A Cookie Before Dying

by Lowell, Virginia

  After hearing rumors about the dancer in the park, Raoul realized Valentina wasn’t taking the sleeping pills he’d gotten for her. He confessed he lost control when he realized King was in town and had threatened Valentina again. Raoul sneaked out to the park, figuring Geoff would be there waiting for Valentina, and stabbed him. Raoul swore his daughter had already run off before he killed Geoff.

  It made perfect sense. Olivia felt sympathetic toward Raoul and hoped a judge and jury would go easy on him, although murder is murder. But something was bugging her. If she could only . . . Raoul told Del that Valentina was safely back in the care of her psychiatrist at the hospital in DC. He had seen the end coming, he said, when Constance Overton asked him to attend the celebration of Jason’s release at The Gingerbread House. To Raoul, that meant the police had more evidence.

  Olivia sat up and wedged her pillow behind her back. Spunky jumped off the bed, trotted to the bedroom door, and sat on his little haunches. “That makes two of us,” Olivia said. “Let’s have a snack.”

  In the kitchen, Spunky munched on a doggie treat while Olivia sipped warm chocolate milk and allowed herself one decorated cookie: a pair of bright red toe shoes. They reminded her of Valentina. Using Spunky as a sounding board, Olivia sorted her thoughts out loud. “Unless I’m misremembering,” she said, “Raoul wasn’t entirely consistent about why I couldn’t talk to or visit Valentina. I think when he first told us about his new teaching job, he said ‘we’ would be leaving soon, as if Valentina was going with him. When Mom and I insisted on talking to her about what she might have seen in the park, Raoul’s story began to change. First I think he said there wasn’t time, they were leaving so quickly. Then he talked about how fragile Valentina was, she needed rest, he’d made arrangements, she’d be gone by morning.... It wasn’t until his confession to Del that Raoul said he had already sent his daughter to the psychiatric hospital in DC.”

  Spunky finished his treat and gazed hopefully at his mistress. “What do you think, Spunks? Could Del have misinterpreted?” Spunky yapped at her and trotted toward the treat cupboard. “You’re right, of course,” Olivia said. “Del doesn’t make mistakes like that.” She glanced up at the kitchen wall clock. Nearly twelve thirty a.m. She didn’t want to awaken Del for something that might be nothing. “On the other hand, what if Raoul really did make arrangements for Valentina to be picked up in the morning? And what if Valentina is all alone in the dance studio, waiting for her father to return?”

  “I need to take a short trip,” Olivia said. Spunky yapped and wagged his tail. “Alone,” Olivia added. “You stay safe and snug in your bed.” She changed into jeans and a black T-shirt and headed for the door, where she realized she’d forgotten her keys. After locating her keys, she unlocked her apartment door, then remembered to fetch her cell phone. Halfway down the stairs, she decided to pack some ballerina cookies, in case Valentina was alone and scared. “It’ll be dawn by the time I make it there,” she muttered as she filled a Gingerbread Box with cookies. She’d forgotten to close the store door on the way in, so she told herself to pay attention as she carefully locked the door on her way out.

  Olivia drove to Willow Road, parked at the north end of the block, and walked to the front door of the dance studio. The ground floor was in complete darkness, but Olivia had seen a faint light showing through the curtain covering Valentina’s bedroom window.

  Olivia still had the studio key she’d borrowed from Constance Overton. She unlocked the front door and slipped inside. She eased the door shut behind her and stood in the dark, letting her eyes adjust. A light switched on in the office across the dance floor. A slender form appeared in the doorway with the light behind her. Valentina hesitated for a few seconds, then cried out, “Daddy, you are so late.” Light as air, Valentina glided across the dance floor toward Olivia. She halted abruptly when she realized the form in the dark was not her father.

  “Valentina, please don’t be frightened. It’s Olivia Greyson. You remember me, don’t you? My friend and I are the ones who make cookies.” She held out her box. “I brought you some ballet cookies—ballerinas, toe shoes, ballet slippers. . . .”

  Valentina glanced at the box and backed away. “Where is my daddy?” She was dressed all in pale blue: leotard, tights, ballet slippers, and a gathered skirt made of blue silk. Her waist-length white-blond hair hung loosely over her shoulders. Olivia noted that her delicate beauty was marred less by the scar on her cheek than by her excessive thinness. Her shoulder sockets showed beneath her stretched skin.

  “He’s . . . he’s been delayed,” Olivia said. “He asked me to come over and reassure you. I understood from your father that you haven’t been feeling well lately? Can I help?” When Valentina didn’t respond, Olivia said, “Your father might be quite late, so he asked me to stay with you for a while.”

  Valentina shook her head slowly. “That isn’t what he said. I’m supposed to go back to the hospital. He said to pack a suitcase and someone would pick me up.”

  “Okay.” Olivia thought frantically, aware that Valentina could outrun her. “Yes, the hospital in DC. I can take you there.”

  Valentina took several quick, light steps backward. “No, a taxi will take me. Daddy planned it.” She turned and ran into the office.

  Olivia followed and was relieved to find that Valentina was gazing out the window into the dark alley. Maybe she was hoping her father would appear.

  “I can call a taxi, if you’d like,” Olivia said, taking her cell phone from her jeans pocket. “I’ll do it right now.”

  “No!” Valentina spun around. Her eyes widened as she saw the cell phone. “You’re going to call someone to take me away from Daddy. He warned me. No phone!”

  “All right, it’s okay.” Olivia placed the cell on the countertop. “See? I won’t call anyone.”

  Olivia barely had time to register her movements before Valentina had snatched the cell and fled up the staircase. Runs with Spunky had strengthened Olivia’s legs, but not enough to keep up with a ballerina. The hallway was empty when she reached the second floor. She headed toward the light streaming through the open door of Valentina’s room and found her sitting cross-legged on her bed. Next to her lay a packed suitcase. “Daddy isn’t coming back, is he?” she asked.

  “I . . . I don’t know,” Olivia said.

  “Daddy always tried to keep me safe,” Valentina said. “He made a plan to protect me, but his plans don’t always work. So sometimes I have to make my own.”

  As Valentina unfolded her legs to stand up, Olivia thought of a bluebell opening to the sun. And then she cursed herself for being distracted by the girl’s gracefulness. In a blur, Valentina had slipped out of the room and slammed the door shut. Olivia heard the slide of the chain lock on the outside of the door. She was trapped inside, and Valentina had her cell phone. Olivia spun around, looking for a phone. There was none. She tried the window and found it painted shut. She began to pound on the door, for all the good that would do.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Olivia saw Valentina’s bedside table. The bottle of pills, nearly full when she had examined it the day before, now lay on its side, empty. A half-full glass of water stood next to it.

  Olivia paced the room, trying to focus her mind. How long before Valentina succumbed to an overdose? Would it be fatal? Out of frustration and desperation, Olivia kicked the door. And then she stopped, remembering Valentina’s words, her apparent frailness, how she fought back when King attacked her in the park.... So sometimes I have to make my own.

  Valentina’s suitcase lay on the bed, closed but, as Olivia discovered, not locked. She dumped its contents and pawed through them. Costumes. Valentina had packed a selection of her mother’s ballerina costumes but nothing else. Olivia’s hands shook as she examined the costumes one by one. She came to one that was rolled up, not lovingly folded. Olivia spread the costume on the bed. It was a white, knee-length skirt of fine, lightweight satin sewn to the waistband of a white leotard. The bodi
ce and arms of the leotard and the front of the skirt were badly stained with browned dried blood. There had been no attempt to wash off the blood, almost as if Valentina wanted to preserve the memory of stabbing Geoffrey King. If Valentina truly felt no guilt, Olivia could think of only one reason she would have left the evidence for others to find. To clear her father.

  Olivia heard pounding from outside the bedroom window. It sounded like someone trying to get in the front door. She grabbed one of Valentina’s toe shoes from her closet and slammed the wooden toe against the window. The pane began to crack. Thank goodness for old window glass. At least she made enough noise to get Del’s attention; he was standing on the sidewalk, shouting up at her. He waved an object in the air and pointed toward the front door. Olivia giggled when she realized he was wielding a baseball bat. She moved Valentina’s bloodstained clothing to her sewing machine table and sat on the bed to wait.

  In short order, Olivia heard the chain lock slide open, and the bedroom door opened.

  “Valentina,” Olivia said, as soon as she saw Del. “She took pills. Did you find her?”

  “In the kitchen, groggy but still conscious. The ambulance is on its way. In fact, I hear it now.”

  “How on earth did you know I was here?”

  “Logic, my dear Greyson,” Del said. “Plus Maddie and Spunky.”

  “Spunky?”

  “It’ll wait till morning. Seven a.m. at The Chatterley Café with Maddie and Lucas. Cody and I will let them know you’re okay. You need to get some sleep, you looked exhausted.”

  Olivia’s muscles did feel weak and wobbly, and somehow she fell into Del’s arms.

  “Always wanted to rescue a damsel in distress,” Del whispered, his face buried in her hair.

  “Was the baseball bat part of your fantasy?” Olivia asked, pulling back to look at his face.

  Del laughed. “Well, no, I usually imagined using my bare hands, but after watching your ex-husband yesterday evening, I decided to go with something tougher.”

  Olivia, Maddie, Del, and Lucas were first in line when The Chatterley Café opened Saturday morning. Olivia felt surprisingly chipper after her harrowing experience and only four hours of sleep. Her sleep had been all the better for knowing that Jason was safe in his childhood bedroom, being watched over and, even more important, fed by Ellie. Olivia had to admit that Charlene was being attentive to Jason, bringing him vegie burgers and fresh fruit to help him regain his strength. Jason seemed to welcome both the food and the attention.

  “Spunky should be here,” Maddie said when they’d been seated. “If it wasn’t for him, Livie might have spent the night locked in that poor girl’s bedroom while she was dying in the kitchen.”

  “Hey, I am perfectly capable of kicking down a door when necessary,” Olivia said. “However, I have a new appreciation for Spunky’s escape artistry. He did take unfair advantage of my distraction last night, though, hiding behind my apartment door when I went back for my cell and then following me into the store while I boxed cookies. He needs a stern lecture.”

  “And extra treats,” Del said. “I sure appreciate the little guy.”

  “I helped, too, you know,” Maddie said as their breakfasts arrived. “Ooh, fresh-squeezed orange juice. I couldn’t settle down to sleep, so I decided to do some baking. I’m the one who called Del when I found Spunky running around the store and Livie nowhere in sight.”

  “How did you find me?” Olivia asked as she lifted a forkful of egg and sausage omelette.

  “That was me,” Del said. “I just had a feeling you weren’t done investigating, so when Maddie said your car was gone, I sent out an alert and started checking in town. When I didn’t find your car near any of your known haunts, I just drove up and down the streets. Chatterley Heights isn’t that big. Once I saw you’d parked near the dance studio, I figured something was up.”

  “Poor Valentina,” Maddie said.

  “Poor Raoul.” Olivia speared a roasted potato and paused to admire it. “I assume he has been released?”

  Del nodded. “But he insists on staying with his daughter in her cell. He feels responsible. If he’d realized sooner that Valentina was sneaking out, maybe he could have prevented the whole incident. If King hadn’t been able to threaten Valentina, she wouldn’t have gotten the knife away from him and used it to stab him.”

  “What will happen to her?”

  “I don’t know, Livie, but I suspect the courts will be lenient with her, even though she hid her responsibility for King’s death. Since the case became public, several women in the Baltimore-DC area have come forward with allegations that King abused and stole from them. If their stories can be corroborated, Valentina might be able to plead self-defense. My guess is she will end up back in the hospital.”

  “She lives to dance . . .” Olivia murmured. “Raoul said that last evening, about Valentina. Not being able to dance freely might feel like execution to her.”

  “There’s always dance therapy,” Maddie said. “So Lucas, are you going to eat that slice of bacon?”

  As Maddie reached toward Lucas’s plate, Olivia caught a glimpse of green sparkle. “Hey, what’s that?” She grabbed Maddie’s hand. “Is that an emerald?”

  With a light laugh, Maddie said, “Wow, you’re good. What gave it away, the green part? It matches my eyes. At least that’s what Lucas told me.”

  Olivia noted her friend’s sudden flush and said, “It isn’t fair to torture me, I’ve had a rough night. Is this or is this not an engagement ring?”

  “Not,” Maddie said. “But close. It’s an I-promise-to-think-about-it ring. Lucas and I had a long talk last night. He’s a good listener. I’m going to work on the . . . the thing we talked about, Livie.”

  “I know this is none of my business,” Del said, “although Livie did involve me a bit. Maddie, about your parents’ accident.”

  Maddie’s eyes flitted from Del to Olivia and back to Del, but she didn’t explode. Or run away. “What about it?”

  “It really was just an accident,” Del said gently. “Cody and I did some digging. There was no alcohol, no drugs of any kind in their systems. Your aunt didn’t tell you anything about this because she thought that was best. Your mom was being treated for depression related to early menopause. The pills made her feel worse, so she stopped them and began feeling much better. When your dad realized how unhappy she was, he cut back on his work to be with her. The accident . . . There was one witness, who wasn’t quoted in any of the published reports. I don’t know why, maybe because she was elderly. She said that a cat crossed the road in front of your parents’ car, and your mother swerved to avoid it. That’s what caused the crash. It wasn’t intentional.”

  “Oh that’s . . .” Tears streamed down Maddie’s face. Lucas took one hand, and Olivia took the other. “That’s so like my mom.” She sniffled. “I don’t suppose anyone has a tissue?”

  Maddie was quieter for the remainder of breakfast, but Olivia wasn’t worried. She didn’t take the ring off; that was a good sign. After Maddie and Lucas left together, holding hands, Olivia and Del were quiet through a last cup of coffee. Olivia felt comfortable and shy at the same time.

  “You know, Del,” she said finally, “you’re an okay guy.” Smooth, Livie.

  “Even if I’m too wimpy to punch in a door with my fists?”

  “They’re nice fists. I’d hate to see them broken.”

  Del picked up her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “Livie Greyson, you and I are due for a long, long talk. The sooner the better.”

  Olivia squeezed his fingers. “How about tonight?”

  Click here for more books by this author

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Virginia Lowell

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