wonder all over again about what the rest of the town was going to think about Julien’s death. Would they blame her, and tell her it was all right?
The other man at the table cleared his throat, and held out his hand to her. “Hello, Karen. I don’t think we’ve met.”
He was even more sharply dressed than the mayor, black tie against a white shirt, a white handkerchief cornered in the pocket of his dark coat. His blue eyes were piercing under hair that was gray at the temples. His artificially tanned skin was the color of caramel. He was the very image of a successful businessman.
“I know who you are,” Cookie interrupted him. “You’re Benjamin Roth. I got your letter. My bakery isn’t for sale.”
