Double Chocolate Cookie Murder

by Devon Delaney

  Ruth led the ladies up a steep set of rickety stairs. Sherry was last in line, with the pretense that she wanted to tie her shoe before climbing the narrow steps. In reality, her intention was to ensure Eileen and Ruth journeyed upstairs without incident. Sherry intended to save them from toppling down the staircase, illuminated by only one bulb, at the top of the staircase, leaving the bottom a dark, risky venture. Somehow, being below the others seemed to make the most logistical sense to stop them from somersaulting down too many risers. Falling down these stairs might have been a contributing factor to the early mortality rate hundreds of years ago.

  Surviving the climb to the second floor, Sherry was faced with a low-ceilinged room with wood as the primary décor. Heavy beams supported the ceiling, wood paneling lined the walls, and wide planks comprised the floor. Again, the room was underlit. The idea of whacking her head on one of the beams was foremost on Sherry’s mind as she followed the ladies.

  “This is the holding room for our next exhibit.” Ruth pointed out a collection of framed photographs propped up against the wall, single file. “Photographs over here. Artifacts and articles over there.” Ruth pointed to the opposite wall.

  Sherry carefully crossed the room. She kneeled in front of the framed articles. “Is there an article by Cap Diminsky?”

  Ruth joined her. “More than one. We haven’t put them in any sensible order yet. Let me hunt his down.” She tipped back each frame to better see what was behind the glass.

  “I’ll take a look at the photos.” Sherry crossed the room and squatted in front of the first photograph. It was an eerie sepia panorama of the aftermath of the marina fire. Smoldering debris, damaged boats, and a roofless shell of a clubhouse, shot from an overhead vantage point. The next frame displayed two photos, a before and an after of the Augustin Harbor vista. The fire had transformed an idyllic coastal landscape into a charred eyesore. Sherry sat on the floor. “These are amazing.”

  Eileen joined Sherry on the floor. “Take a look at this photo. A beautiful boat laid waste to. I bet the owner was devastated by the loss.”

  Sherry scooted backward on the floor to take another look at the first photograph. Her sights locked on the largest boat, remaining somewhat intact. The hull was crumbled and blackened, while the stern appeared to have escaped severe disfigurement.

  “The firefighters did their best, but fire is such a force,” Eileen said. “I remember hearing the sirens that day. The responding trucks came from all directions. You couldn’t get through town because the roads leading to the shoreline were all blocked off.”

  Ruth approached, announced by the creaky floor. “That’s one of our most dramatic photos. It was taken by a photographer who climbed into a crane that was moved in to remove the damage.”

  “Quite an amazing photo.”

  “Did you find what you’re looking for?” Ruth asked.

  “That’s a good question. Not quite sure what I’m looking for, to be honest. I’ve heard so much about the fire recently, but until you see these photos, you can’t imagine what the event entailed,” Sherry said. “Brings a lot of emotions to the forefront.”

  “Funny thing is, half of those who lived through it don’t ever want to talk about it again and the other half can’t let it die. A very black-and-white topic, especially for the fact that no one was ever charged with the crime of arson, even though all evidence indicated the fire was set intentionally.”

  “Ladies, I found an interesting article by Cap Diminsky on the fire,” Eileen called out. “I skimmed it and came away with one major theme. He wasn’t shy about suggesting Crosby Currier set the fire to punish his father for letting his marriage dissolve without a fight.”

  “How would Cap know such an intimate detail about the Curriers’ marriage?” Sherry questioned.

  “Let me rephrase that,” Eileen said. “Says in the margin that this article ran in the Op-Ed section of the paper. You know, the section where opinions don’t necessarily have to be fact-driven or fact-checked. The piece was written by Diminsky for the purpose of questioning why Crosby never had to go to trial when so much evidence pointed to his guilt.”

  “Can’t imagine the Currier family was happy about the defaming of the family name when this was published,” Eileen added.

  “Good reason why Crosby left town. And Lonnie never returned to what was left of his dockmaster job,” Sherry said.

  “This other story relays straightforward facts about the fire. You might be interested in this one, Sherry,” Eileen said.

  Sherry hoisted herself from the floor and crossed the room. “This is the one Vitis has framed in the dockmaster shed at the marina. Would you mind if I snap a photo of it? I’m writing about holiday fire safety awareness and a reference to how devastating fire can be, citing an actual case, is priceless. I want to get the facts straight.”

  Ruth trailed Sherry to the article. “This is the first article visitors will see when they enter the exhibit hall.” Ruth held up a framed newspaper front page, featuring the headline Augustin Marina incinerated.

  “A little higher, please.” Sherry captured the image on her phone. “Got it. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome to photograph anything here.” Ruth positioned herself at the top of the stairs while Sherry clicked a few more photos.

  “Thank you.” Sherry tucked her phone in her pocket. “I’m all set. I really appreciate your time, Ruth.”

  “My pleasure, dear.”

  Sherry let out a hearty chuckle.

  “Sounds like you all are having a fun time up there,” a voice called up the stairs. “Is there anything you need?”

  “That’s her way of saying our time is up,” Ruth whispered. She raised her voice. “No thanks. We’re on our way down.”

  After spending a few bonus minutes hearing about the activities of women in the 1700s, Sherry drove Eileen and Ruth to Pinch and Dash. She had to circle the block once when she couldn’t find a parking spot within reasonable proximity to the bakery, which was unusual, because the store sat beside empty lots on either side.

  “Now I see why we’re having trouble finding a parking spot. Take a look at that.” Sherry pointed toward the store after exiting the car. “There’s a line out the door.”

  “Hurry, I think we’re late.” Eileen trotted down the sidewalk.

  “Guess she’s not nervous anymore.” Sherry laughed.

  Her neighbor shouldered her way through the line, igniting a round of applause as she led with the comment, “I’m Eileen Weisberger. I’ve come to talk about my winning cookie.”

  As Sherry neared the bakery, she heard her name called.

  “Sherry, over here.” Barry was at the side door, waving her in closer. “Come in this way.”

  Sherry linked arms with Ruth. They bypassed the customer line snaking out the front entrance.

  “All the bake-off judges are here. This is amazing.” Barry put his arm on Warren’s shoulder. “When Eileen told me you were bringing her today, I contacted Warren, who generously moved an appointment around to be here. That’s why we have such a huge response from customers. Thank goodness for social media. A few posts and the word spread like wildfire.” Barry grinned from ear to ear. “I’ve set up a table specifically for Eileen. If you guys wouldn’t mind, we’ll sit alongside her and answer any questions customers might have.”

  “Oh my gosh,” Sherry said. “I would have spruced up if I’d known. Barry, can we have an extra chair for Ruth, please. She didn’t have any idea she’d be sucked into the cookie madness.”

  “Of course,” said Barry. “The more the merrier. Ruth, just have a few recipes in mind when a customer talks to you. It’s all about trading baking secrets.”

  After an hour of chatting with cookie connoisseurs and watching the delighted response to their first bite of Eileen’s cookie, the crowd dwindled to only a few patrons.

  Barry thanked each contributor, with special exuberance expressed to Eileen, who captivated the crowd with her ta
les of baking, gardening, and teaching her cat to walk on a leash.

  “Thank you, Sherry, for chauffeuring the ladies here. The bakery appreciates the effort,” Barry said. “And Warren, special thanks for spending an hour of your valuable time amusing my customers with your journalism stories. And Ruth, what can I say? You delighted the cookie lovers with your recipes handed down through generations. That’s what cooking and baking is all about.” Barry’s voice wobbled.

  “Our pleasure,” Eileen replied.

  While Sherry waited for Eileen and Ruth to freshen up in the ladies’ room, the opportunity for Sherry to speak one-on-one to Warren, without interruption, arose.

  “You shared so many interesting stories of your days as a journalist, and now as the newspaper’s editor.” Sherry paused to assess Warren’s facial expression. He seemed receptive of her comment, so she plunged on. “Do you have any recollection of a journalist named Cap Diminsky? He wrote for the Nutmeg State of Mind many years ago. Maybe twenty. I believe your father was the editor at that time.”

  Warren nodded. His eyes drifted upward before returning to Sherry, as if temporarily lost in thought.

  “Cap Diminsky was a wonderful writer. You’re absolutely correct. He was at the newspaper during my father’s time as editor-in-chief. I overlapped him a bit when I came on as a staff writer. I considered him a mentor. I read any article he wrote. His style was so unique. He had a way of submerging himself in his stories, as if he were a witness to whatever the subject covered. From biographical interviews to breaking news, he was engaging and nonjudgmental.”

  Not always. Maybe Warren hadn’t read every one of his pieces. “You’re speaking about him in the past tense. Is he still alive?” Sherry asked with a note of caution.

  “I’m happy to report I believe he’s still alive and kicking in Sunset Village. Probably runs the show over there. You’ve reminded me, I should visit him one day soon. He and my father were quite close. My father’s memory isn’t what it used to be, so I’m quite certain he wouldn’t recognize anyone from his working days, which is sad.” Warren pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. He extended his hand to Sherry, who accepted the assistance to rise from her chair. “Did I answer your question sufficiently?”

  “Yes. Thank you. Oh, and sorry about your father.”

  “He had such a remarkable life. It’s okay.” Warren’s lower lip protruded slightly. “Have a great afternoon.”

  “We’re back,” Ruth said.

  “Eileen, again, great job. Everyone loves your cookies. We may have to negotiate a deal to put them on the menu permanently.” Barry took Eileen’s hand. “I’d like to offer each of you a dozen cookies of your choosing to take home.”

  “How generous. Thank you. Warren just left. Should I try to get him back inside?” Sherry asked.

  “That’s okay. He comes in often. His wife has a sugar addiction, he claims, although I’d say he does, too, judging by how many sweets he buys a week. I’ll give him his dozen next time he comes in.”

  “Come on, ladies, let’s go choose.” Sherry surveyed the offerings in the glass case at the front of the store. “I’ll take six of Eileen’s and six of the Tropical Aloha Bars, please.”

  “Same for me,” Ruth said.

  “I’d love a variety of sandwich cookies, please. I don’t need any more of mine for a while,” Eileen said.

  Behind the counter, Barry held open a take-home box one at a time and filled it with sweet treats.

  “Thank you so much,” Sherry said.

  Barry handed the boxes over the counter.

  “Are these bars the ones you said are similar to Crosby’s? I barely see any difference at all, unless there’s a secret ingredient in them I can’t identify.”

  “You have a good eye,” Barry said. “Yes. In the name of transparency, my friend Rachel shared the original recipe with me. Did you know the recipe was the winner of the last and only other Story For Glory Cookie Bake-off, held about twenty years ago?”

  Sherry took a lingering look at the remaining bars in the display case in front of her. Her gaze lifted back to Barry’s face. “I didn’t know that. That’s amazing. Who entered the recipe?”

  “Rachel’s mother-in-law, Ivy Banks Currier. I even know the story behind the recipe. Rachel said the recipe was invented to win over Lonnie. The couple went on a picnic and Ivy baked the bars and brought them along. Lonnie proposed on the spot. May be somewhat embellished, but kind of a cute story.”

  Sherry opened her mouth to comment, but the words didn’t come.

  “You look stunned,” Barry said.

  “I am. Did you recognize the bars at the bake-off as the previous winner right away? You didn’t say a word.”

  “The cookie bars are one of the most popular items on my inventory here at the bakery, so yes. I’ve been offering them for sale throughout the year. Rachel gave me a copy of the recipe after her mother-in-law passed away. She said she thought it was a fitting tribute to the woman who was ‘a wonderful force of nature,’ as she put it. That being said, I couldn’t have chosen Crosby’s cookie bars as the winner of the bake-off for a number of reasons.”

  “Sherry, I need to get back to the Ruggery to meet up with Erno,” Ruth said.

  Eileen nodded in agreement.

  “Yes. We’ll be on our way. Thanks again for the cookies. We didn’t know we’d be part of the event, but we were glad we were. Right, Ruth?” Sherry asked.

  “I had so much fun. I was able to share my recipe for Double Chocolate Brownie Cake Cookies. I think I’ll enter them in next year’s cookie contest.” Ruth wrinkled her brow. “Now I regret sharing the recipe. What if someone replicates it and it shows up at the bake-off? I always thought you were a bit selfish, not sharing your recipes, Sherry, but now I’m beginning to understand your motivation. You don’t want them appearing at the next recipe contest under someone else’s name.”

  “Glad you don’t think I’m selfish anymore, Ruth,” Sherry said with a defensive intonation.

  Ruth showered Sherry with a smile that cleared the air of any hard feelings.

  “Nice seeing you again, Barry.” Sherry took a step toward the front door.

  Barry made his way around the back of the display case and opened the door for the ladies.

  “I’m curious,” Sherry said in a quiet tone. “How long have you and Rachel been dating?”

  Sherry was startled by the intensity of Barry’s laughter. When he regained his composure, he answered, “Rachel is my sister from another mister. That’s all. I’ve been with the dearest boyfriend for six years. I thought that was common knowledge.”

  Sherry’s hands covered her face for a few seconds. “I’m always the last to know.”

  “Rachel’s a wonderful friend, but we could never make it as a couple. For obvious reasons,” Barry joked. “See you pretty ladies soon, I hope.”

  Chapter 14

  Sherry led Eileen and Ruth into the Ruggery, where they were met with cheers. Erno, Marla, and Amber congratulated Eileen on her bakery appearance, following up with a plea for a sample.

  “We have treats for everyone.” Sherry set her box of cookies on the sales counter and stepped aside. “Ruth and I ended up participating as well.”

  “Are you serious?” Erno asked. “Ruth, that’s amazing. Did you talk about our favorite raspberry chocolate kisses? Ruth makes them for me on special occasions. I may be jealous if you gave away our treasured shared recipe.”

  “Don’t worry. Our recipe is safe with me. Now that you mention it, I may have to enter it in next year’s cookie bake-off. I’ll have to clean up the story behind the recipe, though.” Ruth blew a kiss in Erno’s direction.

  “Anyway,” Sherry sighed, “a fun hour was had by all.”

  “Sure sounds like it,” Marla said.

  “Unless you need me, Dad, I’ll drop Eileen at her house. And I have to finish my fire safety article for the newsletter. I got some fascinating material about the marina fire from the His
torical Society exhibit we were honored to have a sneak peek of. All the articles are due today. Seeing that I know the editor, it’s okay if mine is the last to meet the deadline.” Sherry checked her phone. “Maybe it’s not the last. Still haven’t received Patti’s blurb. I need to shoot her a reminder for her bake-off recap.”

  “Mind if I join you?” Marla asked.

  “We’d better ask the boss.” Sherry directed her question to her father. “What do you say—can Marla join me at home?”

  “Sure. Don’t need you or Marla for the rest of the day. She’s been a fantastic help. I drew out Victoria Templeton’s canvas design while Amber and Marla attended to the customers, so I’m one step ahead of the game. Just have to order some wool and dye and we’re on our way.”

  “In that case, I won’t even unzip my coat.” Sherry lifted Marla’s coat from the hook by the door. “Let’s hit the road, Marla and Eileen. Bye.”

  “The only problem with you and me doing something together is there’s no one home to walk Chutney,” Eileen pointed out as they left the store. “I’m your go-to dog walker when you’re busy, and if we’re busy together, the poor dog is out of luck.”

  “You’re right,” Sherry said. “This is the exception rather than the rule. He certainly will be happy to see us when we get home.”

  “It might be good for him to have some me time,” Marla suggested. “Worked for me. It’s knocked some sense into me to have some time to myself.”

  Sherry side-eyed her sister, who returned the glance with a kind smile.

  “Why didn’t you park next to Dad’s car behind the Ruggery? I’m not complaining about this walk to the municipal lot, but, in the winter, trudging through the snow is going to be tiresome,” Marla said.

  They stepped off the curb to cross another street.

  “I usually would, but there’s been a problem lately. Won’t be for much longer. The store next to ours was vacant for most of October, and the parking back then was so spacious. Now the lingerie store has moved in. While they’re sprucing the place up, trucks are always knocking around back there. Plus, they’ve temporarily relocated our shared dumpster, so poor Dad has to squeeze his beloved wagon into what used to be a roomy spot. I don’t want my car to get nicked, so I’m staying far away until the construction’s done.”