Double Chocolate Cookie Murder

by Devon Delaney

  “Sorry, did I wake you?” Marla asked as Sherry entered the kitchen. “I was trying to empty the dishwasher quietly, but no good deed goes unpunished. I dropped the cutlery caddy.”

  Sherry didn’t reply. Marla had talked over a sentence of the phone message she was listening to, but the gist came through loud and clear. Sherry lowered the phone from her ear.

  “Sher? Hope you’re not hearing bad news. The look on your face says you are.”

  “Don left a late night or rather an early morning message—actually, three messages—saying Rachel and her lawyer say the boat belongs to her. He couldn’t take delivery of it and the check was going to be ripped up.”

  “Interesting.” Marla shut the dishwasher door. “Must have been a piece of property in the divorce that didn’t get divided properly. Was he upset?”

  “Well, yes, because his boat is being assessed for seaworthiness, and if it’s too expensive to salvage, he wasn’t going to bother with the repairs if he was taking ownership of Crosby’s boat. He said Rachel has no desire for negotiation and the deal is off.”

  “Maybe it’s for the best,” Marla said. “Crosby’s boat might have some bad karma attached to it.”

  Sherry set down her phone on the counter. “So does Don’s.”

  “It does have one strike against it, but I’m willing to give his captaining skills one more try.”

  “I was thinking. Rachel would like me to find Crosby’s killer. But her glove was found on Don’s boat the night it nearly sank. How can I believe in her innocence? How can I believe anything she’s telling me?”

  “I have a feeling you won’t be happy until you discover the truth, one way or another. By the way, if Don doesn’t have a working boat, will that make seeing him difficult?”

  “I’m worried about that. The drive from Long Island is a tough one just for a date.” Sherry sighed. “Let’s cross that bridge when we have to.” Sherry gazed around the kitchen. “Thanks for cleaning up. I never leave a mess unattended overnight, but we ate so late last night, I ran out of energy.”

  Sherry’s phone alerted her to an incoming text. She collected her phone from the counter. “Amber’s texting. Wants to know if we can spot her at the store for a bit this morning. I’d better get to work on my fire safety article for the newsletter if we’re spending the morning at the Ruggery.” Sherry punched in a few words and hit the Send key. “The answer is yes.” Sherry poured herself some coffee and went upstairs to shower and get dressed for the day ahead.

  * * *

  “Put me to work, Dad.” Marla hung up her fleece vest. “Sherry and I are pinch-hitting for Amber for a few hours until she settles some personal issues.”

  “Everything okay with her?” Erno asked.

  “She’s making some Black Friday returns, and because she bought them out of town, she has to drive a long way to find stores that’ll take the merchandise back,” Sherry explained.

  “Another reason I hate Black Friday sales. People buy too much prompted by saving money, when, in reality, they’re wasting money on discounted excess,” Erno said. “If someone comes in this afternoon and tries to return one of my rugs they bought on a whim, put them on the Black Friday blacklist.”

  “Dad, we don’t have such a list and never will. People change their minds. It’s a fact of life,” Marla scolded. “When is the last time someone returned one of your hand-loomed, hand-designed rugs?”

  Erno’s gaze lifted toward the ceiling and returned to Marla. “Only one attempt I can recall. An engaged couple who placed an order and broke up before the rug was completed. The husband tried to return it for full price—thousands, as I recall. It was huge, but the wife already had the rug listed in the prenup as her possession, so he was out of luck.”

  “Pretty good track record,” Sherry added.

  “We do get plenty of repair requests. As a matter of fact, the Currier man who died at the bake-off—” Erno began.

  “Hold on,” Sherry interrupted. “No one died at the bake-off. Crosby died a few hours afterward. But thanks for reminding me. I’ve been meaning to ask you about the Curriers and Bankses as customers. What can you tell me about them?”

  “As I was about to say, Crosby’s father and mother had a rug made here. A beautiful sailboat scene on the water for the dockmaster building. They never tried to return it, but it was destroyed in the awful Augustin Marina fire, and Ivy Currier was desperate to have it remade. Insurance didn’t cover the cost, so the plan fizzled when she couldn’t afford the price. She was on her own at that point, and her husband wasn’t keen on the idea of spending money for a rug replacement for her.”

  “We saw an article about the marina and the fire when we were waiting to get on Don’s boat to the Clam Shack,” Sherry said.

  Erno shook his head. “Changed the landscape of the harbor. Put Lonnie out of work and he never went back, even after the marina reopened in its new, reduced form.”

  Sherry followed her father to the hooked-rug demonstration table. Even after years of working at the Ruggery, she continued to admire the area in the store where customers were introduced to the art of rug hooking. In front of her, a canvas lay blocked on a wooden frame stand. A punch needle threaded with a vibrant green stood upright, partially punched in the canvas, ready for a willing customer to be educated. She remembered how, as a child, she was in the store after school. Her favorite activity was spelling out her name on canvas in wool, punching loops of colorful yarn in script, block letters, and illegible abstract designs only she could decipher.

  “Have you ever heard of a local journalist named Cap Diminsky? He wrote the article about the marina,” Marla asked her father.

  Erno retacked the canvas to the frame, where customers had pushed too hard with the punch tool and loosened the contact point. “Sure. I’ve read his articles for years. He’s a very good writer. Local fellow. Older than me. Must be retired by now. Maybe even, you know, dead.”

  “You might be right. I hope not, though.” A note of dismay lingered in Sherry’s voice. “I’d like to find him.”

  “Wouldn’t your co-judge from the bake-off be able to help you with the man’s whereabouts if he’s still in the area? The editor of Diminsky’s paper might have his email address.” Erno tested the tautness of the cotton canvas by pushing the needle through the material. The yarn formed a loop when he gently retracted the needle from the underside of the canvas. “Perfect.”

  “Good idea. If I need to, I’ll ask Warren. He may not know either, if their careers didn’t overlap.”

  Marla assisted Erno with bundles of yarn.

  “Dad, we can take over from here. Why don’t you take Ruth out for a morning coffee?”

  “My daughter is a mind reader. I was just thinking about my sassy lassie.” Erno laughed.

  Sherry shook her head. “You two kids go and have some fun.”

  “Marla, I haven’t even asked you why you’re still here. Grant’s gone back to Oklahoma. Why aren’t you with him?” Erno asked.

  Marla side-eyed Sherry, who lowered her gaze. Marla was going to have to handle this topic all on her own. “Things are a little rocky between Grant and me at the moment.”

  “Say no more. That sounds like Amber’s field of expertise, not mine. I don’t need details, but you do need to know you have my full support. As your father, my job is to be here for you in your time of need. Let me know when that time is and I’ll jump into action.” Erno gave Marla a kiss on the cheek before handing her the bundles of yarn. “Best remedy for family troubles is more family. I’ll be back in an hour.” Erno headed toward the front door. He took his jacket from the wall hook and was gone in the blink of an eye.

  “Bye, Dad,” Sherry and Marla said in unison.

  “I knew he’d have trouble handling my marital problems.” Marla placed the colorful yarn in the proper bins. “I’m having trouble, too.”

  Sherry and Marla spent the next hour with a customer, designing a raw canvas to be made into a rug. The
scene depicted on the rug’s canvas would be a rolling meadow, outlined by Erno’s expert hand. He would be drawing from a photo the woman brought in. As the process developed, the customer grew unconvinced Sherry and Marla would properly relay her color palate and design details to Erno and was about to reschedule her visit when he returned with Ruth.

  “Just in the nick of time,” Sherry joked as her father entered the store. “Victoria Templeton is asking for the boss. Would you mind helping her with her rug specifications?” Sherry pointed in the direction of Marla and Victoria, gathered around a large lookbook.

  “That’s what I was born to do.” Erno hung up his coat. “I’m on my way.”

  “Hi, Ruth. Come talk to me while Dad finishes with Victoria.” Sherry led Ruth to the customer counter, where she pulled up a stool for his father’s friend.

  “How are you doing, dear? I hear you’re struggling with one of your contest recipes. The butternut squash whatchamacallit. It really wasn’t terrible, just not your best effort.”

  “I strive for the best, I’m afraid. This recipe’s giving me agita. Something’s missing.”

  Ruth leaned in. “Maybe it’s time for a new hobby? Have you considered taking up poker or bunco? My best friend, Frances, and I host a group of parlor game players every Tuesday evening. I’m sure we could squeeze out Kirk Loveland and shoehorn you in. Works out perfectly. We think he’s a cheater and have been devising his exit for months.”

  “I would love to join you all on Tuesday nights, down the road. You know me, I’m like a dog with a bone when it comes to my recipe contests. I can’t let go very easily.”

  “The offer stands for the future. Erno was telling me you had questions about Cap Diminsky, the journalist. You know, he lives over at Sunset Village.”

  “Really? I was over there recently. Wish I’d known.”

  “He’s lived there for about three years. I know, because, as a member of the Augustin Historical Society board, I presented him with a lifetime achievement award for his contribution to the betterment of our town’s communications. As the editor of the Town Hall newsletter, one day you may get one, dear, for keeping Augustin in the paper with your contest wins.”

  “I’m sure there will be much more deserving citizens than myself, but thank you for the thought.” Sherry considered the information Ruth had shared. “Cap is healthy? I’d be interested in speaking to him about the marina fire. He wrote at least two articles about the event. I’ve read one and have some questions.”

  Ruth unbuttoned her cardigan. The collar of the sweater was decorated with feathers, giving her long, sinewy neck a birdlike resemblance. “He was healthy about a year ago. That’s when he was presented the award. Haven’t heard otherwise. We had to move up the ceremony when our astute intern, at the time, realized this coming year was the twentieth anniversary of the marina fire. The timing worked out quite well. He received his award last year and his work is on exhibit this year. His articles will be featured as well. The Historical Society will be presenting an exhibit featuring artifacts and photographs from the marina disaster in honor of the firefighters, Coast Guard, police, and the Augustin maritime community in the new year. The hope is to raise money to refurbish the marina area as best as can be afforded. The history of Augustin is deeply rooted in the mariner community of yesteryear.”

  “I sure would love a look at that exhibit. I’m writing an article for the newsletter about fire safety and I might be able to gather some more material. Unfortunately, you say it’s not running until January?” Sherry asked.

  “I think I know someone who can get you a sneak preview.” Ruth straightened her posture. “The items are currently laid out in the holding room. I can take you over there and let you look. How’s this afternoon?”

  Sherry took a look at her father and sister guiding Victoria Templeton through the rug design process. At the same time, her phone vibrated. She held up one finger to indicate her answer was on its way. “Hi, Eileen. Is everything all right?” Sherry gripped the phone with extra intensity, anticipating her neighbor may have had an accident, because she rarely called. The last time the woman had called her, she had sliced open her shin falling on her garden sprinkler.

  “Very much so.”

  Sherry blew out a sigh of relief.

  “Can you please take me to Pinch and Dash Bakery this afternoon? I’m obligated to make an appearance there to promote my cookie win and, without consulting me, they’ve advertised today as the day. I’m too nervous to drive myself. I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ll pay you for your time.”

  Sherry smiled at her phone. “Of course, Eileen. And you certainly don’t have to pay me. One cookie is all I ask for in return.” She laughed. “Would you be put out if we made a stop at the Historical Society? They’re very close to each other, and I have an errand to run there. Won’t take too long.”

  “We can stop anywhere you want. I’m supposed to be there around three. Maybe for an hour, they say. No one’s interested in meeting me anyway, but I may never be asked again, so I should go.”

  Sherry lowered the phone to her side and faced Ruth. “Would it work for you if we visited the Historical Society around two fifteen today? Eileen will be with me, if that works. We will then continue on to the Pinch and Dash Bakery, where she’s making an appearance.”

  “Perfect.” Ruth shifted her attention to the approaching male. “Just like you.”

  Erno hugged Ruth as she remained seated on her stool. “You’re perfect too, cutie pie.”

  “I’ll pick you up at two. See you then.” Sherry ended the phone call.

  “I was hoping I had a chance with your father.” Victoria positioned herself next to Erno at the sales counter. “Now I see the competition is too strong. Ruth, you’re a lucky lady.”

  “I certainly am,” Ruth said. “But I can be bought.”

  “Ruth!” Erno wagged his finger at his girlfriend.

  “We will treasure the rug when it arrives.” Victoria paid the deposit. “I guess that’s the most Erno I can hope for.”

  “Don’t let this go to your head, sweetie.” Ruth wagged her finger at Erno.

  “Have a good afternoon, everyone.” Victoria tossed a wave in everyone’s direction and let herself out.

  “That was interesting,” Marla said. “My dad, the sex symbol.”

  “Can we get back to work, please? Enough of this nonsense.” Erno pulled a card from the Rolodex. “She’s been a good customer for years. Lost her husband about five years ago. Probably lonely.”

  “Don’t go getting any ideas of filling her empty hours, young fellow,” Ruth said.

  “Not in a million years. I wouldn’t have the energy for two of you gals.”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Sherry said. “Dad, around one thirty, Ruth and I are going to run a few errands, if you don’t mind. Marla can stay with you at the store, and Amber should be back by then.” Sherry made eye contact with Marla. “Can’t you? Unless you want to come with us, or I can drop you at home to hang out with Chutney. I have to pick up Eileen, so I can easily drop you at home.”

  “What do you say, Marla? Stay here with your old man?” Erno asked. “We can have a chat, if we get the chance.”

  “Can’t pass up that opportunity. I’ll stay here with Dad.” Marla tilted her head in the direction of the Rolodex. “In the meantime, don’t forget to fill out that card for Mrs. Templeton while the information’s fresh in your mind.”

  “And I’m off to meet Frances for an early lunch. Sherry, I’ll be back by one thirty.” Ruth rose from her stool, gave Erno a peck on the cheek, and headed out the door.

  Chapter 13

  Walking from her car to the museum, Sherry recalled the last time she’d visited the Augustin Historical Society. Last year, during the holiday season, a model train exhibit featuring miniature replicas of every aspect of Augustin landscape was the hottest ticket in town. She’d joined Erno for some father-daughter time to get a bird’s-eye view of t
heir hometown. Erno was beyond proud when he located the Ruggery in all its tiny glory. He was so familiar with the history of the town’s commerce, he could have led the tour himself.

  The building that housed the rotating collection of Augustin memorabilia was itself a tribute to fine New England craftsmanship. Even before she entered the building, the colonial wooden house, built in the 1700s and in various stages thereafter, filled her with awe as she stepped up on the massive marble block leading to the front door. Sherry stood in front of the carved wooden doors with antique brass hardware until Ruth poked her from behind.

  “Are you going to open the door, dear? We don’t have all day.”

  “This door is so beautiful. I’m imagining the skilled hands that did the carving.” Sherry held the door open for the other two ladies.

  “Follow me.” Ruth bypassed the ticket desk and walked into the “please touch” colonial kitchen. Stationed by the water pump next to the kitchen sink was a woman outfitted in a period dress and apron. Her bonnet was secured on her head with a giant bow under her chin. Sherry sympathized with the women of the day when she spotted the rigid leather shoes the woman wore. She silently thanked her lucky stars to have been born in the era of memory foam shoe inserts.

  The woman greeted Sherry, Eileen, and Ruth. Ruth and she clearly needed no introduction. They embraced and shared a whisper. The woman appeared conflicted as to whether to break character or maintain her role as an eighteenth-century homemaker.

  “Nice to meet you, too, Dolly,” Sherry said after hearing the woman’s period-correct name. “Is that your real name?”

  “It was a choice between Dolly or Deliverance, so I chose Dolly. It’s my real name when I step through the doors of the Historical Society.” Dolly didn’t offer any other name she went by outside of work.

  After a brief conversation with Ruth, Dolly plunged her hand in her apron pocket and retrieved a ring of keys. She unlocked a door in the darkest corner of the kitchen.