Cookie Dough or Die accsm-1

by Virginia Lowell

  “I’m fine, really,” Olivia insisted. She dragged herself to a sitting position in her hospital bed.” A few bruises, that’s all. Something knocked the breath out of me.”

  “Crashing into a guardrail will do that,” Del said.

  “Is my car salvageable?”

  “It’s a mess, but not as bad as it could have been. Those old Valiants are solid . . . Jason towed your car back to the garage. He’ll look it over and see what he can figure out.”

  “Figure out?”

  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  Olivia closed her eyes and tried to think back. She remembered leaving the Chamberlain house, driving toward Chatterley Heights. Something about a car behind her had caught her attention, worried her. Then it went blank. “Nothing specific.”

  “Your brakes went out,” Del said, “and I want to know why. Jason swears those brakes were in great shape when he tuned your car a month ago.”

  “Can’t brakes simply give out?”

  Del snorted. “Your brother is a first-rate mechanic, not to mention a perfectionist. If there’s a mechanical explanation for those brakes croaking, he’ll find it.”

  “What other explanation would there be?”

  “I want you to stay here in the hospital for a while,” Del said. “Now don’t argue. It’s only for a few hours. Cody will be here until we can locate Ellie and Allan to come get you.”

  “That I do remember. Allan is out of town on business until Monday evening, and Mom is in Clarksville at a kung fu competition. She would have left right after her book group and probably forgot to turn her phone back on.”

  “Well, Maddie, then. She was trying to rush down here when I told her what happened, but I asked her to wait so I could talk to you. She can come after the store closes.”

  “Lay off, will you? I’m a big girl, and I feel fine. I’ve had all the X-rays; nothing is broken or lacerated. I’m a little bruised, that’s all.”

  Del frowned at the floor, a worry wrinkle between his eyebrows.

  Olivia tried to push to a sitting position and winced at the pain that seared through her shoulder. “Del, do you suspect my accident wasn’t really an accident? Is that why you’re so eager to hear what Jason finds, you think someone tampered with my brakes?”

  Del shrugged into his uniform jacket. “I’ll tell you what. If Jason says it was an accident, I’ll let Cody drive you home. Otherwise, I want you here overnight, under guard. So stay put for now.”

  When Olivia’s cell phone rang, she was dressed, sitting up in her hospital bed, and losing her seventh game of hearts to Deputy Cody. She stretched toward her cell, blessing the medication the doctor had given her. She was aware of the pain, she just didn’t care.

  “You okay?” Cody asked.

  “Fine.” She clicked on her phone. “Jason? Speak to me.”

  “I live to obey you.”

  Cody signaled to Olivia that he was stepping out of the room for a moment. She nodded as Jason said, “Del’s on his way, and I wanted to give you a heads-up. Your car had no brake fluid; that’s why the pedal went to the floor without resistance. I found a nice, clean hole, enough to cause a slow leak. No scratching or anything, so it wasn’t done with gravel or rocks.”

  “So you’re saying . . .”

  “Someone tampered with your brakes, Liv. This is serious.”

  “I see. Listen, did you find a bag of cookie cutters on my front seat?”

  “Yeah, miraculously unhurt. I swung by the store and left them with Maddie.”

  “Good.” Olivia hung up before Jason could resume his lecture. She swung her legs off the bed. Wobbly, but serviceable. She grabbed her jacket and headed for the hospital room door.

  No one was in the hallway. Olivia hurried to the stairwell, went down the one flight, and exited through a delivery door at the back of the hospital. Bless those summer weeks she’d spent as a teenage volunteer at Chatterley Heights’s small hospital.

  A young orderly stood on the delivery platform, lighting a cigarette. He glanced at Olivia, but his eyes didn’t linger. Her bruises were hidden by clothing, and at thirty-one, she was beyond his interest.

  The hospital was four blocks north of The Gingerbread House. Olivia zipped up her jacket and tried to look as if she were out for a spring walk. Two teenage girls, deep in conversation, passed without glancing at her. Once she was alone on the sidewalk, Olivia pulled her cell from her jacket pocket and speed-dialed Maddie’s number. The call went to voice mail. Olivia tried the store number next.

  “Gingerbread House, how may I help you?” Maddie sounded less perky than usual.

  “It’s me.”

  “Livie! What’s going on? I’ve been so worried that—”

  “I’ll be there in five minutes. Are any customers in the store?”

  “One woman looking at cookbooks, but she keeps checking her watch. I think she’s waiting for someone.”

  Olivia shot her wrist out of her jacket sleeve and checked her own watch. “It’s almost five. See if you can shove her out the door, gently of course, then lock up. I’ll come in from the alley and stay in the kitchen until you’ve cleared the store.”

  “Ooh, mysterious.” Maddie sounded more like herself.

  “And one more thing. Del will be heading our way. I have a head start, but to be on the safe side, get the store closed fast.”

  “Won’t he come to the back door?”

  “I want to slow him down so you and I can get to the same page. Look, I’m a block away. We’ll talk soon.”

  Maddie was waiting in the kitchen and rushed toward Olivia when she arrived. “Are you sure you should be here? Are you really okay? Is anything broken?” Maddie asked, watching as Olivia shook two pills from a bottle of ibuprofen and washed them down with coffee.

  “I’m fine, really. These things are great for a simple headache,” Olivia said, clutching the pill bottle in her hand.” I’m not sure how much help they’ll be right now, but it’s worth a shot.” She reached in her pocket and pulled out a prescription bottle of Vicadon. “The doctor gave me these for pain. They’re great, but they prevent coherent thought.” Her shock had worn off, to be replaced by aching ribs, a painful shoulder, and a headache. Neck pain would probably follow, according to the doctor who had examined her at the hospital.

  “Let me get this straight.” Maddie hoisted herself onto the worktable and swung her legs. “You were just banged up in a car crash and snuck out of the hospital. Del is about to arrive here via the warpath, ready to order thee to a nunnery, or at least a safe house for the duration. But you and I will co-opt him into helping us flush out whoever killed Clarisse and attacked you and Sam. Have I got that right?”

  “Basically.” Olivia opened a drawer next to the sink and deposited the prescription bottle. If Del saw it, he’d use it as ammunition to keep her out of the action.

  “Not to cast doubt on your master planning skills, but how are we supposed to accomplish all that?” Maddie asked.

  A sharp, imperious rap on the alley door ended their discussion. “Show time,” Olivia said. “Follow my lead.” She held open the door as Del barged into the kitchen.

  Del glared at Maddie, then zeroed in on Olivia. “I should have told the nurse to lock up your clothes.”

  “It’s good to see you, too.”

  Maddie slid off the table and took a clean mug from the sink strainer. “We made a fresh pot of coffee,” she said.

  “I don’t want coffee.” Del crossed his arms over his chest.

  Maddie offered him a filled cup. “Let me take that jacket. It looks snug across the shoulders. Been working out, have you?” Del ignored her. Maddie opened the freezer door, extracted a decorated cookie in the shape of a cardinal, put it on a small plate. She placed the coffee and cookie on the counter next to Del. “Frozen cookies are great for dunking. Sure I can’t take that coat?”

  “Stop talking and leave. I need to talk to Livie alone.”

  Maddie resumed her
seat on the table. “I don’t think so. Over to you, Livie.”

  “We have a couple items to show you,” Olivia said, “and some information we think you’ll want to hear. So sit down, dunk that cookie, and unclench those jaw muscles while I get organized.” When Del didn’t budge, she picked up the cup and plate and plunked them on the table. Pulling out a chair, she said, “Sit. I’ll be right back.”

  Spunky met her at the door with frantic yapping and whining. She’d forgotten all about him, poor little guy. She noticed he’d had an accident of his own, though he had used a puppy pad.

  From the small safe in her office, Olivia removed the bag of Clarisse’s cookie cutters Maddie had stowed away after Jason had delivered them. Olivia also retrieved Clarisse’s letter, dated shortly before her death, and the letter from Faith she had found in the store’s antiques cabinet. She gathered up all the other information she and Maddie had printed off the Internet, including the article about a black-haired dead woman. After dropping all the items into a bag with handles, she picked up her desperate pet and returned to The Gingerbread House.

  The silence was palpable when Olivia and Spunky entered the kitchen. At least Del’s cookie had been nibbled and he had surrendered his jacket. Spunky wriggled out of her arm and raced around the kitchen, conducting a frenetic sniffing exploration. Olivia noticed Del’s eyes following the process, and she was sure his tight expression softened.

  While Maddie refilled mugs with coffee and a plate with frozen cookies, Olivia spread her evidence on the table. Del read the letter from Clarisse first. Then he moved on to Faith’s note. “Who is this Faith?”

  “Not a clue,” Olivia said. “At first I thought it might not be a person but rather a closing for the note—like ‘Keep the Faith’ or something. In her letter, Clarisse mentioned Faith might be a blackmailer. But I’m not so sure. To me, this looks like part of a letter, the end. I suspect Clarisse wanted me to know what was going on, in case something happened to her. She was supremely confident, but realistic, too. I think she sensed danger.”

  Del put the note aside and turned to the two articles about an unidentified, dark-haired woman found dead in the Patuxent River State Park. When he finished, he stared at nothing for some time. Olivia clenched her teeth to keep from interrupting his thoughts. Even Maddie kept still.

  Finally, Del gathered the papers into a pile and placed his palm over them. “Why didn’t you turn these over to me?”

  “I just did,” Olivia said evenly.

  “You know what I mean.”

  Olivia shrugged. “Clarisse entrusted me with those letters, and she didn’t want her privacy violated. She wouldn’t have wanted it violated after her death, either. You kept insisting she died either by accident or by her own hand. I figured you would argue that someone was trying to blackmail her and that’s why she was upset. The letters alone don’t really prove she was murdered. It was those articles Maddie found that began to point me toward a possible motive.”

  “I don’t see the significance of the articles,” Del said.

  “We haven’t found anyone who has heard from Jasmine since she left town so suddenly.”

  “Jasmine?”

  “Jasmine Dubois.” Olivia was trying to keep the impatience out of her voice. “If Clarisse did have a grandchild, Jasmine was most likely to be the mother.”

  Del looked genuinely puzzled. “The name sounds vaguely familiar, but . . .” He lifted his hand and picked up one of the articles about the dead woman. “Ah, I see. This happened six years ago. Eight years ago, my marriage broke up.” He dropped the paper back on his pile and went silent.

  Del had never mentioned his broken marriage to Olivia. Not that she was curious, of course. But if Del began to feel self-conscious, he might not explain what his divorce had to do with Jasmine. With a slight shake of her head, Olivia warned Maddie to stay quiet.

  Del said, “I needed to get away for a while, so I took a deputy job in a little town in northern Minnesota for two years. Learned a lot. Then the sheriff here retired, and I got the job. End of story. So, who is Jasmine and why is she important?”

  Olivia’s energy had begun to flag; she needed a few moments to regroup. She shot a pleading look at Maddie, who gave her an understanding nod.

  “Here’s the scoop,” Maddie said. “Hugh, Edward, and Clarisse all thought Jasmine was wonderful. Daddy Chamberlain and jealous girlfriend, Tammy Deacons, begged to differ. One moment Jasmine was a fixture at Pete’s Diner, raking in tips from admiring customers and hanging out with the Chamberlain brothers. The next moment, she had disappeared, leaving confused and broken hearts, never to be heard from again. Those who knew her seem vague about where she came from in the first place.”

  “I see,” Del said. “So you suspect this unidentified victim might be her? Why?”

  “Timing, long black hair, age about right. Also, as you will note, she had given birth.”

  “That’s a lot of circumstantial evidence.”

  “Agreed, but it’s the best we’ve got. Also, if you’ll look more closely at my Internet searches, you will notice I couldn’t find any evidence that she ever existed. Sort of makes you wonder.” Maddie lifted the last cookie on the plate, a chartreuse bunny rabbit. His ear became history.

  “Six years ago, ordinary people were a lot less likely to find their names on the Internet,” Del said. “We weren’t drowning in social networks.”

  Olivia felt some energy return and jumped in. “What Maddie is trying to say is there are too many unanswered questions and coincidences. Clarisse was murdered; the attacks on Sam and me are indirect proof of that. So who was most likely to murder her, and why? It has to be Hugh or Edward or Tammy. Or some combination of them, including all three working together.”

  “Livie, you’re going off on a—”

  “I think you believe us, but you want us to back off. You intend to take this information and pursue your own investigation. If we stop asking questions, you hope the killer will relax and stop trying to murder people. Am I close?”

  Del rubbed his forehead. He looked more tired than Olivia had ever seen him. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. You two aren’t police officers or trained investigators.”

  “But that’s—”

  “I’m not insulting you, Livie, I’m stating the facts. You are smart, both of you, and you’ve done some good investigating so far. But I’m the one with the training and the resources, not to mention experience.”

  “And a gun,” Maddie said.

  “Which I prefer not to use, but yes. I do agree with your list of suspects, although I doubt Tammy Deacons would know how to tamper with your brakes. Still, she might be involved, as you’ve pointed out. Arguably, Hugh, Edward, and Tammy all have motives, so two or all three of them could be working together.” Del ran his fingers through his hair. “I want you to cancel the memorial for Clarisse, Livie. It’ll only make both of you vulnerable to another attack.”

  Olivia and Maddie exchanged quick glances but said nothing.

  “Listen, Livie, whoever tampered with your car isn’t going to give up. You are in real danger. So are you, Maddie, and maybe your families, too.”

  “I gave Aunt Sadie an early birthday gift,” Maddie said. “A spa getaway in DC. She accused me of wanting the house to myself, but she left anyway, this morning. Won’t be back until Wednesday.”

  Del sank back in his chair. “Have you two listened to a word I’ve said?”

  “You’ve expressed your concerns quite clearly,” Olivia said, “and we aren’t ignoring you. We see the situation differently, that’s all. We need you, but you also need us. Okay, go ahead and roll your eyes, but at least hear me out.”

  Del made a show of checking his watch.

  Olivia reached for the bag of Clarisse’s cookie cutters and emptied them onto the table. “These are why I went to the Chamberlain house in the first place. Somehow, my attacker knew I was there, although Bertha swore up and down she didn’t say a word. My g
uess is she acted nervous or asked a question that made our suspect or suspects suspicious. Anyway, what matters is that these little babies survived intact. We have three suspects for Clarisse’s murder, a cold murder case, two attacks, and maybe a missing child. What we don’t have is a clear, quick way to figure out who among the three suspects is responsible for what.”

  Del said, “As sheriff, I can interview—”

  “You can investigate like crazy,” Olivia said, “but that will take time, probably lots of it, and even then you might not succeed. Maddie can’t keep sending her aunt out of town, and I don’t want to hire a bodyguard for who knows how long. Maddie and I have devised a plan that might flush out the guilty party, or parties, much faster.”

  “How many painkillers have you consumed?”

  “Just ibuprofen. Listen, cookie cutters had meaning for Clarisse. She used them to help her work out problems. I didn’t figure this out until last night—early this morning, really. I was trying to identify the cutters in the photo of her desk—”

  “Which I ordered you to delete, as I recall.”

  “And I remembered Bertha telling me that Clarisse would talk things out with the portrait of her husband, the one that hangs over her office fireplace. Then it hit me. Sometimes when Clarisse picked out cookie cutters at our store, she’d make an offhand remark, like . . .” Olivia picked up the running gingerbread man cutter. “When I sold her this one only a few weeks ago, she said, ‘Run, run as fast as you can.’ That’s a quote from the old Gingerbread Man fairy tale, so I didn’t think anything of it at the time.” Olivia picked up the Dancing Snoopy. “She bought this one the last time I saw her. It’s such a joyful cutter, but I thought Clarisse was going to cry when she looked at it. I remember wondering why she bought it if it made her feel so sad.”

  Del had stopped interrupting. Olivia glanced up to find him studying the cookie cutters. He picked up the baby carriage. “So you’re thinking these might represent people in her life?”

  Olivia nodded. “People, events, I haven’t had time to figure them all out. Maddie and I plan to arrange the cookies in different designs that will look random to anyone who isn’t involved. But we’re hoping to tease a guilty reaction out of those involved in Clarisse’s death.”