A Cookie Before Dying

by Lowell, Virginia

  Olivia gathered Spunky under one arm. “Okay, see you tomorrow. You can open, as penance for waking me up.” In the middle of a yawn, her brain registered Maddie’s words. “Wait, why are you coming back here? I refuse to stay up the rest of the night speculating with you about the identity of the mysterious ballerina in white.”

  “Not to worry,” Maddie said, sounding far too alert. “I’ve got some baking to do, but I will be silence itself. And I can open the store, no problem.”

  “What baking?”

  “Oh, you know, a bit of this and that to fill out the display.”

  “What display?”

  “I thought you were exhausted.”

  “What display, Maddie?”

  “For our spontaneous morning event, the one we talked about.”

  “We never talked about a spontaneous morning event. I’d remember. I’m not that sleepy.”

  “Didn’t we? I guess I thought about it so much, I was sure I’d mentioned it. No problem, I’ve got the whole thing under control. You don’t have to do a thing, just sleep in a bit and show up whenever.”

  Olivia was about to press the point, but she asked herself, did she really want to know? Spunky had gone limp against her chest, and she’d had enough excitement for one night. Maddie’s ideas could be on the wild side, but she was, for the most part, a sensible businesswoman. Maddie had learned a lot in the year or so they’d operated The Gingerbread House together, and she’d been wanting to plan an event entirely on her own. Besides, if you couldn’t trust your best friend and business partner, who could you trust?

  Chapter Six

  Olivia placed a tray of iced vegetables—the decorated sugar cookie kind—on a display table in the cookbook nook. The nook was once a formal dining room for the succession of families who had owned the Queen Anne home before it became The Gingerbread House. In the dignified room, with its crystal chandelier and built-in walnut hutch with leaded glass doors, Maddie’s whimsical creations made quite a statement . . . like flashing neon lights in a medieval cathedral.

  Olivia felt anxiety creep up her spine. The same worry had awakened her early that morning and sent her downstairs to the store well before opening. When she had seen Maddie cutting and baking cookies in vegetable shapes the previous day, Olivia was puzzled but not concerned. Even when Maddie returned to The Gingerbread House in the wee hours because she “had some baking to do,” and then insisted to Olivia that the two of them had agreed to host a “spontaneous morning event”—which Olivia was certain they’d never discussed—even then, she’d taken Maddie at her word. However, Olivia bolted awake before her alarm, one phrase of Maddie’s ringing in her head: “I’ve got the whole thing under control.” What “whole thing,” and why might it go out of control in the first place?

  Olivia pondered the plate of cookies in front of her, with their wildly colored designs, and she knew the answers to her questions. Maddie was angry with Charlene Critch and convinced she had littered their store’s lawn with anti-sugar propaganda. All the cookies Maddie had prepared for their morning event represented fruits and vegetables. Charlene worshipped fruits and vegetables, and she despised sugar. However, decorated cookies are made with sugar. Lots of it. Charlene was sure to hear about the event and unlikely to be amused by the irony.

  An electric blue cookie shaped like an eggplant and decorated with a hot pink smiley face grinned at Olivia from the top of a pyramid. She plucked it off. After glancing around to be sure Maddie wasn’t watching, Olivia exchanged it for a cookie from the middle of the stack, a sedate apple shape, mint green with a baby yellow stem. The eggplant’s bright skin peeked out, but at least she’d hidden that gruesome face.

  Olivia started at a clumping sound behind her and turned to see Maddie in full costume. Her laced-up leather boots explained her noisy entrance into the room. Maddie had decided on a farmer theme for her event persona. It was Tuesday, not a day the store’s customers normally expected themed cookie events, but Maddie had given her imagination full rein. She wore red denim cutoffs that skimmed her curvy hips. The bottoms frayed up a good two inches to reveal flashes of thigh. Maddie had wrestled her curly red hair into puffy pigtails and plunked a straw hat on top. A tight white T-shirt and red suspenders completed the ensemble.

  “Wow, those look great in here,” Maddie said, nodding with satisfaction at the plate of vegetable-shaped cookies.

  “Nice shorts,” Olivia said, hoping to distract Maddie from the disappearance of the evil smirking eggplant. “Sure you’ll be cool enough?”

  Maddie arched an eyebrow at her. “I see you are wearing one of your several pairs of gray slacks. Sure you’ll be warm enough?”

  “You sound crabby.”

  “You moved my cookie, didn’t you?” Maddie slid the eggplant from its hiding place and switched it with the apple cookie. Using both hands, she nestled the grinning vegetable back on top of the cookie pyramid. “I love this cookie. I think it’s one of my best efforts.” She pulled her cell phone from her back pocket and took three pictures of the display. “This goes on our website,” she said.

  “Over my dead—”

  “Yoo-hoo, girls. I’m here.” It was the breathy voice of their part-time clerk, Bertha Binkman.

  Maddie said, “Sorry, Livie, I forgot to tell you I called Bertha in for an extra day. I think we’ll need the help. We’re in the nook, Bertha.”

  Bertha appeared, out of breath. Olivia was glad Bertha wasn’t wheezing nearly so much these days, since she had lost at least twenty pounds. She was still well-rounded, but her health had improved considerably. Bertha had been at loose ends when her longtime employer and dear friend, Clarisse Chamberlain, had died the previous spring. Too bereft to remain in the Chamberlain home, where she’d been given a home for life in Clarisse’s will, Bertha had used part of her inheritance to buy a small house in Chatterley Heights.

  “Did you girls know there’s a small crowd gathering outside? Oh my, Maddie, don’t you look cute.” Bertha caught sight of the cookie arrangement. “Are those especially for the event? When Maddie called, she mentioned we’d be celebrating foods. My, my, aren’t they . . .” She caught sight of the blue confection on top. “Interesting.”

  “It’s eight forty,” Maddie said, checking her cell. “Come on, Bertha. We still have work to do.” She headed for the main sales area, with Bertha following, her white eyebrows puckered in confusion.

  Olivia stayed behind in the cookbook nook. As soon as she was alone, she snatched the cursed eggplant cookie, opened her mouth to its widest circumference, and aimed. With her first bite, she took out a third of the blue flesh plus most of the gruesome grinning mouth.

  Olivia’s mother poked her head into the nook. “Hello, dear,” Ellie said. “Just thought I’d drop by.” She wore loose, silky blue pants and a long matching blouse tied at her waist with a midnight blue sash. With her long hair swinging in rhythm, she flowed into the cookbook nook like a gentle ocean wave. “You have a bit of blue icing on your lip,” she said.

  “Mother, what on earth are you doing here?” Olivia asked as she wiped the telltale icing away from her mouth. “Don’t you have a class in mountain climbing or hang gliding or something?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Ellie said. “I gave up such dangerous activities when I turned sixty. I am, however, considering a class in hip-hop dancing. It looks like such fun, and I think it would be excellent exercise.”

  “Are you really my mother?”

  Ellie smiled benignly at her daughter, who towered over her by eight inches. “One wonders at times.” She took a long look at the plate of cookies, now missing its eggplant. “I was afraid of this,” she said.

  “How did you—?”

  “Allan and I stopped for breakfast at the café this morning. We ran into Bertha and that sweet beau of hers, Mr. Willard. Though why everyone doesn’t simply call him Willard, I can’t grasp. He is quite approachable.”

  “Mom, I really have to—”

  “No, y
ou don’t. Not yet,” Ellie said. “Trust me. When Allan and I ran into Bertha, she mentioned that Maddie had called her to The Gingerbread House to help with an event. Bertha said Maddie had described the event as ‘unique and challenging.’ Imagining those words coming from Maddie’s mouth gave me a flicker of apprehension. I left half a serving of eggs Benedict on my plate to come rushing over here.”

  Olivia herself felt a shiver of foreboding. Her mother might seem vague at times, even to her family, but Ellie possessed an impressive ability to read people and situations. With trepidation, Olivia asked, “Do you suspect Maddie dreamed up this event with someone in mind? A certain someone who worships vegetables? Because I sure do, and I’ve been in the store since five o’clock this morning, trying desperately to think of a way to prevent a disaster. I’ve had one idea that might deflect some attention away from Charlene, but . . .” Olivia slid a candy-striped banana from the cookie pyramid and began to nibble. “I can’t understand it. Maddie has been acting like a completely different person lately.”

  Olivia’s peripheral vision caught Bertha walking past the nook entrance, followed by Sam Parnell, their postal carrier. Since the store wasn’t yet open, Bertha must have offered him a cookie. Good. The faster the cookies disappear, the earlier the event will be over, Olivia thought.

  “We’ll examine Maddie’s psyche later,” Ellie said. “Right now we’d better concentrate on damage control. This is Chatterley Heights. Charlene is bound to hear that her beliefs are being mocked. It’s no use hiding in here with your cookbooks, munching away at the evidence. Although . . .” She reached for an ear of fuchsia corn covered in yellow sugar sprinkles. “This looks diseased. I’d better do away with it.”

  “I saw Maddie making these cookies yesterday,” Olivia said. “I should have known better. If she weren’t my lifelong friend . . .”

  “Yes, and lovable despite her sometimes misguided impulses.”

  “I know, I know,” Olivia said. “I don’t believe she really means any harm.”

  “Maddie gets an idea and runs with it,” Ellie said. “Like the gingerbread man. And rather like that younger brother of yours.” She held a thoughtful index finger to her chin. Olivia noticed the nail was painted the same deep blue as the sash around her waist. “Perhaps we should revisit the question of Maddie’s psyche. You mentioned she hasn’t been herself lately. Do you think something is bothering her? I only ask because Jason tends to wind up like a top when anything goes awry in his world.”

  “Now that you mention it, I have noticed it’s been a while since I heard the words ‘Lucas and I’ burst giddily from Maddie’s lips. When I’ve asked about their plans, she sounds distant. Maybe they’ve had a fight.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the problem.” Ellie polished off her corn cookie and brushed the crumbs from her fingers. “I believe I will give up my yoga class for once. I like Maddie, and I like Charlene, despite her unsettling sensitivities. I think I might be able to help calm the atmosphere.”

  “Mother, you are the best.”

  “Yes, dear. Now, tell me your plan to deflect your customers’ attention from Maddie’s exuberant creations.”

  “Okay, first the simple part. I’ll announce early and often that the fruits and vegetables represent a harvest theme. I mean, it is August, so that should sound perfectly reasonable. However, I’m not taking any chances. I’ve also devised one of our special contests. Come over here, I’ll show you.” Olivia led her mother into the main part of the store. The bright summer sun shone through numerous leaded-glass windowpanes, imposing geometric shapes of shadow and light on the tables loaded with cookie cutter displays, baking gadgets, and plates piled with decorated cookies. Strings of cookie cutters festooned the circumference of the room, looping down from thin wire originally meant for hanging pictures. More cookie cutters, clustered into mobiles, tinkled in the light breeze from the new air conditioner.

  The mobiles dipped low enough for customers to touch. Olivia stopped at one of them, a collection of bird shapes. Maddie and Bertha both scurried back and forth from the kitchen, preparing for the event, so Olivia lowered her voice. “We’ve had themed mobiles in the store since we opened,” she said, “but these are different. I created some new themes, and I added one special cookie cutter to each mobile.” She cupped her hand under a cutter in the middle of the mobile. “Like this one. What do you think makes this different from the others?”

  “Aren’t you always reminding me to pick up the pace?”

  “Work with me, Mom. I need to know if this game will be intriguing and distracting or merely impossible and irritating.”

  Ellie touched the cookie cutter, which at her diminutive height required her to lift up on tiptoe. “It’s unusual,” she said. “An antique, isn’t it?” When Olivia nodded, Ellie added, “It is made of tin, I believe, and in lovely condition.” She stepped back and inspected the entire mobile. “Well, it must be the only vintage cutter in the grouping, right? Is that the point of the contest?”

  “Give me some credit, Mom. Yes, it’s the only vintage cutter, but there’s one more step. Tell me what the shape is.”

  Ellie frowned up at the vintage cookie cutter. “It looks familiar, but I can’t put a name to the shape. I can name all the others, though. Chicken, cardinal, dove, turkey, and so on, but this one looks like a generic bird.”

  “In the interests of time,” Olivia said, “I’ll give you a hint. Far back in the last millennium, when you were a youngster, there was an organization to which you belonged. I remember you telling me that you joined at the tender age of—”

  “Six.” Ellie clapped her hands and bounced on her toes, as if she had reverted back to that age. “I know the answer now. That sweet cookie cutter is a bluebird, the symbol for little girls who were in training to become Camp Fire Girls. We were called the Blue Birds. Although I don’t believe that’s the name anymore, especially now that boys are allowed to join, which is only fair, of course, but it does change—”

  “Do you think this might work?”

  “What, dear?”

  Olivia suppressed a sigh. “Okay, nutshell plan. I announce a contest to customers. They must identify the only vintage cookie cutter in each mobile and correctly name its shape. The customer who gets the most right wins one of the cutters, whichever he or she chooses.”

  Ellie ran her finger along the hemmed edge of the bluebird cutter. “This is such a wonderful cookie cutter, so lovingly preserved. I assume it came from Clarisse’s collection? Are you sure you’d want to give it away? Now Livie, before you interrupt, yes, I’m certain this contest will be intriguing enough to keep many customers from wondering about the reason for so many oddly decorated vegetable cookies.”

  “Thanks, Mom. And you’re right, all the vintage cutters come from Clarisse’s collection. I do hate to give up any of them, but I know Clarisse would understand. She loved this town. It would have broken her heart to see Maddie and me feuding with a fellow businesswoman.”

  Ellie squeezed Olivia’s crossed arms. “You do realize that Charlene will still hear about this event.” As Ellie shook her head, a long spiral of hair slid over her shoulder. “Poor Charlene. She was always sensitive. Perhaps even oversensitive, though I dislike that term. It’s so judgmental, as if anyone could say how much sensitivity is too much.”

  Olivia stared out the window at the view of the town square. It looked so peaceful. She remembered summer days when she would hide from the sun in the band shell, with its stone benches and small dance floor. She’d lived in Baltimore, but she had to return home before she understood that life in a small town wasn’t any simpler than it was in the city. Anger, jealousy, and resentment all flared as frequently in Chatterley Heights as they had in Baltimore. If anything, Olivia was finding it harder to escape here in her little hometown.

  “Sweetie, don’t hunch up your shoulders like that,” Ellie said. “It isn’t good for your posture. I honestly think this is a brilliant contest ide
a. It will surely put everyone in a good mood and moderate the upsetting effect of Charlene’s reaction, which is likely to be dramatic.” She straightened her jacket and tightened the sash. “I see that I have my work cut out for me.” Her face lit with delight as she added, “I believe I made a pun—cookie cutters, my work cut out for . . .”

  “I get it, Mom.” Olivia’s tone softened with hope. “Does this really mean you’ll stay to help me, um, handle the Charlene/Maddie situation?”

  “Of course, Livie. It’s what I do best.”

  Two hours into Maddie’s surprise event, The Gingerbread House held more customers than Olivia had ever seen on a Tuesday morning. Charlene Critch had not shown up, and Olivia had heard no mention of her from any customers. However, Olivia reminded herself, there were still plenty of hours left before closing time. Charlene could walk through the front door at any moment.

  Olivia felt a tug on the back of her hair and heard her brother’s voice say, “Hey, Olive Oyl, great shindig.” Jason hoisted his tall, thin self onto a display ledge that jutted out from the wall. He narrowly missed a porcelain bowl brimming with handmade copper cookie cutters. Olivia grabbed the bowl and moved it to a high shelf.

  “You break it, you buy it,” she said in her elder sister voice.

  “Uh huh. Hey, Charlie, over here!” Jason yelled, waving his arm. “Charlie’s here,” he said.

  “I gathered that.”

  “This is my day off from the garage,” Jason said. “Charlie’s been working since six thirty, so he gets an early lunch. We heard about Maddie’s cool cookies, and we thought, hey, why not. Boy, are we hungry.”