A Cookie Before Dying

by Lowell, Virginia

  Charlie Critch and Olivia’s younger brother, Jason, crowded into the small office, filling it with movement and noise. The smell of gasoline trailed in behind them. They tore into the plate of cookies as if they hadn’t seen food for days. A turquoise race car decorated with black flames and a royal blue baby carriage with tulip-red wheels disappeared into their mouths without even a murmur of admiration for their artistry.

  “Hey, Sis, this latté is cold,” Jason said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Charlie Critch gave her a shy smile and toasted her with his latté. “Thanks for the coffee and cookies, Ms. Greyson.”

  “Call me Livie.” Olivia tried to envision Charlie as an enraged store invader, but his quiet, respectful voice made it tough. At twenty, he still had the gangly look of a teenager who has just reached his full height, which Olivia estimated to be about six-foot-two. At six-foot-one, her brother was a shade shorter. Both young men had neatly trimmed brown hair and slender builds. In fact, now that she saw the two together, both of them looked similar to the man she’d seen running away from Charlene’s store.

  Jason snatched the last cookie on the plate, a burnt-orange airplane with cinnamon candies for windows. As it flew toward his mouth, he glanced at Charlie’s thin face and hesitated. Without comment, Jason cracked the plane in half and handed a piece to the younger and clearly ravenous man.

  “You’re Charlene’s brother, aren’t you?” Olivia asked Charlie. “How have you been settling in here in Chatterley Heights?”

  “Great.” Charlie smiled, revealing a mouthful of well-tended, perfectly straight teeth with a clump of orange icing stuck between the front incisors. “I love working on cars,” he added, with a sideways glance at Struts.

  “It’s too bad about Charlene’s store,” Olivia said.

  Charlie’s boyish face tightened, but he didn’t comment.

  “Any idea who might have done such a thing to your sister? I mean, you’ve both lived here only a short time, so it’s hard to believe anyone in Chatterley Heights would have developed a grudge against her.” Olivia held her breath, hoping she hadn’t overdone it.

  To her surprise, it wasn’t Charlie who reacted. Her brother, who had been slouching on the corner of Struts’s desk, straightened and slid to his feet. He thrust out his chin in what Olivia called his bulldog look. “Grudge? Who said anything about a grudge? Charlene’s a sweet kid. No reason anyone would want to hurt her.” Jason slipped his hands in his pockets and retreated to the windowsill.

  Struts winked an eye at Olivia. “How about it, Charlie? I believe we can safely assume you’ve known your sister longer than any of us. Can you think of anyone who might have it in for her?”

  Charlie crossed his arms as if he thought his chest might escape from his body. “No one,” he said. “Maybe some people don’t take to Charlene right off the bat, but she’s always stuck by me. She doesn’t deserve to get hurt.”

  While Olivia digested Charlie’s information, spoken and tacit, Struts pushed the cookie box toward the two young men. “Sustenance,” she said. “Boys need their daily sugar and butter.” Jason was nearest, so he reached into the box and plucked out a burgundy spaceship with pale pink polka dots, which he kept for himself. He handed Charlie a Santa’s sleigh in mint green with grape trim.

  “Hey Charlie,” Struts said, giving Olivia a glance filled with meaning. “Since you’re here, does that Toyota parked out on the street look like it’s got a flat?” She nodded her head toward the office window behind her desk. Charlie crossed the room, offering Olivia a clear view of his back.

  “Which Toyota?” Charlie asked, as his head moved from left to right. “There’s five of them. Two red Corollas, one of them this year’s model; a blue Camry with a dent in the driver’s door; a green Camry, maybe ten years old; and a red truck.”

  “I think it was one of the red Corollas,” Struts said. “Or maybe the truck.”

  Jason joined Charlie at the window. Struts smirked at Olivia as both of the men’s heads swiveled back and forth, hunting for a flat tire. “I think your eyesight’s going, Boss,” Jason said, turning to face her. “All the tires look fine to me.”

  “Me, too,” Charlie said. “Want us to go out and take a closer look?”

  “Nah, I guess I was dreaming about more walk-in business,” Struts said. “Okay, guys, you’ve finished off the cookies, so back to work.” Once the door had closed behind them, she turned to Olivia. “Well?”

  “Honestly, I can’t be sure. Charlie doesn’t seem the type to smash up a store, and it sounds like he’s close to his sister, but . . .” Olivia shrugged and tossed her empty latté cup into the wastebasket as she rose to leave.

  “Fine mechanic, too,” Struts said. “I sure hope he isn’t a crazed criminal, I’d hate to lose him. Besides, Jason would probably kill him if he hurt Charlene.”

  “What . . . ?” Olivia gaped at Struts.

  Struts laughed. “And here I thought mothers were the last to know. Jason has quite a thing, as they say, for Charlene. No accounting for taste, but he is male, so there you are.”

  “Jason and Charlene,” Olivia said. The thought of Charlene Critch as a sister-in-law made detached compassion a tougher sell. “Are they getting serious? Does Mom really know about this?”

  “Yeah, Ellie is aware. As for getting serious, Jason clearly is. Charlene, who knows? She’d flirt with a fire hydrant if it wore pants.”

  “If that woman hurts my baby brother, I’ll . . .” Olivia stopped herself in time. She was too familiar with murder to say it lightly. She thought it, though.

  Struts opened her desk drawer and rummaged inside it. Slamming the drawer shut with her foot, she reached across to Olivia. “Here.” She held out the electric green Valiant with the smashed front end. “You need a cookie.”

  Chapter Three

  Olivia returned to The Gingerbread House to find the kitchen air conditioner at war with the overworked oven. Maddie had been busy. Cut-out cookies were cooling on three racks, while four lengths of parchment paper held more cut-out shapes ready for baking.

  “Is that lime zest I smell?” Olivia asked.

  Maddie pulled an iPod bud from her ear. “You found a crime nest?”

  “Close. Lime zest. Did you put lime zest in the cookie dough?”

  “It seemed appropriate,” Maddie said. “What did you find out at the garage?”

  “I’m about to call Del, you can listen in.” Olivia called Del’s cell phone, hoping to avoid having to leave a message.

  Del answered in one ring; at least it sounded like Del’s voice. “Harrow?”

  “Del, is that you? You sound like you’re drowning.”

  “Eating an egg salad sandwich in my squad car. So, did you get a look at Charlie Critch?”

  “I met Charlie and got some background about him from Struts Marinsky over at the garage. Also, I got a good look at his back. But I still can’t be sure he’s the man I saw. He’s got the right build and short brown hair, but . . . The intruder in Charlene’s store seemed older to me. I’m not sure why. Maybe it was his voice.”

  “What about his voice?” Del said.

  “The intruder’s voice was angry, harsh. Charlie struck me as shy, with a quiet, boyish voice. I asked how his sister was holding up after the break-in, and I’d swear the kid almost crumpled. He tried to hold it in, but he was quite upset. He seems to care for her.”

  A soft murmur came from Maddie’s direction: “It takes all kinds. . . .”

  “One other thing,” Olivia said. “I’d swear he was hiding something. He seemed evasive about whether he knew of anyone who might have a grudge against Charlene. He insisted no one would want to hurt her, but then he said she ‘didn’t deserve’ to be hurt. Anyway, it seemed odd to me. Also, Struts thinks Charlie is having money problems.”

  “Okay, I’ll do some more digging,” Del said. “You could keep your ears open, but otherwise, you’re relieved of duty.”

  “What have you du
g up so far?” Olivia asked. “Anything about Charlie’s past? Does Charlene have a secret life?”

  “Give me a break, Livie. You know I can’t share the details of an ongoing investigation with you.”

  “Hey, you sent me off to look at a suspect for you—which cost me two dozen decorated cookies, by the way.”

  Del chuckled. “You’re right, I should reimburse you for the cookies, so how about—”

  “What, a dozen jelly doughnuts?”

  “Dinner tonight. At that new restaurant, Bon Vivant. My treat.”

  “Oh.” Olivia felt Maddie’s sudden interest, despite her intense focus as she centered a new batch of cookies in the oven. “Can’t,” Olivia said, attempting a monotone. “Gotta meet my mom at her rumba lesson at seven.”

  “I’d pay good money to see that,” Del said. “How about an early dinner? It’ll be less crowded, anyway. That place is getting popular.”

  “Well . . .”

  “Good, I’ll pick you up at five. And Livie, I want you to stay in one piece, so thanks for your help, but don’t start investigating on your own, okay?”

  “I’ll meet you there. I need my car,” Livie said before flipping shut her cell phone. She had half a mind to stand him up. On the other hand, even an early dinner called for a glass or two of wine, which might relax Del’s professional boundaries. Olivia’s interest was more than curiosity. The break-in at The Vegetable Plate was too close for comfort.

  Maddie opened the oven door to pull out a sheet of cookies, baked to perfection. A puff of hot air, buttery sweet and edged with citrus, escaped into the kitchen. “So what’s this about you and the rumba?” she asked. “Who are you, and what have you done with my dignified friend?” She opened a cupboard door and began pulling down small bottles of gel food coloring for icing. “Unless . . .” She spun around, a bottle of electric purple clutched to her chest. “You’re taking lessons so you and Del can go dancing, aren’t you? The rumba is an excellent choice.” With the bottle of purple gel coloring as her partner, Maddie began to dance around the kitchen worktable. Maddie’s sensuous hip action made Olivia wish she had suggested that her mother meet her for breakfast the next morning instead.

  Maddie swayed back to the cupboards, where she retrieved confectioners’ sugar, meringue powder, and lemon extract for the royal icing. She added a set of measuring cups and deposited her armload on the table, next to the mixer. “So,” she said as she opened the package of meringue. “You and Del. Tell me all.”

  Olivia lunged for one of the cooled, undecorated cookies. “I’ll die if I don’t try one of these right away.” She nibbled off a protruding part that looked like a stem. “Mmm,” she said, closing her eyes. She went for another bite, then stopped and frowned at the cookie in her hand. Her gaze traveled over the racks of cooling cookies and moved on to the rows of undecorated shapes. “I thought you were preparing for Gwen and Herbie’s baby shower. These don’t look like baby carriages or rattles or onesies to me.”

  Maddie poured confectioners’ sugar into the mixing bowl, wielding her measuring cups with focused nonchalance.

  “This is an apple, right?” Olivia held out her half-eaten cookie. She then pointed toward freshly baked cookies cooling on a sheet of parchment paper. “That one looks like a carrot, and I bet that’s a sweet potato.” She picked up a long, narrow, curved shape. “Is this . . . a sweet pea? Maddie, you’ve baked a whole batch of fruits and vegetables. Why do I sense some cunning plot in that devious mind of yours? Please tell me you’re not—”

  The kitchen telephone startled Olivia, and she answered without checking Caller ID.

  “Livie?” The deep voice belonged to Olivia’s ex-husband, Ryan. He sounded tentative, which wasn’t like him. “Livie, I know I promised not to call for six months, but I wanted you to know how much progress we’ve made on the new clinic. The response from other surgeons has been incredible.”

  “I’m glad for you, Ryan, but right now I—”

  “Five minutes, okay? We’ve found a perfect building, a clinic that went under at the beginning of the recession. It went into foreclosure, and we got it for a song. It’s even near a bus line for families that don’t own cars.”

  Ryan sounded like the eager, hopeful man Olivia had fallen in love with, but she reminded herself how quickly he could change moods. “That sounds great,” she said, “but—”

  “Also, we’ve already convinced three surgeons to commit two days a month each. Well, one of them is me, and I’ll be donating half of my surgery time, at least for now. Plus Joanie has been working day and night writing grants to drum up funding.”

  “Joanie?” Olivia glanced over at Maddie, who was mixing a new batch of cookie dough by hand, rather than drown out Livie’s conversation with the whir of a mixer.

  “You remember Joanie,” Ryan said in the mellifluous voice he used when he wanted to gloss over a subject as if it were only of minor importance. “Joanie and I were in the same medical school class, but she decided she didn’t want to practice, so now she writes applications for medical grants. Anyway, we’ve already been awarded a couple solid grants.”

  Olivia remembered Joanie well, though she’d spoken with her only once and for about three minutes, at a party given by one of Ryan’s medical school professors. Joanie, with the girl-next-door name, had looked as if she’d come directly from a modeling runway. She’d worn a short, figure-hugging satiny dress that showed off her lovely shoulders and long legs. Excessively long, in Olivia’s opinion. Then there was her hair, long and streaky blonde, which swayed as she walked. Joanie’s gaze had scanned the party guests while she exchanged empty pleasantries with Olivia. Yes, she could imagine that Joanie was quite effective at scoring grant money.

  Olivia’s flash of remembered jealousy startled her. That’s all it was, she told herself. Jealousy remembered. In the here and now, she felt relieved that Ryan might be involved with Joanie. Didn’t she?

  “Thanks for the update, Ryan,” Olivia said. “I have to go now.”

  After she’d hung up, Olivia sat in silence, pulled into herself. Maddie seemed to understand her need for quiet. Moments passed before Olivia became aware of a shuffling sound outside the door that led to the alley behind The Gingerbread House. It could be a cat, or maybe Deputy Cody’s black Lab, Buddy, had taken off again. No, it couldn’t be Buddy, not unless he had learned to turn doorknobs. Olivia glanced at the dead bolt, then at the lock in the doorknob; neither was in its locked position. In hot, humid weather the door did tend to stick, so it might feel locked.

  “What did his highness have to say this time?” Maddie was not a fan of Ryan, and her tone made that clear. “Livie?” she asked when Olivia didn’t respond.

  Olivia put her finger to her lips and nodded toward the door. When the knob jiggled again, she pointed to the rolling pin on the table. Maddie snatched it up and handed it to her. Holding the rolling pin poised to whack an intruder if necessary, Olivia twisted the knob and opened the door.

  Maddie was the first to recognize a startled and familiar face under a broad-brimmed hat. “Snoopy?”

  The rolling pin dropped to Olivia’s side as she, too, recognized Sam Parnell standing in the doorway. He had flushed cheeks and a package under one arm. As always, he wore the full uniform—appropriate to the season, of course—of a United States Postal Service carrier. This wasn’t the first time Sam had tried to get into their kitchen without knocking. He never seemed to learn.

  No one called Sam by his nickname: Snoopy. At least not to his face. Red mottling began to creep up his neck.

  Olivia opened the door wider. “Sam, what on earth were you thinking? You scared us to death. We thought you might be that intruder who broke into The Vegetable Plate.”

  Sam’s flush deepened. His thin body seemed frozen in fight-or-flight stance. “I wasn’t . . . I mean, some folks leave their alley doors unlocked on a workday, and this package arrived special delivery, so . . .” He held out the package. Olivia recognized the retur
n address of a mail order firm that made lovely cookie cutters. She had ordered some in anticipation of holiday events in coming months.

  “Thanks, I’ve been waiting for this,” Olivia said, taking the package. “It’s okay to come to the back door, Sam, but we’d appreciate it if you’d knock. We normally keep the door locked, anyway, even if we’re working in the kitchen.”

  “Sure,” Sam said. “I keep forgetting you picked up city habits living in Baltimore. Must have been tough, dealing with all that crime right outside your own front door.”

  Maddie snickered. “Yeah, Livie had to knock a few heads together to clean up her neighborhood.”

  Sam’s small eyes darted from Olivia to Maddie and back. “Well, I can’t stand around and yak all day.” He spun around so fast his heavy mail bag slapped his back and threw him off balance. Olivia cringed when she heard Maddie giggle behind her.

  “Let me get that door for you,” Olivia said. “You’ve got quite a load there.”

  “Nothing I’m not used to,” Sam said with dignity, nodding to Olivia as she held the door open. He paused before stepping into the alley. “By the way,” he said, “you might want to check out Binnie’s blog. She gave you two quite a spread.” Chuckling, he added, “I guess any publicity is good, right?”

  By the time Olivia locked and latched the door, Maddie had fired up the kitchen laptop and logged on to Binnie Sloan’s blog, her newest adjunct to the Weekly Chatter, Chatterley Heights’ only newspaper. For the most part, Binnie let her young niece, Nedra, handle the blog. Since Ned, as she preferred to be called, was a photographer and rarely spoke, the content was almost entirely photos, mostly of Chatterley Heights citizens looking startled, embarrassed, and angry. Often in that order.

  Maddie flipped through the blog photos and said, “Ugh.”

  “How bad is it?”

  Maddie answered with a low growl. “I advise you to call Mr. Willard.”

  “Seriously? You think we need an attorney?”