Double Chocolate Cookie Murder

by Devon Delaney

  Patti sat up taller. “Crosby’s ex-wife, Rachel, was at the bake-off, as was his father. Maybe as a show of support for Crosby, or maybe as a show of support for Ivy’s past win.”

  “Warren, do you think Rachel had any connection to Crosby’s murder?” Sherry asked.

  He scraped his fork across the bottom of his bowl of greens. “My father always taught me to let the facts speak for themselves. If you’re aware of Rachel having more than a divorce daydream about Crosby not remaining alive, you may be on to something. For me to give an opinion one way or the other, though, would be career suicide.”

  “Has your father passed away?” Marla asked.

  “No, he’s down in a senior community in Florida. He’s in his nineties.”

  “If you don’t mind me saying so, you’re very young to have a ninety-plus-year-old father,” Marla said.

  “You’re right. He was a bachelor until his fifties. Married to his career until my mother convinced him otherwise. Ironically, she died young and he’s been single ever since,” Warren explained.

  Marla elbowed Sherry in the ribs. “I see the waitress delivering our food. We need to get going.” She checked her watch. “My ride to the airport shows up in two hours and I haven’t had lunch yet.”

  “See you two soon,” Sherry said to Patti and Warren.

  She and Marla crossed the dining room and sat down to questions about the length of time they’d taken to make a trip to the ladies’ room.

  “Let me guess,” Don said. “You took so long because you ran into someone who either was a cooking competitor, a suspect in Crosby’s murder, or associated with the Community Garden. Or possibly someone from Town Hall who works with you on the newsletter.”

  Sherry replied, “Yes, I do know many people in town and I have my fingers in many pies, so your guess is a very good one. I ran into Warren Yardsmith, who was a bake-off judge with me, and Patti Mellitt, a food journalist who covers a lot of my cook-offs.”

  Erno leaned across his plate of food. “You’ll have to get used to Sherry’s wide world of connections, Don. But she’s worth the patience you’ll learn to summon up when trying to spend time with her out in public. She’s a celebrity.”

  Sherry aimed a forkful of tropical goodness at her mouth. “I am not, and Dad, you’re scaring him.”

  Sherry offered a bite of her lunch to Don in exchange for a taste of his poke bowl. “After lunch, Dad’s dropping me off at the tire center to pick up my car. If you’d like to join me, I’m treating myself to two new front tires, courtesy of someone who forced me to need them sooner rather than later.”

  “That requires further explanation, and I have a feeling I won’t believe what I hear,” Don replied. “The answer is, sure, I’ll come with you. In exchange for a ride to the train station. I can take another taxi, but with the frequency of schedule changes around here, a ride would be a lot easier.”

  “Of course. And we have to make sure Marla makes her ride to the airport.”

  Ruth and Frances emerged from a quiet conference. “Sherry, we have a bet going about Crosby’s death.”

  “What would that bet be?” Sherry asked.

  “I say Rachel did it. She’s very close to Lonnie and wants the inheritance when his time is up. In the meantime, one less person in the will makes her chances of cashing in better,” Frances said.

  “That all makes sense.” Erno nodded.

  “Erno, you should be on my side,” Ruth was quick to add.

  “And your side is?” Erno asked.

  “I knew Ivy,” Ruth said. “Not well. I wouldn’t call us friends. Acquaintances, yes. I was never a lover of sailing and boating. I didn’t run in those social circles. One boat ride a year, on average, fills my ancestral Viking yearnings. What I’m getting at is, the reputation of Lonnie as dockmaster was renowned. He put the marina on the map with the wealthy. His ideas and forward-thinking transformed a simple boat docking station into a fancy destination, where the town could generate revenue year-round. I went to the club for special dinners with my late husband. We loved it.”

  “Sounds so nice,” Marla said.

  “It was. One day, it all disappeared. Lonnie was out of a job. Ivy, who was an avid sailor, lost her beloved hobby of sailing and Crosby lost his reputation as a well-liked teacher.” Ruth’s tone saddened as the story concluded.

  “Ivy and Crosby are gone now. Leaving only Lonnie. Are you saying you think Lonnie killed his son?” Sherry asked.

  “That’s my bet,” Ruth said. “Frances says Rachel. I say Lonnie.”

  “Something to consider,” Marla said. “First, let’s consider getting the check. After we pay, I’ll ride with Ruth and meet you at the Ruggery, Sher.” Marla raised her voice. “Sher? Did you hear me?”

  Sherry removed her gaze from across the room, where she was tracking the exit of Rachel and Barry. She settled back on Marla. “Yes, yes. I hear you.”

  The check was paid, and Sherry and Don loaded themselves into Erno’s wagon.

  Don looked back at Sherry. “You comfortable back there?”

  “Depends how much longer the ride is,” Sherry replied.

  “Could be worse,” Erno added. “The good driver got you here in one piece.”

  “Thank you, Dad. I’ll see you at the store in a few minutes. Don’t forget to give Amber her takeout lunch.”

  Don gave Sherry a hand leveraging herself out of the back seat of Erno’s car.

  “Will do,” Erno called through the open window.

  “So, what happened to your car exactly?” Don held the door open for Sherry. “I’ve only heard the abbreviated version of the story.”

  They took their place in a line of four other customers.

  “Something happen to your car?”

  Sherry turned her head to see Ray Bease standing behind her in line. “Hi, Ray. I might as well save my breath and only tell this story once, to the both of you.”

  Ray’s gaze shifted from Sherry to Don.

  “Don, I’d like you to meet Detective Ray Bease. Ray, this is my friend Don.”

  The men shook hands and returned their attention to Sherry. She explained the story, beginning with her visit to Sunset Village for the purpose of scouting out volunteer opportunities, a notion she wasn’t sure passed muster with Ray, judging by the tight lines forming on his forehead. After Sherry’s description of Vitis’s tire rescue operation, neither man looked pleased.

  “How does this keep happening?” Ray asked.

  “Which part of the story are you referring to?” Sherry asked.

  “The part where there’s an attack on either your personal property or, worse, your well-being.”

  “Next, please.” The man behind the counter stood waiting for Sherry and Don to step forward.

  “To be continued,” Sherry said.

  “Your tires definitely were intentionally compromised,” the man with the blue, tire company logoed shirt told Sherry. “You can choose to report it or not, that’s up to you and your insurance coverage.”

  “Thank you.” Sherry handed the man her credit card. She faced Don. “Why am I thanking him? I just handed over hundreds of dollars.”

  “We’ll pull up your car. You can wait right over there.” He pointed to two empty plastic chairs by the front door.

  Ray joined Sherry and Don after he spoke to the man behind the desk.

  “I asked the manager for your slashed tires.”

  “Wait a minute. I might need those to convince my insurance company I didn’t cause the damage,” Sherry said.

  “When I’m done with them, they’re all yours.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “What’s your impression of Vitis Costa?” Ray asked.

  “He has reason to hold a grudge against the Currier family, yes. Would he help me both times I was in need, at the marina and at Sunset Village, if he were the person who sabotaged the boat and the car? I can’t be certain.”

  “You, Don? Do you have an opinion?”
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  “Vitis was nothing but professional when we were at the marina. On the other hand, I remember there was a small period of time when he was alone with my boat.”

  “When was that?” Sherry asked.

  “When we were searching for the best-fitting life jackets outside the dockmaster shed. He excused himself and left us to sort out the vests. We found him down at the dock,” Don said.

  “There was another warning,” Sherry said.

  Don groaned and Ray sucked in a noisy inhalation.

  “Besides the boat and the car?” Don asked.

  “Nothing meant for you or me. Sal and Effi Forino, owners of the Shore Cleaners, received one. Effi was in the cookie bake-off. Crosby is a customer of theirs. Can’t be a coincidence,” Sherry said. “They found a paper under the door of their business somewhere between closing time on Saturday and opening Monday morning. A blocky font spelled out a warning to mind their own business or else.”

  “Cookies, cook-offs, and Crosby,” Ray said.

  “Crosby and Sal had a word with each other during the bake-off.” Sherry pulled out her phone and began scrolling through her photos.

  “If you know about the warning note, I’m guessing you’ve asked Sal what he and Crosby talked about at the bake-off. If you’d like to share, please do,” Ray said.

  Sherry found the photo she was looking for. “Sal said Crosby had some dry cleaning to pick up.”

  Ray laughed so hard his hat fell off. “I’m sorry. That was very funny. Not the grand revelation I was anticipating.”

  Sherry held her phone in front of Ray’s face. “Effi is adamant she doesn’t want to draw attention to a situation she doesn’t understand. They are very proud people. If their business suffers from bad publicity, they will be devastated.”

  “If one of them gets hurt, they’ll be devastated. Stubborn pride can be an overrated characteristic,” Ray said.

  “This is the note the Forinos received under their door.”

  Ray studied the screen. Sherry studied Ray.

  When he was done, he fixed his gaze on Sherry. “You need to clean the lens of your phone.”

  “Ms. Oliveri, your car is out front,” the blue-shirted man announced.

  “Thank you.” Sherry stuffed her phone back in her purse.

  Don headed to the door, leaving Ray and Sherry a last moment together.

  “Be careful,” Ray said. “You know something. And someone knows you know it, and that makes them unhappy. Keep your head up and your eyes open and, most important, we all need to move faster now. It’s only a matter of time before . . .”

  “Sherry? You coming?” Don urged as he reached the door. “The line of cars is growing.”

  “Okay, Ray. I hear you.” Sherry followed Don out to her car.

  Chapter 20

  “Am I stepping into a field of landmines?” Don asked. Sherry avoided Don’s gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I knew you had a well-deserved reputation for solving a few murders, but the realization I may now be in the middle of one is hard to swallow. It may have already cost me a boat, and I’m not sure I’m willing to lose more.”

  Sherry waited for the streetlight to shine green before she countered his sentiment. “I can see how you’d feel that way. I’m not asking you to stick with me until this case gets resolved if you feel you’re not up for the challenge.”

  “Up for the challenge?” Don’s voice raised an octave. “The challenge is finding a murderer. That’s not your run-of-the-mill challenge. What if the murderer finds you, or me, first?”

  Sherry drove her car down the narrow opening between the Ruggery and Leather & Lace, grimacing when her car’s side mirror nearly grazed the shared dumpster. She wedged the car as close to Erno’s as would allow the doors to open wide enough to let a body slide through.

  “I need to have a word with the woman who owns the lingerie store.” Sherry gestured toward a woman hoisting a garbage bag into the giant trash container. “That dumpster needs to find a new place to reside so I can start parking back here again. I’ll meet you inside.”

  Don left the car and opened Sherry’s car door for her.

  “Nobody’s done that for me since my first date with my ex. Thank you.”

  “See, I am worth your giving up the murder investigation. But I have a strong suspicion you won’t. See you inside.” Don kissed Sherry’s warming cheek.

  Sherry locked her car. “Evette?”

  The woman closing the lid of the dumpster answered without turning to face Sherry. “Yes?”

  “I was wondering if we could relocate the dumpster to its original location. That way I can park my car back here, the way I’ve done for years.”

  The pretty young woman stepped back from the dumpster. She could model for her line of lingerie and no one would know she wasn’t a professional.

  “Your father said he likes the new location. Maybe you and he should discuss the matter before we get the forklift down here.”

  “Okay,” Sherry said.

  “Sherry?”

  Rachel approached from the street side of the alley, giving Evette her cue to head inside her store. “We have some unfinished business. Wouldn’t you say?”

  Sherry checked her surroundings. She and Rachel were alone. She could reach into her purse and pull out her phone, she could scream, she could run, or she could stand up to the woman she was sure had issued multiple warnings to her in the last few days for reasons she wasn’t quite sure of.

  “I’d say I have some unanswered questions for you.” Sherry was surprised at the steadiness of her tone.

  “I talked to you about finding Crosby’s killer and come to learn from Detective Bease that you think I’m the killer.”

  A screech interrupted Sherry’s train of thought.

  “Sorry,” Evette called out. She sent Sherry a wave from across the alleyway. “The hinges on this old door are temperamental.”

  “That’s okay,” Sherry yelled back. She steeled her gaze on Rachel. “I don’t know if you killed your ex-husband or not. You can’t deny you have a motive. You’re in Lonnie’s will and Crosby’s gone now, so more for you.”

  “I adore Lonnie. He’s like a father to me and I would never want any harm to come to him to get my hands on his money. I resent your implication.”

  “I agree you are caring and attentive to Lonnie. But your bitter attitude toward your ex-husband more than overshadows those warm and fuzzy sentiments. I don’t know you well, yet one of the first details of your life you shared with me was what a loser you thought Crosby was. Yes, you shared how close you are to his father, who, in turn, shared with me how he felt Crosby squandered the opportunities he was offered. An opinion, by the way, I don’t agree with. When he was my teacher, I found Crosby kind, generous, and inspiring.”

  Rachel shrugged.

  “Add to that, you were on the scene when Don’s boat sprung a leak, courtesy of a precise knife cut in the exact spot that would cause a slow leak so that the boat took on water far from the marina. Not to mention you were at Sunset Village with me this morning until you left before me. Imagine my surprise when I found my two front tires slashed in the parking lot after leaving the field trip. Did you have anything to do with any of those mishaps?”

  “Why would I be interested in damaging your property? I asked for your help. Do you think I’d ask only to turn around and make it impossible for you to believe in my innocence? You’re not making sense.”

  “Not much of a defense on your behalf.”

  Rachel made a small circle in the driveway gravel with the toe of her shoe. “Crosby wasn’t in Lonnie’s will,” she said when the circle was complete. “He’d been out of the will for many years. I knew that fact before I married Crosby. I didn’t marry Crosby for his family’s money, although they were well off. Ivy came from a wealthy family. Word was, they didn’t approve of her choice of a dockmaster for a husband. They were hoping for more of an old-money yachtsman.�
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  “Why did Ivy and Lonnie live apart?”

  “Ivy was told one too many times Lonnie wasn’t worthy of her and she began to believe her parents. I know she still loved Lonnie, despite the pressure to leave him for someone more acceptable. Those were the times.”

  “So,” Sherry softened her tone, “there was no third party involved?”

  Rachel’s face twisted into a scowl. “That’s the thin ice you shouldn’t tread on. Whether there was a third party or not has nothing to do with Crosby’s death. That’s something to stay away from.”

  Sherry studied Rachel’s face. When she wasn’t smiling, which was most of the time, she looked older than the midforties Sherry assumed was her age. “Before we stay away from the subject entirely, did you and Crosby break up over a third party?”

  “You are persistent, aren’t you? Neither Crosby nor I were involved with anyone else. There were plenty of other interfering circumstances keeping us from a happy marriage.”

  “I know how that goes.” Sherry nodded.

  “You understand, then? If you’ve ever been suspected of murder, you’d know how desperate I am to find the real killer.”

  “Actually, I have, and I do know.”

  “You have to believe me when I say I didn’t kill Crosby. But who did?” Rachel asked.

  “I need to show you something.” Sherry headed to her car. She opened the rear passenger door and reached inside. “Is this your glove? There’s only one right answer.”

  “Yes, it is.” Rachel stepped forward and took the glove from Sherry. “Where’d you find it? I’ve looked everywhere.”

  “Your glove was on the deck of Don’s boat. Don found it the night his boat was sabotaged. You tell me how it got there.”

  “I thought I had both gloves that night. The weather was going to get chilly, and any boater will tell you, keeping your head and hands covered is the best way to combat hypothermia. I didn’t check for them, though, because I thought they were in my coat pocket. By the time we left the boat, after docking at the marina, I went to put them on and realized I had lost a glove.”

  “Did you or Barry set foot on Don’s boat while Don, my sister, and I were choosing a life vest at the dockmaster shed?” Sherry asked. “That’s the only reasonable deduction I can make. because Don found your glove on his boat’s deck. Can you explain, please?”