Cookie Dough or Die

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Cookie Dough or Die Page 10

by Virginia Lowell


  After decorating and boxing up all but a few of the cookies, they had retired to Olivia’s upstairs apartment for debriefing. They both slouched on the sofa, their bare feet resting on the coffee table, having consumed a plate of turkey sandwiches and several cookies. Spunky cuddled between them.

  Olivia retrieved the merlot bottle from between her feet and refilled both their glasses. She lifted the cookie plate, now mostly crumbs. “Only one cookie left, and it’s Spunky. Shall we share him?”

  At the sound of his name, Spunky’s head popped up.

  “Sorry, kiddo,” Olivia said. “Cookies are not good for your tiny digestive system. I don’t intend to stay up all night nursing you.” As she snapped the cookie in half, one chunk broke off and fell on the sofa. Spunky grabbed it with his teeth and swallowed before Olivia could stop him.

  “I blame the wine for slowing our reflexes,” Maddie said. “And speaking of cookies, what should we do with the remaining three dozen? I suppose we could put them out at the store on Tuesday, though we did go a little crazy with the color combinations. Customers might suspect we’d been drinking.”

  “How about taking them to the food bank? I could drop them off on my way to brunch tomorrow. Polly was telling me—Polly Franz took over running the food bank—anyway, she’s been seeing more and more families that need food. I bet some parents would love to bring home some decorated cookies for their kids. “

  “You, Livie Greyson, are a sensitive and thoughtful person,” Maddie said, “who stocks excellent wine for her friends.”

  “And there’s plenty more where this came from.” Olivia emptied the remaining inch of wine into Maddie’s glass. “I’m not so sure about the ‘sensitive and thoughtful’ part, though. My recent record hasn’t been impressive. I did nothing to help Clarisse, and I had no idea what was going on with Tammy, friend of my childhood.”

  “Not true,” said Maddie. “Go open another bottle of wine, and I will explain.”

  When Olivia returned with the wine, Spunky was on Maddie’s lap, watching a lion stalk an antelope on the animal channel.

  “I know it’s the natural cycle of life and all that,” Olivia said, “but I really can’t handle these shows.”

  Maddie clicked off the television. “Precisely my point: you are sensitive. Although that was a bit wimpy. Anyway, remember what you told me when Bobby broke off his engagement with me, way back after we graduated from high school?”

  “My memory only goes back about a month.”

  “Okay then, as you might not recall, we’d planned a September wedding. Bobby went to DC for a summer job. I stayed here, worked as a waitress at the café, and planned the wedding. Bobby came back in August, announced he’d changed his mind about the wedding, turned right around, and moved to DC.”

  “I do remember he’d met someone else,” Olivia said. “Only I don’t see how this—”

  “Because, my impatient friend, we didn’t find out the truth until months later. Meanwhile, Bobby blamed me for the breakup. He said I was selfish and immature and not smart enough for him. Ha!” Maddie swept the fur back from over Spunky’s eyes. “What do you think, Spunks? Selfish and immature, okay maybe, but not smart enough? Please.”

  “I’m not touching that one,” Olivia said.

  “Anyway, after we found out he’d married some other girl, I kept right on blaming myself. You said to me, and I remember the exact words, ‘You can’t control another person’s agenda. You can only be clear about your own.”

  “And my point was?”

  With a soft laugh, Maddie said, “I don’t know, something about staying on your own side of the court and letting your opponents do the fumbling.”

  “I would never have used a sports metaphor, and I’m not even sure that one makes sense.”

  “I’m just saying, it meant something to me. I realized Bobby was the immature one. He couldn’t take responsibility for his behavior, so he blamed it all on me. It helped me move on to become the brilliant, successful businesswoman you see before you.”

  Olivia felt relaxed and warmed from the inside by the wine, but her bare feet were chilled. She pulled an afghan off the back of the sofa and draped it over her legs. Spunky raised his head a notch. The blanket lured him over to his mistress’s lap, where he curled into a ball.

  “Traitor,” Maddie said. She stretched a corner of the afghan over her own feet. “Livie, you observe more about people than you realize. You knew something was bothering Clarisse, but she didn’t invite your help, so you let her handle it. As for Tammy, you sensed a certain, shall we say, ongoing drama in her love life, and you kept your distance, as any sane person would do. Instead, you so wisely chose me as your best friend and business partner.” She raised her glass to Olivia.

  “I’d drink to that,” Olivia said. “But if I do, I’ll never make it off this couch.”

  “Lightweight,” Maddie said. “What time is it, anyway?”

  “Exactly ten o’clock,” Olivia said, checking her cell. As if on cue, the phone in Olivia’s kitchen rang. “Who would . . .?” After the second ring, Olivia slid Spunky onto the sofa and hoisted to her feet. “That better not be Ryan.”

  “I thought your number was unlisted and unpublished,” Maddie said.

  “That would only slow Ryan down for a minute or two. He used to spend hours surfing the Internet. He could find my home number if he wanted to.”

  Maddie crossed to the front window, which offered a view of the front stoop. “No one out front,” she said. “I could take care of him for you.”

  “I really don’t want his head lopped off,” Olivia said.

  “You never let me have any fun.”

  “My ex-husband, my problem.”

  Olivia heard a male voice when she answered the phone, but it didn’t belong to Ryan. “Ms. Greyson, my name is Aloysius Smythe. I am a longtime personal friend of Clarisse Chamberlain and also her attorney.”

  “Oh?” Olivia held her hand over the receiver and whispered, “Clarisse’s attorney,” to Maddie.

  “I do apologize for calling so late on a Sunday evening. I only now returned to my office, and, as you will see, time is of the essence. I am calling in my capacity as executor of Clarisse’s will. As you may or may not know, in her most recent will, Clarisse included a bequest for you, Ms. Greyson.”

  “I had no idea,” Olivia said. “I’m speechless.”

  The attorney chuckled, then cleared his throat. “The reason I am calling so late is to invite you to dinner tomorrow, Monday evening, at the Chamberlain home, following the reading of the will. It was Clarisse’s desire that you be included as family, so I do hope you are able to attend both events.”

  “I can, as it happens, but I’m just very surprised. However, if Clarisse wanted me to be present . . .”

  “She did, Ms. Greyson. And so do I. Seven o’clock, then,” he said. “Casual dress.”

  Olivia replaced the receiver and turned to Maddie, who was bouncing on her toes with excitement. “Well,” Olivia said, “it seems that many of our questions about how Clarisse divided her estate will be answered within twenty-four hours.”

  Chapter Ten

  At six a.m. Monday morning, heavy, cold dew bent the grass in the Chatterley Heights town square. The iron gray dawn threatened a drenching soon, so Olivia had decided to sneak in a walk with Spunky. Through a break in the clouds, the rising sun spotlighted a black speck moving across the south end of the square, near Pete’s Diner. Spunky began to bark with all the intensity his tiny body could produce.

  “Spunky, that’s enough,” Olivia said. “Reasonable people are still trying to sleep.” Olivia herself had awakened before five, with questions tumbling over each other in her mind. Sensing her restlessness, Spunky had insisted on exercise.

  “Don’t make me come down there,” she said to Spunky. The threat failed. She gave up and watched as the black speck passed the band shell. It was fast approaching the statue of the town’s founding father, Frederick P. Cha
tterley, immortalized in the act of mounting his horse. When the creature reached the marble foot on which F. P. Chatterley had balanced for over two hundred years, it lifted its leg.

  Olivia laughed out loud, while Spunky skittered about and whimpered with eagerness to see his pal, Buddy, the aforementioned black speck. A taller figure was following Buddy at a run. That would be Deputy Sheriff Cody Furlow. When Spunky pulled hard on his leash and yipped, the Lab changed course and loped directly at them.

  Cody cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Don’t move.” At least, that’s what Olivia thought she’d heard. It made sense, in a way. If she and Spunky ran, Buddy would shift into chase mode. Anyway, Buddy traveled like a locomotive at full throttle, so the escape option was moot. Olivia stood her ground as the Lab drew closer. Spunky backed up a step but wagged his tail, which Olivia took as a good sign. It was. Buddy slowed down to a trot, then stooped down to exchange sniffs with Spunky.

  “Morning, Ms. Greyson.” Deputy Cody sucked in air and shook his head. “Whew. Nothing like an early run. Hey, Spunks,” he said, squatting down to scratch Spunky’s ears. When he stood up, Olivia had to arch her neck to look up at him. He had to be at least six foot three. She was willing to bet he didn’t weigh much more than she did. Despite being in his midtwenties, Cody always reminded Olivia of a teenage boy whose weight hadn’t caught up with his sudden growth spurt.

  Cody’s smile faded as he said, “I’m real sorry about Ms. Chamberlain. Del says you were friends.” His eyes, nearly the same warm brown as Buddy’s, shifted to his feet.

  “It’s still hard to take in. Cody, do you mind if I ask you a question? About Clarisse’s death, I mean?”

  “I guess, but the sheriff knows more about it than I do.”

  “But you were with Del when . . . ?”

  Cody nodded. “I was on duty when the call came through, so I called Del right away, like I’m supposed to. I picked him up on the way.”

  “I keep wondering. . . . Del said Clarisse was on the floor, as if she’d tried to go for help. Was that your impression, too?”

  “Well, I’d never contradict Del, he’s got a lot more experience than me, but since you ask, I wasn’t so sure. I mean, yeah, she looked like she’d fallen on her way to the door, but her arms were lying straight beside her. Del doesn’t think it means anything. Only I thought that, you know, she’d have tried to break her fall or something.”

  “Might she have been unconscious before she landed?”

  “That’s what Del thinks, because she’d drunk all that wine, and with the pills. Which makes sense, of course.”

  “Was the wine bottle on her desk?”

  “That’s another thing,” Cody said. “It was right beside her, with a little wine spilled out onto the rug. Didn’t seem right to me.” He had lost all hint of reserve by this time, and his words came in a rush. “See, the bottle was almost empty, so why would she take it with her? And if she drank a whole bottle of wine with all those pills, how could she even stand up?”

  A sudden flush spread across Cody’s cheeks, as if he’d realized he shouldn’t be sharing his own speculations with a mere citizen. “Del said it wasn’t enough to go on and not to speculate. He said to wait for the evidence.”

  “I see what you mean,” Olivia said. “I suppose we might never know for sure. But your observations are very insightful.”

  The deputy’s tense shoulders relaxed. “I keep trying to learn more. I want to be a police detective. That’s my dream, I guess you’d call it. Detectives pay attention to little things, so that’s what I do. And the more I looked at those photos, I more I thought—”

  “Wait, there were photos?” Olivia had blurted out the question without thinking, but to her surprise Cody did not seem flustered. If anything, he looked irritated. “I don’t mean to intrude,” she added quickly. “All I know is what I read in mysteries.” She willed herself not to react to Cody’s derisive snort. “I suppose the sheriff ordered photos of the scene to be on the safe side? In case there was any question about it being something other than an accident?”

  “Del didn’t order any photos,” Cody said. “He said not to bother, it was clearly an accident. I took those photos on my own.”

  Two thoughts occurred to Olivia: Cody was irritated with Del, not with her, and she’d need to be careful how she approached Del for any more information. Could Del have a hidden agenda, some reason all his own for wanting Clarisse’s death to look like an accident? Olivia had a hard time believing that, but what if . . . ?

  “See, I’m taking this online crime scene investigation course,” Cody said. “So I went ahead and took photos anyway, for practice. It’s what you’re supposed to do whenever there’s a sudden death that might be foul play. Del is smart, but really, how many murders have we had in Chatterley Heights? I heard about one back in the 1800s, a jealous husband or something like that, and maybe a couple others, but not since I was born.”

  “Something tells me I’m not in Baltimore anymore,” Olivia said.

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind,” she said. “I think it was a good idea to take photos. I have trouble believing that Clarisse is gone. Would you be willing to let me see your photos? It might help.” Her reason sounded flimsy to Olivia, but it was the best she could come up with on short notice.

  “Are you sure?” Cody asked. “Won’t it upset you to see her so . . . I mean . . .”

  “Her death is what upsets me. Maybe seeing the photos will help me accept and understand it better.”

  “Well, if you think they’ll help. I used my digital camera, so I could download the photos and email them to you, if that’s okay.”

  “That would be fine.” Olivia found an old receipt and a pen in her jacket pocket. “Here’s my email address. Thanks so much, Cody. And maybe we shouldn’t mention this to anyone?”

  “Especially Del,” Cody said, pocketing the paper. “I’m pretty sure he’d kill me if he found out.”

  Olivia took the stairs two at a time up to her apartment, with Spunky struggling to keep up. Before taking off her jacket, she woke up the laptop at her bedroom desk and checked her email. For once, Spunky wasn’t interested. He jumped onto Olivia’s bed and collapsed into a ball of boneless dog flesh.

  Aside from a plea from her mother that she pick up a dozen eggs on her way to brunch, Olivia had no new mail. Not surprising, since only about seven minutes had elapsed since she’d left Deputy Cody in the town square. Under ordinary circumstances, Olivia considered herself a patient person. These were not ordinary circumstances. Clarisse’s death had never made sense to her, neither as accident nor as suicide. With Cody’s photos, she might find another possibility. She wasn’t eager to discover signs that Clarisse had been murdered, but if she was murdered, Olivia would never be content until she’d found the truth.

  Staring at her email inbox would only frustrate her, so Olivia decided to spend some time downstairs in The Gingerbread House. Spunky didn’t so much as flicker an eyelid when she slapped her laptop shut. Olivia figured he’d be out for several hours thanks to all that exercise, but she added food to his bowl and gave him fresh water. When he did wake up, he’d be one hungry pup. On her way out, she picked up her laptop.

  Olivia’s mind churned nonstop as she unlocked the store and turned the lights on low. Several of the display tables needed reorganizing, a job she always enjoyed, but first she had to wrap up the cookies she and Maddie had decorated the previous evening. The Food Shelf opened at nine a.m. weekdays, so Olivia could drop off the cookies and run some errands before arriving at her mom and step-dad’s house for brunch.

  A second switch outside the kitchen allowed her to turn off the store lights, but Olivia decided to leave them on dim. She hoped Maddie might see them and stop in, so the two of them could look over Cody’s photos when they arrived.

  Olivia switched on the kitchen light and realized she had some cleanup to finish. She and Maddie had washed the baking equipment, then left
it in the sink strainer to dry. Leaving her laptop on the kitchen desk, Olivia finished putting everything back in its assigned storage spot, scrubbed out the sink, and cast a critical eye around the kitchen. Not bad—except for the large worktable, which showed sprinklings of flour and numerous bits of cookie dough, evidence of how absorbed they’d been in their brainstorming about Clarisse’s death.

  For once, Olivia didn’t care about the state of the kitchen. She knew she wouldn’t be able to refocus until she’d checked her email again. As she threw her used dishtowel in the laundry bag, she heard something through the kitchen door. She couldn’t remember locking the store’s front door behind her. Maybe a customer had wandered in, thinking the store was open.

  Maddie. Of course, it had to be Maddie. Granted, she wasn’t usually so quiet, but she had packed away a fair quantity of merlot the previous night. Several glasses more than Olivia, and she wasn’t feeling all that perky herself. Maddie was lucky she still lived at her Aunt Sadie’s house, so she could walk home.

  Olivia yanked open the kitchen door and said, “Hi there—” Someone was indeed standing at the sales counter, leafing through a pile of opened mail Olivia had left for later attention, but it wasn’t Maddie or a customer. It was Sam Parnell, decked out in his mail carrier uniform and holding a small clutch of envelopes in his left hand. From the expression on his face, he hadn’t heard her movements in the kitchen.

  “What are you doing? That is private mail, and you of all people . . .” Olivia was so angry the words got stuck in her throat.

  Even in the dim light, Olivia could see the fiery flush that covered Sam’s face. The paper in his hand fluttered to the counter. “I wasn’t . . . I mean . . .” Sam Parnell’s voice wasn’t deep to begin with, but now it had slipped into high tenor. He cleared his throat and said in a more controlled tone, “Your door was unlocked, the inside door to the store, I mean. It’s always locked on Mondays. I usually come in the front door and slip your Monday mail through the mail slot.” He twisted around and pointed to the slot in the middle of the store’s door. As if she might not have been aware of its existence.

 

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