Cookies and Scream (A Cookie Cutter Shop Mystery)

by Virginia Lowell

  Spunky yapped as Olivia shot up. “What’s going on? Who is this? If you’re ill, call—”

  “Can’t get . . . Called 999, but no one . . .”

  “999? Greta?”

  Greta wheezed but said nothing.

  “Greta, listen to me carefully. Unlock your front door right now. Can you do that? It’s really important. I’ll have to hang up and call 911, and they will need to get into your house quickly. Greta? Can you hear me?”

  No sound came through, not even labored breathing. Olivia hoped Greta had left to unlock her front door. She ended the call, then punched 911 as she threw off her covers and slid her feet into the old tennis shoes that functioned as her slippers. With no laces to tie, they were floppy but didn’t slow her down at crucial moments. Luckily, her summer sleepwear consisted of stretched-out exercise pants and a stained T-shirt, so she was good to go.

  While Olivia explained the situation to the 911 dispatcher, she ran down the hallway of her apartment to the front door. At the last minute, she slipped her feet into shoes that would stay on. Spunky followed her every move, wagging his tail with excitement. “No, Spunky, you stay here. No, I mean it,” she said as the eager Yorkie stood on his hind legs and tried to push the apartment door open. “Oh geez,” Olivia said under her breath. Spunky was quick and determined; he’d be through the door as soon it opened. She envisioned herself chasing Spunky down the stairs, costing precious minutes.

  “Okay, hold still.” Olivia’s voice must have been uncharacteristically convincing because Spunky slipped his head through the harness leash without protest. “Good boy. Keep it up.” When she opened the apartment door, Spunky burst through so fast he almost yanked Olivia off her feet. “I’m glad you aren’t an Irish wolfhound,” she muttered as she stumbled down the stairs. When they reached the foyer, Olivia unlocked the Gingerbread House door and let go of Spunky’s leash. He ran eagerly into the store. With a twinge of guilt, Olivia closed the door after him and locked him inside.

  Within minutes, Olivia was driving north through the dark, empty streets toward Greta Oskarson’s new home. Olivia hoped the ambulance had found Greta and transported her to Chatterley Heights Hospital, if necessary, but she decided to check the house before heading to the emergency room. She felt responsible for Greta’s welfare, in part because she’d been given the responsibility of selling such a remarkable cookie cutter collection, and she’d barely started. However, Olivia had a stronger reason to feel involved. Greta had seemed unwell after the Gingerbread House cookie event. What if she had an allergy that their cookies had triggered? Most people with serious allergies were careful to warn their hosts, but Greta seemed proud and secretive. She might have wished to keep such personal information to herself.

  Olivia was about a block south of Greta’s house when she heard the sirens. As they grew louder, Olivia pulled to the curb. A moment later, she saw the flashing lights and realized an ambulance was heading toward her, on its way to Chatterley Heights Hospital. Olivia waited for it to pass. Her tires squealed as she made a fast U-turn to follow the ambulance. As Olivia straightened her wheels, a dark-colored sedan whipped past her and sped off in the same direction as the ambulance. Olivia got only a fleeting glimpse of the driver, but she thought she’d seen hair blowing in the wind from the open front window. Clouds blocked the moonlight, but Olivia had the impression the hair was blond.

  Chapter Eleven

  Olivia and two drunks shared the waiting room of the Chatterley Heights Hospital emergency unit. One of the men slept on the rug, curled into a snoring ball. The other drunk slumped in a chair, grimacing as if he might be about to lose his stomach contents. Olivia moved farther away from him.

  Olivia hadn’t seen any women in either the hospital parking lot or while walking toward the emergency room entrance. She’d seen no women except nurses during the fifteen minutes she had been in the waiting room. Aside from the two drunks, no one had entered or left the emergency room since she’d arrived. The driver who had sped past Olivia hadn’t shown up. Maybe she hadn’t been following the ambulance after all.

  For the umpteenth time, Olivia checked the large clock on the wall. Two-thirty a.m. Only about twenty minutes had passed since she’d arrived. She forced herself not to irritate the nurse again with another request for updated information. When Olivia had first asked about Greta’s condition, the nurse had been willing to share only that Greta was alive when she’d arrived and was receiving emergency treatment. Since she wasn’t a member of Greta’s family, Olivia wasn’t allowed to see her or receive any detailed information about her condition.

  Feeling too jittery to sit still, Olivia skirted the drunk on the floor to ask the nurse if the police had been called. The response was a sigh, followed by silence. As she trudged back toward her chair, Olivia heard the loud whine of a siren. She ran outside to the parking lot as a Chatterley Heights squad car passed the entrance and screeched to a halt at another door. Even in the dim light, she recognized Deputy Sheriff Cody Furlow’s lanky back as he loped toward the back entrance to the emergency room. At six foot three, Cody was hard to miss, even without the uniform.

  If only Del hadn’t been called out of town for ex-wife protection duty, Olivia thought. Del would have understood and bent the rules. Greta had called Olivia in desperation because she had no one else to turn to, no one she felt she could trust. Del would have wanted Olivia’s help, especially if Greta awakened, frightened. Olivia was well aware that the earnest Deputy Cody Furlow wanted to prove himself, to demonstrate his competence in a crisis. She had always gotten along well with Cody, but she knew he would want to handle this situation by himself. If he did a good job, he might be able to move up to a sheriff’s position in another town.

  Well then, I’ll have to be sneaky. Olivia slid her cell phone from her pocket. Standing under a tall parking lot light, she first called Maddie on speed dial, hoping to leave a message. Maddie answered, and she didn’t sound sleepy. “Maddie? Are you actually awake?”

  “Sleep is overrated,” Maddie said. “Anyway, it’s practically morning.”

  Olivia checked the time on her cell phone. “It’s 2:38 a.m.”

  “That late? Anyway, I’m dressed and ready to pop over to The Gingerbread House for a baking session before the heat reaches its zenith.” Maddie paused. “Or do I mean apex? I can never remember, but I’m sure you can tell me.”

  “Well, either one, I guess, but . . . Geez, Maddie, I’m calling you from the Chatterley Heights Hospital’s emergency room parking lot. It’s 2:38 a.m.—definitely not ‘practically morning’—and this is really important.”

  “Point taken. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine, but—”

  “Then what’s going on? No, wait, I’ll call you back in a sec.” Maddie hung up instantly.

  Olivia paced the emergency room parking lot, unsure what to do. After what felt like an eternity, her cell phone finally vibrated, and she flipped it open. “Maddie, what—”

  “Speak to me,” Maddie said. “Tell me all.”

  Olivia gave Maddie a short summary of the night. “I can’t get past the guard nurse,” Olivia said, “so I haven’t been able to see Greta or even get updates about her condition. I’m thinking I might try to call Cody directly on his cell. He probably won’t answer, but if he wants to look smart and competent, he really needs to listen to what I know . . . even if it isn’t much.”

  “Do you want my advice?” Maddie asked.

  “Desperately.”

  “Tell Cody what you just said to me: that you have information he needs to hear,” Maddie said.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Don’t interrupt. Cody will, of course, want to hear it right away, and he’ll expect you to tell him over the phone. So say something tantalizing like . . . Wait, let me think. Ooh, I know, say ‘Greta called me in the middle of the night, and she said—’ Then cut off the call, as
if your cell went dead.”

  “Cody will just call me back,” Olivia said.

  “And you will let the call go to voice mail. Cody will try again, and again he’ll be sent to voice mail. Then he’ll start to worry. He’s a cop, so of course he’ll be wondering if someone has attacked you, maybe to keep you from telling him what you know.”

  “But what will that get me?” Olivia asked. “He won’t know where I am, and . . . Oh, I get it. Then I pound on the back door of the emergency room as if I’m frantically trying to get away from someone.”

  “I have an even better idea,” Maddie said. Olivia heard squealing wheels in the parking lot behind her. She spun around to see Maddie’s little yellow Volkswagen lurching toward her. The car came to a stop a few yards away. Maddie leaped from the front seat and slammed the door. “Did you really think I’d sit at home and miss an adventure? Come on, let’s storm the Castille. Wait, that doesn’t sound right.”

  “Storm the Bastille,” Olivia said. “Remember? The French Revolution?”

  “I remember nothing French,” Maddie said. “That’s your job, and you do it with a lovely accent. Oops, almost forgot.” Maddie reopened the car door, reached inside, and backed out holding a paper bag.

  Olivia recognized the tumbling gingerbread figures that decorated the white bag. “You thought to bring cookies? Were you hoping to bribe the emergency room nurse? Because I’m fairly certain she won’t fall for it.”

  “I didn’t have an actual plan,” Maddie said. “I guess I was hoping Greta would be feeling better and might appreciate a cookie. I made these for Aunt Sadie. I felt bad that she wasn’t up to attending our event, and she has this sweet little windmill mold she brought back from her trip to the Netherlands. That was decades ago, years before she adopted me and couldn’t go off on fun excursions anymore.”

  “I’m sure she was willing to make the transition,” Olivia said.

  “We’re wasting time.” Maddie headed toward the back door of the emergency room. “Come on, call Cody’s cell.”

  Olivia flipped open her phone as she followed Maddie. She scanned through her extensive list of contacts, found Cody’s number, and punched it in. After three rings, Olivia was sent to voice mail. She snapped her cell shut without leaving a message. After a few seconds, she tried again, and again she got no answer. “Got any other ideas?”

  Maddie frowned. “Dang, that should have worked. Cops ought to be required to answer their phones. Oh well, Plan B.” She walked up to the emergency room door and began to pound on it. When the door failed to open, Maddie pounded harder, alternating with kicks.

  A latch clicked on the other side of the door, and a sliver of light appeared. “If you have an emergency,” said a deep, authoritative voice, “go directly to the front door of the emergency room.”

  Before the disembodied voice could shut her out, Maddie shoved her foot into the opening. “Ouch,” Maddie squealed as the door slammed against her foot. “Now I really need emergency care.” She filled her lungs and screamed so loud that Olivia covered her ears. The door opened. A tall, muscular young man in a white uniform stared out at Maddie with a stricken expression on his face.

  “What kind of emergency room is this, anyway?” Maddie grabbed the edge of the open door. “I think you broke my foot.”

  “But you stuck your foot inside right as I—” The young man’s voice had lost its authoritative edge.

  “Hey, don’t blame the patient,” Maddie said. “Let me in; I’m injured. Livie, could you help . . . ?” She wrapped an arm around Olivia’s shoulders and leaned against her. Olivia encircled Maddie’s waist and guided her through the door. The befuddled young man stepped aside to let them pass. Maddie groaned as she tried to put weight on her foot. The assistant pulled Maddie’s free arm over his shoulder and lifted her off the ground. He lead the way to an empty break room, where he lowered her onto a plastic chair.

  “Thanks for not abandoning me,” Maddie said with a brave smile. “Listen, I can’t call you ‘Doc.’ It sounds disrespectful. My name is Maddie, and this is my friend, Livie. And you are . . . ?”

  “I’m . . . well, I’m not actually a doctor, just an orderly. I’m hoping to go to medical school as soon as I can save some money and, um, you know, get admitted.”

  With a sympathetic nod, Maddie said. “I’m sure you’re up to both challenges, Mr. . . .”

  “Bill. Some people call me Billy, but I like Bill better.”

  “Bill it is, then. Would you like a cookie, Bill?” Maddie opened the bag of speculaas so Bill could smell the medley of spices, dominated by cinnamon and ginger.

  Bill’s expression softened. “My grandmother used to make those cookies. I haven’t had them since she died. I can’t remember the name, but for some reason I’m thinking of ‘speculum.’”

  “That is so sad,” Maddie said. “We must wipe that association from your mind at once. These are speculaas cookies. Take two, eat them quickly, then say ‘speculaas’ ten times. That should cure you.”

  Bill hadn’t followed Maddie’s quip, but he obeyed her order to take two of the cookies. “Wow,” he said after devouring both windmills. “Those are really good. Did they come from that little store in town? You know, the one with all the cooking stuff. I heard it’s run by two girls.”

  As Maddie’s eyes narrowed dangerously, Olivia said, “We are, in fact, the two women who run The Gingerbread House. Maddie is the genius baker. That’s sort of why we are here,” Olivia said. “We specialize in cookie cutters. A little while ago, our friend, who is a cookie cutter collector, felt very ill and called me for help. I called 911 and said I’d meet her here. Her name is Greta Oskarson. You see, Greta is an elderly woman, and she hasn’t lived in Chatterley Heights for very long, so she doesn’t know many people. She was frightened and really wanted us to be with her.” Okay, Olivia knew she was stretching the truth a bit, but all for a good cause. “The waiting room nurse won’t even tell us how Greta is doing because we aren’t related to her, but she doesn’t have any relatives nearby. That’s why we knocked on your back door. We are all she’s got, and we are very worried about her.”

  The happy smile drained from Bill’s broad face. “Oh,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I’m really sorry but . . . well, Amanda should have told you. Amanda is the nurse out front. She takes her job awfully seriously, which she should, of course, but—”

  “Told us what?” Olivia hadn’t meant to sound so sharp, but she didn’t apologize.

  “You said your friend was an elderly woman, right?”

  When she heard the past tense, Olivia sank into the plastic chair next to Maddie.

  “Uh-oh,” Maddie said.

  “I’m afraid your friend expired less than five minutes after she arrived,” Bill said. “This is a small hospital, but we have excellent emergency room staff here, we really do. They did everything they could to help your friend, but she was too far gone when she got here. My buddy was one of the ambulance drivers. He sat in back with her, gave her oxygen and everything. She was so weak, barely alive, when she arrived here. She just didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”

  “Is the deputy sheriff still here?” Olivia asked.

  “Hang on, I’ll check.” Bill returned almost at once, shaking his head. “The police just left. The docs figured natural causes, so the police decided there wasn’t any crime to investigate . . . unless the docs change their minds. But she was carrying an asthma inhaler, so they figured . . . Anyway, that’s what one of the nurses told me. I really am sorry. If I’d known . . .” Bill pointed to Maddie’s foot. “Want me to get someone to look at that injury? You won’t have to go back to the waiting room.”

  “No thanks, Bill,” Maddie said. “My foot is feeling much better. Just a bruise. But thanks for the offer.” Using the arm of her plastic chair, Maddie stood up. She winced as she tried to put some weight on the injured foot. “N
othing is broken, I’m certain of that. So don’t worry, and for heaven’s sake, don’t get yourself in trouble by telling anyone what happened to my foot. There’s no lasting harm done.”

  “Well, okay. Thanks.” Bill checked the hallway before beckoning them to follow him to the exit.

  While Bill’s back was turned, Maddie put her weight on her supposedly injured foot to reassure Olivia that she was fine. Olivia was impressed, in a troubled sort of way. Maddie had managed to extricate them from their situation and keep their visit under wraps by dumping the guilt on poor, sweet Bill. She hoped Maddie remembered to limp on the correct foot.

  * * *

  “Okay, now what?” Maddie asked after they returned from the Chatterley Heights emergency room and settled in the Gingerbread House kitchen.

  Olivia poured two cups of freshly brewed, extra strong coffee and handed one to Maddie. While Olivia hunted for cream in the refrigerator, she said, “Next we think about breaking into Greta’s house.”

  Maddie perked up. “Really?”

  “Well, maybe not an actual break-in, but I think we’ll need to search the house. There’s at least a chance a door is unlocked, if Greta followed my instructions on the phone. If not, maybe Constance would give us a key. At any rate, if the police intend to ignore her death, it’s up to us to investigate. Thinking back to Greta’s call, I can’t be sure it wasn’t an asthma attack that killed her. All she said was she couldn’t breathe. She’d tried to call for emergency help. She only called me because she hadn’t realized the number was 911 and not 999.”

  “But you do think she was actually murdered?” Maddie asked.

  “I’m not sure what to think. We need to know more about Greta. During our cookie event for her, it became clear that she’d left behind one or two angry people when she moved to Europe. I want to know what she did to those individuals, or what they thought she did to them. Maybe she kept some papers or letters, anything that would give us hints to her past. If she’d angered folks here in Chatterley Heights, the odds are good she continued to make enemies throughout her life abroad. And don’t forget all those stories about her multiple and very rich husbands.”