“She was feeling tired,” Ellie said. “Maybe she went home to rest.”
“Or maybe,” Maddie said, “Greta was standing outside the kitchen door, listening to us question her honesty.”
Chapter Ten
Lemon blended with the fading scents of cardamom, cloves, and anise as Maddie whipped up her second batch of cutout cookies. Her first batch had been rolled, cut into daisy shapes, and chilled in the refrigerator. One sheet had nearly finished baking.
Olivia paused over her own, less tasty work to breathe in the sweet citrus fragrance. “I never get tired of lemon,” she said. “It’s good to be home.”
“I’m with you,” Maddie said as she removed the cookie sheet from the oven. “Even if it is a million degrees near the oven.”
“You aren’t going to bake all night, are you?” Olivia pushed aside the unpaid bills and leaned back in her chair. “It’s Saturday evening. Don’t you want to get home to Lucas? You don’t qualify as an old married couple until you’ve been hitched at least a year.”
“Really?” Maddie slid another sheet of unbaked daisies into the oven and closed the door quickly. “Is that how long it took you and what’s his name?”
“That was different. Ryan was a resident in thoracic surgery. There was no honeymoon period.”
“I’m not surprised.” Maddie pointed her spatula toward Olivia. “Ryan studied heart surgery because he didn’t have one of his own, right?”
Olivia chuckled. “That was cruel and . . .” More quietly, she added, “And possibly close to the truth.”
“To answer your nosy question,” Maddie said, “Lucas decided to do inventory tonight. I think he relaxed too much on vacation. He says he needs to lift heavy objects to get his muscles back in shape.” Maddie switched on the oven light to check her cookies. “Just like I need to bake or I lose the knack.”
“Not likely.” Olivia stood and stretched toward the ceiling. Twisting to check the clock over the sink, she said, “I need to take Spunky for a walk before it gets too dark. If you’re still at it when I get back, maybe we could do a bit of computer research.”
“My favorite game, next to cookie baking,” Maddie said, “but why?”
“It’s probably nothing. I’m just uncomfortable about a few things.”
“Like why Olaf and Greta hate each other, and who really broke off their engagement?” Maddie slid the sheet of baked cookies onto cooling racks. “I doubt the Internet would have anything much to say about that little puzzle.”
“I was thinking more about who attended our event for Greta, and who was conspicuously absent.” Olivia ran her fingers through her tangled hair. Maybe she could sneak in a shower after her walk with Spunky. She doubted Maddie would head home until well past midnight.
“Are you referring to Anita Rambert?” Maddie asked. “I figured she didn’t see the point in coming. We’d have watched her every move to make sure she wasn’t stealing potential customers for Greta’s cutters.”
“Not just Anita,” Olivia said. “No antiques dealers were there, and only a few serious collectors. You’d think they all would have been curious about Greta’s collection. I thought we’d be fending them off all afternoon.”
Maddie’s empty cookie sheet clattered as she dropped it on the table. “Uh-oh. Maybe Anita hatched some sort of plot to take over the sale. Maybe she has been organizing the other collectors into a customer-hijacking gang.”
“I wouldn’t have put it quite so melodramatically. I don’t know, I just feel . . .”
“Uncomfortable,” Maddie said. “I get that. I’m starting to feel that way, too. You go walk Spunky, and I’ll finish up this batch of cookies. Oh, and take a shower before you come back to the kitchen. Your hair is sticking out, in a sad, limp sort of way. Once it starts falling in your face, you won’t be able to concentrate. I’m only thinking of your comfort.”
“Thanks so much,” Olivia said, laughing. “You’re a true friend.”
* * *
When Olivia opened the door to her upstairs apartment, Spunky was not there to greet her. Usually he made a leap for the door. Olivia headed quickly toward the living room, where she found her pup curled up on the sofa. Spunky lifted his head; that was the extent of his greeting.
“Hey, Spunks. Are you feeling all right?” Olivia sat next to him and rubbed his ears. “The apartment is warmer than I thought it would be,” she said. “I know you don’t like to get cold, but maybe you’re a bit overheated?” Spunky rolled on his back as if his belly needed air.
Olivia wasn’t sure if she should be worried. Spunky hadn’t been in the store for the event, so he couldn’t have sneaked any of the spicy cookies. She nestled the little Yorkie on her lap. Maybe she ought to check with Gwen and Herbie. They owned the Chatterley Paws animal rescue farm outside of town, and both were veterinarians. She checked the time on her cell phone. “It’s nearly eight p.m.,” she said. “Herbie answers their crisis number until nine on Saturday nights. I think we’d better make a little visit to the vet, Spunky.”
As soon as Olivia uttered the word “vet,” Spunky leaped out of her lap and yapped.
“Oh, I see,” Olivia said. “You hear ‘vet’ and suddenly you’re feeling much better.”
Spunky wagged his tail and trotted toward the kitchen. When Olivia didn’t follow, Spunky turned around to face her and flopped down on his belly. He settled his chin on his outstretched paws, tilting his head slightly.
“Very cute,” Olivia said, “but you’ll have to try that con on someone else.” She knew Spunky had been born in a puppy mill, from which he had escaped by digging under the fence. He’d spent several months begging food from soft-hearted Baltimore residents until a Yorkshire terrier rescue organization captured him.
Rather than rush to comfort her pet, Olivia relaxed against the sofa back. “And don’t bother to trot out that exaggerated limp, either. I’ll see right through it.” Spunky had sustained a paw injury during his run for freedom, and he wasn’t above feigning a limp when he wanted extra treats.
Spunky sensed defeat. With one longing glance toward the kitchen, he padded over to Olivia and joined her on the sofa. She rewarded him by rubbing his ears. “Okay, no trip to Chatterley Paws. How about a walk instead? I know it’s hot, but we can take it easy. We don’t have to run. In fact, I’d be grateful if we didn’t.”
Spunky perked up when he heard the word “walk.” He jumped down from the sofa and headed toward the front door of the apartment, where his harness leash hung on a hook. Olivia followed. The little guy waited patiently as his mistress secured his harness and locked the apartment door behind them.
The heat walloped Olivia when she opened the front door of the Queen Anne, but Spunky didn’t seem to mind. He hadn’t been outside since morning. Pent-up energy propelled him across the porch, and Olivia stumbled as she tried to keep the leash from slipping out of her grasp.
“Hey, slow down,” Olivia said. “If I fall, it’ll probably be on top of you. Trust me, you don’t want to risk that.” She wrapped the leash around her hand.
Olivia let Spunky choose the route for their evening walks. He usually loved a good run through the park, but he hesitated when he saw a rowdy group of high school boys tossing a football. Spunky stayed on the sidewalk and led Olivia down Park Street to the northwest corner of the town square. Near the Chatterley Café, he stopped to sniff the air. Olivia gazed longingly at the park, shaded from the setting sun by large, dense trees, but Spunky had other ideas. He led his mistress past the park and continued west for two more blocks. They had reached Apple Blossom Road before Spunky paused again to sniff the air.
When Spunky turned left on Apple Blossom Road, Olivia remembered. “One of your very favorite fire hydrants is on this street, isn’t it, Spunks?” Also, there were numerous old oak trees for shade, so Olivia followed willingly. “Constance’s office is down this way, to
o,” she said. “Too bad it’s so late. I have a few questions to ask her.” Olivia wanted to go home and hop into the shower, but she patiently followed Spunky. He’d been cooped up all day, and besides, he would be restless all night if he didn’t get a walk. Anyway, his fire hydrant was at the end of the block; she could see it. Spunky pulled hard on his leash, and Olivia found herself sprinting toward the hydrant. By the time they reached it, she could feel the sweat dripping down her forehead.
Away from the town square, the growing darkness was more noticeable. While Spunky sniffed eagerly around the base of the fire hydrant, Olivia fanned herself with her free hand. She glanced up and down the street for signs of life. It was Saturday night, and most of the buildings were dark or dimly lit. In one building, however, Olivia saw a brightly lit window. If I’m not mistaken, that is Constance’s office.
“Come on, Spunks,” Olivia whispered. “You’ve had plenty of quality time with your fire hydrant. Let’s go see Constance before she heads home.”
Spunky ignored her.
Olivia counted to thirty. “Time’s up.” She scooped her pup into her arms. Spunky snuggled against her chest. “Good boy,” Olivia said. “We are going to pay Constance a little visit.” They were a few buildings away when a figure appeared on Constance’s porch. Olivia couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, but it wasn’t Constance. That became clear when the figure ran down the front steps and past the Chatterley Heights Management and Rental Company sign. Olivia stopped in her tracks. She glanced up at the window of Constance’s office; the room was still lit. Olivia walked forward to get a better look at the retreating figure silhouetted against the sinking sun. Olivia thought the tall, slender figure with swinging hair might be a woman. However, she remembered Constance’s new assistant, Craig. His hair had been fairly long. Perhaps Craig had been working late and assumed Constance would answer her own office phone.
Olivia checked her cell. It was nearly nine p.m., but if Constance was still working, maybe she’d be willing to clear up the mystery of the duplicate cookie cutter list. She punched in Constance’s office number. The light went out, and the call went to voice mail.
Spunky squirmed in Olivia’s arms, so she lowered him to the sidewalk. “You’ve been a good boy, Spunks. We’ll go home soon, but let’s wait a few minutes to see if Constance comes down.” What Spunky heard was “Start yapping and keep it up until I get the point that you want to run.”
Olivia grabbed her noisy, wriggly pup and held him close. “Oh, Spunky, must you make such a racket? It won’t do you any good, you know. This is not a residential neighborhood, so there’s no one to wake up.” Spunky quieted down, but he wriggled so much that Olivia gave up and lowered him to the sidewalk once again. Spunky strained at his leash. Olivia held tight while she watched the Management and Rental Company. Olivia knew there was an elevator to transport Constance’s wheelchair to and from the second floor, but it shouldn’t be taking so long.
Spunky pulled so hard on his leash that he stood on his hind paws. “All right, I get it,” Olivia said. “You want to go home, and so do I. I really need that shower.” She could call Constance’s cell, but why? The mystery of the copied cookie cutter list would have to wait.
* * *
“You must have had a shower,” Maddie said as Olivia joined her in the kitchen. “Your appearance has vastly improved. Is it still gruesomely hot outside?”
“Yep, afraid so.” Olivia surveyed the kitchen. The last two sheets of lemon cutouts were cooling on racks, but otherwise the room was tidy, ready for another day of baking. “You didn’t have to clean up, but I’m grateful. It gives us more time to do some online research on Greta’s cookie cutters.”
“By ‘we,’ I assume you mean me.” Maddie opened the store’s laptop and wiggled her fingers to loosen them, as if she were about to tackle a piano concerto. “Such fun,” she said. “I have to admit, I’m glad we’re investigating antique cutters and not a murder. I mean, the murder investigating is exciting and all, but it does involve . . .” Maddie’s freckled nose wrinkled as she grimaced.
“Murder?”
“Exactly. That would be the downside.” Maddie’s hands zipped around the keyboard as she pulled up and rejected several auction sites for antiques. “Much as I love and adore cookie cutters, I’ve never given much thought to their history.” A colorful site appeared on the computer screen. “Let’s see what CookieCutterSearch.com has to offer,” Maddie said. “Ooh, look, an article about the history of cookie shaping in Germany. By the way, I took Greta’s cookie cutter list out of our safe so I could use it as a reference.” Maddie patted some papers next to the computer. “I read through it. There’s lots of German stuff listed.”
Olivia moved a kitchen chair next to Maddie and picked up Greta’s list. “Tell me what to look for on the list, and I’ll see if it’s there.” She dug to the bottom of the junk drawer for a pencil.
“Okay, this is interesting,” Maddie said. “The article is written by Phyllis Wetherill, so it dates from some years back, but she knew her stuff.”
“I thought you didn’t know anything about antique cookie cutters?”
“Well, I don’t really, but Aunt Sadie does,” Maddie said. “When I told her what we were doing, she mentioned that Phyllis Wetherill wrote this cool book, which is out of print and pricey to buy used. I’d love to find one in good shape and get it for Aunt Sadie. Anyway, in this article, Phyllis Wetherill says that in the early days, like the sixteenth century, most folks probably used carved wooden molds to shape cookie dough. If there were actual cookie cutters at that time, none have been found so far.”
Olivia scanned through Greta’s list. “It looks like these cutters—at least the ones that have been dated, which is most of them—date back as far as the 1700s. Some of the dates are marked as tentative. On the last page, some small wooden molds are listed. They are described as ‘well worn.’ They must be many centuries old.”
Maddie leaned back in her chair and stretched. “We’ll have to be careful how we describe Greta’s cutters to potential buyers. From this article, it seems that dating cutters accurately can be tricky.” Maddie pointed at the middle of the screen. “Phyllis, if I may call her Phyllis, says that some German cutters that are a hundred years old might look a lot newer just because they were made with heavier tin. But others that are much younger might fool us into thinking they are really old because they weren’t well constructed.”
“How will we tell the difference?” Olivia asked. She dreaded trying to find an expert who had no ulterior motives.
“Well, according to Phyllis, the cutter backings might give us clues. The cheaper cutters needed more bracing, and they still didn’t hold up well. Sounds fairly subtle to me, but at least it’s something. I’ll bet Aunt Sadie could help us a lot. We need to find a way to show her Greta’s cutters. I’d love to haul the whole collection over to Aunt Sadie’s house, but I’m not sure it’s safe.”
“Maybe we could take photos of the cutters,” Olivia suggested.
“No, I’m sure Aunt Sadie would say she has to feel them.”
“Well, we’ll think of something.” Olivia checked the clock over the sink. “It’s nearly midnight. I know that doesn’t sound late to you, but I want to get an early start tomorrow morning, which is what it almost is. I intend to have a good, long talk with Greta about this list. I need to ask Constance a few questions, too.”
“Why Constance?” Maddie closed the laptop lid. “Oh yeah, about the list being a copy and not the original. You know, I’ll bet Constance gave you a copy on purpose, so she could keep the original safe in the vault with the collection. It probably didn’t occur to her to mention it.”
Olivia tried to envision the list as she’d placed it inside the wall safe. “I could have sworn I came back here with the original, but you could be right. Maybe I just assumed . . .” She pushed her chair back to the kitchen table, where
it belonged. “I suspect my mind is still on vacation.”
“And why not?” Maddie said all too energetically. “We have time before we officially reopen The Gingerbread House. Not that I don’t love the place, but I intend to play as much as possible until then. Otherwise, Lucas will bury himself in the hardware store, and our honeymoon will truly be over. You, on the other hand, should get some sleep. Remember, you are two months older than I am.”
Olivia yawned. “Tonight I actually feel it.”
* * *
Olivia cranked her bedroom air conditioner to high so she could burrow under the covers without bursting into flames. After setting her cell phone alarm for seven a.m. and the ringtone to vibrate, she left it on the bedside table, within reach. Her eyelids drooped as soon as she turned off the lamp by her bed. As Olivia’s head sank into the pillow, she felt Spunky curl into the curve behind her knees. Their evening walk had worn him out. Soon Olivia heard his light, sweet snore, which sounded to her like a lullaby. She closed her eyes and slipped into a dreamless sleep.
Almost at once, or so it seemed, Olivia’s alarm went off with a buzzing sound. Groaning, she pushed up onto her elbow and fumbled for her cell phone. She felt the vibrations and realized she had a phone call. Maddie must have forgotten to tell her something important. Without glancing at her caller ID, she flipped open her phone and let her head sink back on the pillow.
“This had better be important, Maddie. You woke Spunky. You know how he gets.” The furry subject of Olivia’s threat snuggled against her thigh and went back to sleep.
“Olivia?” said a soft, hoarse voice. “I—” After a few seconds of labored breathing, the voice said, “I can’t . . . breathe.”
Cookies and Scream (A Cookie Cutter Shop Mystery) Page 11