Spunky had emptied his bowl of every kibble crumb, so he trotted to the kitchen door, where a leash hung from the knob. He stared intensely at Olivia to remind her that she’d promised him a run in the park. When she didn’t respond, Spunky went over to her. He stood on his hind legs and pawed at her jeans, whining. Lost in thought, Olivia reached down and rubbed his ears. Spunky enjoyed the attention, but that wasn’t all he’d had in mind. Finally, he resorted to a volley of insistent yaps.
“Oh, Spunky, I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” Olivia said. “We’d better do that run in the park pronto, or I won’t have time for a shower.” She gave up on making coffee and grabbed Spunky’s leash.
A few minutes later, they were outside, heading for the park that marked the historical center of Chatterley Heights, known as the Town Square. Unlike many small towns, Chatterley Heights hadn’t been nipped too badly by the Great Recession. Tree-lined streets and vibrant small businesses, ranging from quaint to practical, formed a square around a large park. Only two shops stood empty, hoping for new owners. Olivia and Spunky waited for traffic to clear before they jogged across the street and into the park.
Spunky strained at his leash in his eagerness to run, and Olivia was more than willing to keep up. After a day of baking, she relished the exercise as much as Spunky did. “Better enjoy this while you can,” Olivia said. “Winter is coming. You know how I feel about jogging in cold winds.” Spunky picked up his pace. He didn’t slow down until they’d nearly reached his favorite spot in the park—the statue of Frederick P. Chatterley, the amusingly disreputable founder of Chatterley Heights. Spunky halted near a rear leg of the horse that Frederick P. never quite managed to mount.
“Fine, Spunks,” Olivia said. “Take your time. I need to catch my breath.” Spunky sniffed his way around the horse’s four legs, searching for the most inviting scent. Olivia followed him, keeping a tight grip on the leash. “Don’t take too much time, though,” she said. Spunky obligingly lifted his leg and aimed at the horse’s left front leg.
“I think that’s really disrespectful,” said a petulant female voice behind Olivia’s back. She spun around too quickly and lost her hold on Spunky’s leash. The little Yorkie had been too engrossed in his task to hear the woman’s approach, but he made up for his negligence by yapping ferociously as he lunged toward her. The woman froze and shrieked, “Help, someone help! It’s a mad dog. He’s trying to kill me!”
“Spunky, stop.” Olivia used a low, commanding voice that was supposed to convey authority, or so she’d read in the puppy training books. It had never worked before. This time it did, though Olivia suspected the woman’s hysterical reaction had alarmed the little guy. He stopped yapping and stayed where he was, several feet away from the woman. “Spunky, come,” Olivia said, hoping not to break the spell. Spunky stood his ground and began to growl softly. Taking slow steps, Olivia inched toward the leash handle until she could reach down and recapture it. “Okay, kiddo, that’s quite enough bravado.” She scooped him up in her free arm. He squirmed and whined, but Olivia held him tightly around his middle. Finally, he gave up and cuddled against Olivia’s chest. “Good choice,” she whispered.
“Binnie Sloan was right about that dog of yours,” the woman said. “He’s a menace, just like Binnie says in her blog. I read it every day, so I know what’s really going on in this town.”
Olivia didn’t bother to defend her hometown or her tiny, adorable dog from the outrageous rumors Binnie Sloan perpetrated in her newspaper, The Weekly Chatter, and in her disreputable blog. Most Chatterley Heights citizens subscribed to the paper because it was the best way to find out who had died, the cause of death, and the funeral details. Otherwise, most of them treated the paper, as well as the blog, as dubious entertainment, not to be taken seriously. Binnie’s only employee was her niece, Nedra. Ned, as she preferred to be called, was a fine photographer. Unfortunately, she wasted her talent and skill snapping embarrassing photos of anyone her aunt happened to be targeting at the moment.
“I’m sorry,” Olivia said to the woman, “but you seem to know me, and I don’t know your name.”
“Well, of course I know you. Your picture is in The Weekly Chatter all the time. You run that little Gingerbread House store with all that cookie stuff. I used to have cookie cutters, but I got rid of them. Silly little things. Anyway, that’s where I was going before that vicious dog of yours attacked me—to your store.”
“I see,” Olivia said, although she still felt confused. She guessed the woman to be in her late thirties to early forties. She was small boned and slender enough to look good in tight black jeans. No gray showed in her honey brown hair, though the lines across her forehead and around her mouth hinted at a painful past. “And your name is . . . ?” Olivia asked.
“Oh.” The woman looked flustered. “Well, my name is Crystal. Crystal Quinn.” When Olivia failed to register recognition, Crystal added, “I’m Alicia’s mother. I heard about what happened this afternoon at that place where Alicia is working part-time. I know she called you because I caught her doing it. I gave that girl a firm talking-to, believe me. Telling private things to a complete stranger . . . That girl has no sense. We had a big fight, of course. I decided to go right to your store and tell you to mind your own business.” Crystal straightened her spine and planted her fists on slender hips. “You don’t know Alicia like I do. She’s stubborn. She’ll keep calling you, trying to get you on her side.”
“What is her side?” Olivia asked. “What does she want from me?”
Crystal fiddled with the buttons on her cardigan sweater. “Oh, all right, I’ll tell you. I’m quite sure that Alicia wants you to prove I killed Kenny. She hates me that much. That’s the real reason I was coming to talk to you. I wanted to talk to you face to face to make sure you understand that Alicia doesn’t think straight. Honestly, I don’t know what to do with that girl.”
Olivia glanced at her watch. She had only half an hour to run back home, shower, and get to Pete’s Diner in time for dinner with Del. But Crystal had piqued her curiosity. She also felt a measure of sympathy for Alicia, who clearly had loved her father, and who now lived with a critical, even hostile mother. Olivia really, really wanted to hear what Crystal had to say about her daughter and about the sad pile of bones that might once have been her husband. And she seemed willing to talk.
“I need to make a quick phone call, and then we can talk more,” Olivia said. “It would really help me to know what’s going on with your daughter.” Crystal nodded.
Olivia patted her jeans pocket and was relieved to find that, for once, she had remembered to bring her cell phone. On the other hand, letting Crystal listen in while she called to delay a dinner date with the Chatterley Heights sheriff sounded like a bad idea. “The Gingerbread House is closed on Mondays,” Olivia said. “But we could talk in the band shell, assuming it’s unoccupied. We’ll have more privacy in there, as well as protection from the wind.” There wasn’t much wind at the moment, but Olivia did not want to open up the store or, worse, invite an unpredictable stranger into her apartment for coffee, cookies, and a harangue. Besides, she still hoped to get to Pete’s Diner on time.
“Why don’t you go into the band shell and warm up,” Olivia said. “I’ll meet you there in a minute.”
“I guess that would be okay.” Crystal frowned at Spunky, whose melting brown eyes watched her from the safety of his mistress’s iron grip. “I’ve got things to do. I can’t take all night.”
Olivia smiled and nodded to convey warm understanding, which she didn’t feel. When she pulled her cell phone from her pocket, Crystal took the hint and headed toward the band shell. Olivia waited until she’d begun to climb the band shell steps before speed dialing Del’s cell phone number. The call went immediately to voice mail. “Hi, Del, it’s me. Dare I hope you are driving and wisely decided not to answer your phone? I’ll be a bit late for dinner, but don’t give
up on me.” She lowered her voice. “I might have some interesting information for you. And, no, Maddie and I are not breaking into a house or in any way risking life or limb.” In case Del hadn’t yet heard about the victim’s family, Olivia told him about Alicia Vayle and her mother, Crystal Quinn. “Crystal wants to talk to me, in a less than loving way, about her daughter. Might be nothing; might be something. I will tell all at dinner.”
Crystal’s face appeared briefly at the band shell entrance. “Oops, subject is getting impatient. Gotta go, Del.” Olivia slid the phone back into her jeans pocket, tightened her grip on her pup, and hurried to join Crystal. “I expect you to be on your best behavior, Spunks. There’s an extra treat in it for you,” she whispered as she approached the band shell steps. Spunky maintained silence but made no promises.
Once inside the band shell, Olivia paused to let her eyes adjust to the dimness. A bench encircled the inside of the seashell-shaped structure. Olivia spotted Crystal sitting at the back, in the darkest area of the band shell. At least no one will overhear us. Crystal stared at her feet, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest, as Olivia approached and sat on the bench next to her.
“Listen, I’m sorry if I came on too strong,” Crystal said. “Alicia is high strung, like her father . . . like her father was, that is. Everything is so serious to her. She gets overly emotional. I keep telling her to take things in stride, but she just rolls her eyes at me.”
“If I’d found bones that I believed to be my long-lost father’s, I’d be upset, too.” Olivia stroked the silky hair on Spunky’s head as she thought about her own father’s death from pancreatic cancer. It had happened so quickly, but the shock had lasted a long, long time. Alicia’s father, as far as Olivia could tell, had been absent, reputedly drunk, for much of his daughter’s life, yet Alicia had continued to long for his return. It must be tough to let go when a parent simply disappears. Death is final; Olivia had no illusions that her father would ever again walk through the front door, although she’d often wished for it.
“I don’t want Alicia to follow in her father’s footsteps, that’s all.” When Crystal shivered and crossed her arms, her elbows showed through the worn knit fabric of her thin sweater. “That man was weak. I’ve had to fight for everything that’s come to me, but not Kenny. All he ever did was sit and wait . . . and drink. Lord knows why Alicia worshiped him. He could be fun, I’ll grant you that. And generous, especially with money I’d earned.” Crystal shook her head impatiently, as if to rid herself of bitter memories. “Alicia is convinced it was my fault that Kenny left, but it wasn’t. He just disappeared one day nearly five years ago. He never sent his own daughter so much as a postcard, but whose fault was that? Mine, of course. According to Alicia, I’m such a witch that Kenny couldn’t take it for another minute. She thinks that’s why he left.” Crystal’s thin shoulders slumped. “Alicia doesn’t know the half of it. She doesn’t want to know. She’s a dreamer, like her father. She wants everything handed to her, without her having to work for it. Yeah, I know she’s got a job, but it’s just waitressing and a few hours of fetching and carrying at a construction site. Those are barely jobs, but she figures she can quit fast when her dreams magically come true.”
Olivia remembered Alicia’s concern that she couldn’t make enough money waitressing, and she wondered if Crystal had the slightest clue how her daughter really felt. “What are Alicia’s dreams?” Olivia asked.
“Oh, who knows. They change from week to week.” Crystal sank back against the hard wall of the band shell. “A few years ago, she wanted to be a dancer. She’d put on a skimpy outfit and jump around the house pretending to practice.” Crystal wiggled her shoulders in derisive imitation of a dancer trying to look suggestive. “Alicia was convinced that someday a producer would come to town. He’d go for a walk, see her through the window while she was dancing, and beg her to compete on one of those ridiculous dance shows.” Crystal snickered. “If any producer ever saw her dance, he’d have a good laugh. She was always crashing into the furniture. She broke my favorite cake plate, the one my mother gave me for a wedding gift.”
Olivia stroked Spunky’s silky head to keep him calm as Crystal’s voice grew harsher. It was more than clear that Crystal found her own daughter irritating. Was that only because Alicia reminded her so much of her despised former husband?
“Crystal, do you have any idea where your husband was going the day he left?”
“Well, I know where he said he was going. Had himself a job interview, he said. A really good job that would solve all our problems forever and ever. I just laughed at him. I figured he’d borrowed some money and was heading for the bar again. Even if he’d really had a job interview, he’d have gotten too drunk to show up for it. Alicia believed him, of course. When he didn’t come home, Alicia accused me of driving him away by laughing at that ridiculous lie about a job. That man was never good at anything except baking.”
“Baking?” Olivia hadn’t seen that coming.
Crystal laughed at Olivia’s astonishment. “Yeah, I thought you’d be interested in that. His mother taught him to bake just about everything, but he was best at making those fancy cookies like you make at your store.”
“Decorated cutout cookies?” Olivia asked.
“Whatever.”
“Did Kenny ever work as a baker?”
Crystal’s laugh had a hard edge. “Work? Kenny was not familiar with that word. He baked at home sometimes, especially when Alicia was little. He taught her all his baking secrets. Alicia was fourteen when Kenny left for good. By then she was almost as good a baker as Kenny was. She just started working as a part-time waitress at Pete’s Diner, even though she could make loads more money as a baker, maybe in one of those fancy bakeries in DC. Lazy, like her father.”
“But she does have a job,” Olivia pointed out. “Two jobs, in fact, even if they are both part-time.”
Crystal shrugged one shoulder, a dismissive gesture. After several seconds of silence, she said, “If anything, Alicia is a better baker than Kenny ever was.” Crystal’s derisive tone had softened. “She kept at it, too, even when Kenny started getting bored with baking because it wasn’t making him rich. I thought maybe Alicia had found a place for herself, a job she could be good at. But she drifted away from it after Kenny disappeared. Oh, she kept on baking for quite a while because she was hoping he’d come back. She would experiment with new recipes, so she could show him how much she’d learned. But after a while, the light went out of her.” Crystal went silent and stared down at her hands. With an impatient shake of her head, she said, “Alicia was angry a lot. She was well into her teens by then, and you know how they are. One minute she’d be in a rage, then all of a sudden she’d tear up and sob that life wasn’t worth living.” Crystal slowly shook her head. “Well, I need to get back. My husband will be home from work soon, and he’ll be wanting his dinner. I think I’ve said what I had to say. I only wanted to warn you that Alicia isn’t very reliable, and she gets overemotional. Don’t get sucked in by her. She doesn’t always tell the truth.”
Olivia thought about the cookie cutter necklace. Alicia had identified the bones as belonging to her father based purely on the presence of a tarnished cookie cutter necklace, found amid the bones. The girl hadn’t even seen it, but she’d been certain it identified the deceased as her father. That necklace was part of a larger story. Olivia was almost sure of it. She found herself more and more curious about its history and meaning.
“Crystal, do you remember if Kenny ever wore any jewelry?” Olivia hesitated to give away too much information, but her curiosity was growing by the minute.
“Jewelry? Kenny? He wouldn’t even wear a wedding ring.”
Interesting, Olivia thought. Alicia must not have told her mother about the cookie cutter necklace she’d bought for her father.
Crystal’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why are you asking? Did Kenny have e
xpensive jewelry with him when you found him? Because if he did, by rights it should come to me. I supported that man and raised his child practically by myself.”
Olivia felt a chill roll down her back, and it wasn’t from the cold. Spunky’s low growl said he’d picked up on his mistress’s discomfort.
Crystal stood up and pulled her sweater tightly around her slight body. “Kenny took everything that was important to me. He left me with nothing. If that man had anything on him when he died, it’s mine, and I want it back.”
Spunky squirmed to free himself from Olivia’s grip, but she tightened her hold on him. “I’m not the one who found the . . . your former husband,” she said. “Besides, for all we know, it might not be Kenny, after all.” Strictly speaking, Olivia was telling the truth. “The police are in charge of the case. You’ll have to check with them about what they found, if anything.”
“Oh, I’ll do that,” Crystal said. “You bet I will.” She turned to leave the band shell. At the entrance, Crystal hesitated for a moment, silhouetted against the light of an old-fashioned streetlamp. Her arms fell to her sides. A moment before Crystal strode down the band shell steps, Olivia saw her fingers curl into fists.
Chapter Four
By the time Olivia arrived back at her apartment, after her unsettling meeting with Crystal Quinn, she had eight minutes to shower, change, and walk back across the park to Pete’s Diner to meet Del. If she tried to meet that deadline, she’d end up needing another shower.
Olivia called Del’s cell and got his voice mail. “Hi, Del, it’s me. I’ll be late.” She checked the time, and added, “I should get to Pete’s by about seven. I’ll have much to tell you. Long story, though interesting and highly relevant. To be continued.” As soon as she hung up, Spunky pawed at her leg and whined. “I hadn’t forgotten your post-run snack, Spunks,” Olivia said. “Okay, I did forget. However, here we go.” Spunky’s ears perked with excitement as Olivia opened the treats drawer, took out two small Milk Bones, and snapped them into halves. She tossed the pieces across the kitchen floor, smiling at the sound of little Yorkie nails tapping on the tile.
Dead Men Don't Eat Cookies Page 4
