Cookies and Scream (A Cookie Cutter Shop Mystery)

by Virginia Lowell

  “This is getting complicated,” Olivia said. “Were they ligature marks or not?”

  “Probably, but the M.E. couldn’t say definitively that Greta hadn’t clutched her own throat in panic, maybe because she was having trouble breathing,” Del said. “The full autopsy revealed that Greta had, in fact, died of heart failure, possibly due to attempted strangulation and/or simple terror. Or not. The M.E. is leaving open the possibility that someone helped precipitate Greta’s death, but so far there’s no clear evidence. Also, they have no suspects.”

  “So is it possible that someone assaulted Greta?” Olivia asked.

  “Possible,” Del said, “but bear in mind that Greta lived long enough to call you, unlock her doors for the EMT guys, get transported to the hospital, and survive there for a short time.”

  “Oh. I see.” Olivia didn’t see at all, but she hoped it would become clearer soon. It crossed her mind to wonder if the attacker, if there was one, might have been outside Greta’s house while she and Maddie were searching it. A shiver ran down Olivia’s spine as she imagined a shadowy figure watching the house, waiting for them to leave before returning to wipe off fingerprints.

  “As you can see,” Del said, “the problem here is that they don’t know exactly what to call Greta’s death. Attempted murder? Natural causes? A combination of the two? So they are holding back information until they can figure out what they are looking at. The crime lab is going over everything as we speak.”

  “Del, what do your instincts tell you?”

  Del sighed audibly. “I try to be suspicious of my own gut hunches, but I’m inclined to suspect that someone else was in that room with Greta when she became ill.”

  “For what it’s worth,” Olivia said, “I have the same feeling.”

  “Now,” Del said, “tell me everything you and Maddie have been up to, because I’d lay odds you two have been investigating on your own. Which I still don’t like, as you well know. It scares me.”

  “I know,” Olivia said. “Let me make sure we are alone. Don’t you dare start driving again.” Olivia peeked out the kitchen door to the sales floor. Bertha was near the kitchen door, wielding her can of dust spray with enthusiasm. She would be working her way across the room, but slowly. Maddie was also near the kitchen, arranging display tables in preparation for reopening The Gingerbread House. Olivia made a quick decision to head up to her apartment for more privacy.

  As soon as Olivia inserted her key in the door, she heard Spunky’s happy yap from inside her apartment. He leaped into her arms before she could close the door behind her. “Okay, Spunks. Something tells me you’re thinking about Milk-Bone treats, as if you don’t get plenty of those from everyone else.” The little Yorkie wriggled out of her grasp and raced toward the kitchen.

  “You only want me for my Milk-Bones,” Olivia muttered as she followed Spunky into the kitchen. She broke two treats in half and threw one piece across the kitchen floor. Spunky skidded over the linoleum toward his reward, giving his mistress enough time to call Del again. He answered as Olivia threw another Milk-Bone half. It slid under the kitchen table, and Spunky dove after it.

  “I’m in my own kitchen,” Olivia said, “so I can talk freely. Spunky won’t tell. He knows who has the key to the Milk-Bone treats.”

  “Wise lad,” Del said.

  “You won’t like what I’m going to tell you.”

  “We’ve established that, Livie. It is what it is.”

  Olivia took a couple of deep breaths and plunged ahead. She told him about the cookie event she and Maddie had hosted to welcome Greta. She related verbatim, as best she could remember, the conversations she deemed potentially relevant to Greta’s murder. She repeated her telephone conversation with Greta, her call to 911, and her visit to the emergency room, though she failed to mention how she and Maddie had come by their information about Greta’s death. After more deep breathing, Olivia confessed that she and Maddie had searched Greta’s house for anything suspicious, and finally, that they had absconded with Greta’s correspondence. Del said not a word during her recital.

  “One more thing,” Olivia said. “There were letters from Clarisse to Greta. Del, Clarisse had found out something awful about Greta. Clarisse’s letter wasn’t specific, but she was furious. She ordered Greta to stay away from me.”

  “Interesting,” Del said.

  “Interesting? That’s all? You mean you aren’t angry with me?”

  “All I said was ‘interesting.’ Don’t push your luck.” Del’s tone wasn’t nearly as stern as it might have been, or so Olivia told herself.

  “I suppose I should give Greta’s letters to Cody?” Olivia asked. “Although I doubt he’d have found them himself.”

  “Probably not,” Del said. “If Cody had thought to search the attic, he would first have asked the crime lab to lift fingerprints. They would have found yours and Maddie’s. The crime lab would have called me. They don’t quite trust Cody, so they’ve begun running their own findings past me. I’m caught in the middle, and I hate it. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but don’t turn those letters over to Cody just yet. From what you’ve told me, he won’t find clear evidence of blackmail in those letters. At this point, they would only confuse matters. Clarisse was the only person those letters might have incriminated, and I think we can safely eliminate that possibility. Let’s wait and see if the letters become relevant and not a confusing distraction. However, the instant you find anything definitive, give it to Cody. I don’t agree with the M.E. that he isn’t competent, and I want him to have the chance to prove himself.”

  “Understood,” Olivia said. “Del, I’m sorry about all this. I can’t even pass the blame to Maddie. Searching Greta’s house was my idea,” Olivia said.

  “I really can’t leave you on your own, can I?”

  “Apparently not. However, I’m fairly set in my ways, so all you can do is accept me as I am. Or not.” Olivia held her breath.

  “I kind of like you the way you are,” Del said. “Besides, I’m certain you have the capacity to learn from your mistakes.”

  “Thanks. I think.” Olivia realized Spunky was at her feet, staring up at her hopefully. She hadn’t thrown the last two Milk-Bone halves. As she tossed them both across the kitchen, Olivia heard Del’s voice but didn’t catch what he’d said.

  “Sorry, Del, I was on dog-treat duty. What did you say?”

  “I was saying that I have to go meet with Lisa’s attorney. I’m late already. I’ll be in touch soon. Try to be safe, okay? I lo—” The rest of his sentence drowned in the roar as his engine started up.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Spunky trotted happily behind Olivia as she reentered The Gingerbread House after her phone confession to Del. “You stay out here with Bertha, okay?” Spunky waved his fluffy tail and yapped. Olivia wanted to believe that he fully understood her, but she suspected he was angling for another treat.

  “Oh, what fun,” Bertha said. “Come sit in your chair, Spunky, while I polish the front window for you.” She patted the wooden arm of the antique chair in which Spunky held court daily.

  Olivia noticed that the chair’s soft, embroidered seat looked, for once, free of the silky strands of hair Spunky often left behind. During her vacation, Olivia had spent extra time on his grooming regimen, but she’d slacked off since her return home. She hadn’t worried about it because Spunky didn’t seem to need the frequent grooming that other Yorkshire terriers required.

  “Spunky’s chair looks great, Bertha,” Olivia said. “Thank you! I need to give the little guy a good brushing later.”

  “I’d be glad to brush him as soon as I’ve finished sprucing up the sales floor,” Bertha said.

  “Don’t bother,” Olivia said. “The grooming tools are upstairs in my apartment, and—”

  “Oh, I have everything we need in my handbag.” The size of Bertha’s handba
g was legendary in Chatterley Heights. “I bring grooming tools along every day, just in case I get a chance to brush Spunky. We have such a good time, don’t we, little one?”

  The enthusiastic tone of Spunky’s yap gave Olivia the distinct impression that treats were involved in the grooming regimen. Bertha, Mr. Willard . . . Olivia knew that her stepfather, Allan, kept doggie treats in his desk drawer. How many other Chatterley Heights residents were sneaking extra food to Spunky? No wonder he had gained half a pound. Not that she should talk, Olivia told herself. Everyone else seemed to have lost weight or gained strength on their vacations, while she and Spunky had gained weight and, in Olivia’s case, lost muscle tone by planting herself on an outdoor reclining chair with a stack of books. Well, heat or no heat, she and her pup would be taking more walks together.

  “Then I’ll leave Spunky with you for the moment, Bertha. Thanks. I’ll be in the kitchen with Maddie for a bit, if you need us.”

  Bertha aimed her spray can at a dusty shelf, and said, “We’ll be fine. Maybe you two should take a break. We’ll all be back to work tomorrow, and I’ll bet folks will start dropping by early to find out if you know anything about Greta’s death.”

  “You’re probably right,” Olivia said. “Do you have your store key with you?”

  “I always bring it along,” Bertha said. “I can lock up if you and Maddie decide to go out. Just let me know.”

  Olivia thanked her again and reached for the kitchen door. She could already hear the intermittent bursts of song that usually meant Maddie was wearing her earbuds and baking. “I thought we were all baked up for at least a week,” Olivia said as she walked into the kitchen.

  Maddie pulled out her earbuds. “Just prepping another batch of dough, that’s all,” she said. “You can never have too much cutout cookie dough in the freezer. That’s some sort of immutable law. Besides, I go to sleep if I’m not moving. What’s up?”

  “Are you at a stopping point?” Olivia made sure the kitchen door was securely closed behind her.

  “Give me a sec,” Maddie said. “I need to finish up this dough and put it in the fridge to chill.”

  “Sure,” Olivia said. “I need to make a phone call, anyway.” While Maddie wrapped her cookie dough in waxed paper and a towel, Olivia used the kitchen phone to call Constance at her office. Constance answered on the first ring.

  “What happened to Craig?” Olivia asked.

  “Livie,” Constance said. “It’s a good thing I excel at identifying voices. Since you ask, Craig is taking a late lunch. Shall I take a message?”

  Olivia ignored the sarcasm. “I have a quick question,” she said. “I can’t remember. . . . Did you mean to give me the original of Greta’s cutter collection list?”

  “Your memory is crashing,” Constance said. “Yes, the original is for you. Why? Is something wrong? Hang on a sec.” The line went on hold. A short time later, Constance said, “Okay, everything is fine. I just checked in my safe, and I have a copy, not the original. I can tell because our copier makes a line on the sheet; it needs cleaning.”

  “Constance, were you working at your office last evening?

  “Nope, why?”

  “Spunky and I were out for a walk, and I saw your light on. Someone came out the front and walked away. I thought it might be Craig, but your light was still lit. I tried to call your office. No one answered. It just struck me as odd.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Constance said. “Craig is still learning the ropes, so sometimes he stays late. He’s a go-getter. My office light goes off after a period of time, if it doesn’t detect movement. Anything else?”

  “That’s all. Thanks.” Olivia hung up. She still felt vaguely troubled, but she couldn’t figure out why.

  “Well?” Maddie asked. “Did Constance accidentally give us the copy?”

  Olivia shook her head. “We both have copies.”

  “Where’s the original?” Maddie asked.

  “Good question. But we’ll let that go for now,” Olivia said. “I thought we’d go on a field trip.”

  “Goodie! Whose house will we search this time? How about Olaf Jakobson’s? He had that big fight with Greta at the cookie event, so I’m nominating him for suspect of the day.” Maddie put the used mixing bowl and utensils in the dishwasher. “Kitchen chores can wait,” she said.

  “No more house searching,” Olivia said. “I promised Del.”

  “That’s right, you talked to Del. Tell me about it. And I mean instantly.”

  “Patience, my friend, all will be revealed,” Olivia said. “Well, almost all. Right now, I want to make that visit to Aunt Sadie. In case she doesn’t want to come back with us, we’ll bring along Greta’s collection list. I think we should stop at the storage facility, too, and select some cutters. I’ve marked the ones I want to show her. Aunt Sadie is a fund of knowledge, especially about people. She knows her cookie cutters, too. She’s the place to start.”

  * * *

  Everyone loved Sadie Briggs, who had raised her niece, Maddie, from the age of ten. She was known as Aunt Sadie to so many Chatterley Heights citizens that many had forgotten her surname. Middle-aged men and women remembered her as a kind and fun babysitter, and most of the women in town had sought her out for her compassionate listening skills. Many folks knew how to sew, knit, and embroider, among other handwork skills, because Aunt Sadie had spent patient hours teaching them. Best of all, she had a long memory and impressive powers of observation.

  “Aunt Sadie will know all,” Maddie said as she and Olivia stepped out of The Gingerbread House and into a wall of heat. Only Spunky showed any enthusiasm when they entered the northeast corner of the town square. They cut diagonally through the park, where a thick canopy of trees protected them from direct sunlight, until they reached the southwest corner. The treeless Chatterley Heights Public Library parking lot felt like a desert, but they endured and finally reached the dense tree cover provided by Cherry Blossom Lane.

  “Whew,” Maddie said. “Even I, sun lover that I am, must admit this is a bit much. Spunky must be roasting under that thick coat of his.”

  Spunky had slowed down a bit, Olivia thought. She scooped him up and held him against her side, where he hung like a dishrag. Spunky was too pooped to yap. Olivia and Maddie followed Cherry Blossom Lane as it led them to Aunt Sadie’s small house, where she had lived for over fifty years.

  “It won’t be long, Spunks,” Olivia said. “And Aunt Sadie has trees, water, and air-conditioning. Won’t that be nice?”

  “Aunt Sadie is sitting out on her porch,” Maddie said. “She is a tougher woman than I am.” As they walked up the short front walk, Maddie waved to her. “Aunt Sadie, how can you stand the heat? It must be a million degrees on that porch. Don’t tell me your air conditioner pooped out again.” Maddie reached into the pocket of her shorts for her cell phone. “I’ll call Lucas right now. Business at the hardware store has been slow lately with so many folks out of town. He could come over right—”

  “Maddie, don’t fuss,” Aunt Sadie said. “My air-conditioning is working fine. Lucas did an excellent job of fixing it. In fact, I have it going right now, even though no one is inside to enjoy it. There’s a breeze out here, and the trees keep the sun out of my eyes.”

  “But aren’t you hot?” Maddie asked as she sank onto a porch chair. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

  “Maddie, for heaven’s sake, I’m fine. It’s just that . . . well, lately everyone is being so careful of me, keeping their visits short, making sure they don’t tire me. If I stay inside the house, people think I’m resting, so they won’t even ring the doorbell. No one asks for embroidery lessons anymore. No children stop by to tell me about their day.” Aunt Sadie shook her head and sat up straighter in her wheelchair. “That’s enough of that, now. You girls and Spunky are here to visit, and that makes me happy.”

  Maddie
produced a Gingerbread House bag. “We come bearing cookies,” she said as she handed the bag to her aunt.

  “Yum,” Aunt Sadie said. “Let’s eat some right away. There’s lemonade in the fridge. Maddie, would you go pour us some?”

  “Sure,” Maddie said.

  Aunt Sadie smiled as she watched her niece hop up and go inside to fetch lemonade. “Maddie is always so enthusiastic and full of energy. I hope that never changes. She seems happy with her marriage to Lucas. She is, isn’t she, Livie?”

  “She is, indeed. She’s so blissfully happy that sometimes I can’t stand it.”

  “Good, good. I’m relieved to hear that,” Aunt Sadie said.

  Olivia felt uneasy, as if Aunt Sadie might be anticipating her own death and was anxious to know her beloved niece would be okay.

  Aunt Sadie lightened the mood at once. “Now, hand over that tired little creature in your lap. It’s my turn to spoil him.” Spunky reached his front paws toward Aunt Sadie as Olivia passed him to her. “How’s my little pup?” Aunt Sadie cooed. Spunky ate it up. He snuggled against her stomach and gazed up at her with huge brown eyes. “Next time I’ll have some treats for you, sweetie.”

  Olivia smirked as she watched Spunky twist Aunt Sadie around his paw. That little grifter. If he could wander around town on his own, he’d weigh twenty pounds in a week. “Spunky gets more than his share of illicit treats,” Olivia said.

  Maddie reappeared with a tray holding a pitcher of lemonade and three glasses, each filled to the brim with ice cubes. She’d also brought three small plates, paper napkins, and a small bowl of water for Spunky. “This ought to cool us down,” she said as she served the lemonade.

  Aunt Sadie took a sip and put her glass on a table next to her. “Now,” she said, “tell me what I can do for you. It’s clear there’s something on your minds. You haven’t gone and gotten yourselves involved in an investigation of Greta Oskarson’s death, have you?” Aunt Sadie grinned. “Well, of course you have. I’ll bet you’re here because I know a great deal about Greta, some of it less than flattering.”