And Then There Were Crumbs--A Cookie House Mystery

by Eve Calder

“Sure, one of us will pack her up and run the box down to the shipper today. If we overnight it, you guys should have it tomorrow. Same address?”

  “Same address. The Cookie House on Main Street in Coral Cay. I really can’t thank you enough. You have no idea what this means.”

  “Glad to hear Sam’s taking a break. That man could use it. And this is on the house, by the way. It’s the least we can do. Because it seems he didn’t exactly give you the whole story.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sam got Francine—the original Francine—years ago from a historic San Francisco bakery. In business since the 1800s. Made traditional sourdough bread and rolls. Nothing else. Wonderful stuff! Unfortunately, it folded about the same time the housing bubble burst. A few years after that, when Sean and I were opening our place, we went on a road-trip tasting tour. Indie bakeries we’d heard about and always wanted to try. But Sam’s sourdough? Off the charts. When he realized we were opening a bakery out here, he gifted us with a piece of Francine. He gave her to us, not the other way around.”

  “So what you’re sending in the mail…,” Kate started.

  Marco laughed. “We call her Francine Junior.”

  Chapter 28

  “Wow, and I thought I got up early,” Maxi said as she wandered into the kitchen sporting faded jeans and a coral T-shirt. “Even Oliver’s still sacked out. He’s asleep in the tent with “mi niños. I recognized his little snuffling sounds.”

  Kate sighed. “I’ve been up since three. Couldn’t sleep. But on the bright side, I just made a fresh pot of your special coffee. Let me know if I got it right. And if you’re up for it, you can taste-test the rolls for Sunny’s morning class. My only problem is how to actually get them there.”

  “Taste-testing? That’s the job I was born for. I might even put it on my business cards.”

  Kate grabbed a plate from the cupboard and sliced off a roll from a pan cooling on the counter. She dropped a dollop of butter onto the plate and handed the plate and knife carefully to Maxi.

  Her friend pinched off a corner and popped it into her mouth. Maxi’s face bloomed into a smile. “OK, these are really good.” She cut the roll in half, spread one piece with a little butter, and finished it.

  “If you made nothing but these, Sam would be back in business.”

  Kate grinned. “You’re just hungry. But at least I didn’t burn them, and the texture is exactly what I was going for.”

  “If that means they’re light and fluffy and taste like more, you nailed it. Sunny’s gonna be banging down our door to get her hands on these. Hey, I just realized something. Sunny’s six a.m. classes? They don’t get out until almost seven thirty.”

  “Oh jeez, that’s got to be one killer class.”

  “Pretty much,” Maxi said, finishing off the other half of the roll. “The only way to survive is to kinda sleep through it. But what I was thinking is, since it’s that late, Peter might be willing to make the drop for us. You know, if we give him a couple to try first. As incentive.”

  “That’s fair. As long as he doesn’t mind. I made plenty. A few dozen for the class and another two dozen just to test the recipe.”

  “Excelente. That means I can have another one. Oooh, this coffee is good. You might just have a couple of Cubans in your family tree.”

  “Nah, old sous chef’s trick. Watch someone a couple of times and ape what they do. ‘Fake it till you make it’ is what one of my instructors called it. I just hope that works with sourdough.”

  Maxi sniffed the air. “Are you baking cookies again?”

  “Not again. Still. I thought I’d make some for the crews coming to work on the bakery today. And do a few more of the gift boxes for the people dropping off food.”

  “Potential customers all,” Maxi said happily. “And the best part is we don’t have to chase them down, because they’re coming to us.”

  “The batch you’re smelling is pecan brownie cookies. I use cocoa powder in the dough. Very rich.”

  “Ay, hopefully that will be us after this is over. Very rich. And we can pay people to do our work, while we sleep for a week. Oh, that reminds me. The guy from the health department called yesterday. He said either Thursday or Friday. But definitely by Friday.”

  “That’s cutting it close,” Kate said, pausing after she poured flour into the bright blue mixing bowl. “If he comes Thursday, I can bake all day Friday and we can open Saturday. If he comes Friday, we can still open Saturday, but we won’t have anything to sell.”

  “So maybe we sell stuff as we bake it. Or give it away as we bake it. Everything fresh and warm. As a way of saying ‘thank you’ to the whole town.”

  “Giving away the first batches? That’s brilliant. It’s going to cost Sam a little in supplies, on top of the cost of being closed for a week. But hopefully we can make it up with the additional sales from desserts and cookies.”

  “We could do the same thing with some of the restaurant clients, too. Like Oy and Begorra. And even In Vino Veritas. Bread and wine is classic. And wine and cookies? Not so bad, either.”

  “Which reminds me, we never got over to talk to Harp about Stewart Lord,” Kate said, determinedly beating butter and sugar together in a second bowl.

  “So we tackle him today,” Maxi said. “He’s just around the corner. It shouldn’t take that long.”

  “That works. I really want to see what you think of this next batch. I’m mixing up something special. One of my grandmother’s recipes. Anise and almond cookies. She always made them at Christmas. I thought it might bring us a little good luck.”

  “Oh, that sounds good. And we could use a little holiday magic.”

  A few minutes later, the wet ingredients sufficiently tamed, Kate reached for the extract. Reflexively, she took the cap off the bottle and sniffed it.

  And it all came flooding back. The break-in. The footsteps. The fear. Kate’s heart pounded.

  She set down the anise extract and leaned heavily on the counter.

  “Kate! What’s wrong?” Maxi called across the kitchen.

  Kate shook her head. “It’s OK. I’m fine.”

  “You’re working too hard,” Maxi said. “Come and sit for a while. Have a little something to eat.”

  Kate shook her head. “No, it’s not that. Hang on a minute.” Purposefully, she reached for the extract again. Taking a deep breath and willing herself calm, she brought the small bottle to her nose and inhaled the pungent fragrance.

  It was like a front-row seat to the night of the break-in. The memories were vivid. Technicolor. The menacing footsteps across the tile floor. The fear as she tore down the stairs, toward the front door. To safety. To Oliver. The relief that flooded her body as she sat on the floor of the shop, with her arms wrapped around the half-grown puppy. The smell of the beach on his coat. How warm he felt. Solid.

  Along with the stench of cigarettes, there had been two other scents lingering in the air after the intruder’s hasty retreat. And now she knew. One of them—the familiar smell—had been anise.

  Chapter 29

  Kate looked over at Maxi, seated at the breakfast bar, her face a tight mask of concern.

  “I’m fine, honestly,” Kate said finally, white knuckles gripping the counter. “It’s just that, well, I remembered something. About the break-in. It was the smell. The anise extract.”

  Maxi nodded, waiting.

  “Remember when I said there was a weird mix of smells in the shop after the burglar left?”

  Maxi nodded again. “I remember. You said something was familiar. But you couldn’t tell what exactly.”

  “It was anise. Cigarettes. And anise. And something else. Something I still don’t recognize. But I remember it. Sweet. But not food. More like aftershave. Or cologne.”

  “So what does it mean? We know this man who broke in—he wears hard shoes, he smokes, he shaves, and he smells like Christmas cookies?”

  “I know, Kyle Hardy would love that. I can tell him we were robb
ed by an off-season Santa Claus.”

  “So we don’t tell the bobo. Or even Ben. But in Coral Cay there aren’t many people who smoke. We already know it was a man, so that helps. And how many guys smell like anise?”

  “Not many,” Kate admitted, shrugging. “Could Sam have some competition that we don’t know about? Another baker? Maybe even a restaurant or shop that sells baked goods? Or someone who plans to sell baked goods?”

  “You think someone was trying to steal recipes?”

  “Whoever it was didn’t take cash. Maybe because they were interrupted. Or maybe because that’s not what they were after. Sam is known for his sourdough. Everyone loves it. What if someone wanted his recipe?”

  “Good luck with that one,” Maxi said. “He keeps it in his head. He’s made it so many times, I don’t think he ever writes it down.”

  “OK, what if they were after Francine? His starter is kind of his secret weapon. If they got their hands on her, they might be able to put a dent in his business. Maybe enough that the bakery would go under. We know he’s been running the place on a shoestring.”

  “But they didn’t get anything,” Maxi said. “And they never came back.”

  “Scared off? First by the ruckus. Later by the murder.”

  “And after the police closed the Cookie House, there was no Francine,” Maxi added. “And no Sam making sourdough. What is it the pilots say? ‘Mission accomplished.’”

  “But today we get another batch of starter,” Kate added. “And by Friday or Saturday, we’re going to fire up the ovens and start baking again.”

  Maxi shook her head. “Whatever we do, it sounds like we better be very, very careful.”

  Chapter 30

  As Kate strolled down Main Street with Oliver trotting along on one side and a box of cookies clasped in her hands, she realized all over again just how beautiful Coral Cay really was. Already midday, the sun was high in the sky, but the breeze was cool and salty. Petunias—in shades of coral, hot pink, purple, and yellow—spilled out of giant stone pots up and down the block, while jasmine climbed the lampposts, its scent wafting in the air. Some shops even added to the dizzying display with window boxes and hanging baskets heavy with blooms.

  Something told her Maxi and her green thumbs might have had a hand in it. Or maybe Floridians just loved their flowers.

  She spotted her destination, In Vino Veritas, and sighed heavily.

  Oliver looked up. She could have sworn she saw concern in the black button eyes.

  “It’s OK, baby. We’re just going in to have a nice little talk. Maxi wanted to come, but she’s got orders backing up at the flower shop. And someone has to keep an eye on the Cookie House, in case the crews need something. Or any of our deliveries arrive. Or the health inspector shows up early.”

  In fact, she and Maxi had mulled this over for a good ten minutes. In the end, Kate decided she could handle Harp on her own. And if she could get him talking, he might be more willing to spill about his dealings with Lord. But they agreed she’d take the pup. As a distraction. And, if needed, a convenient excuse to leave quickly in case things got uncomfortable.

  “You really are my knight in fuzzy armor, you know that?”

  The exuberant puppy stretched his neck high and practically bounced the remaining few steps.

  Kate took a deep breath and pulled open the ornate door. From the outside, Harp’s shop had a Victorian air, with heavy molding and deep bay windows. Inside it smelled like exotic spices and looked like money. Lots of money.

  “Well, if it isn’t the pastry chef herself,” the proprietor drawled, stepping out from behind a marble counter. Today he’d opted for Ivy League casual: crisply pressed khakis and a blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. “To what do I owe this very welcome diversion in my otherwise humdrum day?”

  “Well, the Cookie House is going to start baking cookies. All kinds of sweets, really. To spread the word, we’re sharing some samples with our friends and neighbors,” she said, presenting the gift box.

  “Well, I certainly hope I qualify as both,” Harp said with an easy grin. He flipped open the box lid and inhaled deeply. “Oh my, these look truly superb! So good, in fact, they might become my lunch.”

  “The dark ones are pecan brownie cookies. And the ones with powdered sugar are anise and almond. An old family recipe.”

  “Oh, I love anise. Anything that tastes like licorice, really. I had a great-aunt who used to make anise cookies.” He picked one up and took a small bite. “Oh my, this really takes me back.”

  “That’s the great thing about cookies,” Kate said. “It’s like a little taste of childhood.”

  “In my case, it’s an age I’m not sure I ever left. Mentally anyway.” He held out the open box to Kate, who selected a brownie cookie.

  “I’d offer you wine, but I am certain you are too much of a lady to be drinking at this early hour.”

  “Not too much of a lady, but there’s definitely too much on my to-do list this afternoon. We’re trying to get the bakery reopened this Saturday. We’d love it if you’d stop by. The first day, we’re giving away all the baked goods, fresh out of the oven. To say thanks for everything everyone is doing for Sam.”

  “I heard about the redo. And I’ll be happy to attend. Now, how about some coffee to go with these delicious cookies? I’ve got some wonderful stuff brewing. With chicory, the way they do it in my hometown of New Orleans. Smooths the rough edges off the old coffee bean.”

  “That would be lovely, thank you.”

  She and Oliver followed him to a butler’s pantry in the back corner of the shop, where a hand-hammered copper coffee urn rested on the white marble counter. As she trailed behind him, she caught the scent of his cologne. Something citrusy. Lime. Either Harp had switched fragrances or he wasn’t their burglar.

  The pup whined softly.

  “It’s OK,” she said sotto voce. “We’ll finish your walk next. I promise. You’re being very good.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have anything for young Oliver,” Harp said. “This is the first time he’s actually favored me with a visit. But I’ll be certain to keep a little something on hand for next time.”

  “He’s fine,” Kate explained. “He just wants to get back to his walk. Don’t you, boy?”

  Oliver’s curious expression said otherwise. But he stretched out on the floor by her feet like a sphinx. Relaxed but alert.

  Harp set down the cookies and, with a flourish, produced two china cups from the mahogany cupboard. Along with matching saucers. He filled the first cup and handed it gently to Kate.

  “This coffeemaker may seem like an extravagance,” he said as she poured a bit of cream into the cup from an ancient-looking sterling silver vessel. “But it more than pays for itself by fueling the hours I put in here. Or perhaps I am simply spoiled. I do love the finer things.”

  He ladled several spoons full of brown sugar into his own cup, followed that with a generous splash of cream, and raised it. “Cheers!”

  Kate took a sip. Harp was right. With just a little cream, the coffee was velvety. So dissimilar from Cuban coffee it could be an entirely different beverage. But equally delicious.

  Kate smiled. “I’ve noticed that everyone in town seems to have their own way of bringing the comforts of home to their shops.”

  “Ah, sounds like you’ve seen the Kims’ setup. Truly ingenious! Well, when you run a store, the hours are brutal. Positively grueling. Of course, I would never do anything else.” He looked at his surroundings and sighed. “I love this place.”

  Kate sensed an opening. “But you’re thinking of selling,” she said softly.

  “How did you…?” He grinned and shook his head. “Ah, there are absolutely no secrets in a small town. And if you’re plugged into the local gossip mill, you really are one of us now. I’m afraid there’s no turning back. Yes, I was considering it. Still am, in fact. Who knows what the future holds? I suppose you’ve heard about my sit
uation?”

  Kate nodded, sipping her coffee.

  “One minute, life is sailing along. Everything is perfect. The next, not so much. Caroline’s been in touch. All part of the process, apparently. Informs me that she’s simply bored. Bored with Coral Cay, bored with the shop, and, frankly, bored with me. She wants to relocate to one of her old haunts in Europe. Preferably Paris or Rome. Use that as a base of operations and travel again. ‘Rejoin the world,’ she calls it. So yes, I’m considering selling this place. Even though I don’t want to.”

  “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  Reflexively, Kate glanced down. Only then did she notice Harp’s shoes. An expensive-looking pair of wing tips.

  “It’s my own fault,” he said. “I haven’t told anyone. Not until now. You’re easy to talk with. Lucky you,” he added ruefully. “Of course one can’t exactly tell the town fathers that one’s wife views their picturesque little hamlet as a—let’s see, how did she put it?—‘brackish backwater where mosquitos, hurricanes and humans go to die.’”

  “Yowch!”

  “She doesn’t mince words, my wife. At least, I think she’s still my wife. I keep getting mixed messages on that one. But I digress.”

  “Have you received any decent offers on the store?”

  “Not yet. To be honest, I haven’t been shopping it all that seriously. One interested party proposed an offer. But, as it turns out, he was simply hoping for a fire sale discount. Due to my … complicated domestic situation.”

  “Stewart Lord.”

  “Ah, good news travels fast. Bad news even faster. The mantra of village life.”

  “I was just surprised you’d deal with him. He seems like such a … well…”

  “Miscreant?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Yes, but he was a miscreant with the financial resources to solve my present problem. Unfortunately, he didn’t wish to part with enough of his filthy lucre. So that was that.”

  “When you said no, how did he take it?”