Cookies and Scream (A Cookie Cutter Shop Mystery)

by Virginia Lowell

  Olivia limited herself to one lebkuchen and one small slice of cardamom tangerine shortbread. “Tangerine is good for me, right?”

  “Absolutely, Livie.” Ellie selected a larger shortbread slice and a soft springerle cookie. “I do love decorated cutout cookies,” she said, “but it’s lovely to have such interesting international flavors.” She bit the point off her shortbread wedge. “Hmmm.”

  “I baked nearly all night,” Maddie said, “but it was so worth it. It was cardamom tangerine shortbread that got Greta over her squabble with Olaf.” Maddie pointed with her head toward the shelves holding cookie and royal icing mixes, where Greta listened to a middle-aged woman. The latter seemed to be doing all the talking.

  “Did you find out what the squabble was really about? What was the huge mistake Greta made that Olaf thought she was being punished for?” Olivia asked.

  “Hang on a minute.” Maddie swapped her cookie-laden tray for an empty one on a nearby table. She returned with a shortbread wedge. “It might be a while before I have time to make these again,” she said. “Okay, here’s the scoop. Although Greta isn’t the type to confide, she was mad enough to grumble in nearly complete sentences. What I got from her grumblings was that she and Olaf knew each other long ago and didn’t part on the best of terms. I’m guessing that Greta spurned his advances, or something like that, because it sure sounded to me like Olaf was trying to get back at her for something personal. I mean, why else would he be so angry with her after all these years?”

  “That sounds like a lot of supposition,” Olivia said.

  “Well, if you want to be all Perry Mason about it.” Maddie bit off the point on her shortbread wedge and took her time chewing it.

  “It is a reasonable supposition, though,” Ellie said. “It does sound like Olaf. I know he can carry a grudge for eons. My friend Frannie told me a story many years ago. After his first divorce, Olaf took Frannie out for dinner, and halfway through the meal he proposed to her. He just blurted it out. Frannie thought he was joking, so she laughed. Olaf got red in the face and stalked out of the restaurant. Frannie had to pay for the meal. It was quite an expensive restaurant. At least five years later, right after Frannie lost her first baby, she was having breakfast with her younger sister at Pete’s Diner. Olaf walked in alone. He went right up to her table and told her, in front of her sister, that she looked old and haggard, and he hoped she was sorry for what she’d done.”

  “Ouch,” Olivia said.

  “I’d have punched him in the nose.” Maddie popped her last bite of shortbread into her mouth.

  With an innocent smile, Ellie said, “As it happens, Frannie’s sister stood up and slapped Olaf across the face.”

  “How deeply satisfying,” Olivia said, “but didn’t Olaf then take revenge on Frannie’s sister?”

  “I doubt it.” Ellie brushed some crumbs off her hands. “You see, Frannie’s sister is married to Pete. As I’m sure you remember, Pete was once a prizefighter, and a good one. He still looks like he could hold his own in the ring. Well, Pete was standing nearby and witnessed the entire exchange. He escorted Olaf out the diner door. Frannie told me she heard Pete advise Olaf to keep his distance from his wife because she had a mean left.”

  “Did you make that up?” Olivia asked, while Maddie doubled over with laughter.

  “Not a word of it.”

  “Speaking of Olaf . . .” Maddie nodded discreetly in the direction of the large front window. Greta stood straight and rigid, her arms hanging at her sides. Bouncing up and down on his toes, Olaf poked his finger toward Greta’s face. “That’s one angry dude,” Maddie said. “Should we rescue her?”

  “I believe Greta can take care of herself,” Ellie said.

  “I wonder what Greta did to Olaf years ago,” Olivia said, remembering the story her mother had just relayed. “Any ideas, Mom?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Ellie said. “I was hoping it was all water under the bridge, since Olaf has married more than once since . . . You see, Greta and Olaf were once engaged to be married. It was so long ago, over fifty years now. They were both quite young. So odd. . . .”

  “I don’t know,” Olivia said. “From your story about Frannie and her sister, I gather that when Olaf feels he has been wronged, he never forgives or forgets.”

  “Yes, and that’s what is so odd,” Ellie said. “You see, Olaf is the one who broke off his engagement with Greta. That was one of the reasons Greta left for Europe. As I recall, it was your Aunt Sadie, Maddie, who told me the story.”

  “Do you know why Olaf broke off the engagement?” Maddie asked. “And why would he say that Greta made a terrible mistake?”

  Ellie shrugged her slender shoulders. “Greta could be difficult in those days. Yes, her parents adored her, but they also expected a great deal of her. That wasn’t fair, of course. Greta’s mother’s family emigrated from Sweden before she was born, and her father was a Swedish immigrant. Greta’s parents weren’t well-to-do; they barely scraped by, but they were determined that their bright, beautiful daughter should marry well and rescue the family from poverty. Olaf Oskarson, on the other hand, was the son of Swedish immigrants who managed to become wealthy in America. Although from what I understand, they had been well off in Sweden, too. When Olaf broke off their engagement, Greta’s parents were convinced she had done something to drive him away. And who knows, maybe she did. I can’t honestly say that I wouldn’t have done the same.”

  * * *

  By late afternoon, the Gingerbread House’s air-conditioning had begun to lose its battle with the intense afternoon heat. The number of event attendees had dwindled steadily once the cookies disappeared. Olivia finished ringing up the last sale and silently declared the close of their welcoming event for Greta Oskarson. As soon as the final guest had left the store, Olivia locked the front door of her Queen Anne.

  When Olivia reentered the store, she saw her mother and Maddie helping Greta into the cookbook nook. Greta’s slow pace worried Olivia, so she followed behind them. Ellie, who was far stronger than her wispy figure implied, guided Greta to an armchair and steadied her as she lowered herself into it. Greta relaxed against the soft chair back and closed her eyes. Olivia, Maddie and Ellie exchanged quick, concerned glances.

  Greta opened her eyes and said, “Please don’t worry about me. I’ve had these spells before, most often when I’m overtired. After all, I am not young anymore. When I was a young woman, I could spend the entire day racing from shop to shop and then dance until dawn.” Greta rested her head against the back of the armchair. “But those days are only a memory.”

  “Could I bring you some coffee?” Maddie asked. “Or perhaps a cold drink?”

  “Yes, coffee, thank you. I’ll rest for a few moments and then, if you like, we could go over the list of my cookie cutters. I’d be glad to answer any questions you might have.” With a wan smile, Greta appeared to relax into the armchair. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes again.

  Maddie and Ellie headed toward the kitchen to make coffee, but Olivia, noticing Greta’s hunched shoulders, lingered behind. She grew more concerned as Greta’s long, thin fingers tightened her grip on the padded arms of her chair.

  “Greta,” Olivia asked softly, “are you sure you’re not feeling ill?”

  Greta’s eyelids shot open. “What? No, no, I’m feeling fine. A bit tired, that’s all.” She sat up straighter and laced her fingers together in her lap. “I never used to get tired. Now . . . I suppose no young person ever expects to get old.” Greta gazed up as if anticipating a response, but Olivia didn’t know what to say. “There was a young woman at the event this afternoon,” Greta said. “She was a natural blonde, I believe . . . a light, delicate color. Most unusual. She was quite lovely and vivacious. She spoke for some time with Olaf Jakobson. Perhaps you could tell me her name?”

  “I know who you mean,” Olivia said, “but I’m
afraid I’ve never seen her before.”

  “She looked vaguely familiar to me,” Greta said. “Such distinctive hair . . .”

  Olivia had noticed a slight hesitation before Greta spoke Olaf’s name. “You and Olaf once knew one another, didn’t you?” Olivia eased into the empty armchair next to Greta.

  After another moment of hesitation, Greta said, “Yes, when we were both young. Olaf has aged considerably, but it seems his personality hasn’t changed.”

  Olivia sensed Greta was struggling to keep her emotions from showing. She was doing a good job. Olivia couldn’t tell if she felt angry or sad or simply exhausted. “Weren’t you and Olaf friends at one time?” Olivia asked.

  “Friends?” Greta pondered the question. “I suppose we were, for a brief time.” With a light laugh, she added, “It’s hard to believe, but when we were quite young, Olaf used to come over to my house to bake cookies with my mother and me. Olaf loved to press cookie cutters into the dough. He did it rather violently.”

  Olivia was stunned into temporary silence. She had not expected to hear Olaf and cookie cutting mentioned in the same sentence.

  Greta glanced sideways at Olivia. “Perhaps you’ve heard that Olaf and I were engaged to be married? This was decades ago, of course. Yet Olaf still harbors a grudge against me. You see, I broke off the engagement.” Greta’s expressive shrug struck Olivia as staged. “Olaf would never admit this, of course, but I ended our engagement because of his disturbing obsession with wealth. Even his interest in cookie cutters was more about their monetary value than their intrinsic worth. Why, he once asked my mother if she’d had her great grandmother’s cookie cutters appraised.”

  “Olaf asked that kind of question as a child?” Olivia tried to imagine, as a child, even thinking of such a thing. “How did your mother handle that?”

  Greta shrugged again. “Oh, I think she laughed and said the cookie cutters had been in her family for generations, which made them invaluable to her . . . something like that.”

  “How did your parents feel about your engagement to Olaf Jakobson?” Olivia asked.

  Greta shrugged again. “They were against it, of course. They cared more about my happiness than they did about the Jakobson family wealth. But enough of that. I’m still curious about the young woman Olaf was talking to for such a long time. I can’t help thinking I’ve seen her somewhere before. Although, despite her peculiar hair, that type is rather common, so perhaps she simply reminds me of scores of other young women.”

  “My mom spoke with her,” Olivia said. “I think her first name is Desirée, but I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you.”

  Greta nodded but said nothing in response. She stared in silence at her own interlaced fingers. Olivia couldn’t see enough of her face to tell, but she was fairly certain that Greta was smiling to herself as she leaned against the back of her armchair and closed her eyes once more.

  As Olivia walked toward the kitchen, she recalled her mother’s assertion that it was Olaf who had broken off the engagement, and that Greta’s parents had been upset with her. Was Greta lying about who ended the engagement? Or had she perhaps engineered the breakup? Given Greta’s apparent self-involvement, she might lie to save face. Olivia found it interesting that Greta seemed so determined to discover the identity of the young woman Olaf had talked to during the cookie event. Perhaps Greta hadn’t truly let go of her anger with Olaf for ending their engagement. Was Greta jealous? Or had she enjoyed watching Olaf make a fool of himself over an attractive woman less than half his age?

  Leaving Greta in the cookbook nook, Olivia joined Maddie and Ellie in the Gingerbread House kitchen. “Let’s let Greta rest for a few minutes before we bring her coffee,” Olivia said as she poured herself a cup. “It’s odd. I don’t remember seeing Anita Rambert here. Did I miss her?”

  “Nope,” Maddie said. “I was watching for her.” Maddie finished filling the dishwasher and pushed the “on” button.

  “I was, too,” Ellie said. “In fact, I didn’t see any antiques dealers at the event. I do hope they aren’t going behind your back. Much as I hate to think such a thing, I wouldn’t put it past Anita to try to convince Greta to show her the collection or at least the list. Anita is persuasive. She could easily argue that you aren’t experienced enough to handle the sale of such a valuable collection, Livie.”

  “Well, good luck to her.” Olivia took a pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator and poured three glasses. “The one and only original list is locked safely away in our little wall safe, and I have, on my person, our key to the storage vault that holds the collection. I gave Greta her key soon after she arrived for our cookie event.”

  “Not to be a worrywart,” Maddie said, “but would you mind checking to make sure the key hasn’t walked away?”

  With an exaggerated sigh, Olivia reached inside the neck of her loose cotton top.

  “What the . . . ?” Maddie threw back her head and laughed. “You hid the key in your bra? I should have remembered from high school. That’s where you hid your boyfriend’s . . . um.” Maddie shot a sideways glance at Ellie.

  With an indulgent smile, Ellie captured a strand of her long hair and began twirling it around her finger. “Never mind me, girls. Remember, I was once in high school.”

  “But Mom, that was way, way back in the sixties, before the discovery of fire.”

  “Now, Livie, I think you’re a bit confused about the course of history, especially the history of relationships. Members of your generation are enjoying the freedoms that my generation created.” Ellie tossed back her hair. “And don’t you forget it.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Olivia pinned the vault key back in its hiding place. “Now, I vote we take a look at that list while we give Greta a chance to rest,” Olivia said as she lifted the antique spice rack off its wall hook to reveal the wall safe. She spun the combination and opened the door. “Et voilà.” Olivia removed a small sheaf of papers from the safe. She handed them to Maddie for a first look.

  Maddie eagerly scanned the pages. Halfway down the second page, she paused, looking puzzled.

  “Come on, Maddie, this isn’t funny. That’s the list of Greta’s antique cutters, right?”

  Maddie’s head jerked up. “Hm? Yes, this is Greta’s list, only . . . didn’t Constance give you Greta’s original list? Because this looks like a copy. See, there’s some shading along the edge that looks like what happens when the original is a little smaller than the paper it’s being copied onto.”

  Olivia lifted the pages out of Maddie’s hand. “I see it,” she said quietly. “I don’t know, we looked at the original when we met with Greta at Constance’s office, but maybe Constance gave us a copy, just to be on the safe side. l could ask her.”

  Maddie shrugged. “It probably doesn’t matter. We can always trade the copy for the original. Should I drop in at Constance’s office on my way home, Livie?”

  Olivia didn’t answer. The apparent mix-up took her mind back to her late night return to The Gingerbread House from her vacation. She had found some of Greta’s cookie cutter collection crammed into the kitchen safe. She’d also found the disorganized display of colored sugar sprinkles, implying that Greta had been roaming the sales floor instead of keeping watch over the disposal of her valuable cutters. Why wasn’t Greta with Bertha in the kitchen, making sure her cutters were safely stored and well protected? Had Greta been feeling ill? But then why would she be wandering around the sales floor, aimlessly picking up items, as if she didn’t care what happened to her precious collection?

  “Livie, you look like you might explode,” Maddie said. “What’s going on?”

  Olivia blurted out the entire story of her return home, including her discovery of the sugar sprinkles. “I’m probably making a big deal out of something totally innocent,” Olivia said, “but it just seems odd.”

  “Hang on, girlfriend,” Maddie said.
“I already know the answer to that one. It was indeed Greta who was waiting in the store. Bertha told me that Greta felt tired and wanted to sit in the nook while the transfer was made. I didn’t know about the sparkling sugars, but it makes sense. Greta probably got bored waiting for Bertha, so she started picking things up and looking at them. Bertha said she was relieved that Greta wanted to stay out in the nook. She doesn’t like having anyone near the kitchen when she opens the safe. I told her not to worry. I mean, what was Greta going to do, steal her own collection?”

  “It isn’t out of the question,” Ellie said. “If the collection was insured, that is. People do sometimes steal their own valuables in order to collect the insurance money. Or they hire someone else to do it.”

  Olivia glanced toward the safe, located in a section of the wall toward the back of the kitchen. She’d ordered it placed there so the body of the safe would protrude into the storage room, which always remained locked unless she or Maddie opened it to restock. They both were careful to lock the door again as soon as they’d finished.

  Still, the sugar display was near the kitchen door. If Greta had cracked the kitchen door open to peek inside, she could have watched Bertha opening the safe. Bertha would have been faced sideways and working the combination with her right arm, which would have blocked her peripheral vision. However, it was unlikely Greta could have made out the combination easily. Unless . . . Whenever Bertha performed a task that consisted of several parts, she had a habit of whispering the steps to herself.

  As Olivia was about to recount her thoughts to Maddie and Ellie, she realized the flaw in her thinking. Why would Greta go to the trouble of learning the combination to the store safe and then allow her cutter collection to be transported to another, more secure safe to which she’d been given a key?

  Olivia gave up. Not every unexplained phenomenon pointed to crime. Most likely, Constance had accidentally given her the copied list rather than the original.

  “Never mind,” Olivia said. “Let’s bring Greta her coffee and go over the list with her.” Carrying a tray holding four cups of steaming coffee and a plate of cookies, Olivia led the way to the cookbook nook. She stopped short at the entrance, waiting for the others to catch up. “Looks like we took too long,” Olivia said. “Greta has left.”