Double Chocolate Cookie Murder

by Devon Delaney

  “I trust your judgment. Why don’t we get up to the special exhibit storeroom and start bringing down the key pieces? I’m going to bring Dolly along, too, although she may have to break character for a moment to help us.” Ruth narrowed her eyes and giggled.

  Sherry saw a side of her father’s friend she had never seen before. One that was slightly devilish.

  “That woman is rather,” Ruth tapped her temple, “out there. Born a couple of hundred years too late.”

  “Lead the way.”

  The women exited the drawing room and stopped by the kitchen to solicit Dolly’s help. She was adjusting the position of the spinning wheel from in front of the massive fireplace to the corner of the room. The spinning wheel had been camouflaging a huge metal caldron hung from the center of the stone hearth. Sherry couldn’t resist peering inside.

  “That’s where the magic happens.” Dolly lifted an enormous utensil that appeared to be part ladle, part spatula, part spoon. She stirred the imaginary contents of the giant bowl. “If we had a fire going, I’d most likely be preparing a root vegetable and pork stew. It’s my job to keep the fire burning all day and the residual embers glowing throughout the night.”

  Sherry peered at Ruth, whose kind smile lines spoke of her appreciation for Dolly’s enthusiasm for her role.

  “Dolly, we don’t have the fire going, so would you mind coming upstairs with Sherry and me to choose which exhibit items to bring downstairs? Let’s save your stories for the folks coming here in an hour.”

  Ruth and Dolly made short work of the creaky dark stairs leading up to the special exhibits storage room. Sherry took her time, running her hand along the wall to safeguard herself as she snailed her way up the challenging steps.

  “Maybe we’ll bring down six or so framed photos, all of the written articles, because there are only four, and as many artifacts as we can carry in the next twenty minutes. Let’s start with the photos,” Ruth said.

  The third floor of the Historical Society’s building had low-pitched ceilings, dictated by the steeply pitched roofline. As a result, the taller photos leaning on the wall touched the floor and the ceiling at the same time. Sherry had to be careful not to bump her head when she examined the photos to choose. The process was quick, though, as she had her choices already stored in her brain.

  She picked up the photo of the partially submerged yacht and carefully backed into the center of the room, where the ceiling was highest. “I’ll take this one downstairs.”

  “Hold on. I’ll join you. I’ve got one. A map of the harbor, prior to the fire,” Dolly said. “That should inspire gifts to restore the natural beauty of the area.”

  “I’m choosing this photo because the dock has suffered such visible damage,” Ruth said. “Did you see this one?”

  Sherry lugged her photo over to Ruth and set it by her feet. She studied Ruth’s choice.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about this photo. It caught my eye last time we were here. The fire burned in two different spots. Near the dockmaster shed and farther down the dock toward the boats and clubhouse. There’s an undamaged area between the two heavily damaged spots. Unless an ember jumped from the first fire to start a second fire, it definitely looks as if the fire was set deliberately in two locations.”

  Sherry patted her friend on the back before retrieving her photo from the floor. “Wonder if there was a specific target in mind, rather than the entire marina? Maybe someone tonight can provide some answers. You have a good eye, Ruth.”

  Ruth puffed out her chest. “That’s quite a compliment from an accomplished amateur sleuth such as yourself. Maybe I could help you crack a case one day.”

  Sherry, Dolly, and Ruth brought the photos downstairs to the drawing room. The centerpiece of the room was the fireplace, a small relative to the kitchen’s, which made a perfect backdrop for the evening’s speakers. Opposite the fireplace was a long, rectangular table. They lined the photos on that table, making for a dramatic display.

  The women returned to the third floor, where Sherry browsed for more photos. She found herself alone in the room when Ruth and Dolly carried the framed articles downstairs. Sherry paced the wall of photos in an uncomfortable crouch. After reaching the last one, she stretched, doubled back, and parked herself in front of a frame containing two side-by-side images. One was the inside of the dockmaster shed. The room was spacious, and the walls were decorated with maps. Beyond an extensive counter was a picture window overlooking the dock, harboring impressive boats. Wow, Lonnie had a nice workspace in those days.

  In the same frame, next to the photo of the dockmaster shed interior from decades ago, was pictured what Sherry recognized as Vitis’s current dockmaster shed. The cramped workspace, the smaller picture window behind the counter, even a portion of the article about the fire on the wall, were all visible. The contrast between the two photos told a story of the extent of the fire’s destruction and the inability, or lack of desire, to rebuild the past. Sherry picked up the cumbersome photo, the width of which would make it tricky to navigate the narrow stairs. Before she left the room, she took another look over her shoulder.

  A small, easily overlooked photo sat beside a photo of the Augustin firehouse. Sherry set down the photo clutched in her arms and picked up another, framed in distressed wood, embellished with detailed carving. She admired the subject, a single-mast sailboat in rough water. The sail was bulging and the two sailors on board appeared to be fully absorbed in controlling the leaning boat. Both sailors wore hats, one with long hair spilling out. The side of the boat read Augustin Yacht Club. Sherry recognized the Augustin Harbor as the backdrop and, in the black-and-white photo, was a gorgeous portrait. Sherry picked up the large frame she had chosen and stacked the second one on top.

  “Two more pictures,” Sherry announced as she entered the drawing room.

  “We’ll move on to small knickknacks, such as the ship’s clock, that were saved from the fire,” Ruth said.

  “A clock survived? Where was it?” Sherry asked.

  “In the clubhouse, originally. It was removed for repair the day before the fire. Lonnie had it in his truck, so it didn’t sustain any fire damage,” Ruth said.

  “Which is now Vitis’s truck,” Sherry said. “New dockmaster, same old truck.”

  “I’d also suggest bringing down some racing medals, a ship’s whistle, the charred boardwalk plank, and the dockmaster log from the month of the fire.”

  “How in the world did the logbook survive the fire?” Sherry asked.

  “Again, it was in Lonnie’s truck. Maybe he took it home every night for safekeeping, or to review it. He donated the items, so I imagine he’s willing to explain how they were used.” Ruth checked her wristwatch. “Let’s get a move on. Guests will be showing up soon. Dolly and I need to set out our finger food.” Ruth eyed Dolly. “By the way, what did you bring?”

  “I was here all day, so I had to bring something I could prepare last night. Ham biscuits. The recipe is from George Washington’s era. Involves plenty of lard, as the women of the day would use. Makes the biscuits flaky and moist,” Dolly said. “The best recipes are hundreds of years old.”

  “Sherry invents new recipes all the time and wins competitions with them,” Ruth said. “Some would say hers are the best.”

  “I’ve heard. Congratulations,” Dolly said. “I wonder if there was anything like a cook-off back in the eighteenth century.”

  “All it takes is a couple of cooks looking to be labeled the best and it’s game on. You can’t tell me the right to reign supreme using that massive fireplace didn’t count for a lot. Might even win you a husband.” Ruth laughed at her joke.

  “Ruth, please behave yourself.” Sherry smiled. She paused. “Did I hear the door open?”

  “Hello? Is anyone here?” a deep voice called out.

  Chapter 24

  Standing inside the door, Vitis was peering around in search of something.

  “Good evening, Vitis. This is my fr
iend, Ruth Gadabee. She’s a board member of the Historical Society. We’re so happy you could say a few words tonight.”

  Vitis fidgeted with the sleeve of his unironed blue dress shirt. Sherry imagined he had scavenged it from the back of his closet, where he kept his seldom-used collared button-down shirts. He rolled up one sleeve to his elbow, revealing a tattoo of a mermaid on his inner forearm. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  “Thank you for coming, Vitis. To have the current dockmaster of the marina attend is such a thrill,” Ruth said. “Thank you for addressing the guests tonight.”

  “I hope I can say something interesting. You folks probably know more about the history of this area than I ever would.”

  “Don’t be silly. People will be hanging on your every word,” Ruth said.

  “That’s what Sherry told me when she invited me.” Vitis shifted his gaze to Sherry, who gave him an enthusiastic nod.

  “If it’s all right with you, we’d like you to speak about the duties of today’s dockmaster and the role the marina and harbor play in Augustin’s community.” Ruth hooked her elbow around Vitis’s. “Let’s get you a refreshment. Maybe a glass of wine will settle any nerves you might be experiencing.” Ruth scanned Vitis from head to toe. “Don’t you have a coat?”

  “I made a last-minute decision to take an Uber here, just in case I had a drink. The driver was at the door before I could find my dress coat.” Vitis smoothed the front of his wrinkled shirt. “It’s been a while since I dressed fancy.”

  Ruth dropped Vitis’s elbow. “Drinks are this way. Follow me.” Ruth led Sherry and Vitis to the kitchen. “Red or white wine?”

  “Red, please,” Vitis replied as he quickened his pace.

  Ruth uncorked a bottle of malbec. “This okay?”

  Vitis nodded and Ruth poured him a glass.

  Within fifteen minutes, all the guests arrived and Vitis was on his second glass of wine. Ruth corralled everyone into the kitchen for snacks and beverages. Dolly and Sherry made fast work of serving drinks.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Ruth clanged her wineglass with a fork, “we’d like to invite you all to join us in the drawing room for a few words and a preview of the Augustin Marina fire exhibit the Society is hosting next month. My colleague, Dolly, will be passing out a pamphlet with a donation envelope, should any of you feel inclined to donate to the museum or the refurbishment fund of the Augustin Marina property. Follow me and be sure to bring your glass.”

  Sherry and Dolly directed the guests to the drawing room. Everyone was given time to view the exhibit pieces before Ruth gave the direction to find a chair. When all were seated, Ruth gave a short greeting and called Sherry up to offer a few words. As Sherry made her way forward to face the guests, Dolly intercepted her with a curl of her finger.

  “I can hear your phone continually buzzing inside your purse.” She pointed toward the kitchen. “Might be an emergency.”

  Sherry glanced through the doorway into the adjoining room. Her purse was slung across a hook beside the grand fireplace. She could hear her phone buzzing on its muted ring setting. She paused before continuing to the front of the chairs. “I’ll get it in a minute. Thanks.

  “Good evening, everyone,” Sherry began. “As Ruth said, we invited this select group of Augustin residents here for a special preview of one of the most interesting exhibits the Historical Society has had in years. Despite the ambience of the Historical Society, the Colonial era isn’t the only focus of the museum. Next year marks the twentieth anniversary of the Augustin Marina fire.”

  Sherry’s gaze drifted to Lonnie, who was involved in a side conversation with Cap. “Gathered here tonight are two marina dockmasters, a journalist who wrote about the fire, the current manager of the newspaper that covered the story, and others who have firsthand knowledge of the catastrophe. Of course, another underlying reason to gather you all here is to solicit your comments and expertise about what you lived through and what you’d like to see included in the exhibit. Finally, any donations are appreciated but not mandatory. Your presence here tonight is a donation in and of itself. You’re all living history. We’ve asked the current dockmaster, Vitis Costa, to say a few words. Vitis?”

  Glass of wine in hand, Vitis and Sherry traded places. When he reached the front of the room, he stayed silent for a moment. His gaze shifted from person to person, lingering longest on Lonnie. Vitis’s scruffy facial hair made it difficult to read his expression. He let loose a soft laugh. “I’m the last person in this group who should be sharing stories. But you invited me, and thank you for that. Here we go.”

  Sherry adjusted her posture to best see the others’ reactions. She felt a tap on her shoulder.

  “Your phone is still going off. Shouldn’t you go check it?” Ruth said. “What if it’s Erno?”

  “If it were Dad in an emergency, he’d be calling you, too, so I’m not worried.” Although Sherry wasn’t 100 percent certain she felt that way.

  “My phone’s in my car,” Ruth whispered. “We’d never know until it was too late.”

  “If that’s the case, I’ll check my phone as soon as Vitis is done speaking.”

  Vitis shifted his weight from foot to foot, as if experiencing discomfort standing for an extended length of time. “I took over as dockmaster about six months after the fire. A working dock, a gangway, and boat slips were complete by then, and the marina was back in business.” Vitis sipped from his wineglass. “Unfortunately, the job I signed up for never fully materialized, as the bad press from the fire kept the town from investing in the marina’s full refurbishment.” He paused and let his gaze settle on Cap. “Twenty years later, I’m still hopeful my job will evolve into the full-time one it should be. Hopefully, Augustin will be returned to the esteemed harbor it once was. Thank you.”

  Vitis returned to his seat with his head bowed. Ruth stood and uttered the beginning of a “thank you” before being interrupted by Lonnie, from the front row.

  “I have something to say.” Lonnie raised himself out of his chair and pointed to the opposite side of the room. “There’s a photo over there of my wife. I cannot let that photo be part of the exhibit.” He sat back down. “Make that two photos of her.”

  “What about the articles that strongly suggest Crosby was a vindictive arsonist?” Penny Nagle stood and pointed to the framed articles. “Mr. Diminsky, how can you sit next to the man whose life you nearly ruined? And, Ruth, how could you have invited these two to the same event, knowing they may be the worst of enemies?”

  Tony Nagle joined in. “And incredibly, they arrived together. Talk about forgiveness. Those are the real stories here.”

  “Thank you for your feedback, everyone. Lonnie, we were really hoping to use those photos.” Ruth stood and pointed to the table on which they sat. “That photo captures the fire’s destruction. The fact that your wife is in the picture only adds to its authenticity.”

  Rachel shifted in her seat. “Does anyone know the name of the man in the photo with my mother-in-law?”

  “I do of course,” said Warren. “That’s my father.”

  “Maxwell Yardsmith,” Lonnie said. “He was celebrated for his yacht racing successes.”

  “Is that his boat?” Victoria Templeton asked. “So sad. Looks like a total loss.”

  “Total loss. He was devastated.” Warren turned his face toward the photo.

  “Lonnie, your wife’s mighty dressed up to be helping with the cleanup.” Effi Forino turned and whispered something in her husband’s ear.

  “I don’t recall what she was doing at that moment. In those days, Ivy was learning how to sail. Unfortunately, after the fire, she lost interest,” Lonnie explained.

  “She looks mighty interested in Mr. Yardsmith’s business,” Sal said.

  By this time, everyone had turned around to view the photos on the table.

  “Warren’s father was her instructor?” Penny pointed to the photo of the two sailors in the small sailboat. “That sure looks
like the same man as the other photo. In the smaller sailboat. Maybe that’s your wife in the boat with him?”

  “When he had time, he taught a willing student,” Warren said.

  “He was no spring chicken. Must have been in his seventies in that photo,” Effi said.

  “We’re getting way off the subject, folks,” Ruth announced from her seat.

  “Could we take a quick break? I’ll check my phone,” Sherry told Ruth. “Maybe it’s time to put out the cookie bars, too.”

  Ruth stood. “Folks, we’re going to take a few minutes’ break. We’ll be offering some sweet treats Sherry has cooked up, so take another look at the exhibit and we’ll resume very shortly.”

  Sherry made her way over to her purse. She had eight missed calls. She sidled up to Dolly, who was taking the protective cover from the Tropical Aloha Bars.

  “Dolly, I’m running to the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.”

  On the door of the restroom was a diagram of where the Colonial public relieved themselves hundreds of years before. She opened the door warily. Relieved to be treated to indoor plumbing rather than a more authentic replication of an outhouse, Sherry locked the door behind her. She hit the Callback button on her phone and Eileen answered on the first ring. “Hey, Eileen, what’s going on? You’ve called eight times.”

  “Where have you been? I didn’t want to text you in case you were in trouble.”

  “What are you talking about? Start from the beginning.”

  “I think someone’s out to get you. A car, or rather a truck, circled around the block endlessly after I saw you leave your house. You were dressed so nicely and carrying what looked like a delicious plate of something yummy to eat.”