A Catered Christmas Cookie Exchange (A Mystery With Recipes)

by Crawford, Isis

  “It’s going to snow,” Libby predicted as she took a bite of her roll and savored the crunch of the crust, the softness of the dough, and the sweet taste of the butter she’d slathered on it. “God, I love these rolls,” she added as she got into the van and turned it on. In this kind of weather the van had to be warmed up before it would run well. “It’s one of the pleasures of winter.”

  Bernie grunted her agreement as she took a swallow of her coffee. She definitely was a dark-roast person, she decided. She’d heard the blather about the higher temperature roasting killing the finer notes of the coffee beans, but the light brews just didn’t do it for her, and she wasn’t a big fan of the pour-over either, while she was on the subject. Maybe her palate wasn’t sufficiently sophisticated. Yes. That must be it, she decided as she finished her roll, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back against the seat. She was tired, and it was only eight-thirty in the morning, but then she and her sister had been up baking since five.

  “I spoke to Amber while you were taking a shower,” Libby said.

  “And?” Bernie replied. She kept her eyes closed.

  “Millie isn’t any better. They moved her to the ICU early this morning.” Libby looked at her watch. “Amber told me she was going over there to check on her.”

  Bernie opened her eyes, sat up, and took a swig of her coffee. “So she won’t be in this morning?”

  “No. She will be. But she’ll be late. I already called and asked George to fill in till she shows up at the shop. He wasn’t so bad,” Libby added in response to the expression on her sister’s face.

  “Except for the fiasco with Mrs. Wills’s cookies,” Bernie said, brushing a bread crumb off her lap. She’d gotten an early-morning phone call from Mrs. Wills, who’d told her what had happened. At length.

  Libby took a sip of her coffee. She’d melted a small square of 72 percent chocolate in it and the result had exceeded her expectations. “Well, Mrs. Wills does mumble.”

  “Agreed. But how do you get almond shortbread and French macaroons mixed up? Then there was turning on the coffee machine and forgetting to add the water. Now that’s bad.”

  “It could have been,” Libby conceded, visualizing having to buy a new coffee-making system. Not cheap. “At least Googie caught it in time,” Libby said as she put the van in reverse. “Good Mathilda,” Libby crooned to it as she gently pressed the gas pedal. A moment later they were off and running. “All I can say is thank God for small mercies.”

  “It’s definitely going to snow,” Bernie commented, changing the subject as she looked at the sky while they drove through Longely.

  As the town spooled by, Bernie decided she liked the way it looked at this time of year. She liked the wreaths with their big red bows on the doors and the candles in the windows. She liked the Christmas lights wound around the eaves of the houses and twisted about the street lamps and the trees.

  She even liked the inflatable snowmen and the lighted wire deer that moved their heads from side to side and up and down. However, she could do without the snow. It was one thing when she was skiing in Aspen, but quite another when she was shoveling sidewalks in Longely. Bernie was thinking about how long it had been since she’d been on the slopes when they arrived at the site of the accident.

  Between last night and this morning, the traffic cones and the debris had been cleared away. The only reminder of what had happened was the gash in the tree trunk that Millie had hit. Libby drove by it and parked on a straight part of the road so that anyone coming around the bend could see the van. Their vehicle wasn’t much, but it was all they had, and she had no intention of losing it to a freak car accident.

  Everything was silent when Libby turned off the van and pocketed the key. Then she and Bernie got out. The sound of the van doors shutting cut through the quiet.

  “Pretty deserted,” Bernie commented. “There aren’t even any crows.” Which was saying a lot because these days there were crows everywhere in Longely. They’d become the new geese.

  “So I noticed,” Libby agreed, looking around. “No one ever uses this road. I mean it’s not exactly a direct route to anything. It meanders all over the place. Dad said it used to be a plank road before they had cars.” She indicated the landscape with a sweep of her hand. “This all used to be farmland.”

  Bernie reached into her jacket pocket for her gloves and slipped them on. “Maybe that’s why Millie took it.”

  “Because it used to be a plank road?”

  Bernie laughed. “No, although given the way she drives everyone might have been happier if she did use a horse and carriage. I’m just saying that Millie might have chosen to use this road because there isn’t any traffic on it and it was easier for her to drive on. Except, of course, at night because there are no lights on it.”

  “It was dusk when Millie crashed,” Libby pointed out.

  “Sometimes dusk is even harder to see in than the dark,” Bernie said. “Everything is gray. At least in the dark people are using their lights.”

  “I wonder if Millie was using her high beams,” mused Libby.

  Bernie shifted her weight from one foot to another. Then she bent down and pulled up her socks. “Another question to ask Matt,” she said when she was done.

  “If this turns into a real investigation,” Libby said.

  “Which we hope it doesn’t, right?”

  “Right,” Libby said, nodding her head. “But Dad is correct about one thing.”

  “What’s that, Libby?”

  “This thing . . .”

  “Thing?”

  “Situation. Is weird. There is definitely something off about it.”

  “I’m sure there’s a simple explanation,” Libby said.

  “Me too,” Bernie replied. “I’d just like to find out what it is.”

  “I don’t think that’s too much to ask,” Libby replied.

  “Neither do I,” Bernie agreed.

  The sisters fell silent as they walked along the side of the road to the scene of the accident. They kept their eyes down, looking for the cookie tins, but they didn’t see them or anything that remotely looked like them lying among the gravel that lined the road’s shoulder.

  “God, it’s quiet,” Libby said uneasily for the second time after another minute had gone by. “I mean you can’t even hear the traffic out here.”

  “That’s because there isn’t any, and there isn’t any because there are no houses out here,” Bernie said.

  “It’s kind of spooky,” said Libby.

  “Some people would say it’s peaceful,” Bernie replied.

  “Not me,” Libby answered. “I like neighbors. Sleeping out here would give me the willies.” She shivered and jammed her hands more firmly in the pockets of her down parka. Even though she had gloves on, her hands were still cold. “Now what are we looking for again?” she asked.

  Bernie shrugged and zipped up the collar of her sheepskin jacket, the one she’d bought for 60 percent off at this little shop in Brighton Beach late last winter when they spent the day in Brooklyn. “Besides the cookie tins?”

  “Yes. Besides the cookie tins.”

  “I’m not sure. I guess this is going to be one of those ‘we’ll know it when we see it’ deals.”

  “If we see it, Bernie.”

  “Exactly, Libby. If being the operative word.”

  The sisters looked at each other.

  “This is going to be a wild goose chase, isn’t it?” Libby said to her sister.

  “Possibly,” Bernie said.

  Libby cocked her head and looked at her sister.

  “Okay, Libby. Probably. Because even if we don’t find the tins, that doesn’t mean someone who was driving by didn’t see them and stop and pick them up.”

  “At night? On this stretch of road? I don’t think so.”

  “You’re right,” Bernie admitted as she flipped up the hood on her coat.

  Libby sighed and stifled a cough. She just knew she was going to get sick.
“We should be back at the shop working.”

  They had six orders to get out, as well as nine tortes, the snowflake cookies, and twenty assorted cheesecakes in addition to their regular menu, and as if that weren’t enough, they had to be at the Longely Community Center at six-thirty tonight for the judging.

  “I know. But you said it yourself. We’re doing this to make Amber feel better,” Bernie reminded her. “I mean she’s always been there for us. We can’t ignore this, especially since she asked for our help.”

  “You’re right. You’re right,” Libby said, looking abashed. “I’m just crabby . . .”

  “And tired . . .”

  “And overworked.”

  “Exactly,” Libby said.

  “Welcome to retail at Christmas,” Bernie said.

  Libby laughed. Then she got serious. “Poor Millie. Christmas is a rotten time to be in a hospital.”

  “Maybe she’ll be out by then.”

  “Hopefully.”

  “What does Amber say the docs are telling her?”

  “They don’t know. It’s a wait-and-see situation.”

  “That sucks,” Bernie said.

  The sisters stopped in front of the tree Millie had crashed into. Bernie put her hand up and touched the gash in the trunk that Millie’s Buick had made and shook her head. “I hate to think what would have happened to Millie if she’d been going faster.”

  “She’d be dead,” Libby said matter-of-factly. “No doubt about that.” She looked into the woods. “Now how are we going to do this?”

  “I was figuring we’d split up and walk around and see if we can spot the cookie tins.”

  “Do you know what the tins look like?”

  “No,” Bernie said. Talk about stupid questions. “But how many other tins could there be lying around on the forest floor? None. That’s how many.”

  Libby studied the ground for a moment before saying, “They could be hidden behind a branch or under a rock.”

  Bernie let out an exasperated sigh. “Then we won’t find them. Obviously.”

  “Obviously.” Libby frowned. “You know what we should have brought along? What would have helped?”

  “A flask of hot chocolate?”

  “A metal detector.”

  Bernie rolled her eyes and hugged her collar to her to stop the wind from going down her jacket. “Such a practical suggestion. You mean the one we don’t have in the storage closet.”

  Libby put her hands on her hips. “Ha. Ha. I think the suggestion has merit.”

  “You would.”

  “Meaning . . .” Bernie started to speak, then changed her mind. “Anyway, metal detectors don’t pick up tin.”

  “Of course they do.”

  “No. They don’t.”

  “They pick up pennies, don’t they?” demanded Libby.

  “I guess they do,” Bernie conceded.

  “So why not tin? After all, it is a metal alloy.”

  “Fine. You’re right.” Bernie brushed a wisp of hair off her forehead. She was too tired to argue anymore. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a metal detector lying around.”

  “I know.”

  “So why did you bring it up?”

  “I was talking theoretically.”

  These were the times when Bernie wanted to strangle her sister. Instead she took a deep breath and said, “Okay, now that we have that settled, why don’t we just do a quick walk through the woods. At least,” Bernie added, trying to inject a more positive note into the proceedings, “the ground is relatively bare. Not like it would be in the summer or the fall. It’ll make things easier to see.”

  “Not by much,” Libby muttered.

  Lord grant me strength, Bernie thought as she stepped into the woods. Libby followed.

  “How about you go to the right and I’ll go to the left?” Bernie said.

  Libby nodded her agreement. She looked at her watch. “How long do you think we should do this for?”

  “Half an hour?” Bernie suggested, thinking of the tortes waiting to be made and the fact that they had to pick up more sugar before they went back to the shop.

  “Works for me,” Libby said as she set off. She’d taken five steps when an idea occurred to her. “There aren’t any snakes here, are there?” she asked her sister. She hated snakes. She hated them almost as much as she hated spiders.

  “None. They hibernate in the winter.”

  “You’re positive?”

  “Absolutely. Except for the big Burmese pythons. I understand one of them ate a deer recently. Just kidding,” Bernie said when Libby came to a dead stop. “Really.” Bernie raised her right hand. “I sister swear.”

  “That’s not funny,” Libby huffed.

  “You’re right,” Bernie said, endeavoring to look contrite and failing. “It’s not.” Somehow she managed to stifle her laughter.

  Libby gave her a dirty look before going back to searching. Sticks cracked under her and her sister’s feet.

  “Having trouble?” Libby asked as Bernie stumbled and cursed.

  “Not at all,” Bernie said. She wasn’t about to admit that wearing boots with four-inch heels while walking around in the undergrowth probably hadn’t been the best idea.

  “I just don’t want you to twist your ankle or anything,” Libby said in her most sickly sweet tone, “and not be able to wear stilettos. That would be a tragedy.”

  Bernie decided not to bother answering. After all, they were supposed to be looking for something, not sniping at one another. She and her sister both kept their eyes down. They saw rocks and fallen branches and empty beer bottles and fast-food wrappers, but no cookie tins.

  “Think we’ve gone far enough?” Libby asked Bernie after five minutes had elapsed.

  “I think maybe we should give it another twenty feet or so. I mean, if the tins are going to be here, they’ll be near the road.”

  Bernie looked at her watch. Another twenty-five minutes to go. In different circumstances, she would have found this a pleasant outing. As in if it were warmer and if they didn’t have so much work to do. Then she felt a freezing drizzle falling on her face. Lovely. Enough was enough. She was just about to tell Libby she would wait for her in the van when she spotted something about twenty yards away in the underbrush. She squinted, trying to make it out. It was brownish. And had some sort of shape. It definitely wasn’t a tree.

  She took another couple of steps. Once she got away from the bushes she had a clear, unobstructed view. She walked up to it slowly. She expected it to take off at any second. Instead it stood and regarded her with unblinking eyes. When she was about ten feet away, Bernie stopped. She suddenly realized why it wasn’t running.

  “Libby,” she called out. “Come over here and have a look at this.”

  “Did you find the tins?” Libby called back.

  “No. But I think I might have found the reason why Millie went off the road. I think we’d better call Matt.”

  Libby joined her sister a moment later and listened while her sister explained her idea. “That’s a big jump you’re making,” she told Bernie when she was done.

  Bernie regarded the figure for a moment before replying. “Well, the cookie tins aren’t here, but this is. To me that’s not a good mix.”

  Chapter 5

  Matt shook his head as he stared at the spot where the life-sized plastic buck, complete with antlers, was standing. “You got me back here for this?” he demanded of Bernie.

  Bernie put her hands on her hips. “Yes, I did,” she declared.

  “It’s a hunting target,” he observed. He was coming off a twelve-hour shift in another half hour and desperately wanted nothing more than to go home, take a shower, and fall into bed. Why Bernie had called him here was something he couldn’t begin to fathom.

  “It could also be a murder weapon,” Bernie said.

  Matt readjusted his hat and half turned to keep the sleet off his face. Was he missing something here? “Excuse me. Whose murder are we talking ab
out?”

  “Millie’s,” Libby promptly answered.

  “Has she died?” Matt asked her.

  “No. Not yet,” Bernie admitted. “Okay. Attempted murder. But she hasn’t come out of her coma yet, either, so she could be a murder victim.”

  Matt folded his arms across his chest and looked from one sister to another while he struggled to maintain his professional facade. And failed. “No possible way.”

  “Why?” Bernie demanded.

  “What do you mean ‘why’? You have no evidence.” He pointed at the deer target. “This could be here for any number of reasons.” He took a deep breath. “You are really stretching this whole thing pretty thin. You want my advice? Go back to the shop.”

  Bernie stuck her chin out. “I’m talking about possible scenarios,” Bernie replied, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. “You should listen.”

  “Bernie, let me repeat.” Matt pointed at the deer. “This is a hunting target, a bow-hunting target to be specific.” Then he indicated the heart painted on it. “See the target? Someone dragged it out here to practice on. It’s as simple as that.”

  “I don’t think so, Matt,” Bernie said, determined to get her point across. “I think that someone put it in the road so that Millie would see it and crash into that tree, someone who knows how Millie drives and how easily she panics.”

  Matt scowled. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore, and he certainly did not want to talk about it standing outside in icy drizzle. All he wanted to do was get in his squad car, go back to the station, and clock out.

  “Talk about wild conjectures,” Matt shot back. “You have no evidence. No evidence whatsoever. If your dad was here, he’d say the same thing.”

  Bernie ignored the last comment and pointed at the target instead. “Then why is the deer . . .”

  “Buck,” Matt corrected.

  Bernie waved her hand in the air. “Whatever.”

  “You should at least use the correct terminology.”

  Bernie took a deep breath and let it out. “Fine. Then why is that buck there?”