Double Chocolate Cookie Murder

by Devon Delaney

  Rachel lowered her gaze to the floor and sighed.

  “Is Crosby still here?” Sherry asked. “I wanted to congratulate him on his delicious cookie, even though he didn’t place. The competition is always tough at a baking contest. I’m so envious of the bakers who can master baking these delicious treats. I’m still trying to master baking a decent chocolate chip cookie.”

  “Huh,” Rachel scoffed. “I don’t believe you’re not a wonderful baker. And no, Crosby’s left the building. He’s on his way to his car, pulling his carryall behind him.”

  “Sherry, can you join us over here?”

  Sherry scanned the room to locate who was calling her name. Warren was waving from the front of the room. A sense of relief flowed through her when her excuse to end the conversation materialized.

  “Excuse me, Rachel. I’m being asked to join Warren Yardsmith. Was there anything else you wanted to say?” Sherry backed away from Rachel.

  “I’m going to stop into your store soon,” Rachel said.

  “Please do. If you’ve never been in, you’re in for a wonderful experience.”

  Rachel’s eyes widened, as if searching Sherry’s words for something beyond a simple answer. “See you, then.”

  Sherry made her way through the thinning crowd. She found Warren sandwiched between two police officers. Barry stood a few feet away.

  “No sign of the prizes,” Warren said, “but the officers would like to know if you have any information to add. Like, did you notice any disgruntled contestants? Barry already gave a statement.”

  “No disgruntled contestants at all. Maybe Eileen and Taylor, when they didn’t get their prizes.” Sherry laughed.

  The officers held their steely gazes on Sherry. She put on a serious face to match their demeanor. “Honestly, the mood in the room was happy and festive. I can’t imagine what happened to the prizes. Every possible place in the building was searched?”

  “Still searching as we speak, but why would the prizes be out for public viewing one minute and gone the next, without a trace?” Warren shrugged. “They were there when the bake-off was about to begin. I saw them. They were definitely stolen from the table.”

  “We don’t have much to go on, but we’ll do our best,” one of the officers said. “Thank you for your time.”

  “You’re welcome. Wish I could be of more help.” Sherry shifted her attention to Warren. “Thank you again, Warren. I’ll be checking in to see how the search for the prizes plays out.” Sherry headed to the elevators. She joined the line for the ride down and immediately realized she was standing behind Effi and Sal.

  “I hope you two had a nice time this morning. Your cookie was fabulous,” Sherry said.

  The couple turned around and gave Sherry a warm smile.

  “I almost fainted from nerves,” Effi said. “Now that it’s over, I can’t wait until next year. I can see why Sherry loves recipe contests.”

  Sal kissed his wife on the cheek.

  Chapter 6

  The next day, Sherry awoke with a renewed sense of purpose. The alternative perspective that she’d gained from being a bake-off judge had given her a feeling of untapped creativity just waiting to be put to use in future recipe contests. She was also excited to spend the day with her sister. Sherry was rinsing out her coffee mug and cereal bowl when Marla came into the kitchen.

  “Good morning.” Sherry greeted Marla with a big smile. “Help yourself to coffee and cereal. Guess what we’re doing today?”

  “Good morning to you, too. I can’t imagine what you have in store for me.”

  “We’re going grocery shopping because you’re helping me make a new and improved version of roasted butternut squash panzanella for the Holiday Sides Recipe Contest. The entry deadline is in four days.”

  “Hasn’t your motto always been, if you’ve tried a recipe for a contest a few times and it’s not coming together, time to scrap it?” Marla asked with a note of caution.

  “I thought about moving on to a new creation, but I’m not a quitter. Seeing all those people yesterday who’d baked their hearts out inspired me the way people tell me I inspire them. And I’m a tad bit competitive. It’d be like giving up on a problem child. Can’t be done. Just ask Amber, the family therapist. This recipe is a problem child, and it demands special attention.”

  “You’re never going to slow down, are you?” Marla’s tone was more a statement of fact rather than a question. “I thought that was your goal for the new year.”

  “Definitely. Just let me get past the holidays. I promise to lighten the load.”

  “You don’t have to promise me. You’re the one complaining about lack of sleep, difficulty with decision-making, and exhaustion. To me, you’re describing just another day in my life.”

  “I really do need to pare down my schedule. Three part-time jobs at last count, and more hobbies than Martha Stewart. Poor Chutney’s not getting the attention he needs, and I barely have time to figure out this recipe. I think I’ve got a cook’s version of writer’s block, because I try to get too many things done at the same time.”

  “Changing the subject,” Marla made a slight grimace, “would you mind if I stayed on for maybe the entire week instead of a few days?”

  Sherry’s enthusiasm stalled. She took a good look at her sister’s expression. The worry lines across Marla’s forehead had become pronounced.

  “Is something the matter? Why have your plans changed?”

  “Grant and I aren’t agreeing on anything. A few extra days apart is our holiday present to our relationship. Plus, I’m feeling a sudden case of the Augustin homesicks.”

  “Here I am, talking about my silly problem of being too busy, and you’ve got real problems. Of course you can stay here as long as you like. Absence will make the heart grow fonder between you two, mark my words.”

  “I don’t really want to talk too much about the situation, if you don’t mind. I’d love to do whatever you had planned,” Marla said in a soft voice.

  “We don’t have to make my contest recipe. What was I thinking? Only about me, obviously. What would you like to do today? Let’s do something you’d like to do.”

  “It wouldn’t be a visit to your house without a recipe trial. I’m all in. Give me a minute to eat something and brush my hair and I’m good to go.”

  Sherry sat with Marla as she ate her breakfast. “Haven’t seen Eileen outside all morning, which is unusual. She’s a fixture outside, weeding, planting in her front yard, or walking her cat on a leash. Hope she’s not too upset about the missing prizes.”

  “She’ll be fine. She’s such a lovely person. I’d think she’d be happy with a win and a handshake. Plus, from what you told me, she was most excited to ride on the holiday parade float, and no one can steal that away from her.”

  “You’re right. And she gets her cookie featured at Chef Buckman’s bakery. She had a good story and her recipe was really tasty. I’m so proud of her.” Sherry beamed. She took one last glance across the street to Eileen’s empty front yard. Sherry checked the time on her phone. “Would you like anything more to eat or drink before we get going?”

  “No thanks. I can tell you’re chomping at the bit to get that recipe sorted out. I’ll take my coffee to go.” Marla laughed.

  “In that case, let’s get going.”

  At the market, the sisters decided on the divide-and-conquer approach to knocking off the items on the grocery list.

  Sherry handed Marla her assigned portion of the recipe ingredients. “See you in a few.”

  Marla disappeared behind a display of seasonal baking ingredients. Sherry pushed her cart up and down the aisles, looking for Dijon mustard, balsamic vinegar, and the best extra virgin olive oil. The final item on her list was pumpkin seeds. She scanned the pouches of nuts and seeds in aisle eight until she found what she was searching for. She waited for a man to finish sorting through walnut pouches so she could reach the pumpkin seeds.

  When he stepped aside, Sherry
did a double take. “Warren?”

  The man turned and faced Sherry. “Long time no see. The grocery store is the last place you’d think we’d be after eating all those cookies yesterday. I’m still not completely rid of the sugar rush.” Warren held Sherry’s gaze longer than she was comfortable with. He lowered his voice. “Quite a coincidence to see you here, as I just received a call with some news you’ll be interested in.”

  Sherry reached for her pumpkin seeds and dropped the pouch in her basket. She hoped the news wasn’t personal or negative in any way. After listening to word of Marla’s marital difficulties, a second hit of sour relationship news in one morning might fully snuff out the competitive fire in Sherry’s belly.

  “Breaking news comes with the territory of running a newspaper. I’m being updated with good and bad news from multiple sources all the time. It’s rare the police call, though.”

  “Have they found the prizes? I’d love to inform my neighbor, Eileen, if they have.”

  “Yes, the good news is the prizes have been found.”

  “That’s great news. Or is it? Are they damaged?” Sherry hoped no bad news was to follow. “Where in the world were they?” She presented a smile in anticipation of the potentially amusing anecdote Warren was about to deliver.

  “The prizes were found in a car at the Augustin Marina.”

  “The Augustin Marina? That makes no sense. Have the police figured out why they ended up there? And again, are they in rough shape?”

  “They’re all okay. The police are doing their best to fit together the puzzle pieces concerning how, why, and when. But that was only part of what the call was about.” He paused and shifted his bag of walnuts. “One of the bakers from the contest was found dead on the Augustin Marina’s property.”

  Sherry clutched the handle of her cart to steady herself. She shuddered. “Dead? Who? When?” After the words left her mouth, she silently chanted, “Not Eileen, not Eileen. Why weren’t you in your front yard plucking weeds this morning where you always are, rain or shine?”

  “I realize you were familiar with many of the contestants, so I hope the news isn’t too much of a shock.”

  Sherry squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Remember the man with the story about baking his cookies for a homeless shelter? His name is Crosby Currier. He went by the name Banks in the bake-off. Crosby Banks.”

  Sherry took a moment to process the name. “Oh, no. Crosby?”

  “You did know him. I’m sorry.”

  “Barely, but yes. That’s awful. What happened? When? Where?” The questions tumbled out of Sherry’s mouth.

  “I know you have a lot of questions, but I don’t have all the answers. The police said his time of death was not long after the bake-off.”

  “I’m so sorry for the man and his family. Was there an accident or did he have a medical condition of some sort?”

  “Neither. I’m afraid he died from neither of those. Police said they have every reason to believe he was murdered.”

  “Murdered?”

  “He had blunt force trauma to his head, and he was tied to an anchor,” Warren said. “Not in the water, but close to the pier. Behind the dockmaster’s shed.”

  “Could have been an accident. Maybe he tried to move the anchor and took a fall? Sounds like he somehow got tangled in the anchor’s ropes.” The questioning tone of Sherry’s voice did little to convince herself what she was saying was plausible.

  “No question he was put in that awkward scenario against his will, the police said.”

  “And what about the prizes? Whose car were they found in?” Sherry asked.

  “Crosby’s.”

  “Crosby had the prizes in his car? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Another lost piece to the puzzle of why he would have stolen the entire prize package. Needless to say, the prizes are now being processed as evidence and won’t be returned for some time.”

  Sherry winced. “Crosby, what have you done? He seemed like a nice man. What am I saying? I know he was a nice man.” Sherry visualized Rachel’s pinched expression when talking about her husband. “Obviously, not everyone thought so.”

  “Seems so.”

  “Did the dockmaster see anything? Maybe he’s the murderer.”

  “No use guessing at this point. There’s already a Detective Ray Bease on the case. He’ll get to the bottom of it all. When I get back to the office, I’m going to do some research. I know the Curriers have been in our paper a few times, and I need to remind myself what for. Got to get going. My wife, Culli, has the flu, so I’m in charge of dinner. I came very close to not being able to judge the contest yesterday. I gave her a dose of nighttime flu medicine before I left for the bake-off, and she didn’t even know I had been out when she woke up.” He glanced at the piece of paper in his hand. “My to-do list. I now have a greater appreciation for all the errands my wife runs throughout the day. Next up is the cleaners.”

  “Good luck finishing your to-do list,” Sherry said. “Hope your wife feels better soon.”

  “Thanks.” Warren waved his bag of walnuts in Sherry’s direction and turned to leave the aisle. He pivoted back. “If you see Eileen, tell her I’ll be in touch about the prizes.”

  Sherry was so lost in thought she couldn’t produce the words to bid Warren farewell.

  “You look concerned. Is something wrong?” Marla emptied her armload of items into their cart.

  Sherry pointed down the aisle. “That’s Warren Yardsmith, editor of the Nutmeg State of Mind, walking away. Just got some shocking news from him.”

  “Wasn’t he a judge with you yesterday?”

  “That’s right. He said Crosby Banks was found dead at the marina, not long after the bake-off, and it’s looking like he was murdered.” Sherry’s voice trembled as she relayed the information.

  “No. Way. We all ate dinner together two nights ago. And now he’s dead? That’s so bizarre.” Marla shook her head.

  “To say the least.” Sherry stared at her cart. “I’m done, are you?” Without giving Marla a chance to respond, Sherry hurried the cart to the checkout line.

  Chapter 7

  “I’ll take this call and be right in. Here you go. Take the key.” Sherry handed Marla the house key. She reached for her ringing phone. “Can you stick the key on the front hall table when you get inside, please?”

  “Will do.” Marla scooped up two of the grocery bags and left the car.

  Sherry punched the Accept Call key. At the same time, Sherry heard Eileen shout a greeting to Marla, loud enough to be heard through the car’s closing door. Sherry twisted around to get a look at her neighbor. Eileen threw Sherry a wave from across the street. She was walking her cat, Elvis, on his leash. The relief that swept over Sherry when she saw her neighbor momentarily diverted her attention away from the caller.

  The deep voice coming through the phone brought her back to the matter at hand. “Sherry? Are you there?”

  “Sorry, yes. Hi, Don. How are you?”

  “Great. Sounds like you’re busy, so I’ll be brief. Can I tempt you and your sister to take one of the final boat rides of the season with me? I was thinking of dinner at the Clam Shack. It’s a bit chilly out on the water, but that just makes it all the more adventurous.” Don’s voice was dripping with enthusiasm. He clearly wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  “You water lovers are a hearty bunch.” Sherry considered how to say no without hurting the man’s feelings. She had about as much desire to go boating in late November as she did to get a root canal. As she considered a “no thanks,” the new relationship endorphins kicked in and “no” became “yes.” She was reminded of how, in the relatively short time Sherry had known Don, his ability to mysteriously persuade her to participate in activities outside her comfort zone had become one of the traits she admired most about him. She liked to believe she was getting in the habit of letting whatever happened happen. Marla labeled the phenomenon, “giving up c
ontrol,” while Sherry labeled her newfound flexibility “maturation.”

  “Sure. Sounds nice. On the early side would be best. I have to work tomorrow.”

  “As do I,” Don replied. “See you at the marina around six?”

  “Perfect. See you at the marina. I’ll be the one resembling the Michelin Man in my many layers.” She laughed. She stuffed her phone in her purse, grabbed the remaining grocery bag from the back seat of the car, and made her way to the house.

  When Sherry entered, she relayed the essence of Don’s phone call to Marla. Initially, her sister, too was hesitant about Don’s invitation, but for different reasons. She described herself as a third wheel. It wasn’t long before Sherry convinced Marla that her presence wasn’t only desired but mandatory.

  “How long have you been dating Don?” Marla unpacked the butternut squash cubes from the reusable grocery bag.

  “I wouldn’t exactly label our relationship ‘dating’ at this point.” Sherry paused and reassessed. “Actually, yes, when we get together, it is a date. There you go, I said it.”

  “Convenient he lives on Long Island. Not that far away. What a coincidence. Crosby lived one town away from Don at one point,” Marla said.

  “The two said they didn’t know each other until they met here at dinner. Long Island’s chock full of people. Chances they would know each other were slim to none.”

  “Remember, Crosby said he was only on Long Island for a few years. Not long after his short stint at Augustin High.”

  “Crosby said he lived most of his life around Augustin. His last job was teaching business courses. I have a feeling there’s more to his story than he was willing to get into with an unfamiliar crowd.” Sherry eyed the mismatched size butternut squash chunks on the cutting board. “The cubes need to be uniform dice cuts. Any volunteers?”

  Marla raised her hand. One by one, she trimmed the cubes into equal-sized cubes as Sherry unpacked the remainder of the ingredients.

  When she was done, Marla scraped the butternut squash cubes from the cutting board and spread them across an oiled baking dish. “I’m going to visit the ladies’ room. Don’t finish the dressing without me. I want to see how you make it.”