Double Chocolate Cookie Murder

by Devon Delaney

  “But will her cookie clean up?” Barry added with a playful lilt to his voice.

  “Sherry, Effi is really nervous. Would it be okay if I stand next to her? I won’t say a word. Promise.” Sal’s arm was around his wife’s shoulders.

  Sherry glanced at Warren, who nodded.

  “Mr. Buckman, your cleaning is ready. I had the dickens of a time getting your chef’s coat clean. You’d be surprised how much pomegranate juice I clean out of white garments this time of year. You must be running a special on pomegranate desserts. Your coat was especially challenging, but the Forinos never give up on a stain.”

  “Thank you, Sal. That’s why you’re the best,” Barry replied. “Sherry, would you hand Sal the mic, please? He can hold it for his wife.”

  “These are my Peppermint Snowballs.” Effi offered the powdered-sugar-dusted white clouds to the judges. “I was going to prepare Korean fortune cookies, but I had a sudden revelation to go with a holiday recipe.”

  When her story was done, Sherry had a tear trickling down her cheek. Escaping her native country as it was racked in turmoil, with nothing but the shirt on her back and her family recipes tucked in her pocket for good luck, brought the room to silence. Only sniffling could be heard as the judges gave Effi’s story its due consideration. Sal returned the mic to Warren.

  “Thank you to you and your husband,” Warren said. “Please join Justine over on the side.”

  Sherry smiled at Effi and handed the contestant list to Barry. As he perused the list, Sherry scanned the waiting contestants for any sign of Mrs. Nagle. There was none, but it was hard to see through the milling crowd from a seated position. When the list came back to Sherry, she’d check to see if the woman was among the bakers.

  “Crosby Banks. Please bring up your Tropical Dream Bars,” Barry announced.

  Crosby offered the plate of bars to Sherry first. His expression appeared grim when a smile should be what greeted the judges. Barry on one side, and Warren on her other, leaned back in their chairs and traded hushed comments behind Sherry. Was she missing some important observation they were getting from the cookie’s appearance?

  Sherry turned her attention to Crosby. His expression was somber. Must be nerves. Sherry hoped to catch Crosby’s eye and send him a “smile for the judges” subliminal message, but he was fully focused on his cookie platter. Sherry read the printed recipe from the pile of papers stacked in front of each judge before examining the cookie bar.

  “Coconut, macadamia nuts, oatmeal, lime. Can’t get much more tropical than that,” Barry commented. “We sell a bar like this in our bakery.”

  “Not much risk being taken here, but it’s quite tasty,” Warren whispered between bites. “And the story behind the cookie bars is?” Warren stood and held the mic for Crosby.

  Crosby assumed a rigid stance. The crowd hushed.

  “These cookies changed my life. I was in a dark period when I wasn’t feeling fulfilled. What I realized was missing from my day-to-day existence was giving back. So, I went down to our county’s homeless shelter and talked to a few of the patrons.”

  Sherry’s line of sight tangled with Crosby’s. He gave her a subtle nod.

  “I’d always loved to bake. I even taught home ec for a short time, many years ago. Now, I teach business classes, but baking is still how I share the love. I’m not afraid to experiment in the kitchen, so I invented a recipe to transport those homeless folks out of their tough situation, if only for a few minutes. I choose my ingredients with care. The coconut is to inspire travel beyond your dreams, the white chocolate represents thinking outside the box, which people should do to achieve success, the macadamia nuts are an example of breaking out of your shell so great things will find you. The bars were a hit at the shelter. I gave back, but received more in return than I can say. Thank you.” Crosby bowed his head.

  The judges turned to one another. Sherry listened as Barry and Warren spoke over each other in quiet tones about the backstory.

  “Anything you want to say, Sherry?” Warren asked.

  “Interesting story.” Sherry mulled over her score sheet choices until she felt the gazes of the other judges on her. She gave all aspects of the cookie high marks. She gave the story behind the cookie recipe a two. She pushed the contestant list toward Barry. “Next.”

  Sherry nodded to Tia Garcia as the mayor’s personal assistant responded to her name being called. A moment later, the woman was facedown and sprawled out, her cookies crumbled across the floor.

  There was a collective gasp among the onlookers.

  Sherry stood. “Tia, are you okay?”

  Tia sat up gingerly. She winced as she took in the sight of her cookies in bits all around her. “I’m fine. Slipped on something.”

  “We’ll take a break while we get this attended to,” Warren said. “Judges, this might be a chance to use the restroom, if need be. Hans and I will help Ms. Garcia.”

  “I’ll run to the restroom and be back to help with the cleanup.”

  “Thanks, Sherry.” Tia rose from the floor. “I’m so embarrassed.”

  Moments later, the contest resumed, with Eileen Weisberger called up to the judging table.

  “That’s my neighbor,” Sherry whispered as Eileen winked in her direction.

  “You know everyone.” Barry laughed. “Someone’s not going to be happy there’s only one winner.”

  Sherry pinched her eyes shut to fend off the guilt creeping in. She reopened her eyes. “Toughest lesson in cooking competitions is not taking the judgment personally.”

  An hour and a half later, the Story For Glory Cookie Bake-off presented the last contestant. Penny Nagle. The woman carried her cookie tray forward and gave each judge one of her s’mores concoctions. While Sherry was happy to see Mrs. Nagle, she eyeballed her cookie with trepidation. Her waistband had grown so snug she had to unfasten the first button on her pants. The glass of water she had refilled twice sat empty in front of her. How was she going to get this sweet treat into her mouth and give it the consideration it deserved, knowing her dislike of s’mores? She was brought back to the time when, as a child, she’d eaten so many of the campfire cookies in one sitting she became ill. The sight of them turned her stomach.

  “I hope you like it. Everyone does,” Mrs. Nagle said with an air of confidence.

  Sherry nibbled the corner of the cookie and was pleasantly surprised when the bite went down smoothly. Mrs. Nagle never took her sights off Sherry, making the process less about scoring the cookie and more about willing a happy face to mask Sherry’s growing nausea. To Sherry’s relief, her cookie’s backstory was brief. Warren thanked the baker and she left the table.

  Having signed off on the last score sheet, Sherry rearranged her papers in order of highest score to lowest. As she waited for the next step in the process, she mentally weighed the pros and cons of being a judge versus a contestant in future cook-offs. The cons came easily to mind. She preferred being a contestant. Before she settled on the first pro, Warren asked for her score sheets. At the same time, Eileen caught Sherry’s attention by waving from the back of the room. Not wanting to appear biased before the results were made public, Sherry returned Eileen’s wave with a slight grin.

  Sherry rotated her chair to join the judges’ huddle. This was the portion of the contest Sherry and all her fellow cooking contestants were most curious about. She had always wondered if the debate got testy, as opinions most certainly differed. Not everyone likes dried cranberries in their cookie. Some liked crisp texture, while others preferred chewy. Dark chocolate or milk chocolate preferences—the recipe creator’s choice could make or break the recipe. She let the other two judges begin the conversation.

  “I have a clear winner,” Barry blurted out with no preface. His expression challenged the other two to present the same conclusion.

  The back-and-forth Sherry was bracing for never materialized.

  “Me, too.” Warren’s nonchalance made Sherry question whether either of the m
en had considered all the aspects of the judging criteria spelled out in the contest rules. “And you, Sherry?”

  Sherry cleared her throat. It was difficult to sound authoritative in a hushed huddle, but she attempted to do so. “I have narrowed down my choices to three.”

  “If it’s the homeless shelter story that got you, me, too,” Barry said. “I just found his recipe too safe. He didn’t make my final three.”

  “Exactly my feeling,” Warren said. “I had him in my final three, but he was eliminated based on lack of innovation. If anyone thinks cookies can’t be reinvented, think again. That’s the beauty of recipe contests. The creativity that is born from people’s stories gives new life to stale recipes.” He pointed to the tables of cookie platters beside the judges. “Cookies with black pepper, potato chips, pretzels, avocado—we got ’em all. And if the story can match or exceed the cookie, we have a winner.”

  Sherry shook her head. “No, he wasn’t in my final three. I found his story overly dramatic, almost unbelievable, but I really enjoyed his bar,” Sherry said.

  “Effi Forino’s story was heartbreaking and inspirational. Unfortunately, she fell short on the cookie execution,” Barry added. “She was in my final three, but I eliminated her.”

  Sherry made a quick scan of the crowd in the room. “Okay. I’ve made up my mind. Taylor Underhill. His story about how he baked Mocha Java Whoopie Pies for his kids’ bake sale while his wife recovered from a difficult childbirth won me over, as did his cookies. They were fantastic.”

  “My choice is Eileen Weisberger,” Barry said. “Her Gingerbread Pawprint Cookies captured the essence of the holiday season. Her touching story of how her newly adopted, curious kitten trampled the just-baked cookies, creating a pawprint indentation perfect for a filling she didn’t know the cookie desperately needed, was magical and otherworldly.”

  Warren held up a score sheet.

  “And I see she’s Warren’s choice, too. By a vote of two to one, I’d say she’s the winner, with Taylor Underhill as runner-up.”

  “Eileen’s going to be thrilled.” Sherry paused before saying softly, “Although I don’t really want her to know I didn’t vote for her to win.”

  Chapter 5

  Warren pushed back his chair and stood. He lifted his hand over his head, catching Hans’s attention. Sherry and Barry stood beside him. Hans made his way to the side of the judge’s table and lifted his arms. The room quieted down. Mic at his lips, Warren extended a second greeting to the crowd of people.

  “Thank you all for attending the Story For Glory Cookie Bake-off this year. We hope to make it an annual event. We’re certain there are many more bakers with creative recipes and stories to share. Everyone did a fantastic job making this year’s contest a success. Give yourselves a round of applause.”

  Warren passed the mic to Barry. “It was a difficult decision, but we have chosen a winner. The winning cookie and story were presented by Eileen Weisberger of Augustin, Connecticut. Our runner-up is Taylor Underhill from Westerly, Rhode Island. You all heard their stories and you’ll have to take our word for the fact that their cookies were glorious. Let’s give these two bakers a warm round of applause.”

  The crowd cheered and a woman shrieked. Barry handed the mic to Sherry.

  “I’m assuming that’s you sending up a whoop of delight, Eileen.”

  A round of laughter traveled throughout the room.

  “Come on up, Eileen and Taylor, to receive your prizes.” Sherry looked at Warren when she realized there were no prizes in sight. She lowered the mic. “Where are the prizes?” she whispered.

  Warren beckoned Hans with a curled index finger. “Hans, would you roll in the prize table, please?”

  Hans left the room through a side door. While he was gone, Eileen and Taylor made their way to the front of the room. Congratulations was offered by the judges in the form of hugs and handshakes.

  “We have plaques for the winners, and two cash envelopes, one containing a check for twenty-five hundred dollars and the other containing the runner-up check for five hundred dollars. Also, a trophy depicting the holiday parade float Eileen will be riding on, and the certificate stating Eileen’s cookies will be featured at Chef Buckman’s Pinch and Dash Bakery for one month.”

  The audience burst into a hearty round of applause.

  “Sherry! I’m so excited. I’ve never won anything based on talent in my life, except maybe bingo.” Eileen leaned across the judges’ table and took both of Sherry’s hands.

  “Remind me how you two know each other?” Barry asked.

  “She’s my neighbor,” Sherry shared. “No bias involved in my judging, though. I take impartiality very seriously.”

  “Obviously. You didn’t even pick hers.” Barry’s eyebrows lifted when Sherry winced.

  “Well, someone did. That’s all that matters.” Eileen leaned in closer to Sherry. “I’ll ask you later why I wasn’t your choice.” Eileen dropped Sherry’s hands and took Taylor’s, raising his with hers above their heads.

  Hans grazed the edge of the table as he sprinted to Warren’s side, knocking the stack of recipes to the ground. “Sir, the prizes aren’t where we discussed they’d be,” he announced when he was able to catch his breath. “Did someone move them without notifying me?”

  Warren’s smile drooped. “I knew we should have hired a second security guard.”

  Eileen stepped back from the table. “Our trophies are gone?”

  Hans nodded.

  Warren lowered his voice to a whisper. “Hans, call the police. And please have Gina continue the search.” He returned his attention to the audience. “In the meantime,” Warren lifted the mic to his lips, “congratulations, Eileen and Taylor. Thank you all for participating in the contest today, and I hope to see you next year. Our apologies for the prize mishap. It may take some time to locate the prizes, so we may present them at another time.” Warren lowered the mic. “We will contact you both as soon as this is straightened out. Again, congratulations.”

  “Do I still get to ride on the holiday parade float?” Eileen asked.

  “Of course. And we’ll reissue your prize checks if the mislaid prizes can’t be located. I can’t imagine what’s happened to them,” Barry added. “Let’s give Hans and Gina a chance to see what they can come up with.”

  After a few minutes of the judges and the winners trading ideas for next year’s bake-off, Hans returned to Warren’s side.

  “Mr. Yardsmith, no luck. And the police are here.” Hans tipped his head in the direction of the door.

  Sherry could make out two uniformed officers scanning the crowd by the room’s entrance.

  “I’ll have a word with the police, although I really have no idea what happened to the prizes,” Warren said. “Someone must have miscommunicated procedures. The police are here as a formality, in case it’s more than a mix-up.” Warren left the table and was soon swallowed up by the crowd.

  Eileen and Taylor were poised to accept directions from either Sherry or Barry, but none were forthcoming. After an extended silence and an exchange of puzzled looks, Sherry instructed the contestants to collect their cookie platters and enjoy the remainder of the day.

  “Do you need a ride anywhere?” Barry asked. “I have my car in the municipal lot.”

  “Thank you. I’m all set. My car’s in the lot, too. It was nice working with you. A strange ending, but hopefully it will sort itself out and go down in the history books as a success.”

  “I agree.” Barry pushed his chair toward the table. “Big success, despite the kinks.”

  Sherry collected her purse from under her chair. “Cooking competitions always have a snag or two. That’s what makes them a challenge. I remember at the National Chicken Cooking Contest, the oven I was using to bake my Maple-Sriracha Chicken blew a fuse and . . .”

  “Excuse me, Sherry?”

  Sherry turned to face an approaching woman. She didn’t recognize her as a baker in the contest. As the woman
neared Barry, he leaned close to her ear and said something Sherry couldn’t make out. He backed away and waved goodbye without expressing interest in hearing the conclusion of Sherry’s story. He’d heard one too many personal tales today, she concluded.

  “Yes, hi.” Sherry studied the woman’s face, which was lined and stained by sun exposure, yet very pretty at the same time.

  “Hi, my name is Rachel Currier.”

  “Nice to meet you, Rachel.” Sherry paused. “Currier. We had a contestant named Crosby Currier today. Crosby Banks, actually. But I knew him as Crosby Currier many years ago. Any relation?”

  “Yes, my husband. I believe you might have had him over to dinner last night, isn’t that right?” Rachel said with an edge.

  Sherry glanced over the woman’s shoulder in hopes of locating someone she knew who might provide an excuse to escape this awkward conversation. No such luck. Before she could ask why Crosby had told her Rachel was away when clearly she wasn’t, Rachel took the conversation in another direction.

  “I’m so glad you didn’t choose Crosby’s cookie as the winner because it’s not his recipe. It’s his long-suffering mother’s. I don’t know where he came up with the story that he baked the cookie for the homeless shelter. If he did do that, he’s a changed man.” Rachel tucked her highlighted blond hair behind her ears, revealing stunning diamond earrings.

  Between absorbing the woman’s revelation and taking in her showy ear accessories, Sherry’s tired brain left her speechless. She had no desire or strength to enter into a conflict.

  After a moment, a reserve surge of energy kicked in. “As judges, we have no way to verify the stories the bakers told us. All we could do is sit back and enjoy them. You know, that wasn’t his first story about where the cookie recipe came from.”

  “I’m not at all surprised he may have changed his story,” Rachel replied. “How do you know he had another story?”

  “At dinner, he told me a completely different one, despite the fact I asked him to please not tell me before the contest. He said he baked the cookies to woo you to become his wife.”