Dead Men Don't Eat Cookies

by Virginia Lowell

  Maddie threw a cookie at her.

  * * *

  Olivia hopped in and out of the shower in record time. Her dark-chocolate wool pants were still clean, so she topped them with a cherry red sweater. Maybe her outfit would trigger a longing for sweet treats among the Gingerbread House customers. It certainly had that effect on Olivia as she entered her own kitchen and went straight for a frozen cookie. For dessert, she had a slice of toast and a hardboiled egg, washed down with extra strong coffee.

  By some miracle, Olivia remembered to fetch her cell phone, which had been charging in her bedroom. When she picked it up, she discovered a message from a number that looked vaguely familiar. Someone must have called while she was eating breakfast, because there had been no message when she’d selected her outfit. Olivia checked her watch. Eight forty-four a.m. She’d better listen to the message on her way downstairs.

  Olivia left her breakfast dishes on the table. She wasn’t worried that Spunky would lick the crumbs off the plate, since he was already snuggled on his chair downstairs in The Gingerbread House. She locked her apartment door behind her and punched her voice mail message code as she bounced down the stairs. Her foot hit the edge of the third step. Olivia grabbed the railing with her free hand and sat down hard. As her mother never tired of reminding her, multitasking was best left to those who possessed coordination and a sense of balance. Luckily, her mother wasn’t there.

  Despite nearly breaking her neck, Olivia had managed to keep her cell phone near her ear. She realized she was listening to Alicia Vayle’s tremulous voice saying good-bye. Olivia sat on the stairs and began the message again.

  Alicia’s message began, “I’m really sorry to bother you, Olivia, but I didn’t know who else to call. I don’t have any friends left in Chatterley Heights. They’ve all moved to Baltimore or DC or anywhere, just to get away from . . . well, there aren’t any jobs here, so . . .” Alicia sniffled and cleared her throat. “Robbie is going to throw me out of the house, and my mom isn’t even here. Robbie’s always doing that, being mean to me when my mom isn’t around. Not that she’d have protected me. She probably left the house because she didn’t want to deal with me. Anyway, I know Robbie was waiting for an excuse to get rid of me.” Alicia’s voice quivered as she added, “Robbie hates me, and he’s making my mom hate me, too. Maybe he got Pete to fire me, because there wasn’t any reason. I mean not a real reason. I liked my job, and I was good at it. Pete was going to let me bake cookies.” Olivia heard Alicia take a shaky breath before saying, “So I was wondering . . . Would it be okay if I crashed with you for a while? I could sleep on the sofa, and I’d cook and clean for you, and stuff like that. Please? I don’t have anywhere else to go.” With a final sniffle, Alicia ended the call.

  Olivia sat on the step for several minutes. Life in Chatterley Heights, she thought, was getting more and more complicated. She was quite certain that Alicia couldn’t stay in her tiny apartment; that was out of the question. However, Alicia had turned to her for help, and she couldn’t ignore such a plea. Having Alicia around might make it easier to find out more about the Vayle/Quinn family . . . no, it would never work. Olivia had to wonder if the troublesome boyfriend had gotten Alicia fired. The last thing she and Maddie needed was an angry, aggressive boyfriend hanging around The Gingerbread House, demanding to see Alicia. Olivia checked the time on her cell phone. The store would be opening momentarily. As if on cue, her phone vibrated in her hand. It was Maddie.

  “Livie, are you coming down soon?” Maddie paused, and Olivia heard her speaking to someone else. “Okay, I’m back,” Maddie said. “Livie, we have sort of a situation here. So don’t dawdle, okay?”

  Chapter Six

  On a normal Tuesday morning, The Gingerbread House awakened slowly. It was rare to find a customer waiting when the door opened at nine a.m. Customers tended to dribble in one or two at a time to replenish supplies after a weekend of binge baking. They rarely lingered. Unless an event was scheduled, Bertha didn’t report to work until ten a.m.

  The moment Olivia entered the store, she sensed this would be a different sort of Tuesday. She saw Maddie peeking through a slit in the thick curtain covering the large front window. Next to her, a fluffy tail protruded from underneath the curtain. When Olivia joined Maddie to look outside, she saw at least five customers lounging on the porch. Two more were walking up the steps. Everyone appeared to be talking at once. Spunky began to yap and growl, as if he weren’t sure whether he should welcome the intruders or chase them away.

  “As you can see,” Maddie said, “word has spread, and the curious have been gathering outside. I guess we should have seen this coming, although I’m a bit surprised those workers would blab about finding bones after Calliope threatened them with eternal unemployment. Now I wish we’d asked Bertha to come in early.”

  “We’ll have to make do,” Olivia said. “At least a third of those folks are men, which means the cookies will go fast. However, we aren’t likely to sell much. I suppose we’d better open the store and take it as it comes. “

  “I’ll keep an eye on the plate and try to keep it filled.” Maddie turned away from the window to check the Hansel and Gretel clock hanging on the wall. “I do love that clock,” she said, “but I never know what time it is. If I open the store now, we could be anywhere from ten minutes early to five minutes late. I think. I could check my cell phone, but I left it in the kitchen, and I know better than to ask if you remembered to bring yours.”

  “Mine is in my pocket, smarty-pants,” Olivia said. “I vote we wait for about five minutes before opening. Might as well get it over with. Meanwhile, I’ll call Bertha to ask if there’s any way she could get here a bit early. I’ll offer her time-and-a-half. Heck, I’ll put her in my will, if I ever have time to make one.”

  “I’ll draft it for you,” Maddie said.

  “Maybe I’ll call her from the kitchen, so I can throw together an extra tray of cookies at the same time.” Olivia speed dialed while she hurried into the kitchen. She hoped Bertha would answer quickly when she saw who was calling. Bertha’s sense of responsibility was legendary. However, Olivia was sent to voice mail, where she left a quick, desperate message. Then she thought of her mom. Ellie had helped customers before; maybe she could . . . What the heck, this is an emergency. Olivia speed dialed her mother and waited through Ellie’s lengthy voice mail spiel touting the benefits of yoga and announcing the birth of her beloved arts and crafts school. Finally, Olivia was allowed to leave a message. She explained that the store was about to be invaded by rabidly curious gossip seekers, both male and female, and she begged Ellie to come help.

  Olivia attempted a deep, centering breath. Her mother would be so proud. Well, Maddie and I will simply have to deal with the situation by ourselves. We’ve had plenty of experience. Olivia told herself that their customers’ ravenous curiosity about those bones was perfectly understandable. She, too, wanted information, mostly about Kenny Vayle. Maybe she could turn the situation to her advantage by questioning her own customers. Perhaps some of them had known Kenny. Or maybe she’d simply listen and say as little as possible. Years had passed since Kenny’s disappearance. Memories dim. Details turn to vague impressions or evaporate altogether. After so many years, would the truth even be recognizable? Any information that did emerge would undoubtedly spread through town like flood icing, changing shape as it flowed from person to person.

  Olivia checked the time on her cell phone. Eight minutes past nine. Maddie would already have opened the store. Olivia took a deep breath and marched herself through the kitchen to the sales floor. At first glance, she felt reassured. The store was far more crowded than was usual for a Tuesday morning, but the general mood felt low-key. Customers roamed around the store and chatted with each other as if this were nothing more than a special store event. A few even examined cookbooks or baking equipment.

  Unfortunately, Olivia recognized one of those browsers
as Binnie Sloan. For once, Binnie’s photographer niece, Ned, wasn’t with her. Olivia remembered Maddie mentioning, with joy, that Ned had just left town to take yet another photojournalism class in DC. Olivia noticed an old plastic tape recorder in one of Binnie’s hands and two rapidly disappearing cookies in the other. Her mouth full of cookie crumbs, Binnie appeared to be interviewing a customer. Before Olivia could deposit her plate of cookies and lose herself in the crowd, Binnie spotted her. Abandoning her interviewee, who was still speaking, Binnie headed straight for Olivia. There was no escape. To deliver the cookie plate to the treats table, Olivia would have to walk toward Binnie, who slithered through groups of chatting customers like a plump snake after a rodent snack.

  When Binnie reached her, Olivia held the plate between them. “Have another cookie, Binnie,” Olivia said. “They won’t last long.”

  Binnie eyed the plate with greedy suspicion. Her hesitation passed quickly, however. She grabbed three more cookies with one hand and shoved her small recorder at Olivia with the other. “So, Livie, I hear you’ve discovered yet another dead body,” Binnie said, her tone heavy with sarcasm. “Quite a talent you have, wouldn’t you say?”

  Olivia decided it was time for a cookie. She selected one with magenta scallops and smiled while she nibbled on it.

  When Olivia failed to rise to her bait, Binnie tried again. “There’s no point denying your personal involvement in this new investigation. You were observed having dinner with Sheriff Jenkins yesterday evening, and my sources tell me you’ve already interviewed the victim’s ex-wife, who is a prime suspect in his murder.”

  “There’s no clear evidence of murder,” Olivia said before she could stop herself. She took a big bite of her cookie.

  Binnie smirked. “I think my readers are well aware that if Livie Greyson finds a body, it was murdered. The fact that you’re already investigating is proof enough. Does your boyfriend know you’re playing Miss Marple again?”

  A familiar voice intervened. “Why, Binnie, how nice of you to drop by for a visit . . . and for several cookies. It must be a slow news day.” Ellie was barely visible behind Binnie’s taller and far beefier body.

  Startled, Binnie teetered as she spun around. Ellie’s small, yet strong arm reached out to steady her. Olivia grinned at her mother from behind Binnie’s back. However, the self-styled journalist recovered quickly. Stepping to the side so she faced both women, Binnie held out her tape recorder, and said, “Livie, Ellie, both of you were at the scene where the remains were discovered. What items were found with the deceased?” With a snide grin, Binnie added, “Was there any clothing, for example . . . or perhaps a piece of jewelry that positively identified the victim as Kenny Vayle?” Binnie poked her recorder close to Olivia’s face. “What did Kenny’s widow reveal to you yesterday evening when you interrogated her inside the band shell? I have photos of that interview, by the way.”

  “Really? How interesting,” Ellie said. “I thought your photographer was out of town.”

  Binnie hesitated no more than a second before thrusting her recorder at Ellie. “So, as Chatterley Heights’ foremost gossip, Ellie, what do you think? Is Crystal Quinn guilty of murdering her drunken, wife-beating husband so she could marry Robbie Quinn, the man with whom she was having an affair?”

  Olivia’s hand was itching to slap the smug grin off Binnie’s plump face. It was clear that she perceived Olivia’s anger and relished it. Binnie aimed her tape recorder toward Olivia. “So tell us, Livie, what does the sheriff have to say about your involvement, once again, in a brutal case of—”

  A low growl issued from behind Binnie’s back. Startled, she leaped aside, revealing an agitated Yorkie in Maddie’s arms. Maddie had a firm grip on Spunky’s collar but she made no attempt to calm him.

  “Get that nasty creature away from me,” Binnie shouted.

  “Spunky? Don’t be silly,” Maddie said. “He’s such a sweet little tyke.” Spunky followed up with a volley of yaps.

  “He’s a vicious attack dog,” Binnie said. “He should be put down.”

  This was too much for Spunky, who wriggled to escape from Maddie’s tight grasp. He freed one front paw and reached toward Binnie’s face. She hopped backward, right into the treats table. The room hushed as the coffee urn teetered. Olivia rushed to steady the urn, but she couldn’t reach the cookies in time. The plate slid across the table and seesawed on the edge. Finally, it slipped off, shedding cookies in a sparkling, multicolored waterfall. As it hit the floor, the glass plate shattered. The cookies cracked into pieces which slid across the floor. Maddie thrust Spunky into Olivia’s arms and rushed into the kitchen.

  Startled customers froze in place, like full-size action figures preparing to leap into the air. The tableau dissolved when a woman’s voice said, “I do hate to see cookies wasted.” A second woman added, “Some people should watch where they are leaping.” The spell had broken, and the room filled with chatter. After all, there were more cookies piled on plates scattered around the sales floor. Ellie sighed as she began to pick up chunks of broken glass. Maddie returned, bearing a broom, an armful of old kitchen towels, and a full roll of paper towels.

  As Olivia cuddled and comforted her over-stimulated pup, she heard a woman say, “Oh, look, Struts, it’s a Yorkshire terrier. Isn’t he adorable?” The lilting voice belonged to a tall, willowy blonde approaching the treats table. Olivia guessed her to be somewhere in her mid to late twenties. Struts Marinsky, the statuesque, female owner of Struts & Bolts Garage, followed behind the young woman. Struts shot an amused glance toward Olivia, while Binnie, her round face contorted with anger, strode past them, heading toward the front door of The Gingerbread House.

  The young blonde only had eyes for Spunky. She reached out to caress the hair on the little Yorkie’s head. “So silky,” she murmured, gazing into his soft brown eyes. “I’m Dolly, by the way,” she said, more to Spunky than to the mere people around him. “Dolly Fitzpatrick.”

  Olivia felt a prick of envy when she noticed that Dolly’s eyes were cornflower blue. Olivia had always wanted cornflower blue eyes, rather than her blue-green eyes that darkened to gray on overcast days. Although Del did seem to like them just fine.

  Dolly’s short, golden hair fell in perfect curls around her head, and her slim, muscular body hinted at regular workouts. Worst of all, Spunky seemed besotted by her. Olivia felt as if she were a jealous thirteen-year-old again . . . only this time the coveted boy was a five-pound Yorkshire terrier.

  “Struts has told me all about you and this amazing store.” Dolly smiled, revealing perfect teeth. “I made Struts bring me here, so I could meet you. I’ve been away from this area for years and just recently moved back. Struts said I could stay with her until I find a place of my own.” As Dolly stroked his fur, Spunky slumped in Olivia’s arms. His head fell against her shoulder, as if he were too relaxed to hold it upright. Olivia was fairly sure she’d heard him sigh.

  “Did your family leave Chatterley Heights when you were quite young?” Olivia felt certain she’d remember a little girl with golden hair and cornflower blue eyes.

  Dolly’s light laugh tinkled like a cookie cutter mobile catching a breeze. “Oh no, I left right after high school. You know, to see the world . . . I actually grew up on a farm outside of Chatterley Heights, but I went to school in Twiterton, so there’s no reason you’d remember me.”

  “To be precise, Dolly grew up on the farm next to ours,” Struts said. “She was just a kid, but we met while I was dating her oldest brother, who turned out to be a jerk. No offense intended, Dolly.”

  “Absolutely none taken,” Dolly said. “Frankie was definitely a jerk, though it’s worth noting that he completed a stint in the Peace Corps and humanized considerably.”

  “Good to know,” Struts said. “Wish I could say the same for my youngest brother, the one Dolly dated later. He joined the financial industry and profited from t
he Great Recession. So you dodged a bullet there, girl.”

  Dolly nodded as her translucent eyes gazed around The Gingerbread House. “Oh, sparkling sugars,” she said, pointing to a shelf along the wall. “I love sparkling sugars.” As she stepped toward the display, Struts grabbed her by the arm.

  “Focus, Dolly,” Struts said. “You had something important to ask Olivia, remember? You ordered me to risk leaving Jason in charge of the garage, so you could come here and get properly introduced.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about leaving Jason in charge,” Dolly said. “He’ll do fine. You’ll see.” Dolly’s eyes strayed toward a cookie cutter display on a nearby table.

  Something about the way Dolly defended Jason caught Olivia’s attention. Was this lovely creature actually interested in her brother? How could that be? Olivia glanced at Struts with raised eyebrows. “You left Jason in charge of the garage?”

  Struts grinned. “Dolly is persuasive. However, I’d rather not leave him on his own all day.”

  “Fond as I am of my baby brother, I second your concern.” Olivia touched Dolly’s shoulder to get her attention. “Struts mentioned that you wanted to ask me something?”

  “Oh, sorry, I’m just so entranced by your store. Yes, it has to do with cookie cutters.” Dolly’s eyes strayed toward a nearby display of cutters in classic shapes, such as stars, hearts, and circles. She picked up a heart shape. “I’ve made some cookie cutters, you know. I love working with metal. Jason is teaching me more about fixing cars. He’s such a skilled—”

  Struts cleared her throat.

  “I’m getting to the point, Struts,” Dolly said cheerfully. “This is just a bit of background for Livie.” Dolly gently placed the heart cutter on the edge of the sales counter. A customer picked it up and walked off with it. “When I first tried to make cutters,” Dolly said, “I worked with aluminum. It’s cheaper. I didn’t feel so bad about messing up. As I became more skilled, I moved on to copper, which really is much more elegant, don’t you think, Livie?” Without pausing for an answer, Dolly said. “When I felt confident enough, I got hold of some thin silver and made a few cutters that people actually wanted to buy, so I kept doing that for a while. I got a bit bored—you know, just doing one thing—so I branched out and tried other ideas, like little fondant cutters.” Dolly’s voice grew increasingly animated. “That gave me the idea of making charms shaped like tiny cookie cutters. I figured those little things would take less silver, plus I could charge more for them because they were jewelry. It’s not that I’m mercenary, you understand, only I needed more—okay, Struts, stop glowering at me. I’m getting to my point, I really am.”