by K. J. Emrick
Poor Clarissa. What was the girl going to do?
One thing was for certain, she wouldn’t have to face her troubles by herself. Cookie would stand by her. She wasn’t going to do everything for her granddaughter. No. She would help, of course, but Clarissa would have to do most of the work herself or she would never be truly free of her problems. Some folks called that tough love. Cookie just called it the way of the world. When you fixed your own problems, you were better off for it. It was a simple truth, even if it was bitter and hard to swallow.
The words of Clarissa’s story from last night kept bubbling up in Cookie’s mind like the letters in an alphabet soup. She couldn’t believe it. There was so much that she didn’t know about her granddaughter’s life. The last she’d heard from Clarissa, everything was just fine between her and Rick. He was doing well as a chef. They had friends. Their future was secure. They were planning on a wedding sometime next summer. Little did she know, it had all been for show.
Last night, the curtain that had been drawn over that particular bit of theater had been pulled back, and the truth had come rushing front and center.
Starting with the fact that Rick had actually lost his job.
Things had been going great, Clarissa had insisted. They loved him at the restaurant. He had already created changes to the menu that the owners loved. He was in line to be head chef one day. Cookie knew from her own experience that Clarissa’s fiancé had a certain way around the kitchen. His creations were tasty, and economical, and that was just one of the reasons why she had suggested that he and Clarissa take over the bakery. He’d found his own way in the culinary world instead, doing his own thing, and for a while maybe everything really had been as great as Clarissa said they were.
Except, he had started showing up late for work and botching his preparations. He’d gotten into an argument with the owner and reading between the lines, Cookie thought maybe he threatened to burn the restaurant down. That was his last day of work.
Then they had been evicted from their apartment.
Without Rick’s job, they couldn’t make rent. He tried to find other work but with how things went with his old boss, no one would hire him. Two months of that had gone by and finally the landlord had tacked up an eviction notice, with a final removal date of two weeks from today. They had nowhere to go.
Truthfully, Cookie hadn’t realized they were living together. She knew there had been talk about it after Clarissa agreed to marry him, but she suspected the new living arrangement had been kept a secret even from Madison, Clarissa’s mother. Madison had rather old-fashioned ideas of love and marriage. Clarissa hadn’t wanted to let her mother down. It was one of the reasons she had come here to Widow’s Rest looking for Cookie’s help rather than going to her mother.
The hospital bills were hanging over their head to the tune of several thousand dollars.
Coming home from a failed job interview three weeks ago, Rick had gotten into a car wreck. He’d slid off the road and smashed into several trees, leaving both the car and him broken. Instead of going to a hospital right away, he’d phoned a friend who drove him home, and then waited for Clarissa to tell him he was going whether he liked it or not. They told the doctors he’d fallen down the stairs.
Rick had been lucky. His kneecap had been dislocated. His ribs were bruised. A gash to his leg had required stitches. He’d live to regret his decisions.
The real story of what had been going on in her life had not been an easy one for Clarissa to tell. It was all one long series of missteps by the man she had fallen in love with. Cookie had kept herself from mentioning how she, and Clarissa’s mother as well, had warned her she was moving too fast with that boy. There was no arguing with love, however, and so Clarissa had forged straight ahead with Rick, come what may. Now that it had all blown up in her face, saying I-told-you-so wasn’t going to help anything.
Besides. Everyone’s life went sideways sometimes. Who was Cookie to throw stones at that particular glass house?
And to be fair, Rick had managed to win Cookie over. He had seemed like an honest young man trying to overcome a terrible home life and make something of himself. She liked him, she really did. Although, she hadn’t known any of this. When the trouble started in their relationship Clarissa had hidden it all. She’d lied to everyone out of devotion to her man. It was a mistake often made by young women in love. Had she come to Cookie sooner with this, maybe things would be different now.
Rick needed help. It wasn’t just the loss of his job, or their apartment, or the numerous bills bearing down on them. After a lot of talking, and a lot of tears, Clarissa had finally gotten to the dark heart of this matter. The real issue. The problem that had sent their lives circling down the drain.
Rick was addicted to painkillers, and it was destroying them.
He’d been given a prescription for the opioid methadone after tearing his meniscus during a fall off his bicycle a year ago. It was a common thing for doctors to do. The idea was that the drug would be used as needed, and then the patient would move on with their lives. It didn’t always work that way. Some people found they liked the painkiller too much. They liked the way it made them feel. They began to rely on it to take away not just their physical pain, but their stress as well. Rick was one of those people.
He began to need more and more, shopping his pain to different doctors to get multiple prescriptions at a time. Drug seeking, Cookie thought it was called. The drug use—and abuse—had changed his behavior and turned him into someone Clarissa didn’t recognize. Her loving fiancé Hamish was now calling himself Rick and systematically sabotaging their life in exchange for his next fix. He’d been high on that poison when he threatened his boss. He’d been high when he crashed their car. Clarissa had denied it, but there was no other reason why Rick would have avoided going to the hospital for treatment. No reason to lie about falling down the stairs.
No reason to lie, except that the truth would have gotten him in trouble.
This was a nationwide epidemic that reached down into every corner of society. Rich and poor, peoples of every color, the educated and the high school dropouts alike. Once the drugs got their hooks into a person it was very, very hard for them to walk away. The worst part about it was that it often started exactly as it had for Rick, with a doctor’s prescription.
This was all stuff Cookie had learned from watching CNN, of course. She hadn’t known anyone in her life who was battling this addiction. Not until now. No one ever expected this sort of thing to strike their own family.
Of course, this was why Clarissa hadn’t wanted to talk about any of it in front of Jerry. He was a police officer, sworn to uphold the law. Forget for a moment that Rick had lied to the authorities about being in a car accident while he was high on painkillers. Forget that he’d threatened to burn down his boss’s place of business.
Rick was a drug abuser. Police officers sent drug abusers to prison, or maybe to a rehab facility until they were better, and either of those meant that Rick would be taken away from Clarissa for a long time. She didn’t want that to happen. She thought that by hiding the problem she was making things better, but she wasn’t. She thought it meant she would be able to keep Rick safe and protected. She thought a lot of things that her heart hoped were true, but that her brain should have argued were nothing but lies.
The drug was a poison. Cookie was going to have to find some way to show her the error of her ways before that boy got himself really hurt. Or worse, got her hurt.
Oh dear, she thought to herself. What a terrible thought!
She looked down at the dough she’d been squeezing through her hands. She’d put in too much flour, and now it was nearly hard as a rock. Like playdough. Useless. Just like she felt.
“Are you down here?” she heard Jerry calling to her from the stairs to the apartment. She used the corner of her apron to dab the unshed tears from the corner of her eyes before he could see them.
“Yes, dear. I’m in the k
itchen.”
Last night Jerry had been deeply asleep by the time she made it to bed. She hadn’t disturbed him when she slipped under the sheets next to him, feeling his skin against hers and wishing they could have spent the night alone together like they’d planned. That was selfish, to want her life to be simple all the time. She and Jerry would have plenty of time to themselves, she supposed, even if it was so spread out that she couldn’t remember the last time a month had passed without some tragedy or emergency.
Now, as she swept the ruined bread dough off the kitchen island and into the trash bin with one arm, she chuckled wryly. Life was full, but that didn’t mean it was a bad life. The only way to have nothing happen in your life was to have no friends and no family to worry about. Or to be dead. She didn’t much like either of those options.
Clarissa had trouble in her life, and Cookie would help her meet it head on. A good recipe used opposite flavors to keep the diner interested. Bitter and sweet, sour and savory. If her life were bland as matzah bread, it just wouldn’t be interesting. She didn’t mind some spice. As long as it didn’t overpower the recipe.
That was a serious cooking metaphor, even for her. She was smiling for real when Jerry came down the last of the stairs with a big stretch and a yawn. Cooking really was good for the soul.
He was dressed for work in a gray suit and red tie. It was early for him. The bakery wasn’t even open yet, although she was expecting her first customers to come knocking on her door in a half hour or so. “Are you leaving already?” she asked him.
“Yeah, I’m afraid so.” He said it almost apologetically. “I probably should have gone in last night to help with our special prisoner. If my wife wasn’t so distracting, I probably would have.”
“Flatterer,” she scolded, even though she liked to hear him say those things. In the back of her mind, however, was a building pressure to tell him what Clarissa had said.
Should she wait? Clarissa had asked her to wait but if she did that wouldn’t she be falling into the same trap that got Clarissa and Rick in trouble in the first place? Once a poison like drugs started to spread, it had to be removed quickly. Any delay just made things worse.
“Anyway,” Jerry said while her thoughts raced. “I need to get into work. Our department’s not set up to hold people long term and this case… it’s pretty sensitive. I don’t know. Maybe I should just kick the whole thing up to the State Police and let them have it. Ha. Wouldn’t that serve the FBI right? Then they could breathe down someone else’s neck about our special prisoner.”
Cookie sighed inwardly. He was too caught up in his work to even remember to ask about Clarissa and her problems. Or, she thought, maybe he was leaving it to her to figure out because he trusted her. After all, Clarissa was her family. His too, now that they were married, but he might be playing it safe and not putting in his two cents. He was a very smart man.
He set a briefcase down on the floor, leaning it up against the kitchen island, while he sat on a stool and snagged a blueberry muffin fresh out of the oven and cooling on a tray. He tore pieces off the fluffy top and popped them in his mouth. “Oh wow, this is good. I’m so glad you decided to open the shop today.” He took another bite, and then talked around it as he chewed. “I’m betting there’s a lot of your customers that are going to feel the same way.”
“I hope so,” Cookie responded absently. She loved her work, and she loved the people in this town, and even a complete lack of sleep last night didn’t take away that enjoyment. The bakery wasn’t what was on her mind right now. Even Clarissa’s issues settled down to the back of her mind.
Jerry’s briefcase had caught her eye. That folder on his ‘special prisoner’ was in there. It had all the information on this cold case investigation that had him so worked up.
His officers had arrested a man while she and Jerry were off on their honeymoon. The man had immediately started talking about having information on an old case. He said he would tell them all about it, so long as they dropped his charges. Not just his local charges, either. The FBI wanted this man for some reason, but even they were going to be willing to let him walk in exchange for what he knew.
From what Cookie had picked up on, Jerry was reluctant to allow it at first, but whatever story the prisoner had to tell, it was something big.
Which made Cookie curious. What was this old case that was consuming her husband’s time and energy?
Oh, look at her, she thought to herself. Only yesterday she’d been moaning about how mysteries and mayhem always seemed to find her, and now she was looking for an excuse to get into an adventure again! For the love of Melba toast, wasn’t age supposed to bring wisdom?
Certainly, but that didn’t mean there was no room for fun.
Even with everything else going on now, with Clarissa’s trouble and the move from her apartment to Jerry’s house, Cookie found there was room on her plate for a mystery. It was like she had a sweet tooth when it came to such things that she just couldn’t satisfy. Like ice cream.
Everyone knew there was always room for ice cream.
If Cookie had been smart, she would have looked through the folder last night while he was off on his phone call. She’d missed her chance now that it was locked back in his briefcase. Jerry had promised to keep his work away from their personal lives for a few days, since they were just back from their honeymoon. That was why he’d gone out of the kitchen last night to take his call. At the time she’d thought it was a great idea. Now, she was wishing he’d bend it just a little to tell her what the investigation was all about.
Well. Cookie was a smart woman. She knew other ways of satisfying her curiosity.
With a smile for the little plan that was forming in her mind, Cookie poured Jerry a steaming cup of coffee to go with his muffin. “I suppose you’ll be too busy to catch anything for lunch, hmm?”
“You know it. I’ll probably just order something to be delivered. The Eagle’s Nest delivers for a ten percent added charge. Usually. If you ask real nice. Or maybe I’ll have the chance to run back here. Somehow, I doubt it.”
The selection of restaurants in Widow’s Rest was very limited. Especially now that the McDonald’s had closed down in favor of a new location twenty miles up the road. Finding a place to go at lunch when you were a busy professional was a hard thing to do around here. Which, in fact, was exactly what she had been counting on.
“Oh, don’t be silly,” she told him. “I can drive over to the police station with something for you. Homemade sandwiches and some muffins, enough for everyone on duty today. How many officers will there be? Five? Six?”
The Widow Rest Police Department wasn’t a very big operation. Small towns like the one they lived in rarely had more than ten officers in all. That was because bad things rarely happened in a tightly knit community where everyone knew everyone else. Then again, the crime rate certainly had skyrocketed here in recent years.
“There’s five of us today,” Jerry told her. “That includes me. I’ve put a couple of extra people on each shift until we figure out what we’re doing with Mister Jonathan Graham.”
Cookie couldn’t keep the surprise from her face. “That’s your prisoner? I know Jonathan. He’s lived in Widow’s Rest all his life. Bit of a scoundrel. Didn’t he get himself arrested a few years ago?”
“More than once,” Jerry confirmed. “He’s got a rap sheet five miles long. That’s how the FBI got to know him so well. He got into something stupid and ended up working as a snitch for them. Mostly, however, it’s just domestic troubles with his on-again, off-again girlfriend. That’s what got him in trouble this time. His girlfriend kicked him out again and so he started breaking into people’s houses for a place to stay.”
“So he’s a thief?” Cookie asked.
“Not really. He never took anything, and the people were always away when he broke in. Kind of a gentleman thief, I suppose. Kind of odd he didn’t take anything—other than some food—because even gentleman thieves need
to get their money from somewhere. We’ve got eleven counts of burglary pending against him, and a few counts of grand theft sandwich, but that’s nothing compared to what the Feds want him for. He’s scared to death of ending up in their hands.”
“Ah, I see. That’s why he’s so eager to give you information on this old case?”
He eyed her suspiciously, chewing up the last of the muffin. “You know I can’t talk to you about this. It’s an old case from early in my career, so it’s nothing recent at all, but that’s really all I can tell you. It’s not that I don’t want to. Really, I swear I’d tell you all about it if I could…”
“Oh, I know dear. You have your job to do, I have mine.” She leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Speaking of which I have to get ready to open the doors. The morning crowd should be in soon on their way to work. You get going. I’ll bring you something for lunch.”
“That’s really nice of you to offer, but you’ll be here working the bakery. How do you expect to be in two places at once?”
“Nonsense. I’ll have plenty of time to come and save my man from starvation.”
“What,” he asked, “are you planning on only staying open for half the day? You’ve made enough food to feed three armies!”
She chuckled, knowing he was right. “I’m taking on a helper today.”
“Really? Well, it’s about time. That’s good news. In that case can you make it six lunches, one for the prisoner? That’d save us some time to be sure. Who is this new hire? Anyone I know?”
“Yes, actually. It’s Clarissa.”
His face went oddly still, hiding whatever he was thinking. “I saw that she was upstairs this morning, asleep in her old room. I take it whatever problem she brought to you was pretty serious?”
Cookie couldn’t help her frown. “Yes, it was. I appreciate you not putting your nose in with a ton of questions, but I’ve been thinking that maybe you need to know what’s going on.”
Pushing his half-finished coffee away, Jerry folded his hands on the island counter. “Okay, I’m listening.”
