Cookie Dough or Die

by Virginia Lowell

  “I see,” Del said. “So you suspect this unidentified victim might be her? Why?”

  “Timing, long black hair, age about right. Also, as you will note, she had given birth.”

  “That’s a lot of circumstantial evidence.”

  “Agreed, but it’s the best we’ve got. Also, if you’ll look more closely at my Internet searches, you will notice I couldn’t find any evidence that she ever existed. Sort of makes you wonder.” Maddie lifted the last cookie on the plate, a chartreuse bunny rabbit. His ear became history.

  “Six years ago, ordinary people were a lot less likely to find their names on the Internet,” Del said. “We weren’t drowning in social networks.”

  Olivia felt some energy return and jumped in. “What Maddie is trying to say is there are too many unanswered questions and coincidences. Clarisse was murdered; the attacks on Sam and me are indirect proof of that. So who was most likely to murder her, and why? It has to be Hugh or Edward or Tammy. Or some combination of them, including all three working together.”

  “Livie, you’re going off on a—”

  “I think you believe us, but you want us to back off. You intend to take this information and pursue your own investigation. If we stop asking questions, you hope the killer will relax and stop trying to murder people. Am I close?”

  Del rubbed his forehead. He looked more tired than Olivia had ever seen him. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. You two aren’t police officers or trained investigators.”

  “But that’s—”

  “I’m not insulting you, Livie, I’m stating the facts. You are smart, both of you, and you’ve done some good investigating so far. But I’m the one with the training and the resources, not to mention experience.”

  “And a gun,” Maddie said.

  “Which I prefer not to use, but yes. I do agree with your list of suspects, although I doubt Tammy Deacons would know how to tamper with your brakes. Still, she might be involved, as you’ve pointed out. Arguably, Hugh, Edward, and Tammy all have motives, so two or all three of them could be working together.” Del ran his fingers through his hair. “I want you to cancel the memorial for Clarisse, Livie. It’ll only make both of you vulnerable to another attack.”

  Olivia and Maddie exchanged quick glances but said nothing.

  “Listen, Livie, whoever tampered with your car isn’t going to give up. You are in real danger. So are you, Maddie, and maybe your families, too.”

  “I gave Aunt Sadie an early birthday gift,” Maddie said. “A spa getaway in DC. She accused me of wanting the house to myself, but she left anyway, this morning. Won’t be back until Wednesday.”

  Del sank back in his chair. “Have you two listened to a word I’ve said?”

  “You’ve expressed your concerns quite clearly,” Olivia said, “and we aren’t ignoring you. We see the situation differently, that’s all. We need you, but you also need us. Okay, go ahead and roll your eyes, but at least hear me out.”

  Del made a show of checking his watch.

  Olivia reached for the bag of Clarisse’s cookie cutters and emptied them onto the table. “These are why I went to the Chamberlain house in the first place. Somehow, my attacker knew I was there, although Bertha swore up and down she didn’t say a word. My guess is she acted nervous or asked a question that made our suspect or suspects suspicious. Anyway, what matters is that these little babies survived intact. We have three suspects for Clarisse’s murder, a cold murder case, two attacks, and maybe a missing child. What we don’t have is a clear, quick way to figure out who among the three suspects is responsible for what.”

  Del said, “As sheriff, I can interview—”

  “You can investigate like crazy,” Olivia said, “but that will take time, probably lots of it, and even then you might not succeed. Maddie can’t keep sending her aunt out of town, and I don’t want to hire a bodyguard for who knows how long. Maddie and I have devised a plan that might flush out the guilty party, or parties, much faster.”

  “How many painkillers have you consumed?”

  “Just ibuprofen. Listen, cookie cutters had meaning for Clarisse. She used them to help her work out problems. I didn’t figure this out until last night—early this morning, really. I was trying to identify the cutters in the photo of her desk—”

  “Which I ordered you to delete, as I recall.”

  “And I remembered Bertha telling me that Clarisse would talk things out with the portrait of her husband, the one that hangs over her office fireplace. Then it hit me. Sometimes when Clarisse picked out cookie cutters at our store, she’d make an offhand remark, like . . .” Olivia picked up the running gingerbread man cutter. “When I sold her this one only a few weeks ago, she said, ‘Run, run as fast as you can.’ That’s a quote from the old Gingerbread Man fairy tale, so I didn’t think anything of it at the time.” Olivia picked up the Dancing Snoopy. “She bought this one the last time I saw her. It’s such a joyful cutter, but I thought Clarisse was going to cry when she looked at it. I remember wondering why she bought it if it made her feel so sad.”

  Del had stopped interrupting. Olivia glanced up to find him studying the cookie cutters. He picked up the baby carriage. “So you’re thinking these might represent people in her life?”

  Olivia nodded. “People, events, I haven’t had time to figure them all out. Maddie and I plan to arrange the cookies in different designs that will look random to anyone who isn’t involved. But we’re hoping to tease a guilty reaction out of those involved in Clarisse’s death.”

  “In other words, it’s one big, potentially dangerous experiment? I can’t let you do this, either of you.” Del dropped the baby carriage cutter on the table and stood up. “I forbid you to try this stunt.” He grabbed his jacket and hat and strode toward the alley door.

  “It’s our store and our risk,” Olivia said. “We aren’t asking for permission. Or for protection. We’ll hold the memorial as planned, whether or not you take part. It’s up to you.”

  Del’s shoulders dropped. “Livie Greyson, you are the most stubborn woman on the planet.” He turned to face her. “You know perfectly well I’ll be here. If something happened to you—or Maddie—I’d never forgive myself.”

  “Thanks for the afterthought,” Maddie said.

  Del waved the papers Olivia had given him. “I have work to do. Tomorrow we will discuss how to keep you two from getting yourselves killed.” He slapped his hat on his head and opened the alley door. “Meanwhile, Cody will check on the store as often as he can. If you hear anything suspicious outside or inside, don’t explore on your own. Call my cell. I’ll keep it with me. If for some reason I don’t answer, call 911. Got it?”

  “Got it,” said Olivia.

  “Yes sir,” said Maddie.

  “And lock this door behind me.”

  As Maddie locked the door, Olivia said, “Okay then, to work. We need to cut and bake the cookies tonight so they will be cool enough to decorate tomorrow after closing. I’ll dig out the additional cutters we’ll need.”

  “Hold it,” Maddie said with authority. “You will not be digging or cutting or baking anything, not tonight.”

  “Stop fussing.”

  “I do not fuss. I command. Go upstairs, and take that noisy creature with you.” Maddie pointed to Spunky, curled in a snoring ball on his blanket. “Then take a warm bath, eat something, and relax with a good book. Having completed those tasks, fall into bed and sleep as long as you can. Frankly, Livie, I’ve never seen you look so awful.”

  “Thanks ever so much.” She had to admit she felt exhausted, not to mention sore and stiff. “However, you are right, my friend.”

  “I am?”

  “I need all my strength to get through the next couple days, and my reserves are depleted. Promise me, though—if you need me for anything, even if you’re having trouble finding those extra cookie cutters, give me a ring.”

  “I know the location of everything in this store,” Maddie said. “Do not set y
our alarm and do sleep all day. Here’s your cuddle toy,” Maddie said. She lifted a sleepy Spunky, blanket and all, and slid the bundle into Olivia’s arms. “Now go away.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  For some reason, Olivia’s alarm had switched from a gentle beep-beep to a high-pitched whine. Also, her body was being used as a punching bag. She slogged through the quicksand of sleep until she could identify Spunky as both whiner and assailant. He was expressing his displeasure at being cooped up too long. Given her soreness after her recent accident, Spunky’s five pounds felt like five hundred. She lifted him off and rolled onto her side. “Remind me why I thought adopting a puppy was such a good idea?”

  Spunky responded by bouncing off her sore shoulder.

  “Would you give me a break?” Olivia reached over him for her cell phone. She had defied Maddie’s order to sleep all day by setting her cell’s alarm for eight a.m. She hadn’t heard it go off, but it must have, given the bright daylight edging her bedroom curtains.

  Olivia squinted at the upper-right corner of her cell. “Four o’clock!” She sat up. “Ouch!” Spunky leaped backwards with a nervous yip. Olivia rubbed her eyes and checked the time again. Four o’clock all right, with a little “p.m.” following behind. She’d slept through her alarm and then some.

  Instantly she thought of Clarisse and how close she was to learning the truth. The thought cleared Olivia’s head and muted her awareness of pain. In the next thirty-six hours, she intended to find out who had killed her friend.

  After a shower, a cold slice of sausage pizza, and a couple extra-strength ibuprofen, Olivia took Spunky downstairs for a quick visit to the side yard. When he’d finished, she tucked him under her arm and entered The Gingerbread House. Over by the antiques cabinet, Maddie was deep in conversation with two women, who were exclaiming over some vintage cutters. Maddie spotted Olivia and winked at her over the customers’ bent heads.

  At the sales counter, Olivia’s mother handed a small Gingerbread House bag to another customer, a husky woman who looked familiar. When the woman turned to leave, she recognized Binnie Sloan, editor of The Weekly Chatter. Binnie’s tight mouth expressed displeasure. As soon as she saw Olivia, however, a predatory smile spread across her face. Spunky squirmed in Olivia’s arms, but she held on tight, feeling in need of his protection.

  “There you are, Livie, just the person I wanted to see.” Behind Binnie, Ellie waved to get Olivia’s attention and shook her head in silent warning.

  “Hey there, fella,” Binnie said, reaching her hand toward Spunky’s head.

  Spunky responded with a low growl. Olivia could feel his muscles tighten. She backed up a step to prevent him from biting Binnie’s outstretched fingers.

  Binnie dropped her hand. “Not very friendly, is he? Anyway, I dropped in to let you know I’ll be covering your little memorial service tomorrow for the newspaper. Your mom tells me it’s private, which is why it’s so important for me to report on it. Everyone who knew Clarisse Chamberlain needs a chance to grieve her loss.”

  It took a chunk of willpower for Olivia to keep her eyes from spinning toward the ceiling. “I’m afraid the memorial will be closed to the press,” she said. “It will be a time for Clarisse’s family and close friends to remember her in private. I’m sure you understand.” She managed a tight smile. Spunky growled in his throat.

  Binnie gave Spunky a wary glance. “Have you considered how the rest of Chatterley Heights will react to being excluded from her circle of ‘close friends’? They might feel deeply hurt, don’t you think? Maybe even angry?”

  And if they don’t feel hurt or angry, you will urge them to do so. “As an experienced journalist,” Olivia said, “surely you can help the town understand our need for privacy. It will be a quiet, simple get-together, nothing newsworthy. If anything exciting does happen, I’ll be glad to report to you afterwards.” A rash promise, perhaps, but it was never a good idea to alienate the press in a small town.

  Ellie appeared beside Olivia, providing a gentle air of support. “Livie dear, shall we begin closing? It’s past five.”

  Binnie Sloan, however, was immune to hints. “On another topic,” she said, “I hear you were involved in a single car accident yesterday. Ran right into that guardrail we locals like to call the Drunk Stopper. Care to comment?”

  Alienating the press was starting to sound more appealing. Sensing his mistress’s rising irritation, Spunky bared his teeth. Olivia had never seen him do that before. Ellie wove her fingers into the fur on his neck and stared into his eyes. Ellie must have lost her magical touch, though, because Spunky’s growl turned menacing.

  Without comment, Binnie headed for the door, her lips pressed into a thin line. When the door closed behind her, Spunky relaxed at once. Ellie rubbed his ears and said, “What a good, good boy you are. Olivia, are you quite sure that you’re feeling all right after that dreadful accident? Your brother said—” Spunky’s tail beat a staccato rhythm against Olivia’s arm.

  “Mom, I’m completely fine, I promise you. What just happened here?”

  Ellie smiled. “Merely an experiment in dog whispering, dear. Now, if I hurry, I can make my poetry group on time. You two have fun decorating cookies this evening. Don’t stay up too late.”

  The Gingerbread House kitchen smelled of orange zest, cookie dough, and pepperoni pizza, with an overlay of French roast coffee. Racks of cutout cookies covered half the worktable, and most of the remaining space was disappearing fast as Olivia gathered the ingredients for royal icing.

  Maddie had brought along her Aunt Sadie’s trusty twenty-year-old Artisan stand mixer. “This calls for the big guns.” She gave it a loving pat. “So let me get this straight,” she said. “You don’t want me to have too much fun decorating these cookies?” Maddie was wearing jeans ripped across the knees and a tight T-shirt that said, “Born to Gambol,” in case there was any doubt.

  “I want the shapes to be recognizable,” Olivia said. “If we hope to see anyone react to our designs, they’ll have to know what they’re looking at.”

  “So I could decorate a baby carriage with, say, magenta, as long as it still looks like a baby carriage?”

  “Sure, within reason. But I have some ideas for specific cookies.” Olivia pointed to the nearest rack, which held cookies in the shape of a hooded baby carriage on wheels. “Any color is fine, but make sure some are blue and some are pink. If there’s a grandchild out there, we don’t know the gender.”

  “Check.” Maddie picked up the revised cookie cutter list Olivia had left with her:

  CLARISSE’S COOKIE CUTTERS

  1. Hooded Baby Carriage on Wheels

  2. Small Angel

  3. Dancing Snoopy *

  4. Jasmine Flower (Added by Olivia)

  5. Jasmine Vine with Flowers (Template added by Maddie)

  6. Six-petaled Flower

  7. Gingerbread Boy with Crown *

  8. Gingerbread Man Running *

  9. Gingerbread House *

  10. Gingerbread Woman and Girl *

  11. Coffin Shape

  12. Witch’s Hat

  13. Round Tree

  14. Dove

  15. Nutcracker

  UNIDENTIFIED

  16. Shield? Coat of Arms?

  17. Apple? Bell Pepper?

  18. Flower? Grass in Wind? Head with Wild Hair?

  “Those little angel shapes,” Olivia said, “make some boys and some girls. And a few of each should have black hair.”

  “Aha. Like Jasmine, you mean.” Maddie scribbled a note on her list.

  “Exactly. Ditto for the gingerbread mother and daughter. But we should represent other hair colors, too.”

  “How about navy blue? Or violet?

  “Uh, sure.”

  “Puce?”

  “Have you been chewing coffee beans again?”

  Maddie smirked. “Sorry, it’s the excitement. Carry on.”

  Olivia wished she, too, felt the thrill of the chase, but all she cou
ld muster was fierce determination. Besides, the ibuprofen had barely touched the aching throughout her body. She rubbed her neck as she pointed toward the right side of the table. “The gingerbread boy wearing a crown—Clarisse must have acquired that cutter before I met her. It was distributed by Robin Hood Flour in the 1980s. She might have gotten hers that way. I wonder if she used it when Hugh and Edward were growing up. Her little boys.” Olivia’s legs felt spongy, and she braced herself against the table edge.

  “Hey, you should be back in bed,” Maddie said. She dragged a chair over and pushed Olivia into it. “Listen, tell me what you want, and I’ll do the decorating. If you’re serious about this unveil-a-killer event tomorrow, you’ll need more strength than this.”

  Olivia knew her weakness had as much to do with sadness as with pain. “No, even you can’t finish all this decorating and plan the event alone. We need to talk it through while we work. I can rest later, when this is over.”

  “Okay, but if anyone has to stay up most of the night, it’s going to be me. Got it?”

  “Won’t be necessary.” Olivia drained her coffee cup. “Okay. Gingerbread boy with crown. He could represent either or both of the Chamberlain brothers, or maybe a grandson. Make the crown stand out. I have a feeling that might be important.”

  Maddie refilled her own cup and Olivia’s. “I’d better explain this shape,” she said, pointing to a rack of cookies that looked like clouds. “I know you gave me an eight-petaled flower cutter to represent a jasmine flower, but I wasn’t sure anyone would recognize it, even if we use white icing. So I made a roundish template with a stemlike bottom. I’ll pipe icing into vine and flower designs.”