Dead Men Don't Eat Cookies

by Virginia Lowell

  Maddie bounced down the staircase and headed toward the kitchen. Olivia followed at a more conservative pace. On their way up, she had noticed how creaky the stairs were. She had visions of putting her foot through a step, and she didn’t trust the wobbly banister to save her. The old boarding house would need a lot of work before it could reopen as the craft school that kept expanding in her mother’s fertile imagination.

  Constance Overton, owner of the Chatterley Heights Management and Rental Company, had bought the old place for a song, or more like half a stanza. However, Constance wouldn’t have taken it for free if she’d thought it couldn’t be put to a profitable use. Luckily, she had offered Calliope and Ellie a rent-free year, so they could focus their efforts and resources on yanking the building up to code—if it didn’t fall down first.

  When Olivia opened the kitchen door, she felt as if she’d barged in on a party. She held on tightly to Spunky. He was used to shoppers roaming around the store, but Olivia kept him in her apartment whenever she and Maddie hosted an event. She was afraid someone might trip over the little five-pound pup.

  The noisy room felt crammed, though it was at least twice the size of the Gingerbread House kitchen. Calliope, Jason, and the other workers slurped coffee, devoured sandwiches, and snatched cookies so quickly that Ellie was searching the refrigerator for more food. At the kitchen counter, Alicia slapped cheese and lunchmeat between slices of buttered bread. Sandwiches piled higher and higher, rapidly filling a large platter. On the table, a second platter was emptying fast. When a worker grabbed the last sandwich, Alicia swapped the plate for a loaded one, then began making more sandwiches.

  Maddie, who’d beat Olivia to the kitchen, had nearly finished filling the reservoir of a new twenty-cup coffeemaker. She measured ground coffee into the basket and flipped the on switch. “Want a sandwich?” Maddie asked as she joined Olivia.

  “Are there enough to go around?” Olivia watched the workers swoop up the newly delivered sandwiches as if they’d worked sixteen hours straight without stopping for food.

  “There’s plenty, if we act quickly.” Maddie snatched two sandwiches from the tray and handed one to Olivia. “Those guys will eat anything they see, but they aren’t really starving. Ellie said they went through two trays before I got to the kitchen. She was delivering a third tray to the table as I walked in. Alicia took over for her, and . . . well, as you can see, those appetites know no bounds.” Maddie nodded toward the new tray, which now held only one sandwich. In an instant, a beefy hand grabbed that last sandwich.

  “Yikes,” Olivia said. “Lucky thing Calliope is footing the bill for food.”

  “No kidding. Your mom said she plans to do some major grocery shopping and restock the fridge this afternoon, so the workers won’t starve tomorrow—assuming the police allow them to go back to work, that is.”

  “They might be able to work in other areas of the building,” Olivia said. “After all these years, there can’t be much evidence left to find, except maybe inside that wall. But we’ll see what Del says.”

  When Calliope spied the empty plate on the table, she called a halt to the feeding. “All right, you guys, gorge on your own time. I’ll call all of you tomorrow if, and only if, the police won’t let us into the house. Otherwise, assume we’ll be working. Be here at eight a.m. and not a minute later.” The worker who had scored the last sandwich stuffed half of it into his mouth as he scraped his chair back from the table.

  “Wow, you’re a tough boss,” Maddie said as the kitchen door slammed behind the last of the workers.

  Calliope shrugged. “I know what hard work looks like, and most of those guys aren’t even trying. They think a woman boss is a pushover. They’ll think differently when I’m through with them.”

  “You go, girl,” Ellie said.

  When her mother bumped fists with Calliope, Olivia had to sit down. “I feel a bit light-headed,” she said softly to Maddie. “The atmosphere is thin in this alternate universe.”

  As soon as Calliope arrived in Chatterley Heights after a nomadic life in Europe, she’d moved into the Greyson-Meyers house, Olivia’s childhood home. Olivia’s stepfather, Allan Meyers, was Calliope’s cousin on his mother’s side. The living arrangement had not gone well, especially for Ellie. For a time, Olivia had worried that her normally self-contained mother would lose her carefully centered mind. However, fate and building projects intervened. Calliope had vacated the Greyson-Meyers home to move in with Olivia’s brother, Jason. Calliope was helping him renovate his new farmhouse and barns, in addition to overseeing the transformation of the crumbling old flophouse.

  Once they were no longer under the same roof, Ellie—petite, intuitive, and yoga obsessed—had bonded with the tall, forceful, and blunt Calliope over a dream for a new arts and crafts school in Chatterley Heights. Calliope, who was wealthy and loved to work with her hands, provided and subsidized the materials and workers. Ellie had taken charge of overall planning for the school. She adored learning new crafts even more than she loved her yoga classes, although she had no intention of choosing between them. Calliope had drawn up plans for the building renovation that included a specially designed room for yoga enthusiasts. The two vastly different women had become friends. Olivia, however, continued to hold her breath, because when it came to families, you never knew.

  “We might as well clean up the kitchen and get back to The Gingerbread House,” Maddie said. “Calliope, I’ll put these cookies in cake pans and store them in the fridge. They should keep you and the guys supplied for the week, as long as you dole them out daily and don’t let anyone know where they are kept. We’ll be working in The Gingerbread House through Saturday. Our own baking time will be devoted to keeping our customers happily in a mood to buy anything from cookie cutters to expensive mixers.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Ellie said. “Thanks to both of you for all your work setting up the kitchen. The room looks lovely. Maddie, once we open the school, you will be available to teach cookie baking and decorating, won’t you?”

  “Hey,” Olivia said, “what about me? I’m almost as good a cookie baker as Maddie is.”

  “Yes, of course you are, dear.” Ellie gave her daughter a gentle smile and turned aside to consult with Calliope.

  “I think I’ve been insulted,” Olivia said.

  Maddie grabbed her cell phone from the counter and pushed Olivia through the kitchen doorway. Once they were out of earshot, Maddie said, “I think Calliope might be rubbing off on your mother. Either that, or Ellie isn’t getting her optimal dose of yoga. However, I suggest we wait and see. Right now the two of them are obsessed with this building project. Once that’s completed, your mom will surely revert to her sensitive, intuitive self.” Maddie’s cell phone rang, and she glanced at the caller ID. “I’ll bet this is for you, Livie. I’m getting used to fielding calls for you, though I do wish you would try to remember your cell when you leave your apartment.”

  “Who is it from?”

  “Del.” Maddie handed her phone to Olivia and closed the front door of the old building.

  “Hey, Del, it’s me,” Olivia said as she negotiated the cracked stone steps. “Or did you really mean to call Maddie?”

  Del chuckled. “Nope. I’ve adjusted to your forgetfulness. When your cell goes to voice mail, I call Maddie. So I understand we need to touch base about some skeletal remains. I already talked to the crime scene crew about how to handle the evidence. I’m now heading toward Chatterley Heights. I should be back—”

  Olivia paused on the sidewalk. “You’re driving, aren’t you? You know how I feel about that. It scares me.”

  “Sorry, Livie, but honestly, traffic is practically at a halt, and as I keep telling you—” The blast of a horn came through loud and clear.

  “Call back when you are safely parked,” Olivia said. “Assuming you’re still alive.” Without hanging up, she handed Maddie’s
phone back to her.

  “Hi, Del,” Maddie said as they turned the corner and headed north on Park Street. “You can talk to me. I deeply believe in the superior multitasking abilities of our intrepid police.” She listened for a while. “Okay, we can do that. Are the guys allowed to work on the renovation tomorrow? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Calliope installed new locks and deadbolts on all the outside doors. You’ll have to get keys from her or Ellie. I put duct tape across the door of the room in question, so it should be all right, assuming the murderer isn’t still alive, in town, and willing to break and enter. Was that extended horn blast aimed at you? I take back my compliment about your multitasking abilities. Bye.” Maddie hung up and shook her head. “Men.”

  “Amen to that,” Olivia said. “What were you supposed to tell me?”

  “Del assured me I did the right thing to tape the door, although I’m pretty sure he was trying not to laugh.” Maddie slid her cell phone into her jacket pocket. “When he gets back to town, he’ll take pictures of the scene. Then he’ll secure the door somehow and put real crime scene tape across it. He said the guys can probably get back to work soon, but he’ll let Calliope know when. They will probably have to work downstairs for a while. Del will close off the upstairs until the crime scene folks remove the remains and anything else they will need. The lab is overwhelmed at the moment, so this is a lower priority case.”

  “Does that mean Del will be in charge of the investigation?” Olivia asked.

  Maddie clapped her hands. “Ooh, I hadn’t thought of that. If Del is the lead investigator, that means we, through you, will have a front-row seat. I’ve always wanted to solve a cold case. They always sound so . . . historical.”

  “Yes,” Olivia said, “that would be due to the ‘cold’ part. But just because Del and I are involved doesn’t mean he’ll share his investigation with me. A case is a case, cold or not.”

  Maddie paused as they reached the sidewalk in front of The Gingerbread House. “Remember, Livie, Del did lighten up a bit last summer, after we helped Cody solve a murder while Del was out of town.” Maddie drew her car key from her jacket pocket. “I’m parked a block north on Park Street, so I shall bid you adios. Was that Spanish or French? Never mind, the important thing here is that Del will need our help with the case of the bones in the wall. He didn’t move to Chatterley Heights until around 2006, right? So he doesn’t have a long personal memory of this town and its inhabitants. He’ll need our superior insight into the town’s many secrets. Anything we don’t know, we can wheedle out of your mother or my aunt Sadie. You and I are essential to this investigation. You can start working on Del this evening during dinner.” Maddie turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Olivia said. “What dinner?”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot. Del said to tell you that he’s treating you to dinner at Pete’s this evening. He’ll meet you there, but he’s not sure what time. He’ll call you when he finishes the crime scene stuff.”

  “I hate to dash your hopes,” Olivia said, “but what if Del tells me there’s no evidence of foul play at the scene?”

  Maddie’s windblown locks seemed to bounce with energy as she flashed a bright smile. “Not to worry. Del won’t draw his conclusions that quickly. He’ll want to do more investigating, which will give us time to do the same. Once we dig into the victim’s past, we will find what we need. I can feel it. Foul play will rear its ugly, yet fascinating head.”

  Chapter Three

  A chilly breeze ruffled Olivia’s auburn hair as she crossed her own front lawn. She pulled her jacket tight around her T-shirt and held Spunky against her chest. Front door key in hand, Olivia hurried up the front steps of her little Queen Anne house to the wraparound porch. She made a mental note to start dragging out her warmer clothes. The wind was powerful enough to rock the empty chair near the large front window. A shiver snaked down Olivia’s back as she recalled seeing a dead man in that very spot. However, this was a different rocking chair. Its predecessor had gone to the crime lab, and Olivia had neglected to reclaim it. Instead, she had visited her favorite antiques mall and found a replacement, a southern country porch rocker. It was a simpler design than the abandoned rocker and, therefore, less likely to hide a body from view.

  Olivia hesitated in the foyer, near the door to The Gingerbread House. The store occupied the entire ground level of her beloved Queen Anne style house. She and Maddie were business partners, but it was Olivia who carried a hefty mortgage for the whole building. The store was always closed Sunday and Monday. Olivia had been so busy helping to set up the kitchen at the old boarding house that she hadn’t been inside her own store for two days. She was tempted to check to make sure it was ready for opening the next morning.

  Bertha Binkman, their head clerk, had offered to restock the shelves for the beginning of the work week. Bertha was a woman of her word, as well as pathologically drawn to deep cleaning. Surely the store was ready to wow the most critical of customers. Besides, Spunky was due for a good, brisk walk. Except for quick outdoor bathroom breaks, he’d been restricted to the boarding house kitchen for most of the day. His exercise had ranged from begging for cookie crumbs to flopping around on his blanket. He’d be desperate for a run, no matter how short.

  Olivia passed by the locked Gingerbread House door and unlocked the door to the stairway that led to her second floor apartment. As soon as she took the first step, Spunky leaped from her arms and hit the stairs running. Olivia heard an explosion of yaps as he reached the landing upstairs. Spunky had a ferocious set of lungs for a five pound Yorkshire terrier.

  “Knock it off, Spunks,” Olivia yelled up the stairs. “I am a mere human. My legs won’t work any faster.” Spunky’s yaps took on a plaintive edge, as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks, although Olivia had brought his food along to the boarding house. The little guy was feisty and brave, but highly manipulative. Olivia loved him dearly. But sometimes she needed to remind him who bought the kibbles and Milk Bones. Not that it made any difference.

  Spunky repeated his commands and complaints while Olivia climbed the stairs to the second floor landing. As she inserted her key into the lock, Spunky scratched at the door as if he were helping it open. Olivia felt touched that he wanted to get into the apartment so badly. When she’d first brought him home as a puppy, Spunky had tried relentlessly to escape from the very same apartment. His instinctive desire to flee from confinement had helped him escape the puppy mill where he’d been born, and his fierce intelligence had kept him safe on the streets of Baltimore until a Yorkshire terrier rescue group finally caught up with him. Olivia was relieved that Spunky had apparently decided he was safe with her. It probably helped that she was a pushover when it came to doggie treats.

  Spunky managed to squeeze between Olivia’s ankles when she opened the door. He hopped inside, paused, then turned around and waited, as if he wanted to make sure Olivia wasn’t going to lock him inside and leave. When she entered the apartment and locked the door behind them, he relaxed and headed toward the kitchen.

  “Good boy, Spunks,” Olivia said. “And you’re right, it is your suppertime.” Spunky followed his mistress into the kitchen and paced impatiently, nails clacking on the tile, while she filled his small bowl with kibbles. “I owe you a long walk after keeping you cooped up all day,” Olivia said. “When we get home from our walk, we can relax on the sofa until bedtime. How does that sound?” Spunky had sunk his head into his bowl, but his fluffy tail wagged his approval.

  Olivia decided to start a small pot of coffee for herself. As she opened the cabinet where she kept her favorite Italian roast, she saw her cell phone plugged in behind Mr. Coffee. She unplugged the phone and flipped it open to check for messages. There were three from Del and a recent one from a number with no name attached. “Oh jeez, I forgot about dinner with Del,” she said out loud. Spunky whined from the depths of his food bowl. “Sorry, kiddo, relaxing on the sofa will have to wait until later
.” Olivia punched in her code and listened to all three of Del’s messages. “He wants me to meet him at Pete’s Diner in . . .” She glanced up at the kitchen clock. “In an hour. That gives us time for a run through the park, Spunks. Then I’ll need a quick shower and a change of clothes.”

  Olivia dropped the phone on the counter and turned away. She took one step and stopped. “No, Livie,” she muttered, “do not walk away from that cell phone. You know you’ll forget it again.” As she picked it up, she remembered there’d been another message, which she had skipped because the number was unfamiliar. Probably a wrong number, but she called her voice mail and listened.

  “Um, Livie?” asked the timorous female voice on the recorded message. “It’s Alicia . . . Alicia Vayle. We met earlier at the renovation site, remember? I’m sorry to bother you, but . . . Well, Calliope gave me your cell phone number. I hope that’s all right.” Olivia heard a long, shaky breath, as if Alicia might be trying to suppress tears. “Someone told me that you and Maddie have solved some crimes in town. Well, actually, it was Calliope who told me. So I was wondering . . . The sheriff called and talked to me a little while ago about finding my father’s . . . The thing is, I don’t think the sheriff believes me. That it’s really my dad, I mean. And even if I convinced him, I got the feeling he didn’t think they’d ever be able to find out what happened to him. What if his death was—” Alicia halted abruptly as if she’d run out of air. “I have to know the truth. Would you help me find it? Please? You see, I know everyone was wrong about my father. He was a good—” The message ended. Cell phones, Olivia knew, could be unpredictable, so she wasn’t too concerned.