A Cookie Before Dying

by Lowell, Virginia

  As Olivia read through the piece again, her anxiety began to fade. She had an idea, or at least a crumb of an idea. She closed her eyes to let her mind chew on it for a while.

  “How can you nap at a time like this?” Maddie flopped into a chair, ignoring the ringing phone. “I’ve answered four calls already. I’m going to tear that phone out of the wall in a minute.” Binnie’s blog entry was still on the laptop screen. Maddie snapped the lid closed to hide it. “Livie Greyson, we’re about to get sent up the river with your brother, and you . . . you are smiling. Explain yourself.”

  Olivia lifted the laptop lid and pointed to the screen. “This piece of journalistic tripe is probably libelous,” she said, “but it couldn’t be more perfect for us.” The phone began ringing again. “This could save us a lot of time.”

  “Or waste it.” Maddie jumped up, took the ringing phone off the hook, and hung it up. Before it could ring again, she dropped the receiver on the table. “I learned about this so quickly because one of Lucas’s employees is hooked on that blog. She was checking it on her cell phone when that entry showed up. How does Binnie get away with this?”

  Olivia got up and put the phone back on the hook. “I’ll deal with the calls in here. You keep track of your cell phone messages,” she said. “All part of the plan.”

  “What plan?” Maddie was approaching hysteria.

  The phone rang, and Olivia answered at once.

  A strong, firm voice said, “Livie, it’s Constance Overton. Thought I’d give you a heads-up. I called the sheriff and told him there was no break-in, that I’d given you a key to the dance studio to check something out for me. He sounded quizzical until I played the wheelchair card—you know, poor me, can’t climb stairs and so on. I’ll let you know later how many dozen cookies you owe me.”

  “It’s worth every pound of butter,” Olivia said. “Besides, it’ll be fun to watch you plump up.”

  “Won’t happen,” Constance said. “My metabolism still thinks I play basketball. Good luck with whatever it is you and Maddie have gotten yourselves into this time. By the way, when do I get my key back?”

  “If you can wait till tomorrow, I’ll deliver it with cookies,” Olivia said.

  “Agreed.”

  Olivia hung up and turned to Maddie, who was sucking on her lower lip and checking her messages. “Constance cleared us of breaking-and-entering charges,” Olivia said. “We owe her big time. And speaking of cookies, how many ballet ones do we have?”

  “At least six dozen, maybe more,” Maddie said. “As you can see, I’ve been working off my jitters.” She waved her hand around the kitchen. Olivia had been so involved with immediate crises that she hadn’t noticed the piles of dirty baking pans and utensils. Maddie opened the refrigerator door to reveal stacks of covered cake pans. “I’m trying to get the icing to harden more quickly,” she said.

  “Excellent,” Olivia said. “Put half of them around the sales floor as soon as you remind me how to post a response to Binnie’s blog. Oh, and would you ask Mom to come talk to me as soon as she can free herself from customers?”

  “How about you tell me what’s going on here.” The color was returning to Maddie’s cheeks.

  “Fair enough,” Olivia said. “We’re having a celebration right after closing tonight. A few select guests will be invited. I’ve asked Del to bring Jason here, but we’ll do this even if he refuses. I’m pretty sure that whoever killed Geoffrey King will be among our guests.”

  “What’s to stop them from simply leaving town and disappearing?”

  “After Binnie’s latest blog entry? That would be like painting ‘I’m guilty’ on their back. I think it’s more likely the killer might try to throw suspicion onto someone else.”

  “Okay, I’m game. Let me get you started on that blog entry. Hit Binnie between the eyes for me.” Maddie opened the laptop and showed Olivia how to post a response. “Whatever you say, it’ll be around town in minutes. Everyone is glued to this blog. Look, two new posts just appeared.” She skimmed the entries. “Great, some high school kid is accusing his former physics teacher of the ‘town square massacre.’ Sounds like somebody should have studied for his physics final.” Maddie stood up. “All yours.” She arranged a tray of ballet cookies and headed to the sales floor.

  Olivia’s post to Binnie’s blog was simple. She announced that Jason had been released due to new evidence gathered by the police, who expected to make an arrest very soon. The Gingerbread House, she said, would offer decorated ballerina cookies to well-wishers until closing at six p.m.

  “Are you interruptible, Livie?” Ellie’s gentle face appeared around the edge of the kitchen door. “Maddie seems to think you have a plan that includes me. If it involves saving Jason, I will do anything.”

  “I know, Mom. You’re probably the only one who could pull this off. I need you to convince Charlene and Charlie to come to The Gingerbread House after closing today. I’m hoping Del will agree to bring Jason here, since I’ve been spreading it around town that he is being released.”

  Ellie pulled a handful of hair over her shoulder and began to braid the bottom half. “I see what you are doing, Livie, and I think it is dangerous. I know it works well in Agatha Christie novels when the detective gathers the suspects in one room and starts flinging accusations about, but this is the real world. Someone might get hurt. Oh, I wish Allan weren’t out of town.”

  “Tomorrow morning, Jason will be transported to Circuit Court for arraignment. I don’t have time to wrench information out of the suspects one by one. I need to get everyone talking fast. This is the only way I can think of to make that happen.”

  Olivia practiced patience while her mother unbraided her hair, then began again. Finally, Ellie tossed her hair over her shoulder and said, “I’ve got it. I know exactly how to get Charlene and Charlie to come here.”

  “Just like that?” Olivia asked. “How?”

  “Were you aware that not one single person showed up for Charlene’s first Healthy Eating Club meeting?”

  “I’d forgotten all about that,” Olivia said. “And your point would be . . . ?”

  “I’ll offer to help her get the club going. I can produce quite a number of friends, you know. While Charlene is feeling grateful and unsuspecting, I’ll ask her to bring Charlie and join us to welcome Jason home. Charlie will do anything Charlene tells him to do.”

  “Clever. I appreciate the sacrifice.”

  “Oh, it’s no sacrifice, Livie. You and Maddie will be going with me to the Healthy Eating Club. It will be such fun to spend time with both of you.” With a motherly kiss on Olivia’s forehead, Ellie said, “I’ll go talk to Charlene and Charlie right now. Be back in a jiffy.”

  Olivia took time to visualize a sea of swirling blue icing before calling Heather Irwin. It was easy to convince Heather to drop by the store after closing for Jason’s homecoming. After nearly running Olivia down with her truck, Heather jumped at the chance to show goodwill.

  Next Olivia called Constance Overton.

  “Livie,” Constance said, “I was just thinking about you. And those cookies you owe me. . . .”

  “Good, because I’m calling to put myself further in your debt. I’ll owe you cookies for the next decade.”

  “Sounds delectable. What do you need?”

  “I want Raoul Larssen to come here to the store after closing this evening. And I want him to bring his daughter, Valentina.”

  “His daughter? You didn’t tell—”

  “No time, Constance.” Olivia quickly summarized what she’d discovered at the dance studio. “At the very least, Valentina is a probable witness to King’s murder.”

  “Well, I guess I could play the heavy,” Constance said, “and tell Raoul that I was ready to throw him out for breaking the terms of the lease, but you talked me out of it. Maybe you offered to pay the extra for the girl. I’ll strongly suggest they visit you this evening to shower you with thanks. Something along those lines.”


  “That’s better than any idea I came up with. If they don’t show up, I’ll have to go to them. Thanks, Constance.”

  “Sure. Only now I want more than cookies in exchange. I hear you got a nice inheritance recently.”

  “You want my inheritance?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Constance said. “I pull in a hundred thousand a year. No, I want you to make The Gingerbread House wheelchair accessible.”

  “Done.”

  “And I want you to convince the other stores in town to do the same.”

  “Done and done.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  As soon as Olivia locked the front door of The Gingerbread House at six p.m., her heart began to creep up her throat. Now that it was about to unfold, her plan to prove her brother’s innocence felt flimsy and foolish. If only she had more time to think it out....

  “You seem jumpy, dear,” Ellie said from behind Olivia’s back, which made her jump. Ellie laughed. “I know you’re having second thoughts about this evening,” she said, “but really, what other choice do we have?”

  “You sure know how to boost my confidence,” Olivia said.

  “Too much confidence can be dangerous.” A worry wrinkle between Ellie’s eyebrows betrayed her own unease. “I believe I’ll take five minutes to center myself,” she said.

  As her mother drifted toward the cookbook nook, Olivia straightened her spine and headed for the kitchen. She opened the door and heard Bertha’s voice say, “You’ll slice your own arm off.” The prediction was delivered with parental force.

  Sounding snappish, Maddie said, “Would you rather be shot down like a . . . like a squirrel?” She held a chef’s knife in one hand and a cucumber in the other. Her hair resembled a brush fire.

  Olivia looked from one tight face to the other and asked, “Am I missing something?”

  “Okay, you settle this,” Maddie said, waving her knife in the air. “We’ve invited a bunch of murder suspects to our closed store. That might be safe in mystery movies, but in real life things could get messy. And dangerous. I think we should be armed.”

  “And I think that would only make the situation more dangerous,” Bertha said, planting her fists on her slimming yet still ample hips.

  If we were doing this for anyone but Jason . . . “Frankly,” Olivia said, “right now I’m scared of both of you. If we greet our guests with weapons, they will turn tail and run. I might join them.”

  “But where’s our backup? Are we supposed to do this alone?” Maddie pointed her knife at Bertha and Olivia for emphasis.

  “Maddie, please, put down that knife. You’re knocking years off my life expectancy. I agree with Bertha, no good can come of arming ourselves. Del and Cody will be here soon, I know they will.” I hope they will.

  Maddie checked the kitchen clock. “It is six fifteen. Our murder suspects will begin arriving in fifteen minutes. What are we supposed to do, pelt them with ballerina cookies?”

  “If they even show up,” Bertha said.

  Behind Olivia, the kitchen door opened, and Ellie’s voice, serene with an edge, said, “I am newly re-centered, and I intend to stay that way. Need I say more?” Her audience of three shook their heads in chastened unison. “Good,” Ellie said. “Now, I hear noises outside the alley door. I predict our reinforcements have arrived.”

  Olivia swung open the door on the first knock. Mr. Willard entered first. He smiled at Bertha, who rushed to him and threw herself into his arms. It was a testament to his wiry strength that he didn’t fall over. “Now dearest,” he said, “I couldn’t stay home and let you face this evening alone. Besides, someone might need an attorney.”

  Sheriff Del and Deputy Sheriff Cody followed, each grasping one of Jason’s upper arms. Ellie shed her serenity and ran to her son.

  Lucas Ashford brought up the rear. He wore jeans and a crisp blue T-shirt that revealed well-developed muscles. When he saw Maddie, his worried look softened into a tentative, bashful smile.

  “Hey,” Maddie said.

  “Hey, yourself.” Lucas edged to her side through the crowded kitchen. “I got worried.”

  “Worried is good.” Maddie leaned against him. “So,” she said, looking toward Del and Cody, “can I assume you guys brought some firepower?”

  With a loud sigh, Del said, “We decided to leave our assault rifles at home, but we do have our service revolvers. Jason isn’t a free man just yet.”

  “Oh,” Maddie said. “Sorry, Jason, but don’t you worry. We’re about to smoke out the real killer.”

  Jason looked thin and tired and not exactly bursting with hope. Olivia felt a tight squeeze in her heart as she watched him stare at the floor. At the same time, her resolve strengthened. “It’s almost showtime,” she said softly.

  In ten minutes, the cookie trays were scattered around the sales floor, and tea and coffee bubbled away. By six forty-five, no one had shown up. Seven o’clock came and went with the same result.

  “Don’t give up hope, dear,” Ellie said. “I have a strong feeling this experiment will work.”

  Olivia had gone over and over the questions she hoped to ask her suspects. She needed another angle. “Del, did you look into Lenora Tucker’s story about Geoffrey King being afraid of a loan shark he owed money to?”

  “Yeah, I talked to King’s parole officer, who asked around. It seems King wasn’t lying about that, except he seemed to be keeping up his payments. If he was stealing enough high-end stuff, that might explain it. He sure couldn’t keep a job.”

  “Also, he was blackmailing Charlie Critch and who knows who else,” Olivia said.

  At that moment, the front doorbell rang. Bertha bounced up to welcome Heather Irwin, who was followed by Charlene and Charlie Critch. Charlene carried a loaf of fresh whole wheat bread, which she tossed at Olivia before throwing her arms around Jason’s neck. “Oh Jason, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  Jason held her tightly and buried his face in her shoulder. Charlie stood nearby, fidgeting with the ribbon on a bottle of red wine.

  Bertha again answered the doorbell and Raoul Larssen entered the store. He wore a white shirt and jeans, which emphasized his muscular legs and broad shoulders. However, Olivia doubted anyone could mistake him for a construction worker. His dark eyes explored the store before coming to rest on Ellie Greyson. “Ah, my favorite pupil,” he said. When Olivia greeted him, he executed a quick bow and handed her a bottle of Chilean cabernet sauvignon. Inexpensive, yet excellent. “I offer this in celebration of your brother’s freedom,” he said. “And also for your kindness. Ms. Overton explained to me that you begged her to be lenient with me for my . . . for omitting to mention my daughter’s visit.”

  “How thoughtful of you,” Olivia said.

  “Ms. Overton said you offered to pay her the extra rent I owe her. This is too generous of you and not necessary. It was merely a mistake on my part. I have already taken care of the problem.”

  Ellie took the bottle from Olivia’s hands. “This looks delicious, Raoul. Will you join me in a glass? You don’t have to teach tonight, do you? I’ve been hoping for a chance to chat with you. What class will you be starting next?” Ellie removed the cork with the ease of experience and poured three glasses.

  Raoul accepted his wine and took a small sip. “I am so sorry to tell you this, my dear Ellie, but we will be leaving soon. I have made arrangements to teach elsewhere. They want me to begin immediately, and my classes here are coming to an end, so . . .”

  “Oh no!” Ellie said. “I was so hoping to meet your daughter. From what I’ve heard, she’s a stunning ballerina. Livie has seen her dance, you know.”

  “And I want to talk to her,” Olivia said. “She might have seen something in the park that could clear Jason.”

  Raoul’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “But I understood that your brother has been cleared of the . . . the crime.”

  “I know it’s confusing,” Olivia said. “Jason has been released because the police realized they don’
t have any more evidence against him than certain other possible suspects.” She directed a deliberate glance across the room at Charlene and Charlie Critch, who were chatting with Jason, Bertha, and Mr. Willard.

  Raoul took two sips of his wine before saying, “I’m afraid there is no time to visit. My new job begins so quickly, you see.” An elegant shrug of his shoulders conveyed regret, apology.

  “Perhaps I could visit her,” Olivia said. “We have enough help with the store. I could come over tomorrow morning for a short visit, say, at nine o’clock? I’ll help her pack.”

  Raoul placed his empty wineglass on a table. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” he said. “She will be gone, I have made the arrangements. She needs quiet, rest. Ever since her . . . her accident, she has been so fragile. It would be useless to speak to her, anyway, because her memory is often unclear. I must get back to her now.”

  Before Raoul could back away, Ellie captured his arm. “Raoul, if this is the last time I will see you, then I will not allow you to leave so soon. You will have another glass of that delicious wine and meet my son, Jason. Livie, dear, would you . . . ?” She nodded toward the wine bottle. Olivia filled Raoul’s empty glass and trotted behind her mother, who smoothly trapped Raoul inside the small circle surrounding Jason.

  Olivia sidled up next to Del. In a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, she said, “How about holding a plate for me while I pack some ballerina cookies for Raoul to take back to his daughter?”

  Del followed her to a tray piled with cookies. Olivia handed him a heavy paper plate, on which she arranged cookies shaped like toe shoes, ballet slippers, and ballerinas performing a variety of moves. “Raoul is desperate to keep me or anyone from talking to his daughter. He’s going to get her out of town as soon as he leaves here, I’ll bet on it.”

  Del leaned toward her. “And you think this is significant because . . . ?”