Changes to the Recipe

by K. J. Emrick

  His stony expression was at odds with the cheerful tone he answered her with. “I’m fine. Let’s eat. Then we’ve got work to do.”

  “Wait,” she said in surprise. “You’re still going to investigate Sheila’s death? Those two just told you that you had to stop.”

  “Those two aren’t in charge of me.”

  “Certainly, but the chief is,” she reminded him. “Jerry, you’re so close to retiring now. I don’t want to see you lose out on that. What if Rosen decides to fire you before you use up your vacation time?”

  “Frankly, Cookie…” He took a deep breath, and as he did he seemed to grow two feet taller. As if a weight he’d been carrying around forever was suddenly gone from him. “At this point I couldn’t care less what Rosen does. I’m an officer of the Widow’s Rest Police Department. I work for the people of this town, not him. If the likes of him can fire me for doing my job, then my job doesn’t mean anything to begin with.”

  He came over and hooked his arm through hers, leading her over to the kitchen. The one downstairs was bigger, of course, but the one up here did fine when it was just them. “Now, I think you just promised me and Cream eggs, and I don’t know about him but I’m going to be a bear all day long if I don’t get something in my stomach. We’ve got to go over to Sheila’s apartment and find something to prove Rosen is involved, and then who knows where that’s going to lead us.”

  She hugged him quickly. “So you’re not giving up?”

  “Cookie,” he told her, “I’m more committed to putting that lowlife Rosen in jail now than I ever was before. No one sends people to intimidate my fiancé. No one.”

  Their embrace lingered, and Cookie liked the way it felt. “I love you, Jerry Stansted.”

  “I love you, too, Karen Williams.”

  At their feet, Cream jumped and barked and wagged his tail.

  “Yeah, fluffball,” Jerry said, looking down at their friend. “We love you, too. Now, let’s eat.”

  “I wish we could have brought Cream,” Cookie said from the passenger seat of Jerry’s car. They were on their way to the retirement home again. This time they had decided to leave their little Chihuahua at home.

  Jerry slowed for the turn onto the retirement home’s street. “It’s kind of hard to look through someone’s apartment with our dog running around, and leaving him in the car while we worked wouldn’t be fair to him. He’s fine at home.”

  “But he’s been such a big help to us so far,” she pointed out.

  “Yes, he has, but still. We’ll make it up to him tonight. Promise. We can pick up some burgers or something to share with him.”

  Cookie knew he was right, but still she didn’t like leaving their little pal at home. They’d double-checked the locks on the way out and Jerry had found little scratches around the door handles that he said were from Mason and Cassandra using pick tools to get in. Being able to pick a lock was a useful skill for a police officer, he explained, except when an officer abused it for something like this. The downstairs alarm had been changed a few months ago to a silent setting. It rang through to an alarm company who in turn called the police to alert them to the break-in. In this case, the police getting the call were the same people breaking in.

  Definitely a glitch in the system, Cookie had remarked.

  The point was that Mason and Cassandra had already done what Rosen had asked them to do. They’d delivered their message and now there was no reason for them to return. So reluctantly, Cookie had reset the alarms and locked the doors and hoped for the best as they started out for Sheila’s apartment.

  Now they were here.

  There were several people out on the front lawn of the retirement home this morning, all of them talking quietly in little groups or knitting or reading, or just soaking in the sunshine of what was promising to be a fantastic day.

  As they went up the walk to the front doors, one of the residents called to Cookie from a park bench over to the side of the main doors. There was two of them on the bench, and Cookie wasn’t a bit surprised. These two were never very far from each other. Kyle and Kevin were twin brothers who had spent their entire lives in Widow’s Rest. Their white, frizzy hair was receding at the same rate. The wrinkles around their eyes were the same. Even the way their arthritic fingers had twisted and bent was nearly identical.

  Now they had rooms right next to each other here in the retirement home. Both of them were bachelors, and as far as Cookie knew they always had been.

  “Hi there, you two,” Kevin said. At least, Cookie thought it was Kevin. It was almost impossible to tell them apart, except that one of them liked the color green, and one of them the color red. Kevin was in a green sweater vest. “Cookie, you here about Sheila again?”

  “Yes, we are,” she told him. “Jerry and I want to look through her apartment one more time. Tell me guys, did you know how much money Sheila had in her bank accounts?”

  “She loaned me five dollars for lunch once,” Kyle said. He tugged at the collar of his red sweater vest. It looked hot, and itchy. “It was taco day at the cafeteria. They make the very best soft shelled tacos here. Oh, no offense, Cookie.”

  “None taken,” she promised him. “I don’t actually make tacos at my bakery. Mostly baked goods. I’ve started making a sort of meat pie, though. I call them Flakies. You should come by and try them sometime. Both of you.”

  “Will do,” Kevin said. “Sounds delicious!”

  Kyle patted his brother’s arm. “You’d think a peanut butter and jelly sandwich was delicious if Cookie made it.”

  “Of course I would. She’s an amazing cook.”

  “Well, that’s true. She’s a bit late to be going up to Sheila’s apartment though, isn’t she?”

  “Shush now, brother. Don’t be rude. She just wants to help. Sheila was her friend, after all.”

  “She was my friend, too! She loaned me five dollars for tacos.”

  They were really cute, but something that Kyle had just said was worrying Cookie. Or was it Kevin? Whichever it was, it worried her. “Hold on, both of you. What do you mean, we’re too late to look at Sheila’s apartment?”

  “I thought you knew,” Kevin said, bewildered. “There were two police officers here already this morning. They brought out boxes of stuff from Sheila’s place.”

  “They sure did,” Kyle agreed. “I doubt there’s anything left up there.”

  “Nothing at all,” Kevin added.

  “Maybe some crumbs.”

  “I doubt it. Lots of boxes.”

  “True, true.”

  Jerry and Cookie exchanged a look. Two police officers were already here?

  “Kevin, Kyle.” Cookie tried to word her question carefully. “Did you know the officers? Do you know which ones they were?”

  The brothers both got the same quizzical looks on their faces. “Two of the young ones,” Kevin said. “That guy and that girl. Can’t remember their names. You know, the guy uses too much gel and the girl’s got them big ears.”

  “Here now,” Kyle said to him. “Be nice, brother. Not everyone can be as pretty as you and me.”

  The brothers laughed together at their own joke while Cookie frowned.

  “Mason,” she said to Jerry, “and Cassandra.”

  Kyle snapped his fingers. “That’s them. Yes. They were up there this morning and took out all those boxes.”

  Jerry was already moving up the walkway again, and Cookie thanked the brothers quickly to follow after him. They went into the retirement home and across the floor to the stairs this time, right up to Sheila’s room. They didn’t want to wait for the elevator. They knew they had to hurry.

  They also both knew they were probably already too late.

  Cookie had her key out and ready, and hastily opened the door.

  Inside, the room was emptier than a tomb. All the furniture was still there, and the countertop appliances, but everything else was gone. All the papers and bills that had been there before had been removed. All
the little knick-knacks that made an apartment a home were gone as well. Cookie wouldn’t be a bit surprised to go into the bedroom and find that all of Sheila’s clothes had been boxed up to be removed.

  “They took it,” Jerry said. “They took everything.”

  Cookie didn’t know what to say. Whatever Rosen was trying to hide, he was doing a very effective job of it.

  Cookie and Jerry went through the apartment anyway. It was just like they expected. Nothing was left that could possibly be of any use to them. Mason and Cassandra had even taken the contents of the paper recycling bin. There was nothing left.

  For a while, they sat on the couch, staring out the back window of the apartment. It faced the back lawn, where more of the residents were out enjoying the day. Cookie knew that everyone dealt with grief differently but if it hadn’t been postponed this would have been the day they buried Sheila. It just struck her as odd that all those people were out there enjoying the sunlight. A day like this should be gray and overcast, dreary and raining. Her friend Sheila was gone.

  She hadn’t realized that she had sighed so heavily until Jerry reached over to take her hand. “Sorry,” she said. “I guess I’m just so sad.”

  “That’s understandable. I’m not judging. We’ve both lived long enough to lose people in our lives, Cookie. I know how much it hurts. You don’t have to hide your feelings. Not from me.”

  “You’re an amazing man, Jerry Stansted.” She didn’t have the words to tell him how much he meant to her, especially now that she was sitting here and grieving for her friend.

  “Oh, amazing am I?” he asked.

  “Yes. You are.”

  “Even if I haven’t found Sheila’s killer yet?”

  “You will,” she said confidently.

  “And,” he asked, “even if I keep forgetting to marry you?”

  The twang in her heart wasn’t as bad this time. In light of her friend’s death, and the obvious corruption in the police department, the worries of her own personal life just seemed so petty. “You’re here with me,” she told him. “That’s all I need right now.”

  “You deserve more.”

  He was so serious when he said it. Cookie squeezed his hand. She should tell him that he was wrong. She knew that. She wanted to find the words to tell him that she didn’t want better, she wanted him, but there was just no good way to say it and no energy left in her to try. This was going to be her life, and it was a good one. She liked her life with him.

  The two of them had been through a lot together. Ups, and downs, and ins and outs too. They’d gotten involved in murder investigations and mysteries and close shaves together. She knew everything about him, and he knew everything about her. Well, not everything maybe if there was a story about him saving a State Trooper’s life she’d never heard, but they both knew all the important things. If that wasn’t love then she didn’t know what was. Did she really need another ring on her finger next to the nice diamond solitaire that he had already given her?

  No. She didn’t.

  She sat looking out on the backyard of the retirement home, thinking these thoughts. All the people out there. These elderly residents from Widow’s Rest and the surrounding towns, living out the peaceful days of their waning years in the care of the staff here at Cedar View. That would be her and Jerry someday, maybe, when they’d gotten too old to take care of themselves properly. Then they could move here, and have other people cook for them for a change, and make sure they were taking the right doses of medication, and they could wander around the yard out there and plant flowers and enjoy the sunshine…

  A thought occurred to her. She looked around the room, remembering the things that had been here yesterday. She hadn’t looked at everything with close scrutiny but there were a few items that she specifically remembered. A few in particular had been sitting right over there. Could it be?

  Yes. It made sense.

  Excitedly, she got up from the couch and went out on the apartment’s balcony to get a closer look at the backyard. “Jerry? I think I know where the money is.”

  Chapter 7

  Mayor Quinn Fieldberg was always willing to talk with the people in her town. When she wasn’t busy off kissing babies or dedicating some new plaque or water fountain, she was usually in her office sifting through the mounds of paperwork that covered her desk.

  Or, more specifically, she was waiting for someone to distract her from the mounds of paperwork that covered her desk. Right now, the story that Jerry and Cookie were telling her was definitely distracting.

  Quinn was a Mohawk by birth, and very proud of her Native American heritage. She wore her dark hair long and straight, with feathers tied into the side at her left temple. She preferred simple, home-made dresses with tribal designs on the sleeves and hem. With her dark skin and her almond eyes she was a very attractive woman. She was also a very intelligent woman. She spoke Mohawk fluently even though no one else in the town did. Cookie couldn’t help but be impressed. She’d struggled with French in high school herself, and now she couldn’t count up past neuf.

  Now the mayor steepled her long, graceful fingers against themselves as her elbows rested on her desk. Her eyes regarded Jerry critically. More than once they went to that empty spot on his chest where his badge should have been, and wasn’t.

  “Jerry,” she said, in the silky voice of a career politician. “You know that I’m always happy to have a visit from two of my favorite people in Widow’s Rest. The money that you two returned to George and Batina allowed them to make a lot of donations to the town. Widow’s Rest is a little bit better because the two of you make such an amazing team.”

  “Thank you,” Cookie said with a smile. “We think so, too.”

  “But,” Quinn emphasized, “this story that you’re bringing to me today…”

  Jerry cleared his throat. “You see why we came to you with this directly, right?”

  “You’re accusing the town’s police chief of being corrupt,” she said with dry humor. “Yes. I think I figured out why you came to me with that.”

  “I’m telling you, it all fits,” Jerry insisted. “The way he’s been trying to keep me off this case, the attempt on Amanda’s life when his two guys were mysteriously gone from their post, all of it.”

  “Except the money,” Quinn pointed out. “You haven’t discovered any connection between Chief Rosen and the money.”

  “No,” Jerry admitted reluctantly, “but that’s because his two lapdogs took everything from Sheila’s apartment to keep us from finding the evidence.”

  “As you say,” Quinn said in a noncommittal way.

  “We found the money, though. Don’t forget that. We found it, and now I think with a little help I can get Rosen to go after it and incriminate himself. I have a plan.”

  Quinn arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Oh, you do?”

  “Yes. You’re going to have to trust me, though.”

  “I trust you, Jerry. I trust you, too, Cookie. That’s not the issue.” The mayor sat back in her leather chair now, hands folding into her lap. “Look, Jerry, I understand that Ed Rosen isn’t the most likeable person. I don’t get along particularly well with him myself.”

  Cookie could see where this was going. Jerry, however, missed the point. “So? He’s never been likeable. Nobody gets along with him, but you and the town council hired him, so he’s what we’ve been stuck with. I certainly don’t care for the man. What’s the point?”

  “The point is,” she said bluntly, “are you sure you aren’t trying to put this on Ed because of personal reasons? From what I’ve heard, you resigned from the force.”

  “Not yet,” Cookie put in quickly. “He’s using up his vacation time. Then he’ll retire after that. For now, he’s still a police officer talking to his mayor.”

  “Of course he is.” She smiled in a patient way, and Cookie wasn’t sure she liked it. “Cookie, the Mohawks have a saying. The best chiefs are not those who persuade people to their point of
view. The best chiefs are those who make it easiest for people to arrive at the truth themselves.”

  “Yeah, well,” Jerry grumbled. “Chief Rosen’s not good at doing either of those things.”

  Quinn’s gaze locked on his. “I was talking about me, Jerry. Me, as the leader of this town. I don’t try to change people’s mind. I try to get them to come to the truth by themselves. Here, with Sheila’s murder, I’m wondering what truth you need to see.”

  Jerry didn’t hesitate. “A woman was murdered. That’s the truth I see.”

  Quinn nodded. “I see that truth, too. Now. How do we get from that truth, to saying Ed Rosen is responsible?”

  “The evidence is mounting,” he said, floundering when he knew that wouldn’t be enough. “I need to talk to him. I need to interview him, but I need to bring him in as a suspect and interrogate him. I need to know the mayor’s office will back me up if I do.” He tapped a finger on the edge of her desk for emphasis.

  “Mmm, well.” Quinn pursed her lips. “I think that might be overstepping my authority a bit.”

  “Mayor Fieldberg, without you and the weight of the mayor’s office I can’t do this. I don’t have any authority over the chief of police. Only the mayor does. The mayor, or…”

  He trailed off and let that thought hang in the air. Quinn waited a beat before she asked, “Or who, Jerry?”

  “I don’t want to go that route, Quinn.”

  “I’m still confused,” she said, wanting him to spell it out for her. “What route?”

  “The State Police,” he said. “They have authority to investigate local police departments. I don’t want to bring them in, Quinn, but I will if I have to.”

  Her eyebrow rose again. “You’re that serious about this?”

  “I am. Quinn, I really am.” Jerry reached over and took Cookie’s hand in his. “When have you ever known me to be anything but serious about my job?”

  She nodded in silent agreement. “I’ll have to think about this, Jerry. Can you give me some time?”

  Before Jerry could answer there was a knock on the heavy wooden door behind them and it flew open.