Dead Men Don't Eat Cookies

by Virginia Lowell

  “Maddie, you’re scaring me. What does it say?” Olivia closed the kitchen door before Spunky could slip inside. She heard him whine in protest.

  Maddie swept a few disobedient curls off her forehead as she leaned closer to the screen. “This is Binnie’s work. She’s being even nastier than usual, and that’s saying a lot. But not to worry. All we need is a plan, as you keep telling me.”

  “What has Binnie . . . ?” Olivia peered over Maddie’s shoulder. “Oh no, not those photos of Lenora . . .” She pulled over a kitchen chair and sat down. “I was afraid of this,” Olivia said as Maddie scanned through four photos, all showing Lenora on the knee wall ledge in the cookbook nook. Binnie had captured Lenora in different positions, all humiliating. In the first photo, Lenora’s head hung forward as if she were sleeping. The second showed her reaching toward the ceiling as if pleading with the gods. In the third, she bent sideways, her arms flung out as she tried to keep her balance. In the fourth and final photo, Lenora appeared to be falling forward as disembodied hands reached up to catch her.

  “Uh-oh,” Olivia said. “Some people can’t be trusted with smartphones.”

  “Oh, Livie, Lenora did this to herself. She nearly fell twice before Binnie even showed up.”

  “How humiliating,” Olivia said. “And how nasty of Binnie. We need to alert Gwen and Herbie.” She glanced at the clock. “It isn’t midnight yet. Do you suppose one of them might still be up tending to the animals?” Gwen and Herbie Tucker, both certified veterinarians, often stayed up late to nurse a sick or injured animal or to feed a litter of orphaned kittens a good Samaritan had dropped off at Chatterley Paws, their ever-expanding no-kill animal shelter.

  A volley of fierce yaps, emanating from the sales floor, penetrated the closed kitchen door. Olivia spun around, and said, “What on earth . . .” Spunky quieted down for several seconds, then began again. “That doesn’t sound like his normal squirrel alert. I’d better go check.”

  Olivia entered the sleeping sales floor, where the dim lighting cast eerie, shifting shadows as air currents jostled the cookie cutter mobiles hanging from the ceiling. Olivia spotted Spunky’s fluffy tail poking out from under the heavy curtain covering the large front window.

  “Spunks,” Olivia called in a commanding voice. The tail withdrew under the curtain to be replaced by an equally fluffy Yorkie face. “What on earth was all that racket about?” Olivia pushed the curtain aside and peered out at the Gingerbread House porch. Spunky sat beside her and growled at something only he could see or hear. Two lights illuminated the front section of the wraparound porch, where the rocking chair rested, empty and still, beside a small table. Olivia saw no sign of a recent human presence. “Well, Spunks, either you are seeing ghosts or you’re growling at nothing.” She let the curtain fall back into place.

  Olivia returned to the kitchen, where Maddie sat in front of her closed laptop, nibbling on a cookie. “Spunky must have been hallucinating,” Olivia said as she sat down next to Maddie. “Now, where were we?”

  “We were agreeing that we should call Herbie and Gwen to warn them about those awful photos of Lenora,” Maddie said, “and I volunteer to do so as soon as I get home. If they aren’t up with a sick animal, I’ll leave a message. But before I leave, there’s more you need to know.” She lifted the lid of her laptop, and the last photo sprang to life. “Now watch this.” She closed the photo attachment, revealing the original email.

  Olivia stared at the computer screen. “So . . . those photos came as attachments to a blank email? How odd. Can you tell if she sent those photos to anyone else?”

  “No other addresses show up, but she might have used blind copies so we couldn’t tell who else might have received these photos.” Maddie jumped up and began to pace around the kitchen table. “Binnie is taunting us. She wants to make us feel angry and helpless, probably to punish us for all the times we’ve made her look foolish. I’ll bet she intends to publish those photos on her horrible blog, and she wants us to believe we can’t stop her. She knows that everyone in town will recognize our cookbook nook in those photos. It’ll look like we got Lenora drunk . . . which we sort of did, but not on purpose. Picking on poor Lenora to get at us is really low.” Maddie closed the computer lid with a shade too much force. “I need to preserve what power I’ve got left, or we’ll need to go upstairs and fire up your laptop, which, by the way, you really need to replace with something that doesn’t date from the Stone Age. Anyway, Binnie probably sent this email to both our email addresses.”

  Olivia ran her fingers through her flat, tangled hair, which, unlike Maddie’s fluffy curls, inevitably lost energy as the day wore on. “I suspect Binnie has more in mind than mere revenge. This feels like blackmail. Binnie is demonstrating to us how easily she can humiliate poor Lenora. At least, I assume no one else is receiving those photos, though I could be wrong. Binnie wants something from us, but what? When did this message come through?”

  Maddie lifted the lid of her laptop to check the arrival time. “Only about fifteen minutes ago. She probably wanted to be sure we would see it first thing in the morning. We’d feel especially pressured then because we’d be rushing to get the store ready to open. Maybe Binnie hoped we’d respond angrily, without thinking. Then she could quote us in her wretched blog.”

  “Maybe . . .”

  “Livie, if you have a clue what Binnie might be up to, tell me.”

  “I honestly don’t know, Maddie. Let me think about it. Are you still planning to come back here to bake after a few hours of sleep?”

  Maddie nodded her head. “If I’m able to sleep at all, that is. If not, I’ll be back earlier.”

  “Then scoot,” Olivia said. “I’ll lock the door behind you.”

  To avoid the cold, Maddie had begun parking her little yellow VW in the alley behind the store, right next to the kitchen door. She pulled a thick wool sweater over her head before tucking her computer under her arm.

  Olivia held the alley door open, and said, “We need to change the lightbulb in the motion detector, so be careful. And remember, your laptop is about to croak. Shut the poor thing down before you drive off.”

  “Yes, mother,” Maddie said.

  Olivia stood in the doorway to watch as Maddie unlocked her car, slid into the front seat, and locked her doors. Once Maddie had driven away, Olivia began to feel exposed. She stepped back into the kitchen, then quickly closed, locked, and bolted the door behind her.

  Olivia knew she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep until she jotted down a few notes. She settled at the kitchen table and drew a diagram of all the people who were connected, one way or another, to Kenny Vayle. The list included Crystal Quinn, Robbie Quinn, Kurt Kurtzel, Alicia Vayle, and a question mark for Crystal’s unnamed second “husband.”

  Olivia stared at her diagram, but no stunning insights jumped out at her. She brainstormed questions, listing them beneath her drawing:

  If Crystal did have a second husband or companion, who was he, and what happened to him?

  Is Crystal legally married to Robbie Quinn?

  According to Robbie, he and Kenny were once friends. Was Robbie telling the truth when he claimed Kenny’s drinking had destroyed their friendship, or did Kenny and Robbie fight over Crystal? Was Crystal involved with Robbie before Kenny disappeared? If she was, did Kenny know about it?

  Is Kurt Kurtzel definitely the author of the blog post Maddie found? Did he take the photo of Alicia and her father, in which Kenny appears to be drunk and is wearing what looks like a cookie cutter necklace? Why did Kurt post that particular photo of Kenny?

  According to Alicia, on the day Kenny disappeared, he’d said he was meeting with someone about a job. Was this true? Who was that person?

  Not much of a list, Olivia thought as she read through what she had written. She had yet to determine how the people on her list might connect to one another or whether they
had a specific reason to kill Kenny Vayle—who might not have been murdered, after all. If the bones in the wall belonged to someone other than Kenny, she was wasting her time . . . although there might still be a mystery to pursue. At the top of the page, Olivia wrote Call Del! She folded the paper and wedged it inside the pocket of her jeans. It was a start, she told herself. Maybe a few hours of sleep would point her in a clearer direction. She would feel better when she had a plan.

  * * *

  Olivia yawned as she entered the foyer and locked the Gingerbread House door behind her. Spunky squirmed out of his mistress’s arms and trotted to the front door, which opened onto the porch. He scratched at the door and whined.

  Olivia sighed. “Oh, Spunky, must you?”

  The little Yorkie turned around to yap at her, then tilted his head and whimpered. He left no doubt that he needed to use the outside facilities before bed. Olivia had run out of puppy pads, so it would be unwise to deny him. “Oh, all right, but no dawdling. You can stay in bed all night, but I have to get up early, so no chasing after nocturnal creatures.”

  Olivia hooked Spunky’s leash onto his collar. He couldn’t be trusted to resist the siren call of the squirrels. When she opened the front door, Spunky strained at his leash, pulling Olivia through the door and across the porch toward the front steps. She had no time to do more than toss the door shut behind her. Spunky’s little claws slid on the wood floor of the porch as his mere five pounds tried to yank Olivia down the steps. She followed willingly, hoping Spunky would complete his mission quickly. He obliged as soon as he reached the front lawn.

  “Good boy,” Olivia said. “Now let’s go to bed.”

  Spunky had other ideas. With a hard yank on his leash, he insisted Olivia follow him. After a few steps, he came to a sudden stop, ears perked up. His rigid stance and intense concentration sent a shiver down Olivia’s spine. “Spunks? What is it?” she whispered. His little head tilted to one side, as if he were listening to sounds no human ear could hear. What Olivia did hear was his low, throaty growl, and she took it seriously. In a quiet, calm voice, she said, “Okay, Spunks, let’s go inside now. Come on.” The plucky little guy stood his ground. His ears shifted subtly as he listened to the darkness. Keeping his leash taut, Olivia crept toward him until she could scoop him up with her free arm. “Gotcha,” she whispered in his ear.

  Holding Spunky firmly against her chest, Olivia scooted across the lawn. As she climbed the steps to the front porch, she glanced up at the front door. It had blown partly shut, revealing a sheet of paper flapping in the wind. Olivia shifted Spunky to her hip and flattened the paper against the door to get a better look. She could see writing, but she couldn’t make out the words in the weak porch light.

  The paper had been tacked to the door. Olivia would need both hands to remove it. “In you go, kiddo.” She thrust Spunky inside the foyer and slammed the door behind him. He yelped with alarm, and Olivia broke off a bit of thumbnail in her haste to remove the tack from the door. “It’s okay, Spunky. I’ll be there in two secs,” Olivia shouted. She hoped no one but Spunky was nearby to hear her. The tack fell to the porch floor. A gust of wind threatened to run off with the paper, but Olivia grabbed the note in time.

  Olivia squeezed through the front door, fearful that Spunky might make a run for it, but he was more interested in making sure his human hadn’t abandoned him. Rather than rush through the tiny opening, Spunky stood on his hind legs and begged to be picked up. With her free hand, Olivia lifted him to her chest. “Good, good boy,” she murmured as she buried her face in his silky hair. Olivia lowered Spunky to the foyer floor so she could hold on to the mysterious paper while she unlocked the door to the stairs leading up to her apartment. As soon as the door cracked open, Spunky squeezed through and bounded up the steps.

  Olivia, on the other hand, could no longer stand the suspense. She sat down on the bottom step of the staircase. Her hand shook as she turned the paper over, half expecting to find a threat. Despite the dim light and the faint, scratchy writing, she was able to make out the brief handwritten message: If you want to know what happened to Kenny Vayle, follow the cookie cutter.

  Puzzled, Olivia read the note again, then again. Questions jumbled together in her tired mind: Who might have written such a note? Why leave it for me, rather than the police? Which cookie cutter—the pierced heart on Kenny’s necklace? What might “follow the cookie cutter” possibly mean? Olivia was inclined to suspect she was the victim of a silly joke. It was common knowledge in Chatterley Heights that she and Maddie often found themselves involved in murder investigations, and, as always, rumors about the bones had spread quickly. Someone might have thought it amusing to taunt her with a puzzling “hint” about Kenny Vayle’s disappearance. The name Binnie Sloan came to mind.

  Loud yapping from the top of the stairs reminded Olivia that a tired, impatient Yorkie was waiting at her apartment door. “We’re lucky we don’t have any neighbors,” Olivia muttered. “Okay, Spunks, I get the point. Now chill, or I might be tempted to skip your bedtime treats.” When he heard the word “treats,” Spunky yapped and pawed at the door. “I don’t blame you for being impatient,” Olivia said as she slid her key into the lock. “It’s two a.m. We’ve both been up way too late.”

  When the door opened, Spunky raced inside and made for the kitchen. Olivia heard his nails clatter on the tile floor. Then she heard the phone ring. At two a.m.? She sprinted to the kitchen, almost tripping over Spunky, who had been watching for her from the entrance. He yipped in alarm as she lunged for the telephone receiver. Panting for breath, she said, “Hello? Hello?”

  After a moment of hesitation, a tentative voice asked, “Are you all right? Livie, tell me at once if you need help.”

  “Del. Jeez, you scared the life out of me. It’s two o’clock in the morning. Has something happened?” Olivia’s shaky legs threatened to give out. The kitchen phone, an old model that had come with the house, had a long cord that allowed her to slide down the wall to the floor.

  “Livie, I’m so sorry, I know it’s the middle of the night, but . . . You’re okay, right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine, or I will be as soon as my heart returns to my chest.”

  “Good.” Del sounded relieved. “Listen, I’m at home, and someone left a disturbing message on my personal cell phone. The number didn’t register on my caller ID, but it had come through at 1:37 a.m.” Del hesitated. “You’re sure everything is okay? If someone is threatening you, say ‘I’m getting ready for bed,’ and I’ll be there.”

  “I’m fine, Del, honestly. A bit rattled, that’s all. Long story.” Olivia rolled to her knees and stood up. Her legs wobbled, but she remained upright. Good sign.

  “I want to hear that story,” Del said, “because I suspect it might relate to the message I got. I’d raced off without my phone earlier, around eleven thirty p.m., after I got a call on my work cell. Turned out to be a false alarm. The message on my personal cell was waiting for me when I got home. Livie, what’s that noise?”

  “It’s Spunky whining,” Olivia said. “He is suffering from serious Milk Bone withdrawal. Give me two secs, and I’ll quiet him down.” She left the receiver on the counter and threw Spunky two Milk Bone treats, each broken in half. After retrieving the phone, she sank onto a kitchen chair. “Spunky is happily crunching, so tell me what your phone message said.”

  Del’s voice shifted to professional mode. “According to the anonymous informant, someone had been skulking around The Gingerbread House at about midnight. Said skulker—no hint as to gender—sneaked up to your porch and tried the front door, probably to see if it was locked. Then the person left. The informant hung up without leaving a name or any explanation as to why they’d waited so long to report the incident.”

  Having crunched his bedtime treats, Spunky gazed drowsily up at Olivia. When she did not reach down to pick him up, he jumped onto her lap and curled into a sleepy b
all. Olivia, however, felt wide-awake. “The informant said this was around midnight?”

  “Right, but maybe some kid was playing a trick on me. After all, if you haven’t noticed anything suspicious, it might just—”

  “I might have noticed something,” Olivia said. “I can’t be precise, but it was around midnight when Spunky started barking up a storm from the sales floor. Maddie and I were in the kitchen. I went out to the floor to check, but I didn’t see anything through the front window. If someone had been at the front door, I wouldn’t have seen him from the window. Was the informant’s voice male or female?”

  “I know what you’re thinking, Livie. Maybe the informant was also the person who visited your porch. That might explain why he or she waited to report the incident. I know it doesn’t make sense to report oneself, but I’ve seen stranger things. Some folks just get a kick out of confusing the police.”

  “Del, about this informant . . . You haven’t said whether it was a man or a woman. Couldn’t you tell from the voice?”

  Del’s sigh conveyed his frustration. “Not for certain. The voice was hushed and muffled, as if he or she were afraid of being overheard.”

  “Or recognized,” Olivia said. “Listen, Del, there really was someone on the porch, although I can’t be certain of the time. About thirty minutes ago, I called it a night and went out to the sales floor to get Spunky. He desperately needed to ‘go out,’ in the doggie sense. So out we went. Short version, when we went back to the porch, I realized there was a piece of paper tacked to my beautiful front door, for which, if there is justice in the world, someone ought to pay.”

  “There is precious little justice in the world,” Del said. “About that sheet of paper . . .”

  “Hang on.” Olivia retrieved the paper. “It’s a note written in block letters with pencil. It says, If you want to know what happened to Kenny Vayle, follow the cookie cutter.”