“You never mentioned this to me,” Maddie said. “Well? What was the argument about?”
“I don’t know. Like I said, all I could hear was a man’s angry voice. Except, wait…I did hear one word. The voice was distorted by rage. I think he said the word ‘lied,’ but I’m not absolutely positive.”
Maddie scrolled to the next photo, which showed a man leaving the band shell. His face was hidden as he looked down at the steps. Olivia recognized the spare, bowlegged figure she’d seen. “That’s Wade. I recognized him a few seconds later when he turned to stare at me.”
“The last two photos show a man walking away,” Maddie said as she scrolled quickly through them. “So we have our answer, more or less. Wade had some sort of argument with Trevor, Dougie, and Howie, and now Trevor is dead. That doesn’t prove Wade killed Trevor. Maybe Wade drove drunk and Del arrested him. Maybe Binnie, being Binnie, heard about the arrest and connected the dots to conclude that Del arrested Wade for murder.”
“I agree Binnie is prone to wild leaps of logic,” Olivia said, “but for once she might be right.” She flipped open her cell phone and tried Stacey’s home phone, then her cell, and finally her number at work. “Still no answer, only the usual recorded messages. I have a really bad feeling about this.”
“But Livie, why would Wade Harald, of all people, dump Trevor on our porch with a cookie stuffed in his mouth and a gavel shape burned on his cheek? Wade is normally a sweet guy, except…”
“Except when he’s been drinking,” Olivia said. “Maddie, Wade sounded so angry that night. Trevor must have wronged him in some way. They went to different high schools, but maybe they crossed paths as teenagers.” Olivia ran her fingers through her tangled hair. She couldn’t remember when she’d last washed it. Thank goodness the store was closed.
“Do you really believe Wade would kill Trevor over some incident from high school? Who does that?”
Olivia thought back to the slights she had experienced in high school. She remembered the worst of them, perpetrated by a pretty, popular cheerleader named Sara. Sara was competitive, with a jealous streak. She had to be the best at everything. Olivia had outscored her on an important math test. Sara had taken revenge by hinting to Olivia that the quarterback, also popular, had a crush on her. Then Sara told the quarterback that Olivia was telling everyone they were a couple, which enraged the quarterback’s girlfriend. Olivia could still feel her deep embarrassment, as well as her fury. She’d certainly felt like murdering Sara. However, Olivia’s life got better after high school. She forgot those feelings, and she hadn’t thought about Sara until now. Wade Harald hadn’t been as lucky. His life had been unraveling for years, and he’d turned to alcohol for comfort.
“All I know,” Olivia said, “is how angry Wade sounded on Wednesday evening. If he’d had a weapon, I think he might well have used it.”
“But where would Wade come up with a gavel cookie cutter and a decorated cookie?” Maddie asked. “I can’t imagine him taking the time and effort to…to do what was done to Trevor.”
“Maybe he had help.”
“Not from Stacey,” Maddie said. “I refuse to believe that.”
“Wade is suggestible when he’s been drinking, and he is easily enraged. If someone pushed the right buttons and gave Wade a little encouragement, I’m afraid I could see him as the killer,” Olivia said. “For Stacey’s sake, I hope it didn’t happen that way.”
“But, Livie, could you really see Wade arranging Trevor’s body on our porch? And again I ask, what about the gavel brand? The cookie in his mouth? That took planning ahead. Wade is not a planner ahead.”
“I know.” Fear seeped through her brain like sludge, slowing her ability to reason. “He is a hothead, though.”
“So you’re thinking there are two murderers?”
“I’m thinking we have three other suspects: Dougie, Howie, and Jennifer. All three strike me as coolheaded. And I’m thoroughly convinced they are all hiding something.”
Chapter Twelve
The worktable in The Gingerbread House held a mountain of undecorated cookies by mid-afternoon. Olivia and Maddie had baked their way through twenty pounds of flour, all but a few cups of their sugar supply, and every available drop of lavender essence, rosewater, and lemon and vanilla bakery emulsion. They’d also run out of clean baking equipment, and the dishwasher was full.
“Do I look as bedraggled as I feel?” Olivia asked.
Maddie looked her up and down. “Worse. I remember your hair used to be auburn. Now it’s white. Sad, really.” Maddie dug through the clutter on the kitchen counter to find a pen and a pad of notepaper. “I’ll make a list and ask Jennifer to do some shopping. Today is Thursday, so she might have to order an overnight delivery of flavorings.” She plunked down on a chair. “But first, I need to catch my breath. I know as soon as I rejoin the world, hordes of people will pummel me with questions about Trevor’s murder.”
“Tell them to ask the police. Say you’ve been too busy to even think about it. Pretend to faint.” Olivia filled the dishwasher soap dispenser and punched the on button.
“Oh yeah, that’ll work. Remember where you are, Livie.” Maddie stretched her arms above her head. “Sorry, I’m a bit cranky. Maybe I need a teensy nap. There’s a little space under the kitchen table I could curl up in.”
“Not a chance.” Olivia dug her apartment key out of her jeans pocket. “Use my guest room. Sleep as long as you need to, and I’ll keep cleaning the kitchen. Maybe I’ll turn the phones on and catch up on messages.”
“Not without me, you won’t,” Maddie said, perking up. “What if we’ve missed another development? What if Del has identified Trevor’s killer? What if it isn’t Wade Harald, after all? Del would call to tell you, wouldn’t he?”
“Probably not. He’d be too busy.” Olivia sank into a chair and put up her feet on the edge of Maddie’s seat. “Okay, let’s revive the phones and rejoin the world together.” Olivia and Maddie retrieved their cells and switched them on. Neither phone rang instantly. “The excitement must be waning,” Olivia said. “On the other hand, I have fourteen new voice mail messages and twelve text messages.”
“I win,” Maddie said. “I have seventeen new voice mail messages and twenty-three text messages. One is from Jennifer Elsworth. She begs our forgiveness again and offers to take care of the store while we prepare for the party. Shall we forgive and forget as I initially told her we would?”
Olivia ran her fingers through her tangled hair and a dusting of flour fell onto her jeans. “I have serious questions about Jennifer’s reliability, among other things, but we’ll need her help. Tell her yes. We can’t work Bertha to death.” Olivia scrolled through her own messages and missed calls. “That makes three calls from my mother.” She listened to the messages in order of time. Ellie’s first two messages were cheerful and supportive, so Olivia deleted them. When she listened to the third call, she knew at once that her mother was worried about more than just the dead body on her daughter’s porch.
“Okay, Jennifer is duly forgiven and assigned to work tomorrow morning,” Maddie said as she sent a text message.
“Maddie, do you have any messages from Stacey Harald?”
“Not a one, why?”
“Stacey left one short message early this afternoon, asking if she could talk to me, but that’s all. About half an hour ago, Mom called. She wants me to come over this evening if I can. She and Allan had a surprise visit from Stacey, along with both her kids. Stacey asked if they could stay. Mom said she seemed really shaken up.”
“Wow, things must be bad out there,” Maddie said. “Stacey is usually so unshakeable, even about her family.”
“We certainly have been in our own little cookie world,” Olivia said. “Unbeknownst to us, the press—as in the notorious paparazzi—has descended upon Chatterley Heights. That’s what the rest of my voice mails and texts are about.”
“Mine, too.” Maddie jumped to her feet and stretched towar
d the ceiling. “With the most important party of my life coming up the day after tomorrow…”
“I know, Maddie. I’m so sorry all this is happening right now. This is supposed to be your time.”
“Oh, I’m not fussing about that,” Maddie said. “We’re missing all the action. We can’t bake or decorate right now, anyway. Not until we have clean dishes, cooled cookies, and more ingredients. I’m inclined to give Jennifer a test run right away and see how she does with the shopping. Give me a few minutes to send our lists to her via email.” Maddie cocked her eyebrow as she gave Olivia a once-over. “You could use a shower and a change of clothes. Meanwhile, I’ll dust myself off while I wait to hear from Jennifer. Then, my sleuthing friend, let us make tracks for your childhood home and sink ourselves knee deep into this mess. Remember, Stacey Harald and I go way back, too. Stacey and her kids need us! Or was that over-the-top?”
“A bit,” Olivia said. But Maddie wasn’t listening. She’d already begun to pound out an email to Jennifer.
* * *
Olivia, Maddie, Spunky, and a box of cookies arrived at the Greyson home by early evening. Both Olivia and Maddie had decided to shower and change, assuming that hugs would be forthcoming. When Olivia rang the doorbell, the living room curtain twitched. “I think Mom is having flashbacks again,” she said. The front door opened a sliver, enough for Ellie’s slender arm to shoot out, clutch her daughter’s sleeve, and yank her into the house.
Ellie poked her head outside and hissed, “Make it snappy, Maddie. They are out there, I can feel it.” Maddie barely made it inside before Ellie slammed the door.
“Wow,” Olivia said, “you sixties types are paranoid.” She noted that her mother had dressed for the occasion in a rainbow-colored, tie-dyed blouse and long, matching skirt that Olivia remembered seeing when, as a child, she had hidden in the back of her mother’s closet. Olivia felt a prick of envy about how well the outfit still fit.
Ellie reverted to her yoga-centered self and said, “Nonsense, Livie, dear. It isn’t paranoia when the danger is real.” Ellie pried the box of cookies from Maddie’s stunned grasp. “Good, you brought sustenance. We will need it. Now, hugs all around, and then let’s get to work.”
Ellie led the way to her husband’s home office at the rear of the house. The room had once been Olivia’s ornithologist father’s office, where he had spent days and evenings bringing bird behavior to life on the page. His charming, lively books became minor bestsellers and provided a comfortable, though not lavish, lifestyle for the Greyson family. At least they had not been left destitute when he died in his late forties.
When Ellie ushered the group into Allan’s office, Olivia felt as if she’d walked into a spy novel. With the blinds closed and only the computer screen for light, the room’s inhabitants were hard to recognize at first. As her eyes adjusted, Olivia recognized Stacey Harald, seated in Allan’s guest chair, with her teenage son and daughter next to her, cross-legged on the rug.
“Livie and Maddie,” Stacey said in her rich alto voice. “It’s about time.” She joined her old friends, looping an arm around each of them. “The Three Mooseketeers, together again.”
Olivia grinned at the confused look on her stepfather’s face. “We three go back to elementary school, Allan.”
“Yes, well, I hope the other students didn’t call you mooseketeers,” Allan said. “Or if they did, I hope you punched a few of their noses.”
With her gentle laugh, Ellie said, “Now Allan, violence wasn’t necessary. In high school, all three girls sprouted up at the same time. They took a while to—shall we say, ‘even out?’—so their legs were unusually long and slender.”
“Oh,” Allan said. “So it wasn’t an insult?” He looked so perplexed that everyone laughed.
“It’s okay, dear,” Ellie said. “We are laughing for you, not at you. You see, sometimes it is wiser to turn an insult into a joke.”
“Ah,” Allan said. “Well, then, let’s get to work. I’ve taken the liberty of jotting down a few ideas to help guide us through this troubling situation.” He handed around some typed pages from his computer.
“Allan, dear, this isn’t a business plan,” Ellie said.
“Wait, Mom. Plans are good,” Olivia said as she scanned Allan’s list. “There are some good ideas here. Although I suspect Del might object to the part about emailing us a daily report about the investigation.”
“Well, I was assuming that Del, being the sheriff, would be the one to find the real murderer,” Allan said. “That is, after all, his job.”
“Dear, sweet Allan,” Ellie said. She opened the cake pan filled with the last of the frozen cookies Maddie had prepared to serve at The Gingerbread House. They were simple round cookies, all decorated quickly with leftover icing. “Have a cookie, dear.”
Allan accepted his demotion with good humor, took a cookie, and passed the pan to Stacey.
“So,” Ellie said. “I am game for anything. Livie, Maddie—you have experience with these situations. What would you like me to do? Infiltrate the police department?”
Stacey’s thirteen-year-old daughter, Rachel, snickered. She stopped at once when her mother glanced at her with dangerously slitted eyes.
“Mom, you and Allan are doing a great job of protecting Stacey and her kids from the paparazzi. Keep it up.”
“Ellie, Allan,” Stacey said, “we don’t want to put you in a tough situation. We’ll have to emerge at some point.”
“Only when you are good and ready,” Ellie said. “Meanwhile, you can count on us to scare off those vultures. I would feel better, though, if I could do something more active.”
“There’s one thing you could do, Mom. You could bake some cookies for us to offer at the store. We’ll have to open again tomorrow, and we’ve run through all our extra cookies, ingredients, and time. Any type of cookie will do. Drop cookies would be fine. We’ll need only about half a batch, so Rachel and Tyler could eat the rest, assuming they help you with the baking.”
Rachel looked mildly interested, but Tyler said, “I’d rather just eat the extras.”
“I’m sure you would, Tyler,” his mother said, “but that won’t happen. If Rachel is the only helper, she gets the extra cookies.”
Rachel stuck out her tongue at her brother. Tyler made a face at his sister, and said, “Okay, fine, whatever.” Stacey smirked, and Ellie winked at Stacey. For a moment, Olivia felt left out of the Mothers Club. Well, at least she and Maddie could try to prevent Wade Harald from being wrongly convicted of Trevor Lane’s murder…unless, that is, their friend Stacey’s husband, the father of her children, was a killer.
“Stacey, could I have a word with you before Maddie and I take off?”
Stacey’s eyes widened, though her kids didn’t seem alarmed by the question. “Sure,” Stacey said. “Tyler, Rachel, you two start winnowing down that pile of homework. You can help Ellie bake after you’ve finished.”
Tyler groaned. “But, Mom—”
“Right now.”
The teenagers shuffled off toward the bedrooms that used to belong to Olivia and Jason. Ellie had handed the box of cookies to Stacey as she followed her kids into the hallway. “There’s coffee in the carafe,” Ellie called after Stacey as she headed toward the kitchen.
Maddie stifled a yawn. Olivia pulled her aside, and said quietly, “Maybe you should go home and get some rest. You have a big day coming up very soon.”
“Not a chance.”
“Please?”
“You want to question Stacey alone, don’t you?” Maddie sounded miffed.
“I’m afraid two of us might feel intimidating.”
“Well…Jennifer did promise to deliver our baking supplies tonight, so we could bake first thing in the morning. I might be able to start another batch of cookie dough.”
After Maddie left, Olivia went to the kitchen, hoping to find Stacey. When she flipped on the kitchen light, Olivia found her friend hunched over the table, cradling her face in her hand
s. Olivia poured two cups of coffee and sat down across from her.
Stacey slumped back in her chair. “I know what you’re going to ask me. You want to know if I think Wade might actually have killed Trevor Lane. The answer is, I don’t know for sure. How could I? Wade is a gentle guy at heart. He gets argumentative when he drinks, and I hate that, but he has never, ever raised a hand toward me or the kids. Sometimes I’ve been afraid he would, but he hasn’t.” Stacey sipped her coffee and shook her head. “Usually, he starts to cry. I guess that’s pathetic, but it sure isn’t violent.”
“Thanks, Stacey, that’s helpful,” Olivia said, although she knew it wouldn’t save Wade from a murder charge.
Stacey ran her fingers through her tousled blond waves. Her fingernails looked bitten to the quick, and brown roots showed along her hairline. Olivia felt a wave of concern for her tough childhood friend. In high school, Stacey had been an anchor for Olivia as she coped with the death of her father. That she was tall, willowy, and gorgeous had never spoiled Stacey’s down-to-earth nature. She’d come from poverty, which she’d been determined to escape. And she had. Stacey was smart and focused. She had worked her way through junior college, landed a job as a secretary at Chatterley Heights Elementary, and had quickly risen to office manager.
Olivia didn’t waste time treading softly. “Stacey, is there a reason why Wade started drinking again?”
Stacey opened the box of cookies and selected a bunny rabbit with pink stripes and a purple mustache. Sounding, for a moment, more like herself, she said, “My, you’re a fine-looking fellow,” and bit off an ear.
Understanding her friend’s need to gather her thoughts, Olivia excused herself to search for two small plates in her mother’s frequently reorganized cupboards. In a drawer, she found two cloth napkins.
One Dead Cookie Page 15
