Double Chocolate Cookie Murder

by Devon Delaney

  “Yes, my cookies. I’m over at the Historical Society for a small fundraiser. Now, about that truck?”

  “It went up and down the street, slowing at your house for many passes. A distinctive rumble caught my attention as I was washing dishes. I opened the window and heard Chutney barking inside. I know he was very worried. I could have used my key to go in to calm him down, but I didn’t want the truck to take me out, as they say in the movies. I did go outside for a better look, and I think I scared whoever it was off.”

  “Would you be able to describe the truck?”

  The knob of the bathroom door wobbled and a voice asked if anyone was inside.

  “Be right out,” Sherry called out.

  “Are you in the bathroom?” Eileen asked.

  “Yep. Needed some privacy.”

  “Okay, well, then, let me see. The truck was the exact model my brother had years ago. It was in amazing condition, except for the noisy muffler or engine or whatever makes that annoying rumble men seem to love. Color was medium blue. That royal blue that was so popular decades ago. I was more of a navy-blue type of gal when I was in my heyday.”

  “With a wide, white stripe running down the side?” Sherry asked.

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  “Vitis’s truck. I have to go, Eileen.”

  “Sherry, please be careful. At least you’re somewhere safe, I’m assuming.”

  Another knock on the door interrupted Eileen’s goodbye.

  “I hope so,” Sherry said.

  Eileen ended the call.

  Sherry opened the door. Vitis raced in before she could exit. Sherry’s phone was nearly knocked out of her hand by a flailing elbow.

  “Just in the nick of time. One too many glasses of wine.” Vitis slammed the bathroom door as soon as Sherry wedged through to the other side.

  She stood staring at the closed door. Sherry gave a knock.

  “Busy, be right out.” Vitis called from the other side of the door.

  “Vitis, where’s your truck? You said you took an Uber here?” Sherry called through the door.

  “I don’t know where the truck is. I don’t own it anymore. I sold it yesterday, back to the Curriers. I needed the money and Rachel wanted the truck.”

  “It wasn’t Vitis, it was Rachel,” Sherry whispered. Rather than compete with the noise of a flushing toilet by asking another question, she returned to the kitchen. She picked up her tray of cookies and brought them to the drawing room.

  Chapter 25

  Sherry weaved around the guests’ chairs, offering her sweets.

  “I’ll take a cookie, Sherry. Sal, you take one, too. If Sherry made these, they must be prizewinners.” Effi removed two bars from the plate.

  Sherry stopped in front of Lonnie and Cap.

  “Well, what do you know. Tropical Aloha Bars. These are the ones Ivy won her one-and-only bake-off with,” Lonnie said. “This evening is turning out to be all sorts of blasts from my past.”

  “Is the story correct that she made these cookie bars to woo you into becoming her husband?” Sherry asked.

  Lonnie’s face drooped into a deep frown. His gaze shifted to Cap. “No, that’s not true. She made them for him.” Lonnie tipped his head toward the photographs on the table.

  “Let me help you.” Rachel pulled the plate from Sherry’s hands. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You had to have known these bars would jog memories. Not only of Ivy, but of Crosby, too.”

  “That’s okay, Rachel. You don’t need to protect me. What’s done is done,” Lonnie said. “Ivy had a special fondness for Hawaii. The name of the bars says as much. She was a complicated woman. She thought she knew what she wanted and what was best for her, and they weren’t always the same thing. By the time she reconciled those two issues, it was too late. Sherry and I have come to an understanding on the facts. Haven’t we?”

  “Everyone’s back in their seat,” Sherry announced. “Let’s get this show on the road.” She winked at Lonnie.

  Ruth made her way to the front of the room. “May I have your attention, please? Thank you again for coming tonight. It’s been fascinating hearing your stories of the events surrounding the marina fire and its aftermath. I’d like to encourage a donation to the Historical Society or the Augustin Marina Renovation Fund so we’re able to provide the public with more exhibits to educate and entertain. Lastly, I would like to solicit retired journalist Cap Diminsky to close tonight’s event with any words he’d like to share.”

  Cap rose from his seat. Lonnie gave him a gentle push forward.

  “There’s a reason I’m a writer, not a speaker. But I’ll do my best. Here’s what I’ve learned from my time here tonight. Sherry is a great organizer, as is Ruth. Dolly loves what she does, and her enthusiasm is contagious.”

  Sherry mouthed a thank-you.

  Cap continued, “My friend Lonnie had a cushy life as the yacht club’s dockmaster.”

  Lonnie chuckled.

  “I can’t believe they’re friends,” Effi was heard saying to Sal.

  “I have a new article I’m adding to the collection of Marina fire memorabilia,” Cap added. “I can give you a brief recap, so as not to bore you. In the article, I apologize for implicating the Currier family in any way in the fire.

  “At the same time, I wanted to pay tribute to the man who paid me to write the story about the marina fire, urging me to push for the public’s conviction of Crosby. His name is Maxwell Yardsmith.” Cap tipped his head toward Warren. “ ‘Tribute’ may not be correct word. I’m a bit rusty, remember? Let me correct myself. The man was a master manipulator who ran a highly respected newspaper. He built himself an undeserved reputation for excellence by having his writers spin stories to create an audience, rather than tell the truth, and I was caught up in the frenzy of its popularity. The current editor-in-chief, his son, Warren, has brought respectability to the newspaper, but as we learned tonight, history cannot be rewritten.”

  “What are you talking about?” Warren shouted. “Is this some sort of an attempt at a backhanded compliment? If so, Cap needs to go back to journalism school.”

  “Warren, this evening is dedicated to the memory of Crosby and all he wasn’t able to accomplish in life because of you,” Cap proclaimed.

  “What are you talking about?” Warren begged for an answer.

  “Let me put another spin on the story your father had me write. Crosby wasn’t an arsonist, Lonnie isn’t a murderer, and, oh, by the way, Crosby was your half brother.”

  A hushed murmur overtook the room.

  “I’ve kept that secret for my pal Lonnie for three years. His dockmaster’s logbook was full of documentation of your father and Lonnie’s wife’s sailing time together. Imagine your job is to watch your wife sail off with her lover and you have to keep that a secret to safeguard their child’s well-being. Lonnie brought the logbook home every night so no one would read it. Maxwell held Lonnie emotionally captive, and I hate him for that. If you don’t believe me, have a look for yourself.” Cap pointed to the well-worn, leather-bound book on the table. “But that wasn’t the only secret Lonnie was forced to keep.”

  “Ridiculous,” shouted Warren.

  “When Crosby entered the bake-off and showed up with the Tropical Aloha Cookie Bars Ivy made so often for your father, you must have had so many mixed emotions,” Sherry said when the silence became unbearable. She joined Cap at his side and faced the stunned guests.

  “All I considered was that the man had entered someone else’s recipe, so, in my mind, he was disqualified,” Warren said. “Yes, I’d had them many times before. My father brought them home after his sailing sessions. Ivy made them as a nice gesture of thanks.”

  “Your father, Maxwell, was the sole judge in the very first Story For Glory Cookie Bake-off. Ivy’s story behind the cookie was that she invented the recipe to woo her suitor, presumably her husband, but she really invented the recipe to say goodbye to her lover. Your father. She never did say goodbye, becau
se they shared Crosby and he was a constant reminder of her dalliance in Hawaii. On her honeymoon.” Sherry’s gaze passed over Lonnie. “His response, besides choosing her as the winner, was to give her a card saying goodbye. He has it in his hand in the photograph over there. She carried it in her coat pocket until the day she died.”

  “Okay, I admit my father had a weakness. I’m sorry, Lonnie,” Warren said.

  “I always suspected. Crosby looked exactly like Maxwell. Maxwell came to Hawaii to break us up. Ivy was weak and couldn’t say no to his advances.” Lonnie turned to face Warren. “I took the logbook home every night because your father was the Yacht Club’s most esteemed member. What the other members didn’t know was, before the fire, his debts from overspending on the cost of running his racing yacht had mounted into the five figures. He’d owed the club and marina money for months. The burden of his secrets was wearing on him. He was embarrassed and promised he’d make it all right. I could have taken him down, exposed him, ruined him, but I didn’t want to jeopardize my job, the only sure thing in my life. What a foolish mistake on my part.” Lonnie shook his head. “Maxwell must have snapped. Nothing in his world was stable. He was in debt, he ran a newspaper based on sketchy practices, his son didn’t know he was his father, and he suffered the loss of the love of his life, never to recover. Destroying the Yacht Club, his boat, and the marina was his twisted way of hitting the reset button. He thought destroying the physical evidence of his past was his only option. Collecting the boat insurance was a form of vindication for him. All he needed to do was cast the blame on someone else to safeguard never being caught.”

  “He blamed Crosby,” Rachel said. “Awful.”

  Sherry stared intently at Rachel, hoping to catch her attention and send her encouragement.

  “My father would never burn down the marina, not to mention frame someone else for the deed. There’s a very good chance Crosby committed suicide because he’s lived with the shame of his actions all these years,” Warren said. “The fact that he used the name Banks, not Currier, should have been a red flag he wanted out.”

  “Yes, it was a nod to his mother,” Lonnie said. “And a slight to me.”

  “See if this scenario makes sense. Crosby came to the bake-off to confront you with evidence of your father setting the marina fire. Namely, what Ivy told him on her deathbed about the contents of the logbook and the boat insurance payment Maxwell said he would use to whisk Ivy away to a new, dream life in Hawaii. Instead, you were able to cool him down long enough to get through the event,” Lonnie said. “I heard it all on my way to the men’s room at the bake-off. Poor Tia dropped her plate of cookies, halting the contest and giving Warren the chance for a bathroom break. I came upon the explosive confrontation between Warren and Crosby in the hallway. If I hadn’t, no telling what would have gone down.”

  Warren’s face bloomed a red hue. “Lonnie was going to publicly slander my father’s good name. The past is the past. Let my father live out his final days in dignity. He made a mistake, but that was years ago. Ivy and Lonnie stayed married. Where’s the harm? Crosby always thought he was Lonnie’s son. What’s the problem with that?”

  Penny stood. “I’d like to add, Warren came in to my store for very interesting items the day before the bake-off. A box cutter, rope, duct tape, and a crowbar.” She nodded to Sherry and gave her a wink. “As you and I discussed, the Dry Goods store keeps a list of purchases we find unusual. Some businesses have register cameras. We have running lists. That’s how we stay on top of things.” She turned to face Warren. “Sorry, Warren. You made the list.”

  From the kitchen came a clambering noise. Sherry peered across the room and saw Dolly banging the huge metal cauldron with the ladle. “The police are here.”

  “Good evening, folks.” Ray walked into the drawing room with two uniformed police officers. “Someone dialed nine-one-one from this address but hung up before giving any information.” Ray scanned the room, and his gaze came to an abrupt halt when it landed on Sherry’s face.

  She gave him the slightest of nods.

  “Would someone like to explain how we can be of service?”

  “We were discussing Warren’s reasons for killing Crosby.” Sherry was impressed when Ray’s expression remained stoic.

  “We were not,” Warren stated in no uncertain terms. “I didn’t kill him. I have no idea what trouble that man was in, nor do I care. Even if we did share the same father, as Sherry insists.”

  Vitis cleared his throat. “The day Crosby was murdered, Mr. Yardsmith came by the marina and asked to see Crosby’s boat. Said he was considering buying it and wanted to do a once-over on it. Against my rules. If it’s not your boat, you’re not allowed onboard without the owner’s written permission. Rachel’s Way was about to be winterized, and it’s my responsibility to keep the vessel safe. He wasn’t happy. But he left the grounds. I went to lunch, came back, and found Crosby’s body.”

  “How awful,” Mrs. Templeton cried out.

  “Looked bad for Mr. Yardsmith, but I had no reason to get involved. I told the detective what had happened, and he agreed with me. The evidence was circumstantial.” Vitis shifted his gaze to the detective. “That’s what you called it, right?”

  Ray nodded.

  “The marina sits out there in the wide open. Anyone could have stepped onto the property while I was away at lunch. It was also my father’s doughnut delivery day, so I was gone for an extra-long amount of time.”

  “If you weren’t there, you have no idea how Crosby’s body ended up at the marina,” Warren said.

  “True, but then things started happening to Sherry. The boat, then her car. I figured it was no coincidence. I didn’t want to be blamed for any of it, although I certainly could be. So, I rethought the evening Mr. Johnstone’s boat’s pump line was cut. I admit I failed at my job by leaving Buy-Lo Sell-Hi unattended while we went in search of life vests. Anyone could have boarded the boat and, if they knew what they were doing, could have made fast work of cutting the pump lines.”

  “Anyone,” Warren repeated.

  “I saw you at Sunset Village the day Sherry’s car tires were slashed. You were in the parking lot. You asked me why I wasn’t at the nature center, because it was almost lunchtime. You seemed to know my routine.” Vitis smoothed back his hair. “I had to share my concerns with Sherry.”

  “What would my reason be for causing damage to Sherry’s car and her friend’s boat, may I ask?”

  “A warning she may be close to discovering Crosby’s killer, for one?”

  “I wasn’t even aware of what she did on her off-time besides enter cook-offs until now.” Warren shrugged.

  “You must know a lot about the inner workings of a boat, Mr. Yardsmith. Your father was an experienced yachtsman. Some of that knowledge must have rubbed off on you. Like, what pump lines can be cut for a slow leak,” Cap said.

  “I was around boats fairly often growing up, but nothing about them interested me,” Warren said with an air of calm. “I was a journalist, and still am. That was what I learned from my father.”

  “Does any part of your journalism career entail authoring threatening notes to the Forinos?” Sherry asked.

  Sal let out a sigh. “Effi, did you tell Sherry about the note?”

  “Yes, I did, and I want to know the answer, Warren,” Effi stated.

  “What are you talking about?” Warren’s voice was pinched. “What threatening note?”

  “The article Patti Mellitt submitted for the Town newsletter was printed on your secretary, Gina’s, printer. The only working printer in the newsroom while your network has been down. The printout had a distinct track of black ink lines down the right side.”

  “The printer’s seen better days. We’ll be purchasing a new one soon,” Warren said.

  “The point is, those line tracks were on the note you printed and left under the door at the Shore Cleaners last weekend,” Sherry said.

  “Any number of my employees co
uld have left that note. One printer, many employees.”

  “Sal told me when you visited the cleaners, you were very interested in Ivy’s coat. You saw the coat on the conveyor mechanism when you came in to pick up your sick wife’s cleaning. Currier, Culli, alphabetically next to each other.”

  “Culli?” Mrs. Templeton asked. “Who is Culli?”

  Warren produced a noise, but was interrupted by Sal. “Culli Yardsmith. She likes her clothes listed under her first name. Says she’s picked up the wrong cleaning too many times. Lots of Yardsmith relatives in the vicinity. No other Cullis on our customer list, so no more mix-ups.”

  “Sal’s making this up. I came into his shop, picked up our cleaning, and that’s that. Why would I be interested in another woman’s coat?” Warren asked.

  “The coat must have been a harsh reminder of your father’s poor choices. Sal said you asked him who the coat belonged to.”

  Sal nodded. “True. Mr. Yardsmith’s face turned sheet white when he saw the coat. I told him I couldn’t get anyone to pick it up, let alone pay the overdue bill.”

  “And what did he say to that?” Sherry asked.

  “He said, ‘Burn the damn thing.’ ”

  “Why would a coat cause such a ruckus?” Victoria Templeton asked.

  “Good question. Warren?” Sherry asked. “Is it because growing up you saw Ivy wearing the coat many times? When she was with your father?”

  Warren’s voice softened. “Listen. Everyone. Relax. You’re reading this all wrong. I’m the hero here. Crosby threatened me and my father. Said he had a gun. In his car. At the bake-off. Said he’d take care of me, then go find my father down in Florida. He said before she passed away, his poor mother, Ivy, may she rest in peace, complained my father ruined her life. He never took responsibility for the son he had with her. She said my father promised her a dream world and, in reality, gave her a nightmare. Not true.”

  “By the way, I have your receipt for the birthday cake you ordered from Pinch and Dash while we were at Eileen’s cookie launch.” Sherry held up the bill of sale. “Vitis found it under my car the day you slashed my tires. You should be more careful not to leave evidence behind when you threaten people.”